#we were held to so many ridiculous standard with the way we spoke and our body language

[thethingything]

I think being laughed at until you leave the room crying and then get told you sound "stupid" and "ridiculous" and "can't talk like an actual human being" because you said "how are you today?" in a kind of chipper, almost melodic tone, maybe, just maybe has an impact on your ability to socialise without overthinking basic sentences when it's something that happens on a regular basis for several years in your teens

#personal #thoughts #🍬 post #vent post #abuse tw #glad we got to figure that one out #we were held to so many ridiculous standard with the way we spoke and our body language #like having to smile all the fucking time because ''you look miserable and it's ruining the family meal/trip/etc'' #because how dare we have a neutral expression instead of being focused on smiling 24/7 #we'd get told off for talking about our interests even if someone else brought them up #and as a little kid we were basically banned by certain family members from speaking our hometown's dialect #there was definitely worse stuff but if I tried to talk about it I think it'd trigger our paranoia #anyway I'm stuck thinking about all this stuff and I don't really know what to do with it right now

[longsightmyth]

Hey want a slightly angsty bright lights convo between Laeriel and Elrond re: Celebrian?

Sure you do.

“Up,” Laeriel said briskly from the doorway of his study. Elrond blinked at her.

“I am not certain what you have been told,” he said carefully, knowing full well that for Laeriel to arrive without notice meant she had come for something she considered an emergency, “but Rivendell is not in danger of siege or storm.”

“I have been told that you leave your rooms only to come here or the healing wing,” she said. “I have been told this by your children, who are convinced that you are putting things in order so that you may leave them for the west. I have, of course, told them that this is an impossibility, as you would have said something about it to me.”

Elrond raised his eyebrows. “I was not aware I need inform you of that sort of personal decision.”

Laeriel took a moment too long to answer, which meant he had hurt her, but she kept going anyway. “Now you are. Now tell me the whole thing is ridiculous so I may reassure your children that you are not about to abandon them.”

“As my wife did?” he asked. Laeriel examined him, and he knew her well enough to know that she knew she had upset him and was trying to decide whether to pursue the matter.

“Arwen and the boys might see it that way,” she said at last.

“Do you?”

She did not answer, which was answer enough. He stood, shoving his chair back too hard so it shrieked against the floor, and stalked to a window. He knew Laeriel had very strict views of what did or did not constitute reasonable cause for leaving someone she cared about, and he knew she held those she cared about to those standards.

“Celebrían was hurt very badly,” he said to the window.

“Yes,” Laeriel said.

“Her hurts were not only outside.”

“Yes,” Laeriel said again. “I know her justifications, Elrond. I am not here to condemn-”

“Are you not?” he demanded, spinning to face her. “But you do, with every word and every silence, when I know you loved her-”

“I love Celebrían,” Laeriel said. “I love many people.”

“Do you judge me, then? For I could not save her, and I a healer of such renown, while you kept Thranduil with you even when the gates of Mandos loomed, even when there was dragonfire, even when you loved Gil-Galad, when you speak of love but cannot forgive even someone too hurt to go on, cannot even forgive your own grandmother!”

She let him shout even when he knew he was trading arguments and making less and less sense, even when a particular remark hurt enough to show on her face. He could not seem to help it. He was no scion of Feanor, to lash out when thwarted, but here he was while the actual scion of Feanor let him.

“Do you only want to keep us here, those who passing care for you, and think nothing of our wants?”

Thranduil might actually kill him when next they met. Elrond was not sure he would blame him.

“Not only,” Laeriel said when he ran out of poison to spew. “I did want to keep Elros tied up in a basement until he gave up that mortality nonsense, but as I recall you backed me when I proposed the idea to Gil-Galad. So we share that impulse.”

“I wanted to keep Celebrían,” he whispered.

“We cannot keep those who truly wish to leave,” she said calmly, hands folded in front of her. “You are wise enough to have known that since childhood. I learned it rather later.”

“I learned it when Maglor left me for the nearest elves when he could no longer bear a reminder of his guilt even if meant atonement.” He sighed. “And then you found me.”

She shrugged and appropriated his chair, shoulders stiff, and said what she always did when he spoke of it. “I was looking for you.”

“I am sorry, for what I said. A great deal of it was untrue.”

“You are angry,” she said.

“I am not-”

“You are angry,” she said again. “You are angry, so angry, and hurt, and you cannot fathom why she left when she could have been here with you, who she said she loved – who you know she loved, for she showed it. It is only that she did not love you enough, or perhaps that she did but could not feel it through her own pain.”

She smiled tightly. “And also you are angry that someone hurt her enough for that to happen. I know the feeling, you see.”

“You could come with me,” he said. “If I went.”

“No,” she said.

“Thranduil.”

“Legolas,” she countered. “I could perhaps give up Thranduil – perhaps – but not my child. I know far too well the pain of that. To do that knowingly…” she shook her head.

“It would be wrong,” he finished for her.

“Worse than wrong. And, too--” She raised her eyes, which she had lowered to her lap. “I left you once, at Sirion. You were not mine, and you are not my child, but I had some measure of responsibility and I should not have left, and you were hurt for it.”

“Maglor loved us,” Elrond protested.

“Erien loved me,” Laeriel said. “It did not stop her from hurting me.”

She leaned forward, and Elrond realized suddenly that he had come towards her as if drawn there, and sat at her feet as he had often in Sirion, in Lindon, when everyone had cared for him but Laeriel had known him. “Celebrian loves you, Elrond, and she loves Arwen and Elladan and Elrohir, but she has hurt all of you nonetheless. It is all right to be angry.”

“Well,” he said after a long moment. “You would say that anyway.”

She tugged a lock of his hair. “I would, but it is still true.”

#laeriel's mother did the turn her face to the wall and die postpartum elf depression number #laeriel's dad did the turn his face to the wall my wife is dead so I die too maneuver #Laeriel has Opinions on parental responsibility #bright lights cast long shadows #also early draft bits yay

[myastrouniverse]

May/2024🌘♈️Hamlet was a privileged asshole. 🤡

🌘 ☸︎ 🌽 There was a lot of misogyny in the 80s & 90s. Consider the Anita Hill case against Clarence Thomas. Anita Hill courageously stood up for ALL working women in America, when she spoke up about Clarence Thomas’ behavior in the office. I would argue, Thomas’ behavior sets a low standard. A person who sets a low standard of behavior in their place of work, has no business working as a judge in our HIGHEST COURT. (Biden the corpse bot was responsible for allowing Clarence Thomas to become a Supreme Ct Justice, btw.) Regardless of the outcome of that hearing, it sparked a Nationwide conversation about setting standards of appropriate behavior in the workplace. It is because of Anita Hill’s bravery, corporations implemented employee educational programs condemning sexual harassment behaviors; to improve work conditions for women across America. However, the degradation of our Supreme Ct has continued. Each new Supreme Ct Justice voted into office has held loyalty to corporations and foreign interests over the WILL OF THE PEOPLE. As a result of decades of laws created to undermine the freedom and sovereignty of our Nation, (The United States of America.), we have now become literal slaves -on paper- to corporations. The very lives of our people are now at risk. Corporations can virtually get away with ANYTHING, including a PLANNED GENOCIDE. Wake up. It’s time we end this madness NOW, or we literally will have no future.

🌘 ☸︎ ♅︎ Hamlet, is a cursed play. Even as a young woman I was pondering why there were SO MANY extremely BAD and misogynist productions of Hamlet set to film, especially in the 80s & 90s. I’ve read, researched and watched that play more than any other work of art. It has taken me to be extremely sick and near dead before I was able to work out and complete my MASTER WORK of that production, which if set to the consciousness of the collective; could hopefully BREAK THE HAMLET CURSE. I hope I am able to get some producers one day, to assist me in bringing my vision to life. Regardless, the MASTER WORK lives in my head, which gives me an AUTOMATIC PhD in THEATRE.

🌘 ☸︎ ♃︎ It was during some of my darkest days, I had to THINK of something to live for that would bring me joy. When I saw Yung Blud’s music videos for the first time, I could not stop laughing. For YEARS I have been trying to make a DREAM CAST for Hamlet. Watching Yung Blud’s silliness told me a great many things about the dark days to come. He maybe a little devil, but the knowledge he gave me made him an Angel to me. I see your dark and light side, Yung Blud. I see YOU. I hope you can look at YOUR DARK SIDE and LAUGH at how ridiculous you have been. Then think of it all a dream and all is well. I AM trying to send you to heaven, not to hell.

🌘 ☌ ♆︎ Bruner had a Master’s Degree from the University of Portland, I know, because I was in his Master’s Thesis project of the play: The Dining Room. Also, a rather ‘cursed’ play. I respected Bruner as an artist and a theatre director. (I did NOT respect his treatment of women.) Bruner comes from a distinguished lineage of actors, dating back to the times of Shakespeare. I suppose in my unique way, I can also tap into the teachings of his ancestors. He did teach in Battle Ground, and the Umtuck tribe people were great masters of mask theatre. I learned a great deal from him and I owe him credit for his dedication to the theater.

Trace, I owe you credit for your work as well. I loved and respected YOU. I loved your taste in the avant-garde Dadaism form of collective theatre. It was A MASTER WORK in chaos magick. You deserve a PhD for YOUR VISION. You gave me a tremendous foundation to envision my own kind of avant-grade Dada-chaos, collective theatre via social media. (I don’t approve of Robin’s personal issues!) Despite what may have been our personal moral issues, I see the divine at work in YOU. I wish we had a chance to actually collaborate on a project in a more equal and positive manner. Without knowing it, you taught me more about life than you will ever know.

Dr. Peter John was my philosophy professor. I got a B+ on my ‘Zen and The Art of Hula-Hooping’ dissertation. I would like you to PLEASE ignore my grammar and spelling issues and in exchange, I promise to hire a professional editor to review my book. With your approval, I would like my grade to be changed to an A, so I may receive my PhD in philosophy. Dr. Peter John wrote his dissertation on ‘The Truth, Right and The Good.’ I now more than ever ponder your thoughts in your book. It has certainly helped me navigate deep waters. Thank you for being you.

Lon Milo Duquette, is a HERO. Lon said it himself: I do my work so that the next generation will have an easier time understanding extremely difficult esoteric subjects. Your book on Enochian Magick is a MASTER WORK. Someone should award Lon Milo Duquette a PhD for his contribution to esoteric literature. I know YOU have feared me as your enemy Lon, but I have ALWAYS respected YOU as a teacher and as a FRIEND.

Tom Johnson. I AM very sorry our friendship was so sadomasochistic. Tom was actually a TERRIBLE improvisational instructor. He was a gifted improviser: He understood the fundamentals. He understood goal, formula and character development, very well. He studied under Del Close, in Chicago. His trouble was issues with his own ego. I was trying to teach him about diversity and community building. Notice Tom, that ‘your core’ community was the one I BUILT for YOU. You should have ALSO noticed that MY CORE GROUP never fucking progressed AFTER FIFTEEN FUCKING YEARS because of MY ABSENCE. I LEARNED EVERYTHING ABOUT IMPROVISATIONAL THEATRE FROM KEITH JOHNSTONE. I lived for YOUR CLASSES. I fucking LIVED for the EGO DEATH. Long form Improvisational theatre is a study in ego death and from that you give birth to an interactive spontaneous story building problem, that must be collectively solved within a group of participants. You see how I used these formulas to create my social media theatre. I respected your work as a teacher Tom, but you never respected my work. I did love you once. I loved you because you reminded me of Elliott. Elliott and I had a similar relationship that couldn’t be reconciled. This was my way of trying to MAKE PEACE.

There are many other wonderful, intelligent individuals whom have taught me so much over the years. I have spent more time studying and learning outside of school than inside. The difference between me and others is possibly the diverse nature of the books and subjects that interest me.

I AM Kerri Hoseney, and I also studied under a PhD in Physical Anthropology (I forgot his name. Sorry.) and Tom Kenyon is a PhD in Cultural Anthropology; together we have a Dissertation on ancient healing techniques.

I highlighted this group of people because: “AN ARTIST CREATES THEIR OWN MORAL UNIVERSE” - Woody Allen. (I don’t agree with Mr. Allen’s personal moral issues.) My response to Mr. Allen: “If YOUR UNIVERSE IS IMMORAL, PLEASE KEEP THAT 🤡💩IN CYBER SPACE.”

🌘 < 🌞 I want to mention to Rob Zombie, that his wife looks and acts ALMOST EXACTLY like my friend Tonya Peterson, aka Harley Quinn. She was once a brilliant metal working artist and model, in LA. Her father was a Broadway and Hollywood actor. I’d like to think she puppeteers your wife. Would it make you proud to know Tonya has FAUGHT POLICE (This is an esoteric spelling of fought.), for nearly HALF HER LIFE? She is still a strong muthafucking bitch, despite DECADES OF ABUSE. She has no teeth, bad skin, a corpse thin body but the heart of a lion. There are more like her and they deserve protection. I felt I needed you to know that and I appreciate your work.

♀️🔺🦚 I believe, MOST theatre scholars, INCLUDING GARY BRUNER, are EXTREMELY misguided about the use of Iambic Pentameter in Shakespeare’s work. In MY RESEARCH I DISCOVERED, in the days of Shakespeare, most of Shakespeare’s monologues were set to music by his actors. Understand? An Actor in the days of Shakespeare had to memorize a great deal of plays. The more monologues set to memory for any given role, the more money actors were able to make. The playwrights whom the actors favored, wrote in iambic pentameter, because the use of iambic pentameter made it easier to set a great deal of monologues to MUSIC. The actors used old songs they knew, and filed in their minds, the monologues that closely flowed with the music. Speaking a monologue to the tune of a song, made the work flow easier for the actors and the audience. Understand? Now you also understand why Horatio speaks the speech to the tune of: FREE BIRD

🌘 ☸︎ ♇︎ Battle Ground, is a town named after a war, that NEVER happened. I trust NOW you understand why I AM HERE.

♂️🔺🎸 Yes and No. You are NOT bound to perform my Hamlet in real life. You already performed your role in cyberspace. However, I won’t let you do anything immoral in MY UNIVERSE. So, you are bound to a certain standard if you work with me. It is up to you. I believe in: FREE WILL.

Lynard Skynard - FREE BIRD (Devil’s Rejects)

X-RAY CAFE, PDX

Elliott Smith - Angeles

I think Trey is going to be okay now. Please get a grip.

#05/04/23 #astrology #Saturday #free bird #lynard skynard #devils rejects #rob zombie #Youtube #may the fourth be with you #XRay cafe #PDX #PDXProtests #portlandprotests #elliott smith #Angeles #black lives matter

[strawberrymilkgeorge]

Part Nine. Minecraft Dating 101

warnings: swearing, mostly super freaking fluffy but some oopsies at the end (which is the barely-there angst that i mentioned before!!), pet names?? if that bothers you??? (like...... one or both of them might use baby.........) word count: 5.3k (not including pictures)

behind the screen (irl dream x f!reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist

A/N: HEHEH SORRY ITS SO LONG SORRY hope you guys like it!!!! hope it lives up to your standards of minecraft dates lol also thank you guys all for all your suggestions!!! i loved all of them so much!!!! i would have added every idea except this was already 5k words so its much less “flirting” and more so “oh gosh im so nervous what am i supposed to do” from both of them so hehe i think thats more endearing anyway

**********

The familiar sound of a FaceTime call connecting rang in Y/n's ears and she held her phone up to her face. "Hi, Karl," she sighed.

"Y/N!!" he said with a cackle. "ARE YOU READY FOR YOUR DATE?!"

"Shut up, I'm doing this for you."

"I already gave you the tour though so really you could back out. You're choosing to stay." His voice was teasing and giddy. "Why's that, hmm?"

Heat rose instantly to Y/n's face. "Because I'm a woman of my word?"

"OkaAaAyy," he sang. "Or because you liiiiikeee himmm."

"Shhhut up, Karl. No, I don't."

"Suuuure."

"Is this why you called me?"

He giggled. "Yeah, but—"

Y/n disconnected the call and set her phone down with a small laugh and a shake of her head.

With her stream started and her chat greeted, the donation limit raised to $100 (both because she didn't want to be flooded with questions on the date and because she didn't want people to donate their hard-earned money), Y/n logged onto Dream's SMP and found the voice call Dream was in, George's name right under his.

After she clicked it to join, a small gasp emitted from her headphones before she heard Dream mutter something. "Get out, get out, leave."

George's voice was normal. "But I wanna—"

"GEORGE!" Dream yelled, making Y/n giggle.

"Fine!" George yelled back. "Have fun you two," he sang like Karl did before a sound from Discord told them that he left.

It was silent for a second before, "Hi."

"Hi." She giggled. "What was that about?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing. Just some last minute, uh, setting up."

She hummed, amused at the sound of his frantic voice.

"So, um... are you ready for our date?"

"I don't even know where you are. I'm still in my house."

"Knock, knock," he said with a laugh. Y/n turned to see green peeking through the cutouts on her oak door and she laughed.

She ran to the door and opened it for him, revealing Dream in a slightly altered version of his Minecraft skin. He looked the same, except the white blob appeared to be wearing a necktie of some sort. "You look ridiculous," she admitted with a smile. "Wait, is this a fancy date? Should I change my skin?"

"It's not fancy, I just wanted to look my best for the prettiest girl in the world."

"Ohmygosh," she muttered to herself, hoping that writing off his charming words and actions as annoying would make her face not heat up as much. So far, it hadn't worked. Two minutes in and she was already blushing like a schoolgirl whose crush asked her to play tag at recess. "So, I'm not underdressed?"

"No, you're always perfect."

She didn't comment, opting for an eye-roll instead. Truthfully, she wanted to flirt back with him, try to make his heart beat fast like hers already was, but she was worried her words wouldn't come off joking and that the true intention would be obvious, that he'd be able to breeze right past the jovial tone and hear the sincerity in her words. Wait, true intention? What was her true intention? Her true intention should obviously be to just joke around and have some fun, but deep down she knew the motivation for teasing him came from somewhere different, somewhere more meaningful.

She wanted to tease him because she wanted to be the one to make him blush, to make him trip over his words and not know what to do with his hands.

Why? Well, she was still figuring that out.

"If you're ready, follow me, ma'am."

"Where are you taking me?" she asked as she followed his character down prime path.

"Hmmm..." he mused. "A secret, obviously."

"Obviously," she scoffed. She noticed that he was several blocks ahead of her and she smiled to herself. "Hey, Dream?"

"Hm?" he asked, spinning to face her as he ran backward.

"I don't know how many dates you've been on, but usually people walk together. You know, gives them an excuse to maybe hold hands or at least enjoy each other's company?" She made sure her voice had just the right balance of teasing and seriousness, curious as to how he would respond.

"I, uh... oh."

"Unless you want me to just meet you there. I mean, you're practically running away from me."

"I'm just excited!" he excused, stopping briefly so she could catch up with him.

"But look at how many beautiful things there around us to look at while we get to where we're going!" she told him. "Well, maybe not that," she said with a laugh as she punched her fist towards Tommy's dirt house. "But other things."

Dream laughed and continued to walk next to her like she requested, pausing if he ever got too far ahead. "How can I look at all those when the most beautiful thing is walking right next to me?"

She's never rolled her eyes so hard in her life. "Shut up," she mumbled as she punched him.

"OW! BUG!"

"That was supposed to be a pat on the arm but Minecraft only has one level of hitting and it's a punch. Sorry."

Dream wheezed briefly before containing his laughter. "This way," he instructed, getting off the path and starting into the woods.

"Oh, really you're trying to kill me. That's why you didn't want me to wear anything nice. Didn't want me to ruin any of my fancy stuff."

"Foiled my plans," he joked lightly. "Okay but really, um, I was thinking—well, so you already have a house but I was thinking we could build one together. Or build something, I don't know. But you're really good at building and I know you really enjoy it so I thought maybe you could show—like, teach me and then later I'll teach you something and then we can have a little picnic dinner."

Y/n smiled at her nervousness. "Hey, that actually sounds really fun!"

"What? What do you mean actually?" He laughed. "What, did you expect me to plan something boring?"

She laughed over his dramatic pouting. "No, but I mean, I didn't know what to expect," she said shyly. "I do have to say, though, I'm not sure what you plan on teaching me. I'm pretty much a master at all possible Minecraft skills, so..."

"Oh, really?" he taunted. "Everything?"

"Mhm," she hummed, her confidence wavering at his smooth voice.

"We'll see about that..."

"Unless you mean you're gonna teach me how to code Minecraft. That's a Minecraft skill I will admit I know nothing about."

"No, no, nothing like that," he said with a laugh.

"Good, save the programming talk for later."

"For laaater, hmmm?" he sang flirtatiously.

"Oh my gosh," she said through a laugh. "You would think that's what I meant."

"Hey, you're the one that said you think it's cute when I talk about coding. Maybe you're into that."

"I was saying it's sweet hearing you talk about stuff you like, you nerd. Why did you immediately think—what, is your idea of dirty talk talking about... like... computer viruses?"

"WhAT?"

"Hey girl, lemme clean out your motherboard," she mocked in a deep voice. "You overclock my processor. Lemme program your, uh—uh...hAHA, nevermind, ew, no."

"BUG?! WHAAAT? What is wrong with you?" His gasps for breath between wheezes made her laugh with him. "Don't ever talk like that again, pleASE."

"I won't, I won't, I'm sorry. Oh my gosh."

"Is that your idea of flirting? You are bad!"

"No, no, no!" She laughed. "I was making fun of you. No, I'm actually really good."

She couldn't stop giggling to herself for a few minutes, embarrassed but also proud of the reaction she got from Dream. She loved hearing him laugh as if he would never stop, it made her heart so happy to hear, especially when she was the one who caused it.

Though she feared her horrible pickup lines, if you could even call them that, were already clipped, ready to be used against her for the rest of her life. Worth it. Probably.

They approached a cleared-out area in the woods and Dream stopped and turned to Y/n. "So, we're here. What should we build?"

"Oh, so now I have to plan? Wow, you are so underprepared," she joked.

"What, no! I originally... I wanted to build a, like, a house together because I didn't— I forgot you made your—your house already and—but since you already have one—"

"We can still build a house," she interrupted with a soft voice. Him fumbling over his words was very endearing but also very confusing. How serious was he taking this bit? Or was he... actually nervous? She was actually nervous but she had reasons to be: a huge live audience to entertain and not ignore, and the weird staticky, itchy feeling in her tummy every time Dream spoke to her. Both valid reasons to be nervous. What was his excuse?

"Really? You wanna build a home together?"

Heat rose to her cheeks at his wording and she hummed. "Mhm. You can be my secret lover I hide in my vacation home. Like a second life kinda deal."

He scoffed. "Oh, now I'm just your side piece, Bug?"

"Nah, you're my main bitch, baby. I just wanna hide you away to keep you for myself because I'm selfish."

There was silence on his end for a few moments, making Y/n's face practically catch fire as she thought about her words. Why did she say that?? How can he flirt all the time but as soon as she says something: dead silence.

"Well.... shhhhhit," he finally mumbled definitively.

"You wanted me to flirt with you, Dream. You literally asked me too!" She laughed, trying to cover up her embarrassment. It had been less than 20 minutes and she already made a fool of herself.

"I did, I did, I just—wow. Come on, that was... I didn't expect you to go from never flirting to calling me baby!"

"Too much?" she bit her lip as she waited for him to explain if it was a good or bad thing.

He paused again. "....no."

She laughed loudly, pulling her hoodie collar up to her face in an attempt to rid herself of the giddiness and heat on her face. Like anyone could see anyway.

"So, a house?"

"A house."

"What kind of house do you think we should build together, Dream?"

"Maybe...." he thought as he ran around the area. "Maybe, like, a log cabin? Since we're in a forest. It's fitting..."

"Very true, very true..." she thought. "I was thinking a castle was more suited for you, king, but a cabin works too."

"Bug!" he yelled, laughter bubbling up in his voice. "What is wrong with you?"

"What?" she said defensively, giggling.

"You're a handful today," he groaned under his breath and she smiled. Though his words said one thing, Y/n could tell he was enjoying her energy.

"So, a dinky, old cabin, or what?"

"Whatever you want to build," he sighed.

"You always this agreeable?"

"Only to you."

"Well, I honestly don't have much practice with building cabins and since I want to show off my skills, I mean, that's the whole point of this, right? For me to impress you with my skills?"

Dream laughed so she continued.

"I think we should build a treehouse."

"A treehouse?"

"Mhm. What do you think? I make a pretty bomb treehouse."

"That sounds awesome!" he agreed. "Oh, and it could go from, like, one tree to another and, like, connect with a bridge! Like, the living room on one and the bedroom on another."

"Yeah, exactly! Okay, it's settled."

"What do we need? What do you want me to do?"

"I'm thinking.... we use cobblestone?"

Dead silent. Literally no noise until a few moments later, ".......Bug. This might be a deal-breaker."

"I'm joooking! You think I'd build something out of cobblestone? Who am I, Tommy? No, what's your favorite wood?"

"Dark oak."

"GOOD. Me too. So.... we need dark oak. Or, wait! Okay, hear me out."

"I'm hearing..." Dream prompted as he pressed A and D on his keyboard back and forth, earning a giggle from Y/n. He character was bouncing left and right is excitement.

"Dark oak planks..." she started.

"Mhm."

"Stone bricks..."

"Go on."

"And green wool for accents."

"Well, now you're just pandering."

"No!" she laughed. "Not, like, lime wool. Green wool. It's close to you but not as... obnoxiously blinding."

"I trust your vision. I'll go get materials."

"Perfect, you're the best, Dweam."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled before laughing. "You pick out a tree you think would be best for the main part."

40 minutes later, they were nowhere near being done. Y/n had shown him how to make a good house layout after he placed the floor in the shape of a square. She had yelled at him for it first, of course. They also had the frame of the walls and one bridge but nothing on the other side of said bridge. Not wanting the stream to last six hours since this was only the first part of the date, Y/n made a suggestion.

"What if...."

"What if what?" Dream asked, pausing to look at her character, who had stopped fixing his mistakes. "Did I mess something up?"

"No, I was just thinking. What if we make this the whole house and do a little garden on the other side of the bridge? Or like a little cute thing."

"A little cute thing?" Dream laughed.

"You know, like a thing," she said, knowing she hadn't clarified anything. "I forgot this is only date one, you can't read my mind yet."

"Oh, so there are gonna be future dates? I thought this was just to pay off your debt?"

She paused, playing with her hoodie strings between her left hand. "Well, I guess we'll see."

Dream laughed. "So, what little cute thing did you want to make?"

"We could put a bench facing the sunset and have some potted flowers and hang lanterns and stuff."

"Oh, like a romantic spot?"

"I guess if you wanna think of it like that."

"Sounds cute," he said. "So, we have to change the layout in here then?"

"Nah, I mean, we can just not add a kitchen, we obviously don't need one anyway."

"True. Then all we need is to put our bed down, right?"

"Beds," Y/n corrected.

"Well, when they're together it looks like one big bed."

"Who said we're putting out beds together?"

"Buuuuggg..." he whined. "Come on... lemme put my bed next to yours."

She giggled again. What was with all the giggling, sheesh. "No. There's plenty of space, put it somewhere else." She placed her white bed down in the corner and went across the bridge to bring her idea to life, or, to Minecraft.

It only took about ten minutes and she finished when Dream spoke again. "I think I'm done."

"I am too! Let's take one final look around." She went back inside and immediately noticed his bed right next to hers. She stared at his character and he laughed.

"Whaaat?" he asked shyly and she just sighed, letting it happen. They took a look around and agreed that it was basically the best treehouse in the entire universe, both in Minecraft and real life.

"Bug, you're so good at building," Dream complimented as he ran around the house. "What's your favorite part?"

"Ummm...." She looked around before deciding on the bridge. "I like how you made the bridge. And I like the little touches you added to it. It's nice."

"Thanks! I think the 'little cute thing' you did is the best part."

"Shut up, I can't stand you," she scoffed. "But thanks."

"Hey, Bug?" Dream asked, leading her back into the house. He faced the two beds placed together and she prepared herself for the worst joke of all time. "Is this where all the programming talk happens?"

"I knew it! I knew you were gonna say that! Shut up!" She punched Dream as he laughed loudly and she couldn't stop smiling. "You're such a nerd. You're so annoying."

"OH! I have an idea, wait here."

***

It had been a solid eight and a half minutes of Y/n waiting for Dream and he showed no signs of returning. He was silent too, so she resorted to saying random things to get him to crack.

"When will my husband return from war?" she joked, her voice laced with sadness and longing.

There was a small suppressed laugh from his mic, but still no words.

"Sometimes I think I can still hear him laughing at me."

He must have gotten reeeaaalll close to his mic, because his next words, the first ones he had spoken in almost ten minutes, were whispered but she felt like he was in her ear. "I'll be home soon, baby."

Once again, she was so glad her chat couldn't see her because she literally shivered and her face was so warm she felt like she was glowing.

For the first time all stream, her eyes betrayed her and she looked at her chat as she pulled her hoodie collar up to her face.

user18: BUGSY BEIN REEEAL QUIET

user4: i think i just passed out

user11: wHAT ON EARTH DREAM ADKXKH

user7: BUGSY ON GOD BE REAL WITH US WTF IS GOING ON RN

user2: hey bestie i cant do this rn

user9: they can't talk to each other like that and say they're just friends pleASE

Also for the first time all stream, someone dared to donate at her limit (which, again, was ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS).

karakatara donated $100 I had to donate bc I just HAD to tell you how cute you and dream are! honestly my favorite couple ever and I was just wondering how long you've been dating??? love you and your videos!!!!!

It was $100. She had to answer it. Meaning, she had to use words after Dream said that like that and she wasn't sure that was physically possible right now.

"Aren't you going to answer?" Dream taunted.

"Wha—what, are you—you stream watching, you weirdo?" she forced out. "Why?"

"I wanted to read your chat, they're really funny."

"I haven't been reading it."

"What, why? They've been so funny this whole time."

"I've been too scared to."

"Too scared? Of what?"

Of the jokes that she wanted to be real? Of seeing something so cute only to break her heart when she remembers it's all a joke? Of seeing someone hate her for being so close to Dream? Many things.

"Of seeing something... that boosts your ego."

"What? Oh, come on. Hey, answer the dono. Someone gave you their hard earned money for that."

"Yeah, wait, chat, I had the limit that high so you DON'T donate! Why on earth would you—"

"You're avoiding the question."

"We aren't actually dating! Not actually a couple!" she said with a laugh, though something in her heart was very much against laughing at that fact. "Obviously not."

"Well, it's only the first date, so, we'll see I guess, but..."

"I cannot stand you. Thank you so much for the dono, though, Karakatara. You're insane for... yeah. Thank you so much." She turned her attention back to Dream. "Actually though are you ever coming back?"

"Yeah, what, I'm almost there. I see the you staring out the window. ."

When he got inside, he dropped a blue cornflower for Y/n and stepped back. "Okay, now, give that to me."

She followed, not understanding. "For you, Dream." She dropped the flower.

"Aw, Bug! That's so kind! Aw! Thank you! Here's a flower for you, too!" He dropped her a red poppy and then put two item frames on the wall above their beds. He put the blue cornflower above his bed and she followed by putting the red one above hers. "Now that's my favorite part of the house."

"You didn't want to use the real ones? What, did you lose my flower or something?"

"Hell no!" he defended loudly. "No, I just don't want someone to steal that one. It's in my enderchest for safe-keeping."

He said it so casually like it was no big deal, but her heart soared. She too had his flower in her enderchest.

"This," she said dramatically with a sigh, "is now a treehome."

***

"I already told you I'm the best PVP player out there."

"Bug, honey, I've seen you play Bedwars. You're trash."

"Hey!" Hehe, honey. Shut up brain.

"But that's okay! I'm here to teach you."

Y/n's character stood across a makeshift battlefield from Dream's, an axe in hand and armor that was definitely donated by DreamXD on her body. "This is kinda sexist of you. Assuming I know how to name a cute house but not fight."

"Oh no, that's not—crap. Bug, I'm only basing this off of your streams, which I watch all the time—"

Once again, he said something so casual and yet it still made her heart skip three beats and once again, she grabbed the collar of her hoodie and pulled it up to hide her face. This thing had to be stretched by now from how often it was yanked on in this stream alone.

"—and don't get me wrong, you're great! But you're also good at a lot of stuff and—"

"Dream!" she giggled out. "I'm teasing. I admit you're much better than me."

"I wouldn't say much better but... it's the only thing I could possibly teach you anything about because you're just so good at Minecraft." His tone was sarcastic at this point but she knew he was meaning what he said.

"Whatever. Come on, Dream, show me how it's done."

He actually had a lot of very useful tips that Y/n otherwise would have never thought about. I guess when you tryhard Minecraft, she thought, you learn a thing or two about pvp. It was a complete joke, but she still kept it to herself.

"I could basically beat anyone now," she said confidently.

"Yeah, basically. Except maybe Technoblade."

"Nah, even him."

"Let's see how good you really are. To the death."

"What?" She laughed. "You're gonna try to kill me on our date?"

"Yeah, scared?" Seconds later, a creeper exploded near Dream and he screeched, jumping back. Y/n lost it. She laughed loudly, clutching her stomach.

"Dr-Dream!" She laughed. "What the hell was that?"

"It scared me!" he argued. "Here, I'll protect you," he offered, running past her and killing a skeleton that was shooting towards her.

"I don't need protecting, especially from you! Besides, if you're trying to kill me, you'd let the mobs get me."

"No," he decided. "No one's allowed to kill my Bug."

She was literally going to explode. "Wh—"

"Only I get to."

"Dream!" she scoffed, running to kill the skeleton first. She succeeded and he pouted.

"Hey—I did more damage than you, you just had the final hit."

"Really? Cause to me it looks like I'm your knight in shining armor."

"Nuh-uh," he spat.

"Dream. F5 right now, you're covered in arrows."

There was a pause. "Oh whatever." He hit her once and that's all it took for them to start fighting, throwing jokes and taunts at each other the whole time, eventually resulting in a satisfying win for her.

Dream was slain by Bugsy

"WHAT?! HOW?"

<Tubbo> i thogt you were on a date <Ranboo> well definitley not anymore <Ranboo> is that canon <JackManifoldTV> WOMEN

"What was that about you being better than me?" Y/n teased.

"Oh, come ON! I still had damage from the skeleton, and besides, I taught you everything you know!"

"That just makes you a very good teacher, Dream," she said sincerely and he paused, probably expecting her to insult him instead of compliment him.

"Yeah, suck up now that you've murdered me."

***

They were finally at their final stop, three hours into the stream. Not too bad on time, though this was probably the longest Minecraft date in the history of Minecraft dates. Also the best, but maybe Y/n was biased.

There was a huge tree, obviously built instead of naturally generated, with lanterns hanging down and lighting areas of the dark world around them. Under that was a checkered pattern of carpet, a single chest in the center with a potted plant sitting next to it.

"The carpet is supposed to look like a, uh, what's it called... picnic blanket?" Dream explained as they approached the scene, clearly not happy with how it turned out. "It looks weird. Nothing compared to the treehouse you built."

"We built," she corrected. "And this looks awesome, Dream," Y/n complimented. "It's is also my favorite colors."

"Yeah, I had some help from Karl on that one."

She leaned back in her chair in real life and pressed her hands to her face. Oh, it was so unfair how cute he was when he was shy like this. She glanced at chat, which only made her face go from the temperature of molten lava to basically the sun. She was going to explode.

She hummed, a little giggle coming out as well. "That's cute."

She sat (crouched) on the picnic blanket (piece of carpet) while Dream put a disc in the jukebox off to the side.

"Is that a Tommy disc?" she giggled and Dream laughed.

"No, no, no, don't worry. There shouldn't be any continuations of wars interrupting our date."

"Shouldn't be," she emphasized, noticing someone approaching them from the distance.

Dream was about to speak when Quackity reached them and quickly joined the voice channel.

"Oh no," Dream sighed. "We've come so far."

"AYYEEE WHAT'S GOING ON, MAN?!" Quackity yelled in his Mexican Dream voice, his voice bubbling with laughter. "IS THIS A DATE OR SOMETHING, MAN?"

"Quackity, go AWAY!" Dream ordered, punching the character who had stripped to his underwear. "YOU'RE INDECENT! THERE IS A LADY HERE!"

Y/n laughed, enjoying the scene of fancy Dream hitting naked Quackity away from their picnic dinner.

"I'm your waiter, I'm your waiter!" Quackity said in his normal voice, still laughing. "DREAM! WILL YOU STO— QUIT HITTING ME!"

This had turned chaotic very quickly.

"We don't need a waiter," Dream informed him.

"Then I'm the singing gram you ordered." He started singing a song and Dream groaned. "HEY THERE DELILAH WHAT'S IT LIKE IN NEW YORK CITY—"

"No! You're being a clout chaser, go away!"

"I'm honestly impressed we made it this far without anyone coming into the voice channel," Y/n admitted.

"I paid them," Dream joked.

"You did not!" Karl's voice suddenly came through and Y/n laughed. "We were all just being polite and staying away but we're getting bored! We've been so patient!"

"Yeah, hurry up! We wanna play!!!" Sapnap whined. "Dream, it's not fair for you to steal Bugsy from us for so long."

"Oh my gosh!" she exclaimed with a laugh as Dream laughed along.

"Just ten minutes! Ten more minutes!" Dream bargained but none of them would have it. "Just so I can say goodbye!"

"No!" George insisted. "Right now!"

"Look, wait, wait, hold on—"

<Sapnap joined the game> <GeorgeNotFound joined the game> <KarlJacobs joined the game>

"—hold ON!" Dream begged, watching as the three boys ran and joined Quackity by the picnic blanket.

Y/n could not stop laughing at all the avatars around them. The date had been so peaceful and cute but all good things must come to a chaotic end.

"Wait, come on, Karl, Karl, Karl," Dream said quickly. "Come here. Bug, just a sec, please. Stay right there."

"Okay," she agreed, curious to see his plan.

Karl followed him and of course Sapnap couldn't help but also join them.

"Okay," Dream whispered loudly, clearly wanting everyone to hear his offer. He crouched and the other two copied. "Just give me ten minutes—"

"Ten?" Sapnap asked loudly.

"Shhh!!! Yes, ten minutes, to say goodbye and, you know, end the date."

There was a long, thick pause. "What exactly are your intentions with Bugsy Games," Karl asked seriously, matching Dream's whisper.

"Well, I wanna make sure she gets home safe, you know, so I'm gonna drop her off and, I don't know, see if maybe.... maybe she'll give me a hug?"

Karl and Sapnap both gasped dramatically and Y/n giggled, sparing a glance at her chat who were all freaking out.

"What the hell?" Quackity said while laughing. He and George were still standing near Y/n so they were just watching the goons with her.

"Bugsy is not that kind of girl!" Sapnap protested. "You think she's just gonna give you a hug?"

"Sapnap! Do you not know how to whisper???"

George let a loud laugh slip before slapping his hand over his mouth, which his mic picked up.

"Okay, Dream, wait, so you're gonna try to... hug her?" Karl clarified. "She won't even let me hug her. Good luck."

"Well, I'm not going to force her into anything but, I don't know, she said something about holding my hand earlier so I just thought maybe there's a possibility—"

"WHAT?" Karl yelled before going back to the whisper. "Okay, okay, don't panic, but that's huge. Dadnap, a word?"

He and Sapnap broke off from Dream and formed their own huddle, except their whispers were incoherent mumblings that weren't even English.

"Oh my gosh," Y/n groaned loudly, an unmistakable laugh behind her words.

"Okay," Sapnap said, rejoining Dream. "We'll give you five minutes but if you take any longer, we're barging in and killing you."

"Yes, sir!" Dream said. "Thank you, sirs."

"Mhm. Okay, break!"

They all uncrouched in sync before Dream ran back to Y/n.

"How did it go?" she asked as if she didn't hear the entire conversation.

"Bad news," he started. "Your dad's want you home."

"Shame, I was quite enjoying my time."

Dream slowly turned towards the boys as if to glare at them for ending the date before turning back to her. "Then, maybe, I don't know, we could do this again sometime?"

"I.... think I'd like that," she said slowly, trying to tease him.

He giggled and told her he was going to drop her off at her house, even though when the date was over, they were all probably gonna mess around together anyway so there was no point in them leaving the group. But it was the thought that counted.

He ended up taking her back to the treehouse, which warmed her heart. She also noticed when they faced each other at front of the door, she could see the four other boys watching them.

"Goodnight, my sweet Bug," he said poshly.

"Goodnight, Dream." He turned away but she stopped him. "Wait!" She moved to his side and made a loud, MUAH, sound before stepping back in front of him. "A kiss on the cheek," she clarified, not wanting him to think she gave him a real kiss.

"Cute," he said under his breath, almost like he didn't mean to say it out loud. "Night night." He turned away and ran down to the others, screaming the whole way. "GUYS, DID YOU SEE THAT? BUG GAVE ME A KISS ON THE CHEEK!! OMG DID YOU SEE, DID YOU SEE?"

Chat was gonna have a field day with that. Actually, with a lot of things that had happened. Oh, she could see the clips and edits now.... oh boy.

**********

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#rpf #real person fiction #dream x reader #mcty x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream x y/n #dreamwastaken x y/n #mcyt x y/n #dream smau #dreamwastaken smau #smau #social media fic #dream social media fic

[helpistolethesecharacters]

Down By The Docks

Bucky Barnes x Male Reader

Word Count: 1810

This is inspired by another request, from an anon this time.

The idea is a '40's AU. I wasn't totally sure if that meant they wanted a story totally set in the 1940's or something that just didn't reference the war, or pretended the war wasn't on/our characters aren't involved in the war, so I just picked one.

Hope this is what you wanted anon!

-------------

Bucky Barnes was one of the best looking fellas Y/n had ever laid eyes on, of that he was sure. It was only his second day working down on the docks, but he was sure he could happily spend the rest of his life working this menial job if the view never changed.

He was always quick with a smile for a pretty dame or even, Y/n had noticed, a particularly handsome fella.

Y/n had thought for sure he had imagined seeing his 'impressing a pretty dame' smile aimed at the bloke who had delivered a sack of letters to the area they were working in.

He would have written it off as the heat getting to him if not for that very same smile being directed his way later that day while they were all sitting around eating their lunches.

None of the other's seemed to have picked up Bucky's brazen flirting with both genders, or maybe they just didn't care. That last one seemed pretty unlikely though.

Y/n just hiked up a brow at Bucky the second time he shot him that pretty smile. He had no idea what to do with that. It couldn't be helped that it was illegal to be that way, that was just the way of the world.

--------------

Y/n was sure that Bucky was trying to kill him.

He had shown up to work wearing his standard work wear. Just the worn whites and browns of clothes that had been washed too many times but that you couldn't afford to throw out yet.

It just wasn't fair that the day was particularly warm, so everyone had ended up stripped down to their pants. All those half naked male bodies glimmering with sweat, the noises they made unconsciously as they lifted boxes full of cargo and moved them to where they needed to go.

And right there, in the middle of it all, Bucky Barnes. Poor Y/n had ended up being sent home from being 'affected by the sun'. It wasn't his fault dammit, Bucky had been parading around looking good enough to eat. Y/n was ashamed to find himself literally walking into poles and walls in his preoccupation with the half naked Bucky.

----------

Y/n sighed in relief. Tonight was going to be blessedly free of one Bucky Barnes, perpetual thorn in his gay side.

He was going out to a bar. It was an open secret that this particular bar was a gay bar. The cops in that area were happy to turn a blind eye to it largely because several of them were known regulars there.

That didn't mean you could just go about talking about it, or anything that went on inside it while you weren't there.

It was still illegal after all.

Y/n leaned back into his booth and sighed happily. A nice drink, some eye candy that wouldn't beat the crap out of him just for giving them the eye, and a little dancing ought to make his worries just float away.

Y/n had been looking forward to this all week.

Damn Barnes to hell and back.

Y/n moved over to the bar to order himself something silly. He was feeling the need for some ridiculousness tonight.

He had just taken his first sip of his drink when he spotted him. There he was, standing by the bar just a little ways down from Y/n, seemingly ordering a drink.

Y/n tried valiantly to not spit his mouthful of booze all over the bar. He had paid good money for that drink and he would be damned if he wasted it.

It didn't work very well. Some of it ended up coming out of his nose, and as he hacked up the parts of it that went down the wrong pipe to choke him, the rest dribbled down his chin.

'Well, that was attractive,' Y/n thought drily.

"Oh gosh, are you alright? Here, let me help."

Y/n turned watering eyes on the man addressing him.

He was met with a short blond who looked like a stiff wind could knock him over if he wasn't careful.

He was holding out a handkerchief and looking unsure of himself.

Y/n went to reassure the stranger that he was fine, but some small remaining part of the drink that hadn't been attempting to kill him before chose that moment to do so. Instead of words, he could only hack and cough, trying to get the liquid out of his lungs.

Y/n felt a hand on his back moving in firm circles, trying to help. He looked back over at the man to find him at his side frowning as he rubbed at Y/n's back.

When Y/n could finally speak properly he took the handkerchief, which had once again been offered, to clean his face of tears and spit and snot.

'Who'd have thought that alcohol burned so badly going into a person's nose and lungs?' Y/n thought disgustedly.

When he had cleaned himself up properly and turned back to his savior he suddenly realised he had no idea how to make this situation any less awkward.

The other man apparently had no such reservations.

"I'm Steve by the way. That looked pretty painful. Are you okay now?"

He was so earnest, and it didn't look like he was laughing at Y/n at all, so he could only nod vaguely.

"Yeah, I was just surprised by something. I'm Y/n, just so you know."

Y/n paused, feeling every bit as awkward as he ever had.

"Um, after that bit of excitement, I think I'm gonna call it a night. Murderous drinks aside it was nice meeting you. Can I clean this and bring it back here some time for you Steve?"

Y/n held up the thoroughly soaked handkerchief, cringing internally.

"Oh, don't worry about it, but are you sure you don't want to stay for a little bit longer? I'm here with my friend, but he's never very good company when there's dancing and alcohol involved."

Y/n mulled it over for a second, before manners kicked in.

"Yeah, no worries. I could stay for a bit longer, if only to save you from a lonely evening."

Steve's smile was sweet, but Y/n also couldn't detect anything else behind it. It didn't seem like he was trying to hit on Y/n, just that he didn't want to spend the night alone while his 'friend' danced the night away.

Y/n followed behind Steve as he led him over to the booth that Y/n had originally been sitting in.

Y/n stopped still at the sight of who was sitting across from Steve. Bucky dang-it-all-to-heck Barnes.

At their approach, Bucky turned away from the two women sitting with him in the booth. His handsome face lit up when he registered who it was standing in front of him.

"Stevie, there you are. I was starting to think you ditched me earlier than ever, but look what you found. I should bring you here more often."

Steve just gave Bucky a blank look.

Y/n couldn't blame him. If his 'good friend' had taken him out for a night of fun, he wouldn't have appreciated him looking at other guys that way either. He wasn't exactly backward in letting people know he was interested from the sounds of it.

Y/n stood awkwardly by the booth, not really sure if he should still be there. He had followed Steve to keep him company, but if it were him in Steve's shoes right now, he'd want him to leave.

"Um, I think I should probably head off actually."

Steve turned back to Y/n looking confused.

"Oh, well if you're sure. You don't have to stay if you don't want to of course."

Y/n refused to acknowledge the fact that Bucky was honest to goodness pouting. Was there anything in this world that was fair?

"Well, at least let me walk you out."

There would be no arguing apparently, as Bucky was already out of his seat and herding Y/n to the door.

"It was nice meeting you!" Y/n barely managed to turn to yell to Steve as he was pulled away by the ever insistent Bucky.

Once they made it outside Bucky paused and turned to face Y/n.

"Hey."

Y/n turned to face him.

"Gotta say, I'm gettin' a bit confused here."

Y/n frowned but stayed silent.

"When we met at work I thought you were pretty cute, but you don't hit on people down by the docks if you wanna live to see the next sunrise, you know? But then you were always starin' an I thought, maybe you mighta been interested. Then that day you kept walkin' into things happened and I was pretty dang sure you were."

Y/n was blushing by now.

'Great so he did notice.'

"But then I see you here."

Bucky had moved closer and lowered his voice, speaking softer.

"An, no offense to Stevie, but he's not exactly every guys dream-boat. You know, I don't even think he knows this is a gay bar."

He broke off here to chuckle quietly. He was standing so close, he was practically pressing Y/n up against the wall of the bar.

"But then you're actin' all stand-offish. Like you can't even bare to look at me. So, what's a guy to think?"

Bucky seems to realise how this might be coming across and pulls away to give Y/n some room.

"Do I got a shot with you Y/n?"

Y/n had been floating somewhere dreamy with Bucky pressed up so close to him, but when he pulled away, reality came crashing down. How dare he ask questions like that when Steve was in there waiting for him to get back?

"You got some nerve Barnes. You can't just ask anyone out. Not when you got a fantastic guy like that waiting for you in there!"

"Fantastic guy? What-"

Y/n cut him off before he could sweet talk his way out of this.

"Steve! He's sweet, and kind and probably way too good for someone who flirts with everyone on the block!"

Bucky was laughing, which Y/n thought was way out of line.

"Wha, Y/n, Steve's just a friend. He don't even swing that way."

Y/n's face lit up with the brightest blush he had ever felt. He was sure he was going to actually self-combust before long.

"Oh."

"Yeah. So is that why you looked at me like that?"

He moved closer again, and when he spoke that damned silver tongue was back.

"I would never. When I'm with someone, they're the most important person in the world to me. Besides, how could I ever look my ma in the face again if I treated my partner like that?"

Y/n blushed fiercely.

"So whaddya say? Give me a shot?"

Y/n could only nod, face still a brilliant red.

#Bucky barnes x male reader #Bucky barnes #James barnes x male reader #james barnes #Male reader #marvel fanfiction

[bill-y]

𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐄

Peeta Mellark x male reader

[ We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family. ]

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part three: Click this, Rumtumtugger.

Part four: you're here, jennyanydots

Part five: Clicky dicky here, buddy

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

Those words left my mouth without much thought. I wasn't thinking of the damned consequences at the moment.

Behind me was Kunal, an iron grip on my leg, bawling his eyes out. "Y/N! NO! NO! YOU CAN'T GO!" he pleaded, his cries getting louder by the second. 

My hand ruffled his strawberry blonde hair, messing it up. "Let go, Nal," I said in the calmest tone I could muster. He shook his head, tears running down his cheeks, I cleared my dry throat, gulping down nothing. My mouth was dry as if I just ate a handful of salt, which was honestly a luxury.

My face remained stoic, the moment I show a sign of distress I know the people in the Capitol would eat it up like good bread. It entertains them, our suffering entertains them. 

His hands slipped from my leg, gripping on my pants before he was finally taken away from me. "Up you go, Owl eyes," said Gale, his voice trying hard to remain steady. Beside him was Katniss, who was holding Kunal by the shoulders. She nodded, "Good luck, Y/n,"

I nodded, before looking back at the temporary stage. "Oh well, Bravo!" Effie exclaimed. "That's the spirit of the games!"

She was thrilled, finally seeing some action from this district. It made a pit in my stomach, I clenched my jaw. If only the roles were reversed, Capitol people fighting for their lives instead of us.

Oh, how funny that would be.

I strode to the stage, trying my best to look collected. The foreboding feeling in my stomach only grew with each step I took, my hands sweating as if they've just been dipped into water once I finally took my place.

"Do tell us your name," Effie said, her grin widening as she nodded, encouraging me to talk. It took all the will power I had to not strangle her.

"Y/n Greyback," I replied dryly, hoping it would set her off.

“I bet my buttons that was your brother. Don’t want him to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let’s give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!” she trilled, making me clench my fists.

Her words were met with silence. No one clapped, not a noise can be heard. Even the ones who would usually bet on who would wound up as a tribute didn't do anything.

I held back a smile, a surge of hope flowing through me. This was the most rebellious thing they could do without getting punishment of any sort. Silence.

Silence doesn't mean fear or that we're cowards. It meant that we do not accept this, we do not condone.

Just as my father always said, one does not need to shout to make a change.

The next thing that happened was even more of a surprise. Maybe it was because I was a son of a "rebel", maybe they pitied my family or maybe it was because I talked to the mayor's daughter.

Just one, then two, then a group almost all of the crowd put the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and held it out to me. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.

My tense hands relaxed a sense of calm washing over me. We were united in a strange way, something I thought would only happen in my dreams.

"Look at him! Look at this one!" Hollered Haymitch, throwing an arm around my shoulder. His arm was quite heavy, understandable, he's a wreck. "I like him!"

The scent of alcohol from his breath was strong, or maybe he just smelled of alcohol. "Lots of. . ." He paused, trying to think of a word.

I cringed as he slightly swayed around, trying my best to not touch him. "Spunk!" he declared triumphantly. "More than you!"

He released me, staggering to the front of the stage. "More than you!" He declared once more, pointing towards the camera.

Was he talking to the audience? Or maybe he was addressing the Capitol. I wish it's the latter, that would be funny.

Just as he opened his mouth to continue, he fell down the stage, knocking himself unconscious in the process. I snickered slightly, my face scrunching up right after.

Thankfully, the cameras were all pointed towards him, watching as they whisked him away into a stretcher. I took this moment to glare back into the distance, watching the scenery.

There was the hill that me, Katniss and Gale were just at. It looked so peaceful, contrary to my day.

"What an exciting day!" Effie warbled, trying to fix her tilted wig. It looked ridiculous. Why would Capitol people, no, why would anyone wear that?

It looks ugly, like a beaten up squirrel. Though I'd be lying if I said it wasn't eye-catching, though, beaten up squirrels are also eye-catching. “But more excitement to come! It’s time to choose our next tribute!” she continued, putting one hand to the second bowl.

Her fingertips grab the first slip it encounters. I hoped it wasn't Gale or Katniss. I didn't want to kill them, not that I'd ever stand a chance.

Katniss was extremely skilled with the bow, she could probably shoot my head from miles away. Gale, on the other hand, was strong, compared to him, I had the strength of a broken twig.

"Peeta Mellark," She read. Oh no. Why him? Of all the people in this district. His father just "introduced" me to him this morning, not just that, I knew him.

I watched him make his way up the stage, I had a clear look at him this time. He had a stocky build, medium height,  ashy blonde hair that falls in waves over his forehead. The shock of the situation registered on his face, though you could tell that he was alarmed by the way his blue eyes looked.

Like a prey knowing it'd be hunted.

Despite this, he still manages to climb up the small flight of stairs calmly.

Effie Trinket then asked for volunteers, but no one spoke up. He has two older brothers, I've seen them. But one is probably too old to volunteer, and the other just wouldn't. This was standard family devotion, what I'd done was a radical thing.

The mayor began to say the same old words he always says every reaping day. I couldn't help but think, why him?

I remember it all too well, that day, it was raining up a storm, the wind was howling. My mother and my brother were left at home, I was tasked to find food for us since my mother couldn't bear to show her face to the district.

How could she? Her husband has been executed for rebellion against the Capitol. One of the peacekeepers found weapons under his possession and he was killed. He managed to convince them to spare us, though sometimes I wished it hadn't worked.

Within a week of his death, we began to lose money, and therefore, food. Nobody wanted to help us, nobody wanted to associate with the family of a tyrant.

Shame, the family name bared shame. My mother didn't have the gall to go out and sell any of my father's things, my brother was too young to even understand what was going on.

I was angry. How could they have just taken everything away from us that easy? Who gave them the right to do that?

But at that moment, I couldn't afford to sit still and wallow in my resentment. That was a luxury I couldn't afford. not many could afford it either.

Starvation was a fairly common thing in district 12, though the amount of covering up the peacekeepers do no one a favour and fools no one.

There I was, a boy who wasn't even old enough to be registered into the pile walking around in the harsh weather, stripped away from my dignity and whatever money we had.

I found myself in the Mellark's bakery, being told off by the baker's wife, who was tired of having brats from the Seam paw through her trash. I would've screamed back then, but I didn't want the Peacekeepers called on me.

So I left without another word, sitting at a tree for some sort of cover from the harsh rain.  I remember the snorts of the pigs beside me, and that was when I realized I'm no better than cattle; the people of Panim were no better than cattle.

My knees buckles as I collapsed onto the wet grass, shuddering from the cold and the harsh reality. Maybe I had gone insane then, but I vaguely remember talking to the pigs, ranting to them.

They didn't listen, they were too busy rolling in the mud. Looking back, I find this extremely funny, but maybe that's because I don't want to pity myself.

I didn't even notice a boy until the pigs actually rose to eat the pieces of bread thrown at them. I stared at him for a long while, mainly because of the burnt bread, the crust was scorched black.

But a red mark on his cheekbone caught my attention. Had they hit him for burning the bread? My parents have never hit me, I couldn't even imagine what that would feel like.

He took one look at the bakery as if checking if the coast was clear before he turned back to the pigs. Though instead of feeding the pigs he tossed the loaves of bread to me.

I watched him walk towards the bakery and closing the kitchen door tightly behind him. All I could do was stay silent, before shoving them up to my shirt, muttering a broken thank you as I ran home.

The loaves had cooled by the time I got home, but that didn't matter. We had something to eat. Mother looked at me, relieved I didn't die. She hugged me, apologizing.

I didn't care though, we had food, that's what's important.

And for the first time in weeks, we had a proper meal.

I was thankful, the fact that he'd probably burnt the bread on purpose never occurred to me until I crawled onto the bed, staring at the wooden ceiling. An act of kindness, someone still cared.

It was as if spring came overnight, fluffy clouds, blue sky, the warm sweet air. At school, we would always catch each other's gazes. I felt a tad bit bad, his cheek was swollen and his eye had blackened.

I couldn't come up to say thank you, instead, I watched him from a distance, contemplating whether I should. When I went to fetch Nal, out eyes met once more, I was about to mouth a thank you until Nal tugged my shirt.

He handed me a dandelion. He's always loved flowers. His love for it made me realize how I would get the food we needed. All that time I and my father spent in the forest won't be for nothing.

To this day, I still feel as if I owe my family's life to him. I had honestly given up, but he gave me something. Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me bread and the dandelion, both gave me hope.

Maybe if I had said thank you all those years ago I wouldn't be feeling so guilty now. I could always say it but something about thanking him whilst I'm practically holding a knife against his throat seems dishonest.

The mayor finished his speech, telling us to shake hands. His were as warm and firm as those loaves of bread. He squeezed me as if reassuring me. Or maybe those were just nervous spasms.

We turn back to the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays.

There are twenty-four of us fighting in that arena, as grim as it is, let's just hope someone kills him before I'm forced to. I don't wanna kill the reason I've survived all those years.

Word count: 2026

Tags:

@nin3s

Sorry for the late update my exams are next week and im rushing to finish my requirements at school. :"

#hunger games x reader #hunger games x male reader #male reader #hunger games #male reader insert #peeta mellark x male reader #peeta mellark x reader #x male reader #peetamellark #gale #katniss everdeen #male x male reader

[khaleesiofalicante]

This is War - A Crack Fic

All the chaotic, horny energy today had to be channelled somewhere, right? 

You can read the fic here on ao3 too :)

Central park was a vision to behold. There were no mundanes within sight. The warlocks had made sure to glamour the entire area just for today.

“We are not shadowhunters,” Ragnor had said. “We don’t half ass things.”

He of course had left immediately after securing the parameter saying he didn’t want to be involved in another one of Magnus’ childish squabbles.

“Welcome everyone,” Simon said, standing on a podium hadn’t been there before. Where was that from?

“Why is he wearing a robe?” Helen whispered to her wife. Aline just shrugged.

“For far too long we have been trying to settle this debate,” Simon said in a deep voice that was not that deep. “But today, we must settle on an answer.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “Can we get to the good part?”

“Jace, you promised you’ll let me have my moment!” Simon hissed at him and then cleared his throat. “Today we will decide the most pressing crisis of our time. Who broke the coffee maker in the Lightwood-Bane household?”

“Wasn’t me,” Magnus shrugged. “If I did, then I would have fixed it immediately. It was obviously Alec.”

“Liar!” Alec gasped. “I love coffee. I love that coffee maker. Why would I break it?”

“Well, to love is to destr-” Jace spoke up.

“Honey, not now,” Clary shushed him.

“Listen, the kids can’t obviously reach the coffee maker yet,” Magnus pointed out. “And I’m not the one who takes out my frustration on inanimate objects. I mean we all know what happened to the kettle in the institute.”

There was a soft murmur from the shadowhunters of the New York institute.

“I WAS HAVING A BAD DAY!” Alec argued.

“Just admit you broke the coffee maker, Alec,” Magnus said.

“I didn’t do it!” Alec replied. “You’ve always been jealous of the coffee maker.”

Magnus snorted. “Jealous? Me? Pfft. You’re the one who is obsessed enough with the darn thing to name it.”

“Treat lightly, Magnus,” Alec said. “Charles is already dead. Why would you-”

“ENOUGH!” Simon said into the microphone. When did he get that? “Like I said, this childish argument has gone for too long. Today we will settle it like the civilized adults that we are.”

Simon bent down and picked up a giant gun.

“PAINTBALL FIGHT, Y’ALL!” he yelled.

Everybody started cheering – with way too much enthusiasm for a Monday morning.

“Alright. Magnus, Alec – whoever loses the game will agree that they broke the coffee maker, and we will put this whole thing behind us and move on. Do you agree to these terms?”

Magnus and Alec looked at each other and then nodded at Simon.

“Alright!” Simon grinned. “Pick your teams!”

Little Rafe ran towards Magnus.

Alec gasped. “Betrayed by my own blood.”

Max ran towards Alec. “We are going to win. I always win.”

Alec grinned at that. “I pick Jace.”

Jace grinned back and ran up to his parabatai. “Ohhhh y’all are so going down.”

Magnus laughed. “We’ll see about that, blondie. I pick Emma.”

“Oh damn,” someone said from the crowd.

“Emma, this is a paintball fight,” Alec pointed out. “You can’t use Cortana.”

“Don’t worry, it’s just for emotional support,” she said with a wicked gleam.

“Alright,” Alec said. “I pick Julian.”

“Isabelle,” Magnus called.

“KIT!” Alec yelled.

“TIBERIUS!” Magnus thundered.

“Count yourself lucky that it’s daytime,” Alec said. “Otherwise, I would have called Lily and she would have destroyed all of you!”

“Already making excuses for your imminent failure?” Magnus chuckled. “I choose Helen and Aline!”

“You can’t pick them both!” Alec argued.

“I can and I just did,” Magnus winked.

“Yeah, Helen and I won’t fighting in opposing sides,” Aline shrugged. “Sorry, Alec.”

“I got the lesbians!” Magnus laughed. “You are going down, Alexander.”

“You wish,” Alec said and whistled. Diego showed up behind him. “I got the Inquisitor!”

“Clarissa,” Magnus said. “The Angel’s chosen one.”

“Babe,” Jace said. “You can’t!”

“Everything is fair in love and war,” Clary shrugged, pointing a gun that was bigger than her. “And this is war, biatch!”

“Kieran!” Alec called and the unseelie king materialised from some corner and ruffled Max’s hair.

“Mark!” Magnus called.

“Cris-”

“Oh no you don’t,” Cristina lifted her finger warningly. She was perched on top of a tree. “I’m not going to be a part of this madness. I got a medicine kit right here. So, if anyone needs me, just holler, okay?”

“And I will excuse myself as the referee of course,” Simon pointed out. “Alright. Standard paintball rules apply. No serious injuries. If you get shot, then you’re off the game. Last team standing wins. And no runes or downworld powers. We are gonna fight mundane style.”

“YAS!” Kit cheered, already cuddling his paintball gun.

“Alright then,” Simon waved a flag. Where did he get THAT from? Did he have a bag of equipment just lying around?

“LET THE BATTLE OF THE COFEE MAKER BEGIN!” Simon yelled.

And then there was chaos.

The warlocks – mostly Ragnor – had changed the area into a paintball area. There were places to hide behind and attack from. It was really elaborate. Maybe Ragnor had more fun designing this space than he had let on.

“Alright,” Alec said to his team. “Let’s keep this simple. Take down anyone you see.”

“Anyone? What about our significant others?” Jace asked. “Do we shoot them down too?”

“Of course not!” Alec chastised. “We are not animals! Is that clear?”

“Yes, Consul!” everyone yelled.

“I DON’T CARE IF THEY ARE YOUR BOO OR YOUR BAE, THEY ARE GOING DOWN,” Magnus said to his team. “FIND YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHERS FIRST. THEY WILL NOT EXPECT YOU TO STRIKE! USE THAT TO YOUR ADVANTAGE! THERE ARE NO SIGNIFICANT OTHERS. ONLY SIGNIFICANT ENEMIES. IS THAT CLEAR?”

“YES CAPTAIN!” they all cheered.

They all broke out and ran to find their targets.

It wasn’t even five minutes since the game had begun and Kit ran straight into Ty.

“Hey,” Kit waved.

Ty pounced and pinned Kit to the ground. He pointed his gun at his boyfriend.

“Alec said we can’t hurt our significant others,” Kit put up his arms.

“Our captain said no such thing,” Ty replied. “You’re not-…Why are you grinning? I got you pinned down.”

“It’s my favorite place to be,” Kit smiled. “I open my eyes and there you are. You’re beautiful.”

“Stop flirting with me when I’m trying to fight you,” Ty blushed and then held out his hand. “Fine. I didn’t see you and you didn’t see me.”

Kit winked at him and ran away.

Mark and Kieran found each other next.  They both held their guns at each other – neither of them shooting.

“This is childish,” Kieran pointed out. “I’m already bored.”

“Wanna go sit on that tree and hang out with Cristina?” Mark winked.

Kieran grinned and the two of them ran away too.

Helen and Aline looked at them and shrugged.

“We could just live stream the whole thing,” Helen pointed out. “Lily would like to see this.”

“I don’t know what that means but if that’s what you want to do and that’s what we shall do,” Aline smiled and and kissed her wife.

“Clary,” Jace said in relief when he saw her. “Thank god! I thought someone-”

There was sudden pain in his chest and he looked down to notice the big green splotch on this t-shirt.

“You...You shot me,” Jace said, sounding hurt.

“Jace, I’ve already stabbed you in the past and you once set me on fire,” Clary rolled her eyes and ran away to find her next target. “Get with it!”

“JULIAN ATTICUS BLACKTHORN,” Emma yelled and ran towards him. “YOU’RE GOING DOWN.”

“Not today,” he winked at her.

Emma blushed furiously just before attacking him. It wasn’t easy. Emma was skilled at close range combat, but Julian knew all her weak spots. So, they were even.

They wrestled for a while before Julian pinned her to the ground. He was breathing hard, his pupils dialed.

“I’m sorry, but this is strictly business,” he shrugged with a mischievous grin.

“But we are still on for tonight, right?” Emma asked. “I finally got a reservation at that Italian place you like.”

Julian’s eyes softened a litte. “You did?”

“Yes,” Emma smiled and hooked her legs on his ankles and flipped them in the blink of an eye. She shot him on the stomach and kissed him on his lips. “See ya at seven!”

Unlike everyone else Isabelle was not going to be fooled or manipulated by her significant other. Thank the Angel Simon wasn’t a part of this. She really liked the feel of the paintball gun in her hands. It was huge, powerful, messy and colorful too. Her kind of weapon.

She ran around the park and took down the others mercilessly. There were only a few of them remaining now – everyone else had already been shot.

But not Isabelle.

She didn’t care about the coffee maker of course. The argument was a ridiculous one.

She just wanted to win.

In the distance, she saw Emma take down Kit and Diego shoot Ty. She was off to destroy the Inquisitor when she had a familiar cry.

“Baby,” she ran to him. “My little blueberry muffin. Are you okay?”

“I fell,” Max sobbed. “Somebody pushed me.”

“Tell me who did this and I will-”

“ISABELLE DON’T!” she heard Magnus yell.

But it was too late.

There was a giant blue splotch on her white blouse.

“Max?” she asked in betrayal.

The boy just giggled and ran away.

In this distance, she now saw Diego covered in red, with a very satisfied Rafael hanging upside down from a tree.

And then the rest of them went feral.

“Surrender, Alexander,” Magnus said an hour later, holding up his gun, which was covered in glitter. “Everyone on your team is down.”

“Well, I don’t see anyone from your team standing either,” Alec pointed out.

“I still am,” Magnus said.

“So am I,” Alec replied.

“Give it up, Alexander!”

“Never,” Alec said adamantly. “This is for the coffee maker. I loved it so much!”

“Then you shouldn’t have broken it,” Magnus argued.

“I didn’t!” Alec said in frustration. “I love it so much because…because that’s the first thing you bought for me.”

“Oh,” Magnus said, the grip on his gun softening lightly.

“I know you have bought me so many expensive gifts but the coffee maker…it’s always been my favorite. I remember walking into your apartment one day, we weren’t even properly back together then, and you just bought it for me.”

“Well, you drink a lot of coffee,” Magnus grumbled.

“Yeah and you noticed. And you got me something so I wouldn’t feel weird in your apartment. You bought it so make me so comfortable. That’s when I realized I really, really like you.”

Magnus blushed a little. “Well, then now it sounds stupid to think you broke the thing.”

“That’s because I didn’t, Magnus!”

“Well, I didn’t either!” Magnus put up his hands. “In fact, the day it broke, I wasn’t even home. I was in the spiral labyrinth all day.”

“I know! I wasn’t home either! I had to go to the Mexico institute for an emergency meeting, so I called Jace to babysit the ki-”

They both stared at each other.

“JACE LIGHTWOOD HERONDALE!” Magnus’ voice boomed across the park. “DID YOU BREAK ALEC’S COFFEE MAKER?”

Jace was sweating. “Listen, I was gonna say something and then y’all started fighting and it was very awkward, and I was looking for the right time and then Simon came up with this idea and I thought 'hey we haven’t done a fun group activity in a long time and so why not?', ya know?”

Magnus and Alec looked at each other.

“Everybody,” Alec called. “Change of plans. Attack my parabatai.”

“AND SHOW NO MERCY!” Magnus yelled.

#I don't know what I did but I did it :) #malec #malec fics #tsc fics #dani writes stuff #tmi #tda #tsc

[thedumpsterqueen]

Standards of Performance

Here it is!!!!! First chapter of my first fic on my new AO3! This is a multi-chapter, slow burn work. Please let me know what you think, I welcome screaming and incoherent asks about our fave special agent in my inbox. Full text under the cut, or you can find it through the AO3 link below.

AO3 link

Summary:  You're the BAU's newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 1, Coffee Stains and Neckties

Words: 2388

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

Warnings: Not much for this chapter specifically, but let’s just assume general gore and murder stuff, explicit language, and sexual content are fair game form here on out.

Enjoy! I’ll try to update weekly, if not more often. I’ll let you know when I have a more defined schedule!

“Fucking SHIT!”

You cursed as you felt the (very, very) hot coffee soak your new skirt. Grabbing as many paper towels as you could with one hand, you tried to sop up the mess on the floor. The stain on your outfit? A shame, but nothing compared to marring the assuredly expensive cream color of the BAU’s breakroom carpet.

A low chuckle sounded off behind you, and you froze.

For the love of god, please don’t be…

“Morgan! Please tell me you have carpet cleaner, oh my god. I don’t even know how that happened.”

Morgan grinned, as he typically did, sauntering into the breakroom with his hands in his pockets. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, the janitor's got it later. I was looking for you, team meeting in five. You all good? You look a little - ” he paused, probably searching for a descriptor that wouldn’t sting too bad, “ - rushed.”

You stood up, sighing. He was right, after all. You had stayed up late last night poring over psychology textbooks and only just woken up in time to leave your apartment. As the BAU’s newest profiling intern - whatever the hell that actually meant - the pressure of performing to seasoned profilers’ standards manifested in spending practically all your free time buried in research. Hence why your hair was coated in unbelievable amounts of dry shampoo, you were wearing your unflatteringly oversized glasses instead of your usual contacts, and why your frantic attempt at pouring yourself a cup of coffee when you got into work had resulted in the giant wet spot currently soaking your skirt.

At least the skirt was black.

“You’re right. Late night,” you said, rolling your eyes at Morgan’s suggestive eyebrow waggle.

“Not like that, I wish. Just trying to catch up. Don’t really want to repeat last week’s disaster,” you mumbled, referring to the first time you actually got to question a suspect, which had ended up with a wad of saliva hawked in your face. It was only your third week in the position, but damn, if that hadn’t let the wind out of your sails a bit.

“Hey, what did I tell you then?” Morgan asked, as you walked out of the breakroom together. “You’re not a true profiler until you get assaulted by a serial killer!”

“I’m not a true profiler until I finish the year long training program,” you pointed out, “so I think I could do without the spit in the meantime.”

Morgan laughed, opening the door of the team’s briefing room for you. “Well if we’d known you were gonna be so picky, we might have gone with someone else.”

“Who’s picky?” asked Emily, looking up from her seat.

While Morgan laughed and launched into a dramatic retelling of the event as if the entire team hadn’t already fucking seen it in real time, you took your seat at the table. Reid nodded in acknowledgment, and you returned it with a small smile. Damn if he wasn’t handsome, and ridiculously smart to boot, but you were pretty sure your chances with him withered and died when you asked him what he was doing after work last Friday and he answered with, “Reading.” Point taken.

Hotch swiveled in his chair to face the table and you suddenly became acutely aware of how much of a mess you probably looked. It’s not that you cared about his opinion regarding your general appearance beyond the basic standard of professional attire, but his always-intense gaze and stony expression had a way of making you second guess even your most confidently held opinions.

“Sit,” he said, his voice cutting through the rest of the team’s animated chatter.

It would have been hard not to notice how quickly they obliged, not out of fear, but rather a respect and deference so deeply ingrained that it almost gave you goosebumps. You’d never thought of yourself as a follower, per say, but if Hotch was what a leader looked like, you certainly didn’t fit into that category either.

He scanned the table, stopping on you. “New glasses?” he asked, with a single, slightly raised eyebrow.

“I, um, not really, just didn’t have time to put my contacts in,” you stammered.

“Hm,” Hotch said, “They look nice.”

Your cheeks suddenly felt hot, and you thanked him quickly, looking down at your shoes to conceal the pink that was probably spreading across your face. Hotch had a way of speaking that made everything he said sound like the absolute truth, which was probably why such an innocuous little compliment had disarmed you so much.

Still though, jesus christ. Get it the fuck together. You’re not Reid; you’re not smart enough to be this awkward.

Hotch, blessedly ignoring how painful you just made that interaction, addressed the team while JJ passed out files. “We have a new case. Three bodies, all found completely drained of blood in various woods, off hiking trails. Cause of death appears to be blood loss from severed carotid arteries, meaning they were likely strung up and drained before being moved to where they were discovered.”

Reid spoke up first. “Erm, what exactly do you mean by various woods?”

“That’s the unusual thing,” Hotch said, pulling up a map of the southwestern United States on the screen behind him. "Each body was found in a different state, one here, one here, and one here,” pointing to spots in California, Arizona, and Nevada. “However, local police discovered the bodies within hours of each other due to anonymous tip offs, and medical examiners estimate approximately the same time of death for all three.”

Morgan whistled lowly. “So what you’re saying is, this guy kills three victims around the same time and takes a road trip to hide their bodies in places he knows won't be discovered until he calls in.”

“That’s how it appears, yes,” Hotch confirmed.

Rossi shook his head, twirling a pen that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. “So, how are we splitting this up?”

You whipped your head in his direction. Splitting up? Of course, you should have known it’d only make sense considering the ground to be covered, but your quick mental calculations told you that there were six of them, evenly split into three groups of two, and one odd man out, both in skill and number - you.

“So, who’s getting stuck with me?” you asked, trying to beat everyone to the punch. Not that any of them would voice it, but if you couldn’t project confidence, you figured self-awareness would do.

When you entered the internship as a recent college grad around a month ago, you knew you’d be in way over your head. Everyone else on the team was a seasoned expert, and you were a 20-something with a degree in psychology who somehow managed to charm her way through the interviews of the BAU’s flagship internship program. It’s not that you weren’t smart, you were, of course, but comparatively? You were pretty sure this was shaping up to be a glorified babysitting program, and you were the baby.

“Oh, hush,” JJ said, smiling and shaking her head. You smiled back. JJ had gone out of her way to make you feel welcome, which you were unspeakably grateful for. Between her and Morgan, you sometimes felt like maybe when this year was done, you could actually belong on this team.

Hotch interrupted your pity party. “Rossi, you’re with Reid in Phoenix. JJ and Emily, you’re going to Vegas. Morgan, you and I are going to San Diego.”

He turned to you. “You’re coming with me.”

Your stomach flipped at his words. You knew he had the most to teach you, and you could observe him coordinating the entire investigation from San Diego, but the idea of your performance being directly scrutinized by your boss in such a small group made you more nauseous than excited.

“Please be aware,” he continued, “Garcia is going to have to deal with three times the inquiries as normal. I recommend you only contact her if the information you’re searching for is genuinely too difficult to find yourself.” He gave Morgan a pointed look, to which Morgan raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning.

“We’ll drop teams off as we go,” Hotch said. “Wheels up in thirty.”

____________

As you settled into your seat on the plane, your mind spun, trying to review every piece of psychology knowledge you’d ever encountered. This wasn’t your first case, but it was the first one you got to travel for, which made it feel much more real.

The hours ticked by as the team reviewed the case. You contributed - not much, and nothing they wouldn’t have thought of without you - but it was something. Narcissist, craves attention and spotlight, physically confident enough to detain and murder three women at the same time. The method was throwing the team for a loop, however. Bleeding the victims out was clinical, relatively painless - uncharacteristic of the sexual injuries found on the corpses and the bravado with which the killer executed the rest of the crime.

When you, Hotch, and Morgan trudged off the plane in San Diego, you had been going at the potential profile for hours and even Morgan’s patience was wearing thin.

“Look, Hotch, let’s hold off on speculation until we see the crime scene in person, alright?”

Hotch nodded, and took that as a cue to head straight to the crime scene. You groaned internally - having barely showered this morning and spent half the day on a plane, your greasy hair and coffee-stained skirt would have greatly benefited from a stop at the hotel to freshen up.

It’s not like you have to look good to go stare at a patch of dirt where a dead body used to to be though, right?

____________

Turns out the aforementioned patch of dirt was actually a wooded grove off a hiking trail leading to a nude beach, much to Morgan’s delight. The site itself was uninteresting except for the way the body had been buried - covered up very securely, implying remorse, another characteristic that didn’t make sense with the initial profile.

This commonality between all three crime scenes was hotly debated on the video conference between the entire team when you got back to the hotel. Cross legged on the bed in Hotch’s hotel room, you listened to Reid and Rossi snipe back and forth on the laptop about what the burial method could mean for ten-plus minutes (“It’s clearly just a functional tool to properly hide the body, Reid.” “But you don’t know that, the significance of burial practices can tell us so much more beyond function, it can even tell us about his religious upbringing…”) before Hotch put a stop to it.

“What do you think?” Hotch asked you, turning and looking directly into your gaze. You were suddenly hyperware of the proximity between you two - sitting close enough on the edge of the bed that your thighs were almost touching. Morgan had abandoned his position on the other side of you to stretch out in the armchair by the window halfway through Rossi and Reid’s debate. Hotch’s eyes boring into yours from only a few feet away and the expectant silence of the other team members on the video call spiked your heart rate, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.

“I… agree with Dr. Reid. I think it means something. The position of the hands, they were crossed across the chest, right? He didn’t need to do that. I don’t know if it means he was remorseful, but it was on purpose. I think.”

Hotch nodded, not breaking eye contact. “Good. Let's move forward with that theory.” He turned back to the laptop. “Let me know how interviews with the loved ones go tomorrow. Let’s find the connection between the victims. Call me if you need anything.” After shutting the laptop, he turned to you and Morgan. “Let’s call it for tonight. Meet me in the lobby at 7 tomorrow.”

Having been excused, you and Morgan made your way to your hotel rooms next to Hotch’s. Morgan wished you goodnight, and you unlocked your door and practically sprinted into your shower.

After you got out, you looked around the room, towel drying your hair. It was nice, much nicer than anywhere you’d ever stayed. The abstract art on the walls and the modern, clean white lines of the furniture were lit by the soft glow of the sunset filtering through the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony overlooking the ocean. You poured yourself a glass of wine from the minibar (a reimbursable travel expense, right?) and stepped onto the balcony, breathing in the ocean air.

“Nice night, hm?”

You jumped, nearly spilling your drink down your front for the second time in less than 24 hours. Hotch was sitting in a chair on his balcony to the left of yours, reclining with his hands behind his head. Despite wearing nothing but your thin hotel robe, you felt the urge to avert your eyes from him. His suit jacket was shucked, tie undone and hanging around his neck, and the top two buttons of his white, collared shirt were unbuttoned. You felt like you were seeing something you shouldn’t have, like the cold stoniness of his exterior had shifted just slightly and allowed you a glimpse underneath.

It’s just a couple buttons, calm down. You’re the one who’s barely clothed in front of your fucking boss.

“It is. Shame we can’t go to the beach,” you replied, keeping your eyes forward.

Oh my god, three women were murdered and I just complained to my boss about not being able to go to the beach.

“You’re welcome to get up early and go tomorrow; might be a bit cold,” Hotch replied. You could tell from his voice he was smiling.

You mumbled in affirmation, continuing to avoid glancing in his direction. “Well, I just wanted to see the view, um, I’m gonna get to bed. Goodnight, Agent Hotchner!” You ducked back into your room, and you could have sworn you heard him chuckle before you slid the door shut.

After getting ready, beating yourself up mentally for your complete social incompetence, and tucking in under the plush, white duvet, you drifted off to sleep.

#hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner #hotch smut #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds headcanons #slow burn #slow building romance #spencer reid #mgg #emily prentiss #jj #rossi #hotch headcanon #fanfiction #writing #criminal minds imagine #dom!hotch #sub!reader #dom and sub #also on ao3 #thomas gibson

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Love or Duty by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 1/8

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche

Chapter 1: The Uneasy Alliance

“Our scout says she burned the village to the ground, everything is gone. She didn’t even leave the animals alive.”

The King surveyed the room filled with nervous men, he held up his hand and a hush fell over the crowd. “Double the guard at the gate, just to be safe.” He turned toward the Knight, the man nodding swiftly before exiting the chamber. “Regina is still in the East, Misthaven is safe.”

“For how long?” Someone yelled from the back of the room.

“We need to move the women and children.” Another voice spoke above the crowd.

“Everyone calm down. There is no need to panic, our guard is strong, our swords are mighty. We will not be taken by the Queen from the Eastern lands.”

“We need more swords, Your Majesty. If we stand alone, Misthaven will surely fall.”

The warning did not fall on deaf ears, as the King paced his chambers that evening, his wife, Queen Margaret preparing herself in their bed chamber, watched him with eager eyes. “You appear distracted this evening.”

“It’s Regina, she destroyed the town of Umbury. The nobles are concerned that she is advancing north.”

“You do not think our defenses will hold.” She spoke softly, standing from her spot in front of the bed, less of a question and more of a statement that she had read from his mind. She was good at that, reading his thoughts, understanding what he wasn’t saying before he could even admit his own truth.

He contemplated a moment, not wanting to worry his wife but knowing it was pointless to deny what she already knew. “No. They are our best men, but I fear there are simply not enough of them.”

“Then you must go west.”

“Never. Those fools will not listen much less be willing to help our cause.”

“Those fools are also standing in her way.” She said soothingly, taking his hand and pulling him toward the bed. “Alone, both kingdoms will fall. But if you come together, put aside this foolish feud, we will surely stop her in her path.”

“Brennan Jones is a fool. I would no sooner beg for his assistance than I would bend a knee to Regina’s demands.”

“Then you, my love, are the fool.” She put a hand to his open mouth, stopping his protest and complaint. “You are King David Nolan; you serve the people of Misthaven. It is time to forgive past transgressions, you must come together with the people of Jonesboro or you doom our own to a life of misery and servitude under the rule of Queen Regina.”

He bent his head, knowing his wife was right. He was out of options; they wouldn’t last the month at the rate that Regina was burning the lands. He needed assistance and his best chance was his neighbor to the west. King Brennan was the last man he would seek out, the last man he would be found groveling to, and sadly, he had no other options. King Brennan Jones was their only hope.

~*~

“To what do I owe this great displeasure of seeing your face on my doorstep, David?”

“I’m no more excited to be at your doorstep than you are to see me, Brennan, but we need to speak regarding our mutual problem in the East.”

“Ah so you’re here about the infestation, or as she likes to call herself, Regina.”

David nodded. “She burned Umbury to the ground not two days ago.”

“My scouts have not brought news of Umbury yet. Are you quite sure?”

“Not even the animals survived the slaughter.” David said somberly.

“Umbury is not far from the road to Misthaven, is it not?”

His irritation grew. “You know that it is.”

“This does not sound like my problem, David.”

“If Misthaven falls, how long before Jonesboro follows?” He stated emphatically. “Regina will not rest until all the lands are hers.”

The man paced in front of him, the cold mask set on his face, unreadable. “You expect me to believe that you care about what happens to my kingdom?”

“I know that my kingdom cannot survive without help. Neither can yours.” He implored.

“You want to work with me?” He laughed loudly. “I did not think the day would come.”

“Trust me, If there was any other way, I would have found it. Margaret asked me to speak to you, so here I am.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Ah now we come to the truth, Margie sent you.”

This time it was David who rolled his eyes, “She seems to think this is our only way out of this. I am inclined to agree, unfortunately.”

“Go home David, tell your wife I send my fondest regards, but I would sooner gut my own belly than come to your aid.”

“You did not tell me we had visitors.” The men turned toward the intruding voice and David softened when he saw the Queen enter the chambers.

“Ali.” He responded fondly, accepting the hug she offered as she approached. “I apologize for the short notice.”

“You know you are always welcome here.” She turned toward her husband with a glance of annoyance.

“He was just leaving.” Brennan offered quickly.

“Nonsense, what brings you all this way, David? How are Margaret and the children?”

“Everyone is well, Margaret sends her love, I was just speaking to your husband about the situation at Umbury.”

“What news is there of Umbury?”

“Regina.” He said simply and the woman’s face filled with dread.

“There must be something we can do about this woman’s reign of terror.”

He glanced at the King, “That is the reason for my visit. If our Kingdom’s could unite, perhaps we stand a chance at defeating her.”

“There have been too many years of unrest between our lands, our people would never fight alongside yours.” The King complained.

“Not unless they had something to unite behind. Perhaps a truce or a reason for them to join forces.” The Queen suggested.

“If you are suggesting that David and I…”

“Out of the question.” David added.

“Unless…” Brenna said with a raise of his brow. “Your daughter, Emma. She must be at least 18 now?”

David turned toward him with confusion on his face. “She turned 20 this year, why?”

“Our son Liam just turned 24 and has yet to take a bride.”

“Brennan, that is not what I meant.” The Queen stepped forward.

“But if our children were to unite, our people would surely follow?” He turned toward his wife, “It would solve the issue of Liam not choosing a wife, it has been too long and would avoid the messy situation of David needing to grovel in apology.”

“You want my daughter to marry your son!” David remarked in annoyance. “I did not come here to offer my child up as some sort of trophy.”

“So, you came here to beg for forgiveness then?”

“I’ll do no such thing!”

“Boys, please.” The Queen yelled. “This is not getting us anywhere.”

“You realize this entire idea is insane?” He urged as he tried to appeal to the Queen’s common sense.

“Neither of our children are married, they are both of age, it does solve a certain problem. Unless you boys plan to admit that this feud is ridiculous and apologize.”

“Never.” They sang in unison.

“Then I think we should consider it.”

Accepting defeat, David promised to return home and speak to his wife. In a week’s time, Prince Liam would travel to Misthaven to meet with Princess Emma to discuss their courtship. Now all he needed to do was advise Emma that she would be getting married.

~*~

“I’ll do no such thing.” Emma screamed at her father after he announced her upcoming nuptials.

“We don’t have a choice.” Her father countered.

“How dare you make this decision for my life; you swore to me that you would never do that.”

“I’m the King of Misthaven, I have to think about what is right for this kingdom and its people.”

“But what I want doesn’t matter? That’s what he’s saying, Mother.” Emma spun around to face her mother who was sitting on her throne, a frown on her face.

“Emma, it’s our only choice. We need the kingdoms to unite. Your father has to make the difficult decisions for our survival.”

“Oh, this is rich coming from your mouth.” She growled. “If you hadn’t defied grandpa, you’d be married to King Brennan right now!”

“Emma!” Her father’s tone was loud and angry, but she didn’t care in the slightest. She would not be told that she had to give up her life to be tied to a man she did not know or love.

“Emma what?” She snorted. “Don’t speak the truth?”

“This is different.” He paused. “I loved your mother, and she chose me. Her father accepted that. You have yet to find anyone on your own that is up to your standards to marry. And Prince Liam needs a wife.”

“Does Prince Liam want a wife?” She asked defiantly.

“Emma, you are royalty, this is a responsibility that both you and Prince Liam bear. I am sure he understands his role in his family as the Heir Apparent to the throne, as should you.” Her mother scolded.

“I don’t wish to marry.” She pouted and her mother stood from her throne and walked over to Emma, draping her arm around her shoulder.

“Prince Liam is a lovely man, kind and fair. You will grow to love him as if you had chosen him yourself. You have a responsibility to the people of Misthaven to protect them above all else. You will rise to the occasion as Princess of Misthaven and do your duty.” A tear rolled down her cheek and her mother wiped it away, lifting her chin so that their eyes met. “If there was another way, your father and I would have pursued it. We’re asking you to do this, Emma, for us, for your people. I know this isn’t what you want and for that I am truly sorry.” She finished softly.

“If nothing else is required of me, I wish to retire to my room.” Emma stood from her spot, setting her jaw firmly as she glanced at her father, when neither of her parents responded, she turned and stormed from the room, not stopping until she was within her chamber. As soon as she bolted the door closed, she crumpled atop the duvet of her bed, sobbing into her pillow until she fell asleep.

~*~

“You will travel to Misthaven within the week to meet the Princess and begin the courtship.”

“Do you really believe this will help us defeat Regina?” Liam examined the way his father paced the room in front of him, worry set in the wrinkles of his forehead. He had known that Regina was getting closer to Jonesboro and that their swords were unmatched to her army.

“As much as I do not wish to align myself with Misthaven, we need their blades. Their army is large, and we will not survive a full-on assault from Regina without their assistance.”

“And you believe this is the only way?”

“If she is anything like her mother, she will be more than enough woman for you, son.” He patted his son on the back. “If you are not satisfied with her, you can always take a mistress.”

Liam rolled his eyes, “I will do what is required of me, Father.”

“Take your brother to assist you, but keep your eye on him, I do not wish another scandal.”

“Of course.” He said with a nod, exiting the throne room, ignoring the thunderous beating of his own heart. As soon as he was behind closed doors, he grumbled loudly, tossing his boots across the room. Being the first born carried a heavy responsibility. He would be King one day; he would rule all of Jonesboro and as the first born and Heir Apparent to the throne he was expected to take a wife of royal descent.

The tapestry in the corner of his room rustled and swayed until it pushed away from the wall and the blonde woman entered his chambers through the secret door.

“Elsa.” He breathed, crossing the room in long strides to pull her into his arms.

“I came as soon as you left the King’s chambers. Why were you summoned?”

He brushed his lips against hers, before burying his face in the crook of her neck. “It’s Regina, she’s advancing through the realms faster than expected. The King of Misthaven has brokered a deal with my father that will allow our kingdoms to join forces and defeat her.”

“That’s great news.” She sighed. “So what troubles you, my love?”

He took her hands in his, brushing his lips against her knuckles. “I’m to marry Princess Emma.” He felt her flinch at his words and his eyes squeezed shut.

“And you have agreed to this marriage?”

“We knew this day would come eventually.” She sighed and he opened his eyes to meet hers, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye which he immediately swiped away with his thumb. “This is my duty; I cannot let our people down.”

She took his hand and pressed it against her cheek. “I know, that is why I love you.” He held her tight that evening, her body molded into his side as he watched the moon hang high in the sky. He had loved Elsa since he was a young boy when he first saw her outside the palace with her mother, one of the palace cooks, picking onions from the garden.

He had spent years ignoring the pull of his heart toward the young maiden, until he could yearn no more and took her as his own, locked away in a cottage hidden from the castle. They spent many nights lost in each other’s embrace, wishing that life were less complicated than it was.

He envied his brother Killian, as the second born, the responsibility to rule did not fall on his shoulders. His need to find a wife of royal blood was not necessary and as such, Killian took full liberties to live the life of a royal bachelor who bedded any beauty who would share their chamber with him. He knew nothing about responsibility and duty or even love. But Liam knew that as first born, he would one day be King, and he had to live up to his born right, even if it meant never getting to be with the woman he loved.

So instead of grumbling about fairness, he simply boarded the carriage with his brother and set off for Misthaven, preparing to court a woman he had never met and would never love.

“What if she’s ugly, brother?”

“I fail to see why that matters.” Liam groaned as his brother continued to barrage him with a variety of questions and statements about his situation.

“Would you really bed an ugly woman, simply for the honor of the kingdom?”

“Does everything come down to sex for you?”

His brother shrugged, “Not everything, I like a woman who can hold her rum as well.”

He stared out the tiny window in the carriage, wishing to be anywhere but on the road to Misthaven. “One day you will meet a woman who captures your attention even outside your bedchamber, little brother.”

“Why would I have need for a woman outside my bed chamber?” He smiled widely. “And that’s younger brother, Mate.” He corrected and Liam chuckled at the annoyance it caused the man. While Killian was only a few years younger than him, his jealousy of being the second born had always been apparent.

Killian had always been able to use his handsome features and natural charm to get by in the world, Liam envied his spirit. At 14, Killian lost his hand in a sailing incident, Liam never even saw him cry, he simply picked himself up, and despite his mother’s insistence of finding the best prosthetic their gold could procure, he had the silversmith craft him a hook and carried on his way.

Liam was sure eventually the impediment would bother him, but instead he used it to lure women in. He was sure that curiosity in addition to his cocksure demeanor brought about the loss of his virginity by age 15. Women were simply drawn to his playful yet assertive behavior. While Liam grew up by his father’s side, learning the proper way to rule a kingdom, Killian spent his learning poetry and sailing for adventure.

“Your looks won’t last forever and eventually you will desire a woman to want you for more than what you can provide to her in the bed chamber.” He chuckled but his younger brother simply cast his eyes upon their impending arrival.

The carriage came to a halt and Liam stepped through the open door, looking up at the castle in front of him. It was more lavish than their own, brighter colors and more inviting. He nodded to the man who greeted them.

“Prince Liam, Prince Killian, welcome to Misthaven. The King and Queen are expecting you.”

Killian’s grin was wide as he nodded to a maiden who walked past the carriage. Liam groaned and pulled him by the lapel toward the castle doors. “I have orders to keep you out of trouble on this trip, and that one looks like trouble.” He said with a glance toward the flirting maiden.

“You are no fun at all, brother.” He whined following him begrudgingly through the castle halls.

The large doors opened into a wide room, bright banners accenting the stained-glass windows. A golden curtain draped at the far end of the room, two large thrones sitting in the center of the wall. “Be on your best behavior, I beg of you.” He said through gritted teeth toward Killian.

A beautiful young woman stepped toward the King; he could only assume this was his future bride to be, her blonde hair braided into a golden crown. “At least she isn’t a troll.” Killian whispered.

“Welcome to Misthaven, Prince Liam.” King David spoke as he rose from his throne and stepped toward them. “It is an honor to have you here for such a happy occasion.” He smiled and Liam nodded to the man.

“It is an honor to be here.” He turned toward his brother, “This is my brother, Prince Killian.”

Killian bowed with a ridiculous grin on his face. “My father sends his regards.” Liam rolled his eyes; Killian always did have a way of being an ass without even trying. It was no secret that the feud between King David and their father had been contemptuous for years. His father never shared the reason that the two kingdoms were not friendly neighbors, but Liam knew it best not to ask his father of such things.

“I’m sure he does.” The King responded with a firm jaw. “Allow me to introduce you to the jewel of Misthaven. My daughter, Princess Emma.”

The blonde woman stepped forward; her mouth set in a straight line. She held out her hand and he took it, pressing his lips to her knuckles. “Pleasure, M’lady. While your kingdom is vibrant and glorious, it pales in comparison to your beauty.” He could have sworn she rolled her eyes, but she lowered her head before her emerald orbs could meet his. She didn’t even glance at her brother before she spoke.

“I’m sure the journey was long, and you would prefer to be taken to your chambers rather than spend another second pretending to be impressed by my overwhelming beauty.”

Killian snorted loudly beside him, and Liam elbowed him swiftly, a satisfying groan exiting his brother’s throat.

The King glanced at his daughter who barely gave him a glance as she took her place beside her mother.

“I will have you taken to your rooms; shall we expect you for dinner this evening?” The King interjected.

“Certainly, I look forward to seeing you this evening.” Liam said with a bow, turning to exit the room and dragging his brother forward with him. Once they were shown to their rooms, Killian doubled over with a rambunctious howl.

“Hopefully, she likes your performance in bed more than she enjoys your compliments.”

Liam groaned, he assumed all he needed to do was to arrive in Misthaven, court this woman and return home to his kingdom with a bride to be. Based on her reaction to him, that was going to be a bigger challenge than he planned.

Bloody hell.

#love or duty #stacy's fics #emma swan #killian jones #captain swan #captain swan fics #captain swan au

[ectolights]

Haunting Questions

Happy Holiday Truce @rebel-skull! Sorry I’m skating right up against the deadline. This holiday season got busier than I expected.

Thank you for letting me change the prompt a little! This is a DP/Buzzfeed Unsolved crossover fic with a side of Demon Shane. (Read it on AO3 | FFN)

Thanks also to the ever wonderful @oboenotclarinet for your help when I got stuck. I’d be a mess with out you <3

~~~

Maddie attacked the living room with the rare intention of making it look somewhat presentable, for the equally rare occasion of guests coming over. The scorch marks on the wall from the ectopus incident last month she could, unfortunately, do nothing about, but maybe the lime green stains on the couch could still be scrubbed out.

“Danny! Come help me clean up! Our guests will be here soon!”

“Why can’t Jazz do it?” Danny’s automatic response to housework rang out from upstairs, in the direction of his room. Maddie eyed the stain on the couch critically. It’d probably take more than Incredible and elbow grease to get this one out.

“Also, what guests? We literally never have anyone over. Are you actually cleaning?” Danny plodded down the stairs, stopping on the bottom step with his arms draped over the railing. He quirked his eyebrow at his mother in inquiry.

Maddie walked over to the closet with the cleaning supplies, responding over her shoulder, “Jazz is out with her friends, she’ll be back just before the guests arrive—yes, she does have friends, don’t give me that, young man—and I need you to help me tidy up because we were contacted by a team of professional ghost hunters, to be interviewed for their show. Isn’t that exciting! We’ll have the opportunity to share our knowledge about ghosts and ghost hunting with viewers all across the country!” She rifled through the haphazard piles in the closet, searching for the Fenton Foaming Cleaner that would surely (hopefully) remove the sickly splotch on the couch.

Danny moved from the base of the stairs to flop down on the armchair, helpful as ever. The raised eyebrow never faltered as Maddie made her way back to the offending couch, spray bottle prize in hand. “They don’t sound all that professional if they have a tv show. Most of those shows are just a bunch of fancy tricks, you know. Are you sure these guys are for real?”

Maddie spared a glance in her son’s direction, to where he lay sprawled across the chair, one leg carelessly thrown over an arm. She turned back to the stain and spritzed it with the cleaner. “They’re from a company in Los Angeles, called Buzzfeed. They were nothing but professional when I spoke to the representative on the phone.” The stain began to bubble green, an acrid aroma piercing the air. She hummed in concern. It wasn’t supposed to do that. Hopefully that meant it was working.

“Oh wow, that’s a real vote of confidence. Mom, Buzzfeed is like, ‘what pizza you are based on your favorite color,’ or ‘we tried being hipsters for a day,’ they’re an entertainment company. The last thing they are is professional ghost hunters.” Of course, this would probably work in Danny’s favor more than if they were actual ghost hunters, but, well. No one needed to know that.

Maddie paused from her observation of the science experiment that was the couch and met Danny’s raised eyebrow with one of her own. “Even so, sweetie, they’ve offered to pay for this interview and they’re already on their way here. Besides, even if they are a little… new, to the ghost hunting world, then it’s just an even better opportunity to get the word out there! We can outfit them with proper ghost hunting equipment and make sure they’re equipped to handle all the standard ghostly threats. Your father will certainly be excited to show them all his latest inventions!” Her trademark optimism could rival even Pamela Manson’s, and at times Danny questioned how anyone could have that positive of an outlook, even about things like phony ghost hunters coming for a flipping tv show. Still, there was clearly nothing to be done about it now, so Danny figured he might as well brace himself for the inevitable catastrophe.

As Maddie returned her attention to the couch, concerned frown deepening at what she finally decided was a lost cause, she opted to wipe away what was left of the “cleaner” and cover the whole couch with a long, wide throw blanket. That would at least hide the hole that the Fenton Foaming Cleaner had eaten into the cushion. Better than nothing, she supposed. “Now then, Danny, if you’re done griping about people sharing our passion, then you can get your dirty shoes off the arm of the chair and help me dust the living room. They’ll be here soon, and I want the house to be somewhat presentable. Once Jazz comes home we’ll get your father out of the lab and we can all be here for the interview. It’ll be so exciting!”

Danny huffed and reluctantly got to work. “Still think this is a dumb idea,” he mumbled under his breath. His mother rolled her eyes and didn’t comment.

When Jazz came home a little while later she revealed to Danny she had known about this interview for a few days, but after having looked up the show she’d deemed it a non-threat. She explained she was under the assumption Danny knew about the upcoming interview as well, so she didn’t think to tell him. They both supposed their parents had simply had it slip their minds—not an unusual occurrence. Besides, it was a moot point now; the tv people would be here any minute.

“Alright, kids, I’ll make sure your father has kept the lab in one piece and get him to join us before they arrive. Danny, you’re on door duty. Don’t let your father get close enough to threaten them with the Fenton Bazooka. We don’t need a repeat of last time,” this last part was said under Maddie’s breath as she headed to the lab door in the kitchen. Jazz and Danny exchanged a knowing look.

When the doorbell finally did ring, Jazz perched neatly on the chair, Jack and Maddie came running into the room (“Ghost!” “No, Jack, ghosts don’t use the front door, we’ve talked about this Sweetie.”) and Danny opened the front door, pained smile already in place. He was met by two young-ish guys—or, more accurately, a guy and a tree with legs—who both looked very out of place in a town where ghost attacks came on the news as often as the weather. The shorter, more average looking of the two had a bright smile on his face, and the guy with trees for legs (Seriously, how was he so tall?) had his hands in his pockets and a laidback grin.

As soon as Danny laid eyes on the taller one, his smile fell from his face.

There was no way this guy was human.

“Hi! I’m Ryan Bergara, and this is my co-host, Shane Madej. Our cameraman Mark is grabbing the equipment out of the car. We’re the guys from Buzzfeed Unsolved; we’re supposed to interview the local ghost hunters. This is the Fenton residence, correct?” The shorter guy—Ryan, apparently—bounced a little on his toes.

“Well I should hope so Ryan, they have a giant neon sign,” Shane grinned, earning him a lighthearted jab to the ribs from Ryan. Danny narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, of course, welcome!” Maddie came up behind Danny, and he stepped to the side grudgingly as his mother continued, “Please come in and sit down, we’re very excited to have you here. I’m Maddie, and this is my husband Jack and our kids Jazz and Danny. We’ve been looking forward to this ever since you contacted us! It’s a thrilling opportunity.” She led them into the living room, not noticing Danny’s sudden change in attitude. As soon as Shane stepped over the threshold, the electric ice that usually accompanied Danny’s ghost sense washed down his spine—but his ghost sense hadn’t actually gone off. He’d know if it had. This guy was giving him major danger vibes, but he clearly wasn’t a ghost. Danny swallowed the growl that was building in his chest.

Maddie continued welcoming them, unperturbed.

“I always love meeting fellow ghost hunters!” Jack announced in his usual booming fashion. “Always good to see more folks interested in this perilous profession! You can never have too many people fighting back against the threat of those putrid ectoplasmic post-human manifestations.”

Ryan faltered, his smile wavering. “What? I don’t… Fighting? What do you mean, fighting?”

Maddie’s brows creased. “Well, you’re ghost hunters, right? Surely you know that all ghosts are the evil incarnations of human imprints, driven by obsessions to violence and chaos. They have to be dealt with to protect people.”

Based on the gobsmacked expressions on the two purported ghost hunter’s faces, they hadn’t exactly expected this answer.

“So I take it you definitely believe in ghosts, then.”

A brief moment of stunned silence followed Shane’s statement, even Jack temporarily lost for words. “Well of course ghosts are real, that’s ridiculous!” Jack exclaimed once he recovered. “They attack the city practically every week! We Fentons have developed the most advanced ecto-technology capable of harming and containing ghosts. We’ve been studying ghosts for years!”

In what to Danny was a clear effort to ward off one of their father’s ghost rants, Jazz asked, “You’ve been doing this show for a while, correct? You must have fought a ghost before, or at least encountered one?”

“Well, no, we’ve never seen a ghost, or any paranormal creature. We always look for evidence, but we almost never find anything that counts as compelling.”

Ryan, still stunned, held up his hands. “O-okay. Hold on. This is… this is a lot. Why don’t we uh, why don’t we set up for the interview, and then we can continue this conversation while we’re recording, so we don’t have to repeat anything? It’ll be more genuine that way.”

While the Buzzfeed guys, now including their cameraman, set up for the interview, the Fenton parents whispered to each other in heated sounding tones, presumably still baffled by the lack of proper hunting knowledge. Jazz came over to stand by Danny, who (despite the strange turn the afternoon had already taken) hadn’t taken his eyes off Shane. The longer he was in his house the more Danny felt the urge to fight. Jazz didn’t seem to notice her brother’s weird mood, instead commenting, “Well I guess they’re just yet more phonies, huh?”

“No.”

“What?” She sounded taken aback.

“The taller one. Shane. He’s not human. I don’t think he’s a ghost either, he didn’t set my ghost sense of properly, but he’s definitely something. And he’s powerful, too. He gives me a really bad feeling.”

Okay, Jazz was definitely worried now. “Well what are we going to do about it? Is he a threat? Should I call Sam and Tucker?”

“No, I don’t think they’ll be able to help. I don’t think I could take him. I don’t know how to explain it, but I can just sense that he’s too much for me, even with help. I don’t like it.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Besides, he hasn’t actively made any threats yet. For now, we just keep an eye out. If it goes bad, I’ll deal with it while you get Mom and Dad out. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

Jazz glanced between Shane and Danny, pensive. “Okay, but… please be careful.”

Danny spared his sister a brief look. “I’ll try.”

There wasn’t much they could do but act normal and hope for the best, so once everything was set up and the cameras were ready to roll, Shane and Ryan sat on the recently-blanket-covered couch across from Jack and Maddie, who were each in an armchair. Jazz and Danny perched on the loveseat, out of frame and on edge.

Ryan worked quickly through his usual introduction and explanation, eager to get to the meat of the situation.

“So Drs. Fenton, what can you tell us about Amity Park as a haunted location?”

“Well,” Maddie began, “The ghosts started appearing frequently about a year and a half ago, coming from the Ghost Zone into our world and attacking people. They generally cause havoc a couple times a week, destroying property and attempting to injure people. They fight amongst themselves as often as they terrorize average citizens, being the violence-driven creatures they are.”

“Wow, there’s… a lot to unpack there. What is the Ghost Zone?”

“That’s where the ghosts come from!” Jack chimed in. “They need ectoplasm to survive, since that’s what they’re made up of, so they go back to the Ghost Zone when they get weak.”

“So I take it ghosts can be seen to the average eye, then?” Ryan asked.

“Well of course they can! All ghosts can make themselves invisible, but their default state is in the human field of vision. All ghosts are typically tangible, unless actively using their powers of intangibility, and they seem to stay hovering or flying unless deliberately doing otherwise. Most ghosts have offensive powers as well, such as ectoplasmic blasts and elemental attacks, but the weakest ones don’t maintain a consistent form and don’t display anything beyond the basic capabilities,” Maddie explained.

“Wow,” Ryan said, “I had no idea ghosts were so… present. I thought they were, like, barely able to move pencils or turn on flashlights.”

“Nonsense,” Jack declared, “Ghosts are a very serious threat and can cause a lot more harm than turning on the lights!”

Shane leaned forward, hands clasped over his knees. “So ghosts can hurt people? And they do it actively? So much for Casper the Friendly Ghost.”

Maddie waved a hand, nonchalant. “Oh yes, all ghosts are driven by malice; their base instinct is to turn to violence. They’ll just as soon attack each other as they will a human. That’s why it’s crucial to make sure you always have the proper weaponry to defend yourself.”

“What kind of weapons? Like salt and holy water?” Ryan asked, hopeful to at least have gotten one thing right about ghosts.

“Of course not! A little saltwater isn’t going to do anything against a grisly ghoul! That’s why we have these bad boys,” Jack sprung up from his seat, pulling out an ectogun from seemingly nowhere and brandishing it in front of the two guests. They leaned back quickly in response, startled. Mark, from behind the camera, watched nervously, and Jazz put her head in her palm. Danny grimaced.

“This here is a state-of-the-art Fenton brand ectogun, designed and built by yours truly. It uses ecto energy to fight ghost fire with ghost fire. Nothing on Earth is more effective at takin’ down those scary spooks!”

“Alright, Dear, let’s maybe put the gun down; I think it’s making our guests just a little uncomfortable. I’m sure they can admire it just fine from the coffee table.” Maddie stood and placed her hand gently on Jack’s arm, lowering it and deftly taking the gun from his hands. She set it on the table and smiled apologetically at the men on the couch. “I’m sorry, Jack can get a little… enthusiastic. But it’s not to worry, ectoguns can’t hurt humans. They’re designed specifically to target the unique energy that constitutes ghosts; the most even our larger guns would do to humans is knock the wind out briefly.” She encouraged Jack to sit back down, and returned to her own seat.

It may have been Danny’s imagination, but he could have sworn Shane slid further away from where the gun rested innocently between them.

“…Okay, so you use actual weapons to fight ghosts. Cool. Uh… where do you find ghosts? You said something about them going to and from the—Ghost Zone, correct?—so I assume they aren’t bound to one place like in most tales about them,” Ryan said, attempting to brush off any lingering awkwardness from Jack’s well-meaning outburst.

At this, Jack brightened up considerably and said, “We use the Fenton Finder! Ghosts all have an ectosignature, so we use those to detect when they’re nearby, like radar! Even if they’re invisible, this puppy can find a ghost on the other side of the city.” He beamed proudly, and Maddie gave her husband an endearing smile.

Shane perked up once again, absently picking at the threads on the edge of the hole Maddie had attempted to conceal. “So you’re saying this finder-thing makes it impossible for ghosts to hide?”

Danny had a bad feeling about this.

“That’s right! We’d know a ghost was near long before it had the chance to get the drop on us.”

Ryan asked, “Does it work on other creatures, too? Like demons, for instance?”

Maddie laughed, “Don’t be silly! Demons don’t exist. Everything that people think they see is usually some form of ghost. There’s a vast spectrum of forms a ghost can take.”

Shane nudged Ryan. “See Ry, I told you demons weren’t real! You’ve been getting so worked up about nothing. Annabelle’s got nothing on these ghosts we’re learning about.”

Danny tuned out Ryan’s spluttered denials and defenses as he came to a worrying suspicion. Shane wasn’t a ghost—even if he had been a half-ghost, Danny would have been able to tell. But he wasn’t human either; the moment he first saw him he just knew. But if he wasn’t a ghost and he wasn’t human… then he had to be something else entirely. Danny had never encountered anything else, but if his own existence proved anything, it was that he couldn’t jump to conclusions about what did and did not exist.

Shane didn’t seem to believe in any of this stuff, even if he was currently going along with the ghost thing (Danny felt pretty sure that was just out of politeness to his parents, based on the faces Shane had been making and the near-constant laughter he appeared to be fighting). But Danny knew from experience how helpful putting on a persona could be. He couldn’t assume anything about this guy.

(Ryan seemed pretty safe. He didn’t seem to share any hidden glances or take any second meaning from his friend’s actions. He was probably in the dark.)

So if Shane was something else…

Danny was suddenly very worried he perhaps knew what that ‘else’ might truly be.

“…so ghosts have different power levels,” His mother was saying as Danny brought himself back to the events at hand, “and that determines how difficult it is to defeat.”

“So you can’t purposefully antagonize anything while we’re here, Shane,” Ryan said, giving his friend a stern eye. “I am not going to be the one to tell Sara you got yourself murked by the undead.”

“I don’t know,” Shane replied, “Could be fun to fistfight a ghost. A good old-fashioned brawl.” He turned with a Cheshire grin and stared straight at Danny, too-dark eyes glittering.

Yeah, this definitely wasn’t good.

#liv posts #fic #danny phantom #buzzfeed unsolved #shane madej #ryan bergara #demon shane

[writingfromkitchenator]

Thranduil ~ My Heart

1,300 Followers Challenge!

Round 2

Masterlist

Requested by @ifitaketwomoresteps

Based on an imagine found here by @imaginexhobbit

Words: 2,018

Warnings: Female Reader, fluff, angst, secret relationship, family involvement

Thranduil still wasn't sure what it was, he still wasn't sure how this had happened, but he couldn't deny how he felt about you.  He still remembered when word reached him, of Thrain having taken another young dwarf under his wing, one that was to be treated as equally as his sons and daughter.

There were many rumours surrounding what had happened, but Thranduil had been stunned when he saw you.

You held yourself as tall and proud as any Durin, as if the blood actually did course through your veins. Standing next to Dis, you greeted him and other guests as if this was something that you'd been doing all your life. Thranduil couldn't put his finger on it, but he was enamoured from the moment he saw you.

All throughout his first meeting, his eyes hardly left you.  He knew he shouldn't have, he knew that it was drawing attention, but he couldn't bring himself to look away.

It was ridiculous of course, the idea of falling in love with a dwarf.  It was almost taboo.

But fall he did, and it seemed that you did too.

A letter reached him, and he couldn't help but stare at the words for a long time.

Meet me at the edge of Laketown, where the river flows under the moonlight.  Three days from now, I will be there.  If you do not come, I will still have my answer.

Thranduil spent hours agonising over his decision.  He knew what he wanted, but he also knew that this would affect his people, that this could possibly cause future problems.

But he had to know. He had to know what this truly was.

He stared at the meeting spot for a long time, watching you as you looked over the lake, bathed in moonlight, his heart in his throat.  You were a sight to behold, and for the first time, he did not doubt his decision to come.

You turned and softly smiled at him as you heard him approach.  “I was starting to fear the worst.”

Thranduil returns the smile and shakes his head.  “I could hardly give you an answer with silence, this is far more enlightening.”

“Oh?”  You chuckled.  “Does that mean I should still be in fear of how this will go?”

He shakes his head, stepping before you and holding your gaze.  “No, it does not.  I wish to be here Y/N, and I wish to be with you.  If you do not feel the same, then please, tell me now.”

“Thranduil,” His name sounded so strange yet so familiar on your lips.  “If I did not wish you here, if I did not wish to seek your company, I would not have asked.”

It was the start of something wonderful between the two of you.  Secretive, but wonderful.  Kisses were stolen in the brief meetings you dared to have, soft laughter shared in soft moments.  You both knew that it was against the customs of your people, but in the time that you got to spend with each other, nothing else mattered.

It was only a matter of time before it all went wrong.

You were both aware of the small rumours circulating, but you’d both chosen to ignore them, simply seeming surprised if it was ever raised to you.  You both thought that this was best method to keep having it go unnoticed for as long as possible.

But when word reached your grandfather, it was only a matter of time before it reached your father.

He was furious, ignoring your denial, and ordered for whatever was going on between you and Thranduil to stop.  Thrain refused to look at you as he said that such a thing was practically unheard of, and that it was a major dishonour for you and your family if was true, leaving you feeling very alone when he left.

Dis and Frerin were understanding, but you understood when Thorin had to take Thrain’s side, and with their help, you managed to set up a final meeting with Thranduil.

Thranduil had known as soon as he saw you that something had happened, and whatever was coming, was going to be nothing good.  He held you close as you told him, but refusing for tears to come, your pride barely holding you together.

“There is a way we can do this without having to stop seeing each other,” He said calmly, earning your worried but hopeful gaze.  “Although, I can’t imagine that it will go down too well, and it will take time for things to settle again.  Perhaps once that is the case, we can do this properly.”

You stared at him. “We both know that my father will not allow such a thing.”

He presses your lips lightly to yours, smiling softly.  “Then I will have to convince him.  For now though, one thing at a time.  We will make something public, showing just how ridiculous the rumours are.”

“Thranduil,” You sighed heavily.  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Just trust me.”  He kissed your forehead.  “Play along.  It has to be convincing.”

For the last time in a long time, you just stood in silence, holding each other, thinking about what was to come, and if this plan would work.

Thranduil led the way as he said he would, meeting with Thrain and Thror in something unrelated, and it was only as the meeting began to conclude, that he raised the issue.

“There are certain rumours that I’ve heard,” He said lightly, his eyes flicking between the two dwarves, even as Thorin glanced at you from across the table.  “That I have been seeing a certain princess behind your backs.  I wish to state, with utmost respect, that these are not true.”

Thror nods, as if that was to be the end of it, but Thrain bristled, as Thranduil knew that he would, and pushed it further.  “I have more than a few reliable sources stating to the contrary.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow.  “I am certain that you are not intending to call me a liar, however, you have my word that I have not been doing such a thing.  Not only would be uncustomary for both our peoples, but Y/N is not exactly my type.”

You shifted uncomfortably, knowing what his plan was, but it didn’t make the lies any easier to hear.

Thrain bristled further. “If you are trying to insult us Thranduil, then you are succeeding.  Both claiming that we are foolish to believe you and that you believe my daughter is not good enough for you.”

“I am simply stating the truth,” Thranduil said with a small shrug.  “I have not been seeing Princess Y/N behind your backs, and, not only do I prefer elvish women, but Y/N is not exactly up to my height standards.”

You bristled at this, folding your arms across the table and glaring at him.  “Don't call me short you arsehole.”

His gaze went to you and he did well to hide his amusement.  “My apologies princess, but surely you have been suffering at the cause of this rumour as well?”

“Yes, and they won’t take my word for it either,” You said, forcing yourself to look away and glare at Thrain, so you didn’t blow the whole thing.  “Which is just as insulting as you.”

Thrain’s face tinged with red and he huffed.  “If that is the case, then you are calling your brother a liar as well.”

Your gaze went to Thorin, who avoided your eyes.  This was not something that you’d been expecting, and now it meant that you had to tread extra carefully.  “Clearly whatever Thorin saw, he was mistaken.”

“I’m sure that there are a lot of dwarves that look like the princess,” Thranduil said lightly, although there was no missing the slight tension in his shoulders.  “And I have spoken to my fair share, including the princess herself.  Perhaps I should just avoid conversation in the future.”

Thrain’s eyes flashed.  “That’s the problem right there, Thranduil, you were not talking.”

A silence fell in the room even as you felt your face practically ignite.

“It’s not like I wanted to see anything,” Thorin grumbled low, avoiding looking up, his face turning a darker shade of red.  “But when it was insisted upon that I follow you, when the rumour first started going around.”

You stared at Thorin for a long moment before your glare landed on Thrain. “You had him spying on me?  Did you really think that that was most appropriate course of action?”

“I did what I had to do to protect my family.”  Thrain said firmly.  “Even if that means protecting you from yourself.”

“Then trust me with my own decisions,” You growled, fury bubbling away in your stomach.  “I don’t see you spying on the others and judging who they see.”

“Because I can clearly trust them!”  Thrain said, standing, his hands slamming on the table.  “I can trust them to keep this bloodline within these halls!”

You bit your tongue, hard, knowing that if you spoke, you would regret the words forever.  Instead, you got to your feet and stormed from the room, no matter how much Thrain called after you.

You locked yourself in your room and finally let the emotions, one you held so carefully onto you, go.  It all hurt, so much, and you wished that something, anything, in that moment would come and take you away so you could just forget it all.

It seemed like hours passed before there was a gentle knock on your door, and despite it all, you went and opened it.

Thorin stood there and you almost slammed the door in his face, but he caught it quickly.  “Y/N, wait, please.”

You glared at him and he sighed as he waited.

“I am sorry,” He said quietly, holding your gaze.  “It was not my intention for this to happen, and it was quite by accident that Father found out at all.  Perhaps going behind his back was not the best idea, but I can understand why you did so.”  Thorin quickly looked down either side of the hall, before slipping a folded note out from his pocket.

“I hope this helps, whatever happens,” He said, waiting for you to take it. “And should…the worse happen, then I will help where I can.”

You stared at him and slowly took the note, thumbing it open enough to see Thranduil’s writing, before looking back at him.  “Thank you Thorin.  I’m not sure I can forgive you yet, but I am glad that you are not just shutting me down.”

Thorin gives a small bow.  “I can understand that, my sister, and for what it is worth, Thranduil seems an honourable man, and you seem happy with him.  That is all I could ever wish for you.”

He bows again and leaves, leaving you staring after him for a long moment until you quietly close and lock your door again.

The note suddenly felt heavy in your hands and you stared at it for a long moment before you willed yourself to open it.

My heart, I am sorry for how today went, it was not and never was my intention to upset you.  For now, things are tenuous with your father and may take some time to recover, and I fear that we will not be able to see each other within that time, no matter how clever and careful we may be.  You must be patient.

Know that this is not the end, I will find a way out of this for us.  Should you ever have need of me, wait at the edge of Laketown, where the river flows under the moonlight.  I shall have those I trust watch there for you.

Until we see each other again, my heart.

Yours forever,

Thranduil

“What if I need you now?”  You asked to your room, leaning back against your door, a million questions racing through your mind.

This was not meant to be how this happened.

#1300 followers challenge #round 2 #the hobbit #thranduil #thranduil x female reader #thranduil x reader

[jungkookiebus]

Hellblazer Final | jjk

Genre: demon!au, smut, some angst, fluff (???) Rating: 18+ Pairing: demon!jungkook x FemConstantine!reader ft. Beezlebub!Hobi (briefly) Word Count: 5.9k Warnings: dom!jungkook, mentions of suicide (brought up previously), oral (f receiving), lots of bodily fluids, light breath play, unprotected sex, ass play, there is a blood ritual of sorts (use of a knife to cut hand for said ritual), more of Jungkook’s body parts warm up (yes, his cock does it again).

“You're quite alone. I'm... well, I'm just like everything else around here. Just like you, really. Just another dream becoming a nightmare.” -John Constantine, Prime Earth

You awoke again, not even realizing that you had fallen asleep. This time he was gone. The space beside you was cold and vacant. You sat up, groaning, because you felt like you had the shit beat out of you. But for some reason, you had never felt better. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed you softly slipped down off it. You kept a steadying hand on the bed because being in bed for months did you no favors but you had a nagging feeling that the short amount of time you seemed to be here, he was healing you a lot faster.

The room was warmed by the fire and you noticed the spear was gone. Looking around, this room wasn’t unlike others, minus the grey cast, and there was no clear indication you were even in Hell. Except for the feeling. Hell had a way of feeling different.

Trying the door handle, it gave way easily, swinging open with no sound at all. The hallway beyond was just as dark and lit with candles that were melting around the twisted metal. The soft, grey glow barely illuminated to the middle of the hallway. The floor was lined with expensive rugs that protected the black, shiny wood beneath. Hideous portraits and scenes lined the walls. Many seemed to be sneering at you from the darkness. There were no sounds, which made it all the eerier. There was no draft, no distant conversation, or the occasional scream. One end of the hall curved towards the right, so you decided to take that direction since the other way was lined with doors that seemed to stretch on for forever. There were many illusions in Hell because you had encountered them. You didn’t think the House of Satan would be any different. Moving slowly, you kept to the carpet and tried not to look at the pictures on the walls. As you made the curve in the hallway you saw it open wide on the left into what appeared to be a very large room. From where you were you saw bookshelves lining the walls and you heard what sounded like a very large fire burning. You approached even slower as you looked around the corner. The room seemed to be a large sitting room and library with a very large fireplace. The sculptures on it were ornate; large golden serpents twisted amongst the branches of an apple tree and above that in stone was a visage of purgatory. Someone was sitting on a long leather couch, back to you, and engrossed in a book. He appeared to be in a suit, hair meticulously done, and slicked back with an undercut. When his hand came up to turn the page you recognized a very familiar tattoo you had seen on numerous occasions. You stepped into the room with a little more confidence now.

“Hello, Bee.” You tried to sound confident, but your voice came out in a croak.

He turned around smoothly as if he expected you to be there and narrowed his eyes at you.

“He let you out?” he chuckled.

“I woke up alone, so I walked out.”

He clicked his tongue and whistled before turning back to his book.

“He won’t be too happy about that,” he said as he crossed his leg over the other and picked the book back up closer to his face.

“Bee, what’s going on?”

He sighed as he sat the book back down on the couch.

“Why do I engage you ever, Hellblazer?”

“Because you’re my favorite Prince,” you said jokingly.

He had up until you met him, been your favorite. He was the only one you could hold a civil conversation with when it came to your dealings in Hell. He didn’t seem to hold as much disdain for you as everyone else did.

“Sit down.”

“And where is everyone?”

“You say that as if you live here and this place is usually bustling with life. I can assure you that this place is just as hopeless as it looks. Abandon all hope and whatever else.” He said it flippantly and with a wave of a hand as if he were bored of the subject. “Hellblazer, there is a war happening. He’s taken the General for his own and is using his military power to control his armies.”

“Heaven won’t stand a chance against him.”

“That’s the point.”

“So, why am I here?”

He screwed his face up as he looked at you like you had grown an extra head.

“How should I know? I thought maybe he was just playing with his food.”

You hadn’t thought of that. But why keep you alive and heal you? There must be some reason he was doing all of this.

“Not all of Heaven can be taken out of a celestial being.”

“Excuse me?”

“If he does what I think he’s gonna do, then you’ll see.” He winked at you as he picked up his book once more. “You’ll probably want to get back to his room before he gets back.”

You tried to bore holes into the side of his head with your eyes, but you knew he wasn’t going to relent and give you any more information. Huffing, you stood from the couch, and left him to his reading. When you rounded the curve this time, the hallway didn’t stretch into infinity, but made a ninety degree turn to the left a few doors down from his room. Yet another illusion to throw off any would be intruders. You slipped back into the room to find it just as you had left it.

With nothing to do but wait, you fell back on the bed and resigned yourself to staring at the velvet drapes of the four poster bed. Just when you felt yourself slipping into sleep, the air pressure in the room changed as the door was opened. You sat up suddenly to see who was in the room with you when you saw him. He was adorned in golden armor, it looked so thin yet impenetrable, as it laid over itself almost like a dragon scale pattern. The breastplate was adorned in filigree and gems that caught the light of the fireplace and made him shine in the dull light. The golden spear was grasped firmly in his right hand and planted on the floor.

“I see you feel better,” he finally spoke. “Are you hungry?”

Your stomach growled at the suggestion of food. He laughed as he pointed behind you and beyond into the room. You turned to see a table laden with food that hadn’t been there before.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, turning back around.

“I told you you’d be better off in Hell,” he said as he moved to place the spear in its place by the fireplace. “You should eat.”

You got up from the bed and walked over to the table. There were several types of roasted meat, vegetables, pastries, breads, and some other things you didn’t recognize. Grabbing a piece of bread, you popped it into your mouth and turned back around to see him now in his standard black suit, sitting in a chair by the fire and a leg thrown over the arm of the chair. He looked casual, but you could also tell he was on edge. You gestured towards him and then to the spear.

“’War’ things?” you asked as you threw up one hand in air quotes.

He studied your face before speaking. “This is a lot more serious than you think, _____.”

“So, what happens then?” You grabbed a few more things off the table before walking over and taking the chair across from him.

You had woken up in a simple, long black shirt and you didn’t feel the need to change it in your wanderings. Not that you had any more clothes packed away for Hell. His eyes shifted to your thighs as you sat, the shirt moving ever so slightly up your legs. He licked his lips and you grabbed the hem, pulling it down and placed your food on your lap.

He looked at you now if you had just asked a ridiculous question.

“Heaven falls.”

You shuddered. There had always been a balance between good and evil and even though evil peeked through a little bit more, it was never enough to be of concern. You had never lived in such an imbalance and honestly it scared you.

“How can you be sure?”

“He lost his best asset.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“Don’t I have to be?” He produced a glass of wine from somewhere and started to sip the red liquid slowly.

“Are you scared?”

The question caught him off guard as his eyes flashed to yours. The dull light of the fire burned in his eyes and at first you thought he was going to be angry with you. He took a few more sips, face turned back to the fire, but he hadn’t answered you yet, so you decided to wait. You took small bites of the food in your lap, but you were slowly losing interest.

“You humans are so sentimental when it comes to relationships,” he started.

Maybe angels didn’t have feelings quite like you did, but you guessed that he felt something.

“In the infancy of Heaven, none of us felt anything. We were meant to protect the human race and that was it. No feelings, no opinions. Just blind trust that He would tell us the right thing.” He swirled the wine in the glass absently, leg still casually thrown over the arm of the chair. “But we soon discovered that He didn’t have our best interest in heart and Lucifer was just the first to say something. I felt like a coward as I stood by, Lucifer defying Him in such a way. I agreed with him, but I was too afraid to say anything and then…” He trailed off looking solemn as his hand stilled, head hung low, and bottom lip jutted out in almost a pout.

You held on to the plate tightly, engrossed in a story that was known to millions, but you were here hearing it firsthand.

“He made me banish him,” he said softly. His voice was mournful, laced in regret. “I remember the look in his eyes when He told me to send him out of the gates.” He lifted the glass and emptied it. “I betrayed Lucifer because I was too afraid to say anything. He put up a fight too. It was a thunderous event. Days afterwards, the skies were black, and Heaven remained dark. He assured me I had done the right thing, but I knew I hadn’t. It just took me this long to defy him myself. The fact that Lucifer was willing to take me was just fortunate.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking. “What would you have done if he didn’t?”

He shrugged without looking at you.

“Why did you mark me?”

At that, he looked at you again. He swung his leg off the arm and sat forward, elbows on his knees as he still held the glass in his hands. He stared at you pensively, searching your face again.

“I’m protecting you.”

“From what? Why?” In your moments awake at the Vatican, the Pope had instructed you of your new mark on your skin.

“I’m protecting you from the aftermath this war might, and will likely, have. When Heaven falls, Earth will be swarmed with demons and they’re not going to be merciful. People will be taken as slaves, killed, and made to live in a waking nightmare. Hell will extend to Earth because Lucifer wants to expand his kingdom. It’s nothing personal against humans.”

“Then why?”

He pursed his lips together, eyes flitting to the fire, and they shined brightly. He switched the glass from hand to hand.

“That one is a little harder to explain.”

“Then try. I’m just a human after all.” You said it with some disdain. He acted so casually as if basically wiping out humans was just something he did every once in a while.

“I get your apprehension about me.”

“Yea,” you said, getting emboldened and a little angrier, “you’ve brought me here twice and just dumped me at home with no explanation, completely confused, and then dying in the middle of the fucking Vatican. I’d like some type of answer as to why I’m marked by two denizens of Hell now without so much as ask-“

You were cut off by the shattering of the wine glass as it hit the floor. He came forward, dropped to his knees in front of your chair, swiped the plate off your lap, grabbed your face, and pulled your lips to his.

He didn’t answer because the answer scared him.

Your body relaxed further as he kissed you, pain washing out of your muscles, and relaxation settling in its place. It was almost as if being with him was like morphine, dulling any anxieties you had, and it confused you so badly that you were pushing him away. His lips were flushed red and his eyes looked large and almost innocent.

“I don’t understand…,” you trailed off as his hands came to rest on the tops of your thighs.

“Fuck,” he said sitting back on his heels and running his hand through his hair.

Your breath caught as he did so, profile turned to you and face illuminated by the grey fire. His features were in sharp shadow and he was even more devastatingly beautiful.  A whisper of fine, shiny dust emanated from around him. It was iridescent and only eye catching if you looked hard enough, but now that you could see it you couldn’t take your eyes off it. It was heavier behind him where his wings once were, floating outwards and dissipating into the room.

“Not all of Heaven can be taken out of a celestial being.”

Heaven still fell from his shoulders in the form of the beautiful remains of who he once was.

His voice was quiet when he spoke again. “At first, it was mild curiosity. The Hellblazer,” he laughed. “A human who sold her soul to the Devil, banishing demons, and had even killed herself once.”

You hated when anyone brought it up. It was a blot to who you were as a person, but it always seemed to be the subject of conversation when you were around a demon. Why were you so special that Lucifer himself spared you? At times, even you couldn’t explain it.

“I wanted to experience you for myself. You were like a beacon in the night. You lit up the darkness and your whole entire being seemed to call to me.”

He seemed to struggle internally on what to say and what not to say. He still didn’t seem to want to look at you, but he sighed and dropped his hands to his knees, head hanging in defeat before he looked up at you.

“I’m not sure how to explain it, ­­­____. I want you. I want every part of you. I want to protect you. I want you to be mine. I want you stay here, but I can’t make you.” He looked up at you pleadingly, stooping to a level he never thought he’d be at. “I can remove the mark.”

Your hand immediately flew to your heart and he followed the action, face falling as yours brightened. But now, your mind was turning, flowing through thoughts and images of your life. You essentially had nothing. You were only trying to redeem yourself through failed exorcisms, wading through life having wished your suicide worked all those years ago. Here, around him, you felt a little less empty. Could you be happy in Hell? Sometimes where you were already felt like Hell, so what could it hurt to go a little deeper?

Your eyes found his and they shone brightly in the muted tones of the room. The soft halo of color around him accentuated his form and he seemed to glow a little brighter. You fell a little deeper the more you looked at him and soon you were slowly leaning towards him. Instinctively, he rose up on his knees just a little, not wanting to assume what you were doing. Your hair fell into your eyes as you leaned a little closer. His hand shot out to catch it and tuck it behind your ear, stunning you into stopping. His hand froze against your cheek as he stared into your wide eyes. Your heart thrummed painfully in your chest. You tried to breath calmly through your nose, but your tense body was giving you away. He stayed still, gauging your reaction, that much you could tell. Everything in your body was pointing you in the right direction, towards him. It was as if your skin was magnetized and it only knew him. You leaned your face into his palm, feeling the heat of his skin against yours and it almost seemed to burn coldly. He closed the space between you, lips connecting with yours gently. He sighed as you reciprocated, bringing his other hand up to your neck as he deepened the kiss. As much as you felt reborn and empowered around him, something was missing. Your whole body seemed to ache with a loss you couldn’t quite place and with a pleasure that only he could stir inside of you. He let go of your face in favor of shoving his hands under your thighs, lifting you as he stood. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he put your legs around his waist, hands sliding to your ass. All the while he was kissing the curve of your jaw and drawing your earlobe between his teeth. You moaned and leaned into him, nestling your face into his neck and kissing the skin there. He breathed heavily against you as he walked and sat you on the edge of the bed, leaning over you so your fell to your back as he continued to kiss you. His hands were all over you body as if he didn’t know what he wanted to touch first. His fingers grazed over your nipples beneath the shirt and he felt them harden under his touch. You moaned, arching your chest upwards towards his but he moved with you and kept his distance. You broke the kiss and grasped at his biceps.

“Please touch me,” you said breathily.

He moaned as he grasped your waist, sliding his hands upwards, pushing your shirt up passed your breasts. You held your arms up as he moved the shirt upwards, pausing to wrap his lips around your nipple and suck it into his mouth before pulling it off the rest of the way.

“Please stay with me,” he whispered back gently into your ear.

His hand was hot on your hip, just above the waistband of your underwear. The other skated up your side causing chills to spread across your skin.

“I will.”

His lips found yours as he ground himself against you.

“Take these off,” he said, snapping the band of your underwear. He stood up and began discarding his clothing to each side of him. He suit jacket hit the floor, followed by his white button down that was thrown somewhere to his left, and this time you let your eyes wander over his tattoos without fear. Many were old, from the time of his creation, to more recent ones after his fall into Hell. He wrapped his inked hands around your calves and pulled you to the edge of the bed, dropping until he was eye level with your dripping cunt.

“I’ll make you feel good,” he said before licking a stripe up your center, causing you to moan. He kept your thighs apart, arms wrapped around them, and his hands grasped firmly against your thighs. “Fuck, I’ll make you mine.” He flicked his tongue over your clit, and you shuddered, hips stuttering against the bed. “You’ll be even more beautiful, even more so than Lilith.” His mouth covered your clit as his eyes met yours in a heated stare. His eyes blackened until the whites were almost gone. Your body heated so hot from the inside out you thought you were about to combust. He leaned back a little, mouth wet and almost dripping. “All of Hell will know who you belong to.”

He dove back between your legs as if some life saving potion were there. You cried out as his tongue teased circles on your clit before dipping down to explore more of you. He was being selfish. He wanted all of you and he wouldn’t feel complete without it. He lapped at you sloppily, pulling you harder and harder into his face. You ground your hips against him, and he moaned. His fingers were digging into your skin until you were sure you’d see bruises tomorrow. Your fingers were in his hair as you began to fuck yourself against his face, feet digging into his shoulder blades. His lips heated up against you and they brushed wetly across every part of you. Even now, you could feel his pout. His left hand now firmly held your ribcage and then he was inched forward and grabbed your breast fully in his hand. His palm heated instantly, causing an entirely different sensation than what you expected. You rutted against his face even harder and soon his teeth were brushing over your sensitive clit, before moving downward to dip his tongue inside of you, his nose stimulating you now. His moans were low, deep, and came from the back of his throat and they seemed to pulse up through your body. His lips warmed even more as he lapped lewdly now. Your hips circled on his face and you dripped down onto the bed no matter how much of you he tried to swallow. Your orgasm struck forcefully, his tongue inside of you to catch every drop. With your body twitching on the bed, he leaned forward, placing kisses against your stomach and kissed the curve of your neck gently.

“I can make you feel whole again,” he said against your skin.

Your entire body was flushed with sweat, totally spent, and muscles now melting into the mattress. But his comment sparked something inside of you. Could he feel it too?

“How?” you asked. Your fingers skated across the scars on his back and then up to his neck where you held on tightly, looking him in the eyes.

“I can give it back to you.”

You didn’t think you’d ever see stars again, agreeing to come to Hell, but his eyes held thousands. They were no longer completely black, but a soft chocolate, reflecting a strange milky way.

“Give me…what?” you whispered, falling into the void that was his gaze.

“Your soul.”

The ache in your chest blossomed and overcame the pleasure you had felt. Now the ache you felt had a name, had a face, and you were looking straight at it. That explained how you felt around him. He heightened everything inside of you that you wanted to have, but he also emphasized the large hole inside of you too; the thing you didn’t really try to think about and what it cost you.

“But…if I get it back won’t I just di­-,” he cut you off with a kiss to the side of your mouth.

“I won’t let you die. I’ll bind your soul to mine.”

Nothing about what he said should have lit the type of fire inside of you like it did. You were hungry for more. For more of him. You turned your face to meet his lips fully, pulling him against you. He was rutting his hips against you, his cock nudging your entrance. You pushed your hips upwards and he moaned as he entered you the slightest bit.

“Make me yours,” you said hotly.

His eyelids fluttered as his eyes rolled back. He pushed against you a little more forcefully, fully pushing inside of you. He sat up, hand at your throat as he began to thrust a little harder. He didn’t press as hard as he had before, but just enough pressure to make it pleasurable. He watched the pleasure flit across your face as you grabbed his wrist. He brought his other hand to your neck, pressing his thumbs up into your jaw. You were practically drooling as he fucked you, building up that pleasure inside of you as his cock warmed.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he moaned as he pressed into your skin a little harder. You were wet around him, dripping even more onto the sheets below you. He released his grip on your neck, but you kept your eyes closed as he continued to fuck you. Producing a knife, he made a quick cut in his left palm, dropped the knife and dipped his pointer finger into the blood. He pressed it against your skin and your eyes flew open at the hot, wet feeling. Your eyes found his and you could tell he was concentrating, but it didn’t make you afraid. You found yourself falling into the feeling of him once more as he continued to draw across your skin, skillfully sliding into you all the while. It only took a few minutes before he was leaning over you, his hips slowing to a more languid pace, brushing against your clit softly as he pressed against you, careful not to smear the blood.

“Are you ready?” he asked as he kissed your temple.

You nodded, looking at him squarely as he came into you view over you. He looked at you hard for a moment before pressing his hand right over your heart. Pain shot into every nerve ending. It felt as if fire ants crawled across your skin and bit every inch. Flames licked at your toes and you wanted to scream but you couldn’t. He was holding you to the bed as your body begged to move, begged to die. You were hoping the death would be quick. Anything had to be better than this. Soon, your body would shut down as it went into shock and maybe the pain wouldn’t be so bad. The flames began to die out, ice taking its place as a dull chill crept across your skin. It pricked at your fingertips, becoming uncomfortably cold as if you had stuck your hand in ice for too long. You became sleepy, but this was a different kind of sleep. It was almost as if everything were quietly shutting down together. If this was how dying felt it wasn’t so bad. The last time you tried, you hadn’t been able to actually die. It was almost as if you and all the friends you loved laid down together in each other’s arms, sleeping into the beyond. Slowly, your heart began to skip a beat here or there. Your lungs tried just a little harder to draw in air. Your heart skipped every third beat. Your eyelids got heavier and your breathing got shorter. Your body felt heavy as if someone had laid a weighted blanket over you. Your heart beat one more time and then stopped.

Everything came back in a blinding white light. Warmth flushed over your body like a warm river and the feeling came back to your fingers and toes. Your skin no longer burned but felt soothed as if someone had rubbed a healing balm over your entire body. You breathed in deeply and exhaled even longer, life coming back into your lungs. Your heart beat softly in your chest.

What you couldn’t see nor feel, was currently happening before his eyes. He watched with rapt fascination and desire as the same tattoos he bore slowly etched themselves across your skin. Your name spelled out slowly in red lines, also in Hebrew, but it wasn’t your Christian name. Hellblazer. Lucifer’s mark disappeared from your skin as another of his own sigil appeared over your heart then another, upside down, etched itself over the other, signaling the binding of souls.

Your eyes flew open as you inhaled as if coming up for air after being held under the water. The room came into focus in blinding color. Now fully a citizen of Hell, you could see it for its true beauty. Emerald stone fireplace, golden fixtures, dark as midnight velvet curtains, and the fire that burned was the truest red you had ever seen.

He slammed his hips into yours and the pleasure shot back into your limbs causing you to fall instantly into an orgasm.

You finally felt whole. The pull to him even stronger now. It was so strong you were sure he could be millions of miles away and you’d still be able to find him. Fire and passion burned inside of you, in your soul, and you were finally able to feel. The bond even affected him as he shuddered against you, but he kept pounding into you with a force that only hinted at his need for you. He pushed his hands underneath your back and up to your shoulder blades, pulled you upwards, and had the both of you flipped in seconds. You were dazed as you planted your hands on his chest, still sitting on his cock as he adjusted himself beneath you. He slowly ran his hands up your sweaty thighs, fingers tracing over the new lines on your skin. You looked down at your arms, the dark markings too out of focus for you to see what they were right now. Any noticeable scar you had, of which you had many, was now gone. Where there wasn’t a tattoo, your skin was porcelain white and clear of any flaws. Your breathing felt clearer now and the pleasure you felt building up inside of you just by sitting here caused you to shudder. He hissed as you squeezed around him and his fingers dug into your hips.

“Fuck me, baby girl.” He sounded desperate as his head fell back and his eyes closed. His skin shone with sweat and you could see him for the full ethereal beauty he was. He did have a little of Heaven in him still. Dark with light. Good with evil. A demon and an angel. He would never be one without the other.

You rolled your hips against him and he tensed and relaxed all at once as he got what he wanted. He grew hotter inside of you again and your thighs slid easily alongside his as the heat between you built. He sat up, legs still off the side of the bed as he held you close to his chest. You draped your left arm across his shoulders as you braced yourself on his right knee, rolling your hips into his, his hot cock brushing against your g-spot with each circle of your hips. He kissed your throat, bit the skin on your collarbone, and then drew your nipple in his mouth once more. He had handfuls of your ass in both hands, assisting you as you fucked yourself on his cock. He dipped his fingers between your legs from behind, catching the juices that now coated him at each thrust and he traced his fingers around your asshole before pushing one wet finger inside. You hissed, inhaling deeply as he pushed in slowly.

“Keep fucking me, baby,” he said as he kissed the side of your neck.

Your grip on his shoulders tightened as your right arm now crossed his back. Your cheek rested on his shoulder as you moved your hips. He moved his finger in rhythm with the bounce of your hips and soon you were moaning harder as you bit into his skin. He pushed another wet finger inside, stretching you in the most pleasurable of ways, pressing against that thin layer of skin that separated him from your g-spot. You clenched hard around him, his hot body pressed against yours, as pleasure ran hot inside of you, coming hard around him as you gushed around his cock. It dripped against his fingers as you made a mess of his lap, fingers still moving slowly in your ass.

“All mine,” he said before licking at the salty sweetness of your skin.

The space between you was wet, but he paid no mind as he pulled his fingers from you, grabbed your ass again and started to use your swollen cunt. You could barely keep your eyes open as you focused all your strength to your thighs, helping him as you clutched at his shoulders, face still nestled in his neck. His breathing quickened and his thighs tensed beneath yours. The bond between you only amplified his pleasure as yours seemed to mix and meld with his. Your orgasm flowed into his nervous system and pleasure flowed outwards from him in waves. He came hard with the memory of your soul binding to his, the same fire burned under his skin. He filled you up and then some, his cum even warmer than his cock as you physically felt it spill out around him, mixing with your cum as well. His fingers on your ass loosened, not even realizing how hard he was holding on and you relaxed on his lap and fully into his chest. His chest rose and fell softly as he came down. He wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you in closer as he grew a little softer inside of you.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded into his neck, holding on just a little bit tighter. He laid back again and this time you let your head fall against his chest to hear his heartbeat beneath you; the same heart now connected to yours. Your life was in his hands now, and his in yours.

“I’ll bring down Heaven for you.”

You melted into him, tired, but fulfilled. You finally felt redeemed. Your soul was still in Hell where it belonged, that much you weren’t going to argue, but you had come to terms that this would be permanent for you. You had gained back what you wanted and more which was hardly fair. But when it came to a side you felt as if you were on the right side of the line. A second heart beat in time with yours. A second soul twisted out and grasped onto yours like vines. You were two, but one. A Prince and a human, side by side in this new age.

Far away, on Earth, and nowhere near the clutches of a place that was slowly crawling to the surface, the Pope sat at his window looking out into the night. Over the horizon of the lights of Rome, thunder rumbled, and lightening began to streak across the sky as a storm approached. He felt the change on the air as it charged with electricity. Whatever was happening was going to be catastrophic to humankind.

“It’s in your best interest to do that now. There’s going to be a war soon and Earth will suffer just as many consequences. You’ll want to find yourself on the right side.”

The Prince’s words plagued his thoughts during the day and his dreams at night. Guilt rested deep into his heart; his faith tested. In his hand he held the brooch, the symbolism of his betrayal. Whether Heaven or Hell won, he had chosen his side.

#ksmutclub #smutcentralnet #ficswithluv #btswriterscollective #bangtanarmynet #bts smut #jungkook smut #demon!jungkook #demon!au #femconstantine!reader #jungkook x reader #reader insert #jungkook angst #bts angst #hellblazer #final #nonidol!au

[wanderinginksplot]

Warriors in Red Armor

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Chapter Three

Warning: This chapter features a highly sanitized and idealized version of a protest. A protest that would take place in a galaxy far, far away with a functional government and officers held to an incredibly high standard. In short, this is not meant to be a reflection in any way, shape, or form of any of the protests that have taken place over the last few years, especially in regards to racial prejudice in the United States. If you think this could be a trigger for you, please skip this chapter and send me a message! I would be thrilled to summarize the chapter's contents for you.

---

Fox I

"These men fight and die for the sake of a Republic that cares nothing for them!"

Fox winced, dialing down the volume on the channel that connected the audio intake to the interior of his helmet. Whoever had given that woman a device to amplify her voice had never been forced to listen to how loud she was all on her own.

"They were bred to fight in wars they did not create, used to protect a society from which they do not benefit, and given no chance to choose a different life!"

A different life. Fox didn't even know what he would do if he wasn't a soldier. Not that it had ever mattered. The woman had gotten that right, at least: the troopers had been bred for ultimate reflexes and battle efficiency. Using them in any other capacity would be a waste.

"They have no rights, receive no recognition, and barely earn a paycheck!"

"Hey, Commander," a trooper's voice said in his ear. Fox's HUD identified the speaker as Jek.

"What is it, Jek?" Fox asked, on instant alert and scanning the crowd with increased fervor.

"Do you think we could get a pay raise out of this?"

Fox bit back an irritated sigh. It wasn't Jek's fault that he had never experienced a riot. He didn't know the devastating speed at which crowds could turn, that you couldn't take your eyes off them for a moment. He didn't know how dangerous people like Nora Czajak could be.

"Keep your focus, trooper," he admonished. "If this crowd gets out of control, you won't deserve a pay raise anyway."

"Yes, sir," Jek agreed, sounding disappointed.

"We must stand for sake of these men who are forbidden to stand," Czajak was lecturing. "We must speak for them, because their voices have been ignored. Come, my fellow Coruscanti citizens! Lend your legs, lend your voice, lend your time! Help us show the Galactic Senate that we will not rest until these men have received all they deserve!"

"Someone must have kriffed up hard if listening to this is what we deserve," Rhys complained through the inter-HUD comm system.

It was only the second complaint, but that was two too many in Fox's opinion. With a short motion of his eyes, Fox had activated the communications system that connected all trooper helmets. It allowed him to make a sweeping announcement.

"Stay on alert, men," Fox ordered. "They have permission to march for another twenty minutes before we can break this whole thing up. Keep your seals tight."

But it was not to be. Groups of civilians thronged to the demonstration, convinced by Czajak's passionate speech to join the Clone Rights cause. At the exact time Clone Rights was to end their march, the Coruscant Guard stepped up to urge civilians off the street. It didn't matter - Czajak took up her amplifier once more.

"See, citizens? Do you see how the troopers are forced to work counter to their own interests?" Czajak demanded. "We march on their behalf, but their commanding officers order them to silence our voices! They have no choice but to obey."

The murmur of agreement passing through the crowd put tension thrumming through Fox's shoulders. If this demonstration was going to get ugly, it would be now.

"No thinking, feeling being should have their choices removed!" Czajak cried through the amplifier. "No being should be forced to fight for those who would keep him enslaved!"

If given the chance, Fox could have guessed the first act of violence down to the second it happened.

By the time the cry of, "Don't push me!" rang through the crowd, he was well on his way to Czajak.

Before she could lift her amplifier again - to do what, he didn't stop to ask - Fox had taken it from her hand. "Sorry ma'am. I'm placing you in custody."

"Under what charges?" she asked, fixing him with an impish grin that made no sense under the circumstances.

Fox's own reaction made even less sense: the sight of that little mischievous smile set his blood boiling. He had experienced far more disrespect from civilians in the past. There was no reason she should have any effect on him at all.

Still, he had to take a deep breath before he could answer her. "Violating the terms of a special demonstration permit, inciting a riot, disturbing the peace… should I go on?"

"Why not?" Czajak asked. "You seem to be enjoying yourself."

Fox shook his head and held up a pair of regulation magnetic binders. "Are you planning to resist arrest?"

She didn't answer him immediately, instead staring into the darkness of his visor in a way that made Fox feel painfully exposed. Czajak was calm and steady while he - Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard - was off-balance. Somehow, she had gotten him at a disadvantage. Discomfited at the idea, Fox shook the cuffs at her in a rude gesture. "Well?"

"Hold on, I'm trying to decide if resisting arrest would be working for or against my cause," she pondered, still wearing a hint of her ridiculous grin. At last, she sighed and presented her wrists. "I'll go with you."

If Fox put the binders on her wrists a bit more aggressively than necessary, no one dared to ask him why.

Somehow, he ended up being the one to transport Czajak back to the Coruscant Guard precinct - mostly because the other men were busy escorting rioters to the precinct or being looked over by Ink, the Guard's medic.

After he had gotten Czajak in his transport, Fox slid into the front seat and began preparing to pilot it. She watched with interest while he removed his helmet, but it was illegal to drive with one on, so he persevered. Besides, there would be nothing of interest for her under his helmet. Fox kept his appearance strictly within grooming guidelines. His hair was regulation, his face was clean-shaven, and his tattoos were neatly hidden beneath his body glove.

He had glanced at her in the rear-facing mirror of his transport and resolved not to do so again. Still, his determination not to speak to her lasted until she spoke exactly once.

"So you don't see your required enforcement of my demonstration as a conflict of interest?" she asked conversationally despite having stared at him in silence for the first few minutes of their trip. "You don't think it's a violation of your rights? Not that you get many of those…"

"I have rights," Fox ground out before he could stop himself. "You and your group don't help any of us. You just make our lives more difficult."

"But imagine if you weren't being forced into life as a soldier," Czajak pressed. "You and your brothers could do anything you choose to do, live in the way that best pleases you."

"And we would choose to fight and die for the Republic," Fox answered stoically.

Czajak didn't answer immediately. Fox glanced into the mirror to find her staring at him in unsettled silence. When she finally found her voice, she said, "Surely you can't be so arrogant to think that all your brothers feel the same way."

"We're clones. We look the same, act the same, fight the same, and think the same," he said with a conviction he didn't feel. "Being soldiers is what we're good at, what we were made to do. It's in our genes."

Even in his peripheral vision, he could see her perk up slightly at that. "Your genes? Your genes were donated by a man who was a bounty hunter - one of the best the galaxy has ever seen. If every person sharing your genetic profile was made to be a soldier, how did he end up as a bounty hunter?"

It was a good point, Fox resentfully admitted to himself. Czajak was excellent at debate and he found himself drawn into the argument.

"Lack of opportunity," he said, mostly to give himself time to think.

"So, if given the opportunity, you believe Jango Fett would have left a successful bounty-hunting career to be a soldier fighting for the Republic?" She shook her head. "That seems unlikely, to say the least. He was a man who valued freedom and choice."

"Jango Fett was a traitor to the Republic," Fox argued. "He died at the hands of a Jedi because he was in league with the Separatists."

"Are you a traitor to the Republic?" Czajak asked, voice gentle despite the horrendous accusation she was tossing in his direction.

"Of course not!"

"Then genes don't determine personality, preferences, or choices. Your brothers may not all like the life of a soldier, regardless of how you enjoy it." With that, Czajak settled back against the seat and stared peacefully out of the transparisteel window, as if she hadn't turned Fox's idea of the world on its head.

---

Hound III

Public relations assignments were a nightmare for most troopers. Being forced to parade in front of civilians was hard enough, but the GAR wanted their troopers to do the impossible. They had to toe the line between being friendly and non-intimidating, but still remind citizens that the troopers were more than enough to defend the Triple Zero against threats.

Hound was one of the rare troopers who didn't mind PR duty - actually, he enjoyed it. Not only did it play into his love of crowds and people, but he got to spend some time showing off his best friend.

"Now, Grizzer, can you show these good people some tricks?" Hound asked, giving the massiff a subtle signal to go into alert mode.

"Sit." Grizzer sat. "Smile." Grizzer bared his fearsome teeth. "Speak." Grizzer let out a loud, yelping bark. "Good boy!"

Grizzer could not sit still as the crowd applauded his good work. The muscular massiff's body quivered as Grizzer did his best to wag his whole being in excitement.

Non-threatening image: check, Hound thought with some amusement. The sea of younglings surrounding them had wriggled closer to the pair. Okay, so they were here for Grizzer, but Hound received some reflected fame because he got to be friends with the massiff.

"Do any of you have questions for me?" Hound asked, when he saw that their time was almost over.

A young Rodian boy raised his hand and immediately told Hound, "My mama said that massiffs eat bad children who don't listen to their parents. Does Grizzer eat bad children?"

Hound chuckled a bit. This was a common question at PR events. At first, he hadn't been sure how to answer the question, not wanting to accidentally encourage children to disobey their parents. He had ended up taking the problem to his fellow Coruscant Guardsmen and they had come up with a good solution.

Hound leaned down as if he were telling the younglings a secret and all of them wiggled closer as well. Meeting the wide, galaxy-mirroring eyes of the Rodian boy, Hound said, "Grizzer doesn't really like to eat children, but that's a secret. Don't tell your parents! Do you know what he does like to eat?"

The suggestions were wild and varied, but Hound grinned wider. "All of those are right! Grizzer will eat just about anything, even if it isn't good for him. The other night, he stole my dinner…"

And, with that, they had reached the 'Grizzer stealing food' part of the event. It was always an audience favorite, especially with younglings. Hound had vague thoughts about writing a series for young audiences about the massiff's antics. However, he was broken from his reverie by Fang, another ARF trooper, pointing at his chrono.

"That's it for today, everyone! Grizzer and I have to go back to work now."

The children - and some of the adults - made sounds of disappointment while Grizzer whined and gave Hound his most pleading expression.

"Sorry, buddy," Hound apologized to Grizzer. "You know we can't stay here all day."

"Talking to the massiff again, Hound?" Fang asked with a laugh as he approached the pair.

"That's how you become the best," Hound said, shrugging in false modesty.

He was proud of his reputation as the best ARF trooper in the GAR. It had been in every performance review he had gotten in the past few years: If there is a question about massiffs or their training, it goes immediately to Sergeant Hound. He was widely considered the ultimate authority on the subject of massiffs. Even some of the nat-born officers came to ask his advice.

In fact, Fang was at the PR event to shadow Hound. Coruscant wasn't as dangerous as some other assignments, but there was still risk in the job. There was a chance that Hound would meet an unpleasant end any day. It was best to have another qualified ARF ready to take over his work if that happened.

Grizzer, who had been idly watching the crowd with the uncaring nature that only an off-duty massiff should display, brought himself to attention. Early in their partnership, Hound had learned that the massiff had an uncanny knack for spotting trouble. Grizzer's instincts were almost never wrong.

Sure enough, a human woman stumbled out of the crowd when Hound glanced over. The two made eye contact for a moment before her gaze snapped to Grizzer, standing with one leg propped on Hound's foot. Immediate terror crossed her face and she tried to scurry back into the crowd, but she ran into a passing Devaronian. She bounced backward, falling hard on the duracrete ground with a noise that didn't sound entirely like flesh hitting a solid surface.

"Miss?" Hound asked, starting forward with a worried Grizzer hot on his heels. "Are you okay?"

The woman turned to face them, swiping frantically at the blood seeping from a cut above her eyebrow, but her attention was locked on Grizzer. "Get away from me!"

"Please calm down, ma'am, Grizzer isn't going to hurt-"

"Get away!" With that shout, one of the woman's arms lit in crackling blue electricity. Webs of light traced up and down across nodes nested in the wires of an arm he could now see was mostly cybernetic.

Hound towed Grizzer back and away from the woman even as he stared at the display. The hissing buzz of the electricity was as fascinating as it was intimidating, but Hound knew without reading the alerts on his HUD that they were illegal cybernetical alterations. Illegal alterations that she had just activated - accidental or not - in the middle of a group of civilians.

There was no way around it: he was going to have to bring her into the precinct.

"Fang," he ordered, holding Grizzer's lead out to the other ARF. Grizzer was smart and well-trained enough to go to Fang without the lead, but Hound didn't think the woman would be calmed by seeing a massiff moving around uncontrolled by a handler.

Fang, stars bless him, jogged across the small distance. He took the lead and hauled Grizzer away in seconds, ordering fascinated onlookers to go about their business all the while.

Hound's attention was fixed too closely on the woman to worry about things like civilians in the area. Her close-shaved head let him see the fire in her eyes, brighter and more violent than the sparks dripping from her cybernetic arm. If she was going to attack him or the crowd, he would need all the warning he could get. Stopping her in time to keep people from getting hurt would be tricky.

Slowly, he extended a hand, palm-out. "Easy," he breathed, humming a bit when she stared at him without moving. "The massiff is gone and no one wants to hurt you. Everything is okay."

Hound wasn't aware that he was nodding gently until she mirrored the motion, her head bobbing up and down in tense jerks. The rise and fall of her chest was still too rapid for comfort. Hound took a deep breath, exaggerating the sound for her.

"Deep breaths, deep breaths," he told her. "Everything is fine. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Just- just keep it away from me," she said, voice a bit hoarse.

"Grizzer is over there and he's going to stay over there," Hound said firmly. "What else?"

She stared at him, her eyes intense and frank. "Let me go home."

Hound shook his head. "We both know I can't do that. Those are illegal alterations on your cybernetic, and you used them in a very public place. I need to take you to the station and file a report."

It was a bold thing to say, especially with the shivering light from her electricity-wreathed arm bouncing around the area, but she only sighed and flexed her fingers. The electricity died with the movement.

"I'll come with you," she stipulated, "but I won't ride with the massiff."

"I understand," Hound agreed, accepting her offer with ease. "Fang?"

"Sir?"

"Can you bring Grizzer back to the precinct?"

Fang took a moment to answer, and Hound glanced back to find the ARF staring at him in shock. "You want me to take Grizzer?"

"Yes, trooper," Hound said, an edge of exasperation entering his voice.

He felt a little bad making the request in the first place. Hound always took Grizzer with him, always. But Fang was a good soldier and a good brother, and he had a solid working relationship with Grizzer. Hound trusted Fang to get the massiff back to the precinct safely, even if he was a little guilty at leaving Grizzer behind.

Sorry, buddy, he mentally apologized to Grizzer. The massiff shook his head, tongue lolling out as if to say it was fine. Hound grinned. He had long thought that Grizzer was a little psychic.

"I'll get him there, sir," Fang agreed immediately, adding a sharp salute. Hound nodded solemnly at him and watched as the ARF and the massiff headed for Fang's cruiser.

When they were gone, Hound stood and extended a hand down to the woman, but she ignored it and stood on her own. When she was upright, she extended her wrists toward him for restraints. Hound pushed them down and gently guided her toward his own cruiser.

"You aren't going to put binders on me?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"I wasn't planning on it," Hound said honestly. "Why, are you going to make trouble?"

"I wasn't planning on it," she said with a hint of mockery in her voice. "But for someone who is arresting me for illegal cybernetic enhancements, you don't seem worried I'm going to use them on you."

"If you want binders, we can do binders," Hound said with a long-suffering attitude. "It'll be a lot more trouble on my side, though. Do you really want to make extra work for me?"

"I would never want to inconvenience someone who's arresting me," she responded, expression as dry as her tone.

"Good! No binders, then," Hound decided, steering her into the backseat of his cruiser.

They didn't say another word to each other on the way to the precinct.

---

A/N - I just realized that the chapter cut comes before Hound learns that it's Ransom he's arresting. It's an awkward splice, but that's what happens when you write a story all at once and try to cut it into chapters of similar length afterward!

I'm sorry for the late update, but between the Chauvin sentencing and the death of Ma'Khia Bryant in the last week, I couldn't even think about posting on my usual day without feeling guilty and uncomfortable. I hope the protest described here wasn't too offensive to anyone, but I wanted to get this chapter posted!

#Warriors in Red Armor #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #coruscant guard #commander fox #sergeant hound #commander thorn #commander thire #tcw #clone troopers deserve better #more to come

[voltage-vixen]

The Great Pumpkin Surprise

Fandom: Kissed by the Baddest Bidder Pairing:  Eisuke x MC (Female)  Notes: This fic was written for the server gift exchange in the Kings of Paradise discord, and my recipient was @eikouxd. I really hope you like this!

The gentle breeze was chilly on the crisp fall afternoon, and there was a bright mixture of orangish-red leaves that painted the ground. Decorative ghosts hung from the stripped trees in preparation for Halloween since the spooky holiday was nearly upon them. Today, MC had convinced her family to travel outside the bounds of the city to visit a farm known for their festive autumn attractions. Eito was quick to agree, and her husband Eisuke voiced how amusing this trip would probably be for him if he did accompany them. 

A few hours later they were deep into one of the rural suburbs, with a smirking Eisuke and a giddy MC bearing witness of a rare moment where Eito was racing around the farm and acting like a child his age would be expected to act. MC typically would fret over Eito being in such a rush to grow up, but today watching him radiate in childlike innocence while he lit up at the sights warmed her heart. It wasn’t often the three of them were able to escape from their daily routine given the demands of Eisuke’s work schedule, and these occasions were something she treasured when they presented themselves. Well, the three of them and…..

“Eito, come take a look at this gourd!” Ota cried out, holding up the large disfigured fruit for the boy to see. “Doesn’t it remind you of Baba’s face?”“Ota!” 

Baba pouted, feigning annoyance by dramatically crossing his arms over the front of his chest. “How cruel of you! I hardly look a day over twenty! I’m sure everyone here would feel inclined to agree.” Glancing around, the thief’s gaze locked onto Soryu’s, who also happened to be standing nearby. “Sor, don’t you think I have an eternally youthful looking face?”

The mobster rolled his eyes and uttered a loud sigh for once again being dragged into the childish antics of the group. “I don’t know anything about that stuff. Stop trying to get me involved in your shenanigans.”

“You’re pretty uptight for a criminal, aren’t you now?” Mamoru muttered under his breath. Lighting his cigarette, he surveyed the food and beverage stalls up by the entrance. “Do they sell booze at this joint? I need something to help me get through this day that I was coerced into spending with you lot.”

“Ugh, must you really insist on smoking that here?” Shuichi scolded, massaging his temples at the headache he felt oncoming. Seeing Luke nearby, he barked at the spaced-out doctor next to him. “Luke, you’re a medical professional. Inform him at once how neglectful of his health he’s being by smoking those like a chimney.”

“Oh, how I do despise the colder weather,” Luke groaned, ignoring the nagging ambassador. “I can’t even sneak a peek at Sexybones’s exquisite collar bones when she’s wearing this many layers of clothing.”

“Don’t be weird, Luke,” Hikaru murmured, shaking his head over the doctor’s odd obsession. Wanting to ease some of the innocent tension among the bidders, Hikaru decided it would be best to change the subject. “Hey, I promised Maddy I would bring him back some souvenirs. Why don’t we all pick out some together as a group? I bet Maddy would really appreciate that.”

“Good idea, Hikaru!” Baba cheered, immediately beginning to assist Hikaru in ushering the grumbling guys over to the souvenir shop. “Hurry up, everyone! Time’s a wasting!”

Yup, you guessed it! Somewhere along the way, what was intended to be a family trip, somehow escalated into the Ichinomiya family + the auction managers = chaotic group outing.

 Despite the crashers, Eito who had been wandering through the patch in search for the perfect pumpkin, spun around and burst into laughter at the familiar sight of the men he considered uncles causing the same old commotion he had grown to associate them with.

“Remind me why they are here again?” Eisuke scowled, though there was a softness in his face that didn’t align with the harshness of his words while he watched the group disappear into the front of the stop.

“Because they’re our friends,” MC giggled, while she rested her head onto his arm. “Besides, look how much fun Eito is having! Isn’t that what matters the most?” 

Eisuke leaned over to plant a soft kiss on the top of her head, and tenderly stroked her cheek. “That face you’re making now isn’t the worst,” the CEO teasingly mocked. “I suppose a trip like this isn’t half-bad if it means I get to see more of that ridiculous grin you’re wearing.”

“I can’t help the fact that spending time with you two reminds me of how blessed I am,” MC sighed, nuzzling her head against his shoulder. “These moments are precious. They’re the ones I’ll forever cherish from now until the end of my time.”

Eisuke’s heart skipped a beat at the adorableness of MC’s confession, and a rare shade of crimson faintly painted his cheeks. His past self would never have been able to envision that someone like him would ever be fortunate enough to be experiencing his very own version of family bliss. Yet here he stood today as a husband and a father. He used to believe success was measured by one’s professional accomplishments. While the value of business metrics was still one of importance, Eisuke now also factored in the prosperity and good fortune he was privileged to be immersed in from MC and Eito.

“Always honest to a fault,” Eisuke retorted, trusting MC failed to notice his blush. “That’s a quality that deserves a reward, and I don’t intend on making you wait for reimbursement any longer. Come here, baby.” 

Reaching around behind MC, Eisuke placed his hand on her back. Pulling her into his embrace, MC’s body stiffened in a bashfulness from how intimately they were standing in public. The familiar masculine scent of his cologne radiated from his body as her husband wiggled MC even more snugly against him. Eisuke’s hot breath tickled the front of her neck, and his expression softened as he cupped her chin, and MC’s nerves instantly melted away. She wanted to kiss him, and she wanted to kiss him now. Rising on her tip toes, MC inched closer, drawing herself to the part of Eisuke’s lips until-

“Mom, take a look at what I found!” Eito boasted, interrupting his parents by suddenly making his way over. “I found you the perfect pumpkin!”Eito was grinning from ear to ear, his cheeks puffed out in pride as he held up a large, bright orange pumpkin. 

Stepping away from Eisuke, MC crouched down and extended her arms to greet Eito.“Eito, what a wonderful find,” MC cheered, genuinely impressed by the amount of though Eito was putting into ensuring he found her such an impeccable pumpkin.

“If that’s what you consider a superb pumpkin, then you have very juvenile taste,” Eisuke jabbed, miffed that his MC’s attention was taken from him. “Don’t ever present your mother with less than she deserves.”

“Eisuke….,” MC began to interject, but was left unheard since Eisuke was already headed towards the fields. 

“Don’t make excuses for him,” Eisuke replied. “Come on, Eito. Allow me to remind you of what constitutes as an Ichnomiya standard.”

“I don’t need you to tell me anything!” Eito argued. Despite his protests, Eito set aside his pride and chased after his father. 

MC watched from a distance as the two thoroughly inspected the rows of pumpkins. She was able to gather they were quarreling back and forth based on Eito’s everchanging facial expressions, but she was also able to observe the look of admiration Eito often held for Eisuke. Eito was intently hanging onto every word Eisuke spoke, and even divulged his appreciation by offering the billionaire a small nod in approval when they reached an agreement on the ideal pumpkin. Eisuke signaled for one of the workers to come assist, and Eito held the pumpkin proudly to his chest.  

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few weeks had passed since that fun day at the pumpkin patch. MC was about to leave their home and meet Eisuke in the lobby of the Tres Spades, when she caught a glimpse at the picture frame of the three of them on the coffee table. Her lips curled in a smile as she recollected that fond memory. Sparing one final peek at the happy photo, she eagerly stepped into the elevator.  

After riding down into the lobby, the doors to the elevator sprung open and MC gasped in awe at the marvelous scene decorating the entrance into the hotel. She could hardly believe that the entire face of the lobby was covered in pumpkins. Each was turned into a different type of jack-o-lantern; carved with intricate details, and brightly illuminating from the inside. The normal atmosphere was vastly transformed into a not-so-spooky Halloween theme.

 “Mom, you’re finally here!” Eito shouted as he ran across the room to greet her.

 “Conduct yourself more appropriately,” Eisuke scolded, frowning when Eito ignored him and continued to race towards his mother and tightly hug her.

“We had the farm deliver all of these pumpkins, and then dad and I asked Uncle Ota to design them since we thought it would make you happy! Did it work? Are you happy?” the little boy asked, his eyes widened in an impatient anticipation as he awaited his mom’s response.

“Of course, I’m happy! You two did an amazing job working together,” MC acknowledged in pride, also addressing Eisuke who had just finished walking over to join her and Eito. “What did I ever do to deserve to be spoiled like this by my two favorite men in the entire world?”

MC wrapped Eito up into a hug and reached out to grasp onto Eisuke’s hand. Knowing that Eisuke and Eito worked through their differences to come together as father and son and plan such an elaborate surprise for her was truly better than any physical gift they could present her with. 

“I love you, guys,” MC whispered, blinking back the tears of joy threatening to spill in elate of her excitement.

“Love you too, mom,” Eito murmured, blushing shyly at the direct confession.

Pressing a kiss on Eito’s forehead, MC captured Eisuke’s gaze with her own. Her eyes flashed in adoration when Eisuke lightly gave her hand a squeeze, and shared the sentimental smile he retained only for her.

I love you too, baby. I love you too.    

#kissed by the baddest bidder #eisuke ichinomiya #kbtbb fanfic #voltage inc #eisuke ichinomiya fanfic #love 365 #voltage fanfic #kbtbb #kbtbb eisuke

[langernameohnebedeutung]

Is it bad to have an accent ? I’m studying English at uni and all my teachers say I have to work on my accent and adopt an RP or GA accent because having an accent is bad and terrible . I have a pretty thick French accent and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to correct it and it’s making me feel very self-conscious so I almost never talk , which affect my performance in class .

Seeeee..........the thing is, there is this ideal. This gold-standard: The accent-free foreigner. (And if you do have an accent it better be from a rich white country and it better be barely noticeable and you won’t mind if someone is creepy about it)  And many learners ascribe to that ideal as well. And honestly, it doesn’t go anywhere, as far as I’m concerned. There are just very little professions where you will profit from not having an accent outside of people being happy about it. There is no practical gain. Unless you want to become an actor or a spy or the Queen’s professional doppelgänger.

So, to make this short, it’s not bad to have an accent as far as I’m concerned and your teachers sound like dicks tbh. 

We often complain about native-speakers who are rude about people’s accents or mistakes when they only know one language themselves. But I think it’s time to address that: ESL-speakers do it too - in fact, I would say that especially among people from countries where fluency in English is expected for  the younger generation, it is very common to lash out against people from the same community who have a thicker accent when they speak English and to make fun of them. And that’s just as rude as when a native speaker does it or when you make fun of anyone else for doing something you excel at.

On the personal note: You can only do something about accent if you speak and if you’re getting berated for the way you speak and that keeps you from speaking - then you’re not going to improve. It’s fair for a teacher to point out how to pronounce a word or to point out if someone’s grammar is wrong - but I study English too and while we had to stick to a specific variety when writing (either American or British), we were never told how to speak beyond pointing out mistakes in classes that were about language proficiency. And most people do improve over time, simply because their studies expose them to a lot of spoken English. I would meet people from my first semesters again in higher semesters and note how they have become more fluent and made less mistakes. Personally, I would try speaking to at least the lecturers you think might react decently about it that you’re working on it (whether you are or not) and that for that you need to speak and right now this kind of feed-back is making you more anxious about speaking and whether they would mine focusing their criticism on more structural aspects of your speaking.

As far as accents or being “accent-free” is concerned-  

I don’t even think it’s something that all speakers should aspire to. And even if someone’s end goal is to speak perfect RP or GA, that should be their personal goal. Many people uphold this strange notion of purity when it comes to people learning a language where everyone should aspire to be “accent-free” or “sound like a native-speaker”. And I guess it makes sense if you’re teaching someone how to speak that language as a beginner. It makes sense to show  them how to pronounce words and how sounds work in that language. If you have a person sitting in front of you who doesn’t speak English, it makes sense to stick to one version instead of saying “wa-t-er” in one lesson and “wadder” in the next or “caahn’t” in one sentence and “cèèn’t”in the next. It gives them a certain structure, helps them tell one variety from the other and to avoid confusion. Not to mention that if someone wants to study English they are expected to write their papers and essays in one variety of English so it makes sense that they know the general rules of telling them apart or recognizing or recognising how a word would be spelt or spelled. 

But when you finally become more fluent, you still have an accent and you still might not be perfect recognising one variety from the other. There are people who live in a foreign country for the majority of their lives but you can still tell where they come from. 

But the question is...who cares?

Don’t get me wrong, if someone wants to put their effort into learning a specific variety perfectly, I don’t see anything wrong with it and if they accomplish that - it’s quite some feat and it’s cool. Commendable. But the truth is that we all have accents. Even in our native languages, we speak in a regional accent, we probably have specific slang-words that are particular to some group. Age, class, sex, gender, education, interests - there are thousands of factors  that determine the way we speak. And it’s the same for native English speakers. There are hundreds of versions to speak English. 

I actually once took part in a public speaking class and the woman who held that class was a logopaedics trainer. And she could tell by the way people spoke and moved their mouth while speaking whether they used to wear braces, which parent they had a closer relationship with and other things. The way we speak - and the way we aspire to speak - is an important aspect of our personality and who we are and where we come from and personally, I don’t see the value of erasing that. It’s like a hand-writing and no one would tell you to alter your handwriting until you write in Times New Roman or Arial.

The thing is, when Anglos complain that they don’t understand a Scottish person or an Irish person or some other regional dialect, that is because that person grew up speaking a particular variety of English in a specific community. But for someone who isn’t a native speaker, they learn English in a community with a different native language - which means we simply speak that language with them (unless it’s for practice or a joke). I learnt English in a German school among kids with German accents and German language-habits - and teachers who had the same accent and the same habits and one who pronounced “wipe” as “whip”. And you probably learnt it in a French-speaking school among kids with French accents and French language-habits. So there is practically no way for any of us to leave school without speaking in that respective accent. But unlike a Scottish person or an Irish person, we didn’t speak that variety of English with our peers. We spoke our our native language. And I think that’s the difference for most people - that one group has a native community to fall back on and the other doesn’t, so the second one should aspire to imitating a native-speaker instead of adding another variety to the mix. 

Also you’re just as likely to speak English with people from any other European country (who also have their own accent and speaking-habits) as with a native speaker, so it’s not like you’re only going to be exposed to people who light you the way to a native accent. I remember when I made this post about “Euro-English” and people from absolutely random countries with different native languages all commented with: “No this is definitely how we speak, this is definitely our variety of English!” - meaning there are also a lot of unifying factors there too, based on our language families and cultural similarities - and how many people are there speaking like that? Hundreds of millions, probably.

Someone once pointed out to me that there are more Germans who speak English than there are Canadians. And you can do that maths  for a lot of countries: There are more Norwegians or Swiss people who speak English than people from the Republic of Ireland. There are more French people who speak English than there are Australians. That means with the exception of Americans, we outnumber people from the countries these “ideal” accents come from. And in fact, how many British people speak RP? How many Americans speak GA? And that’s just looking at western countries. There are so many varieties of English spread around the globe due to colonialism. It’s ridiculous to expect the entire world to sound like the Queen. In the end, each version is their own variety and just because it doesn’t have a native community to fall back on, I think it’s harmful to treat it as something only worth of erasing when a person’s English skills are a factor in professional success and social standing even in the community they come from.

English is the current lingua franca - a language that non-native speakers communicate in. And as I said, it makes sense to teach it in a specific way and to teach it the dialects that exist - because if everyone would just make up their own version of English, we wouldn’t understand each other and might as well not have bothered learning English in the first place. But you don’t need to have a cut-glass accent to accomplish that or aspire to have one.   

And this brings me to what I think should be the central question: 

What do you want to use your English for?

See, I did mention that if you want to become a British spy or play a British role as an actor or be the Queen’s bodyguard slash doppelgänger (a film I would watch) - then it would probably pay off to master a specific native accent as well as possible. (That said, there are enough British actors who get roles as Americans and vice-versa who don’t fool anyone and there are a lot of skills other than a specific accent that you would need to master each one). 

But those are jobs where you actively have to shed your own identity. That’s the point. You have to pretend to be a native speaker. But that’s not what you do in every-day life. In fact, most people you will interact with will probably know you’re French from the social context you are in or because it comes up in conversation, so beyond being a neat party trick, I don’t see what purpose having an RP or GA accent has here.

Of course, you might want to become a teacher, in which case, it would be important to have a specific pronunciation - but also all English teachers I had had German accents and I wouldn’t say that they would have been a million times better at teaching if they hadn’t had that - it’s far more important to know how to teach, to understand the grammar and vocabulary and to help your students to improve themselves and to understand why people speak the way they do.

You might want to be a journalist - if your interview-partner understands you and you can write in English, it’s fulfilling its purpose. If you want to work in a specific field - for example become a doctor in an English-speaking country - it’s important that your patients understand you and that you know your medical terms, but you don’t need Received Pronunciation. If you want to go into tourism, a bit of a foreign accent might actually come across as more authentic and desirable. 

So I think the central question is whether the English you speak right now serves its purpose for what you want it to - or if it is at odds with what you want to do with it.

If your accent wouldn’t pose a problem for you, then my profeschionel opinion is to fuck ‘em haters. Do what you like.  If you want to work on your accent: Do it. If you don’t: Don’t. 

But...if you feel like the way you speak English now would cause you difficulties in your job or every-day life later on - then I think the best thing to do would be to look into the specific skills you need and to invest your energy into acquiring these skills. Whether that is a specific jargon specific to one field or translate very quickly - or whether you really need to learn RP or GA. If you take a professional interpreter for example, many of them do lean to a specific variety, but have accents. It can’t be so heavy that it’s difficult to understand them, but their work requires skills beyond having a specific pronunciation. 

So erm...those where just my 2 cents on accents.

If you do want to change something about your accent - maybe even just to get your teachers off your case - I recommend listening to native speakers and particular, sticking to one variety you prefer. If you are already fluent and you understand them, your brain is very quick to pick up on dialects. (You know the thing where you watch someone speak in a specific dialect and for a while after you find yourself saying things in that dialect? The brain is very fast too do that and it also works in English, even if you don’t internalise it immediately and it feels artificial at first). Also don’t be afraid of speaking to yourself to practice. Obviously, speaking to others is important (and if you’re self-conscious or you are worried about your teacher commenting on it, maybe try asking a friend or sibling or someone to speak English with you or see if you can find a learning buddy) but I think talking to oneself can also be helpful. Because you are not trying to get a point across as you would in a conversation or have to focus on the words you are saying. You can focus on your accent and the way you speak and I think that is an important aspect when it comes to accents: Knowing your accent. Being aware of the way you pronounce words. You know the thing where you try pronouncing a word but you can never quite get there - much less if you’re trying to speak quickly or in a sentence? - It really helps to pay attention to the differences between the way you say it and a native speaker says it. Also if there is word you don’t know or that you aren’t used to hearing out loud  and you encounter it in the wild like a video or a film - it really helps to stop it and to pronounce it to yourself.

But generally, you cannot change the way you speak over night, even if you do it. It’s something that takes time and effort and it might never work completely. So really, I would focus on what you want to accomplish with your English and what future use you see for it - and focus on your strength as well, the things you’re good at. And in the short-term, I would try convincing the teachers that you are working on it but that their current course of action is actually making it more difficult for you.

#nonfandom #languages #Anonymous

[thetimelesscycle]

Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last - Chapter 5

Merlin's word is law, but neither of them have ever cared much for obeying authority.

A/N: This was one of those fun chapters that fights you at every stage, whether that be in the planning, the writing, or the editing. I am semi-satisfied with the outcome for now, so we are still posting on schedule. Enjoy. :-)

Chapter 5

Truths the Shadows Hide

It was a truth she barely admitted to herself and would certainly never have uttered aloud, but when Merlin had first dragged a wide-eyed street urchin across Camelot’s threshold and proclaimed the boy his new apprentice, Morgana had found herself unexpectedly jealous of her successor. The unwelcome feeling had nothing to do with Hisirdoux himself; The boy was charming, in a bumbling, everything-is-probably-on-fire-but-don’t-look-until-I’ve-put-it-out sort of way. She would have needed to be the heartless witch her brother made her out to be not to find his vibrant energy at least a little endearing; The determined enthusiasm of a stubborn child who had refused to stay down no matter how many times the world knocked his feet out from beneath him.

She knew how difficult it was for magical creatures outside the castle walls to survive. She could easily imagine what little Douxie and his familiar must have been through before Merlin had one of his rare moments of self-serving charity, and it was to her shame that she had not done more to make him feel welcome within his new home.

If she had not been stewing in her own feelings of bitter resentment, she could have encouraged that rebellious streak she knew was hiding beneath the hero worship Douxie held for his mentor. She could have been a buffer between her old teacher’s ridiculous standards and the impressionable child he had taken under his wing. Instead, she had chosen to stand back, to distance herself from her mentor’s young ward, despite the fact it had always been Merlin she was angry at.

Merlin, and her brother

Her powers had never been treated as something to be celebrated. Arthur had been afraid of her from the moment that first, fierce argument between them brought the room alive to echo her fury. Sometimes, she thought Merlin had felt the same. He called her his finest student — behind her back where she wasn’t meant to hear — yet for the duration of her apprenticeship she had always been given the impression he did not trust her. He had treated her like a fire he was trying to contain, not a flame that needed to be nurtured, and the ire she had felt over being leashed and bound by her brother’s prejudices had only grown worse when Merlin replaced her with a student he had freely chosen. A student he was all too happy to teach new spells to. Hisirdoux was not permitted to use many of the incantations he was learning, but that had not stopped the envy that had overshadowed their interactions, a weakness she had allowed to go on for far too long.

It had been petty, unworthy of the person she was trying to be, and she regretted it now. Worse still, she feared there would be no opportunity to right that wrong; That Douxie would die still believing he would never measure up in Merlin’s eyes, his only friend in the world an eccentric little dragon. She couldn’t even find the right words to comfort his distraught familiar, devastated by the truth Merlin had forced her to confirm, and the feeling of helplessness growing in her chest was slowly turning into the irresistible impulse to do something, anything but sit still and await the inevitable.

They had both returned to the bedchamber in the wake of Merlin’s departure, Archie curled against the boy’s side, his head resting on his wizard’s ribs so he could both watch and feel each quiet breath. Morgana had taken one of Douxie’s cold hands in her own, a physical connection that allowed her to make sure Merlin’s stopgap solution was holding together, and perhaps offer some comfort in those moments when the reality of his condition seemed to break the peaceful respite of his slumber.

It didn’t feel like enough. All that training, all those spells, and she was still as useless as she had been years ago in the woods. Merlin would never admit as much, but she could tell he was no less frustrated. Clutching at straws and trying to will a solution into being, whilst ignoring that which she had offered like the old fool he was.

With a sigh, she reached out to gently run a hand through Douxie’s tangled locks, murmuring reproachfully to herself as she did so. “You deserve better. From both of us.”

“Do you really think it would help?” They were the first words Archie had spoken since Merlin left them both alone in the tower, and it took her a moment to follow the pattern of his thoughts.

“Yes,” she answered honestly. “The Shadow Realm is dangerous, and for every truth it might show you there are just as many falsehoods. But it is also a mirror, a reflection of our world, and what is destroyed here may still survive within its borders, particularly when dark magic is the cause.”

Archie lifted himself off his familiar’s chest, leaving just his paws resting there, to look her directly in the eye. “Is Merlin right? If you tried, could you bring back something that isn’t Douxie?”

“It is possible.” She wasn’t Merlin; She would not hide the dangers. “There are powers there that would be all too eager to escape into the mortal world. But there are ways to avoid them. The risk would be slim.”

“And if we do nothing?”

“No living creature can survive without a soul, Archie.” She made the words gentle, as if that could soften the blow. “Dark magic might keep him alive, if you could find someone willing to perform the ritual, but he would be bound to whoever’s power sustained him; A slave to their will.”

Archie fell silent, his eyes drifting back to his familiar’s pale face as he contemplated her words. “It seems we don’t really have a choice then, do we?”

“You want to try?” She was both surprised and impressed. “Even after Merlin expressly forbade it?”

“I am Douxie’s familiar, not Merlin. I looked after him for years before we came here, and that’s not going to change because some old wizard thinks he knows better.”

“Quite right.” Still, she hesitated, because Archie had been right in his earlier admonishment. “What about Douxie? You wanted the choice to be his, did you not?”

Archie was quiet for a somber moment. “Is he going to wake up again?”

“There is every chance that he will.” There was also an equal chance that he wouldn’t. She didn’t think Archie needed to hear that right now. “Merlin’s spell is holding. So long as it continues to do so he shouldn’t get any worse.”

“But he won’t get any better, either.”

“No.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving his wizard’s face. “We’ve been together for a long time now, Douxie and I. I trust him with my life, and I know he feels the same way.” He drew in a long, deep breath, turning to her with a gaze that seemed to look right through her. “If we do this, then I am extending that faith to you as well, Lady Morgana. I am entrusting you, as a dragon, with what is most precious to me. Do you understand what that means?”

“I do.” Merlin be damned. She hadn’t been able to save Guinevere. She couldn’t do anything for the countless other lives Arthur had already destroyed. But she could make a difference here. She could help someone. “I swear to you, Archie, that I would sooner hand myself over to Arthur’s brutes than bring Douxie to any harm.”

“Alright, then.” He seemed taken aback by the vehemence of her words. “When you put it that way, there’s really no reason to delay this, is there?”

She glanced at the door, trying to guess how much time they had before Merlin returned. It didn’t really matter; He would be too late to stop them as soon as they were on the other side of the portal. With that in mind, she drew her staff out of her cloak, extending it to its full length and letting darkness overtake the white wood.

“Stay close to me,” she directed, gathering the shadows in the room to form their gateway to the other side. “I don’t know what we’ll find in there.”

There was a flash of golden light, then Archie landed on her shoulder in his feline form, claws latching onto her cloak as his tail wrapped around her neck. She exchanged a glance with him as the portal took shape; A final question. When all he did was nod, she turned and plunged them both into the unknown.

It always took a moment to adjust after the disorientation of moving from a world that made sense into the bizarre otherness of the Shadow Realm. It was a reflection of the mortal plane, that much was true, but a jumbled, shattered reflection that made little sense to those not skilled in navigating it. She had had no teacher during her first forays into its mysteries — Merlin had always been adamant in his refusal to even so much as discuss dark magic — but she had learnt from what mistakes she made during those early ventures. She knew this place as well as it was possible to know a mystery, and she recognised almost at once that something was amiss.

Amidst the tumbling rocks and endless darkness were sharp streaks of colour; Red, blue, and purple cut jagged, intertwining lines across the shadows, like someone had taken a knife to a hanging sheet in a fit of fury. They sparked with unstable energy, tears in the veil between worlds that widened and narrowed in fluctuating waves.

“Well,” Archie spoke in her ear. “This is all deeply unnerving.”

“This isn’t right,” she agreed, using one of the drifting boulders to propel them closer to the strange fissures. She could see figures moving on the other side, like peering through a fogged window. Voices and sounds reached her, their subtleties muffled by the invisible barrier. “Something terrible happened here.”

“Do you think it was the Arcane Order?” Crouched low on her neck, Archie peered distrustfully at the strange manifestation of magic. “Is it because of what they did to Douxie?”

“I don’t know.” She had never seen anything like it before. For the first time in years, she found herself uneasy within the boundaries of her favoured domain. “Let’s just find Douxie. We can worry about all of this once he is safe.”

Archie murmured his agreement, and she closed her eyes in concentration, honing in on Hisirdoux’s unique magical signature. To her bewilderment, she found her attention drawn in a dozen different directions, none of them providing a strong enough resonance to give her a definitive path by which to travel. She felt as though she was shouting into the void, echoes warping the answer, so it seemed as though she were searching for many instead of one.

Drawing her attention back inward, she waited for that dizzying duality to fade, narrowing her search as she pictured the room she had left from; The bed and the boy within it. Without looking, she felt the world shift around her, and when she opened her eyes she was standing within those four walls again, albeit a version that was bare of colour and furnishings both. The only object in the chamber was a black staff, held aloft by a jagged piece of ice that carved its way upwards like a weathered mountain peak, tapering to razor-thin fingers that curled around the weapon’s handle. The staff’s focussing stone — a cyan jewel that had no doubt once been its crowning glory — was shattered down the middle, molten veins marking a spiralling pattern where it had fractured. The broken shards had not fallen, drifting around the largest fragment still inset in the staff, tethered to their origin by thin, intertwining threads of green and purple.

Crouched on her shoulder, Archie voiced his unease, “What is that?”

“It looks like a wizard’s staff....” she answered the familiar hesitantly, carefully crossing the space between them and the strange pedestal. Nothing happened as she drew near, or as she reached out to gently prod one of the shards with the tip of her finger.  It moved as if they were under water, drifting away from her slowly until it reached the end of its tether and was tugged in another direction.

Emboldened, she took one of the pieces in her hand and pressed it back into its rightful place. The world shuddered the moment the sliver clicked into position, the darkness rising, growing, and descending upon them like a wave. She raised her staff too late; It crashed over them, forces that she could not see tugging them in a multitude of directions at once.

She was whipped about like a dry leaf in a fearsome gale, her eyes alighting on a glimpse of their quarry for only a second before they were scattered once more. Snatches of conversation assailed her, no more than three or five words at a time, happiness mingled with anger and twisted with grief. Gritting her teeth, she locked her fingers about the staff in her hands, stoking her outrage, her fury at the ones responsible for this. The emotion grew from glowing embers into a blazing inferno; With the force of that anger, she imposed her will on the shadows around them, commanding the world to a halt with a mental shout.

It obeyed with a suddenness that had her staggering in place, Archie digging his claws in as he threw his weight against her own to stop her pitching down the dark abyss that opened up before her feet. She reeled backwards, sitting abruptly and taking a moment to regain her breath before glancing about their new surroundings.

They had emerged in a crumbling replica of the castle courtyard, the cobblestones beneath her feet cracked with age and neglect. Weeds nudged their way upwards through every crook and cranny they could find, stretching like ropes across the black void that had torn the ground asunder, forming a tangled web of floating islands. The towers that usually stood, proud and shining overhead, were broken and drifting in the emptiness of the Shadow Realm, the same ruptures she had seen upon their entry having wreaked their havoc here as well. There were whispers on the air, a slow chant that could only be magic, and a shiver ran down her spine.

The sensation of eyes upon her back prompted her to glance over her shoulder, finding nothing but the churning tempest from which they had emerged.

“What now?” Archie asked, readjusting his glasses as he peered at their surroundings with open distrust. Morgana rose, trying to appear more confident then she felt as she lifted her eyes to Merlin’s tower. It was still intact, unlike the rest of the keep, and there was a light shining forth from its windows.

Crouching, she shoved off the cracked cobblestones beneath her feet, bounding her way up and over the shattered battlements to land on the narrow walkway that led to the Master Wizard’s study. There was another of the rifts in the air beside her, slowly devouring crumbling stone, what was solid and immovable in the material world turning to dust as it was swept away. She turned her back on the disconcerting sight, treading carefully towards the workshop door. It resisted her first attempt to enter, refusing to budge as she threw her weight against it. She was forced to take a step back, raising her hand and letting her magic slam it open.

The room inside had been overtaken. Not by magic or the strange fissures outside, but a bright and verdant network of vines that bound the entire room together. They were everywhere; Climbing the walls, crisscrossing the floor, creeping across the ceiling. Even those she had snapped off to get inside were already reforming, stretching across the entrance to bar the way out.

Or the way in.

The central table was missing, she noted, as she stepped further inside, as were all the other doors and windows. A layer of frost dusted every surface, yet the stonework beneath the greenery was blackened. It looked as though a terrible fire had swept through the room, ashes still drifting lazily within the contained space. They settled on the floor, atop the the vines snaking their way across the stones, and the boy lying curled on his side in the centre of it all.

“Douxie?” Archie leapt from her shoulder, shifting into his winged form to glide to his familiar’s side. He tested the creepers wrapped about his wizard with his paw; They neither tightened nor loosened their grip, and Archie turned back to the boy they held. “Douxie, can you hear me?”

The young wizard didn’t stir. As she drew nearer, Morgana realised he was clutching something in his hands. A white box, gilded in gold, that she had seen countless times in Merlin’s hands, though she had never been permitted to know its mysteries herself.

“The time map...”

Carefully, she lowered herself beside the boy and his familiar. Something crunched beneath her boots as she did so; Shards of a dark green gemstone she did not recognise. The pieces neither exploded nor started to glow upon being crushed underfoot, so she dismissed them, reaching out to ease the enchanted box from Douxie’s limp fingers. It lit up as soon as she opened it, the soft glow bright amidst the room’s heavy darkness, flickering images dancing by too quickly for her to understand what she was seeing.

It froze locked on a likeness of her own face, twisted in rage. She glanced at Archie, the familiar looking as deeply unsettled as she felt. Before either of them could give voice to their thoughts, the image cupped in her hands expanded, and the room around them disappeared in the blink of an eye.

There was no furious maelstrom this time, nor even the darkness that one could reasonably expect within a place named for the shadows. Instead, she found herself floating within a pale dome of light, surrounded by a myriad of moving images. They drifted around her in a slow rotation, pausing just long enough to offer her a tantalising glimpse of their contents before moving on.

Most made little sense to her: A blurred, barely there impression of calloused but gentle hands, the touch familiar even if the heavy weight that settled about a too small wrist was not; A terrible noise, blind panic, flames, and a moonless night that turned every strange shape into a monster; A world that was too big for the child scampering through it, trying to avoid being trampled whilst diving for dropped crusts amidst the dirt; Pain, blood, and a deep, wrenching sense of loneliness; A dark corner, lit by the dimmest of glows, and a strange rumbling noise that sparked enough curiosity to crawl out of hiding.

It was not until the pictures became clearer, not until she started to see surroundings that she recognised and a little black cat darting hither and thither, that she realised what she was looking at. These, the more recent memories, were much less distorted, and yet at the same time there was a strange overlap of events, as though two different versions were unfolding at the same time. She watched, drawn in by the surreal experience of seeing herself through another’s eyes; Her many quarrels with her brother and her teacher alike revealed in vivid detail before her. There was some measure of guilt in the realisation of just how often Douxie had played a silent witness to such conflicts, standing forgotten in the background as his elders argued back and forth.

That thought was recognised and forgotten in almost the same heartbeat, because the images had not stopped. The present day had come and gone and she was looking now at things that had not happened. That could not have happened. Wariness growing in the back of her mind, she floated forward slowly, reaching out to touch one of the false recollections. The colours warped, forming a vice that locked around her wrist, and she and Archie were both wrenched right through the mirage.

She staggered, the ground beneath her feet uneven and covered with long grass that snared about her ankles. There was a thick, unnatural mist obscuring her vision — or was it smoke? — vague sounds of battle, voices she recognised and some she did not. She thought she saw Arthur, the light of Excalibur burning bright, and... and...

She froze, horror closing around her throat like a vice as she beheld herself, staff raised in fury as she cast magic at her own brother. She saw Douxie, running, hand outstretched to intervene though he must have known he was too far away. The spell in her palm and Excalibur’s edge collided in a surge of golden light that grew and grew until all of the world was washed away in a burst of energy that consumed them all.

#hisirdoux casperan #toa morgana #toa merlin #toa archie #Tales of Arcadia #TOA Wizards #Fanfiction #Hurt/Comfort #Angst