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weremoose · 2 months

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CHAPTER PREVIEW: Paranormal Deertective #1: The Laundry Room Haunting SUMMARY: Elmer's a deer down on his luck with a passion for the paranormal, Finnick's a single sheep dad trying to take care of his son, Finley, and Liam's a young rooster who's the new kid in town. When Elmer's elderly neighbour starts speaking of a ghost haunting the apartment's laundry room, the four of them work to solve this paranormal case, all with the help of an authorless book specialized in contacting the dead. WORD COUNT: 1,142 PREVIEW IMAGE:

Feedback and constructive criticism is much appreciated; just please be respectful!

CHAPTER ONE: PARENT-TEACHER

Out of all the parents that Mr. Blackwood dealt with in his several years of teaching, Finnick Winter was…an interesting case. From what Mr. Blackwood could gather, Mr. Winter sounded like quite the agreeable man, but truthfully, Mr. Blackwood didn’t know him very well.

Oddly enough, Mr. Winter also worked at Edgehaven Elementary— well, sometimes, anyway. Sometimes, he was a gym teacher there; other times, he owned and ran the Winter Sleep Institute elsewhere in Edgehaven — and, no, Mr. Blackwood didn’t know how he found the time. Frankly, nobody did, because not many really knew him; Mr. Winter was a bit of an elusive figure to anyone who wasn’t a close acquaintance.

Yet at the same time, his presence was well known among the staff at the school, despite a majority of them having never spoken to him at length. He never failed to send a shiver down anyone’s spine by the mere sight of him, and nobody could quite pin down the cause of his intimidating aura. Some said that it was those piercing yellow eyes of his, while others said it was those unnaturally sharp teeth — features that made him appear incredibly uncanny for a sheep.

Now that Mr. Winter actually sat before him, Mr. Blackwood found it was both, especially when he had those same yellow eyes staring at him, sharp teeth protruding from the sheep’s mouth as he grinned. His ghastly appearance, however, contrasted with the way he nonchalantly and patiently sat across from Mr. Blackwood, one leg crossed over the other, and an arm draped over the back of the chair.

The border collie sat there, paws trembling, his gaze flicking anxiously between the paper — which read ‘WINTER, FINLEY’ at the top, accompanied with a photo of a straight-faced lamb — and said lamb’s frightful father.

Suddenly aware of how dry his mouth was, Mr. Blackwood cleared his throat, and finally placed the paper down, smoothing it out on the desk before folding his paws atop the wooden surface.

“Well, Mr. Winter, your, uh— son, Finley, is, um…he’s— uh,” he stammered, having to force himself to look the sheep in the eye. He forced a nervous smile and nodded. “He’s doing very well! He’s very quiet, never late with his homework…”

Mr. Winter’s sharp-toothed grin widened. “Oh, good!” he replied, sounding genuinely happy, yet not terribly surprised. “Glad t’ hear it.”

“Yes, well—" Mr. Blackwood coughed into his hand twice. “He’s a very good student. But, um, Mr. Winter—"

“Please, call me Finnick. All my friends do.”

“Uh…Finnick. Sure. Right, well, um…I just had one, uh…concern about your son that I wanted to address, if you don’t mind.”

His statement prompted Finnick to sit straight up in his seat with a furrowed brow. “If this has anything t’ do with that kid that he pretended t’ put curses on—"

“What? Oh no, heavens, no. I’m not talking about that, as much as that, uh…”

Mr. Blackwood nearly commented on the strangeness of that incident with the lamb and his peer, but shook his head, opting not to veer off-track.

“No, Mr.— uh, Finnick; what I wanted to say was that, well…I’m a little worried about Finley’s lack of friends, if I’m entirely honest. A-Actually, relevant to the episode that you mentioned, it doesn’t seem like your son, uh, gets along with any of his classmates. I asked his previous teachers about it, and apparently this is a bit of a…pattern with your child.”

The sheep chuckled, and Mr. Blackwood feigned uncertainty as to what there was to chuckle about, though, internally, he was bracing himself for Finnick to pull the classic ‘my child is an angel’ card that parents loved to pull.

“Finley doesn’t pick fights,” Finnick said matter-of-factly, “But he does finish them. I’ll bet any money that any kid he doesn’t get along with, they didn’t get along with him first.” He glanced at the border collie up and down. “You’re clearly an observant man. Am I right, or am I right?”

At first Mr. Blackwood opened his mouth, then shut it with an awkward smile. “We’re getting off track, Mr.— um, Finnick. My point is that— well, he’s partway through the fifth grade, and I worry that he may be a bit…isolated.”

After a thoughtful pause, Finnick leaned his arms on the desk. “Mr. Blackwood, we can both agree that Finley’s a pretty honest kid, yeah?”

Having never known the lamb to be a liar, the teacher was inclined to agree at once. “Oh, of course!”

“Then it’d be safe t’ say that if he had an issue, he’d tell me.”

“Yes, well—" Mr. Blackwood started at first, but quickly understood the hint and simply said, “Yes, I suppose he would. Obviously, he is your son, you know him better than I do. I’m merely expressing my concerns as a teacher.”

“‘Course, I get it. I’m a teacher here too, remember.”

For some reason, Mr. Blackwood took this as Finnick mildly chastising him for his wariness, although there was nothing in his tone that necessarily indicated as such. “Oh— yes, of course.”

Leaning back in his seat once more, Finnick looked at him quizzically. “Anything else?”

The teacher hummed, looking at the paper again, rubbing his thumb along his brow. “No,” he eventually said. “No, that’s everything. Other than that…minor concern, overall, he seems to be doing quite well.”

“Perfect!”

The sheep stood to his feet, which prompted Mr. Blackwood, surprised, to briskly mirror the action. Without hesitation, Finnick took his paw and shook it firmly, which also surprised him.

He pleasantly said, “Thank you very much, Mr. Blackwood. Nice t’ finally meet ya’, by the way — I know I’ve passed ya’ in the hall a few times now.”

Having never thought that he took any notice of anyone, let alone Mr. Blackwood, he exclaimed, “Oh! Well, uh— thank you? Or— you’re welcome, rather.” He sounded incredibly uncertain.

Finnick merely laughed, evidently finding his uncertainty amusing. “See ya’ later, Mr. Blackwood.”

Letting go of Mr. Blackwood’s paw (who continued to hold it up for a second too long after he’d let go, staring at it as if unsure of what to do with it), Finnick casually shoved a hand in his pants pocket, and left the classroom.

Upon leaving, Finnick noticed a pair of large ears perking up out of his peripheral. This, of course, prompted him to look at the lamb — his son — sitting in a plastic chair, where he’d waited throughout the duration of the meeting.

“‘Sup, kiddo?” he greeted casually.

“Nothin’ much,” the boy responded, monotone and blank-faced.

“Wanna grab some Kale King?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Alright, c’mon then.”

Hopping off of the chair, the slight bounce of his movement and the small wag of his tail made Finley’s excitement clear. He instinctively took his father’s hand, and they proceeded through the school hall.

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jackietaylorsweatervest · 6 months

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S2E7 Burial - a post viewing rant

feeling like brokeback mountain tai tonight, head hung low, in solemnity. I just watched season 2 episode 7 'Burial' (yes i havent finished, don't sue me i like to take my time) and by god if that wasn't one of the greatest episodes of television i have ever witnessed in my short life. it was simply fantastic and topped the previous episode for me.

the way they weaved between the timelines was particularly good. i do not understand how they managed to fit in so much character development in one episode. like i feel like we learnt so much about shauna, misty, van, and lottie. i also found it really interesting how each one of their 'therapies' seemed to be really effective almost like it was planned .

i was nearly brought to tears by shauna and that stupid fucking goat. the manifestation of shauna's trauma through her estranged relationship with her daughter uugghhh. i cannot imagine what effect it would have had on her to lose the baby in the wilderness and it completely explains why shauna keeps callie 'at arms length'. the callback to jackie was also done fantastically. i miss her too though shauna, you're not special.

this episode had me thinking that misty isnt even that psychotic; baby just wants to be loved. her motives of not wanting her friend to be eaten actually warms my heart (doesnt excuse what she did). the fear of knowing that the body was out there and if it were to be found, mari would turn it into her next masterpiece of a stew, would be too much for me. i was also enjoying having all the girls on the compound just as much as she was. my very much needed comic relief.

ok taissa really turned up the crunchy gay vibes this episode like you know that women knows how to pitch a tent. (doesn't she have like a state to run or something?!?) the taivan moments were DELICIOUS and she was like REALLY getting into that kiss. i love how all it took was one kiss from her ex gf for her to start planning her divorce.

look van, your situation is tragic, really, but girl...you have had your face eaten off by wolves and have been burned alive TWICE like i think cancer is the least of your problems.

I FUCKING CALLED THAT LOTTIE'S THERAPIST WAS NOT REAL!!!! I KNEWWWWW IT. just thinking though, to be Lottie Matthew's therapist you'd have to be like the final boss therapist you get once you have defeated all other therapists. i find it very interesting that lottie wanted all the girls to go home once she had scared herself sufficiently (dont even ask me what that Antler Queen shit was about). All nat had to do was up the sexual innuendo and to get her to change her mind.

speaking of which, the lottienat truthers were FED this episode. like they're SOOO GAYYYY. I can feel a rage creeping up on me already. it's a preemptive rage. i am preparing myself for when the COWARD writers of this show do not deliver on the canon that we know we deserve in season 3. LIKE ITS ALL THERE. ALL THAT SET UP FOR... a wilderness lottienat kiss (*prays*). i will stop myself from speaking any further on the issue of lottienat (im sure you'll see the gifsets later - sorry in advance)

ok, and FINALLY. Of all the gore, bloodshed, and gruesome, or downright depraved moments in this show...NOTHING has come close to what i witnessed in the final scene of this episode. it is the only moment in yellowjackets where i have actually had to cover up what i was seeing on the screen. i am a big girl now and that was just too much for me. like, the cannibalism is one thing, but i draw the line at having to watch shauna shipman beat the shit out of lottie Matthew's pretty face. LIKE YOU CANT DO THAT TO HER. i was waiting and wanting so badly for natalie to step in and stop her but she just kept going. no one did anything and i dont get it. i understand that she needed to let her rage out but SHE WAS ABOUT TO KILL HER WTF. when lottie put her hands behind her back, my heart sunk bro. shauna you violent bitch. lottie you pathological people pleaser.

yea, great ep

#in my top 5 episodes??#burial #yellowjackets #yellowjackets 2×07 #shauna shipman #lottienat #taivan #lottie matthews #misty quigley

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illfoandillfie · 3 years

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Good Boy

it’s a little late but this is the final blurb from my Platonically event for Aggressively Arospec Week! Usual caveat that I didn’t really edit it. Sort of follows on from the last smut blurb i posted but can be read as stand alone.

Words: 2,071

Warnings: smut (obv), cockwarming, dom reader, sub ben, orgasm delay

The evening where Ben bent you over the arm of the couch really opened the door for you to play with some other kinky ideas. Nothing too heavy or painful was suggested – spanking with a hand was about as far as you wanted to push it, at least so early on. But both of you had some experience with a couple of kinks from previous relationships and could suggest things that might be fun to try. Neither of you claimed to be experts and google was consulted more than once to answer questions for you, but through the process you found out that Ben was quite good at being dominant when he wanted to be.

Mostly you played around with elements of degradation since, while talking about the couch incident, you admitted it was a key part of why it was so hot – feeling as if Ben was putting his pleasure above yours – though you also tested out some light bondage and incorporating toys into your sex more often. There was one night where Ben put his fleshlight between your thighs, making you hold it as he fucked it (though of course he’d also made sure you came eventually with a mixture of a vibrator and his tongue), and another time he told you how to masturbate, directing your fingers so you got what pleasure he wanted you to have but only when he decided you should have it, and all without lifting a finger himself. Even when he’d got so hard and horny from watching that he just wanted to be in you, even then he made you do all the work, telling you how to rub your clit and when to clench down on his motionless dick until you both came. He even managed to call you a slut once or twice, though it never rolled off his tongue as easily as Kitten did.

Then one day you made what was meant to be a harmless joke. “Maybe you don’t like calling me a slut because you’d prefer it if I called you that,” Ben’s reaction was interesting. He laughed but it was a higher pitch than normal, his cheeks flushing lightly. You suspected he might not hate the idea and proved as much when you cooed at him, “Do you want to be my pretty slut Benny?” He nodded slowly, the pink on his cheeks getting more pronounced. It made sense really. Ben liked pleasing people, especially pleasing you sexually. He liked going down on you just because, sometimes not even letting you return the favour afterwards, and liked to make sure you felt good while you were having sex, even if you couldn’t actually get off. So when you made a gentle suggestion for him to take off his clothes, he did exactly what you asked. There was no questioning, no talking back, no snarky comment, no brattiness at all. Just service. When you talked about it later you both agreed that you’d liked the dynamic. He obviously enjoyed following instructions and making you happy and, aside from the physical sensations and the orgasm that made you feel good, you also really enjoyed the gentle domination. It was caring in a way. Knowing you were making Ben happy by letting him make you happy. And trying to show it through your words and your touch so he’d know he was appreciated. It was clear that you should experiment with that dynamic more, as well as the other things you’d been trying. And you were already looking forward to the next time you’d get to instruct him, ideas for what to do and how already forming in your mind.

So when Ben had a particularly busy day a few weeks later, you decided it was your chance to try the gentle domme roll again. He left the house by eight in the morning and you didn’t see him again until after six that night. A combination of errands and meetings with his agent and just general business kept him occupied and when he finally did get home he seemed quite tired, flopping onto the couch with a grateful sigh, stretching his legs out down the length of the seat. You sat on the edge of the couch, in front of his knee. “Sorry, Y/N, did you want to sit here too?” “No, it’s fine, you stay there. I was just thinking that maybe I could...” you lay your palm over the front of his pants, softly rubbing until he took the hint. “Oh, really?” “If you’re up for it. I could look after you.” “Go ahead,” he voice sounded huskier than it had before and he cleared his throat as if that would help. You adjusted the angle of your body as you brought your second hand to his crotch, popping the button and tugging down the zip on his jeans, “Lift your hips for me,” He complied easily, letting you tug his jeans and underwear down to his thighs so you had better access to his cock. You got a little more comfortable, laying down beside him on your front, your legs in the air behind you, as you began to tease his cock, tracing your fingers along his length. It was enough to make his breath hitch. “Just relax,” you cooed, laying your head down on his hip so you could watch him get harder under your attentions, “that’s right. Doesn’t take much to get you hard, does it? Such a greedy slut, aren’t you? You kept your voice soft and sweet as you spoke, though you sped up your hand a little “Always so ready for me.” “Thank you,” he said breathily as he nodded. “You’re welcome. I know you just want to feel good right now, don’t you? Yeah, and this feels so good. My hand on your cock, stroking you over and over. Probably my breath too, when I talk, yeah?” “Mmhmm, yeah.” “Yeah. Must feel so nice. So good.” “Yeah,” it was nearly a whine. “I don’t blame you sweetie, I want to help you. I want you to feel good. That’s why I’m doing this. So my pretty needy little slut can feel so good. But y’know what would feel even better?” “What?” “My pussy. Right? Being deep inside me, so warm and tight. That’d feel so good, wouldn’t it?” “Oh f-fuck, yeah, yeah it would.” “Maybe I could give you that instead. My pussy instead of my hand.” It seemed to take a moment for the words to reach Ben’s brain. There was a pause where all you could hear was him panting as you brushed the head of his cock with your thumb, and then, “Really?” “Do you like the sound of that?” “Yes please,” “Okay. Why don’t you keep touching yourself while I get ready.” Ben nodded, his hand replacing yours on his cock as you stood up and began to shimmmy out of your pants. Immediately he began stroking himself faster, touching himself the way he usually liked. “Careful,” you warned, “I know you’re a greedy slut. I know you want it, you need it,” you stretched the word out sweetly, “but if you cum now that’s it, sweetie. No pussy.” Ben whimpered and, with great effort, slowed the pace of his hand to better match the one you’d been using. “Good boy,” you leaned in to kiss Ben, feeling him whimper against your lips. You were a little wet already but not enough so you let Ben dangle, let him wait a little longer, reminding him to cum yet, as you spat on your fingers and rubbed them along your slit. Ben groaned as he watched you press two fingers into yourself, his hips bucking a little as he released his cock. “In a second, sweetie.” You laughed, “You’re so good for being so patient. I know you’re a desperate fucking slut but you’re being so good.”

Ben breathed out another, “thank you,” as you finally sank down onto him. You went slowly, partly because that was the game you were playing and partly because your fingers hadn’t quite been enough to get you ready for his cock. But rubbing more of your saliva over his length helped make it easier and there was only a small sting that accompanied the stretch as you took him fully. When you properly situated on his lap, you felt Ben release a breath he’d been holding. Gently you placed your palm against his chest, rubbing it in a soothing circle. “Is that better? Is that what my slut wanted?” “Yeah,” he whimpered as you quickly clenched on him. “You like being inside me, don’t you Benny?” “Yes, of course. Feels incredible.” It was a bit of a boost to your ego and you couldn’t help but smile, “Well that’s good, sweetie, cause I’m going to stay here for a bit. I like feeling you inside me too and I want to keep feeling it. So why don’t you just watch TV and don’t worry about how tight my pussy feels or how badly you want to cum or anything like that.” Ben nodded and turned his head towards the TV. You settled against him, leaning your head on his chest and slowly running your fingers along his side. It was strangely intimate even though neither of you was looking at the other. A type of intimacy that didn’t feel too close to any of your romance limits. Every now and then you’d reward Ben by pressing kisses to his chest or neck or lips, letting your arms slip around to his back so you could squeeze him tightly. He’d whimper whenever your movements changed, feeling his cock shift inside you or feeling you tighten around him for a moment. But he didn’t complain. His arms were as tight around you as yours were around him. There was no way for you to be any physically closer than you were already and yet it felt like he was trying as he embraced you. You could feel his breaths through the rise and fall of his chest, the way he trembled slightly whenever you clenched or moved. You kept reminding him that he was being so good for waiting, that you loved him, loved how obedient he was and how well he listened to your instructions. That it was okay if he was a slut who liked to feel good because you liked making him feel good and wouldn’t waiting for it just make everything so much better anyway. The praise made him bashful. He focused his gaze on the TV, eyes seeming almost out of focus as he made sure he didn’t look at you, but his cheeks flushed and he squirmed in his seat. But he also seemed a little proud oh himself, proud that he was pleasing you.

You made him wait through six advertisement breaks before you began to rock against him properly, your own breath feeling less even. He moaned as soon as you moved, though he kept his head directed towards the TV until you guided it with your fingers, gently turning him to face you. Seeing you, seeing the way you intentionally grinded your hips against his, made him moan again. “Such a pretty sound from my pretty slut,” you whispered, “Keep sounding pretty for me. I like knowing how good I’m making you feel.” It didn’t take too much longer for him to actually cum, worked up and teased as he was. You didn’t mind either, even though there was no way for you to reach your own high in such a short time. But that had never been the point. He panted into your shoulder, mumbling out more thanks and words you only half heard which just made you chuckle as you carded your fingers through his hair.

You stayed like that for a while, just cuddling as he collected himself, listening to his breathing even out and an odd whimper or two leave his lips. “That was nice,” he eventually said, laughing a little, still seeming a bit coy about how into he’d gotten. “If you don’t mind, we could stay here for a while. I could keep warming you until you got hard again.” “You’re filthy,” “Thats not a no,” you laughed back, “I promise you can cum in me again. If you’re good.” “If that’s what’ll make you happy.”

#my writing #my blurbs #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy smut #ben hardy imagine #platonically event #ahhhh i did it!!#seven blurbs in seven days (or near enough skdjkjsasl)

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jamiemackenziefraser · 3 years

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All That Was Fair

Chapter 36: Mr. and Mrs

Summary: As promised… newlywed fluff

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Previous, master list, next

Chapter 36: Mr. and Mrs.

***

Claire was insatiable. The wee thing was on him every second of every day. She would do everything from pouncing on him when he unsuspectingly rounded a corner to jumping into the shower with him. Jamie was obsessed with it, certainly. He was completely besotted and happy to be under her enchantment. Still, he wasn’t always sure he could keep up with her.

It wasn’t even just the usual or expected touches either. Just when Jamie would begin to forget how strange his lass was— arrogantly thinking he knew her inside and out— she would go on being her quirky self in ways that took him by surprise.

One such example was the strange but endearing behavior that took place one cozy Saturday…

Jamie was sat on the couch while Claire was tried to wedge her way in directly behind him. Yes, indeed, she was trying to fit her body in the miniscule space between Jamie’s back and the back of the couch while the rest of the couch and numerous chairs— even Jamie’s lap, for crying out loud— were perfectly unoccupied.

“Claire, mo ghraidh...” Jamie chuckled as he was pushed forward by her body as she worked on wedging herself behind him, “what are ye doin’?”

“I’m trying to cuddle you, if you’d be so kind as to move forward a bit,” she huffed, struggling in her endeavor.

“Ye’re half my size and ye want me sittin’ in yer lap?” he laughed.

“Not in my lap. I don’t have a wish for my legs to be crushed, thank you very much. I just wanted to sit behind you so I could hold you for a bit.” Her voice was strained with the effort of her trying, and failing, to push him forward to give herself enough space to fit.

But Jamie was having too much fun to simply end it and scooch himself up like she wanted.

“Any particular reason why ye’re tryin’ so hard tae cuddle me, wee one?” he asked.

He could feel Claire shooting daggers at the back of his neck as she pushed against his uncooperating shoulders.

“Well, I like it so much when you come up behind me and hold me that I was trying to be nice, but if you’re going to be stubborn about it...”

Jamie laughed again and decided he’d better give her the space she needed to fit behind him before she gave up and left him alone altogether. He couldn’t have that.

Claire gave out a sigh of satisfaction as he moved forward enough for her to slide behind him. As she began to settle in, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms came around his shoulders, and the front of her body pressed flush down the length of his back.

The cherry on top was when she began pressing kisses to the sensitive spot just behind his ear.

“Well…” he said, trying not to let on how much her kisses were affecting him, but his voice still came out breathless, “is it everythin’ ye imagined?”

She hummed against him, nuzzling her nose against the shell of his ear in a way that made his stomach tie itself into knots.

“It’s nice enough. A little cramped perhaps, but I like having you in my arms.”

“It was verra thoughtful of ye to offer to be the big spoon, sweet one,” Jamie chuckled, “but I think there are a few flaws in this plan of yers.”

He could tell he was riling her up. Her body went tense at his words, preparing for a battle. Jamie was torn between tenderness and playfulness— because truly it was terribly adorable that she wanted to do this for him— but he couldn’t resist the temptation to play with her. Now the die had been cast, and his words had alerted her to his feistiness… or maybe it was that she could sense his plotting. Damn empath.

“What might those be?” she asked warily.

“Well,” he began, keeping his voice very matter-of-fact, “there’s a few logistical issues. The first being that I’m twice yer size and it would be so easy for me to accidentally crush ye like a wee bug.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, he let his body sag back against her as a dead weight. He crushed her down against the couch, and she let out a squeal.

“Jamie!” she yelped, her voice muffled where her mouth was pressed against his back as a result of her predicament, “ge’off!”

“The second issue is that the couch isna exactly the ideal spot. This kind of cuddling requires space, ye ken.” Even though she couldn’t see him, Jamie tapped his finger against his chin as if thinking hard, enjoying himself immensely. “Perhaps if ye cared to try the bed instead?”

Her hands— which had previously been wrapped around his shoulders in a loving embrace— were smacking at his chest now, no hint of soft affection from a moment before.

“Lemmeup,” came her smothered cry, “can’tbreathe!”

Smirking to himself, he leaned forward, releasing her.

“What was that?” he asked cheekily over his shoulder.

“Ye bloody bastard,” Claire was cursing as she struggled out from behind him. Her knees jabbed him in the ribs as she tried to unwrap her legs from his waist to get them back underneath herself enough to escape.

When she’d finally wrigged out from behind him, she popped out by his side and gave him a death glare.

“You’re a brute,” she pouted, glaring over at him with dark eyes.

“And ye married me. Ye canna take it back now,” Jamie said cheerily, answering her glower with a beam.

She crossed her arms, looking very much like a toddler who hadn’t gotten her way. Her lower lip was pushed out in a pout, and Jamie could barely smother the rising urge to kiss it.

“Just because I’m stuck with you doesn’t mean I don’t regret it.”

Jamie gave a playfully gesture of being shot in the heart. “Ah, mo nighean donn, ye wound me so.”

“And you crush me when I’m trying to hold you,” she shot back.

“Aww, I’m sorry, lass. Come ‘ere, I’ll make it up to ye.” Jamie opened his arms to her, his voice dripping with played up regret.

Claire stood abruptly, shooting him a smirk over her shoulder.

“I think I’ll go cuddle with Adso, thank you very much. Maybe then you’ll learn to appreciate what you have.”

“That’s yer choice…” Jamie dropped his voice to sound serious, “oh, and Claire? One other thing?”

She stopped in her tracks, turning back to him with a suspicion written clear over her face.

“What?”

Jamie stood, looking down at his fingers where he was playing with them in feigned innocence, “there was one more flaw in your plan.”

“What’s that?”

She took a step back, already suspecting his misbehavior.

“I like bein’ the one to hold you far too much.”

He lunged forward, grabbed her around the waist with both hands and tugging her body against him all in one smooth movement. She was giggling as he did, struggling playfully as he wrestled her to him and held her captive at his front. He walked them both backward until the back of his knees hit the couch and he was able to sit down, bringing Claire down along with him.

In order to secure her in his lap as she tried to wriggle free, he tightened his arms around her middle, trapping hers underneath. He grinned into her hair, squeezing her.

“Much better,” he said.

He pressed kisses down the side of her neck, letting out little hums into the skin until her struggling stopped and Claire went still. Curious to see what she would do, Jamie loosened his arms around her. Not enough to let her get up, but enough so she could maneuver a bit.

It turned out that what she wanted to do was turn and face him. She shifted within his hold so she straddled him, and the moment they were face-to-face, Jamie would see that her expression had grown soft and her eyes had that far away look in them that they got when she was particularly infatuated.

“This is rather nice,” she admitted in a murmur as she leaned in to press a kiss to his jaw. Then another.

Jamie nearly laughed out loud.

His wee faerie. So predictable. She couldn’t resist him holding her any more than Adso could resist the smell of tuna.

Her kisses were growing more insistent now, beginning to turn heated in a way that was sure to scramble Jamie’s wits at any second.

“So ye dinna regret marryin’ this brute after all?” Jamie asked, trying to keep up the show and keep his voice steady in the face of the magic of her lips.

She pulled back, making Jamie’s skin tingle in her absence. “Maybe not so much…” she relented, “I suppose you win this one, Mr. Fraser.”

“Victory is sweet, Mrs. Fraser.”

***

#a new chapter before my life gets crazy #all that was fair #update #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #fae claire

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avengerscompound · 3 years

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Small Gods: Patience - 2

Patience: A Black Widow Fanfic

Patience Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 1885

Warnings: Language

Synopsis: Every day Natasha prays for more patience to deal with a litany of things from waiting for her target to make a move - to not yelling at Clint for putting empty milk containers back in the fridge.

When her prayers are answered, Natasha finds that having patience is easy, holding on to it is a little harder.

Chapter 2

Natasha sat in the dark and noisy bar waiting for you to show up. She’d chosen a booth up the back and she’d been trying to not attract any unwanted attention. You were late. She should have expected that given who you were. Still, as she sat waiting, she started to wonder what the hell she was doing. It was bad enough that she had to sit patiently waiting for criminals to reveal themselves for her job, did she really want to intentionally cause herself this kind of irritation?

She finished her beer and looked over to the bar, debating with herself whether she should get up and get another drink. You were leaning on a bar stool, one foot propped up on the crossbar, and leaning forward as you spoke to the bartender. He went to fix your drink, a flirtatious smile on his face, and you turned to Natasha and winked at her.

The frustration Natasha felt was almost overwhelming. In just about any other circumstance she’d storm off. She was not one to be kept waiting, and she definitely wasn’t one for playing these kinds of games. Well, at least not from the position she was in now - she’d certainly been the one flirting with the bartender while her date waited for her before. The question of who or what you were was too great though, so she stayed put - waiting for an answer.

When the bartender served you your drinks you brought them over with a number for the table and slid into the booth beside Natasha. “Waiting long?” You asked as you pushed one of the drinks over to her. She knew what it was even before she smelt the coffee liqueur and she rolled her eyes.

“You know I have,” she said. “And I don’t appreciate it when people order my drinks without checking with me first.”

“Oh come on,” you teased. “It’s a Black Russian. At least appreciate the pun.”

She shook her head and lifted the glass, taking a sip. It was annoying that she didn’t actually hate the cocktail because it was a joke she’d had repeated on her more times than she could count. “You’re really…” She started and cut herself off.

“What?” You laughed. “Am I testing your patience?”

Natasha gave you a look that would normally level a man, but it just made you laugh harder. The knife she kept tucked in her boot was becoming very tempting.

“I ordered some starters. Just one of those sample plates. I wasn’t sure if we were eating, or going somewhere else to eat. Or just drinking. Or you just wanted to give me the third degree,” you babbled. “I’m hungry though. So I needed the starters.”

“Who are you?” Natasha snapped, cutting you off.

“I already told you,” you said, taking a sip of your cocktail.

“But what does that mean exactly?” Natasha asked. “How can you be patience?”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s not fair. I’m not actually patience. I just wield it. Just as Thor wields a storm,” you explained.

“Then why do I want to strangle you so badly right now?” Natasha asked.

You laughed again, this time nearly spitting your drink out on her. “I like it better when people beg me,” you said, sitting forward in your seat a little. “Besides - you’re still here aren’t you?”

“Barely,” Natasha snarked.

You laughed and held out your hand, palm up to her. “Oh, you want the part where you don’t feel annoyed, huh?”

Natasha looked at your hand for a moment, debating with herself whether she should take it. Slowly she lifted her hand and placed it in yours. You closed your fingers and pressed down softly on the back of her hand. “Close your eyes,” you said. Natasha narrowed her eyes at you before closing them. “Deep breath in, and then out again.”

Natasha did as she was instructed, first taking a deep breath in, and slowly releasing it. It was something people always told her to do, and while it often helped to focus her mind and still her nerves, it had never quite relaxed her the way it did right now. It was like all the anger and annoyance she had about having to wait and not knowing what was going on, just melted away.

Her fingers linked with yours reflexively and she opened her eyes. “So you’re a god?” She asked.

You shrugged. “I guess that’s what you’d call me. But I was never really worshipped like a lot of the others. People always took me for granted.”

“How old are you?” Natasha asked. It was hard to believe you were a god, not looking the way you did. Yes, she knew her very own deities who could pass for men in their thirties, and yes, she looked a lot younger than her actual years - you were different. You fit into the world in the way Thor or Steve struggled with. You drew just enough attention to be considered cool, but not enough to be considered out of place.

You shrugged. “I don’t really know.” You took a sip of your drink while you considered the question. “Time is tricky. The further you are from when something started the harder it is to hold on to. Sometimes I feel like I remember a time before man, but then… that … consciousness doesn’t feel familiar.”

Natasha blinked at you in disbelief. Thor had an age. He claimed it was fifteen hundred years old, which didn’t make a lot of sense as the stories that featured him predated that, but at least it gave a wheelhouse for the length of time he’d existed. Maybe three thousand and fifteen hundred just felt the same when you were that old, or perhaps an Asgardian year just lasted twice as long as an Earth one. You on the other hand were talking about true immortality. A being that predated human evolution.

“How… how… how?” Natasha stammered, gesturing to you. “How do you look like that and speak like you do when Thor speaks like he just stepped out of ye olde England. And … how do you look like us if you were here before us?”

You downed the last of your drink. “Asgardians live in a bubble world of their own. Their technology is stuck in a point that is both somehow advanced to ours and behind ours all at once. I change because I live here, where everyone’s life spans are tiny and if I don’t keep up people accuse me of witchcraft and try to burn me at the stake. I can’t answer the other part. I don’t remember not existing, but I don’t remember when I started existing either. I just… am. I know I’ve changed over time. But I don’t know how or why. All I know for sure is that I can patiently wait it out and that if I want, I can grant that ability to other people too.”

The waiter came over, put your appetizers on your table, and took the empty bottle and glasses away. Natasha looked at the bar longingly. “I think I need another drink.”

“Go on,” you said. “I can wait.”

“Can I get you something?” She asked.

You took a jalapeño popper and turned it around in your hand. “Yes, please. An orgasm.” Natasha looked at you deadpan and you bit back a laugh. “Over ice please.”

Natasha shook her head and approached the bar. She ordered herself another beer and gave the bartender a look that dared him to make any kind of remark about the cocktail you’d asked for. As he poured the drinks, she looked over the food menu, trying to decide what she was actually doing here. She wished Thor was on Earth so she could run things by him. She was interested in this whole god thing, but she was more interested in why you’d come to her.

You had been flirting. Natasha could pick up even the most subtle of flirtations, it was what she’d been trained for, and the cocktail order had been as far from subtle as you could get. You weren’t only flirting though, and that was where Natasha was getting stuck. You didn’t seem to want help with anything, and if you did, you were living up to your powers by dragging it out. What had attracted you to her?

The bartender put the drinks in front of her as a couple of people at the other end of the bar started yelling to get his attention. “Did you want to order food?” he asked in a flustered tone.

Natasha shook her head and put some cash on the bar in front of him. “Keep the change,” she said, and head back to you.

“Can I ask you a question?” She said.

“That’s why I’m here,” you answered, taking your drink from her.

“If you can grant patience to people, why don’t you?” Natasha asked. “I mean, look around, there are people at the bar yelling to get served. The women in the line to the bathroom look like they’re going to explode, and those men at that table are one more disagreement away from starting a bar fight.”

You let out a huff. “Whatever it is I am, I need people to pray to me - I guess that’s right. There have been times where I’ve thought I’d be infinitely kind and allow everyone who had required patience to have it, but then they stop sending out to the universe that they need it, and I start to fade. It’s a bit of a weird loop though because then they need it again, and I come back.”

Natasha blinked at you as she absorbed what you said. “That’s…”

“Weird,” you agreed. “Yeah. So… it suits me best to just let people be. Let them have their feelings. That’s why I’m here. New York is fantastic for people wishing for the patience to get through their day.”

“And that’s why you came to me? Because I’m always praying for patience?” Natasha asked.

“It’s what made me notice you,” you said with a smirk.

“So… what then?” Natasha asked. “Why are we here?”

“Well,” you said. “Here I am, older than I even know. Existing in a world of temporary things that do not understand me if I reveal myself to them. And then things start getting weird. People show up who can’t seem to die with superhuman abilities. The Norse gods return. People start accepting stranger and stranger things. And there is this one person who just runs with whatever is being thrown at her. Never questioning - just accepting. And she calls out to me.”

Natasha tilted her head and a smile slowly crossed her lips. “You were lonely?”

You shrugged and curled in on yourself, and for the first time since she met you, you looked scared. Natasha downed the last of her drink quickly and stood up. “Do you want to get out of here?”

You smiled up at her and nodded. “I really would.”

Natasha took your hand and led you out of the bar. She might not understand patience, but she knew how it felt to be lonely. Maybe you could teach each other something new after all.

// NEXT

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #small gods #patience

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Note

Hi love!

Can I please beg for Tangled Geraskier?

Rapunzel Jask. You know I’m a sucker for angst so including the scene where he cuts her hair would slay me 💖💖💖💖💖

TYILYYYYY

Hello, Stina dear! Sorry this took me actual months to write, but it broke me out of my writer’s block and for that I am eternally grateful.

I chose several pieces of the Tangled narrative to write Geralt and Jaskier into... enjoy!

2k-ish words (please leave me comments I’m so tired my dudes)

tw: blood, injury, major character (near) death, if you’ve seen Tangled you’ve seen this

---

“So,” Jaskier smiles playfully up at the thief sitting beside him. “Roger Eric, huh?”

Geralt rolls his eyes but Jaskier catches the flush that settles high on his companion’s cheekbones. “It was… It’s a long and boring story about a lot of sad little children that I’m sure you don’t want to hear on such a lovely evening.”

Jaskier scoots closer, until the sides of their arms are pressed too tightly together for even a slip of paper to slide between, and leans his weight against the thief. He bats his thick eyelashes and pouts his lip in a way that always seems to work with his Father. “C’mon, Geralt, please won’t you tell me? Just one little story? I told you about my magical hair, after all.”

“Hmm,” the thief glares dawn at the doe-eyed blonde for a moment before nervously clearing his throat. “Fine. I… I got the name Geralt of Rivia from a collection of short stories that I used to read the other boys at the orphanage in Kaedwen; they were all about this knight who was loyal and brave and courageous despite his hideous appearance. He was rejected by princesses and noble women but was beloved by the people. Having been born with white hair… well, a lot of the folks that came looking for children thought I was under a spell or curse so…. I wasn’t their first choice for adoption.”

“You and Geralt were a lot alike, then. Different. Special… Kind.”

“I wouldn’t say I was spe-”

Jaskier’s hand darts forward and his long, slender musician’s fingers grasp Geralt by the wrist. The fledgling bard clings onto his escort tightly, his large blue eyes suddenly brimming up with tears. “Don’t you dare say you aren’t special, Geralt Roger Eric whatever your surname really is. I’ll never forgive you if you spew such nonsense where my delicate ears can hear it.”

Geralt swallows thickly and glances away. Jaskier always looks so sweet and sincere; the features on his boyish face flicker in and out of focus as patterns of light thrown by their small campfire play across his pale skin. His gaze is intense, focused on Geralt and Geralt alone. The thief panics and asks: “What is it, Jaskier? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You saved me, you know. You saved me from those men back there at the inn, you saved me from being trapped in the tower all my life, you saved me from getting lost in the forest, you… you’re a good person, Geralt. Don’t let the world or the Captain of the Guard or anyone else change your mind, do you understand me? You are-” Jaskier’s hands scrabble frantically to grasp Geralt’s, as if the white-haired man might disappear entirely if Jaskier so much as loosens his grip “- you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me since I’ve been locked in that foul, awful tower!”

“Well I…” Geralt clears his throat again. He stands slowly, disentangling his hangs from Jaskier’s as he takes a slow step back. And then another. “I should go get more firewood.”

Despite the uneasiness in their parting, Jaskier smiles after him.

The momentary spell cast by their closeness is only broken when Jaskier hears a familiar voice from just behind him: “Well, I thought he’d never leave!”

The blonde jumps up from his seat and spins on his heel to face the black-cloaked wizard. “Father? How… How did you find me?”

Stregobor wraps his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders and squeezes so tightly that it feels more like a threat than an embrace. “It was easy, I simply followed the sound of absolute betrayal.”

Jaskier flinches and tries to pull away but cannot yet escape.

“I just brought you this,” his Father continues. He finally releases Jaskier and hands his son the worn leather satchel he’d found hidden in his tower. “If this Geralt creature really is the man you think him to be -and don’t deny it, little flower, I can read your thoughts- give this back to him and see how long he stays.”

“Father, I-”

“Goodbye, my child. See you soon, I’m sure. Just remember that Father knows best!”

And in a swirl of black smoke and confusion, Stregobor disappears.

---

“Why do you look so scared?” Geralt asks. He slows the small gondola he’s rented to a stop, turning it slightly more to the side so that they have a better vantage point to see the lanterns spread over the harbor from the city. Jaskier sighs deeply and shakes a stray flower petal away from his eyes, the enormous golden braid shifting ever-so-slightly against his shoulders.

“I’ve been looking out a window for eighteen years,” he says softly. Nervously. “What if… What if it’s not what I expected? I’m terrified to see what it all looks like up close because what if it doesn’t meet my expectations? What if it’s not everything I dreamed it would be?”

“It will be,” Geralt replies without thinking.

“And what if it is?” Jaskier queries, voice growing frantic. “What if it’s even more spectacular than I could have ever hoped? Then my dream will have been fulfilled and I’ll just… go back to the tower again.”

“You’ll just have to find a new dream, I guess,” Geralt offers. When Jaskier settles down into the boat a bit more comfortably and smiles shyly back at him, the thief knows he’s hit the right mark for once. Behind Geralt, the first lantern lights up the sky. Jaskier gasps and points, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement; Geralt is utterly enchanted by his easy beauty. The thief digs two paper lanterns out from beneath his seat and offers one to Jaskier, giddy when he grins even more excitedly than before. “I got this for you… I hope you like it.”

“Oh, I love it! And I have something for you, too.” Jaskier turns and pulls something from behind him. The bardling hands Geralt his very own satchel, which the thief briefly accepts and then drops to the floor without a second thought. The anxious blonde musician beams over at him more gloriously than the midday sun and then turns away, blushing a sweet shade of pink. “I should have given it to you earlier, but I was so scared… and now I’m not! I’m not scared anymore!”

“Good,” Geralt smiles back. He’s elated. It feels as if his heart is glowing twice as brightly as any of the lanterns floating past and around them. “That’s very good.”

I know what my dream is now, Jaskier. Now that you’re here by my side I never want to see you frown again. You don’t deserve to be hidden away in a tower where your art is stifled… even if you don’t want to love me back in that way, I’ll still protect you. I want to see how you see the world, Jaskier. I lo-

“Geralt! Look! That one has runes painted on it, what does it say!?”

---

Geralt pulls his daggers from his belt but before he can stab them into the craigy stone wall and begin his ascent, the familiar tresses of Jaskier’s long golden hair topple down to reach him. Thank fuck, he’s still alive.

“Jaskier! I thought I’d never see you again!” he calls as he grabs hold of the thick blonde strands.

The thief climbs quickly, his arms and legs nearly cramping with the effort to hurry back to Jaskier. As he hauls himself through the large window and into the tower proper, however, he’s met with a confusing and unsettling sight: Jaskier stands across the room, a cloth gag pulled tightly between his teeth, his hands manacled together behind him. A short length of spare chain attached to the manacles keeps the frightened, struggling blonde tethered against one of the building’s thick support beams. Someone had knocked down a mirror or vase during the previous fighting; shards of pottery and silver lie scattered across the floor, working as a weak barrier to keep Geralt away from the bound man. Jaskier screams out in warning as their eyes meet: “Ghmphh!”

If Jaskier is being held captive then who let his hair do-

Before Geralt can finish fully forming his question, a bright flash of pain arcs out from his side and sends him toppling to his knees. A wet, sticky heat begins to spread from a spot beneath his ribs and when he presses his hand against his shirt it comes way red.

Oh. Oh, no...

He hears Stregobor’s voice addressing the sobbing blonde, “Now look what you’ve done, Jaskier.”

Geralt collapses to his knees and then falls to his side, curling up in the fetal position and clutching at the wound as if that will be any help at all. He knows he’s doomed, but there must be some way for him to help Jaskier… to save his… his love.

“Don’t worry, little flower, our secret will die with your little thief, here, and then we’ll be safe again. Just the two of us.”

Jaskier keens loudly and the sharp, desperate sound of it makes something deep in Geralt’s heart ache. The younger man pulls and yanks against the chains that hold him in place, his bare feet slipping against the polished floor as he tries and fails to reach the wounded Geralt.

Stregobor yanks at the lead, pulling Jaskier back harshly by the arms. The young musician’s shoulders burn with the strain of it but Jaskier pulls forward anyway, uncaring. He must save Geralt, he must. The wizard tugs him back again, more roughly, and the jarring movement loosens his gag. He spits it from his mouth and cries out: “Stregobor! Strego- Father, listen to me!”

The wizard pauses, his interest piqued by Jaskier’s use of the word Father given the circumstances. “Yes, child?”

“Father,” Jaskier pants, turning to look at the man who’d held him captive for eighteen years. The man who kidnapped him from his cradle and forced him to grow up without the love of his real parents. The man who had, mere moments ago, stabbed the love of Jaskier’s life with the full intention of killing him. “I want you to know that I won’t stop fighting you. Every moment of every day for the rest of my life will be spent trying to get away from you. I will scream and kick and struggle and yell and you will have to keep me caged away as a bird or a mouse to make me stay by your side unless-” Jaskier pauses to take a breath, his shoulders sagging as his gaze drops submissively to the floor between them “-unless you let me save this man. Let me save Geralt’s life and I will follow you all around the Continent without a single word of complaint. I will never attempt to run away or hide from you, not once. Everything will go back to being exactly like it was before, Father, I swear on his life.”

Stregobor considers for a moment.

He nods.

“Alright, then. Let’s be quick about it, little flower.”

He removes the shackles from Jaskier and clamps them tightly around Geralt’s wrists instead, securing him to the bannister at the foot of the stairs. To keep him from following us, he remarks offhandedly.

Jaskier pads his way across the floor as quickly as he can in his bare feet and falls to the ground at Geralt’s side. He pulls the wounded thief against his side to steady him and gathers two heavy handfuls of his own long hair. “I’m so sorry! Everything is going to be okay now, Geralt, I swear it.”

Geralt shoves his hands away weakly, “No, Jaskier.”

“You have to trust me, Geralt, I-”

“I c-can’t let you d-do this,” Geralt grunts, teeth gritted against the pain.

Jaskier stares down at him, tears already gathering at the corners of his sky-blue eyes. His voice trembles when he whispers, “And I can’t let you die. I won’t let you die.”

“But if you do th-this then you-” Geralt coughs and Jaskier wipes a trickle of blood away from the corner of the thief’s mouth “-you will die.”

“Shh,” Jaskier quiets him, dropping one fistfull of blonde tresses to cup Geralt’s face instead. “Everything will be alright.”

Geralt smiles sadly up at Jaskier, his decision already having been made. He lets the back of his knuckles ghost across the musician’s peach-soft cheek. Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut for a moment and then open again, curious. “Jaskier, I…”

The thief uses the last of his strength to push up into a sitting position. The hand on Jaskier’s face slides back and gathers his hair at the back of his neck. Geralt’s other hand comes up, a shard of glass gripped tightly in his fist, and slices through the long blonde strands. He watches as Jaskier’s hair turns from radiant gold to chestnut brown. Geralt falls back with a short, sharp sound of agony, his vision already fading around the edges. The shard of mirror, dagger-sharp around the edges, clatters to the ground beside Jaskier.

“No!” Stregobor screams, gathering up an armful of Jaskier’s still-blonde hair. The golden hue is already fading, shifting to match the short brown hair still fluffed around his head. The lost prince watches with wide, horrified eyes as the wizard trips over a loose floorboard and goes careening out the open window.

More worrying than his kidnapper’s death, however, is the man lying in his arms, breathing shallowly. Jaskier gathers Geralt close, tucking the thief’s head against his neck and wrapping his arms around the older man’s broad shoulders. “No, no, no, no, Geralt. Stay with me, okay? Stay with me, right here.”

He grabbed at Geralt’s hand, holding it against the top of his head as he sang desperately. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock reverse, bring back was once was mi-”

“Jaskier!” Geralt says, pulling his hand down to cup the prince’s face. He can feel his limbs growing cold and numb, distant from him and out of his control. “You… You were my new dream.”

Jaskier sobs, clinging to Geralt with all he’s worth. “And you were mine.”

Geralt manages to smile up into those beautiful blue eyes one last time. And then the world goes dark and his hand falls to the floor, limp.

---

Jaskier buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck and screams. He throws back his head and howls like a wounded animal, his heart shattering to pieces within the confines of his chest cavity. Then he quiets himself down, adjusts Geralt’s body on his lap, and finishes the song the way he’s been taught to do: “Heal what has been hurt, change the Fates’ design, save what has been lost… bring back what once was mine.”

A single tear falls from his eye and lands on Geralt’s cheek. A cheek that will never blush again, never turn up in a smile, never-

A faint yellow glow catches Jaskier’s vision, just from the corner of his eye. He turns his head to look at Geralt’s wound and gasps: the outline of a golden flower covers his abdomen, glowing so brightly that Jaskier must hide his eyes and turn away to keep from being blinded. When the glow fades enough that can safely look back again, Geralt’s wound is gone and the blood that was once staining his jerkin has disappeared.

He leans over the white-haired thief with bated breath, waiting for a movement or a breath or something… anything.

After a long moment, two honey-hazel eyes blink open. Geralt inhales quietly and then asks, with the sweetest smile Jaskier has ever seen in all his eighteen years of life, “Did I ever tell you I had a thing for brunettes?”

Jaskier squeals with glee and throws himself into Geralt’s waiting arms, pressing their eager mouths together for the first kiss of their Happily Ever After.

#geraskier #geraskier tangled au #rapunzel jaskier #flynn ryder geralt #geraskier fluff #geraskier getting together #bouncey's endless au collection #protective geralt #soft geralt #geralt whump #tangled #blood mention #blood tw #injury tw #death but only for a minute #tangled au #goob prompt fills

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winterscaptain · 3 years

Text

a kindness.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: it is loving megan kane hours!! i’ve been working on this one for a while and i am so excited to share it with you!! we have ajf!pleasure is my business at last! as always, tell me what you think!! i adore your feedback. also, if you’re thinking ‘what the hell, tali! why am i missing from the tag list?????’ it’s because i redid it! the link to the form is below.

words: 4.8k warnings: language, canon-typical death, canon-typical discussion of sex work

summary: “i believe that sex is one of the most beautiful, natural, wholesome things that money can buy.” ― steve martin. au!february 2009

a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next?

You rap twice on the office door before pushing it open with your fingertips, peering inside while ready to retreat at a moment’s notice.

There’s no need. Aaron’s alone.

“You’re here early,” he says, his eyes still on his paperwork.

You snort. “So are you.”

He looks at you over his nose. “Can I help you with something?”

Sitting down opposite him at his desk, you prop your chin on your hands and grin at him. “You stole my line.”

“Get out of my office.”

Your smile stays plastered on your face as you stand and cross the room, closing the door behind you. On your way out, you catch the ghost of his smile.

+++

You watch Hotch leave the bullpen, his go-bag slung over his shoulder.

“Where you headed?” You ask, looking up. You’re still the only one in the bullpen, taking a few consults off your teammates’ hands by typing up quick briefs they can review without going through every single comma in the file.

He sighs. “Dallas.”

Yikes.

“By yourself?”

He sighs. “Standby - not sure what’s going on yet. Can you -” He gestures to the hallway behind you.

You nod and stand. “Yeah. Fly safe.”

After you watch him leave, you turn and make a beeline for JJ’s office. She’s here early, too - pushing away the separation anxiety by diving into work.

“Jayje?”

She looks away from her computer, looking exhausted. “Yeah?”

“Hotch just left for Dallas - we might have a case there, but it didn’t sound like something that would come across your desk.”

She squints. “Why d’you say that?”

“He had that look on his face like he was going into a room full of lawyers.”

+++

You lean forward, jamming yourself into the circle around the table with the rest of your team. Hotch, on the other end of the line, sounds oddly well-rested.

Spencer, as usual, gives you the history and textbook briefing before you get to the actual case. “Female serial killers are a fascinating field. We don't have much information on them, but what we do know involves throwing the rules completely out the window. Signature, for instance. They don't torture or take trophies.”

“Because there’s no sexual gratification when a woman kills,” Derek adds.

Looks like we’re all getting in on the pre-brief today.

“Exactly. Murder is the goal. They don't have to do anything extra.”

That makes you laugh a little. “So, basically, women are more efficient at killing?”

Spencer shrugs. “Historically, they’ve had body counts in the hundreds.”

Hotch, of course, is the one to get you all back on track. “So, assuming that the job is the stressor, what are some of the reasons prostitutes kill their customers?”

Derek, of course, is the first to follow. “Money, drugs, post-traumatic stress disorder…”

The team bounces for a moment, covering previous cases of serial killers with a history of sex work. Emily brings up Allison Wuornos, but Aaron shuts it down. He thinks this killer is organized, not so much driven by trauma or need but the mission itself.

Spencer looks at the medical examiner’s reports again, comparing notes between the victims. “She’s using tetra-methylene-disulfotetramine.”

You don’t look up from the same report. “Bless you.”

Emily snorts.

Spencer continues, unperturbed. “It’s a popular rat poison in China - easily soluble in alcohol.”

“Poison is the perfect M.O.,” Dave notes. “Quiet, quick, and the victims never see it coming because they think they’re getting lucky.” He turns back toward the phone. “Does that mean something to you?”

“Well, at $10,000 a night, these men are paying for discretion as well as sex.”

Fair point.

“She has a history with them. They see her repeatedly.”

You look over at Dave, trying to find the thread that connects Aaron’s thought to his.

Before you can really get to it yourself, Aaron spells it out for you. “She didn't decide to kill them in the moment. She walks in with the intent to kill them and she's doing it before she sleeps with them.”

There we go.

“So she's not just organized,” you add. “She's also methodical. Could she be parsing out which clients are worth killing and which aren’t?”

“Maybe the victims all share the same fetish?” Emily offers.

Derek shrugs, his eyebrows raised in thoughtful agreement. “Both victims were in their fifties, highly visible. Careful about their image. I mean, if they were kinky in the same way, they'd go to great lengths to hide it.”

“And we're facing a corporate culture that'll do everything it can to keep us out.”

There’s the exhaustion I’m used to from Hotch.

He sounds weird without it.

“Actually,” JJ says, “I had some luck there. Hoyt Ashford's wife isn't too happy with how he died. But because every silver lining has a dark cloud, the hedge fund released a statement.”

JJ pulls the statement from her file and reads aloud: “Ashford died peacefully in his home, according to lawyer David Madison.” She puts it down again. “They're already trying to close ranks.”

Spencer frowns. “Does that language sound familiar to anyone else?”

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“The press release from the first victim.” He recalls, not needing the paper itself. “‘According to company lawyer, Stanton died peacefully in his home.’”

Hotch begins to make assignments, directing Emily and Derek to the wife of the second victim. JJ’s tasked with the lawyers and you’re tasked with setup at the precinct with Spencer and Dave. When he’s done, you pick your phone up from the table, taking him off speaker.

“What are you gonna do?” You ask.

Hotch snorts. “I’m gonna see which of the lawyers calls us back and in the meantime, see what I can get out of anyone else.”

“Good luck.”

+++

You’re up in your hotel room, getting a little bit settled and unpacked when you get a call to your cell.

“Hey, Hotch.”

There’s a sigh. “We got another body.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs in five.”

+++

You hop out of the car, following Aaron through the service entrance and up the back hallways to the lobby. Between your travel from your room and Aaron’s wrap-up in his, Derek and Dave beat you to the scene.

Hotch is wearing that coat - your favorite, the one he’s apparently had for years - with the red lining and the soft wool exterior. It so rarely sees the field anymore you were afraid he’d done away with it, but every time you remember it exists and worry about its whereabouts, he brings it out again.

Derek hands you a notebook when you reach him. You settle near Dave for the rest of the info. He, of course, delivers.

“Victim was Joseph Fielding. He was the CFO here.”

You frown. “Poisoned? Like the others?”

“And staged,” Derek says. “She killed him in his office and then rolled him out here to be found.”

“The lipstick's new,” you muse, circling the body in the elevator. “Done postmortem, it looks like.” You find Derek’s eyes with a little frown. “Reid said female serial killers don't leave a signature. I think she did that just for us. She's already exposed him at his most vulnerable.”

He hums. “Now she wants to be noticed.”

There’s some kind of scuffle at the police line - another man in a suit who thinks he’s more important than God.

Hopefully he’s looking for Hotch.

“Which one of you is Aaron Hotchner?”

Ugh. Good.

You step back and point at Aaron, getting out of his way as he shoves past the crime scene techs.

Aaron turns. “I'm Hotchner.”

“Larry Bartlett.” The man holds out his hand, but Aaron doesn’t take it. He retracts his hand with an unperturbed tilt of his head. “I represent Mr. Fielding in Webster Industries.

Hotch, as usual, has no time for his bullshit. “This is a closed crime scene, Mr. Bartlett.”

My lawyer could kick your lawyer’s ass.

That’s a good bumper sticker.

You shake off your thought and return to the victim, directing one of the younger crime scene techs. After a moment, you return to Derek’s side.

“Yes. I spoke to Ellen Daniels.” This clown still sounds far too confident for his own good. “She said you're a very... reasonable man.”

“Escort him out, please.”

You stifle a laugh.

“No, wait. Please.” The lawyer - Mr. Bartlett - shrugs off the security team and chases after Hotch on his way to your side.

Aaron stops, but looks inconvenienced in the extreme.

“The press is outside and they can smell blood. Any way we can handle this discreetly?”

“We're not about to lie for you.” Derek’s even less amused than Aaron, if that’s even possible.

Aaron squints at the other lawyer, and you find it nearly impossible to tear your gaze from the little pinch at the corners of his brown eyes.

You can only imagine him behind a prosecutor’s bench, laying into witnesses with the same deadpan amusement - like a bored cat with a half-dead mouse. Hoping to back him up a little bit, you get a little closer, looking skeptically at the lawyer from over Aaron’s shoulder.

“You don't have to lie,” Mr. Bartlett insists, his eyes flickering to you. “Just don't comment.”

“Excuse us.” He takes you by the shoulder and leads the three of you into a huddle.

“Is there any reason to go public yet?” Aaron asks.

Dave wavers. “Validating her is exactly what she wants.”

“If we hold back, she's more likely to make a mistake,” Derek says.

You raise your eyebrows, looking over your shoulder for a moment. “He doesn't need to know that.”

Hotch’s mouth twitches, and you know it’s almost a smile. He turns over his shoulder, back in game mode as he approaches Bartlett again. “We need everything you have on Fielding. Bank accounts, tax records, emails, everything.”

+++

“Eighteen cars, six houses, and three boats.” Spencer rattles off the numbers with only the barest hint of shock in his voice.

Your brow pinches and you look up. “Can you even boat in Dallas?”

“You know, when you're talking about that much money, ten grand for a call girl is like deciding where to go for dinner.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience, Em,” you laugh.

She rolls her eyes, still pinning photos to the board. “Yeah, right. My mom had a pretty cushy gig with her postings, but we were never that well-off. But...” She looks over her shoulder, “I’m sure Rossi would know a little something about that.”

Before you can all get too out of control, Hotch reaches over you to connect to Garcia on the speakerphone. “Are you there, Garcia?”

“Affirmative.”

JJ flags him down. “I have half a million over here for something called the Bat Cave...”

It really takes everything in you not to laugh.

“...and here's a picture of him as fetish Batman. That is… wrong.”

Emily pulls a face.

“Is there anything this guy didn't like to spend money on?” Spencer asks.

“Yeah,” Aaron replies. “His ex-wives. Fielding was married four times. He didn't have prenups for the first two, but he did everything he could to cut them off anyway.”

You lean forward, trying to see the paper in his hands. “Are there children involved?”

“Yes, with three of the wives.” He hands it over to you and looks at Emily. “Hoyt Ashford was married a few times, too, wasn't he?”

She nods in the affirmative.

“You know, considering that when Kevin takes me to dinner and a movie, he defaults on his student loans, this amount of money is sick.”

Tell me about it, Pen.

Emily sounds resigned. “What did you find?”

Garcia outlines a series of bitter court battles about child support, alimony, custody, etc. “And even when the court ruled in the wife’s favor - which was almost always - these three charmers just, you know, decided not to pay.”

Hotch asks for a cross-checked list of high-profile Dallas CEOs holding out on their ex-wives, and you figure it’s not a short one.

“One loaded losers list, Dallas edition, comin' at ya. Penelope out.”

The line goes dead and Aaron turns off the speaker.

“So,” Aaron leans heavily on the table. “Why would a prominent businessman who could easily pay child support refuse to?”

Spencer obliges. “For this type of overachieving personality, paying money after the marriage ends probably offends him.”

“They're spending tens of thousands on an escort, but they won't drop a dime on their wife and kids? That's cold.” JJ shakes her head and looks over at Hotch, seeking an answer.

“Narcissistic, self-absorbed, a pathological avoidance of paternal responsibilities.”

There’s an odd kind of look that passes over Aaron’s face as he speaks, and you pin it for later. You can already tell he’s falling into a headspace that’s fraught with comparison and self-loathing.

They bounce around for a moment while you keep your eyes on Aaron.

“Well,” JJ brings you back. “Should I assemble the police for a profile?”

Your mouth twists. “I just don't think it's gonna help.”

“She lives in a completely different world than they do,” Aaron adds.

“And,” Emily pipes up, “the CEOs who sleep with her won't admit to it.”

JJ snorts. “Like I couldn't even get past the team of lawyers protecting them.”

“What if we give the profile to the corporate lawyers?” Aaron stands straight, his hands resting on his hips. “They've cleaned up after her, even if they don't realize that they've seen this woman.”

“Why would they go for that?” You ask.

“Because she's putting them at risk, too.”

Your phone rings and you answer as you always do, chirping your last name into the receiver without really looking too closely at the caller ID.

“Hey, it’s me.”

You nod once to your team as you step out of earshot. “Hey, Haley.”

“I can’t get a hold of Aaron. Is everything alright?” She’s beyond surprise or concern at this point. You’re sure you could tell her Aaron’s been shot in the head and she’d probably just hum at you.

“Yeah,” you say with a sigh. “Things are crazy and there are lawyers all wrapped up in this. Are you alright?”

“Jack’s got a fever - I just wanted to let Aaron know I’m taking him in to get checked out. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll let him know. Give Jack a big kiss from me and I’ll do my best to get us all home quickly and in one piece.”

She laughs a little into the phone. “Thanks. Will do. Talk soon.”

You hang up and return to the table, shooting Hotch a significant look. He nods and pulls you aside.

“What’s up?”

“Jack has a fever - Haley just wanted me to let you know she’s taking him to the pediatrician to get him all checked out, just in case. I told her we’d all do our best to get home soon.”

Aaron sighs and flips his phone in his hand. “I’ll call her now…”

“No need. She knows this is a tough one and you’re getting your money’s worth out of your JD this week.”

When he starts to walk away, you call his name again. He turns.

“You know - um.” You wet your lips and swallow. “You’re not like these guys. You know that, right? You’re a great dad.”

His face lifts in surprise for a fraction of a second before he recovers.

“Thank you,” He says. “Really.”

You offer him a crooked smile. “Anytime.”

+++

Hotch stops you all before you enter the conference room, full to the brim with suits and pantsuits. “Let me lead on this one. I’ve handled corporate lawyers like this before and they can smell blood.” He snorts. “This time, it’s their own.”

You and Derek raise your hands in simultaneous and identical postures of surrender.

“Have at it,” you say, falling into line behind Aaron. “Corporate lawyers scare the fuck out of me.”

+++

“Hey, Prentiss. Got a whip?” Derek holds the leather outfit to Emily’s shoulders and she laughs.

“Yeah, right.”

You fondly roll your eyes at them and continue following off Aaron’s right shoulder. The two of you reach the bookshelf - an impressive glass case that runs from the floor to the ceiling.

Aaron’s gloved finger opens the case and runs over some of the spines. “Antique first editions on the bookshelves.”

Rossi quips something about porn in the DVD player while Spencer espouses about the merits of a disposable, adaptable lifestyle in this line of work.

“Well, these aren't just for show,” Aaron says. “The spines are cracked. Somebody's read these.”

You peer over his shoulder. “Who reads Voltaire in French?”

“Someone with good taste. Probably well-educated…”

You pick up where he trails off. “We profiled that she learned to fake privilege. What if she's not faking it?”

“You're saying maybe she came from money the whole time?”

You shrug. “It’s a possibility, at least.”

Just then, the apartment phone rings.

“Prentiss should answer,” Aaron says. “If it's a customer, she'll get more information out of them.”

You hum, hedging your bets a little. ‘Unless she's calling in for her messages.”

Too late. Derek’s already on the phone with Penelope. “Yeah, Baby Girl, we're getting a call to this line. Can you work some magic?”

“I don't have a trap-and-trace in place yet. Give me a few. I'm gonna stay on the line.”

Aaron gives her the go-ahead. “Prentiss, get ready to vamp.”

The voicemail picks it up before Emily can so much as reach for the phone.

“Hi, it's me. You know what to do.” Beep.

“...Aaron.”

You turn your head so fast you throw your neck out. You raise a hand to the crick and work it with your fingers. Aaron’s too busy frowning at the phone to notice.

“I know you're up there. Pick up… Aaron Hotchner... Hello?” She drags out her words, almost flirting with everyone listening.

With a sigh, Aaron pushes past the rest of you, silently counts to three, and picks up the phone while Emily clicks the speakerphone button.

“I'm at a disadvantage. You seem to know my name, But I don't know yours. Can we start there?”

Nice start.

The game has begun.

“I thought I could trust you, Aaron.”

What?

The pinch between his brows deepens. “Who says you can't?”

“I want to. I even looked you up online. Is that strange?”

Yes.

“No.” Aaron wets his lips and begins to pace, the gears whirring in his head. “It's flattering to be noticed by a woman like you.”

The woman continues as if he hasn’t said anything at all. “And I thought you were so... upstanding. I watched the presentation you gave on school shootings. I found it posted on YouTube...”

She has good taste. That’s an excellent presentation.

“...And for a moment, I actually thought there were still good people in the world.”

“But I've disappointed you, haven't I?” He asks. “Just like all the other men in your life Who've walked out on their families, Who deserve to be punished.”

“Did you walk out on your family?”

His eyes flicker to you and you nod, nearly imperceptibly, reminding him he’s not alone. “No. My wife left me.”

“Do you have kids?”

“I have a son.”

A sweet, thoughtful, perfect son.

You smile a little, thinking of Jack, but it disappears when you remember that he’s home sick with Haley, probably having a miserable time.

“How often do you see him?” She asks.

“I try to see him every week.”

“Do you see him every week?” The question is mocking, smothered in dark amusement that could almost be called sarcasm save for its bitterness.

“No,” Aaron’s eyes fall to the floor. “No, I don't get there as often as I want.”

“I believe you.” Her response is softer, and you think she might make a decent profiler if she wasn’t on the other side.

She is a profiler.

In some ways, you suppose it’s true. She has to read and respond to everything her clients do, say, how they behave. It makes her good at her job and you good at yours.

Same skillset, very different application.

“But don't compare yourself to the men I see,” she continues. “You are nothing like them. You're just another whore.”

Never in my life did I ever think I’d hear someone call Aaron Hotchner a whore. Unironically.

That catches everyone’s attention, even Derek’s, still on hold with Penelope.

“How am I a whore?” He asks.

“You come when called. You do their bidding. In hotels you take the side elevator to avoid crowds, while the men who pay your salary walk across the ivory marble foyer into their cars.”

Derek, behind you, presses. “Garcia.”

You can hear her, faintly. “I'm in on the landline. Triangulating the cell. Give me like sixty seconds.”

You gesture to Aaron when he looks. Keep going.

He nods. “But I'm just frustrating you, aren't I?”

She sighs, sounding a little impatient for the first time. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you want to show the world all these bad men and my investigation's just getting in your way.”

“No, Aaron.” You almost startle, her tone escalating to a deeply frustrated shout. “You're not doing your job! You don't want to arrest me, you don't want me in custody because you're in their pocket.”

She’s crying now, actively. “You just want me to disappear, just like they do.”

“Truthfully, I'm only interested in finding you.”

Now that’s a tone you recognize - you’ve heard it when he talks to Haley. Most recently, when he couldn’t make it to some appointment or another. It’s one that’s disarming in the extreme, soft, but not condescending.

“You've been betrayed so many times, You don't know who to trust, And that's why that first murder felt so good. But each one since has been less and less satisfying. You know that's going to continue.” He pauses, letting his words sink in. “Am I right?”

Just like Haley always does, the woman loses steam, sniffling once before answering. “Yeah.”

“Come to me and turn yourself in. I will make sure that you get the help you need. I won't let you disappear.”

“If we met under different circumstances... I could believe that. I won't let you cover this up.”

A gunshot rings through the line and you flinch, turning to Derek just as the line goes dead. You know Penelope will have something for you soon.

She never fails, directing you to an address only moments after the elevator doors close in front of the team.

+++

Once you found Megan Kane, it was easy enough to find her father.

You could empathize with her mission well enough after meeting him. He’s shrouded by his lawyers - detached and seemingly indifferent to anything Aaron had to say.

Aaron starts the car and you settle back into the seat. “So, the wall of lawyers strikes again.”

A shadow of a smile ghosts around the creases at the corners of his eyes. “So it seems.”

“What’s next?”

“We tail him - home and office. He’ll meet with her soon enough.”

Your brow furrows. “Not to protect her, right? It doesn’t seem like he cares that much.”

Aaron turns, placing his hand on the back of your seat as he pulls out of the parking spot. You’re momentarily distracted as he turns back, spinning the wheel with the heel of his hand and gunning it out of the garage.

Focus.

“No,” he says. “Think about it.”

It comes to you only seconds later. “To protect himself.”

“There you go.” He turns to you, another little smile threatening. “You’re getting pretty good at this.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ve been here over a year, Hotch. I’d fucking hope so.”

You’re rewarded with a real smile, and it’s enough.

+++

You take Derek’s six through the hotel, clearing the floors and reporting back to the rest of the team. SWAT is in full deployment, clearing the hard-to-reach areas like the stairways and rooftops, just in case.

Aaron catches up to you, taking the four o’clock position off your left shoulder as Derek breaches the door.

The gun and chilled champagne sit like ironic centerpieces on the entry table, but they hardly use any of your bandwidth as you clear the room, your vision narrowed by the sight of your service weapon.

You hold a hand up when you catch the figure on the balcony. “Hotch.”

He squints, and you move to raise your gun again and make the arrest, but he stops you with a hand over yours. “Easy.”

There’s a question in your eyes.

He, of course, answers it. “She knows it’s over.”

Just then, she places an empty champagne glass on the table where you can see it.

“I’ll call 911,” Derek says, stepping out and closing the door behind him.

You turn to leave with Derek, but catch Aaron’s open hand, subtly signaling you from just under his hip.

Stay here. It says. Stay close.

So, you stay. You lean on the far wall of the hotel room, watching Aaron hold the hand of this dying, hurting woman. They’re speaking softly, and she smiles at him when she drops something into his hand. His eyes are soft, gentle, not even searching. Just warm.

You feel for her.

It’s the best way to go, you think. If there was ever a time you were dying before your time, you’d want Aaron there, holding your hand, telling you he was going to continue the work that killed you, that it was gonna be okay.

“How could your wife have ever left someone like you?” You hear her ask.

As much as you love Haley, the same question often floats through your head, and your heart aches for this woman who’s been able to see Aaron so clearly, even if she’s only seeing him for the first time now.

“You’re the first man I’ve ever met who hasn’t let me down.”

You creep forward, further into Aaron’s eyeline, and sit on the edge of the couch. She’s close to her last breath and you can feel it - so can Aaron. His eyes flicker to you for a moment before returning to her.

Megan’s voice is full of tears when she asks, “Will you stay with me?”

You have a feeling it isn’t the first time she’s asked the question and you find yourself hoping Emily will be particularly rough with the handcuffs when she apprehends Mr. Kane. Hopefully he didn’t make it past the checkpoint and is still on-site.

“Yes.” Aaron is solemn, so sincere, so genuine it makes your heart ache.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You’re not even sure he realizes it, but he’s doing her a great kindness - one that many would not offer.

It’s because he is good.

A good man.

The tension drains out of her, and she grips tightly to Aaron’s hand as she fights through her final breaths. His hands are gentle, his attention only on her. He looks more like a father in this moment than any other time you’ve known him. She’s safe. She knows she can die in peace.

Once more, you hope you have the opportunity to leave this plane of reality in such safety, when your time comes.

When she’s gone, he places her hand in her lap and takes a moment to brush the hair off of her face, pressing the back of his fingers to her temple as if checking her for fever.

After a minute or so, he turns to you, and you hope the pride and respect coursing through you is evident in your gaze. You pull an evidence bag out of your pocket, but he shakes his head, pocketing the SIM card.

You rise as he gets closer, returning the evidence bag to your pocket. He’s clearly affected, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes.

Opening your arms to him, he wilts into you, allowing you to gather him into your shoulder. His arms are loose around your waist, his fingers wrapped around his opposite wrist as an anchor. It’s a rare moment of vulnerability and you’d hate to make him feel anything less than safe.

You still have a minute or so before they all come stomping through the door to collect Megan’s body.

“I’m sorry, Hotch.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know why this one hurts.”

Your arms tighten around him. “It’s okay. I feel it, too.”

A deep, shaky breath rolls through him.

“She’s right, you know.” You almost regret your words, afraid you’re giving yourself away.

“What?”

“You didn’t let her down. You’re a good man.”

His jaw tightens, and you can feel it against your neck where his head falls into your shoulder.

“Oh, stop. You’ve never let me down.” Your hand reaches up, stroking the back of his head, carding your fingers through the hair. “She died knowing you kept your promise.”

+++

You look up to Aaron’s office when news of the leak breaks, finding his silhouette haunting the window, staring at the television.

A ghost of a smile crosses his face, and he turns back to his desk, settling back down to work.

+++

tagging: @aaronhotchnerr @ambicaos @angelsbabey @arganfics @averyhotchner @bwbatta @capricorngf @cevanswhre @crazyshannonigans @criminalsmarts @deagibs @forgottenword @genevievedarcygrangerwriting @hotchsflower @hotchslatte @hurricanejjareau @joanofarkansass @kelstark @kerrswriting @little-blue-fishie @lotties-journey-abroad @mandylove1000 @missdowntonabbey @mrs-dr-reid @pan-pride-12 @popped-weasels @quillvine @qvid-pro-qvo @reidingmelodies @reids-mismatchedsocks @roses-and-grasses @shesbiochem4 @ssahotchnerr @ssaic-jareau @ssareidbby @starsandasteroids @stxrrywildflower @sunflowersandotherthings @sunshine-em @teamhappyme @this-broken-band-girl @ughitsbaby @unicorn-bitch @venusbarnes @violet-amxthyst @word-scribbless @writefasttalkevenfaster @zizzlekwum @iconicc @avatarkorraswife @mooneylupinblack @ssworldofsw @nuvoleincielo @kaemarie23 @violentvulgarvolatile @abschaffer2 @ellyhotchner @rousethemouse @baumarvel @reidtomestyles @dreamsonthewall @jhiddles03 @willlemonheadsupremacy @infinity1321 @messyhairday-me

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #tali talks cm #tali writes fanfiction #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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rainingpouringetc · 3 years

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liebestraum

a thomastair ficlet | read on ao3 | inspiration

Alastair didn’t know how Thomas talked him into dinner. Everything had happened rather quickly.

They’d just arrived at the Paris Institute when there was a knock on Alastair’s door. He’d expected one of the hovering heads of the place—he was so grateful Charles was still recovering in London—but instead, it opened to familiar hazel eyes.

“Mr. Lightwood.” Alastair tried to scowl, but his heart simply wasn’t in it.

The two had been traveling together for several days, and faking indifference was growing more and more difficult, especially as they both knew it was a lie. For his part, Thomas—kind, respectful Thomas—hadn’t pushed matters. He was keeping his distance, and Alastair, though he’d never say so, was eternally grateful. He didn’t think he possessed the willpower to hold Thomas at arm’s length much longer, no matter how often he told himself it was a horrible idea to engage himself in any sort of relationship with the man.

But this trip was necessary. Matthew and Cordelia were still gallivanting about Paris and it seemed everyone else was too wrapped up in the disappearance of Lucie Herondale to do anything about it.

Alastair knew that wasn’t true, of course—James had been sincerely disappointed that he could not accompany them, but he needed to stay behind and aid in the business with his sister. Still, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was the slightest bit resentful at the fact that this left him alone with Thomas Lightwood.

Not that there was anything wrong with Thomas. In fact, that was the worst thing about him, the whole reason Alastair resented their situation so much. He couldn’t find a single flaw besides the man’s refusal to wear a hat. If there had been anything else, a glaring warning sign or two like there had been with Charles, then Alastair could better reason with himself to stay away. Instead, he was resigned to reminding himself of Matthew’s words, something he never thought he’d find himself doing, but something necessary all the same. Cordelia assures me that you have a heart. Alastair could have scoffed at the words. It was obvious Matthew himself still did not believe this. Alastair was certain this feeling was not his alone and likely extended to the rest of Thomas’ friends.

So, as Alastair stood there, staring down the man who had somehow managed to steal away into his affections without Alastair’s knowing, he reminded himself once again. This—him and Thomas—wasn’t possible, and it never would be.

“Well,” Alastair said, aware of how tired he sounded, “what is it then?”

Thomas blushed and stammered for a moment—the act had no business being attractive, and yet somehow it was—before he managed, “We arrived too late for dinner, it seems, so I was wondering if you might care to get something. From—a restaurant, or, er… something like that.” Thomas rubbed at his neck.

Alastair bit back a smile. He really was hopelessly endearing, wasn’t he?

It isn’t possible. It won’t ever be. Alastair knew that.

One night out couldn’t hurt.

---

He was completely and horribly wrong.

The night started with an impromptu walk along the Seine. Thomas did his best to engage Alastair in small talk as they walked, commenting on the chill weather and the dazzling lights, but Alastair could already feel himself falling.

They found themselves at a small bistro not unlike the one they’d been to the previous year. There was a small corner table available, which they fit themselves into carefully. Alastair ordered for them both after Thomas sheepishly admitted his French hadn’t improved since their last adventure in the city.

“English, Spanish, and Persian,” Alastair couldn’t help but laugh, “and yet you can’t seem to get a hold of French.”

Thomas laughed with him. Alastair’s heart clenched. He’d gotten used to the feeling by now.

They chatted idly as they waited for their food, Alastair feeling more and more like he was simply an observer, an outsider in his own body. He didn’t dare let himself give in too much to the conversation. He answered Thomas’ questions with cold politeness, aware that as he did so he reverted further and further into his old harshness. Thomas didn’t push, didn’t say anything he would not say to a stranger at a dinner party. It felt so odd. Alastair knew Thomas’ dips and curves, the freckles dusting his cheeks and the callouses on his hands and the way his eyelashes were light enough that they didn’t get credit for their length. Yet here he sat, deflecting questions as soon as they cut too deep, questions about his mother and Cordelia and if there was anything he could do to help. No, Alastair told him, his eyes drifting to a spot over Thomas’ shoulder, there’s nothing.

Their food came, and they ate in silence. It wasn’t awful, the silence, it was just… unusual. In all the time they’d known each other, they had rarely had nothing to say to each other.

At the end of their meal, Alastair was struck with the sudden memory of Thomas’ tattoo. When they’d last been in Paris, Thomas had spoken of getting a tattoo, and Alastair, like the idiot he was, had allowed himself to trace the spot on his arm, to revel in the feel of his skin under his fingers even if only for a moment. In the Sanctuary, Alastair had traced it again, had grinned into Thomas’ mouth as he’d done so. Though only a handful of days earlier, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Alastair pushed the thought from his mind and raised a hand for the check. He paid quickly, thanking the waiter and avoiding Thomas’ gaze as they left.

They walked down the street side by side, and with the wind roaring in his ears, Alastair could almost let himself think things were different. He could almost pretend he and Thomas were something more than… whatever this was. Just because it could never be real didn’t mean Alastair couldn’t indulge himself every once in a while. Once they arrived back at the Institute, Alastair would slip away to his room and remain firmly detached from his feelings for the man.

Thomas, it seemed, had other plans. About a block away from the Institute, he put a hand on Alastair’s arm to stop him and said, “When we get back, there’s something I wish to speak to you about.” He paused heavily. “Privately.”

Alastair stared up at him, keeping his face as impassive as possible. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Mr. Lightwood.”

Something flickered in Thomas’ eyes, and he snapped, “To hell with good ideas. I need to speak with you, Alastair, and you haven’t exactly given me the chance.”

“Yes, and there’s good reason for that, isn’t there?” Alastair retorted, tearing his arm from Thomas’ grip.

“Please, Alastair,” Thomas whispered. His voice was so soft, so gentle, it nearly broke Alastair’s heart. “Just give me five minutes. Five minutes to talk to you and split my heart open for you and then you can do whatever you wish. You can ignore me for the rest of our lives if it pleases you. Just give me this.”

He sounded desperate enough that Alastair could only swallow and nod once, not trusting himself to speak. Thomas let out a breath and nodded once, twice, then started down the street again as though nothing had happened.

They arrived at the Institute to find the halls empty, everyone else already having gone to bed. Thomas led the way to his room, even going as far as politely holding the door open for Alastair.

Thomas cleared his throat as soon as the door was shut and locked behind him. Alastair turned to look at him, crossing his arms as he did so, and raised his eyebrows.

Thomas let out a breath and began, looking vaguely sick as he spoke. “You told me that you didn’t want to make me choose between you and my friends, so you chose for me.”

Alastair rolled his eyes. “Yes, Lightwood, I was there. What is your point in all this?”

Undeterred, Thomas pushed forward as though Alastair hadn’t spoken. “You were wrong to choose for me. And you were more wrong to think it isn’t you I’d choose.” Alastair blinked, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second. “If my friends, as you said, aren’t willing to accept me—aren’t willing to accept you—then they are not and never have been a true friend, and therefore their opinion is of as little import to me as that of a passing stranger on the street.” He paused, his hazel eyes wide and vulnerable. “You chose for me because you did not wish to cause me any pain. You took the burden on for yourself, and while I’m grateful, I want you to know you needn’t have done it. I would’ve chosen you, if I’d gotten the chance.”

---

Thomas waited for Alastair to say something. Anything. He waited for him to acknowledge what Thomas had just said, whether to accept it or scorn it—but Alastair just stood there. It was as if he was waiting for Thomas to take it back.

Then he chuckled, a low, easy sound, and smiled softer than Thomas had ever seen. He spoke, and his voice was rough and thick from emotion. “Careful, Lightwood,” he said, his smirk tinged with sadness. “I just might take that as a love confession.”

Thomas cleared his throat, suddenly far more nervous than he’d been mere seconds ago, and took the slightest step forward. “Perhaps you should.”

Alastair’s eyes were open and dark as he looked up at Thomas through his lashes. Beautiful, as always. “Then I suppose I will,” was Alastair’s answer, and he closed the gap between them.

This, Thomas thought, Alastair’s lips soft on his like a promise, is what I’d choose every time.

---

Alastair woke slowly, his surroundings unfamiliar to his sleep-blurred eyes. He blinked a few times and the light-bathed room came into focus. More importantly, Thomas came into focus.

They were laying beside each other beneath the covers—fully clothed, Alastair realized with a twinge of relief—and Thomas’ face was turned toward him in sleep. Memories spilled into Alastair’s mind like sweet honey. A whirlwind of emotion had surrounded them both—there had been, to Alastair’s memory, more than a few tears between the two of them. That’s what happened, he supposed, when a dam came toppling down: the flood it held back came rushing out.

The night reminded him vaguely of the Sanctuary—they really had to get away from Institutes, Alastair had thought—in that it was the talking, truly, that meant the most to him. They’d fallen asleep talking, their whispers evening into steady breaths sometime far past midnight.

Thomas’ face was soft in sleep. It erased the trials of the year etched into the lines of his forehead and eyes. He was beautiful as ever, and Alastair was hit by the preemptive grief that accompanied leaving. For one of them would have to leave, wouldn’t they? Perhaps Thomas would even be upset that Alastair hadn’t yet—but no, Thomas didn’t seem like the type to be upset about this sort of thing. He wasn’t Charles, Alastair reminded himself with a smile.

Still, they couldn’t risk being found out. Especially by the people Thomas held closest. And that was the catch, wasn’t it? It always would be.

Alastair reached out and cupped Thomas’ face, his pinky slotting behind his ear and his thumb resting at the corner of his eye. He was rewarded by Thomas leaning into the touch, waking slowly. “G’morning,” Thomas yawned. His eyes were still closed.

“Hello, love,” Alastair whispered.

Thomas smiled and opened his eyes a fraction. He let out a sigh. “Esfandiyār.” Something tugged in Alastair’s chest at the name. “A beautiful name for a beautiful man,” Thomas said quietly, closing his eyes again.

Alastair swallowed heavily. Don’t, he wanted to say. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. He moved his hand to Thomas’ hair, threading the short strands through his fingers. “I’m sorry,” Alastair said, gazing at Thomas’ sleep-soft face.

Thomas opened his eyes. “Why?” he asked, furrowing his brow and stretching adorably.

Alastair gave him a sad smile. “Because this is a dream,” he whispered hoarsely, “and sooner or later we’ll have to wake up.” Thomas stared at him, puzzled, his hand raising to grasp Alastair’s wrist. Alastair’s fingers stilled, his hand resting behind Thomas’ head. “Don’t be sad, joon-am. It has been my favorite dream.”

“It doesn’t have to be over.” Worry coated his words. Before Thomas could tighten his grip, Alastair pulled away, swallowing hard as he rolled over, away from Thomas’ pleading eyes. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone; he buttoned them as quickly as he could, his shaking fingers stumbling from exhaustion or—or something else. Thomas was still talking. “Alastair, I meant what I said last night. All of it.” Alastair sighed through his nose, closing his eyes and touching his chin to his chest. His jacket had been discarded and was now hanging on a chair. Alastair opened his eyes and reached for it, shrugging it on numbly.

“Alastair.” He felt pressure on his shoulder. Thomas’ grip was firm—he pulled Alastair back toward him, turning him so they were looking directly into each other’s eyes. There were only a few inches of space between their noses. “I’m serious,” Thomas whispered. “I choose you.” He leaned forward, pressing their lips together, and only moved away a fraction of an inch to say, “I love you, Alastair Carstairs, and I won’t let you walk away from me again.”

There was a time when Alastair might’ve brushed it off, sneered at him for being so vulnerable, said something to quash the hope shining in his eyes.

Now, he found himself speechless. Thomas was looking at him with such intensity and—

And he wanted to believe him. Alastair wanted them to make it work. Because. Well.

“I love you too, Tom.” There it was. The words came out without thought or resistance. “That’s why… that’s why I’m so scared you’ll regret this.”

“I will never regret us, Alastair.”

“I know you think that, but…” Alastair swallowed and touched his hand to Thomas’ cheek again. “Could you really give up your friends? Your family? You say they would mean nothing to you, but it would leave a hole that I could not fill. I could not bear to see you friendless for my sake.”

“And what makes you think I would be? Alastair—here, just—” Thomas twisted so he was sitting cross-legged atop the blankets. His shirt was unbuttoned down to his navel, and his hair was mussed from sleep. He took Alastair’s hands in his and rubbed his thumbs along the backs of his hands in broad, soothing motions.

Alastair closed his eyes, filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. Even just being around Thomas had a calming effect on him, and being able to sit here and hold his hand… it was overwhelming in the best way.

“Look at me.” Alastair looked at him. Thomas told him, “The only way this could ever work is if we both choose to make it work. It won’t just happen on its own—you know that, as do I. But, if you mean it when you say you love me—” his voice caught on the word, snagging on the incomprehensibility of their situation, of the fact that they’d said it aloud to each other “—then I implore you to listen to what I’m saying. We can choose to be together. It may not be easy, but—God, it’ll be worth it. It would be worth losing the world if it meant gaining you.”

Alastair couldn’t help but chuckle, hanging his head as tears finally escaped and race down his cheeks. It was all so much, so different than what he’d grown accustomed to. With Charles, it had been a year before he’d uttered those words—I love you—in some nondescript hotel in this very city, and then it had been slow and relaxed, void of the urgency dripping from Thomas’ words. This was better, though, wasn’t it? This time, he was being asked to let himself be loved instead of begging for the feeling to be reciprocated. It was quite a turnaround. Alastair much preferred being on this side of it, he decided.

But then—there needn’t be sides, after all. They could be in it together. That was all Thomas was asking, wasn’t it? For him to choose to fight—and Alastair was rather good at fighting—even when the odds were stacked against them and it seemed there was no way they could be together?

When he thought of it that way, well. Alastair wanted it to work.

And Thomas did, too.

So, really, the answer was clear. It had been there all along—Alastair had simply been too afraid to see it.

He picked up his head, opened his eyes, and looked at Thomas. Really looked at him. He looked at his freckles and lashes and the veins of brown and gold in his eyes and realized that, if he chose it, he could watch that face grow old. He could learn all its secrets and tells. He could do that, if only he said yes.

It was obvious, then.

“All right,” he croaked out. He nodded once, then again, and then he was nodding and laughing and leaning forward to kiss Thomas just because he could. Thomas was laughing too, and then they were kissing and Alastair was thinking, I could do this forever. I could sit here with him forever and I’d never get tired of it.

Perhaps this was all a dream. Perhaps he’d wake up and find none of it had been real. It would be worth it, he thought, just if it meant having these memories of happiness.

Perhaps it was a dream, but it was the loveliest dream of his life.

i hope you all enjoyed <3 this was purely indulgent, ik it would not be as easy but i can dream ok

tag list (lmk if u want to be added/removed): @littlx-songbxrd @thewarthatsavedmylife @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @itsdaughterofthemoon @stxr-thxif @lifewouldbebetteronmars i feel like i’m missing ppl ?? anyway let me know and i’ll make sure to tag you next time <3

#i have been listening to too much classical music recently that is why this happened #also i have been sad and missing thomastair so #i need more thomastair content ok so i snapped and mad it myself #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #thomastair #the last hours #tlh #the shadowhunter chronicles #tsc #tlh fanfic #artie tries to write #i feel like i'm forgetting something but that's probably just bc it's 11:14pm #anyway imma go obsessively watch my notes to see if you guys like this or not

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artyrambles · 3 years

Photo

I gave in and got Sprocket, the new tank designing game everyone’s talking about. And so far I’m having a freaking blast. So after the first hour of committing crimes against engineering, I can proudly present the Most Tank Ever.

The F3 (Fabrik 3) Tank.

The blueprints for the F1 and F2 predecessors were lost due to a tragic misclicking incident.

The F3 was designed to be a mobile, maneuverable light tank. It would be able to defend itself against infantry and destroy enemy armor with its powerful cannon. Its angled armor profile would deflect the occasional incoming tank shell.

During trials it demonstrated being capable of none of these things.

Due to space limitations the power of the cannon elevation motor had to be reduced. This caused an inability to elevate or depress the cannon at all.

This was later amended by reducing the overall barrel length. Yes, what you see here is the shorter barrel.

With its 450 liters fuel capacity it has an operational range of about 200 kilometers, at which point the crew should be replaced to prevent them having a case against the Fabrik GmbH on account of developing discopathy from the cannon’s recoil. It is powerful enough to rock the entire tank back when being fired, since it has a highly optimized total weight of only 24.5 tons.

The crew consists of 3, but the importance of a loader was initially underestimated. The allotted personal space of the commander, driver, and gunner was reduced drastically to make space for a fourth crew member, but the turret was still too small to actually contain three humans without making them very uncomfortable from their bodies touching. Thus the gunner was tasked with loading as well instead, however the tank was already grossly overcrowded even before those measures and no one got their previous space back.

A radio antenna was added, but for purely cosmetic reasons as there is no radioman present.

The intended cannon reload time of 4 seconds turned out to be a rather optimistic estimate and effective reload time is nearly twice as much.

There is a commander’s cupola on top of the turret. It provides easy access to the external stowage box which perhaps has a bigger capacity than the hull, as well as providing the entire crew with the only way to exit and enter the tank.

#sprocket #tanks #tank #f3 #fabrik 3 #fabrik gmbh #long post

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flautistsandpeonies · 3 years

Text

Reformation Part 4

Read the Previous Chapter [Here]

Word Length: 3,101

Summary: You have to succeed no matter what. If you don’t, the loss would be devastating.

The day after the next, the Lan Discussion hall was filled once again; however, this time, a ruckus was occurring in every corner of the room.

“This is outrageous!, “Sect Leader Wang cried, a sentiment echoed by many leaders within the hall, “We have to do something about that foul beast!”

After the hunting party returned, the Lan Sect went into lockdown; the guards tripled, all armed with banishment tools and blades freshly sharpened. Visiting disciples were told to lessen their departures from the Cloud Recesses as a safety measure. With the events of the other night, guards were placed around the Jingshi, and no one but sect leaders were allowed to see Wei WuXian in his worsened state.

“We are taking a-Xian home, “Jiang Fengmian stood toe to toe with Lan Qiren

“That is unnecessary, “Lan Qiren said tersely

“What’s necessary, “Jiang Fengmian replied, “is making sure that my head disciple is no longer in danger. That creature may come back for him.”

“Which is why he should stay here, “Lan QIren challenged, “How can you be sure it won’t attack as soon as you leave the Cloud Recesses?”

“It’s a being of the night is it not?, “Yu ZiYuan huffed, “It won’t come in the day; if we leave right now we’ll be safe in our home soon enough.”

“And is Wei WuXian safe in your home?, “Sect Leader He challenged, “How can we be sure that the Jiangs won’t cause him more harm?.”

Yu ZiYuan glared at the man, “Does He Zongzhu believe that we are more dangerous than some unknown creature?”

“Seeing as you are the cause of this whole situation, I can firmly say “yes”, “Sect Leader He returned her glare

The noise within the hall grew louder. Sect leaders were doing their best to hush their disciples, but the room was slowly descending into chaos.

A disciple in the back hollered, “None of this would’ve happened had you just controlled yourself, woman!”

“What was that!, “Madam Jin thundered while Yu ZiYuan grew purple at the accusation

“Say that again!, “Jiang WanYin challenged the hidden cultivator

The disciple was brave with their anonymity, “The Violet Spider is insane! Wei WuXian would’ve never been in Gusu if she hadn’t attacked him at the banquet! That creature would have never shown!”

Minor sect disciples nearly screamed in agreement. Yu ZiYuan looked ready to unfurl Zidian against the crowd while Madam Jin braced her palm against her blade.

Wen Ruohan slammed his hand down against his table; the action silenced many.

“That’s quite enough of that, “the man looked vaguely annoyed, “Squabbling like children will get us nowhere.”

The Wen disciples were the only ones other than the Lans not kicking up a fuss in the hall. Sitting diligently beside their sect leader, they could only differ to him and keep quiet unless spoken to.

“Wen Zongzhu, “Jiang Fengmian turned to him, “It’s best if we leave with a-Xian immediately. The creature seems to favor forests and mountains, our lake-fronts may deter it.”

“And will Jiang Zongzhu be able to keep Wei WuXian safe from the other beast after his life, “flicking a hand in ZiYuan’s direction, Ruohan was unaffected by her anger

“I won’t allow her to harm him anymore, “Fengmian replied, though no one believed him, “I can send my own hunting party after the creature.”

“And who will lead it, “Sect Leader Wang questioned, “Yourself? Your son? The last hunt had Nie Zongzhu and Gusu Lan’s Twin Jades, and the creature fought them easily. What hope do you have? What hope do any of us have?”

Sect Leader Wang’s words sent a wave of depression over the crowd. With the Cloud Recesses in lockdown, it was as if they were prey animals trapped in a pen, and the creature outside was a fox waiting to devour them.

“What will we do?!, “a minor sect disciple cried, “What if it tries to consume us all?!”

Jin GuangShan stood and walked towards his fellow sect leaders, “Perhaps, we could try using Wei WuXian again?”

“No, “Lan WangJi said with an icy air around him, “Another attempt only endangers Wei Ying.”

“Second Young Master Lan, “Jin GuangShan implored, “Let’s not be unreasonable. What else could we possibly do? Wait until the creature tries to break in?”

“Having Wei WuXian there in that state is too dangerous, “Lan XiChen said in his brother’s defense

“We need a solution, “GuangShan replied, “We can’t all stay here waiting for something to happen.”

“We will not risk him again, “Lan WangJi said tersely

“It may be necessary, “the Jin Sect Leader pressed, “For the moment, the creature seems to be focused on him. This may be our only chance to kill it.”

“You are all so very incompetent, “a chill went up in the air, Wen Ruohan tapped his hand against his chair impatiently as he interrupted the ensuing argument again

Unlike before, Wen Ruohan didn’t seem to find satisfaction in the other sects arguing. The man was slowly releasing his spiritual power throughout the room; some people found themselves falling to their knees from the pressure.

“Wen Zongzhu, “Lan XiChen was choosing his words carefully, “the Lan are very capable of attending to Wei WuXian’s needs.”

“Are you?, “the near-immortal replied, his tone neither pleasant nor placating, “That’s twice now a hunt by the Lans has injured him.”

“This creature is new to us all, “XiChen said as finely as he could, “Now that we know what it’s capable of, we can deal with it better.”

"Still, the Cloud Recesses is no safer than Lotus Pier with that creature around, “Jiang Fengmian spoke, “I don’t see why he has to stay here.”

“We cannot be blamed for..., “XiChen started but was stopped by Wen Ruohan raising his hand

“I will say this clearly..., “the Wen Sect Leader was out of patience, “The Jiangs have damaged a perfectly good disciple for no reason. The Lans took him in, only for him to be bewitched by some unknown creature.”

The pressure in the room got even stronger. More experienced cultivators grit their teeth, forcing themselves to stay upright.

“Who should care for him now? The Nie? The Jin? A minor sect? Will we cycle him through all of your healing pavilions before the year is out?, “Each question came with the cultivator’s ever-darkening tone

Everyone in the room flinched as Wen Ruohan slammed his hand down once more.

“Plan another hunt. A better hunt, “it wasn’t a suggestion, “If there’s no change after this next attempt, if he is damaged again, then I’ll be taking Wei WuXian back to Nightless City with me. I’m certain my Xu-er can hunt this creature while a-Qing watches over him.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes were a deadly fire, “Are there any objections?”

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

For the next couple of days, sect leaders met and prepared for the next hunt. Limited in what disciples they could send, they couldn’t be as choosy and particular as they normally would when vetting their disciples. Too scared that a courier would be eaten by the looming creature, they had to choose from what little reserves they had.

The Jiangs would send Jiang WanYin, heading all the disciples the Jiang clan brought to the discussion. The Lan would be sending their Twin Jades along with several senior disciples. The Nie would bring their sect leader along with the disciples he carried along. The Jin would send their heir, his cousin, and their retinue. The Wen were sending all the disciples Wen Ruohan brought with him. The minor sects were sending their strongest disciples they had with them at the time.

Everyone was both nervous and excited about the hunt. The idea of fighting an unknown creature no doubt gave them a lot of anxiety, but, on the other hand, the fame and glory that would come from defeating it was enough to solidify their resolve.

Back in the Jingshi, Lan WangJi sat in the guestroom, sharpening his sword and preparing for the hunt.

“Master.....”

To his right, Wei WuXian lay in bed, a disturbed look upon his unconscious face. Uneven breaths came out of his slightly open mouth.

“Calling me.....Master...is...”

Not pausing in taking care of his blade, each word from Wei WuXian’s mouth made WangJi press the wet stone down a little bit harder, the sparks flying high.

“WangJi, “looking up, Lan XiChen, Nie MingJue, and Nie Huaisang stood in the doorway

“Xiongzhang, “WangJi nodded in greeting, “Nie Zongzhu, Second Young Master Nie.”

MingJue nodded back, “Huaisang wanted to see him, so I called a break from our night-hunt planning. Apologies for intruding.”

“No need, “WangJi shook his head as Nie Huaisang stepped into the room and quickly went up to Wei WuXian

“He says it during the day now, “Huaisang sat down gently beside his friend

Placing his hand on Wei WuXian’s forehead, the enchanted man tried to shake him away.

“Master....”

Huaisang sighed and removed his hand, “Wei-Xiong, you have the worst luck”

“He’s still alive, that’s at least something, “Nie MingJue said, trying to console him

“Calling me.....Master...”

“The meeting?, “WangJi asked while flipping his blade over

“It’s more arguing than planning, “XiChen replied, “People aren’t as worried about the hunt as more as who has a claim to Young Master Wei after all this is over.”

“No one does, “Was WangJi’s succinct reply

“Calling me....calling....calling.....”

“True, but they’re all talking in possibilities. Everyone’s claiming Young Master Wei would be more comfortable with them than anywhere else, “XiChen spoke

“That’s for Wei Ying to decide, “giving a quick glance to the man, he said, “after he wakes.”

“Jiang Zongzhu still advocating to take him back to Lotus Pier, “Huaisang frowned, “I don’t trust Madam Yu around him, nor Jiang WanYin.”

“And Ruohan seems determined to take him to Nightless City, “MingJue added, crossing his arms

“He won’t have reason to after the hunt, “Lan WangJi’s stern tone matched the scrape of the wet-stone against Bichen

“WangJi?, “XiChen questioned, giving a look to his little brother

Lan WangJi’s eyes were alight with resolution as he set the wet stone on the floor.

“I will take off its head.”

...

“Calling me.....”

Standing in the middle of the clearing, Wei WuXian stood slouched, the moonlight shining down upon him. Glossy pink eyes seemed to be looking for something as he chanted on and on.

“Master.....”

Hiding in the trees, cultivators had swords, arrows, and talismans at the ready. It was only a matter of time before the creature appeared.

Their plans had changed dramatically from the last time, instead of trailing the enchanted man to the clearing, they simply brought him before his nightly wake and set up traps along the way.

“Calling me....Master...is...”

“Nothing is showing on the compass, “Jin ZiXun complained staring down at the cultivation tool

“Perhaps the compass doesn’t register it as a resentful being, “a Wen disciple thought aloud

“Then how will we track it?, “a minor disciple questioned, “This will be even harder if it escapes again.”

A ways away, Lan WangJi stood listening. Thinking back to the hunt that started this, his eyes narrowed in contemplation

“Calling me...., “Wei WuXian chanted on in the center of the clearing

The cool air blew about them as the night went on. Insects of the night, trilled on as they waited and waited.

“Calling....call-”

All of a sudden, Wei WuXian grew silent. The cultivators tensed, knowing what was coming.

"SCREEEEEAAAAAH!“

The sound was the same as last time, nightly creatures vacated their homes in fear as the monster drew ever closer.

The cultivators shifted into battle-ready positions and a large silhouette was seen arriving in the sky.

The beast slammed down on the ground, wings expanding for a second before retracting.

“It’s you, “Wei WuXian sighed dreamily at the monster

The beast disregarded Wei WuXian for a moment. Glaring at the trees, the cultivators realized it was looking for them to appear.

“Huh, “Nie MingJue grunted, narrowing his eyes, “It’s smarter than we thought.”

Wei WuXian started to walk to the monster, speaking again, “Master, I’m here.”

Narrowing its eyes, the beast finally looked to its prey. Spreading its arms, it invited Wei WuXian with a rumbling hum. Closing its eyes, it breathed deeply as it savoring the cultivator’s scent.

“Now!, MingJue ordered, “rushing out with his fellow Nie cultivators

Brandishing his blade, XiChen sent it straight at the unaware monster just as it was about to embrace Wei WuXian, piercing deep into its arm.

The beast howled, hand striking out to throw Wei WuXian far away. The enchanted cultivator gasped in shock as he landed in a nearby bush.

“SCREEEEEAAAAAH!, “the beast howled as its tongue darted out and claws elongated, shaking its head wildly

Cultivators charged from all angles, sword glares flashing out at the beast. The creature charged and swung, knocking back cultivator after the cultivator and even tearing into many of them; their blood coated its claws as the battle commenced.

Jiang WanYin quickly engaged the monster with Zidian. The electrified whip slashed against its broad wings, cutting deep. The beast tried to get at him, but he was quick on his feet, dodging the clawed nails as they danced.

“Tch, “throwing Sandu out, it pierced the monster’s wing, throwing it back

Several cultivators jumped backwards, drawing their arrows, and fired. Spiritual binding ropes were attached. Firing into the beast they began to run around trying to entrap it.

“SCREEEEEAAAAAH!, “Grabbing the ropes with its claws, the tore the ropes to pieces

Ripping his sword out of the beast’s arm, XiChen aimed for the other, striking down hard, blood covered his face as he hit a vein.

“Switch, “Nie MingJue called to him, jumping forward

Striking at its torso with his saber, a deep gash was left on its stomach. Clawing back, MingJue was thrown backwards and flipped to land on his feet.

Lan WangJi darted forward, slashing with his blade. Uncaring of the clawed hands coming for him, he pressed on the beast, his golden eyes blazing at they stared one another down.

Going for wounds already inflicted, he made sure to widen each and every gash, blood rushed out and covered his white robes.

“Second Young Master, “a disciple cried out as a claws hand came dangerously close to his face

Grasping its wrist, WangJi twisted it as hard as he could until he heard the bone snap. The beast hollered, snatching its hand away in pain.

Summoning as much spiritual power as he could into his sword, he brought his blade up high, jumping as he charged forward. The beasts neck was unprotected as he slashed down.

The beast’s eyes widened at the sword glare coming for it; it tried to slide away as fast as it could before-

"SCREEEEEAAAAAH!“

Dark red blood pooled on the ground, the creature’s clawed hand flew up to its wound; shaking its head, the thick dark red liquid flew all around.

Lan WangJi raised his blade to strike again, sword glare bright and powerful. Charging forward, he slashed again and again. The beast was disoriented and forced the back away bit by bit.

Rapidly taking out a tracking talisman, Lan WangJi rushed forward, throwing his sword, the blade pierced the monster’s arm. Thrusting his hand out, he quickly shoved the talisman into one of the beasts gaping wounds. Taking out another, he jammed it into an adjacent gash.

“RAAAAHHHHH!!, “The monster howled in agony

Twirling in place, WangJi kicked up, foot hitting the monster’s chin and making it bite its own tongue. Then, with a bone-shattering punch to its chest, the beast flew back.

The beast struggled to stand back up, blood gushed out of varying would on its body, yet they were slowly starting to heal.

"SCREEEEEAAAAAH!, “the monster howled at Lan WangJi, black and red eyes were searing in anger

WangJi stood his ground, raising Bichen once more for another assault.

The creature growled as it was surrounded, cultivators from all the sects ready to charge at it. It knew it was at a loss.

"SCREEEEEAAAAAH!, “rapidly flapping its damaged wings, dust and blood swirled into the air

“Dammit, no, “Jiang WanYin lashed out with his whip, attempting to hold it down

The beast was too quick! With a loud rush, the beast burst high into the air and out of Zidian’s reach. Screeching once again, the monster zoomed through the sky.

Taking out a compass, Jin ZiXun grinned in glee as the needle started to throb from the talismans from Lan WangJi’s attack

“After it!, “Jin ZiXuan ordered his fellow Jin, all of them mounting their blades and following after the fleeing beast

Following behind them, the clearing soon became empty of cultivators except for a few. Sheathing his blade, WangJi walked to the puddle of blood the monster left behind. A pointed ear lay discarded on the ground. Picking it up, Lan WangJi quickly stowed it away in his qiankun sleeve.

“Amazing, Second Young Master Lan, “a senior Lan disciple rushed over to him

Rushing over to the bushes on the edge of the clearing, Wei WuXian sat, still bewitched, in the bushes. Wide-eyed, his pink pupils were actually glistening with tears.

“Master....left, “he mumbled, “Master...calling....left....”

Gently taking the man by the arms, Wei WuXian didn’t fight him but continued to mumble.

“Master....calling me...., “he said, “Master....left?”

“WangJi, “Looking up, XiChen was high upon his blade, “Take Young Master Wei back. Show the ear the Wen Zongzhu so he doesn’t try and take him.”

“Xiongzhang , “WangJi wanted to protest

XiChen smiled, “He’s your priority. We have it now. Go.”

XiChen flew off, leaving no room for argument. Nodding at the senior disciple, WangJi let go of his blade and let it hover for a second before mounting it. Grabbing Wei WuXian by the waist, he held him tightly as the enchanted man slouched against him.

“We will return, “he said, “do not lose it.”

“Of course, “the disciple replied as WangJi rose high in the air and set off towards the Cloud Recesses

He had a sect leader to talk to.

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

The light of the afternoon sun shined through the windows of the Jingshi’s common room.

Lan WangJi sat at his table, flipping through a journal of songs. Title after title passed before pausing on the one he was looking for.

On the top of the page, in neat, what many would consider perfect, calligraphy was the piece’s name: WangXian.

Placing the journal in his lap, WangJi quickly summoned his guqin and sat it down on the table. Giving a cursory glance down at the piece, he began to play.

Lan WangJi’s nimble fingers, plucked at the silver strings of his WangJiQIn, a soft sound filling the bedroom. The melody was pleasant and pleasing to the ears; disciples walking past outside even stopped for a second before continuing on their way.

In the Jingshi’s guestroom, Wei WuXian lay peacefully. The sounds from the common room soon drifted in and filled that room as well.

Even in his unconscious state, Wei WuXian could still be affected by music. The man gave out a slight gasp as the music filled his ears. However, instead of fighting against the tune, the man actually relaxed even more, letting out a pleasant sigh.

In the common room, Lan WangJi continued on with his playing. Even when he got to the end of the song, he restarted, playing over and over again.

In the guestroom of the Jingshi, Wei WuXian smiled.

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

Author’s Notes:

-I really tortured myself by having two fight scenes two chapters back to back lol

-This and the previous chapter were once one but I separated cause I felt that it flowed better

Read my Prompts and WIPs [Here]

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deiliamedlini · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021- The Darkness I Know

Chapter 4

No. 4- Trust fall

“Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

Fic Summary: After the world as she knew it was destroyed by the corruption of Malice, Zelda allies herself with her saviors from captivity: a disgruntled former governor, an alert paramedic, a cocky pilot, an excessively overt optimist, and a blind strategist. While the corrupted, malice-filled Yiga Clan looks for revenge on them, Zelda has to learn how important it is to find family in others... and how much more dangerous the stakes become if she fails to protect them.

Previous/ Chapter Index/ Next

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zelda’s room was an absolute prison.

There was no way that someone built this room for comfort, or peace. No one would find a sense of calm and relaxation in here. It was built to inspire fear, and that’s exactly what it did.

The door was locked, of course. No amount of jiggling the handle would do anything to help her. But when she turned, she was met by a sickening, neon orange wall, with white floors; her eyes hurt simply from looking at it all.

There was no window in the small room, but she hadn’t expected it. She figured they were in the middle of the compound, just based on what little information she’d managed to gather. But there was nothing on the walls, nothing but the painful color. It left the room feeling barren and empty; a cold place rather than somewhere warm and inviting.

The bed was small and set on a metal frame, and when she sat on it, she sank into an uncomfortable gap that had been left by an apparent, numerous occupants. And the sheets didn’t appear to have been changed in the time between people either, given their frayed, tattered, and—to Zelda’s utter dismay—odorous state.

No, this room was not meant to be lived in. This was another tactic, another measure for her to overcome. This was to scare her out of joining the Yiga, as if she had any other choice right now. Joining was the only way out.

She sat in the corner of the room on the floor, hoping that was a safer bet than the bed was, and pictured just how many people were gathered in that room. Not one of them tried to defect? Every one of them was here of their own volition?

Zelda shuddered. What if there was a ploy, a twist? What if somehow, they really could convince her to become a Malice-loving zealot? Who would she even be?

Perhaps the room was meant to test her in more ways than one, because the only time the door opened was for someone to drop off food that she was too afraid to eat, and then they’d leave with the tray and Zelda would wander the empty room trying to keep herself entertained.

She’d been in the Yiga’s hideout for a week now: three days in the cells, and four in the room.

Four, right?

She’d lost count, honestly.

On day… two—she believed—she accepted the food with caution. They wouldn’t try to pull the same trick twice, right? Besides, she’d need her strength if she wanted to have a chance of fighting.

That was what this room really did: broke people until they no longer had fight left inside them.

Before the Malice had taken over, Zelda was fresh out of school. She did some sports in high school, and she ran in her spare time, but athleticism wasn’t her forte. After, however, Zelda had become proficient in fending off the more annoying crazed creatures, and the occasional human. She could use a bow, a knife, and herself to throw an enemy off balance. But here? Here she was surrounded and completely alone.

Zelda loved rulers, but there were none in the room.

She took her arm and placed it beside the pillow she refused to use on the bed she wouldn’t sit on. The pillow was about 1 ¼’s of her arm. The blanket was 5 arms in length, and 3 wide. The door was 2. The room was 14.

Goddess, there was little else she could do to keep herself entertained.

She took her place on the floor, stretched out and groaning as her bones snapped and cracked, begging for her to be kinder to them. She flipped onto her back and let out a heavy sigh as her back thanked her.

“Let me out,” Zelda said to no one in particular, and in a very normal voice. She didn’t shout or call for help, but she needed to speak. “Please, just let me leave this stupid room!”

Her stomach growled. Weak. She was weak with hunger. Her legs didn’t want her to stand back up, and she was okay with that.

How many fibers were on the frayed end of the blanket, Zelda wondered?

It was faint, but Zelda’s ears perked up at an unfamiliar noise outside her door, causing her to sit up faster than she ever had before. It was quick, and gone in an instant, but it was there.

She crawled to her door, staying low in case… well, she didn’t know why. Just in case.

With her ear to the door, she closed her eyes to block out her other senses, and listened.

Boom!

Zelda shrieked and fell backwards as the sound of something hard and heavy connected with her door, shaking it with her head still against the wood.

There was the unmistakable sound of a scuffle, and the door shook with several thuds, occasionally followed by a grunt or two.

Then, it was silent.

Zelda ran to the door and pressed her ear there once again, but she heard nothing.

“Hey!” she finally called, banging her palm on the door as hard as she could, a surge of adrenalin bursting through her tired, sore, and hungry body. “Hey!” She tried, banging incessantly.

Zelda had hoped it would get someone’s attention. She hoped someone would open the door, and allow her to escape.

She didn’t expect to hear a man’s confused voice on the other side.

“Yes?”

Eyes bugging out, Zelda banged the door again. “Hey! Who’s this!? Let me out!”

She heard the man grunt. “Who is this? Why should I let you out?”

“Aren’t you a Yiga?” she asked jokingly.

“No.”

No?

“No?”

“No.”

Zelda let her hands slide along the wood, trying the door handle one more time, fruitlessly. “My village was massacred, I was betrayed, and they’re trying to kill me! Please let me out!”

“I don’t know you,” he said with a scoff.

Zelda banged her fists on the door. “Please! Let me out! It’s locked from the outside!”

“Stop doing that and maybe I will!”

She saw the doorknob jiggle before it stopped. “Hang on,” he said, just before she heard retreating footsteps.

She wanted to beg him not to go, but she simply held her breath and waited, trying to think of the best way to attack. There were literally no possible weapons in the room, so she imagined the door opening, and her coming out swinging instead. Of course, if they had a weapon, she’d be done for and back in the room.

Footsteps were on the other side again. “You in there?” he asked.

“Where did you think I went?”

She could hear him chuckle. “Help me out,” he said to someone else.

A woman muttered something that she couldn’t hear, but there was a thud, and the door shook.

“Back up!” the man called.

Zelda did, wondering what they were doing.

And she yelped when a giant metal sword pierced the wood.

Then again.

Another sword, and the wood was splintering.

“Goddess,” she mumbled, watching the wood be torn to pieces in random places.

It didn’t make sense until there were a few more thuds, and the center of the door was a hole just big enough for her.

“Hello?”

Zelda waited, unsure if they were just going to stab her when all was said and done. But that was probably too much effort.

“Damn,” a woman said, her voice deep and authoritative, but also melodic and charming. “That was fun.”

“Good thing we cleared this area,” the man said, his voice moving, as if he were looking around.

“Hey,” the woman said, peering at Zelda in the room. She was hunched over, so she was very tall, and her red hair was long and wild and wavy as it hung in front of her face. “Coming? We’re on a tight schedule.”

“Yes,” she breathed, rushing toward the gap.

The woman disappeared. “Can you help her out? I’m going to go find Daruk.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Zelda watched the woman run by the door, and a new figure replaced her.

The man was not nearly the same height as the woman, and Zelda wondered if they might actually just be the same, judging from where he stood. His partially gloved hand ran along the gap just before he shoved his whole arm inside, ready to take Zelda’s hand.

“It’ll be a tight squeeze. I’ll help pull you out.”

“How do you know I’m not really a Yiga?” she asked. “How do I know you’re not a Yiga? Am I supposed to take you at your word?”

“That would be silly. Let me prove it to you instead,” he said, wiggling his fingers.

Hesitation was not something Zelda liked experiencing, so she fought past it and gripped the man’s hard, calloused hand. His fingers closed tight around hers. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to pull.”

“I will,” she said, getting her leg up, but then getting stuck. “Oh, this is just going to hurt a bit.”

“What is?”

“I’m stuck. I think… just pull me. I just want to get out of here.”

“We don’t injure people for no reason, he said with an exasperated sigh. Come on, let me help.”

His hand didn’t move, waiting for her permission. “Fine.”

“What are you wearing?”

Zelda’s heart was already racing from the nerves, and the excitement of getting out of here. But this man… was something. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t see well. What are you wearing?”

“Pants and…”

“Good enough,” he said, reaching forward and sliding his hand quickly down her back before grabbing her by the waist of her pants and pulling her with him.

She didn’t land on the ground, but instead, found herself out of that cursed room, and in the arms of a total stranger.

Sudden tiredness washed over her. “Why did you even let me out? Do you trust me, or something?”

“No,” he snorted, letting her go when he felt she was solid. “No, but we’re already on a rescue mission. Let’s just add one more.”

“A rescue?”

“Yeah, a man with blue hair should be prisoner here. We’re here to break him out, but we’ve been scouring this place.”

“Wait, blue hair? I think I know where he is.”

The man’s blonde, messy mop hung in front of his eyes. It must be annoying, Zelda figured, but she wasn’t going to voice that opinion. Some of his hair was tied back, but not enough to be neat or helpful.

“You do?” he asked, his interest piqued.

“I believe so.”

“What’s your name so I can thank the Goddess for you at night?” he laughed, before picking up a long staff he’d leaned against a wall.

“Zelda,” she said, instinctively holding out her hand for a handshake.

“Zelda? Good to meet you. I’m Link.” He held his hand out beside hers. She stared at his hand like it were doing a trick before simply sliding her hand into his.

Smoothing her hand through her hair awkwardly, she looked around, getting her bearings. “Okay, let’s go.”

#legend of zelda #loz #loz au #breath of the wild #botw au #whumptober #whumptober2021 #whumptober 2021 #whump #no. 4 #Do you trust me #Link #Zelda #zelink #urbosa #Yiga Clan #malice #writing

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brownandblackpearls · 3 years

Text

☾☄✯☁ Moonlit Bath in the Oasis (Asra x BlackReader) Pt. 2

PART 2 SUMMARY:

After a long, harsh journey, the Beast delivers you and Asra to a hidden oasis in the desert for some relaxation and rejuvenation. You wander off to take a bath in the oasis’s mystic pool. Asra decides to join you. To make a long story short, neither of you focus on bathing.

─── Asra x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── Nighttime, aftercare, penetrative sex, praise kink, magic lotion, body oils, pretty bubbling pools

☾ previous. ☾ next.

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

Your eyes trail every move Asra makes as he undresses to enter the pool. When his hands grip his trousers to slide them off, you have half a mind to look away and spare him some privacy, some modesty. And yet, you see the ripples of muscles in his abdomen and he leans down, the cords of his neck and he tilts his head to keep his eyes on you, the sinew in his legs as they appear before you.

You see everything.

...And something tells you that Asra wants you to see it all.

Impressed, is what you are until your eyes draw to his lower half. Your brows nearly raise to your hairline, shocked. You look at him there for a beat too long before dragging your eyes back up to his face, humbled. You are more than pleased with what you’ve seen.

You expect teasing or smugness from him, but Asra simply gives you a somewhat shy smile before dipping his toes in the water, testing the temperature.

Satisfied, he jumps in and sends waves splashing your way.

“Aah!”

You shriek, raising your hands to try and fail to cover your face from the spray.

Caught between groans and giggles, you turn away wipe the water out of your eyes before feeling a heat at your back, pressing in on it.

“Can I touch you?”

His voice calls gently from behind over the rush of the bubbles and jets in the pool.

“Yes,” you respond confidently, waiting. “Please.”

It is the word needed to draw him closer, to line him up against your back until every inch of your back and his front is touching. You can feel all of him.

Asra gently moves your soaked, springy hair aside to reveal the soft crux of your shoulder and neck, tucking his chin securely there, peering at you as his arms snake around your sides and his hands clasp together right over your navel.

You inhale slowly and the rise of your stomach does little to ease his clutch on you, skin on skin. You can feel his breath brush against your ear, his wet hair against your neck, and the entirety of his body pressed up behind you.

With anyone else, you might’ve felt encroached upon, smothered, or unsafe. With Asra, it is the furthest from those things. With him, you feel secure, happy, wanted, and cared for. Like a little treasure belonging only to yourself, and often, to him.

His lips kiss at your neck and you let out a deep sigh, feeling his kisses trail from underneath your ear, down your shoulder, to the nape of your neck, and back up the edge of your hairline where the softest curls dance against his nosebridge as he continues to mark your skin. You feel the grazing of teeth once, twice, before he is kissing back up your neck to bite at your ear.

You love the feel of it, closing your eyes and furrowing your brow in concentration on the feeling. You feel hot all over, and only his hands seem to soothe the ache. You paw at his clasped hands until they separate, urging them upward with your own hands. Asra’s are quick to follow your lead, smoothing up your belly, across your sides, until hesitating. You sigh again, leaning back into him and resting your head back on his shoulder.

You pull at his hands to let him wordlessly know that it’s alright, that this is something you want, something he can have if he wants it too.

Finally, you feel his broad, mage hands cup and knead your breasts. You could almost cry from relief, every trailing of his fingers lighting nerves across your collarbones, shooting down to your toes and right back up to your nipples that he continues to graze.

The jets aren’t enough to smother the sensation of him hardening behind you, pressing against your backside with need. You can feel the aborted rocking of his hips as he tries to control himself and focus on pleasing you with his mouth, his hands.

You know Asra will make no move without your initiation. Not because he lacks the edge, confidence, or strength to do so…especially since you have an inkling suspicion that this is not your first time with him, that there may have been something in the long forgotten past that lets Asra know your weak spots, know just how to handle you…no, Asra hesitates because he values you your consent overall. Your participation is just as necessary to him as his is necessary to you.

You both stoke the fires of one another’s lust when you both know for certain that both of you want it, need it, crave it.

You roll your ass against him, grinding into his steeling member and eating up the sounds of his quickening breath, his lusty groans, and his tightening hold. You rock until he is pulling you back by your middle, seated on his lap. How…?

You look and realize you’ve both moved towards the pool’s edge, and Asra has conjured an interior seated rim, submerged deep in the water. He sits there now, with you atop of him, back still facing him as he grinds up into you with better leverage, one hand purchased on the underwater seat and the other hand purchased on your chest.

You have all too much fun grinding against him as he moves back against you, the mystic pool changing colors around you.

When his nimble hand finds your hardening nipple and begins to tweak and roll it under his thick finger pads, you can’t help but croon in delight. The move shoots lightning through you and you can’t stop from bouncing firmly against his member now, eager to give him as much pleasure as you’re feeling.

You’re certain you must look desperately horny and silly, but you can’t help it. He makes you feel so good and your body responds to him before your mind can process it.

“Look at you,” Asra croons, punctuated by groans induced from your gyrating, his voice several octaves lower than what you’re used to. The sudden bass in his voice is enough to make you moan a little higher, bounce a little faster. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself. Immensely.”

You feel as though you’re going to cum and he hasn’t even gotten inside of you yet. You want the orgasm to hit while you’re both tied together, want him to feel your body curl and massage him until he blows too, until he fills you up and leaves no space between the two of you.

“✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ...” Your lips begin to move.

You whisper the incantation you studied ages ago, after you’d finally realized how much you wanted this, how you wanted to be ready for the night it happened.

It’s a fertility ward and a cleansing spell, to rid you both of any possible maladies and keep pregnancy at bay despite any close-contact activities you may engage in.

Asra gasps as the enchantment takes hold of you both, simmering underneath your skins.

You know that he recognizes it from the words you say, that he can now see what you intend to do.

“When did I teach you that?” He says, breathless.

“You didn’t. But I am enjoying myself,” you rasp back in answer, fumbling under the water for his shaft before you finally grip it. He bites down a moan against a finger and you ease your grip, turning your head to kiss his shoulder in apology.

“Are you hurt? Perhaps I’m too excited,” you frown, pausing.

“Not at all,” Asra insists hotly, quick to get over the pain. “It’s alright. I’m excited, too.”

You smile as he consoles you, kissing his lips for a moment before sitting back against him, trying your best to feel through the water and aim the tip of his length between your legs.

Asra murmurs that you wait a moment, before he reaches down through the water and lifts both of your thighs up and apart from behind, spreading you wide for him. He places a hand on you, between your legs, skillfully parting your labia with a scissoring finger motion, and trailing his touches from your bud to your perineum. He whispers his own chant, and you can feel both his erection and your insides grow slick and moist, enough so that it contrasts the water surrounding you. You feel the slickness in you seep out cover everything between your legs.

“Are you sure...?” He asks again, pausing for you. Always watchful, he is, always observant, and caring.

“Are you...?” You inquire back, twisting your neck to look at him. You’re seriously pondering whether or not this is something he actually desires or if it is just another way he seeks to please you, but perhaps not so much himself.

Asra sees the meaning lurking behind your words and kisses your lips, warding all the doubt away.

“I’ve been sure, longer than you know.”

He says it with a hint of longing and romance, but you can’t help but to mischievously wonder how many times he’s thought of bending you over and having you, ravishing you, all while you were none the wiser. His eyes can say so much, but only when he wants them to, the quirks of loving a Gemini man.

“What is it?” Asra wonders, beginning to massage your pussy, spying the mischief in your eyes. “What are you thinking about…?”

“All the times you’ve wanted to fuck me,” you murmur back, rocking against his ministrations and biting back a moan. “All the times you’ve wanted me laid out for you, and I had no idea. Did you think of doing this to me when you would teach me?”

Asra’s cheeks redden and he grits his teeth, dipping his finger in you and fucking you with the digits at an almost punishing tempo. You groan, welcoming his touch and spreading wider.

“D-did you...?” You barely repeat, stumbling over your words as pleasure takes hold and Asra, your heart, begins to plunge his fingers over and over into the most sensitive part of you.

“I did.” He admits quietly, the guilt almost smothered by the lust overtaking him. His pupils were widening, darkening as he scooped you over and over, watching your every twitch and jerk.

“Did you want it when w-we were-ah!- at the palace? Help-ping the countess?” You reach for the slit of his shaft, thumbing it and working it as he works you below. It takes some acrobatics to achieve but his long moan is worth it.

“I did.” He dips two more fingers in, thick and steady. Your eyes almost roll up in your head.

“Even when we—?”

“—I wanted it every day. I wanted it so much I felt like an animal. Like some beast of burden with no control, no discipline...just thinking of having you sunrise to nightfall. In my mind, I would pilfer your body from sun-up to sun-down. Do you really want to know...?”

You try and nod, but Asra pulls his fingers away and spreads your legs, aiming the tip of his length before it breaches you. You can feel the thick cockhead slip past your ring until it is finally inside. You’re gasping now, head back against his shoulders as he slowly, crawlingly, pushes more and more of himself inside of you.

“There have been nights in the shop, after you retired to your rooms…you would look so good in the moonlight, so enticing in the sleepwear that I made just for you, that I’d want to rip it off of you and keep you naked for myself.”

He is halfway in now, and your heart is racing, pulsing hard enough that you’re sure he can feel thrumming through his cock.

“There have been days, when you’ve been at Nadia’s side listening to her babbling, where I wanted nothing else but to push you across her ridiculous dining table and make you my meal. To claim you, the most important person in that castle, before them all. There have been days where we’ve been in Vesuvian streets and I’d catch the way the sunlight lit off your eyes, your hair, I’d catch your scent, and I’d want to crowd you into an alleyway and do whatever I wanted to you.”

He is seated fully in you now, as you mewl and rock against him, thrilled to feel the vibrations of both of your voices rock through your body. The stretch is magnificent.

“I’d call myself a bad man,” Asra starts, grinding the last of himself into you, “but it seems as if you like it.”

You yelp higher and higher and he begins to thrust into you in earnest, holding you close. One of his hands dips below the water again, moving to massage your clit in time with his thrusts.

“I d-do like it-!” You exclaim, near-salivating on the rush of pleasure he sends through you with each pelvic blow. “If it’s y-you, I’ll always want it. You can do whatever you want with me.”

“Don’t promise something like that,” Asra groans, fucking into you deeper. It punches little sounds out of you that you didn’t even know you could make, and he seems to feed off of those sounds, thrilled. “I might just take you up on it.”

“Please, please, please,” you begin to beg, over and over his name falls from your lips over and over. You feel it blooming in you before you even understand it, a tidal wave faster and harder than your own fingers have ever brought upon you during those long, late nights in the shop without your teacher.

Without Asra.

You scream before the pleasure chokes it off, your entire body shaking as Asra slows in you, showing mercy and doing everything in his power to stave off his own fall over the edge. You can feel his thighs and arms clench in effort, his rod still thick and hard inside your melting walls.

He crowds behind you, whispering adornments in your ear that send wave after wave through you.

“Yes, take what you need...you’re so good for me...so gorgeous like this, so open...”

Asra lifts you off of his cock, rubbing consolingly at your aching pussy before standing you both up and turning you to face him. He holds your gasping frame up as he swivels you both around, planting your back against the stone of the pool’s edge. Understanding dawns in your eyes as he watches you hungrily.

Again.

He wants to make you cum again.

If you can infer anything from that heated gaze, it’s that he plans on making you cum all night long, in as many ways as possible.

Your cunt throbs and aches, yet a need in you rears its head up. You decide quickly that you want all that he has to offer, even if it may end up being more than you can take. You doubt that, somehow. You know you will take all of him.

Asra lifts your legs out the water, the buoyancy of the pool water aiding the both of you as you float into the position he wants you in: legs apart, facing him, straddling his hips. He kisses up your dripping wet arm, whispering again.

“Did you mean it?”

“Did I mean what..?” Your post-orgasm-addled brain struggles to comprehend his words.

“Did you mean it, when you said I can do whatever I want with you?”

You look into his hungry eyes, a hunger you’ve rarely seen on him until tonight.

He’s hidden it well, as you’ve never suspected the depths of his desire…but perhaps for too long, it seems. Something bristles behind the edge of it all, roaring to be released. Your aching pussy is proof of it.

“I meant it,” you promise. You did, after all.

Asra smirks smugly this time, securing your legs around him and moving in to mark your neck. You feel his hand guide himself back into your body, and you part all too easily for him, almost embarrassed at the quickness of it.

“Then I’m holding you to it,” Asra says against your heated skin, “because tonight...? You’re mine.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

AN: Do not under any circumstances copy, repost, or edit any of my work including this one. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

☾ previous. ☾ next.

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niqhtlord01 · 4 years

Text

Humans are weird: Cruelty of man

The command bunker was a flurry of activity as aides and military personnel shuffled between consoles. At the center of the room was a large tactical display table surrounded by commanders discussing the recent deployments of new troops and enemy positions when the doors to the command center burst open. At the noise the guards to either side quickly drew their weapons and trained it on the door until they saw who had entered and dropped to one knee.

“YURI!!!!”

Royal prince Marsov stormed into the room and made straight for the tactical display. His stride carried him so quickly that he knocked aside aides who had been kneeling before him out of the way as if a child kicking a can down the road.

“YURI!” The prince continued shouting, “WHERE ARE YOU!?”

The commanders around the tactical display parted aside and revealed the human who had taken command of the war front from the prince. He stood atop a wooden stack of pallets so he could see the display and under any normal circumstance would be comical any other time were it not for how feared the human was by the rest of the command staff.

The aliens surrounding him stood nearly twice his height making most interactions with the species initially challenging as everything they had was intended for far larger use.

Yuri continued observing the tactical map, making a few notes and passing them to nearby aides, completely ignoring Marsov’s outbursts. Maros slammed his fist into the table making the holographic image shake violently for a few moments before readjusting. “What is the meaning of this?!”

“I am not psychic, prince.” Yuri said as he passed another note to an aide and motioned him away with a flick of his hand. “You must elaborate what exactly is troubling you.”

Yuri’s calmness only seemed to enrage Marsov even more.

“When you took control of this war away from me you said you would run it better.” “Yes, I remember.”

“That was two months ago! What have you done since then!?”

Yuri set down his note pad and looked up at the prince. Though humans were far shorter than the prince’s species Yuri’s presence was so intense that it made seem as if he was the one towering over them.

“I have been continuing the war in a manner that will result in our victory.”

Marov’s laugh at the answer was as loud as it was fulled with a mocking tone. “You have launched only one offensive a week while ordering our special forces to gather enemy equipment, wasting their potential greatly!”

“These are parts of a much larger plan.” Yuri said as he crossed his fingers and rested his chin on them.

“A plan that is failing!” Marsov waived his hand and the tactical display altered itself. The image was an aerial view of the front lines with both sides trenches facing each other.

“Each attack you launched was preluded to by a massed artillery bombardment of smoke. Smoke that i would point out completely ineffective.

Waving another hand a smaller visualization of the enemy soldier. “Their helmets allow them to see through the smoke with high density filters built into their helmets. The filters remove the smoke particles so they don’t even hinder the enemy soldiers!”

“Yes, I know this because I ordered our special forces to capture in tact enemy gear from the battlefield.”

Marsov choked on his next words but quickly recovered.

“You promised a great victory but since you have taken command we have seen nothing.” Marsov turned the surrounding commanders. “Perhaps my father underestimated your abilities.”

The commanders looked back to Yuri who still clasped his fingers, his expression uncaring as if the insult just made against him meant nothing.

“Great victories are not won in a single day, but planned out down to the very second.” Yuri stood and hopped down from the pallets and began walking away.

“Tomorrow I will show you what a great victory truly means.”

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The following day the commanders all gathered in the command bunker for the upcoming battle.

Yuri stood on the wooden pallets while the prince sat on his command throne overlooking the entire room.

The entire length of the opposite wall showed live feeds from the battlefront as the team leaders moved through the trenches checking on their soldiers.

Tapping the tactical display table Yuri drew the attention of the room.

“Today, we will launch a full scale along the entire front.” Pointing to the display it showed several dozen friendly arrows moving across no-man’s land into the enemy trenches.

“From there we will continue pressing the advantage until we have overrun their forward command bunkers and captured the supply depots at the far rear of their lines.”

The display showed several fortified locations several dozen miles behind the current enemy lines.

“If you believe we can penetrate so far with this attack why stop there?” Marsov scoffed. Yuri nodded as if he had just been asked a question from his favorite student. “As tempting as it would be to continue the offensive we must be mindful of our manpower and supplies. I have calculated that once we have reached the supply depots we will be at the near limit of a front we can successfully maintain. Any farther and we risk over stretching ourselves and risking counter attacks that could encircle entire army group and wipe them out.”

“All well and good and all, but this attack depends entirely on if you can break the enemy front line to begin with.”

“Rest assured, that will be the easiest part of the plan.”

With that Yuri motioned to an aide and the screen turned to the face of a front line commander. “Are your troops prepared captain?” Yuri asked.

“They are prepared; though i am not sure why we need this additional equipment.” Marsov’s eyes picked up at this but Yuri continued before he could press his questions. “You’re understanding is not required captain, only your loyalty and promise of victory.”

The captain banged his fist and nodded his head. “Victory eternal.” he said before the line went dead.

“Begin the bombardment and start the clock.”

“Beginning bombardment now.”

The roar of a thousand heavy artillery pieces could be faintly heard throughout the command bunker despite being so deep underground.

“What is this clock you mentioned?”

“It is the amount of time the soldiers must wait after the bombardment before commencing the attack.”

“Did your plan not call for speed to overrun the enemy?”

“It did.”

“Then why wait after the bombardment to attack? Why not launch at once.”

“Patience; you shall see.”

An hour passed before the counter reached zero and Yuri ordered the attack to commence.

The camera feeds of the soldiers were all over the screen. Pushing through the black smoke the feeds were blurry.

Marsov watched intently. If the mission was a failure then Marsov could leverage the other commanders to shun the human and regain control of the army; but if it was successful he would still gain the credit but be stuck with the human even longer.

Suddenly the camera toppled over and showed only ground. The soldier the feed belonged to scrambled back to their feet and raised their weapon at what they had fallen over as his comrades came by.

Marsov saw the image and instantly stood up as the rest of the command staff let out gasps, some even vomiting on to the floor.

Laying on the ground was an enemy soldier in full battle gear. To the casual eye the enemy soldier looked completely normal, as if they were fresh off the parade ground. That was until Marsov saw the face of the enemy.

Beneath their clear helmet the eyes of his enemy were bleeding purple blood from the corners of their sockets, eyes bulging out as if they had been crammed into a container too small, veins bursting from beneath the skin as if they had been pulled out...

Marsov had commanded many battles and had fought in many wars from the front with those he had commanded, but he had never seen anything like this before.

“What happened to them?” The question was from a commander present as the camera feed panned over countless bodies of enemy soldiers laying dead across the battlefield all sharing the horrific signs.

“That,” Yuri spoke breaking the silence, “is chemical HZ-94; also known as the Coffin Maker.”

“How do you know what it is? Have you seen it before?”

Yuri shook his head. “I know what it is because I had it loaded into the smoke shells we fired before the attack.”

The room went silent.

“You what?”

“I had the HZ-94 loaded into the smoke shells. As the smoke shells burst over the enemy covering them with smoke it was also laced with the chemical compound.”

He motioned and an aide stepped forward carrying the helmet of their enemy and gave it to Yuri. He cradled it in his for a few moments before smirking.

“You see the smoke attack for the last few weeks was intentional. I knew it would have no effect on the enemy as I had studied their captured war gear. You are correct prince that they are built in with filtration systems and density scanners, but did you know that the smoke clogs up their filtration systems?”

He hoisted the helmet and pointed to a small oval opening at the base of the helmet. “Sure it can filter out some of the smoke, but consistent smoke eventually will form a barrier and block all inhalation forcing the user to swap filters.”

Yuri pried off the oval cap and showed it to everyone.

“The previous smoke attacks were meant to make the enemy become accustomed to the tactic and treat the smoke as a non threat. What threat would there be when their density displays could see through the smoke and have visuals on our troops?”

“While this was going on I had my off world associates manufacture the chemical and send it along with the safety gear for our own soldiers which would take roughly two months to arrive.”

Marsov was trying to piece together what had happened even as the first ranks of his soldiers made it through the smoke and came upon an entire field of dead enemy soldiers. All sharing the same horrific symptoms as those that had been seen in the smoke.

“The enemy would therefore not realize that there would be a secondary chemical mixed in with the smoke leaving them care free to remove their filters and swap them out as if it was a similar attack as the weeks before.”

Yuri’s eyes lit up with a devilish glow as he turned towards Marsov and chucked the helmet at him. “My plan was to make the enemy complacent and predictable and therefore easy to manipulate and predict. The moment they swapped out their filters they were exposed to the Coffin Maker and their fate was sealed.”

He motioned to the giant screen which had panned out to the entire length of the front. “We waited to press the attack not only for the gas to become effective but to also let the wind currents carry it back into their own lines.

“How could you have known the direction of the wind?” Marsov was horrified and amazed at the same time. In a single stroke the human had broken the entire enemy front line opening a massive gap their forces were now exploiting to their fullest.

“In the time it took for the requested materials to arrive I studied not just our enemy but the planet itself. I found the patterns of wind currents and established today as the offensive as the wind was going in the opposite direction.”

Marsov looked at the unease of his soldiers and the feeds as more and more dead bodies were found. Some with their hands clutching their throats or having ripped off their helmets as if desperate for breathable air.

He turned his gaze to Yuri. “Have you no honor?”

Yuri chuckled at the remark.

“Honor is meaningless if it is unaccompanied by a victory.”

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

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thecandywrites · 3 years

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Micro- Mermaid Chenera Part. 2

Woo, teen years in micro-merfolks lives. Growing, blossoming, having those oh so unpredictable hormones start pumping, kicking in instincts and whatnot, in what practically feels like overnight and how clique-ey even they can be. Because even in the real world, most fish do best in schools of their own kinds and using my somewhat limited knowlege about how real fish tank dynamics can work, as in who is aggressive, who is nice, who gets along with who. Who is clique-ey *cough* neon tetras *cough* and who is chill. Enjoy.

Micro-Mermay

Chenera

Part 2

When you awoke, you found both you and Nona had grown, almost overnight and now you were almost cramped in the little crevice but tangled with Nona, you continued to be.

“Chenera! Where are you?! The feed just dropped in from the feeders, you need to hurry up and come out and eat or there won’t be any left!” Abaria called after you before you lifted your head off of Nona’s chest as Nona was still fast asleep, he fed you the day before, you figured it was only right that you return the favor as you squeezed past him and left your crevice and rocketed up to the top of the tank, taking all you could hold before you raced back again.

“Like a Danio that one, so fast.” Abaria noted to Thya as they sat on one of the rocks and ate their breakfast and watched on as you appeared then disappeared again as the others either tried to flutter around you or simply get out of your way so they wouldn’t get hit by your racing self.

“Shy one she is too. Her colors changed again. Maybe she’s part rainbow fish, where her colors evolve as she ages.” Thya noted.

“She does seem a lot more green today.” Abaria had to nod as she helped her youngest ones eat their first meal, the elders leaving “the baby bits” for the youngest ones who always seemed to be hatching almost every day from all the different clutches being delivered.

“Any sign of Ethel?” Abaria asked.

“No, she left early this morning, before the feeders turned on. Still crying when she came through too.” Thya answered.

“Well if Chenera stays in here for too much longer and actually bonds to everyone else, pulling her from this tank won’t be good for her.” Abaria noted.

“But she is making all the young men in the tank strive to grow up quicker than usual, look at them, the second she came out, they tried to swarm her, but she out maneuvered them before disappearing again.” Thya returned as she pointed to the other males who seemed to swim around the cave, taking turns, looking at the mouth of the crevice and trying to see if there was any other entrance to it but you had moved one of the bits of leaves to stop up the entrance so that you and Nona could dine in peace.

“You fed me, now I feed you.” You offered to Nona when you had come inside and dumped your armfulls of food on the long blade of grass between you.

“You’re greener today.” Nona noted between mouthfuls.

“I adapt to my environment, it’s greener in here now, so it makes sense that I’m greener.” You explained as the green leaf that was shoved at the entrance now cast the space in a green glow.

“That’s awesome, here in this tank, only the rainbow micros change color, but as adults, otherwise, our colors are our colors as we grow, they don’t change.” Nona explained.

“Well, my siblings and I, we change ours all the time, every time we play hide and seek. It takes us most of the day to play one game because we all camouflage ourselves so well, or we play this other games, minnows in a hole, it’s where one of us tries to find a good hiding spot and we try to see how many we can cram into the same spot, I think at least five of my siblings could make it into a space like this, but we pack each other in quite tightly, but it can get hard to breathe when you’re in the back.” You shrugged.

“I’d like to see that actually.” Nona offered, although, he was sure you were prettier today than you had been the day before as the smallest hints of breasts started to bud on your chest. It was amazing how younglings could change so drastically overnight when they were growing up, it wasn’t until they reached 50 cycles when they were considered adults and stayed somewhat the same until they began to age. But all of that seemed so far off now.

Once you both had eaten your fill, then you both ventured out of the little space before Nona rounded up the younglings for a game of hide and seek.

Of course the first round, you were the first to get caught, your long flowing gold hair still stuck out along with your flashy colors.

And when it was your turn to seek, it was like almost all of the older boys hardly tried to “hide” at all so that you caught them first, so they could seek you second. The dwarf gourami micro that had been smitten with you the day before seemed to swoon over you now. If Fonta had said you were pudgy yesterday, the dwarf gourami micro- Larto, dwarfed you, but he was all flab at this stage, hardly much muscle underneath, he was nearly the biggest boy in the tank besides the adults who were still caring for the other clutches of eggs. And he looked at you the way you’d expect a predator to look at prey and it made you uneasy.

So when it was Larto’s turn to find you, you did what you knew best, you went up into the tall grasses that raised up like tall trees from the gravel, and tied your long hair up into a bun, put a piece of water lettuce and wrapped it around your head to hide your golden head and camouflaged yourself along the long blades of grass and other roots and without the gold visible from below or the sides. It was like you were invisible as long as you stayed somewhat still and “flowed” with the stalks of long grasses.

Larto unfortunately found everyone else in the tank, except for you, even being an arms length away from you, he nor any of the others could see you among the foliage.

“Did you check the cave?” One of the girls asked.

“Yes I checked it three times, she’s not in there!” Larto exclaimed before the others tried calling out to you but you stayed put, it wasn’t until they all claimed that you had won, and thus immune from being “it" for the rest of the day before you finally moved from your spot and they all gasped and groaned to realize that they had all seemed to search that spot repeatedly and yet not have been able to spot you at all as you swam down to them, the camouflage you had once sported, being shed and draining away and the vibrance of your colors and sheens and shimmers returning to your body and your fins the closer you swam to the group as your billowy fins seemed to surround you even while you swam ever so gracefully down to them, your hair falling from it’s previous bun and flowing behind you like a curtain of gold once more.

“That’s no fair! You have hidden camouflage!” The other girls protested as the guys themselves were too impressed and temporarily stunned and dumbfounded to voice any kind of complaint.

“I do. In my home tank, it’s what we all do, except my parents, they can’t change like the young ones can, it’s to keep us from being bait to any other fish that might try to eat us.” You calmly supplied.

“Well it’s still not fair! You have a gold head and hair, you should have stuck out like a sick fin and you shouldn’t be allowed to change like that because we can’t change like that!” Melbeth argued angrily as the other girls echoed their agreement to that.

“I shouldn’t be allowed to be myself and do what I’ve been born and apparently bred to do? To naturally camouflage?” You repeated in confusion.

“Melbeth, don’t be a sore loser, just because she was able to hide better than us, doesn’t mean it’s her fault, isn't one of the lessons that are taught to us is that survival favors those who can adapt to change? Her subspecies just mastered it, that’s all. It’s not her fault she was born that way.” Nona defended you.

“And it’s not her fault that you’re red and blue and tried to hide among some green moss. You just stood out like a sick fin too.” Larto defended as well as he came over and tried to put his arm around your shoulders but you quickly dipped and swam just out of his reach and pulled your hair from his fingers so he wouldn’t grab at it either.

“Please don’t touch me.” You requested respectfully as you swam away from him to be with the other girls, although much good it did you, because they swam away from you, isolating you further before Nona came and simply stayed by you and took your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“How come he can touch you though?” Larto demanded angrily.

“Because he doesn’t look at me like you do.” You answered.

“What does that mean?” Larto demanded, clearly offended by that.

“You look at me the way I look at food. The way you look at me, makes me feel like you’re going to eat me too and I don’t like it.” You maintained with your head held high and your chest puffed out as millions of years of fighting instinct suddenly unlocked in your brain and body as your eyes focused on Larto, already mapping out how to hurt him fastest and with the most accuracy and efficiency with minimal effort on your part. He may have been twice your size but you felt like you had the heart of a fish three times his size beating in your chest.

“Hey, I’m a dwarf gourami micro ok? The only fish bigger than me are the oscar micros, the angel micros and they’re all too big even for this tank. So I can look at whoever I want, however I want.” Larto insisted as he came over and scowled at you and towered over you as the others slowly backed away except for Nona who tried to pull you back behind him but you refused to back away from Larto, refusing to give him a millimeter as you glared just as angrily and hatefully back at him.

“And I like looking at you, cause you’re the prettiest girl in here, so get used to it.” He leveled with a smug smirk as the other girls scuffed and bristled at the comparison.

“I can fix that.” You offered with a smirk of your own as you got an idea.

“Yes you can, you can give me a smile for starters.” Larto demanded before you rolled your eyes and groaned in annoyance and let go of Nona and swam down to the gravel floor to pick up a piece of gravel and began tossing it up and catching it again before picking up other ones and casually juggling them, the muscles in your arms flexing with the exercise.

“I could, but I don’t want to, so what I could do instead is I could…” You began to swim deceivingly gracefully towards Larto, two of the three pieces of gravel falling to the floor of the tank behind you as you kept the last piece of gravel behind your back and covered by your long golden hair before you got just above eye level with Larto and gave him a predatory look of your own, which both thrilled and exhilarated him but also just gave him an ounce of fear because there was a dangerous curve to your grin and he didn’t fully trust the look in your eyes either, he had looked at you with lust, but you were looking at him with thinly veiled malice.

“Poke your eyes out so you can’t look at anything, how about that?!” You seethed as you closed the distance between you and him with surprisingly great speed, headbutting him and knocking him off balance and on his side and grabbed him by the throat with surprising strength and reared your other hand back with the piece of gravel in your hand as your colors changed yet again, from a beautiful black and greens, to blood red as you saw the very real fear start to fill his eyes as you bared your teeth to him in an impressive threat display as your fins unfurled completely until you appeared to be just as big as he was as the spines of your fins stayed black and began to poke towards him.

“If you do, you’ll go into the bully tank, there are fish bigger and meaner than me who would eat you for breakfast!” Larto sputtered desperately, shocked and scared by your actions since they were the opposite of what he was expecting as he tried to loosen your grip on his throat. For being as big as he was, he was surprisingly weaker than you were at this stage in his life.

“Chenera don’t, he’s right! If the others come and see you like this, they’ll think you’re the bully and put you in the bully tank.” Nona pleaded with you as he took the piece of gravel from your grasp and let it fall.

“Let him go, he’s not worth it. Even you- are too young and too small to survive that tank. Please Chenera, let him go.” Nona pleaded before he tried to take your hand from Larto’s throat before you let Larto go, but still scratching his neck with your clawed fingertips as you let your grip off of Larto's neck which made Larto hiss in pain and reach for his neck.

“Look at me like I’m food again, and see what happens, I dare you.” You threatened Larto before you slapped him two body lengths away with your powerful body and fins before you let Nona lead you away and back to the group as your colors changed back to what they were before, but by this point, all the other younglings had seemed to make their minds up about you. You did not belong and you were obviously aggressive when you weren’t a scaredy-fish as all the girls continued to school together and away at the other end of the tank to hang out on the soft moss and bask in the bright lights and glimmer like little jewels themselves while the other males retreated to the other end of the tank rethink things. If you could be just as aggressive as a dwarf gourami- attempting to mate with you, even though you were still a bit young for it, meant you could seriously hurt them and while you may have been the prettiest girl in the tank, you weren’t worth their lives.

So all that was left was for you to sit on top of the cave with Nona that was in the middle of the tank while the adults were still inside and helping the latest clutch of eggs hatch.

“How come when I defend myself from a bully, the others shun me?” You asked Nona as you sat and sulked and cast a look over to the other girls who were playing some other game amongst the moss.

“Because dwarf gourami micros can be known to be aggressive, usually only one or two are kept in a tank like this, or kept in tanks where there are nothing but dwarf gourami mircos. Usually everyone is used to backing down from them, but to see you match his aggression, even though it was in self defense, the attitudes in this tank are, you are either aggressive like a bully or nice like the rest of us. And you’re the first one that is in between so they don’t know what to make of you.” Nona shrugged, not knowing what else to say as he sat next to you and held your hand again.

“So why aren’t you with your other friends and brothers then?” You asked him as you nodded over to the other end of the tank where the other boys were casting curious looks your way and quietly talking among themselves.

“Because I like you better than any and all of them. I know you’re not a bully or usually aggressive, but you’re brave and you have courage and you don’t let others push you around which is awesome and a first for many in this tank. Plus I know you’re not a scaredy fish either, you’re just smart enough to hide when there is danger and camouflage yourself when you’re being hunted. You’re probably the smartest fish in the whole tank because your instincts have saved your life so far and you’re smart to listen to them. You’ve been through things that no one in this tank has been through. That I’m sure if they had gone through what you had gone through, they would show some more sympathy. But they’re just younglings and they don’t know any better yet and I’m sure if they were older and more mature, they’d understand.” He comforted you before he let go of your hand to put an arm around your shoulders and grinned lopsidedly when you rest your head on his shoulder as your soft, long flowing hair surrounded both of you as he gently ran his fingers through it, he couldn’t help it, it was still the softest thing he had ever felt.

“Well thank you for staying my friend then.” You offered.

“You’re welcome, you’re a good friend to have.” He returned.

When it came time to go to sleep though, even your “half brothers and sisters” refused to let a “bully” sleep with them since the parents were sleeping with the clutches of eggs, leaving the younglings to sleep in piles in the sandy pits.

So once again, you and Nona returned to your crevice, continuing to move the gravel around, expanding the space so that it was a proper cave-like space under the cave-like hide and lined it with fresh grasses and other plants and algae to make a space comfortable for both of you as once again, Ethel was too distraught to really look at her other tanks as she passed by and went to bed.

It wasn’t for a few more days until, Ethel’s assistant, Channel, came to check up on the tanks and refill the automatic feeders and do a cleaning since Ethel was still dealing with the police and the investigation that Channel moved the big rock hide to vacuum under it and it exposed you and Nona as your first instinct was to take Nona by the hand and quickly swim to the other foliage and back him up behind you and camouflage yourself so that both of you were hidden from view.

“What the hell?” Channel said as she saw the flash of gold.

“Goldies aren’t supposed to be in this tank.” Channel said before she called Ethel.

“Yes?” Ethel answered.

“You need to come home, I think one of your gold chameleons got dropped into the odds and ends tank by those fairies.” Channel informed her boss.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” Ethel immediately answered as she stopped what she was doing and had her other employees pick up where she left off and immediately rushed home.

“Where? Where’s the gold chameleon?” Ethel asked as she came over to the tank before Channel pointed you out.

“Oh thank goodness, that’s Chenera! Oh look at how she’s grown! Even with the flakes instead of the special micro-betta food, oh look at those colors! Oh if it wasn’t for that gold head, she’d be almost impossible to see, let me get the net.” Ethel said as she got her net and tried to catch you before you kept darting all over the tank with Nano in tow.

“Ethel’s trying to bring you home! Quit trying to swim away from the net! Nona called to you as you swam with all your speed as he did his best to keep up.

“To hell with that, I ain’t leaving you behind.” You insisted as you tried to hide inside one of the other hides and glue yourself to the top so you couldn't be seen.

“But don’t you want to go to your home tank? And be with your family?” Nona asked.

“I’ve been in this tank too long, they’ll probably reject me because I won’t smell right. You’re the only family I need now.” You insisted as you peeked out to see where the net was and where else you could hide.

“Chenera listen to me! You don’t belong in here. You are some kind of special micro, I don’t know what kind but special enough that you probably need special food and to live in a special tank and be with your own kind. If you get aggressive when pushed by a dwarf gourami, I don’t want to think how aggressive your family will be towards me and I’m just a guppy micro. I’d be no match to them, hell I’m no match for the platys or the mollys or anything else. This needs to happen whether you like it or not Chenera. Just let me go, so you can go back home. I will always remember you and while I will miss you like crazy, this is for the best. She’s not going to stop until you’re caught and the net is already stressing everyone out.” Nona tried to reason with you as he held your face in the darkness as little blue tears came to his eyes while they flowed from yours too.

“But I don’t want to let you go. You’re all I have!” You cried as you clung to him.

“You’re all I have too, and while I’m grateful you landed in this tank and I'm so grateful that I got to meet you and know you and I’ll never forget you or our friendship for as long as I live. Please, I know this is hard and scary. But, it’s the way things will have to be.” Nona comforted you before you kissed him as you pressed your body to his, your own camouflage matching his pattern onto you as he kissed you back just as strongly before the hide was picked up and you reluctantly let go of Nona, your long hair slipping through his fingers for the last time as you reluctantly swam into the net, casting one last longing look at Nona before the net was pushed to envelop you completely as Nona watched on helplessly as you curled into another ball, your fins covering you and shielding you from view as you cried at being parted from Nona as you were picked up and Ethel held you and a little bit of water in the palm of her hand as she carried you over to your family’s tank around the corner and out of view from the odds and ends tank.

"Oh you poor thing, you made friends huh? I know it hurts to leave them, but you're about to be reunited with your family, you should be happy." Ethel tried to comfort you before she gently dropped you into your family's tank.

“Look who I found! The fairy that tried to take her must have dropped her into the odds and ends tank. I’m so sorry I didn’t go through the tanks more thoroughly, or I would have found her and returned her sooner.” Ethel apologized to your parents and siblings who had now, grown quite a bit and dwarfed you before you seemed to swarmed by them, all of them hugging and kissing you and holding you, trying to wipe away all the “foreign” water from you as you breathed in the once familiar water before Ethel left and returned with more pieces of special vitamin packed mackerel and anchovy and special betta micro food just for you so you could eat and catch up to the rest of your family. “She’s been in the odds and ends tank and they don’t get the same food as you guys, so she’s underweight and undersize now. You’ll help her catch up won’t you? The color tank morphing stage is only in a few days, so we found her just in time.” Ethel told your parents and siblings as she dropped in what she could before you were led to the soft sand pit again and given most of the hunks of mackerel and anchovy all to yourself as your family asked what had happened to you as you told them what happened, and how you were treated in the other tank, how the elders and the adults welcomed you with open arms but all the younglings around your own age shunned you because of how different you were to them, except for Nona. Whose pattern was still on your own tail. And how he was your only friend while in that tank.

Meanwhile back in the other tank Ethel was collecting the oldest adolescents who were about to be subadults as she noticed the scratches on the dwarf gourami and chuckled.

"Did you try to mate with my gold chamelon betta micro? And did she hand you your ass?" Ethel teased him as he scoweld and sulked.

"Well, it serves you right, she was too young for that, she's much younger than you and obviously of a different species." She insisted to him and the other males she had scooped up and put into the bag to transport them back to the shop for processing.

"I know, you don't want to leave either, but it's time for you to go too, thanks for being her friend sweetheart," She cooed to Nona as she scooped him up too and put him with the others.

"But I'm sorry to say, none of you will ever meet anything like her ever again. Chenera is a very special gold headed chameleon betta micro. From my best breeding stock I have and worth her weight in pearls and then some. And chances of any of you ever seeing anything like her again, are slim to none I'm sorry to say, what a beauty she was wasn't she? But as always, adults and elders, thank you so much for looking after her and doing the best you could for her, here is an anchovy for you guys and another clutch of molly eggs that were abandoned and surrendered at the store. So mollies, you're up." She said as she put the clutch down as the molly adults went over and happily took over the eggs with extra food for incentive.

"Ah, that explains, everything." Nona confessed as the bag was lifted and from this vantage point, just in the distance he could see a small tank full of gold dots and colorful fins and figured you were in that one and safely home.

"Goodbye Chenera, I loved you. I'm sorry I was too much of a scardey fish to say it until now." Nona admitted to himself, regretting not saying it when he had the chance. He should have swam after the net and told you, he should have been brave like you, he should have kissed you first, he should have admitted his own feelings for you so much sooner when you weren't being chased by that net. But he looked on with bittersweet relief. You were home, you were safe, you were surrounded by your kind and your family and if you would turn out to be anything like the other betta micros he could see from here, what a true beauty you'd end up being when you would fully grow up and mature. And that's the best that could have happened, and it did.

Meanwhile back in your home tank...

“What tank is this anyway?” You asked them as you ate after you had caught them up.

“Oh honey, we are the gold chameleon betta micro tank. You’re a gold chameleon betta micro. You’re the best of the best as far as the species goes. That’s why you have a gold head and hair but otherwise you change to suit your environment. So this pattern on your body, is this Nona’s pattern?” Your mother Miralia asked.

“Yes, he’s a guppy micro.” You answered as you looked down at your tail and traced the pattern over it, missing Nona like crazy. Wondering if your father or brothers would have actually attacked him if he had tried to follow you or if you had drug him along or if Ethel just would have grabbed him from the net and dropped him back in anyway.

“Ah that explains the shape and pattern. Well guppies are always friendly, I’m glad he at least was able to be your company and friend while you were in there and helped to keep you safe. Did the other males try to swarm you and always try to get you attention?” Your father Avarian asked worriedly.

“Yes, one was a dwarf gourami micro- named Larto- he was..he looked at me like I was food and tried to push me around and I threatened to smash his eyes out if he didn’t knock it off.” You answered and were surprised when your whole family cheered as your parents gave each other a meaningful and knowing look.

“Atta girl! Well we are bettas after all, we’re also known as “Siamese fighting micros” and we don’t back down from a fight or put up with any attitude from anyone else, and we never mix with gouramis, either dwarf or otherwise. Usually because they can grow to be twice our size as adults. But if he was still a youngling, you stood a good chance of making good on that threat and beating his tail into the gravel. So I take it that the reason you’re so dark is because you were hiding in some kind of cave? To get away from those awful dwarf gourami micros?” They asked and you nodded yes.

"Well that and he could have been looking at you like you were food or he could have been looking at you with mating on his brain." Your father gently broke to you.

"Eeewww!" You gagged and fought to keep your new food down as your siblings laughed as they shuddered.

"Yeah, eewww, no thank you." Your sisters repeated.

"That and you're still several cycles too young for that kind of thing anyway, and with the odds and ends tank, no one is rarely the same age, they get new clutches almost daily, how they keep everything straight is a miracle. But when you get to that stage, don't be surprised when every guy you meet looks at you that way but you won't have this reaction, you'll actually like it, expect it and want it, when it's from another betta micro." Your mother explained as you gave her a disbelieving look.

"Just trust me on this." Your mother placted.

“Anyways, never again will you ever have to put up with dwarf gouramis or any other micros of any other kind because usually us betta micros are kept all by ourselves in mated pairs and families to a tank, occasionally once you make it into the shop, if a buyer wants to put you into another tank, you might be with other micros, maybe even guppies or mollies or whatever, but never any dwarf gouramis or oscars or angels, because they’re all too big, and equally as aggressive as we can be, it’s either one mated pair of dwarf gouramis, oscars or bettas or angels, never two and definitely never all four at the same time.” Your mother explained.

It almost felt odd to sleep in a sleep pile again, this time in the absolute middle of it, your sisters had combed and braided your hair gorgeously so that it wouldn’t tangle. And after spending so long just sleeping in a small cave with Nona. You looked out into the room past the glass panes of the tank, with the various nightlights transfixed about the room and new motion sensors and cameras in the corners flashing red every once in a while that had been installed while you were in the odds tank.

You missed Nona, and the foliage, and the privacy of that little cave. Where it felt like you two were the only two micros in the world, and you were still shocked to learn that you were supposed to be so precious and amazing and better than anything or anyone else but to have what felt like half your life to be treated the opposite, you had a hard time accepting it, especially when Nona had treated you like an equal while also making you feel accepted and comforted and even a little special, because he was your only friend and you were his and you had felt odd to have a crush on him for the last couple of cycles and to take your one shot at kissing him, it was thrilling yet heartbreaking because it was your first, and probably your last and you felt sure that the way you felt about Nona, you didn’t want to feel that way about anyone else for as long as you lived.

But still, you had to admit, you had missed your family and your parents and the amazing food. Plus learning the true nature of yourself, made everything make a lot more sense.

But if you could get adopted by someone who would adopt other micros of other kinds, you had the small chance of seeing Nona again, you would just have to wait and be patient.

#Mermay #Mermay 2021 #Yes I know I'm late #as usual #I'm sorry #Micro mermaids #exo #exophillia #mermaids #mermaid romance #micro mermaid romance

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artieistired · 3 years

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liebestraum

thomastair fic

inspired by this song || read on ao3