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redux-iterum · 3 years

Note

Ok, here's a little challenge for you and the editors; roast for me 10 WC couples of your choice.

This was fun! We each took five with a bonus from the editor, and you can read our complaints after the readmore.

LYNX (editor)

Violetshine X Tree: I'm still trying to get through the latter half of AVOS, so I haven't seen their first time meeting up or them falling in love or anything like that. What makes me rather uncomfortable with this couple is that Tree's old enough to be Violetshine's father. Pebbleshine and Hawkwing were already young lovers, but with the release of Tree's Roots, one can calculate Tree to be born around the same time as Hawkwing. He even meets a heavily pregnant Pebbleshine when he's around fifteen months old. Honestly, if his and Violetshine's dynamic in late AVOS is good enough for a Warriors couple, I'm willing to just headcanon him as at most eight months older than her to make it more palatable. By the way, this has nothing to do with the ages when they meet up. Violet's a year old by Darkest Night and nearly an adult if her sister's warrior assessment is anything to go by.

Clear Sky X Storm: It's been some years since I read DotC, but the love drama in The Sun Trail was pretty stupid. Especially the insta-love thing. Maybe it was an insta-attraction? But this is Warriors and we can't have that, noooooooooo...

Clear Sky X Star Flower: Everyone's gone on with how Clear Sky getting with his son's ex is rather dubious, but what is often neglected is the fact that Star Flower can make choices too! She made the choice to go for her ex's dad which is about as questionable as Clear Sky's choice! My personal headcanon is that she's the kitty equivalent of a gold-digger.

Pebbleshine X Hawkwing: Alright, so you're either of these two nitwits who've recently become a warrior. Your very way of life has been drastically upturned by someone you thought you could trust. You've lost family and friends to your betrayal, and what's worse is you've lost your home. The world you've known for your whole life has been ripped form you and you have to keep ambling forward with the hope that the place you'll finally settle in will be worth all this hardship. The path ahead of you is long, uncertain, and dangerous, and you'll need to have a clear head to have a hope of surviving this season. SOUNDS LIKE THE PERFECT TIME TO BOINK AND START A FAMILY, AM I RIGHT?

Bumblestripe X Dovewing: Pushy, inconsiderate, trademark Nice Guy, from questioning why they haven't had children yet at some random meeting to suggesting they have children at her friend's funeral, everyone's said it already. Bumblestripe is not a good cat for Dovewing. I'm glad she's not with him since that makes her happy. But... Tigerfartstar X Dovewing: Yeah, Dovewing, your taste in toms is awful. This temperamental, arrogant, patronizing shipdit, while not as bad as Bimbostripe over there, is still pretty bad. It's been a long while since I read OotS and I haven't yet read Tigerheart's Shadow, but I probably should to get a refresher on why I hate this couple.

DULLARD

Bristlefrost x Rootspring: So ignoring that Rootspring as a -paw is a whiny, overly defensive putz that acts self-conscious about having Tree as his father, Bristlefrost does not ONCE show interest in him. Not once. Count ‘em, zero times. In fact, she’s aware of his crush on her and is embarrassed whenever he comes around and whenever people notice him staring at her. She actively avoids him and speaks curtly, even rudely, to try and drive him off. Then, out of buttfuck nowhere, she says she has feelings for him once he’s a warrior? When they’ve barely interacted beyond her spurring his affections? Fuck with that?

Crowpaw x Feathertail: Feathertail, you’re a nice girl. You’re team mom and almost a second in command to Brambleclaw. Everyone likes you. So why in the good god damn fuck does a pissant like Crowpaw (an apprentice at the time, by the way) deserve your recognition, let alone your love? You could get literally any other cat you wanted to, and you go for the fruit that was formerly hanging the lowest, but dropped off the tree and is now rotting on the floor. He is nothing but a dick to you and only starts being remotely kind two seconds before you die. Please love yourself and do better in StarClan.

Bluefur x Oakheart: Speaking of low hanging fruit, this is a very, very easy one to dunk on. It’s moreso the fact that this entire “relationship” is treated as one of the great tragic romances in this series than anything else. The two of them talk, what, two or three times? And then have exactly one night together before Bluefur kills one of their kits and shoves the other two on him and then that’s it. That’s all they had. A one night stand and child death. What a love story. Why does Bluefur think Thrushpelt is the worse option, again?

Dustpelt x Fernpaw: GOD, this relationship is creepy. I still get simultaneously unnerved and mad whenever I read the first arc, because Dustpelt initially seems like he’ll go with Sandstorm before she stupidly falls in love with Fireheart, but then he sets his sights on someone so much younger than him that he actually asks if he can mentor her instead of his original apprentice (her brother, fun fact). Let me emphasize that, because he is actively seeking a power imbalance in this relationship, and he clearly intends to eventually get with her. Bear in mind that she is still being treated like she’s a young kid, if not a teenager, by the narrative. I could be here all day on this fucking topic, but let’s move on.

Berrynose x Poppyfrost: We all know what I’m going to say here. Berrynose having the brass to say loving things to a dying, agonizing Honeyfern after she spent all this time pining after him, and then less than two months later, he shacks up with her sister. That is the coldest thing he could possibly have done to her. The fact that the writers decided that she’s totally okay with the relationship and takes care of her sister’s dead kits like they’re hers is extra terrible. Like, she still gets the scraps when she’s dead? Seriously?

#ask #readmore #relationships #shipping #i speak #lynx #editor #rant

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 years

Text

Long Live the Queen

“A special spell”, as @panacea-wishes would say, but this time for the Sorceress herself!

***Warning: Mild chapter 5 spoilers!***

Imagine this...

Any affair hosted by Pomefiore was sure to be an opulent one—but today, the dormitory was decked out even moreso than usual. Decorations dripping with gold, tablecloths of shimmering silk, gourmet catering, a private orchestra, and immaculate outfits for each attendee... No expense was spared for the special occasion.

You were but one face in that shining sea, dressed in your finest garb—the only outsider invited to join the festivities. To your left and to your right, strangers in long robes and ties drifted about. They moved so fluidly, cutting across the polished floor like swans upon a lake of glass.

You shifted your feet uncomfortably, feeling a bit out of place in such a glamorous space. You took an anxious sip from your flute of sparkling apple juice. Bubbles danced up and tickled your nose as the beverage went down.

“Did you hear?” a nearby mob student said—not to you, but to a few of his friends. “Schoenheit-sama will be interning with Potions & Lotions, that famous skincare company from the Land of Pyroxene.”

“I heard, I heard! He’s going to be working with their prestigious Research and Development deparment, isn’t he? His proficiency in magical pharmecuticals will serve him well there.”

“Amazing, as expected of Schoenheit-sama! He makes me proud to be a student of Pomefiore!”

You took another swig of your apple juice, trying to avoid eavesdropping. But your curiousity got the better of you, and the mob students’ words floated over yet again.

“What of Hunt-senpai?”

“I heard he will be interning at a detective agency in Pyroxene’s capitol! He was scouted by the police chief himself for his eye for detail.”

“Wow... I hope we’re able to get fancy internship offers like that when our fourth year arrives.”

That’s right. People are moving on. Growing up. Advancing in the world.

Good for them.

You took a third sip—this time, the juice was somewhat bittersweet. Your eyes flitted about, seeking a familiar face, not gossip, to latch onto. Luckily for you, you did not have to search for very long.

“Your attention, please.” A clear, commanding voice announced—and at once, the orchestra silenced. All heads, including yours, turned to the peacock throne at the head of the room.

There stood Vil, in all of his beauty. Today, he wore a form-fitting suit, woven in the colors of green, blue, and violet—the colors of a peacock. His golden hair was up, held in place by a jeweled pin with feathers that jutted out. Vil’s eye makeup mimicked the colors of his suit, cool hues flaring out and making him seem even more bold and imposing than before.

He nodded in satisfaction at those in attendance. “Thank you for being here for the ascension ceremony this evening. As you all know, I will soon be departing to complete an internship—as will your vice-dorm leader, Rook. Therefore, the time has come to crown a new queen for Pomefiore. He will be responsible for selecting a new vice-dorm leader... as well as leading you potatoes to greater heights.”

A mob student before you started to clap. Then a few others joined in.

You wondered if you should set down your class and join in the applause, but Vil was quick to bring a hand up. The beginnings of clapping ceased.

“Hold your applause for your new dorm leader,” he insisted. Vil raised his voice. “Epel Felmier.”

“Yes.”

You swallowed hard at the mention of his name, at the swell of his soft voice.

He stepped up from the crowd, which parted to make way for him. Epel had grown several centimeters in the past few years, now only a bit shorter than Vil. He maintained the delicate beauty he had held in his time as a first year, those wispy lavender locks, long lashes, and full lips. But his eyes—they had sharpened into sapphires circled with makeup moonlight, and he walked with a newfound confidence.

Pomefiore’s dorm leader uniform fitted his new form well. Flowing cloth cascaded over his long arms and legs, and formed a train of fabric wherever he walked. Click, click, went his boots, the cords that bound his waist falling in time with his steps.

All that he was missing was the coveted crown.

“Vil-senpai.” Epel stopped before his dorm leader—soon to be ex-dorm leader—and knelt.

“I am entrusting you with the safety and the security of Pomefiore’s students—and the dorm’s future,” Vil declared, chin raised. “Are you prepared to take on the responsibilites of a dorm leader?”

“I am,” Epel replied with quiet conviction. “I swear...!! I will lead Pomefiore to greatness, just as you and Rook-senpai have before me.”

“Hmph. Don’t let me down, then.” Vil smirked before turning and calling out, “the crown.”

Rook, in a violet suit and crimson bowtie, approached with a plush cushion—and upon it, an intricate crown. The same crown Vil had once worn himself, wrought of gold. A sword piercing a heart as the centerpiece.

The huntsman kneeled, bowing his head and holding out the cushion to his queen. He didn’t need to look to know that Vil had nodded to him before plucking the accessory up.

“With this crown, I pass the torch to you. With this crown, you are Queen undisputed.” Vil recited, raising the glittering diadem over Epel’s head. He brought it down upon the boy’s hair. Gold dug into lilac locks, finding a new home nestled on his head. “You may now rise.”

Epel slowly stood—his back to the crowd, to you. He lifted his head and looked Vil right in the eyes.

Sapphire and amethyst colliding.

“May you carry on the unrelenting efforts of the Beautiful Queen in my place.” Vil took his junior by the shoulders and spun him around. “Pomefiore—your new dorm leader, Epel Felmier.”

The crowd erupted into applause and whistles, cheers and elated well wishes. You, too, were swept up in the frenzy. What little remained of your sparkling apple juice had been set aside in favor of clapping.

Clapping, clapping—one palm hitting the other in rapid succession. Hard, loud. Until your hands were red and swollen and raw.

Raising a dainty hand, Epel waved back.

“... Hey.”

You jumped at the familiar voice that greeted you as you picked up a new flute of apple juice. You dared to look—and there was Epel, in his full, regal dorm leader regalia. Crown and all.

“O-Oh... Hey!!” you stammered, trying to play off your nerves (and failing). “Nice party, huh? Thanks for inviting me as your plus one... I don’t think I’d ever be invited to a shindig as fancy as this one if it weren’t for you.”

Epel offered a gentle smile. “I wanted you to be here. I should be the one thanking you for coming.”

“Of course I’d come. I wouldn’t want to miss your big coronation,” you reached out to give him a playful shove on the arm—but paused midway and let your arm fall. It wouldn’t be appropriate to act so casual with a dorm leader, you scolded yourself.

“You’re all grown up now, Epel,” you whispered, clutching a hand to your chest. “Congratulations, Mr. Pomefiore dorm leader.”

“Ah, well...” Epel rested a hand on the back of his neck. “It’s a new title, but... I like to think that I’m still ‘just Epel’, the Pomefiore student. I’ll always be that farm boy that tried to pick a fight with Vil-senpai—Great Seven knows how many times.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve come a long way since your first year. Especially during VDC—you shone really brightly on that stage.”

“That’s true, but I’ve still got a long way to go. Vil-senpai helped me to realize that.” Epel glanced to the surrounding Pomefiore students. Eating, chatting, laughing. “I just hope I can live up to the legacy he left behind. It’s some pretty big shoes to fill in.”

“You’ll do just fine. You always do,” you reassured him with a pat on the shoulder—before quickly jerking your hand back.

Too familiar, too causal.

Epel raised an eyebrow. “Is... Is something the matter? You’ve been a little jittery all evening.”

“I...” Your voice trailed off as soon as you gazed into his curious blue eyes. Like the ocean, welling up with sincerity. You couldn’t lie to him—you just couldn’t. “I’m just worried that we’ll grow apart now that you’re a dorm leader.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because!” You gestured vaguely to the celebration. “A dorm leader has more important things to do than hanging out with people like me. You have students to lead, events to plan. I... I think I’d only get in the way of your progress.”

“... Don’t say that,” Epel pleaded, suddenly grasping your hands. “Please, please don’t say that.”

You stared at the contact—where his hands met yours. “I... I don’t understand...”

“I couldn’t have made it this far without your support, either. You picked me up when I was down, and you cheered me on when I was at my lowest and about to quit.” Epel’s delicate featured hardened—from glass to diamond. “So don’t ever say those awful things about yourself.”

“But... You’ve made it so far, and I’m still—“

“A farmer never forgets his roots,” Epel said mysteriously, a finger taped to his lips, “and it’s not just me. We all flower one day. You may just be a late bloomer—but when you finally do bloom... I bet you’ll be the prettiest apple blossom in the whole orchard.”

Your cheeks flamed. He laughed, giving your hand a squeeze, and pulling you close to him. You fell against his chest—sturdy and secure and warm—and glanced up at him in shock.

“What are you...”

“Dance with me,” Epel suggested with a light-hearted smile, “and I’ll show you that you’re worthy of this queen.”

The orchestra had started up again, the strings to a new song flowing like water. Turn, twirl, dip, went the pairs on the dance floor, in time with the music. All of this, set in golden lamplight.

Outside, the sky was a dark blue, the starlight reflected in his sapphire eyes. And here he was, offering his outstretched hand to you.

He was still the same sweet, loyal Epel you had always known. The same young man that set your heart aflutter, whether he was soft-spoken or brash. He was both—just as he was both a dorm leader and your beloved.

You melted, and your hesitation dissipated like the winter snow.

You slipped your hand into his and beamed. “Long live the Queen.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Epel Felmier #Epel Felmier x Reader #Vil Schoenheit #disney twisted wonderland #Reader #self insert #imagine this #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland scenarios #something no one asked for #IKEMEN EPEL...................#THE POWER OF IKEMEN EPEL #spoilers

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lifblogs · 3 years

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do a oneshot about anakin ft a lot of padme's back ;) maybe some fun times with them and that backless dress after they're married

Okay, so I’m gonna level with you, anon. This really came across as a demand, especially since I didn’t state I was taking requests, so there is an etiquette that was lacking. However, this idea was fantastic, and I’m in a fun Anidala mood anyway, and I know you didn’t mean anything by it. Besides, this fic was fun. Please enjoy!

War Will Tear This From Us

1753 words

read on ao3

Padmé’s breath was labored as Anakin slowly began to undress her. Even after their time spent in Varykino on Naboo after the Battle on Geonosis, giving Anakin time to heal and grow used to his new mechno-arm, he still struggled. But Padmé knew he didn’t want her help with this, that he wanted to do it all on his own.

But maybe—

No.

She inhaled deeply—so deep in fact that she felt as if she needed more air—when Anakin finally managed to have the intricate lace of her wedding dress start sliding off of her. This was all new to her, but it was a newness that she wanted to explore with him.

Her back still bore scars from the Nexu during her attempted execution, but Ani didn’t seem to care. His fingers—both skin and metal that was warming to her touch—brushed against the raggedness of them. The scars would fade in another week or so with proper treatment, but for now they were real, and they were a reminder of what they’d faced together. She trembled from the care of which he caressed her, heat running in liquid trails down her spine.

“Ani…” she breathed, not sure what she had even been planning on saying.

She could tell he was smiling, could hear it in his voice when he asked quietly, “Yes?”

“Shouldn’t we undress together? I want to see you.”

Her cheeks reddened at this admittance, the entirety of this relationship so new to her. Yes, she’d already had her first kiss, and she had been close with Clovis, but after all she’d been through, she was married, and to Padawan Anakin Skywalker. She couldn’t calm the fluttering in her stomach or the soaring in her heart. The light in her seemed to grow even as the burning sunset faded over the lakehouse.

“Well let’s just make sure this dress doesn’t get in the way of you taking my clothes off.”

Again she found herself taking in far too much air. Part of her wanted to hold her dress up over her chest as it began to slip off of her body. Anakin, noticing her tension, pressed himself up against her and caressed her arms.

“We can wait,” he said. “Though the images I have in my mind of you… I can barely stand it.”

For a few moments they just existed together, bodies moving in tandem with their breaths. She could feel the strong, racing beat of his heart through her back.

“No.” She turned to him, and did hold up her dress, just so it wouldn’t slip around her legs and entangle her. With one hand she reached out to run her fingers through his short hair, and then caressed his face, holding his chin. “We’re married, and I’m choosing to do this with you, not because I have to as your wife, but because I want to.”

“Then why so tense?”

Testing him, she ran her hand over his body, and found him tense as well, though slightly more relaxed than her. His pupils grew larger from her touch, and this close to him, she was beginning to feel a hardness in between his legs, pressing against her stomach.

“Don’t pretend you’re not nervous too.”

At that, something in him seemed to snap and release, and she was swept up into his arms. They kissed, a kiss that sent liquid fire down in between her legs, and he tugged the rest of her dress off. Something about being bare before him while he was still in his Jedi tunics and tabard tugged at that wildness inside her. Her nipples peaked, and she found herself moving her body against his, in ways she didn’t know it could move or even wanted to, as he brought her over to their bed.

Anakin was gentle about laying her upon it, but there was nothing tender about the way their mouths came together again and again with the force to bruise.

Oh stars, this was her husband. How had any of this happened? How was she so lucky to reconnect with that boy from Tatooine?

During their decade apart she would wonder what he looked like as he slowly became a man, and now, she wasn’t at all disappointed. He was tall, toned, and now possessed a strength about him that made her want to melt, and with a face so handsome it broke her heart. He was melting into her too, so in love with the angel from the stars who’d wished for his freedom.

Anakin’s mechno-arm found her waist, and he hissed in a breath.

Padmé smiled. “How are those electrostatic fingertips working for you?” she asked.

He squeezed, clearly amazed that he could still touch and feel. His kiss-swollen mouth was open in awe. “Just wonderful.”

Anakin took this time to survey her body, and she was faced with all those dreams he’d had of her, all those thoughts he’d tried banishing with his training, all the things he had tried to keep buried. All of it burned like warming and steaming ice in his blue eyes, and Padmé was sure she was flushing down to the roots of her hair.

He caressed, and, wanting more, she slowly began to open her legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he told her.

“I assume you are too underneath all those robes.”

“You really want to see me naked, don’t you?”

Padmé was breathless as she answered, “Yes.”

So Anakin stepped back, and began to undress for her. Padmé immediately leapt off the bed, completely unashamed by her nudity now, and the ways in which her body moved. She reached for him, slapping his left hand away from his belt.

“I want to do that!” she snapped.

It turned into a war to see who could get his clothes off faster, leaving them giggling. The fight ended with Padmé on top of Anakin on the bed, legs spread over his muscled thighs. He’d just finished kicking off his loose-fitting pants that she had done the honors of untying the laces of, and for some reason she still had his belt. Jokingly, knowing she could explore and play with him, she made to tie the belt around his wrists.

His grin was lecherous.

“Padmé, you don’t want to do that.”

She leaned in, kissed his nose, and asked, “And why not, Jedi?”

“Because I can do this!”

On this, he grabbed the belt, and used it to pull her off of him. He twisted her onto her stomach. Her surprised scream turned into a moan as he pressed against her. Oh, he was hard, and Padmé wasn’t sure since she didn’t have any other measurement to refer to, but he seemed so large. The hot length of him throbbed against her ass. Then that strange, but welcome sensation became a myriad of pleasure as he began to kiss her back, holding her hips all the while.

“What is with you and my back?” she got out, voice low and throaty.

The laugh that had been building in her throat died as he kissed her topmost scar. That cut had been the longest, the deepest, and it was still sore. But his touch there brought something new to her body. Not pain. But care, pleasure. It brought tears to her eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” he responded, sounding drunk off of her. And Padmé herself was getting drunk off of his voice, his touch, feeling his thighs against hers, closing her in.

She got up on her forearms, and twisted, reaching back, grabbing him by the back of his neck as he leaned in. Even while twisted in a slightly awkward position, Padmé couldn’t stop herself from marveling at the sight of her husband, naked above her. Each muscle had a soft gleam in the dimming light, proving just how hot he was, how much he wanted this. The promise of sweat and movement left her practically drooling, and she shifted against him, moaning with want.

“I love what I see, too.”

They kissed, and then he ever so gently extricated her from him and made her face forward again.

“Stay still.”

“Oh, so you’re going to command a senator?”

“I serve the Republic,” he answered. “But I’m detached from it, so, in a way, I can do as I please.”

“In your dreams. Besides, if there really is going to be a war, you have to follow my orders since you’ll be directly serving the Senate.”

“I thought that was a dictatorship.”

“Fine, then do we vote that I can give you orders?”

“Of course.” Anakin gyrated against her, leaving Padmé even more hot and wanting, moaning beneath him. He went on, “And what are your orders, my lady?”

She pressed back, trying to shove him off of her, but it didn’t work. Instead, it left Anakin holding himself up with his core, running his hands over the front of her body. Their motions turned into a wild thing of desperate, dry-humping, and Anakin’s left hand finding the wetness in between her legs.

“That you stop this nonsense, and fuck me already,” she growled.

“As long as I get to take you from behind first,” Anakin negotiated.

Padmé didn’t even care in which way they came together. They had all night to explore each other, and right now she just wanted him inside her, even while a part of her wondered how he’d even fit.

“Blast, I don’t even care,” she breathed. “Just figure out how to get in me.”

“Can I have help?”

She giggled, realizing that he was as clueless about her body as she was about his—maybe even moreso.

Rolling her eyes, she relented, “Sure.”

Anakin let out a victorious whoop of joy and then continued to lavish her back with kisses, even beginning to lick her. All the while, he lowered himself down her body, and she lifted herself up, ass in the air, ready for him to learn her.

Anakin was an eager Padawan, and with desperate and humorous fumbling, he eventually managed to fill her. With her back pressed against his muscled torso, his cock in her up to his balls, she realized she wanted to experience this for the rest of her life. He held her as he took her, and Padmé gripped his arms, even the mechno-arm.

This was her life now. This was her husband. And for now she didn’t spare a thought for the war that could tear it all away.

#ask #anon #star wars #anidala #fanfiction #nsft #writing #my writing #Anonymous #anon I had 11 tabs open for the research for this #star wars clothing and prosthetics are complicated

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pandoraborn · 3 years

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We get a lot of Techno taking care of Tommy (which I love as well) but what about Techno getting sick and Tommy having to take care of him? Could make it more angsty with Tommy not knowing what to do and fearing for Techno’s health or more hurt/comfort-y with Techno finally letting his guard down, letting himself rely on someone else and be taken care of for a day.

How’s he let himself get this bad? Technically, cold weather isn’t what makes one sick, but Techno’s been out in the rain and snow long enough that he feels awful. It doesn’t help that he’d barely been sleeping, more focused on building up his syndicate. Sure, he doesn’t have members yet, but building the base and trying to get flyers around takes up a lot of energy, considering he has to travel so much.

Traveling takes its toll.

Which is why when he hears Tommy rummaging through his chests downstairs, he doesn’t bother getting out of bed. He’s too cold, and each time he rolls over, he feels an ache in his chest that makes him want to cough endlessly.

“Hey Techno? I’m here!” Tommy calls up. Techno doesn’t bother responding. He’s long past the point of Tommy dropping by whenever he feels like it. It’s not even that Tommy steals from him anymore, Tommy just seems to have forgiven him, or is brushing everything under the rug. Techno doesn’t know what their relationship is anymore, but he’ll let Tommy do whatever. The company is rather nice.

“That’s nice,” Techno murmurs in response. His voice is too quiet to carry down, but he knows Tommy is probably going to climb the ladder anyway. Even moreso, considering just those two words is sending Techno into a fit, with him convulsing and wheezing into his pillow. Christ, he feels awful.

“Techno?” Tommy sounds concerned, and Techno can hear the footsteps moving up the ladder. He wants to tell the teen to get lost, but the energy needed to speak isn’t coming anymore. “Christ, Technoblade! What’s wrong with you?”

He feels Tommy pawing at him. Hand on his forehead, hands on his cheeks. In spite of how cold he feels, Tommy’s frigid hands feel so nice against his face. “You look awful, man.”

He finds himself leaning into Tommy, wanting more of that coolness against his burning cheeks. His pride won’t let him actually agree though. “I’m just tired, Tommy. I’ll be okay once I get showered.”

“Uh, no.” Tommy narrows his eyes. Even through blurred and watery vision, Techno can see the pensive expression, the concern. It makes him feel young again, too young to cope. Tommy’s clearly taking charge now, and he knows he’s not in a place to argue.

“Tommy I just-” He falls into another coughing fit. This time, he’s coughing hard enough that he can taste acid. Had he really gotten this sick in such a short amount of time? Damn, he really let himself go. “-please...”

“Well since you asked so nicely.” Tommy presses his hands to Techno’s forehead again and nods. “I’ll stay here and nurse you back to health. I initially came by looking for ender pearls and diamonds, but I think you need soup more.” He pulls away to head back down the ladder.

Techno can’t help it: he whimpers at the loss of contact. He really is pathetic. Pathetic and small and sick, and relying on a fucking teenager to dote on him.

“I’ll be right back!” Even Tommy sounds frantic. “Close your eyes, Blade. Just close your eyes and breath slowly, okay? I’ll be right back.” He’s gone down the hole. Whatever he’s doing downstairs is a mystery, but Techno can hear chests opening and closing, followed by the smell of food cooking. He keeps his eyes closed to focus on his own breathing, but he can feel in his chest how messed up he is. Maybe he could make it out into the snow before he vomits all over himself due to coughing.

He must’ve dozed off, because the next thing he’s aware of is a bowl of soup being placed down next to him, followed by an ice pack, a hot water bottle, and medicine. Confused, he lifts his head, blinking slowly at Tommy. He doesn’t remember when Tommy knew how to care for anyone. Tommy had always been so...

“Easy, Tech,” Tommy says soothingly. His fingers come up to comb through his hair repetitively, lulling him back down into a drowsy stupor. Techno dimly feels a thermometer being tucked under his tongue, and he hums absently until the faint beep has Tommy checking to see where his temperature is. The teen is still petting him, keeping him in a fog.

“Temp’s a bit high, but nothing we can’t tackle.” Tommy’s grinning as he slides the hot water bottle underneath the blanket. Techno immediately curls into it, enjoying the warmth. The ice pack is placed on his cheek, cooling his face down. It’s not the same as Tommy’s hands, it’s far colder than that, but it’s also helping.

“You should eat,” Tommy says, once again keeping his voice low. “Eat some of the soup and then you can sleep. Also, I have medicine for you.”

“Hm.” Techno really wants to say ‘go away, I can fend for myself,’ but something about his pride is keeping him from talking. Also the illness.

But then again, it’s nice that he doesn’t have to fend for himself this time. It’s nice that he and Tommy can have this moment, even if it’s just a brief interaction.

He finds himself reaching for Tommy, gripping the hem of the teen’s shirt and holding as tightly as he can (which isn’t tight at all). He tries to open his eyes all the way to plead silently with Tommy to stay, that he doesn’t want to be alone right now.

Tommy seems to understand, because he goes back to playing with the piglin’s hair. “Okay big man,” the teen says softly. “I’ll stay by your side as long as you want me to. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

Good.

#mcyt #mcyt fanfic #dream smp #dream smp fanfiction #one shot #sick #vomit mention #sick fick #caretaker!tommy #tommyinnit #technoblade #c!tommy #c!technoblade #long post #fluff #whump #miishae writes #nonnie

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embidedbythesand · 3 years

Text

how nature points out the folly of man (fanfic)

gvk spoilers!!! you have been warned!!!!

AN - After being diappointed by Ren's lack of character development, I decided to take matters into my own hands and at the very least gave one of the most important characters of the Monsterverse's angsty son a redemption ark. (To give sum credit where it's due this is partially inspired by 'Abraxas' (if u havent read that yet read it it's *chefs kiss*)

(Constructive criticism is always appreciated)

fanfic availiable on ffn and ao3 (when ig et an account jgjehgaeg)

Summary: For the first time in five years, Ren Serizawa was almost glad his father was dead.

We knew the world would not be the same. A few people laughed, a few people cried. Most people were silent. I remembered the line from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita; Vishnu is trying to persuade the Prince that he should do his duty, and to impress him, takes on his multi-armed form and says, 'Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.'

He never meant for things to end up this way.

He just wanted peace.

All Ren Serizawa could think as he trudged his way up the stairs of Castle Bravo up to the flight deck was how tired he was. Yet, another sleepless night brings him back up to his best hiding spot, away from all the lights and noises and everyone and everything reminding him of what he did, what it led to.

It led to over four thousand dead.

Simmons ignored his pleas to at least test the Mecha with the energy they extracted. The man was blinded by his own fantasy of humanity reigning the earth once again to see the entity they had awoken, and Ren had been too blinded by grief to see that Walter was merely using him for his own gain, and wasn’t afraid to put him or his own daughter in harm’s way to get what he wanted.

The last thing he remembered before waking up confined to a bed in the Argo with a throbbing headache is being paralyzed by a force beyond comprehension in Monster Zero’s skull. The distorted computer’s warning drained out by the ever growing hum. And then the hum began to cackle.

Then nothing.

They said it was a miracle he was able to walk, talk or think, moreso that he was even alive.

Ren disagrees. He sees it as a curse.

The breeze greeted him immediately as he opened the door to the deck. He inhaled, tasting the salty air and exhaled, letting go of all the tension in his muscles as he did so. The night was silent minus the waves crashing below. He tried to focus on the sound as he walked towards the railing, trying to drown out the flashbacks of the god forsaken sinister voice that overflowed his brain in that machine, tormenting him, taunting him. Almost as if saying, “Now look what you’ve done little one. You awoke a force your pathetic little mind cannot even begin to conceive. You never learn. And now you will feel my rage until you can feel no more. I’ll show you. I’ll show all of you.”

As he lights a cigarette with shaky hands, Ren thinks, for the first time in five years, he was almost glad his father had died.

Blowing the smoke into the air and watching it until it diminished into nothing, he wonders what he would say to him, if anything at all. Would he even be able to even look at him? Perhaps his miraculous survival was at the thanks of him, his way of punishing him for his deadly error. He’d rebelled against his upbringing to respect the course of nature, never to fight against it. He let himself be manipulated into playing God only to become the Devil’s advocate, and he was now living in his own personal hell.

Because living with the heavy burden of his mistake was a punishment worse than death.

He’s so lost in his own head that he doesn’t even see the blue glow in the sea below beckoning closer and closer until he spots familiar dorsal fins breaking through the surface. He tumbles back and collapses to the floor, dropping his pack in the meantime, staring up in shock and amazement as the king of the monsters rises before him, staring directly back at him.

The titan his father died for. The titan he nearly killed himself trying to destroy.

Gojira.

The king looks down at him with curiosity, leaning closer with a deep bellowing rumble, close enough that he could have named the colors in his irises had it not been so dark. He huffs, the hot wind so forceful, it nearly pushes him back down again. Gojira lets a rumble escape his throat, as if he was saying, “I know you.”

Ren slowly gets back onto his feet and takes a step back, trying to control his breathing. The titan continued to stare him down inquisitively almost looking like he was trying to pinpoint where he had seen him before. Every alarm in Ren’s head rang at him to run, to say something, to do something, but he’s frozen. Whether it was from fear or awe, he’s not quite sure.

He wonders if this was how his father felt when he entered his chamber.

A growl brings him back to his majesty’s full attention, and his blood went cold.

This is it. Gojira recognizes him. He knows what he’s done and how he tried to destroy him and now he’s here to get his revenge. He braces himself and cowers down, waiting for the king to finish him and put him out of his misery. He continues to wait for the end to come, but it never came.

He just stood there, now with a mischievous look in his eyes. Ren’s blood begins to boil.

<“You BASTARD!”> he shouts in Japanese, so forceful that even Gojira looks taken aback.

<“How dare you torment me after everything! Who do you think you are?! You think you can just show yourself whenever you like, come and go as you please?! Take whatever and do whatever your heart desires and expect us to rejoice in your grace and sing kumbaya?!”> Ren stops to regain his breath, his vision beginning to blur, tears beginning to fall. He squeezes his eye shut as tight as he could, refusing to let the king see him begin to finally break after years of keeping his composure. <”My father gave you his life to you and what do you do? NOTHING! You don’t even blink! You have no remorse! He saw you as a God and valued you more than anything and you go on as if nothing happened! You took everything from me!”>

<”Then you come and taunt me! To show me how much of a coward my father’s pathetic excuse of a son is! You don’t think I know this already?! IknowIknowIknow!>”

He’s screaming through sobs now. He doesn’t care.

Looking up to the sky he shouts angrily at his father, <“Look what you’ve DONE! Look what your choice led to! Here I am breaking down to a giant ancient radioactive lizard,”> he dramatically motions his hands towards the beast while shouting to the stars, <”because you left me here! You left me behind! And now I’ve ruined everything! Is this your way of punishing me?! Is this what you want?!?!”> He hoped he could hear him.

Ren chokes and gasps for air and screams with all of his might before collapsing down onto his knees, pounding his fists onto the hard pavement like a child not getting his way, not even noticing that Gojira had moved closer to him until he falls and lands on his snout. He continues to slam his fists with his body onto him, before residing and burying his eyes into the heels of his palms, crying, <”Why did it have to be you?”> into them.

“<Why did you have to go?>”

He sobs for several more minutes, now shouting, <”I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.”> into his hands over and over until he has no more tears left to cry. Once he finally regains his breath, he shakily stands up and pats his pockets for his cigarettes again. When he doesn’t feel them in there, he looks around and doesn’t see them. Assuming they fell into the ocean during his tantrum, he sighs defeated.

Gojira rumbles to remind him he’s still there. Ren looks up at him in his eyes again. This time however, he sees the strangest thing. Recognition. Compassion, even.

After a moment, He slowly takes a step forward, and reaches his hand out to rest on his face. (Ren doesn’t have to wonder if his father did the same, he knows.)

“Sorry for hitting you.” he says. (It roughly translated to, "I'm sorry I tried to replace you. For betraying him, betraying you. I'm sorry for all of it, for evrything." and everything his throat was too sore to speak outloud)

Gojira huffs in reply.

(That roughly translated to, “I Forgive You.” he wasn't referring to the poke on snout)

Ren pulls his hand away and Gojira pulls back as well, they share one final look before the titan turns and dives back into the ocean, splashing Ren in the process and disappears below the waves.

Ren sleeps that night, a lifetime’s worth of wounds finally beginning to heal.

#godzilla spoilers #gvk spilers #godzilla vs kong #ren serizawa #dr ishiro serizawa #godzilla #monsterverse

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izukuwus · 4 years

Text

Floriography 2

first - next

A/N: so y’all probs saw my posts about this, but ‘Walks Through the Garden’ has been renamed to ‘Floriography’ moving forward! we start to see a lil bit more of the magic in this chapter. I’m still ironing out details for the magic system but I’m having fun with it <3 we also see a little bit less of the flower symbolism. unfortunately, there’s only so many flowers in the world and I don’t wanna repeat flowers a bunch. (also not every scene is like... conducive to starting and ending with flower meanings >.<) sorry if that’s a huge draw for this series! I do plan on keeping with the flower symbolism whenever I have a proper opportunity for it, though!

Summary: Izuku has a request of your parents. (prince!arranged fiancé!Izuku Midoriya x princess!Reader)

Warnings: uh none really? some mild shitty gender roles as expected of being a female in a monarchy, mildly shitty dads

Word count: 3300+

Sweet peas thank the recipient for time spent together. White violets tell the recipient, "let's take a chance". Yellow water lilies signify a growing indifference, while a wilted flower carries the opposite meaning.

Your fiancé is two people in one body. You've learned this after just one dinner—there is Izuku, the prince, and then there is Izuku, your fiancé. The man you ate dinner with—Izuku, the prince—is distant, speaks in practiced words to fit into the mold he has been expected to grow into. Your fiancé Izuku is kind, almost meek. But he looks at you, sees you.

This much, at least, you can know from a single walk in the palace gardens together.

The morning after your meeting, you prepared a bouquet to be sent to him—sweet peas, white violets, and a single wilted water lily, just alive enough that you can see that it was yellow before it wilted. You'd arranged it by hand, carefully tying an iris around it before having it sent on to Izuku. You learned that same day that the date of your wedding was already set—at the end of the year, you'd be married.

Nine months until you no longer have a fiancé.

Nine months to, hopefully, fall in love with him, so that you can actually enjoy your own wedding.

Your fiancé is someone much more agreeable than you'd hoped, but still you find yourself wishing you were actually in love.

Not that he's making that hard. Every day in the month since your meeting, you've received a single flower and a handwritten note from the prince himself, each reading little things like "ignore the meaning of this one, I just thought it was pretty, so it suited you" and a short little blurb about how his day's gone. You've ended every day with a flower from him, and in the mornings, you send one back with your own short letter and ignore the amused looks your attendants share when they think you're too focused on composing a response or picking a flower to notice.

This morning is different, however. This morning, you magic off your response just after you've been dressed and prepared for the day and receive one immediately.

Sorry for the short notice, but do you think you could request an audience with your parents in my stead? I wish to see you again. My father has requested that you join me on my next trip through the countryside, so that you may learn your new kingdom before our marriage. If it's alright with you, I, too, would like for you to accompany me. Please let me know at your earliest convenience—I have the whole day. :) -Izuku

You smile, leaving your room with the note in hand. At breakfast, you set down your spoon and glance at your parents. "Mother? Father? Izuku has requested an audience with you, whenever it's convenient."

Your parents share knowing glances before your father turns back to you with a smile. "So you've been communicating with the young Prince."

"P-perhaps I have."

"That's good to hear. We'd love for him to visit properly, moreso than merely to have his audience and leave."

Your mother nods. "Invite him over for dinner!"

You blink slowly. "Oh, well, if that's the case, then I'll let him know once I've finished eating."

And you do—before you can be properly sat down for your morning tutoring session, you grab a piece of paper and write him back.

My parents said they'd be more pleased if you came over and spoke with them over dinner tonight. Is that okay?

Smiling to yourself, you doodle a little carnation at the bottom of the note.

Note: it's not striped.

You receive your response in the form of a beautiful drawing of a better carnation. In the bottom corner, it reads:

This one's not striped, either. I'll see you around sunset. (It's not yellow, either, right? This one's red.) :)

Despite the fact that he's completely blown your little carnation doodle out of the water, you can't help but smile fondly, feeling the tiniest amount of heat rush to your cheeks.

Carnations, when solid in color, indicate acceptance or "yes" to an answered question. Yellow ones invoke disappointment or rejection, while striped carnations are a clear statement of refusal. Red carnations are used to tell the recipient: "my heart aches for you".

You shift anxiously. Sunset is soon and you're ready for dinner. You'd be lying if you said you weren't really interested in this proposal of his—to get out of the palace for a while, spend some time talking with your fiancé properly, maybe even away from prying eyes so you can talk to him when he's not posturing and trying to act all princely? Of course you're interested. You'd be a fool not to be!

Eventually, you cast aside nervously pacing around your chambers to get some fresh air in the garden. (You're explicitly not waiting for Izuku's arrival, and no one can prove otherwise.) Naturally, you're accompanied by your guard, who watches from afar, hand on the hilt of his sword in preparation for the slightest thing to go wrong.

To his credit, for a second you think that it does. One moment, you're leaned over the fountain, investigating your reflection in the water and toying with a loose lock of hair, and the next, runes swirl in the air in front of you, green and orange wisps that foretell a teleport about to arrive. The brief scent of peaches and lemongrass is quickly overpowered by the scent of ash and gunpowder that follows, but you have just enough time to recognize the first before it's drowned out.

Eijirou is quick to pull you back and away, sword at the ready in case of intruders, but you grab his arm with a frown, intending to tell him about the familiar scent before he tries to cut someone down, and more importantly, you should move them from the water before there's a teleport mishap.

"Eijirou, wait–"

"It's alright, your highness," he says firmly. "Please step back."

You bite your lip, watching with anxious eyes as the runes finally take proper shape, dropping from their swirls two familiar faces, who land directly into the fountain with a loud splash.

"Eijirou, stand down," you order quickly, willing yourself not to swear as you rush forward. Speaking of swearing, Izuku's knight ('Kacchan', you think he was called?) is doing an awful lot of that as he climbs out of the fountain and extends a hand to help Izuku up.

The minute both men are out of the water, you curtsy with a profuse apology and begin focusing your magic. After rigorous magic tutoring earlier today so you could finish early, you're a little bit close to being tapped out, but you should still have enough left to dry them off.

You breathe in slowly as you lightly touch their arms. On an exhale, the excess water pulls away from both of their bodies and clothes. You struggle with the hair, but it's better not to pull all the water at once. Carefully, you will it back to the fountain, your runes dutifully carrying it away.

"You have my deepest apologies," you say quickly as you pop up on your toes to reach Izuku's hair and try to work out all the water with your magic. "I hadn't thought that you'd be using me as a teleport point, or I'd have not been standing so close to the fountain! In just a moment longer I'll have you cleaned up, so please hold still."

Izuku is silent as your fingertips brush his scalp, his eyes fluttering shut as you focus on the water. Frowning, you bring another hand up to assist you. His hair's so thick, pulling the water from it is nothing short of a struggle. Meanwhile, Eijirou focuses on helping the other knight dry his own hair.

With the water finally obeying you and pulling away from his curly locks, you have the moment to realize just how soft Izuku's hair is. It looks more like a mop than anything from a distance, but now, you feel almost like you're petting a kitten, a sensation only furthered by the fact that he's literally pressing his head into your hand. You honestly don't doubt that he'd be purring if he could.

Once you're properly done drying him off with a little magic, you remove one hand from his head to stifle your giggle. The other lingers in his hair just a moment. "Sorry, you have really soft hair. Did I miss any spots?"

You're careful to look him over for any wet spots on his clothes. His hair is back to its usual fluffy mess, causing you to wonder how much time his attendants must spend trying to tame it on a daily basis. When you're both satisfied that he's dry, you quickly pull the rest of the water out of his knight's hair and return all of it to the fountain.

"I really do feel the need to apologize again for that. I thought to pull your runes away from the water, but..."

Izuku shakes his head with a smile. "No, really, it's all right! I should have told you ahead of time that we'd be using you as the anchor point for our teleport. We must have startled you."

"Perhaps a bit, but once I realized it was you I was reassured!" You shoot him your best grin. "Are you two ready? I can go inquire as to when the dinner will be ready before announcing your arrival, if you'd like."

"Ah, yes, please," Izuku stammers. "I wouldn't want to rush your chefs, however—"

Izuku's cut off by the sudden swirl of familiar teleport runes in front of you. The smell hits your nose before you recognize the inky blue, and you crinkle your nose in distaste at the smell of seaweed. Your father's runes. What materializes isn't him, but a simple note, not even written in his own handwriting: Whenever Prince Izuku arrives, dinner is ready and waiting.

You smile. "Ah! Perfect!" You carefully stick out your tongue, pulling forth just enough magic to pull off your favorite new trick: teleporting just enough ink to a page to write without a pen. Izuku just arrived. I'll escort him to the dining hall.

You send back the note with a wave of your hand. "My father says that dinner is already prepared for whenever you arrive, my prince." You say the last two words in a playful tone, grinning at him mischievously and offering one arm to him. "If it pleases his highness, I'd be honored to escort you to dinner."

He chuckles, looping his arm through yours. "By all means, lead the way, m-my dear."

You giggle as you lead him out of the gardens. "You were so close to a smooth delivery there."

Izuku rubs the back of his neck with his opposite hand, blushing lightly. "S-sorry. I'll do better next time."

"I think it's endearing, actually," you comment, hiding a laugh behind your hand when he lets out a choked noise in response. "Only change if you want to, my prince."

"H-hey! Who's courting who, here?" he whines desperately, hiding his face. You toss your head back in a laugh. "Oh, but that actually reminds me!"

Izuku stops suddenly, turning to you and producing a single sprig of forsythia. He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, and quickly pins it in place with the yellow blooms. "There. They suit you, Princess."

Your cheeks tinge pink at the sudden gift, worsened by the way he smiles and laughs lightly at your expression. "There, now I'm not the only one blushing."

With that, he pats your cheek, turns, and heads toward the door, opening it for you with sparkling eyes.

"Wh—hey! I'm supposed to be the one escorting you, you little—" With an indignant squawk, you scamper after your fiancé, cheeks still burning red.

Forsythia symbolizes anticipation.

"So, Prince Izuku," your mother says, carefully setting down her soup spoon to peer across the table at your fiancé. "My daughter tells us that you wished to speak to us?"

Izuku's calm and collected as he sets down his own spoon and swallows his food. When he's ready, he opens his mouth and speaks in even, princely tones that don't suit the Izuku you've come to know through his letters. You suppose this means that he's in 'Prince mode'. "Yes, that's correct, your majesty."

Your mother wrinkles her nose in distaste, waving her hand in front of her face as if she's smelled something unpleasant. "Oh, please, dear. If you're marrying my daughter, I'd rather you treat me like family."

"Oh, of course, ma'am. I didn't intend to offend you. I was surprised, actually, that you allow [name]—I mean the princess to refer to you so directly. My father insists on being addressed by his title at all times, no matter who is speaking to him, so I assumed you'd be the same..."

Your mother laughs. "No, nothing so strict. There are plenty of ways to command respect without the sort of iron fist King Hisashi rules with, if you don't mind my saying."

"Mother," you hiss. "Please refrain from insulting Izuku's father in front of him."

"Oh, no, it's all right, [name]," Izuku says. "I know my father isn't exactly... popular when it comes to others' opinions of him. It's refreshing to be far enough from his influence that I'm actually made aware of it, however."

Your father speaks, the first time since the two of you entered the room to eat. "You never answered the question, Prince."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at how overtly protective he's acting. Moons, he's the one who arranged your engagement to Izuku!

Izuku swallows, and from your proximity, you can see him reigning in his stutter to answer. "...yes. My apologies. I wanted to ask if you'd grant your permission to allow your daughter to accompany me on my seasonal trip through my father's kingdom. My father has historically insisted on these trips to encourage my growth into my role as heir to the kingdom and, hopefully, to build a sensible rapport with my people before I take the throne myself. Since Her Highness and I are to be wedded this year, my father has agreed that it would be ideal for her to join me, so that we might grow closer and our people might learn her face before the wedding occurs. And I, personally, would love to have her company on this excursion."

Your father eyes you with a raised eyebrow. "I assume your betrothed spoke with you about this ahead of time, [name]?"

You nod. "Yes, father. We spoke about it briefly through letters, though I haven't yet requested the full details."

"How many guards typically accompany you on these excursions, Prince?" your mother asks, a hint of interest in her voice.

"It varies depending both on time of year and the prevailing public opinion, but there's always at least four. I'm fairly proficient in combat, and the guards chosen to accompany are all those whom I trust and have been chosen through several combat trials to determine their ability to provide adequate protections. We try to keep the detail low, to prevent from straining resources for travel and not draw too much attention during my travels. If necessary, I'm sure my father would be happy to increase the numbers to ensure your daughter's safety."

"My daughter doesn't know her way around a sword," your father says darkly. (Patently false, but he doesn't need to know about your habit of watching the guards during their training when you have the time, or the fact that Eijirou is more than happy to show you your way around a blade when he accompanies you about the castle.) "If I allow this little excursion, it will be your head if she doesn't return to me unharmed."

"Father, please don't threaten my fiancé," you groan. "I am capable enough with both offensive and defensive magic to defend myself—"

"[name]," he says sharply, not sparing you a glance. "The men are speaking."

Wounded, you snap your mouth shut and return to your food in silence, keeping a trained ear on their conversation and an eye on Izuku, who seems to have gone stock-still at how you've just been addressed.

"Of course, your Majesty," Izuku says, voice strained. "I would never dream of allowing harm to come to her."

A tense silence falls over the room, until finally, it's broken. "The excursion would be followed by a week's stay in the royal palace, if your Majesties and her Highness are all in accordance. I proposed this to my father as a way to allow her Highness to meet with my family and acclimatize to the palace, rather than merely the surrounding kingdom." Izuku's knuckles are white as he grips his spoon.

"I'd prefer to speak with you about this matter in private, Prince," your father says through gritted teeth. You wither under the atmosphere, eyes glued carefully to Izuku as he barely conceals a glare in response.

You're suddenly regretting all the anticipation you'd had for this meal.

"Meet me in the palace gardens before you leave," you'd whispered in Izuku's ear as he left the room at the end of dinner. He nodded then, before following your father to his study with Kacchan in tow.

Your father is an imposing man when he wants to be. Izuku has to remind himself to stand firm, to not give off a moment's glimpse of weakness to the man standing across the room from him.

"If I'm being honest, I'd hoped that the son of the infamous King Hisashi would have been a bit more like his father," the man says, hands folded behind his back. He lets out a sigh, as if it's somehow inconvenient for him that Izuku doesn't demand fear from others or threaten another's life or livelihood at the smallest slight.

Yeah, I get that a lot, Izuku wants to say. Instead, he simply nods. "I see."

"It is not unappealing, per se, for my daughter to marry someone like you," he continues, "but it would be ideal if you could properly set her into her role. She plays her part well, but my daughter is always pushing. She treads the line of her limits, as you saw when she spoke out of turn earlier."

"I'd have to disagree, your Majesty. I don't think [name] was out of line at all," Izuku says firmly, surprising even himself. "I don't know enough about her skills in combat well enough to properly defend them, but if she felt the need to stand up for herself, then I'm glad she acted upon it. What's the point in living if she's to be a quiet little doll who ‘stays in line’?"

Your father doesn't turn his head to look at Izuku, sighing yet again. "I don't think we'll ever see eye-to-eye on this matter. Perhaps it's best if we simply–"

"Did you want to speak further about the excursion?" Izuku interrupts coldly. "I'd be happy to give more details if you have any concerns, but my father would be upset if I returned without a proper decision. He's a busy man, as I'm certain you know, and preparations can't effectively be made if we don't know how many will be attending."

"...color me impressed, Prince Izuku," your father says. "I wasn't aware you had a spine."

"I find it more sound to not play all my cards at once, your Majesty."

"[name] may accompany you for your little trip. Her personal knight—I'm sure you're acquainted—will accompany her. Let me be clear that I was serious about your head should she not return."

"I was serious when I said that I wouldn't dream of letting her come to harm." Izuku's gaze is challenging as he meets the man's eyes.

Your father finally looks Izuku in the eye, one eyebrow raised. "See to it that you don't, your highness."

Taglist: @tooloudarts @zylith-imagines-and-fics

#my fics #bnha x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #deku x reader #fantasy au bnha #prince!izuku #princezuku #bnha royalty au #floriography fic #ooh look at me a chapter that's only 3k words

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

Text

Umm, I accidentally deleted the request for this while moving it to my inbox, so here it is. (Also this is like, four months old).

I’m gonna rec this fic which is super well written and adorable

Steve is ftm. (Personally, I’m not a big fan of mpreg unless it’s like, biologically plausible 🤷‍♀️)

Under the cut bc it’s long and there’s a little bit of smut.

Billy’s hands were shaking as he raced out of the house.

He had a bag slung over one shoulder, had already put two others in the Camaro.

His dad had gone in hard today. Three days after Billy graduated high school and he’s already calling him a deadbeat, a fuck up. Telling him to get a job like he hasn’t worked every summer and most weekends since he was fourteen.

He lit a cigarette as he slid into the driver’s seat.

He was gonna make one stop on the way outta town.

Steve had given Billy a spare key months ago, after he was tired of always having to go downstairs and answer the door.

He liked it when Billy just made his way up, started kissing whatever skin was already exposed and asking Steve if he’s wet.

Tonight, Steve thought, was no different.

Billy was kissing up his calf, mouthing along his knee, a few fingers creeping up the leg of his shorts.

Billy was the best sex he’s ever had. Not a lot of gay guys will go down on Steve, some won’t even fuck him. He had been real hesitant to tell Billy, start having regular sex with his best friend, because he didn’t think Billy would want anything to do with him when he knew what he was bringing to the table.

But Billy had told him not to be an idiot, ate him out, and pounded him into the mattress.

And Steve was in love.

So he let Billy fuck him whenever he pleased, because at least Billy was giving him the time of day, at least he was getting some.

He opened his eyes, smiling lazily down at Billy.

“‘Time is it?”

“Almost two.” Billy was curling two fingers into his waistband, slowly pulling down his shorts, like maybe Steve wouldn’t notice.

Steve lifted his hips, and Billy whipped off his shorts, diving right in for his pussy.

He ate him out with the same fervor he did everything. Making all these gross slurping sounds, sucking on Steve’s cock and shoving his tongue inside him.

He made Steve cum twice on his face, as was the norm, before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and getting right to business.

He fucked Steve like he was mad at him.

He often did. And Steve knew he wasn’t mad at him, moreso mad at the other him, the him that’s ruined Billy’s life since before he was even born.

Steve wasn’t as dumb as everyone thought. Knew that when Billy snuck into his bedroom at odd hours of the night and absolutely ravished him, something bad had happened with his dad.

So when Billy finally rolled off of him, and lit a cigarette, Steve knew better than to ask.

“I’m leaving.” Steve just hummed at him. Billy sometimes stuck around after sex.

But Billy didn’t move.

“Like, leaving Hawkins.” Steve just hummed again. Billy talked a lot about leaving Hawkins. Steve had always secretly dreamed of running away with him.

Billy just studied his face in the dark, stubbing out his cigarette and rolling over to hols Steve close to his chest.

Steve closed his eyes, let himself pretend.

Pretend that Billy loved him back.

He woke up to rustling, Billy getting dressed to leave as weak sunlight began to trickle through his curtains.

“Oh shit, didn’t mean to wake you.”

He smiled lazily at Billy.

“You comin’ back over tonight?” Billy looked stiff.

“Probably not. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yeah. Later.” Billy was sitting on the end of his bed, had just finished tying on his boots.

And then he moved, quick as a flash to kiss Steve softly before he was thundering down the stairs.

Steve was just falling asleep as the Camaro roared away.

Billy had skipped town that night.

And Steve never forgave himself.

Steve was leaning over the counter, his head pressed into the cool top of it.

“I threw up all last week, and I just feel like shit.” He had been whining to Robin practically all morning at Family Video.

“Do you think you have the flu?”

“I don’t know, Rob. I mean, my stomach hurts a lot, but like, it feels like I’m just having awful cramps.”

“Are you on your period?”

“Nah. Don’t get it very often with the hormones anymore.”

“Normally I’d suggest pregnancy, but I know you’re in a bit of a dry spell.” He rolled slightly to look darkly at her. “Still no word of Billy?”

“No. The one person in Hawkins that isn’t too transphobic to fuck me, and he skips town.” Steve sighed. “I should’ve known, too. He was being super weird that night.”

“Whatever. When you and I skip town, we’ll have the time of our damn lives, and get you laid.” He laughed softly.

“I’m just gonna go to the doctor this weekend. Get a full physical.”

“Let me know the verdict at and I can come over with some medicine, if you need.”

“Thanks, Rob.”

Steve was lying back on the stiff exam table.

He had already given blood and urine samples, and was just waiting for the doctor to tell him what the fuck was wrong with him.

Sometimes his hormones had to be adjusted, and caused all sorts of weird shit to go haywire in his body.

Dr. Mauch was a kind woman, always been pleasant and accepting of Steve, even referred him to an endocrinologist for his hormones.

She didn’t smile when she came in, though. Just sat down at her stool.

“I’m going to go out a limb here and say that this is not news you’ll be happy about hearing.”

Steve felt his heart drop to his stomach.

“You’re pregnant.”

He blinked.

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. But you most definitely are.”

“But, but I’m on blockers, and testosterone, and I haven’t had sex in months.”

“I’d say about six months.” His mouth was dry. Billy had left in late May. About six months ago. “And being on hormones is not an effective method of birth control. Some men still get pregnant after taking them.”

“I’m not, I don’t look pregnant.”

“Some people don’t really show their pregnancy. My sister was rail thin the entire time, had a perfectly healthy baby girl. It’s all about your body type.”

“So, so you’re telling me, that I’m six months fucking pregnant.”

“Yes.” He slumped back onto the exam table.

“What are, what are my options?”

“Well, unfortunately, not many. Abortions are only legal in Indiana up to 20 weeks, or five months, or unless the person pregnant is facing severely compromised physical health. There’s always adoption.”

“No one’s gonna want a baby from a trans guy.” She pursed her lips.

“I think that’s a harsh statement. Many people are desperate for babies.” Steve just stared at her.

“So, if I have to take it to term, should I like, go off my hormones.” His stomach gave a lurch at the idea.

“I would recommend it. There’s very little research one pregnancy in transgender individuals. We really don’t know how hormones can affect the baby.” Steve sighed. “I would say, get in with an OB/GYN. I can recommend a few I know and send them your medical history. Your name change and hormone therapy is part of all of it, so hopefully they will be kind.” Steve sighed.

“Thank you, Doc. I really appreciate it.”

“I’m sorry for the disappointing news.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” She gave him a copy of their appointment notes, a list of OB/GYNs for him to research, and a hug before she left.

He drove home slowly, feeling exhausted, like the weight of the fucking world was on his shoulders.

He got home to find Robin sitting on his front porch, her nose buried in a book, a pizza box sitting next to her.

She looked up at him, and he burst into tears.

“Look, Max, if he contacts you in any way, tell him to call Steve, okay? It’s important.” Robin was yammering to Max on the phone, trying to get a way to contact Billy.

Steve was laying on the couch, had his shirt rucked up over his stomach, pushing it out and sucking it in, trying to see any change in his body.

“Just give him Steve’s phone number and tell him he’s an asshole.” She hung up the phone, perching on the armrest at Steve’s feet.

“She know where he is?”

“No. She said he ran off and hasn’t contacted her at all. She didn’t even know he was leaving.” She slid onto the couch, let Steve put his feet on her lap. “You think he’d come back? If he knew?”

“I don’t know. I’m not really asking him to. I mean, I don’t think I’m in a place to take care of it, but I kinda just want him to know it exists. Like, I think he deserves that.”

“I get it.” Her voice was soft. She watched Steve stare at his tummy some more. “I’m sorry. I’m sure this is just, dysphoria out the wazoo.” Steve huffed a laugh.

“I don’t think it’s really hit me yet. I think ‘cause I’m not showing. I don’t look pregnant, so how can I be pregnant, you know?” He sighed tugging down his shirt. “Going to the doctor’s gonna be a damn nightmare, though. They’re too used to dealing with women. It’s gonna suck.”

Steve was right.

Even though his primary care doctor had sent his medical history, he still got deadnamed and misgendered at reception, and intake, and by the nurse, and the doctor when she finally arrived.

They gave him a pelvic exam, getting him in for a sonogram as well.

And as the doctor was moving the imagining wand around on his tummy, and he heard the heartbeat for the first time, something caved inside of him.

A baby. He was having a baby.

And part of him, a really fucking big part of him, was starting to love it.

His parents were home for four days.

And Steve had waited for the final day of their homesteading to tell them.

He’s glad he did.

Diner was as quiet as always, and Steve had nearly choked on the words.

“I’m pregnant.”

His father had gotten out his wallet, asked how much an abortion costs.

“I’m too far along for that. Nowhere will legally do it.”

His mother had just stared at him. His father asked how far along he was.

“Close to seven months. I didn’t even know until like, a week and a half ago.”

And his father had stood up, and the yelling began.

“I can’t believe you. You kick up this huge fuss, make us change your name, and the way we refer to you, go around telling everyone your a boy, and you get pregnant like the little slut you are.”

And he had told Steve to back his shit, told him he was not welcome in my house anymore.

And Steve didn’t have a lot of shit he cared about, the clothes he liked fit in one duffel bag.

His mother didn’t look at him as he left.

He had called Mrs. Henderson from a payphone.

Nobody else could give him a ride anymore, and he wasn’t expecting her to drop everything and drive him somewhere, but she had freaked out at the words kicked out and for getting pregnant, and told him to stay where he is.

She was there with a tight hug and a travel mug of honey lemon tea within twenty minutes.

Steve had asked for a ride to a youth shelter he had read about, but she shook her head, said you’re coming to live with me and Dusty and Steve had cried in her passenger seat, and again in her guest bedroom.

Steve groaned.

He had finally begun showing, just a little bit out a mound near his belly button.

But he felt like shit, had taken to spending most days in bed.

He bat away whoever was shaking him.

“Go away.”

“Steve, it’s Max.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“I found Billy, you asshole. I have his address.” Steve sat bolt up straight.

“You, where is he?”

“Boston. He went east, for some reason. But he sent me a letter, out of the blue, and I told him you had something important to say, but he said he doesn’t have a phone.” She handed him a slip of paper.

“Thanks, Max.” He gave her a weak smile, found her chewing her lip.

“Is he the father? The other father, I mean.” He had told the party about the pregnancy, figured rumors would begin spreading soon enough.

“Yeah. He’s the other father.”

“He wouldn’t have ditched you. If he’d known.”

“I know.”

“He’s not like that.”

“I know.” She stared him down. He kept his face open, honest.

“Are you gonna write to him?”

“Yeah. I just, I don’t really know what to say.”

“Just keep it simple. Tell him he’s got a kid. Let him choose what he wants.”

It took Steve almost a month to draft a letter.

He didn’t really know what to say.

He settled on the bare minimum.

I’m pregnant. And it is most definitely, without a doubt, yours. I’m not expecting anything from you. I don’t want money, or for you to move back to Hawkins. I just thought you deserve to know about your kid.

He read the letter about three times, one hand pressed delicately to his little bump.

I’ve decided to keep the baby. I’m going to raise them. You’re welcome to meet them, and be in their life if you choose, but if not, I’m not going to hold it against you.

He sealed the envelope, leaving it on his nightstand.

And then his contractions started.

He didn’t get around to sending it.

Claudia was the only person in the room with him when he gave birth.

She held his hand the whole time, coached him through his breathing.

And when his son was born, she pet his head, told Steve how beautiful he is.

Steve was slumped face down on the bed.

He had just gotten Oliver down, calmed him down enough for him to finally sleep.

He rolled over, scrubbing a hand down his face.

He had barely slept all week. But Oliver had smiled at him for the first time yesterday.

He turned to lay on his side, zeroing in on the envelope on his nightstand.

He sat up quickly.

Fuck. He needed to send that letter.

He didn’t bother thinking about it, just wrapped his sweater tighter around himself, and hurried to the mailbox. He put the little flag up, leaving the letter in the little inner clasp.

He looked back down at Oliver, running one finger over his fuzzy little head.

He didn’t hear from Billy for three weeks.

He knew the letter wouldn’t take more than a few days to get to him, and it would take just as long for Billy to get him back.

He had pushed Billy out of his mind, figured if he wanted to be part of Oliver’s life, he had given him enough of a chance to be.

He put on a thick sweatshirt, had taken to wearing baggy tops to hide his tits, too sore, too big to bind anymore. Oliver squealed at him when he leaned against the side of his crib, reaching out for him.

He strapped him into his stroller to take him on a walk, stopped dead in the doorway.

Billy fucking Hargrove was in the driveway, standing next to the Camaro like he had just gotten out of it.

His eyes were wide, trailing from Steve, to Oliver, and back again.

“Is that my kid?” Billy’s hair was shorter than when he had left.

“Oliver. His name is Oliver.” Billy stepped around the car.

“Can I, can I see him?” Steve brought the stroller down the driveway, taking Oliver out of the stroller.

Billy held him like he was made of gold.

“He’s beautiful.”

“I think he looks a lot like you.” Billy smiled at him.

“Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here, I was waiting for my semester to end.”

“It’s okay. I just, you know. Thought you deserved to know about him.” Billy stared at Oliver, his smile going soft as Oliver squealed, tugging on Billy’s hair.

“I want to be in his life. If that’s okay?”

“Of course it is. He’s your son too.” Billy brushed his thumb down Oliver’s nose.

“Thank you, Steve. And I’m, I’m sorry about how I left. I was going to-” he cut himself off, looking back at Oliver. “I was gonna ask you to come with me. Chickened out last minute.”

Steve’s heart was banging against his rips.

“I would’ve gone with you. Used to dream about running away with you.” Oliver started getting fussy, making disgruntled little huffs. Billy passed him back to Steve. “I was in love with you. You know that?”

“Yeah, I knew that. Was to chicken shit to do anything about it.” Billy was still looking at Oliver, the way he nestled into Steve’s neck. “He loves you a lot.”

“It’s been the two of us for awhile.”

“You’re a good dad. Always kinda figured you would be, though.” Billy took another breath. “You know, you could’ve told me sooner. I would’ve come back.”

“I don’t want you to, to change you life. Don’t quit school, or something.”

“Steve, I got a kid. I want to change my life for him. For, for you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“No never did. I’m choosing this. I’m choosing my family.” Steve hesitated.

“Would you like to come in? Have some breakfast? You could give Oliver his bottle, If you wanted.” Billy’s eyes lit up.

“I’d like that.”

#kinda open ended but this shit was getting LONG #yikes writes #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble #mpreg #trans!steve harrington #trans!steve #trans steve #trans steve harrington

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wavesofinkdrops · 3 years

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FenHawke (Dragon Age), Rated: M

"Elves’ ears are the target of much derision from people across Thedas − Fenris knows that. So it's surprising to him when Hawke, on the other hand, can only find delight in them."

A/N: Sorry for the extensive notes at the start, this does need to be said first! Okay so, number one: HELLO! It's been forever, I know, I haven't written fic in at least over a year, maybe more. So if you're still here, welcome back! If you're new to my works, I hope you enjoy any you find! Now for a first disclaimer: I have not played a single Dragon Age game. I hope there's no glaring mistakes in plot or characters because of this, though. Small (more serious) disclaimer on the actual content of this fic. I'm fully aware that much of the comments and discrimination faced by elves in DA is linked to what indigenous peoples face. I am not Native American, and I am not North American in general. I have read up on and stayed up-to-date on indigenous politics relevant to me as well as those of the States, but I can't guarantee my discussion of the themes involved is perfect. I'm not going into my personal identity, so please do not ask about that. If there is something I could have dealt with better or differently, please let me know! I'm happy to grow, but I will not take personal questions. I've tried to deal with the topic in a way that is respectful, with Fenris reclaiming features he's been shamed for his entire life. At the end of the day, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing this!

Warnings: Mentions racist comments, internalised racism, and some mildly suggestive content. Overall, though, this is fluff and learning self-acceptance. Without further ado, enjoy!

Fenris knows humans don’t like elves’ ears. They consider them strange. Unnatural. It’s likely why all of the insults and slurs aimed towards them usually have something to do with said ears. He’s heard all of them in all their forms, at this point, so they really don’t phase him—he’s learned to ignore them.

He’s learned to accept he will never be considered on the same level as humans because of such a small feature as his ears. He’s learned all of it over years of living in Tevinter as a slave, and even later as things he’s had to face across the rest of Thedas. Just because Tevinter is the only place where slavery is openly admitted and accepted hasn’t meant it’s much better elsewhere.

And Fenris thinks Hawke has noticed it. He wouldn’t necessarily call it embarrassment over them, they’re just perhaps not his favourite part of himself. They’re not what he wants others to notice first about him, but of course they do. But Hawke has noticed this resignation, this quiet shame.

Hawke’s persistence in ensuring Fenris knows just how much he loves his ears is thus entirely surprising.

That’s why he’s confused when they’re lying in bed and Hawke traces the pad of his thumb across the shell of Fenris’ ear. His movements are gentle, and when Fenris looks at him the only thing he can see is easiest described as love. There’s a small, thoughtful—almost lost—smile on Hawke’s face, his eyes as if admiring instead of disparaging or even curious. Fenris lets him.

That’s when another finger accidentally tickles behind his ear, and Fenris lets out a small noise. Hawke’s eyes widen.

“They do that?”

Fenris furrows his brows in confusion. “Do what?”

“Your ears just… flicked.”

Fenris blinks at him. “Yes, sometimes they do that.”

At that, Hawke’s face lights up with a wonderful smile. Fenris adores that smile—it’s one he sees whenever Hawke has found something entirely delightful. Usually, though Fenris would never admit he noticed it since the thought flusters him, it’s a smile always directed at Fenris.

“Can I do it again?” Hawke asks quietly, now propped up on an elbow, his hand cupping Fenris’ jaw.

Fenris can’t help it when some of his bafflement slips into his words. “Yes?”

It’s not long before Hawke’s fingers are behind his ear, and gently move against the skin. It lightly taps against a nerve, and Fenris’ ears flick again. “Maker…” Hawke whispers. Before Fenris can ask what Hawke means, Hawke’s gathered him into his arms again and pulled him against his chest. “And just when I thought you couldn’t get more perfect.”

Fenris doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just remains quiet. He’s too confused to even notice the blush that spread on his cheeks.

———

It’s another while before there’s another “incident” with his ears. Calling it an incident is perhaps a bit too ominous, but Fenris isn’t too sure what else to call it. So incident it remains.

He’s reading a book, trying to wade through every slow and difficult word, but refusing to back down until he’s finished the chapter. He’s reading out loud to Hawke, which despite the initial embarrassment of stumbling over every word, becomes easier with every step. Voicing the letters helps give them more life.

Hawke suddenly interrupts him. “Fenris.”

Fenris looks up in confusion, certain he’s made a mistake somewhere. Or perhaps Hawke is tired out for the evening. After all, he’s read this children’s story twice already, at least until they find another book for him to read through.

Hawke just smiles, that soft, unbearable smile, one Fenris doesn’t know what he’s meant to do with. “You’re beautiful when you concentrate.”

That takes Fenris by surprise. It seems only to delight Hawke further as he sits up, his smile brightening further.

“Pardon?”

“You’re stunning when you concentrate.” Hawke reaches over, taking a hand between his own. “The way your brow furrows, your nose lightly scrunches when you make a mistake, the determination in your gaze?” Fenris stays silent, not knowing what to say to that. “And even moreso when compliments take you by surprise. Your ears perk up, as if you just… want to pay attention to every second of every word you’re being told. And then they droop gently, when you’re blushing.”

“I hardly blush,” Fenris insists, though the certainty of the words falters even in his own ears.

Hawke kisses the inside of his wrist, a motion that Fenris will never tire of. “None of this is a bad thing. They’re all parts of you—things I love about you. All of them.”

Fenris gives a small huff, accompanies it with an unconvinced smile. “Even my ears?”

Hawke’s unabashed honesty makes the breath catch in his throat. “They’re one of the best parts of you.”

Fenris finds he has no words, after that.

———

They’re in bed again, Hawke presses him deeper into the mattress. The dinner they shared with the others got languid, so they excused themselves and instead headed to a more secluded location to continue the game that had been going on between Hawke’s hand and Fenris’ thigh under the table for the better part of an hour. So now, Hawke’s mouth leaves his own, peppering kisses across his jaw, his cheek and—

Fenris moans, louder than he expects—louder than he’s ever heard himself moan. His hand comes to cover his mouth, his cheeks warm from surprise and arousal. Hawke draws back, a wolfish grin on his face. With any more clarity of mind, Fenris might’ve thought it ironic that it’s Hawke who plays the wolf.

“I’m sorry, you caught me by surprise—” Fenris starts, hand moving from his mouth to cup Hawke’s jaw in an apologetic motion.

Hawke shakes his head. “I don’t want you to apologise, Fenris.” He presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “I’ve never seen you just… let go like that. If you enjoy yourself, why not let yourself do that?”

Fenris thinks about it for a second, but can’t come up with a reasoning. “Neighbours?” was the half-hearted attempt he gave it.

Hawke laughs, a deep rumble in his chest. “Be as loud as you’d like, Fenris, that’s what we’re here for.”

Hawke moves back in, slowly but gently teasing the shell of Fenris’ ear with kisses, before actually lightly nipping at it. Fenris lets a whimper escape at that, the motion making him incredibly aroused. Hawke continues, drawing out various noises as he teases and kisses and bites at his ear, his neck, his jaw. It goes on forever, and Fenris is almost begging him by the time they get to the main act.

Well, maybe he can yet be convinced his ears aren’t awful.

———

He’s tempted to go about it with a fork and a wall. Somewhere, sometime he’d heard that’s an effective enough method to pierce another’s ear. On the other hand, Anders informs him it’s inadvisable, which normally would only have encouraged him. But when Anders describes the potential failures of the plan he takes his suggestion to do it the proper way.

So instead he finds himself sitting on a kitchen stool, Anders passing a needle through a sterilising flame. He’s never been a fan of needles, and it probably has something to do with the ritual that branded him with lyrium, despite his few memories of the event. Anders tells him to lean his head, and Fenris does. With no warning, the needle pierces through the lobe, and Fenris hisses—though he admits that Anders’ lack of warning means it’s over before it really even began. Isabela walks in, a pouch in hand.

“Found some jewellery for the pretty elf,” she announces with a grin, dropping the pouch on the table. “All of them polished and primped and cleaned, don’t worry,” she assures Anders at his look of concern.

“Well, that’s good. Could you pass me a suitable earring, then?” She does, and Anders finishes sanitising the piercing before inserting it.

Anders steps back. “It doesn’t look half-bad, I’ll admit.”

Fenris resists the urge to make a snide remark at Anders, remembering he’s still helping him. He stands, and goes to the small mirror they brought over for him to check his appearance in. The small gold ring in his ear looks… really good, even if he admits so himself. It almost feels… well, like he’s taking back something he’s been taught to dislike.

And hoping that Hawke will appreciate it too makes it all the better.

He turns to Anders again. “Next one.”

Anders raises an unconvinced eyebrow. “We already did one, is that not enough for the day?”

Fenris returns to the stool, shaking his head. “I wanted two or three, in total, so hopefully I can count on you to finish the job. That way I don’t have to ask Isabela to pick up a fork and stab my ear with it. I heard it works—”

“Alright, alright, I do not want to hear Hawke’s rage if he finds out I let you do that. I’ll do two more, then. And we hope they don’t all get infected at the same time.”

“The only reason I’m even here, mage, is because the only thing I just about trust you for is being good with medicine.”

It’s Anders who rolls his eyes, Isabela eyeing the banter in amusement. Anders continues with the process, each time cleaning and sterilising and Fenris hissing with lack of preparedness. In the end, there’s a golden ring at his lobe and one near the tip of his ear, next to a small glittering stone. A chain links from the stone to the lower ring, and altogether, for the first time in his life he finds himself liking how his ear looks.

He can’t wait for Hawke to return.

———

It’s perhaps another two weeks before Hawke returns, and the piercings have begun healing well already. Anders, for all his faults, was a decent healer.

Fenris is there to greet Hawke when he comes back from one mission or another, but he’s taken out the earrings for now. Instead, Hawke kisses him and Fenris welcomes him back, before quietly telling him to prepare for a surprise that evening.

Hawke’s intrigue is obvious on his face, and Fenris just leaves it at that before heading to his own tasks and business. Before long, dusk washes over, and he heads to their bedroom to find where he put the jewellery. It’s only been a few hours since he took them out, but Anders had warned him not to keep them out too long for fear of the holes closing. He puts them back in, before sitting into the armchair in front of the large window, facing away such that when Hawke enters he won’t immediately see the ear in question.

Fenris hears the door to their room open, Hawke humming some tune as he walks in. There’s very little the man does quietly, though Fenris appreciates that—it’s difficult to spook someone when you can be heard coming from a mile away. He’s grateful for it, whether it’s a habit or he’s just picked up on doing it from noticing Fenris prefers it.

Hawke walks over to Fenris, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“So, what’s this mysterious surprise of yours?”

Fenris grins to himself, before standing and facing Hawke as he draws him into a gentle kiss. Then he smiles up at the mage, before drawing slightly back from his face, tilting his head just so that Hawke would immediately notice.

Hawke’s eyes drift to the golden ornaments, before widening and his hand coming up to feel the rings and chain there.

“You did this while I was away?”

Fenris hums. “I wanted to surprise you. You like them so much it’s almost contagious, and I wanted to do something to make them… look nice. Plus,” his grin turns mischievous, “I hear they can also assist other ways.”

Hawke laughs. “You… you are amazing and full of surprises, aren’t you?” He observes the jewellery some more, fingers flicking the chain and Fenris’ ear flicking in return.

“They’re still somewhat sensitive, so gentleness is advisable, but soon enough they’ll be fully healed.”

Hawke merely shakes his head, smiling broadly, drawing Fenris into a kiss. “I didn’t know you could get even more beautiful,” he whispers, tugging Fenris even closer than he already is. “And here you are, doing exactly that.”

“I’m glad you like them, then,” Fenris says softly, hands tracing Hawke’s shirt.

“And I’m glad you do, as well. I want to cherish every part of you until you come to love all of them.”

Fenris shakes his head but can’t help the way warmth spreads in his heart at those words. Perhaps Hawke knows already just how much it means to him. And if his intentions are any indication, perhaps he knows even better than Fenris did.

#fenhawke #fenris #hawke #dragon age #fanfic #my writing #character study #mentions of internalised and externalised racism #suggestive themes

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reidsexualwriting · 4 years

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Beard Kink (Hotch/Reader)

I've been binge-watching Criminal Minds for the past three weeks and all I can do is think about the fact that Hotch is no longer on the show. And I get teary-eyed just thinking about it. So here's some Hotch smut because I need it (and because Hotch with a beard has me feeling all kinds of ways). This has a lot of build-up, so I hope y'all don't mind a little bit of plot.

Title: Beard Kink Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader Rating: M/Explicit Words: 2538 Warnings: Smut. Language. The "sharing a bed" trope (I think it qualifies as a warning) for convenience sake. No Derek Morgan--possibly the saddest part of this fic. Unprotected sex--please be safe in real situations. Sir kink (can you even write a Hotch smut fic without it?). Aaron Hotchner with a beard.

When you walked into the bullpen, JJ greeted you with a bagel in her outstretched hand and a smile on her face. "Hey! We missed you so much!" You had been hit in your side by a stray bullet a few cases back and had to take some time off while it healed. Of course, the team had seen you since then. JJ and Prentiss brought meals by your house almost every week, Garcia brought all the candy she could fit in her purse on a given day, and Reid would bring you books to read. It was just good to be back on the job where you belonged.

You were the second person in the briefing room; Hotch was waiting at the table with a case file open. When you stepped in, he glanced up from the file and smiled fondly. "Y/N," he sighed, standing up and outstretching his hand. "It's so good to have you back." You took his hand in yours and shook firmly, finally getting a good look at him.

He had a beard. Not a Duck Dynasty beard or anything, but definitely not stubble. It was the perfect length for his features.

Immediately, for a nanosecond, all acceptable responses to the interaction left your brain only to be replaced by thoughts of what he would look like between your legs. You could practically feel his beard scraping your thighs.

You quickly regained your composure, and grinned. "It's great to be back! I'm so ready to get back to work." Your hands fell to your sides as the rest of the team walked in from the bullpen. While you waited for Garcia for the briefing, the team began to update you on all the cases they had worked in the time you had been gone.

Garcia walked into the room and stood in front of the screen. "Before I get into the absolutely horrible, disgusting, awful details of this case, I would like to extend a warm and fuzzy welcome to our wonderful Y/N," she quipped, tilting her head and smiling at you. "We missed you so much, sweetie." Her posture changed as she pulled up the case details. "Alright, now onto the nitty gritty of it all."

Garcia finished her briefing on the case, and you gathered your go-bag and headed to the plane. It was a serial killer in some small Minnesota town. In the air, the team was working on a preliminary profile when Hotch interrupted. "We're going to be sharing rooms for this case. JJ and Prentiss, you're together." He looked down at the notepad in his lap. "Reid and Rossi, you're in a room. And Y/N, you and I will be together."

When he said the two of you would be in the same room, you had mixed feelings. There was the sense of 'oh-shit-that's-my-boss', but the 'I've-definitely-imgained-this-since-I-started-working-with-him' feeling most definitely persisted, almost moreso than the former. You snuck a glance at him from your seat across the aisle and you could've sworn he was smirking. You looked away as he resumed the profile-building session.

When you landed in Minnesota, it was almost 6PM. The team checked in at the sheriff's office, the crime scene, and the coroner's office before heading back to the hotel on the outskirts of town. You received your room key first, so while Hotch remained in the lobby checking the rest of the team in you made your way to the room.

You noticed the single queen sized bed in the center of the room, but quickly dismissed any thoughts and fell backwards onto the bed. Even the short day you had was already exhausting, and you were ready to go to bed. When Hotch walked into the room, you were still lying on your back on the center of the bed, eyes closed.

"Is the bed that comfortable?" he asked. You shot up, your shoulders tensing up at his voice. "I was just messing with you," he explained, letting a small laugh escape.

You relaxed, letting your shoulders slump once again. "I'm just really tired. Turns out, getting shot takes a lot out of you."

He raised an eyebrow at the comment and sighed. "Would you like to shower? If you're that tired, you can have first go."

"Uh, no, I'm more of a morning shower gal," you explained. "I'm just gonna lie down. You can do whatever though. It won't keep me from sleeping."

He hesitated. "Alright. I'm going to take a shower tonight." He started making his way towards the bathroom door, but as he reached for the knob he turned once again to face you. "You haven't said anything about the one bed--are you sure you're okay with sharing? I can sleep on the couch."

"Oh, no," you responded. "It doesn't bother me at all. We're both adults. I'll probably be asleep before you even get out of the shower anyways." You chuckled.

"Alright," he affirmed. "I will talk to you in the morning." He stepped into the bathroom. When you heard the water running, you shucked off your blouse and pants in favor of a pair of shorts and a tank top. You debated on whether to wear a bra or not, but decided against it. After all, Hotch was your coworker and a close friend. You were not going to sacrifice comfort for fear that he would maybe see the outline of your nipple.

Surprisingly, you didn't fall asleep by the time he finished showering. When the water cut off, you were almost creeped out by the overwhelming silence in the room. Even more surprisingly, he had not brought a change of clothes into the bathroom with him; when he opened the door, your eyes were met with a shirtless Aaron Hotchner with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He looked at himself in the mirror with his brows furrowed and a hand on his jawline, seemingly inspecting his face. You silently thanked whoever was listening that he had decided not to shave.

He made his way out into the main room, which was dark save the light from the half-open bathroom door. He ruffled through his go-bag on the couch at the base of the bed before seemingly settling on something to sleep in. He didn't say anything to you, so he must have assumed you were asleep already. You weren't staring at him or anything; you were still facing the bathroom door. In your peripheral vision, however, you saw him shuck the towel off and swiftly pull a pair of boxer-briefs on.

Of course, in that light and from that angle, you couldn't truly see his form, but regardless, your breath caught in your throat. He pulled on a t-shirt and made his way to the opposite side of the bed where he slid under the covers.

You were sure you weren't getting to sleep soon, but you were just glad he was out of your vision. At least your thoughts weren't accompanied by the image anymore.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus on sleep. Hotch stirred in the bed. You held your breath when you felt him lean over your body. "The silence in this room is deafening. Don't you think, Y/N? I can hear your heart pounding." He put a hand on your upper arm, where goosebumps immediately formed. "I'm assuming you enjoyed the show I put on for you." You choked on a gasp. "Do you want to keep going?" he asked, the concern in his voice evident. You managed a nod. "I want you to say it. I want to make sure."

"Yes," you stated with surprising confidence. He gently tugged your arm to turn you to face him then placed his hand on your back. He had left the bathroom light on, so when you looked up into his eyes you could see his dilated pupils clearly. His hand travelled up your back and into your hair. He gently pulled your face to his in a heated kiss.

When he finally pulled back, he chuckled softly. "I have wanted to do that forever." Your hands moved to his waist where your fingers played at the hem of his shirt. "Take it off," he ordered.

"Yes sir," you replied obediently, pulling the shirt over his head. He groaned at your response and yanked your shirt off in one pull. As he surveyed your torso, you could tell he was trying his best to commit everything to memory. Just as you were about to say something else his lips latched around one of your nipples, drawing a gasp from you. He brought a hand up to fidget with your other nipple.

Your breathing grew labored as he continued to tease you. You dragged a hand up to the back of his head; you ran your fingers through his hair to praise him for his actions.

He pulled off your nipple with a 'pop' but immediately replaced his mouth with his other hand. "Just a quick question," he spoke. "You're okay to have sex right? Medically, I mean."

"Yes sir." He pinched your nipple hard on the word, eliciting a squeak from you. "My doctor cleared me for strenuous physical activity."

He smirked. "Good." He planted a quick kiss on your lips and sat up to kneel at your feet. He pulled your shorts and panties down, and you instinctively closed your legs. He gripped your thighs and pulled your legs apart once again. You felt exposed but still immensely turned on while he looked at your most intimate parts. The circles he rubbed into your thighs soothed you.

When he was satisfied, he moved one of his hands to your clit--first just ghosting over it then gently rubbing circles with his thumb. You sunk into the sheets and felt him looking up at you."I've barely touched you and you're already soaked." You could feel his breath on your thigh. "You really must have enjoyed the show I put on." He increased the pressure of his thumb. "I knew you would like the beard," he uttered. "I figured you would imagine how it would feel on your pussy. Am I right?"

"Yes," you admitted.

He stopped the circles and you whined. "Yes what?"

"Yes sir."

"Good girl," he approved, resuming his ministrations. "What do you want?"

"I want your mouth on me, sir," you whimpered. "Please sir."

He didn't say anything, just lowered his mouth onto your sex. As his tongue danced around your clit you gripped onto the sheets, trying to suppress your moans. "I want to hear you," he said between licks. "I want the whole team to hear you."

You didn't hold back any longer, whimpering and moaning every time his tongue swiped your sensitive bud. He alternated between holding your clit between his lips and the small kitten licks from before. At this point you were bucking up against him. "Sir, I'm gonna cum," you warned him.

"Cum all over my tongue," he encouraged. In just a few seconds you did just that, letting out a load groan as you fell over the edge. He eagerly lapped up all that you gave him and worked you through the high. When you finally recovered he was once again rubbing small circles into your thigh and you were left panting on the bed.

"You aren't even naked yet," you observed. You raised your head up to look at him. "That was amazing. But I still want more."

After you uttered those words, his underwear was off in seconds. He moved up the bed so that his dick was level with your eyes and looked down at you. You wrapped a hand around him, dragging the precum from the tip down the shaft. You began stroking up and down, watching his expression with hooded eyes. You licked the tip and watched as his head fell back, eyes closed and mouth open.

You licked a stripe from the base to the tip before taking him into your mouth. He let out a low moan. You took him in further until you had reached the base where you lingered. "Fuck," he hissed. "Your mouth feels good." You smiled around him and he tangled his fingers in your hair. Using the leverage, he guided your mouth up and down his length.

He pulled you off him gently. "I want you to ride me," he commanded. He reclined on the bed, his back supported by the pillows. You swung a leg over his hips and took his face in your hands. While you kissed him, he grabbed his length and slid it against your pussy teasingly.

You pulled back and stared into his eyes as you sunk down onto him. You both moaned in sync as you started to ride him. "You have no clue how many times I've imagined this," he whispered. He gripped your ass. "Watching you ride me." He landed a smack on your left cheek. "I want you to cum again. Use me to cum."

You desperately grinded on him with your arms wrapped around his neck. He brought his hands from your ass to your nipples once again. When he pinched both your nipples you cried out. You leaned into the crook of his shoulder and bit down on his neck, sure to leave a mark. You moaned into his shoulder as you came a second time, feeling overwhelmed. When you came down from the high you kissed him once again.

"Where do you want me to cum?" he asked you, rubbing your back.

"I'm on birth control, sir," you responded. "Wherever you want."

He pushed you off of him and flipped you over so you were on your hands and knees. Once again, he pushed into you. "You take me so well," he praised. "So beautiful." He gripped onto your hips for better leverage.

His thrusts got faster and stronger as he went. He continued sputtering praises while you moaned into the pillows. Every few thrusts, he would land a light slap on your ass.

His thrusts grew sloppy and you could tell he was nearing his edge. "I want you to cum, sir," you encouraged. "I want you to cum inside me." Your comments pushed him over the edge and he spilled inside you. He collapsed on top of you.

When he rode out his orgasm, he pulled out of you and hurried to the bathroom to grab a towel and cloth to clean up with. He gently wiped the two of you clean before falling next to you on the bed. "That was perfect," he uttered. "At least for me. I hope you enjoyed it."

"Sir, I think that was the best sex I have ever had." You put a hand on his cheek. "How did you know I liked your beard?"

"Well, while you were gone the team went out after a case; Garcia may have had a little too much to drink and told me you had a 'beard kink'".

"Oh my God--of course she would tell you." Even though you cursed Garcia, you knew you would have to text her later and thank her for disclosing your little secret.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner/reader #hotch x reader #hotch/reader #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds reader insert #rsw writes #smut #hotch smut #god DAMN i miss aaron hotchner

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goldeneyedgirl · 3 years

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TwiFicMas Day 8: Forgotten

Happy Day 8! I have been travelling all day, and plotting Forbidden Fics, so on with the show!

Today’s fic is an untitled riff on the concept of Alice being found in the woods of Forks not only having forgotten her entire life, but still human - her last solid memories are running from James. It was very much meant to be an exploration of Alice and Jasper relearning each other, and falling in love again - though it got quite dark and depressing at one point - and looking at how far Alice has come from her human years. She is absolutely unclear of the year she’s in, and whilst she has some memories of the asylum, she is also unaware of just how damaged she was before she was changed. I hope that all makes sense.

Onwards!

What does she remember?

That is a loaded question. Matron asks her that every morning, as if she is a small child, whenever she can manage to talk. Her mind is gossamer thin, and tattered from shock therapy. She doesn’t remember much, but she does remember that her name is… her name is… Alice, yes.

The waking dreams she has are an illness, a terrible one, and she is mad.

Her dearest friend is Eli, the orderly. He was special, and a good man. He looks after her.

That’s what she remembers. The hunter. Eli taking her away from the asylum, wrapped in his itchy, old coat that smelt like smoke and grass. She was cold and tired and so frightened for Eli, because he is old and the hunt was strong… but he hid her away and went off to defeat the hunter.

This Alice is not their Alice, that is clear.

She is undeniably human, and so frail that Carlisle must resist the urge to check her immediately into the closest hospital. She speaks quietly, wringing her hands nervously. She doesn’t make eye-contact.

For Jasper, all he can think is that her eyes are blue. Blue-grey, really, a colour that nearly matches a scarf she bought back in the 50s. She has faint freckles over her nose.

The Cullens are very kind to me, whilst Eli has gone. Dr Cullen seems to think that Eli and I will be living with them for now on; that does make sense, I suppose, since Dr Cullen is a doctor, and I am still very ill. They had a very nice bedroom to give me, and clothing, so Eli must have written them. And Mrs Cullen was very nice when the dress she gave me was far too short and it upset me. The second one was much better, though it was black and I am sure made me look as pale as a ghost.

Mrs Cullen has cooked for me, as well – the smells are awful to a vampire, and the rest of them vanish whenever she disappears into the kitchen. She is always asking me what I like to eat, and she looked so sad when I told her I didn’t know, because the food at the asylum was so awful.

I keep away from the others, like Eli warned me. Though, Miss Rosalie was so lovely, I couldn’t believe she was real. I… I think I had a doll like her once. Her husband was a giant of a man who reminded me of the orderlies at the asylum, who seemed nice enough, but I wasn’t getting too close.

The redheaded boy seemed to like watching me a lot, but refrained from talking much. He seemed to have a lot of friends, though, as when he did speak, he was always talking about ‘Bella’ and ‘Jacob’ and ‘Seth’ and ‘Leah’.

The young blond man did not seem to be pleased I was in the house, leaving the room anytime I entered it, and when he was forced to be in my presence, he glowered at me, as if I were the most unwelcome creature in the universe.

Perhaps it should have upset me, but I am used to such glares.

Dr Cullen insisted that I spend a lot of time resting quietly in my room, though he allowed me to sit in the garden for a little while each day, and there was a never-ending supply of books, which was wonderful. I spend a lot of time attempting to pen letters to Eli, though my hands were still quite shaky, and my handwriting abysmal. My drawings moreso. I cried about it a little, when I was in my room, but I should be very grateful – my alternative to this lovely place was death.

My bedroom remained a mystery. Mrs Cullen assured me that it was mine, and I adored everything about it – the way the light filled the room every morning, to the dandelion lamp on the nightstand, to the bed with the silk headboard and piles of pillows. Mrs Cullen was always worried I was cold, bringing me as many pillows and blankets as I wished for.

But, I wondered if perhaps this room wasn’t intended for me. Mrs Cullen had filled the dresser with my clothing, and apologised, explaining the closet was used as storage, and I shouldn’t go through it until she had some time to clear it out. I had peeked, just once, and found it full of boxes and clothing. The clothing! I had never seen so many dresses! Most of them had been terribly short, but there had been every colour and fabric. I couldn’t imagine leaving behind so many beautiful things.

There were spaces in the bookcase as well, as if several editions had been pulled out in a hurry.

And I had found a necklace that had been left on the window sill, behind the curtain – a thin silver chain, with a glass teardrop on the end. It was lovely, and clearly beloved – the initials had been rubbed off the clasp, as had the engraving around the setting.

I had simply left it on the dresser and never asked, even when it vanished without mention.

It wasn’t the only mystery. I had noticed that I was kept out of many of the rooms of the house – my meals were served to me on trays or in the dining room. I was allowed in the garden or in my room.

But who am I to criticise their hospitality? Perhaps they keep things in this house that are not fit for human eyes.

Today, a man arrived. A policeman, though his uniform was quite odd. He looked quite stern, and when Mrs Cullen went to greet him, I disappeared back to the dining room to finish my breakfast.

Mrs Cullen is determined to discover my ‘favourite’ foods at every meal; I don’t have the heart to tell her after the ‘soups’ and ‘porridges’ of the hospital, every food is my favourite. Today, it is eggs that are like little yellow clouds.

“Alice!” the policeman sees me there and he smiles, but looks confused for a moment.

My glass of orange juice slips from my fingers and all I can think is that he is looking for me, the hospital has searched for me and they will drag me back to that dark, dim little cell, and I’ll be without Eli this time.

I know I am crying and screaming, though it sounds quite feeble to my own ears, and Mrs Cullen is trying to calm me, and the policeman looks bewildered, and the redheaded boy – Edward – is there and trying to fix everything.

“She thinks Charlie is going to take her back,” he keeps saying. “Get Jasper down here to calm her down.”

I must look a fright, my hair has fallen around my face, and there is orange juice spilt all over my dress and Mrs Cullen’s floor and there is glass everywhere.

“Carlisle left some sedatives,” Miss Rosalie says finally, looking rather stunned. Everyone looks rather pained but finally Edward nods.

And then I am calm.

I slump to the floor, my arms wrapped around myself. I am still frightened, my heart pounding, but I am calm.

“Charlie is a friend,” Mrs Cullen is telling me soothingly, smoothing my hair from my face. “No one is going to take you anywhere you don’t want to go, we promise.”

The calm fades into grief, and I fling my arms around her neck and sob like a child and beg for someone to fetch Eli for me.

They sit me down in the lounge room, all of them watching me. Esme has an album in her lap, and looks so kind and worried. I keep checking my hair, to make sure it hasn’t come loose. It’s not really long enough to pin up well, and Miss Rosalie never pins hers up, but it feels right.

And then Dr Cullen speaks. His voice is gentle and sad and it takes a while for me to understand the words he is saying.

Eli is, most certainly, dead.

But so is the hunter, and his vile companions.

I don’t make a sound, but suddenly my cheeks are wet, and I am crying. Esme pulls me into her arms and rocks me.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m sure he was a good man,” she murmurs against my head, and ice and fire rip through my veins and Edward hisses at Esme and I pull away, my heart pounding.

I’m sure he was a good man.

“What did he look like?” I demand from Dr Cullen, my voice hard but still shaking. “What did Eli look like?”

Dr Cullen looks startled and Esme is realising her mistake and I am realising that no one here has ever met Eli before. That I was never entrusted to these vampires by him.

Edward is just shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Alice, but I never met Eli in person,” Dr Cullen says.

I let out a little moan, and wonder what comes next. A runaway girl in a borrowed dress.

Truly, how many times in my life shall I be left with nothing?

Perhaps I should have left the hunter to his meal and his pleasure. If I had known then what I do now, I would have.

My face is wet, and the collar of my sweater is sodden when I look up and spy a pair of shoes under the little console table in the entrance. They are small, small enough for me, and black, with a shiny gold toe. Worn, too, and I wonder whose they are. I wonder if that is why they took me in, to replace the ghost girl who left behind my bedroom and a closet full of clothing.

The family clearly doesn’t realise what I’m doing as I move towards the shoes. I am wearing good quality clothing – thick stockings and a grey dress with a black sweater – and now I have shoes. They cannot stop me leaving.

Well, they can. But I will fight until I am dead. I am tired of being a pawn.

Edward groans as I step into the shoes – a perfect fit, as if they were mine all along – and there is the fuzzy muttering I can never understand, and I wish they hung their coats by the door, but there is nothing for it.

Before I can open the front door, there is an iron-bar of an arm around my middle, and I look down and then up in shock, as Jasper bodily drags me away from my freedom.

“Let me go!” I squeal, trying to wriggle free. I am small enough that I could usually get out of Eli’s grasp; he would laugh and tell me I was like a cat, or a goldfish, too hard to catch. But this man, who has treated me with nothing but disdain, has compensated for my size, and I am trapped in his grasp.

“Stop it!” I shriek, and I try kicking and hitting, but it does nothing except bruise my poor limbs. Miss Rosalie’s husband is truly laughing at me, and I’m sure I look quite a sight, my eyes and face all red and wet, fighting against this ridiculous behemoth of a man. Eli was not so tall as the Cullen men, and it is most unhelpful.

“Please, let me go!” I beg, but my voice is cracking, slightly hysterical, as they discuss me. As if I am a naughty child instead of the girl they have lied to.

“You’re hurting me,” I finally offer, rather pitifully. That one always worked with Eli, and it works quite well now. The man nearly drops me, and stares at me in horror – a look that makes me feel terribly guilty, though my back does ache from being held in such a way.

“Jasper,” Edward is looking at him; he has the saddest, most heartbroken look on his face I have ever seen, and I feel awful. “It’s okay, she’s fine.”

Jasper shakes his head and turns; a second later, the door slams.

“He gets to leave,” I say grumpily, and Dr Cullen and Mrs Cullen just look stunned at what has transpired.

Within seconds, a plan is formed. Dr Cullen, Edward and Miss Rosalie’s husband go after Jasper, whom I have caused great distress to, apparently. Miss Rosalie and Mrs Cullen whisk me back upstairs, where I am brought a cup of tea, and ignore my questions about Eli, a sinking feeling in my stomach until my vision swims and I realise they have played the same terrible trick my mother used on me when the orderlies came to take me away. I tip sideways on the window seat and Mrs Cullen carries me easily to bed, and oh, I hate them all. I cannot cry or co-ordinate my arms to move or speak.

But I have learned a valuable lesson. They will be kind and take care of me, but I have no power nor choice. And if I strike out at them, I will be punished. A tiny, hysterical part of my brain is amused that their weapon of choice is pills crushed in tea when they could break me into tiny pieces, but I will be quite carefully about accepting food and drink now on.

The Cullens are not to be trusted.

The tea was brewed strong, because I sleep through the afternoon and night. When I wake, there is light slipping through the windows. Normally, I would attempt to wash and clothe myself before Mrs Cullen comes in, but today, I do not. I attend to my needs in the bathroom, and drink water in my cupped hands rather than risk whatever is mixed in with the glass on my nightstand.

And then I return to bed. It seems that is where they prefer me to be, so that is where I shall stay.

It is quite late, mid-morning, when Mrs Cullen ventures in with a tentative smile and a tray, and then a concerned look when I do no sit up nor greet her, still clad in yesterday’s dress. I do not respond to her greetings, and I feel like a dying animal when she finally leaves to fetch Dr Cullen.

Having the doctor in my bedroom makes me feel quite unclean, brings shadowy horrors from the asylum to the front of my mind that I try to push away as he checks my temperature and talks to me.

“Grief, especially for a beloved friend, can be overwhelming,” he says finally, smoothing my hair in a way that makes me shudder and pull away from him. “You should eat, to keep up your strength, Alice. But rest is a great healer.”

He and Mrs Cullen leave, though a plate of toast and a glass of juice is left on my nightstand, and I wonder how many pills they have crushed into the mix. I wait forty minutes before I deposit the toast and juice down the toilet – they shall never guess that I didn’t consume it myself.

I am right, of course. Mrs Cullen’s smile brightens when she sees the empty dishes. I have been good and obedient and all is well, in the Cullens’ eyes.

They might think that they can control me and win whatever terrible game this is, but I grew up in a hellish place, learnt cruelty and sneakiness from the very best at it. No matter what they think they can do to me, I’ve survived worse. And I will survive them, too.

It has been almost a week since the terrible altercation, and they all suspect me. I refuse to leave my room, content to take my meals up there and read. The food is discarded via the bathroom, and I drink only from the tap. My bones are returning to the surface. Hunger is an old bedmate, one I’ve known since I was a girl, and I barely notice it anymore.

The brunette girl looks quite rough, in her trousers and shapeless sweater. She looked quite sour, too, as we sat in the dining room.

There is little chatter as she presents the food she brought with her. Apparently, the popular opinion is that I am so grief-stricken that Mrs Cullen’s food no longer tempts me, and that this strange girl can provide something that I will eat.

The sandwich is wrapped up in paper, with stickers to keep it sealed – it gives me slightly more confidence that the food has not been tampered with, though my body is well trained in going without food, and I am full after only picking at it for a little while.

The girl – Isabella, daughter of the Policeman Charlie – doesn’t talk much, and when she does, every second word is Edward’s name. It’s strange; I’m faintly reminded of my cousins fretting over boys, a hazy memory of a conversation I had no interest in, and wondered if they ever read a book.

Since I ate, the meal is declared a success, and Isabella is encouraged to return any time - with more food, and I wonder how many conversations about Edward I shall have to sit through.

I rather shocked the family, today. Dr Cullen weighed me in my nightdress, and found out that I had lost another two pounds. All that good work, undone. Mrs Cullen had looked terribly sad, and Miss Rosalie had scowled.

“If you don’t start eating, we’ll take you to the hospital and they’ll force you to eat,” she practically growls at me, and I wish I could laugh in her face.

“They attach a feeding tube to your mouth, and they will tie you down,” Miss Rosalie keeps speaking. I tilt my head to the side and think of the asylum, of everything I have lived through in eight years. Nothing Miss Rosalie can tell me will scare me.

“Please, Alice, is there anything you would like to eat?” Mrs Cullen is nearly begging me. I shake my head.

“Perhaps it is time to involve professionals,” Dr Cullen says in a sad voice, and there is a loud bang from upstairs that makes me jump.

“That would be a no,” Miss Rosalie’s husband says wryly.

I don’t know why, but I walk into the kitchen the next morning, and when Mrs Cullen offers to make me breakfast, I agree.

I agree to eat at least half and then sit in the garden with her.

I even agree to a cup of tea, though my hands shake something terribly when I drink it – why am I drinking it? – and I nearly drop the cup.

Mrs Cullen watches me with a tired look on her face, and smoothes my hair from my face as she takes the empty tea cup. I sit in the garden and wonder if I could vomit it all up - it sits uneasily in my stomach, as if it knew how unwilling I was to consume it. I wait for the effect, to feel sleepy or twitchy or dizzy or something.

Jasper is watching me from the doorway, with a flat look on his face. I haven’t seen him since the argument, and he doesn’t look particularly pleased to lay eyes on me, but when he sees me watching him, he moves towards Mrs Cullen’s empty seat and folds himself into it.

“I,” he begins, looking down, “I understand you’ve suffered a great loss and feel like we’ve betrayed you. And I never, ever would have allowed them to lace your tea with sedatives, had I been in the house. I’m sorry I left. But you are safe here. We want to protect you and help you. And I will explain more when you’re well again, I promise. But you must stop trying to harm yourself, Alice. You must eat. I can only stop them from sending you to hospital for so long, and I…”

I blinked at him curiously. He had stopped them? More than once? He had some sort of authority over them - over me?

“I don’t understand,” I manage.

“I know, and we’ll start explaining things soon, but for now, I need you to trust us. Eat, drink, speak with us. I will watch over all the food that is prepared, if that makes you feel better. But I cannot watch you hurt yourself like this, and I cannot leave you. I just…” He looked so sad as his gaze met mine. And something about that gaze, something about the softness of his words made me trust him. He wouldn’t have drugged the tea, wouldn’t have allowed Mrs Cullen or Miss Rosalie to do so either. He never would have hurt me or lied to me. Whomever Jasper was in this family, and to me, he was neither unkind nor cruel.

“Okay, I’ll try,” I said in a soft voice. “As long as you tell me the truth.”

#twificmas20 #ficmas20 #jalice #alice cullen #jasper hale #twilight fic #twilight renaissance #my fic #my fic: what does she remember

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