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honeybewrites · 1 day

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@ath3alin I'm here!! I'm here!! *papers and notebooks spilling out of hands, hair a complete mess and face flushed* I have more rambles!!!

OKAY!!! Rage's elemental vision/very basic run down of the elemental system (I want to do a more comprehensive intro post for the whole magic system, so this is just a little teaser).

So, elemental is used by most species in some form. It's different for each species on how much they can control, but the basics stay the same.

Elemental relies on two main aspects: the element being harnessed (pulled from the surroundings) or extracted (pulled from within the users body), and energy.

The broad categories of elements are fire, water, air, rock, bio, energy, and a few... other elements that I'm not going to name right now because it's Plot Points. (can you tell AtLA influenced this???) They all have many more categories in them and several of them overlap, but this is the general guide the Realms use. Most of your average run of the mill people are just going to refer to elements as this. You really only get the nuanced categories and specialties when you get with an advanced trained user.

Energy has three categories. Life energy, elemental energy, and wild energy. They have technical names, but most of your average people are just going group them together and call them energy.

So, since Rage is Mirralian, his body produces no element of its own, but it does produce a specific type of elemental energy that allows him to harness the elements in his surroundings. Ninety-nine percent of the time, Rage harnesses air, just "seeing/sensing" where it is. It requires little energy and his body, after doing this for decades, has built up stamina and extra energy production to compensate. The air leave an outline of where things are, like pouring clay in a mold. It can give Rage an incredible amount of detail if he puts in more effort, but for the most part he just lets his "sight" only go so far. The closest I can think of to give you an example is an inverted black and white picture like these.

Not sure if I explained that very well, but it's what we're going with because my brain is mush right now.

NOW! On to Asurr's research!

First off, yes the questionable research is in healing/biology/genetics. It was pretty much why they chose to go into that field of work later in life. It defiantly wasn't for any desire to help people or good morals and a sense of duty.

Asurr's research specifically revolves around the writings, which are very few and seen as exaggerations and myths by the majority, about the creation of the Tanimoriem during the Dragon War. If the dragons could create a new species from another, why couldn't Asurr improve upon existing ones? Could they change one species to another? Could they create the ultimate species?

A lot of Asurr's research involves ancient writings in languages long lost, talking about impossible elemental feats that most believe to be complete myths. Asurr has had some success in his experiments, but they are crude, gruesome, unnatural and unholy feats of nature. Most of these abominable creatures are extremely violent and devoid of emotions and reason. While Asurr only sees them as steps forward and nowhere near their desired results, the Mors are very pleased with these creatures and use them for many things.

Most people see Asurr as crazy, which they are, but they are also insanely smart and driven. It's their life's work to reach the pinnacle of genetic alterations and species manipulation.

And finally, the Dragon War!

I've mentioned my other WIP, Legend of the Ancients (LotA), a couple times, which takes place in the same world as Echoes of War Chronicles (EoWC). LotA happens a good couple centuries before EoWC, but the Dragon War happens even before that. (LotA focuses a lot more on the creation of the Tanimoriem than EoWC does and is a major plot point for that series).

When the Realms were slowly discovering each other, all the species mixing together, tensions were high. A few of the Realms threatened war against each other. The dragons stepped in to keep the peace, working to unite the Realms and keep things from escalating. And it worked well, until Mirralia was discovered.

Mirralia was extremely hostile towards the dragons, hunting the species and using them to enhance their elemental. Mirralia convinced the other Realms the dragons needed to be controlled.

And so the Realms began a war against the dragons.

It was brutal. The single worst war in the Realms collective histories. It wrecked devastation for everyone, nearly destroying the Realms completely.

During this, the dragons came up with a plan. Through a massive amount of elemental and energy, the dragons "gifted" parts of themselves to various select beings who had been extremely loyal through the war, resulting in a new species. The Tanimoriem. It still remains to be one of the most impressive and powerful uses of elemental in history.

With the help of the Tanimoriem, a mix of namuhs and dragons, the dragons were able to end the war on their terms and keep the Realms from collapsing.

Sorry this is such a long post. When I start rambling, I really start rambling. Hopefully this answered a little more of your questions!! And thank you so much for showing an interest in my work!! It means so, so much to me!!! My DMs and asks are always open!!

#echoes of war chronicles #EoWC #Rage Airvix #Healer Asurr #the elemental system #legend of the ancients #LoTA #writeblr #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #wip #my ocs #oc

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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Hey!!! I'm so glad you liked the blurb night idea :) 💞 Can I request a blurb with Peter bumping into the reader while she's kinda lost at times square and he's dressed as spiderman so he tries to flirt with you, but it makes you laugh instead?

I loved the idea hun, thankyou sm for helping me with this idea xxx

“You’re a guy?”

Pairing | Peter Parker x reader

Summary | based on the request

Warnings | mentions of crime, brief mention of death and drugs, mention of sex

2K blurb masterlist

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

“And there was this girl. She was really pretty, but-“ May quirked her head at her nephew, hardly understanding his blabber as he sped through his words like he was racing verbally against a cheetah, though, she was manage to uncover that particular sentence.

“Whoa, slow down kiddo.” His aunt laughed lightly, bracing her shoulders on his arms as he caught his overexcited breath. “How about you start from the beginning, and take a breath?” May had much practice with calming the boy down, she sincerely remembered how that night his parents had dropped him off, how worried he had been for them not to return. And they didn’t.

Peter bobbed his head in a eager nod, doing as he was recommended by his legal guardian, puffing the air in through his cheeks, as he inhaled and exhaled normally through his nose.“I was out patrolling the city, checking out for any bad guys, and then, I saw her...” her, the girl that had captured his attention, and distracted him from his friendly neighbourhood duties. She was much like a magnet, pulling his north face into her axis spinning world, distracting him from the things that he was actually meant to be ensuring did not happen on his watch.

“Weren’t you supposed to be patrolling?” The elder of the two quirked a brow, earning a splutter of a response from the teenager under her roof. She wasn’t a strict guardian concerning his heroic antics, though, she made sure to keep him on track for his own sake. Peter had quite the tendency to become overrun with stress from the amounts of responsibilities that he took on, and him being only young did not help the situation.

“I’m getting to that!” He was fast to defend himself, huffing his chest in as he prepared to tell May his story, from the beginning. It was quite the tale, he’d say, combined with the embarrassment of his own presence entangled in the random and friendly interaction that he had felt promiscuously lulled to create.

Queens, it was new to you. There were so many streets, filled to the brim with people that seemed to know where they were going. Unlike them, you didn’t, in fact, you’d go as far to admit that you were lost. Lost in a place that was known for the chaos that wrapped it off with a tarnished bow, and made the collateral practically fashion within its various newspapers that rounded every corner to divulge their companies’ obscure theories.

A panicked look struck your eyes, as you turned, shaking your head and pressing through the mass of citizens and finding an empty lot, scrolling through your phone, diverting your attention quickly towards google maps. It was the only thing that you could think of, it’d be a shame if you were to disturb one of the many passersby from their clearly packed schedule; you did not need that, nor berating them on your conscience.

“You lost or something?” A voice asked, making your shoulders jump as a figure, twisted in the colours red and blue, with a seam of black fell from the roofs above. Your heart rate imploded, more so when you realised who the mask wearing vigilante was. The wearer, although unknown, was infamous for the successions of saving lives that they had participated in, including defending the galaxy against outside threats.

It was Spiderman, the neighbourhood dubbed avenger, that tried their utmost to return stolen or lost bikes to their rightful owners, and protected banks from armed and overnight robberies. There was known to be something different about this particular hero, they were young and clearly had time to improve their skill set, for they were quite the clutz, and spoke significantly more to those he faced off against than what was necessary.

But this one hero, stood out amongst the rest. Not only was their suit designed by Stark technology, as you had written about in a work article, but it was far more concealing, and not to mention restricting, for the person beneath the red concoction to wear. Yes, you were in town for a new job, specifically to delve into the details that regards the world of heroes, and exploit all possible angles to how they deserved as much recognition for their stunts, as the president received for his noble speeches.

“I-“ you paused, think back over what you were preparing to say. It was without a doubt, that you had not expected the vigilante to appear in your spectacle gaze the first time that you stepped foot on the premises that he roamed, and protected. But here the spider enthusiast was, leaping down to stand beside you, burdening you with more knowledge that you could use, such as the person beneath was not as tall as you had expected, and there was definitely no way you could see their true eyes through the shallow white cases that covered them.

That was something you could write about, and make various descriptive theories about. ‘Seeing in white vision, sparked by the purity that glazed their unknown signature irises, Spider-Man halts all with the sparing of their true self. They may have reasons for shielding their eyes, much like Daredevil, not needing to see when they are overcome with various other senses that convulse their body into attentiveness,” -no, that sounded absolutely terrible.

And not to mention, if you spread that horrid writing about, Murdoc would be ashamed of ever deciding to get your aid in uncovering the route of the villainous underworld, that had take over Hell’s Kitchen and turned it into their own ring for drugs and more. The battle of New York had many repercussions, that being one, another influencing you into the career choice of being said reporter that you now proclaimed yourself as.

“Yeah, I am.” You responded with the company of a smile, and Peter swore he could feel his heart convulse beneath his suit. It’s pace was vaguely rapid, disheartening him from thinking of any more to say, he was practically speechless. “I’m looking for New York Times, you ever heard of it?” Yes, he most definitely had, it was the average run of the mill newspaper company, though, he did not know that you intended to change that into something much more.

“Funnily enough I have.” He scratched the back of his head, his arm subconsciously flexing as he did so, feeling like he had failed as your eyes remained focused on the wideness of his suit’s intense eyes. “It’s about three blocks from here, I could take you there if you want, I have nothing more to do.” From his proclamation you quirked a brow, crossing your arms amusedly.

“Don’t you have a city to watch over?” You asked, watching as Spider-Man’s false eyes widened, and he visibly panicked, realising that you had been right. “I’ll find my way, I’ve been to New York, many a time, Queens is bound to be a piece of cake. Also, a map is always handy.” A shrug rippled off your shoulders, Peter watching and walking closer as he thought of something more to add to the initial acquainting conversation.

“I’m Spider-Man.” Inwardly, and beneath his mask, Peter cringed noting how his voice rose, and it could be perceived as boasting. That though was definitely not his intent in the slightest, but he worried of how it may have come across to you. He wasn’t sure how you may have read it as, but a swarm of relief filled his lungs as he watched the corner of your eyes crinkle up, humoured by the tone of his that had significantly heightened. “Im a guy by the way.”

He felt the need to state that, especially considering people’s perceptions in the past. But instantly after saying it, he was regretful, through, he had to admit, he enjoyed listening to you laugh, it was like a melody that he wanted to listen to until the end of time. “You’re a guy?” You released a dramatic gasp, aiding your phoney response. “Yeah, no. I completely thought that you were a girl.” Sarcasm, he had well gotten used to frequency of it thanks to Mr Stark, who... well, he wasn’t around any more.

“You’re funny.” He smiled, shaking his head whence he realised that you could not see his hidden expression. “I don’t know, maybe, would you like to go to coffee with me, if you have time before you have to get to the news place? I mean, I don’t drink that much coffee, I get told that if I have too much caffeine that I get a little hyper, but I mean, I’m trying to ask you out and I have a really bad track record of-“

“Sure.” You spoke, ignoring the map that had finally loaded onto the screen of your phone. It was to your luck that you weren’t required to make your presence known at the business until tomorrow, and there was always time to kill, so you thought screw it, and decided to find it so that you didn’t get lost the approaching day. “Are you going to be wearing that, or you know, take it off?” You pointed at him, making peter surprised.

“It’s not that kind of date.” He quickly responded. “I meant just for a drink, not to hook up in the back of an a- oh, you meant the suit, didn’t you.” With a roll of your eyes, you nodded, pursing your lips together, as Peter felt the rain of relief once more. “Oh, that’s good, not that I wouldn’t want to, you’re gorgeous, that just wasn’t my intent and I’m rambling again, aren’t I?”

“Basically.” You wrinkled your nose, with a laugh, the way you scrunched it up was adorable to Peter. “So I’ll meet you here in two hours, I’ll let you finish up your duties, and change into something that doesn’t make you look you’re wearing a thong, because I can tell you from experience that those things are not comfortable. That good for you Spidey?”

“That works.” He spoke, trying his best to contain his overflowing excitement, biting his lip to do so. “That definitely works.”

“Hi.” The familiar voice of Spider-Man spoke, and you turned around, watching as a young man, not much different in age from yourself rounded the corner. He was clothed in a blue and white chequered flannel, and grey jeans, and you had to say, that whilst the amazing Spider-Man was quite the sight, this was something else.

“Oh, I was waiting for a girl actually.” You informed him, clearly messing with him, as you walked closer, a stretching smile pinning up the corners of your lips. “But I guess you’ll do webslinger.” He could feel his heart racing, but he walked closer, watching as you eyed him, a stranger met with the sight of a vigilante unmasked. “Where to, red and blue?”

“There’s this really good place on main, they sell the best sandwiches. And trust me, once you buy from there, you won’t stop...” the two of you began to walk away together, and towards Peter’s secret destination, where the two of you learnt the others real name.

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elsewhereuniversity · 3 years

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The fae didn’t really understand time as mortals did. The thing that lived under the glade certainly didn’t. It was vaguely aware that sometimes humans came and sometimes they left, and when they came that was a Fresh Man, and when they left that was a Graduation. It was less clear on the finer details, but what it boiled down to was an ever changing variety of prey to sniff out and play with. That was all most humans were to it; something to hunt for food or entertainment, whichever struck its fancy.

Most of the creatures it was acquainted with, then, would see it preparing for the party and assume it was hungry (or bored, as the case may be). They would be wrong. True, it wouldn’t turn down a snack, if it was convenient, but it had other plans for the night as well. Rosalind’s graduation party was supposed to be a small, intimate get-together for those who knew Rosalind best. It had decided that after three and a half years of surveillance, it was one of those who knew Rosalind best, and invitation or not, it deserved to be there.

So here it was, disguised as a handsome youth with dark hair and glittering brown eyes, walking towards the clearing in the forest as if it possessed one of the few invitations Rosalind had seen fit to send out. Someone stopped it just as the lights came into view.

“Sorry, I need to see your invitation-” the girl began, hand already on a poker thrust through a belt. The creature turned its gaze to her, giving its best imitation of a friendly smile. It probably looked grotesque, but the glamor did its work, and the girl withdrew her hand, looking slightly dazed. “Oh- never mind…” she trailed off, as if expecting a name. It would need one of those, it supposed.

“Windcutter,” it said, gracing the girl with another smile. She blushed, waving it through. It was that easy. It was always that easy. It frowned for a second. Was something strange? It dismissed that thought nearly immediately. It was just imagining things, distracting itself from the reason it was here.

The newly christened Windcutter swept its gaze around the party. There were little lights in glass bubbles- faerie lights, he remembered dimly from some conversation. The mood lighting was entirely lost on something with perfect night vision, but it highlighted Rosalind’s face as she hopped down from a tree, brushing off her clothes. Unconsciously, Windcutter’s hand went to its shoulder as phantom pain tingled down the equivalent of its arm.

It was supposed to be easy. The mortals’ minds did most of the work for it; once they hit the glamor, they would fabricate details to cover up any of the little holes. The trick, it had learned, was to add some mild imperfections- these days, the students were wary of anyone too pretty. It had worked for- well, for however long it had been before Rosalind came along.

She was Gar then, one of the Fresh Men, and her roommate had been Koi. Oddly, it barely remembered what Koi smelled like, just that when it saw her at a party, it had deigned it the superior of the two. It had been simple to flirt with her, throw up enough charm that anything it said would attract it, that no warning bells had gone off.

And when Gar had left the party, gone into the back alley, and found it with what remained of Koi, it had been child’s play to send a wave of glamor at her so strong that it wouldn’t have been surprised if Gar had let it consume her as well. It was, understandably, a little surprised when Gar pulled a solid-iron knife and stabbed it. The surprise was nothing compared with the pain, though, and it had… well. It was embarrassing, but it had run, crawling under the glade to metaphorically lick its wounds. It had been mildly perturbed to find that even after it healed, any form it took had a little silver line of scar on the shoulder.

That was how the story ended, somehow. Gar had turned to the knights, and then turned herself to a knight. Somewhere along the way she became Rosalind, and all along the way the creature watched the mortal being that had wounded it for the only time in its long, long life. Its feelings were somewhere between fear and fascination- it had never bothered to follow up on any mortal before, but it had watched as Rosalind declared her major (in “biology”, but everyone knew she was Forbidden Major), had chartered a truce between some of the forbidden majors and the courts, had disappeared for three weeks and reappeared looking haggard but none the worse for wear. This was its last chance to see her up close, so for tonight, it was not hunting. It was… mingling.

It approached one of the party guests milling around. The boy smiled at it as it lightly prodded its influence to surround him.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s…”

“Windcutter,” Windcutter supplied.

“Right, Windcutter, from…”

“School."

"Windcutter from school,” he said, blinking and nodding. “I remember, yeah. How are you?”

This close, Windcutter could see the freckles on his face, smell the sweat on him, and it had to remind itself that it was there to see Rosalind, not to hunt. The boy was still smiling, it realized, waiting for it to answer as it stared hungrily at him.

“I am well,” it said, a truthful answer. “And you?”

“Looking forward to the rest of the night,” he said, leaning conspiratorially towards Windcutter. “I think you’ll really enjoy it.”

“Bond,” said a clear voice that Windcutter had listened to for three years, “are you monopolizing…”

“Windcutter,” Windcutter said again, turning the full force of its smile to Rosalind. Once again, it had the nagging feeling that something was off, and it had to resist the urge to scratch its shoulder.

“Are you monopolizing Windcutter?” Rosalind finished.

“Not if you want to talk to them,” Bond said. He flashed another charming smile at Windcutter, who made a mental note to see if he could be lured into the woods. “I’ll just go take care of other business, shall I?”

“Sure,” Rosalind said, rolling her eyes. “And make sure that the guards are on alert!” she yelled after his retreating form.

“Guards?” Windcutter said, tilting its head coquettishly to one side. It was just as well that it had glamor to cover for it- it could never remember how far humans were supposed to be able to do that. “Is something the matter?”

“Well, friend,” Rosalind said, then squinted quizzically at it. “Did I never tell you about this?”

“I believe not.”

“Huh.” She looked down. “Well, my friend, this may sound crazy, but I believe that something has been watching me for the past few years.”

“Watching you?” It could have laughed.

“It sounds farfetched, yes, but… I can feel its eyes on me, sometimes. I think I know what it is, too.”

“Do tell,” it purred.

“Do you remember my roommate?”

“Koi, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Rosalind looked away. “Koi. Well, something took her freshman year.”

“How terrible.” It couldn’t decide if it was relieved or disappointed; relieved it was in no danger, disappointed that Rosalind was so far below its estimation.

“I found her,” Rosalind said. “And that thing standing over her. It tried to make me… I don’t really know. Forget, or stop caring, but I was so angry that it just washed over me, and I stabbed it, and it ran.”

“How brave of you.” The creature shifted in place slightly. Something was definitely strange here. It felt… it didn’t know. Something.

“I didn’t really have much choice,” Rosalind said with a laugh. She drew a sword, idly flipping it in her hand. “It was instinct. I think if it was anything else, I wouldn’t be here today. Whatever it did- did you know, somehow it had managed to make her take off her iron and salt?”

The creature knew, of course it did, it-

Wait.

Rosalind was no fool. She couldn’t be, in order to have lived this long as a knight or a Forbidden Major. Protection was basic enough that even the newest and most naive knew to have it, to demand to see it.

And it had gotten this far without any protection at all. No lines of salt, no running water, nothing. The fact they hadn’t touched it with iron or salt could be put down to its power, but not the basic, rudimentary safety procedures for an outdoor party.

Alarm bells started ringing in Windcutter’s head. Who held a party outside, in the woods, in the dark?

“We were close, did you know that?” Rosalind continued. She still wasn’t looking at it. “She even told me her true name. Trusting to a fault."

"I… should go,” Windcutter said. It had ignored its instincts for too long. Something was wrong.

“It was Rosalind,” Rosalind said. “I never forgot.” And then, finally, she met its eyes.

Windcutter jerked back, a hiss of revulsion bubbling from its throat. It was not Rosalind’s eyes in her face: they glittered as if cut from gems, and, worse, it knew somehow that she could see it, really, see it. It felt suddenly like a butterfly pinned to paper, trying to squirm away from that horrible perception. It turned, still hissing, to see Bond returning, armed with a spear. He wasn’t smiling anymore, and now that it was looking, it realized that his eyes glittered similarly. All of the partygoers eyes did, they- they could all see it-

“A little deal with the Spring Queen,” Rosalind said conversationally behind it. “Three weeks of my time to serve her, and for every day, an hour of Sight and a clear mind for someone at my little soiree.”

It bolted then, half-mad with the eyes of the party boring into it. It sprinted into the woods, then screamed as it hit the salt line, scrambling back on burning feet. Of course there was a salt line now. They had lured it in.

“Tell me,” Rosalind said as it whirled. She was on guard now, sword out and willing. “Why did you watch me?”

“Never been hurt before,” it said, the truth being dragged out almost against its will. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be above its prey.

“Really.”

“You’re leaving soon,” it said. Offering a deal was something it hadn’t done before, but it needed a way out, and Rosalind’s speech had given it an idea. “Let me out and I can promise you you’ll forget what happened to her. You can let go of the anger.”

“Who told you I was leaving?” Rosalind smiled, all teeth and no friendliness. “My classes are over, but I’m staying. Someone has to make sure beasts like you don’t hunt for too long.”

The creature hadn’t ever really had to fight; nobody had armed themselves against it, after all. Its claws slid out almost involuntarily as the fear and rage flowed through it, rendering it incapable of human speech. It hissed again defiantly.

“That’s right,” Rosalind said, her voice almost hypnotically soothing. “It’s you or me. One of us leaves tonight, the other one stays here forever.” Without moving her eyes from the creature, she jerked her head over her shoulder. “The salt line has a break in it behind me. Get through me, and you can leave.”

Frightened, cornered, the creature growled deep in its throat and unthinkingly sprang.

-bean

#stories #long post #bean #rosalind #windcutter #the knights #oh i loved this #bond #the forbidden majors #submission

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alrighty-anubis · 3 years

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I would never be angry at you (Anakin & Obi-Wan)

2No Warnings Apply

During a game of twenty questions Anakin finds out that his master isn't the perfect Jedi. This sparks his confession about the Tusken Raiders and his marriage to Padme.

(Mentioned Obi-Wan X Cody)

Find it on AO3

Obi-Wan entered their shared quarters and flopped onto his bunk, all the grace of a Jedi Master replaced with exhaustion.

“Bad day?” Anakin asked, words mumbled by his mouth stuffed full with sweets.

“Yes.”

This was an under-exaggeration, Anakin thought, if the man hadn’t told him off for talking with food in his mouth.

Obi-Wan pulled his outer-robes and boots off before reaching under his bed.

“What is that?”

“Wine.”

“That does not look like wine, Master-”

“It's from Bail. Old, strong and illegal in 12 systems.”

“Master,” Anakin drawled out, knowing his tolerance was nothing compared to the other’s and if Obi-Wan admitted it was strong…

Obi-Wan sighed and reached behind the drawers, retrieving another (Anakin-friendly) bottle.

“How did you know that was there?”

“I’m your Master, you can’t hide things from me.”

“Why didn’t you confiscate it, then?” Anakin asked, confused by his rule-following Master allowing Anakin to stash alcohol - he’d been using that space since he was 15.

“You’re an adult now, Anakin. And quite frankly I was just glad you had friends.”

“Hey-” _________

Anakin and Obi-Wan were leaning against each other on his bunk.

“I know,” Anakin smirked, “How about we play a game.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan looked down at Anakin.

“Twenty questions.”

Obi-Wan let out a breath laugh of amusement. “Okay, then. When was the last time you tested Ahsoka on her cultural studies?”

Anakin scowled.

“Well, you’re lucky I’ve been taking over the theory instruction of our Padawan.”

“My Padawan.”

“When she’s misbehaving.”

“Hey! Anyway, I have a question. Would you rather kiss Windu or Plo Koon?”

“It's Master’s Windu and Koon” Obi-Wan corrected.

“So you don’t mind speculating about which one you’d kiss, but the lack of ‘Master’ is where you draw the line?”

“I would kiss Plo, he is a dear friend of mine and quite frankly not as scary.”

Anakin laughed, “You’re afraid of Windu?”

“Like you aren’t," Obi-Wan feigned thinking before planting a smirk on his face, "Okay, what is your Grievous tactic?”

“How do you know that?” Anakin burst out.

“I just have a second sense when it comes to your stupidity,”

“I swear if Rex told you-”

“Wrong trooper.”

“Wrong trooper! Which other ones have you been hanging out with? Wait. Are you stealing my men?”

Obi-Wan just smiled.

“Fine. Ahsoka sits on my shoulders and we wield four sabers like him.”

“By the force, Anakin -”

“We spin them manically and-”

“Wait. Where did you get the fourth lightsaber?” Obi-Wan interrupted

Anakin grew quiet, his voice reluctant, “Sometimes Cody doesn’t return it to you immediately, and we both know he’s weak to Ahsoka’s tooka eyes, like most of the men,” Anakin trailed off. Just as Obi-Wan was going to scald him he carried on, “What would you do if you weren’t a Jedi?”

Obi-Wan decided to let go of his line of questioning in hopes of avoiding going grey early. “I don’t know - I’d want to help people. I could say something rather Jedi-like, such as work the land. But I’m afraid I was put off that when I was sent to the Agricorps. Realistically, I’d probably still be a general as I am now - just without a lightsaber. As much as I hate war and the bloodshed that comes with it - I am rather good at it. As much as I try to be the perfect Jedi, my skills lay in an area which juxtaposes that. It is ironic, I suppose, that I was never meant to be a Jedi Knight, I become one anyway, and then my speciality recognised by the Council is the furthest thing from peace.”

“What?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed on his glass and his signature resonated with shame, “I had planned on never telling you that. But it just felt like you needed to know. I’m sorry if I’ve shattered your image of me.”

Anakin’s face lit up with relief, “You’re not perfect”, he breathed out.

“No,” Obi-Wan’s low chuckle was exasperated and self loathing, “No, Anakin, I’ve never been perfect.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

“Because I was ashamed of my past, still am. I was a run-of-the-mill youngling: too much anger and too much pride. No Masters wanted me and I was sent to the Agricorps.”

“What do you mean no Master wanted you? You and Qui-Gon were so close!”

Obi-Wan looked down and moved away from Anakin. “We weren’t as close as you think, these memories are from when you were young and naïve. We were too different, we fought and I always knew he didn’t want me. You saw how quickly he threw me away for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You were the best thing to come from him,” Obi-Wan’s voice was steeped in a resentment that Anakin had never thought possible.

“You were angry. As a youngling”

“Very much so. Anger and attachment were always my biggest pitfalls. I’ve worked hard on them, but I’m afraid my issues with attachments have grown rather than disappeared.”

Anakin smiled at that, taking Obi-Wan’s hand, “You know, I never realised how much like me you were. Nearly as much as a disappointment to the Jedi.”

Obi-Wan laughed, body shaking as a smile replaced his reminiscent scowl, “Well, only one of us has left the order.”

“You’re joking”

“No, Melida/Daan. Qui-Gon wouldn’t stay to help the children in the war. I did.”

“Your experience being a General before this?”

“Yes.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, comfortable in each other's presence. But as Anakin stewed in the other’s words his anxiety leaked into the force.

“This could have really helped me when I was a Padawan.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It was selfish to want to maintain the way you saw me - the perfect Jedi.”

“I always compared myself to you, looked up to you, I resented you for a bit because of it.”

“I know. And I knew at the time. I was not the Master you needed.”

“You were the best Master you could be,”

Obi-Wan laughed self-deprecatingly.

“No, Master, I mean it. You weren’t the problem. I was,” Anakin paused and wringed his hands as he considered his next words, “My anger was-is a problem. I have done things I regret and that you would hate me for.”

Obi-Wan’s shock at that statement had him sitting straight and placing a hand on Anakin’s cheek, “No, Anakin, I could never hate you, never, you’re my Padawan. I love you.”

Anakin recoiled from the touch, not believing he deserved his Master’s love at this moment. A man so ashamed of leaving the Jedi to save children in a way zone as a Padawan. Anakin had much worse things to be ashamed of. Things he didn’t think Obi-Wan could ever even imagine himself doing. Tears gathered in his eyes as he looked down at his lap through his lashes.

“I killed the Tusken Raiders. They hurt my mother - she’s dead - and I killed them all,” the tears began streaming down his cheeks.

“Oh, oh, Anakin, dearest” Obi-Wan whispered.

Anakin couldn’t stand that tone. He stood up and began passing. Eyes puffy and hands shaking, he began to shout, “I cut them down and felt nothing. The children - they screamed for their mothers - like I had - and I cut them down like animals. I hated them. And the dark, the dark it curled around me - it was like someone was choking me and cutting me off from my body and my emotions like I was a puppet killing them all.”

He grabbed his hair tightly in his hands and pulled, sinking down to the ground, “I killed them, I killed them,” it was as if the fog had cleared and Anakin was realising this for the first time.

“Hey,” Obi-Wan stepped forward and gently grasped his Padawan’s wrists, trying to untangle his hair from his unyielding grip, “Anakin, stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I hurt them.”

“Yes, you did. And you can’t change that,” Obi-Wan took a calming breath and repressed his shock and upset, his Padawan looked so small and this darkness wasn’t all his own.

“Anakin, what you did was wrong and entrenched in darkness. But you are light. This action hasn’t changed that. And I do not think it happened without influence. But Anakin, so many Jedi struggle with the dark. We have the power to enact our own judgement and no one can stop us. That is why we need to stop ourselves. And this time you didn’t. You can’t bring back the Tuskens, but you can let go of your anger and make sure this won't happen again.”

“I don’t know how to let it go.”

“Oh, Anakin-”

“It is so deep inside me, tangled with all the light,” Anakin let Obi-Wan take his hands away from his hair, staring far into his eyes, “Master, help.”

“I wish I had seen this sooner. Anakin, tomorrow morning we will start. We will meditate together and I can guide you.”

“Please, I’m sorry.”

“I know, dear one,” Obi-Wan collected Anakin into his arms.

“Will you tell the council?”

“No, at least not for now.”

“They will kick me out and then I’ll have to leave you and Ahsoka and Rex and-”

“Anakin, if they expelled you we would all follow.”

“Oh. Why won’t you tell them?”

“I don’t trust them to judge the situation fairly, there is something not quite right in the council. They’re stuck in ways from times which have long passed. And Quinlan and I may be doing some under the radar investigating that which is influencing and amplifying your darkness may help.”

“You’re both taking a mission they’ve denied.”

“They can’t deny that they don’t know about.”

Anakin smiled for a moment in the comfortable silence before sombering again. “I thought you’d be angry at me,” Anakin whispered.

“No,” sadness filled Obi-Wan as he gently took Anakin’s face into his hands and placed a kiss on his forehead, “No, my Padawan, I could never be angry at you.”

He pulled a blanket to him with the force and wrapped them in it, “I wish you had told me, but I wasn’t the most approachable Master. I put walls between us unintentionally, to protect myself I guess, and you. I didn’t want you to grow attached. I knew I was and wanted to spare you the judgement and the pain. I wasn’t a good role model so part of me felt better when you despised me in your late teens. I’m truly sorry I wasn’t a better Master, Anakin. But know now, you can tell me anything and I will always love you. I raised you, all parts of you.”

“I’m sorry.” Anakin’s eyes were dry, but red and puffy, he had run out of tears and exhaustion hit him. “I’m also married to Padme.”

“I know,”

“I broke the code again.”

“Yes, but that is the order’s code - not the Jedi's.”

Anakin looked at him in confusion.

“You know, I am in a relationship of sorts with Cody.”

Anakin burst out of the blanket in shock, suddenly very awake, “Cody!”

“I thought it was obvious, even the council knows, unofficially of course. Another reason they make life harder for our lineage.”

“I didn’t know.”

“-Because you were trying so hard to conceal your own relationship. I mean, you mentioned only earlier that he carried my lightsaber.”

“I didn’t think it meant anything.”

“Aren’t I always telling you that your lightsaber is your life?”

Over the shock of the new information, desperately trying not to think about Cody and his Master, Anakin asked: “How did you know about Padme and me?”

“Everyone knows, you’re not very subtle.”

Anakin huffed in annoyance.

“It's okay, Anakin. I forgive you for everything. I only ask that you forgive me for not making sure you understood the rule of attachment and for not teaching you my own interpretation.”

“What I have to forgive you for is nothing compared to what I did.”

“And yet I forgive you. I always will so long as you realise that you were wrong and want to do better. I think we forget that the Jedi code is not what we should or can be, but an ideal we should strive for, to be as close to as we can.”

“What do you think about not allowing love?”

“I think you mean not allowing attachment. Love and attachment are different. Love is selfless, attachment selfish - something that would lead you to do anything to keep those that are yours. Attachment is possessive, love is not.”

Anakin looked as if the origins of the universe had been revealed.

“Some Jedi believe we should not love, for love leads to attachment. But to be a Jedi is to live enveloped by the force, to welcome all aspects of it. Not to command it, like the dark, but to embrace it. The force is life, and loving is such a fundamental aspect of life that to ban it is to sensor a huge chunk of the force. Jedi are taught to be compassionate, and I believe it is only by loving truly, selflessly and in a way open to all life forms that we can truly be so to all.”

“How do you stop love becoming attachment?”

“I don’t know - it's never been my strong suit. If you were taken I would tear cities apart to find you, just as you would for Ahsoka - and I would too.”

“I would for you as well.”

“I’m not sure if I should say thank you or not. I know that I would not react in a very Jedi way. I have these attachments and they won't go, and I’m not willing to work on letting them go. But if you were ever to be killed, which I pray to the force doesn’t happen, I would have to accept it. It would kill me to do so, but I would - eventually. And I have in the past. I think, the law of attachment, is recognising that you are attached but building boundaries that you won't cross. I may be angry, but I would try my hardest not to let go and act on it. I would think about how you wouldn’t want me to fall. Although this is all easier said than done.”

“I can love Padme, you, Ahsoka, Rex, my men and my droids and do everything in my power to not let them get hurt so long as I don’t hurt others in the process.”

“Yes. We are not judges. Nor do we have any right to execute our will because of our emotions. But we do have a right to feel those emotions. For example, I would travel anywhere to save you, but not if it put the lives of all my men at risk. I am responsible for them, and my attachments aren’t theirs.”

Anakin nodded and tears welled in his eyes, “I want to be like that. Good. Like you. But I wasn’t. How do I know that I will be next time?”

“You know that you can talk to me, or at least I hope you do,” Obi-Wan stood up.

“Yes,” Anakin took the other’s hand and was pulled upright, they headed towards Anakin’s bunk where Obi-Wan unceremoniously plonked him, “When did you get so wise, Master?”

“I always have been,” Obi-Wan chuckled, “You’ve just never listened before.”

Obi-Wan returned to his own bunk and laid down, closing his eyes. Just as he began to drift off Anakin woke him, “Wait, all those nighttime council meetings that were too secret for me to attend, were you fucking Cody?”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan scalded before a blush sprayed across his cheeks, “Yes, but unlike you and Padme I enjoy the illusion of discreteness.”

“Ugh, Master, I didn’t need to know that.”

“You asked,” Obi-Wan sounded all too amused at his Padawan’s disgust. “Now rest. I’m sure tomorrow will be exhausting.”

“And yet you always tell me meditating is restful.”

“Not when you’re complaining the whole way through.”

“I won’t, I promise. Not for this. Good night, Master.”

“Good night, Anakin.”

Words: 2600

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ineedapuppyandsomevodka · 3 years

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Valentine's Day prompt?

Buck being super romantic and buying eddie a big bouquet and fancy chocolate. It's not really a prompt but eddie deserves flowers.

For you, my love.

Buck and Eddie have a date. On Valentine’s Day.

This wouldn’t be such a big deal if the last time Buck went on a Valentine’s date didn’t end up with him in the hospital because he choked on a piece of bread. He really, really doesn’t want to repeat that experience again, thank you very much.

To say that he’s nervous... well, he’ll openly admit that he is. He’s been nervous all week because Eddie is the one who asked him out. It wasn’t just your run of the mill “Hey, Buck, do you want to hang out on Valentine’s day this year? Like as bros?”

No, God isn’t that kind. Buck could handle hanging out as bros on Valentine’s day, no problem.

Instead, the other night, after Christopher had gone to bed and they were chilling on the couch with a couple of beers in hand, Eddie asked him if he would be his Valentine.

Part of Buck wants to claim that Eddie was under the influence of alcohol, that it was a joke, that Eddie wasn’t serious about it.

But then Eddie got nervous when they were on shift together next. Whenever they were alone, just the two of them, Eddie would ask where Buck wanted to go, if he wanted the date to be fancy or not, just trying to figure out what they were going to do on their Valentine’s date.

On their first date.

Look, Buck isn’t going to come out here and say that he’s been in love with him since the day that he and Eddie met. He’s not.

Buck and Eddie have a date. On Valentine’s Day.

No, God isn’t that kind. Buck could handle hanging out as bros on Valentine’s day, no problem.

Instead, the other night, after Christopher had gone to bed and they were chilling on the couch with a couple of beers in hand, Eddie asked him if he would be his Valentine.

Part of Buck wants to claim that Eddie was under the influence of alcohol, that it was a joke, that Eddie wasn’t serious about it.

On their first date.

Look, Buck isn’t going to come out here and say that he’s been in love with him since the day that he and Eddie met. He’s not.

Bucks not exactly sure when he fell in love with Eddie.

It wasn’t love at first sight by any means. No, that would have been too easy.

He didn’t wake up one day and decide that he loves him.

It happened slowly, like the way that snow melts at the top of the mountain, turns into a stream that turns into a creek. That creek turns into a river that floods its way through valleys and rips its way down waterfalls.

For Buck, it started out small. It might have even started as a flurry in the sky, minuscule and cold. Then, as the seasons changed, it warmed and, slowly made its way out to sea.

It probably would have been a little easier to process if it was love at first sight or if he just woke up one day and knew that he was in love with Eddie.

Maybe then he wouldn’t have taken quite so long to come to terms with it. Maybe if he had just known, he wouldn’t have spent so much time second-guessing it. Maybe he would have been able to tell him sooner.

The thing about Eddie is he’s thoughtful in ways that Buck has never experienced. He invites Buck along on adventures with Christopher. He invites him over just because and makes sure that Buck is comfortable. He pulls Buck out of his comfort zone, and if he’s honest he didn’t realize he had very many of those left.

Eddie leaves Christopher with his Abuela when he thinks there’s something going on with Buck, especially now, after the lawsuit. He sits down with him over beers and he has this inexplicable way of making Buck feel seen and heard.

If Buck thinks about it long enough, Eddie has shown him throw small acts of love how he loves him. Whether or not it’s a familial type of love, Buck isn’t sure.

What Buck is sure about though, is Eddie made the first move. He’s not the type of person to try to one-up Eddie, by any means, but if Eddie is going through the effort to make the evening special, then by God, is Buck going to try and make it special too.

Maybe, just maybe, Buck is thinking too hard about everything. Maybe this isn’t love that he’s feeling. Maybe the date is just a stupid joke. Maybe Eddie doesn’t actually like him, he just doesn’t want to be alone on Valentine’s Day... again.

Look, Buck also doesn’t want to be alone on Valentine’s day. It’s hard enough having to walk through Target and see all of the shelves lined with red and hearts and enough chocolate to put someone in a coma.

There is a good rebuttal for this being a stupid joke, too. Eddie isn’t cruel. Buck knows Eddie, on a deep and fairly intimate level. You don’t spend years of your life working with someone in such close proximity and not pick up on a trait like that.

If it isn’t love, then what is it?

Look, Buck cared for Abby, sure. He had feelings for Ali that felt pretty close to love. He loves his sister, he loves his team, his family.

Whatever he’s feeling, he’s not sure he’s ever felt it before. These feelings are for Eddie.

He just hopes that Eddie feels the same.

So, Buck gets dressed up. He puts on a white button-down shirt, his best pair of slacks, (that he recently got tailored, thank you very much), and a red tie. He puts on a nice pair of dress shoes that have been sitting in his closet for a while and an overcoat just to complete the look.

Was this too much? It felt like, with Eddie, this could be too much.

Oh well, he was dressed. He wasn’t going to wear sneakers out on their first date, even if he didn’t know where they were going.

On his way over to Eddie’s, he stops at the store. He gets two obnoxious bouquets of flowers, one for Eddie and one for Carla, who is watching Chris tonight. He picks out some chocolates and picks up a few cards, with every intention of writing some sort of over-the-top, cheesy message in them. They deserved it.

He also picks up a stuffed dinosaur that’s holding a heart that says be mine for Christopher, because he immediately thought of him when he saw it and the kid deserves to be spoiled every now and then.

He checks out at the store, then hops in his Jeep. He pulls out a pen from his work bag and pulls out Christophers card first.

Chris, I think you are dinomite, and you make my heart saur Love, Your Bucky

He adds a few little hearts on the envelopes and puts Christopher’s valentines together in one bag before he moves on to Carla’s card.

He pulls out Carla’s card, which simply says I LOVE YOU on the front because it’s Carla. He could tell her that he loved her without it being weird. Carla was Carla and she made sure that everyone in her life knew that they were loved. He loves her to the moon and back. She’s been there for him through it all. He can only imagine how thrilled she is to be watching Chris tonight so that he and Eddie can actually go on a date, like she’s been hinting at for the last year or so, bless her.

Carla, Thanks for being there through it all. Thanks for always being a constant light in all of our lives. I hope you have a great Valentine’s day. You are the tricera-tops Love, Buck.

He kinda wants to stick to the dinosaur theme with Eddie, he’s just not sure how. He could just do something that’s cheesy in general, but he’s not entirely sure what to put. The card itself isn’t too sappy. It has two little cactus’ on it that says stuck on you, which he thought was pretty cute and not over the top. There were some that had full-on love declarations, and he was ready to throw the idea of getting Eddie a card completely out the window until he saw this one.

Buck was stuck on Eddie. He had been since he met him, but especially since he and Ali broke up. Eddie was there. He was there through his leg injury, he was there, pulling him out of bed after the embolism. He was there even after Buck almost lost his kid in a tsunami.

He sat there for a few minutes, trying to decide what to write on Eddie’s card. What works but isn’t too over the top? What will Eddie find cute and thoughtful?

Dear Eddie, I guess you can say that I’ve been stuck on you the last few years. You and Chris mean a lot to me, and I’m excited to actually go on a date with you. Looking forward to more in the future. Love, Buck.

P.S. You can thank google for this awful dinosaur pun (it was UNDER KIDS DINO PUNS I SWEAR). you give me a massive T-rextion.

Maybe the last part was a little too much, but it was Eddie after all. They share inappropriate jokes from time to time and Buck thinks he’ll think it’s funny.

He puts Eddie’s card and chocolates in another bag, then drives to the Diaz house.

He pulls into Eddie’s driveway beside his truck and heads up to the door. His palms are a little sweaty and he’s nervous. More nervous than he actually thought he’d be.

He doesn’t even make it to the door before it’s opened for him.

“Bucky!” Chris says with the biggest grin on his face.

“Hey, Superman, Happy Valentine’s Day,” Buck says and hands him the small bag of Valentine’s he got him.

“For me?” He asks, happily taking it.

“Yep,” Buck assures and steps into the house.

“Well, don’t you look nice,” Carla says with a grin, coming to help him with the door.

“These are for you,” he hums, handing Carla one of the bouquets.

“Oh, darling, you didn’t have to get me anything,” she says, taking them with a smile.

“Oh, and I got you this,” he says and hands her the bag of chocolates and the card he got for her.

“Thank you,” she says with a smile, walking into the kitchen with him. “He’s still getting ready.”

“Okay,” Buck says, feeling his cheeks flush pink.

“You look very handsome,” she tells him and pats his cheek.

“Thanks,” he says, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Do you want me to let him know you’re here?” She asks like she could sense how nervous he was. Why did Carla have to be so damn perceptive? He loves her.

“No, no, I can do it,” he says, but immediately regrets it. Was it weird to go into Eddies room to tell him that he was there? Should his mouth be this dry? Should he be this nervous?

Carla gives him a gentle push, and that’s all it takes for him to head in the direction of his bedroom. The door is shut, so he knocks on it.

“Come in,” he hears Eddie say from the other side, so he pushes it open and leans against the door frame.

“Hey,” Buck announces his arrival.

“Hey,” Eddie says, turning around with a smile on his face.

Eddie looks... he looks amazing. Buck can’t help but let his gaze linger over the suit that he’s wearing. It’s dark grey, the perfect contrast to Buck’s black, and he’s wearing a tie that is red and black striped, just hanging, waiting to be tied. The whole look is... it’s doing things to Buck.

“Wow, you look amazing,” Buck says before he horribly embarrasses himself by just staring. By the looks of it, Eddie is just as caught up in Buck’s attire.

“So do you,” Eddie says, reaching up to smooth down a few stray hairs.

“Thanks,” he replies with a soft smile. “Oh, here, these are for you,” he says, offering out the treats that he brought him. “There’s, uh, there are flowers in the kitchen for you too.”

“Buck, you didn’t have to buy me flowers,” he tells him earnestly, setting the gift bag on his dresser so that he could finish getting ready.

“I know, but I wanted to,” he says, then steps into his room to help him with his tie.

“Dad! Dad, look at what Bucky got me!” Chris says proudly, holding out the dinosaur Buck bought.

“Wow, míjo, that’s awesome,” Eddie says with a smile, then turns to give Buck an affectionate look. His heart melts a little for it.

“Thanks, Buck!” Chris says, coming into hug his legs. Buck lets go of Eddie’s tie and moves down to hug Christopher.

“Of course, buddy,” he smiles.

Eddie looks into his bag and pulls out the card. He smiles at the chocolates and sets them down on the dresser, pulling out his card.

He looks at the front of the card for a moment, then glances at Buck with a fond, loving expression before he opens it. His smile grows a little wider, and then he snorts, presumably when he reads the comment Buck wrote on the bottom.

“Thanks, Buck,” he says and pulls him into a hug.

“Of course, Eds,” he says, hugging him back.

Christopher pulls Buck out into the living room after that, so that Eddie can finish getting ready. It doesn’t take him much longer, seeing as though he was mostly put together, minus his shoes and his tie. Buck stands up when Eddie comes back into the living room, and ruffles Christopher’s hair.

“You ready?” Buck asks, looking at Eddie.

“Yeah, let me just grab my keys,” he says with a smile.

He grabs his keys from the island in the kitchen, then comes back with a grin on his face.

“What?” Buck asks, smiling back at him.

“Nothing, just the flowers,” he says, gesturing back. “Sunflowers are my favorite.”

Buck looks down at his feet, smiling bashfully. “I know.”

#mikayla writes #buddie valentines #prompts #buddie #fluff #nadine I love you

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madpanda75 · 4 years

Text

“Taking Chances Part 10: The Perfect Gift”

Part 10 is here! Not gonna lie, this chapter is short and not my best work but a necessary bridge to get to the climax of our story! Fair warning, it ends on a cliffhanger. Enjoy! ❤️

It was the Tuesday after the dramatic Carisi lunch. You typically had Mondays off from the gallery and after fucking Rafael senseless in front of the fireplace, it didn’t take much convincing on your part to get him to play hooky. The majority of your day was spent in bed— making love, browsing through Netflix, and eating Chinese takeout. It was a much needed escape from your chaotic lives and you still had a few more hours before reality set in.

The brilliant warm rays of the early morning sun peeked through your curtains. You languorously stretched your limbs, reveling in the sensation of your bare legs against the soft cotton sheets. With a long, drawn out yawn, you reached over to the nightstand for your cup of coffee and aimlessly flipped through a copy of the New Yorker. However your attention was otherwise preoccupied with a freshly showered Rafael walking around your bedroom with a towel hanging low around his hips. You nearly spilled your hot drink into your lap while counting the water droplets on Rafael’s bare chest, watching one droplet slide down his stomach towards his happy trail.

He let the towel drop to the floor and began to get dressed for work, arching his brow when he caught you perched on the edge of the bed staring at him with your jaw hanging wide open.

You blushed and cleared your throat. “Are you sure I can’t make you breakfast?”

“Thanks for the offer but I should try to get to the office early,” he said, holding up two ties for you to choose from.

You picked the silk violet tie. The purple hue brought out your boyfriend’s brilliant green eyes. “Ok, but promise me that you’ll eat something other than the stale pretzels at the precinct.”

“I promise.” Rafael gave you a quick peck on the lips and wrapped his tie around his neck when he realized that he was missing a key element to his wardrobe. “Where’s my shirt? I swore it was right here a min—” His search for the missing shirt came to a screeching halt when he noticed you were wearing it.

“Sorry babe.” A nervous giggle escaped your lips. “Who knew Armani made such comfortable clothes and besides I love how it smells.”

Rafael furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “How it smells?”

“Uh huh.” Your cheeks turned bright pink and you nervously fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “It smells like you.”

An warm, fuzzy feeling coursed through Rafael’s veins at your confession. He cupped your face and tenderly kissed you before pulling away. “If you love the shirt so much, then it’s yours.”

“Really?” You glanced down at his undershirt and the tie draped around his neck. “But what are you gonna wear?”

“I have a spare shirt in my office that I keep in case of emergency coffee stains.”

You beamed brightly and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Best boyfriend ever,” you murmured against his lips before kissing him.

He deepened the kiss, parting your lips with his tongue as his hands inched further down your back towards your ass. You moaned in response, feeling him squeeze your cheeks.

“Mi amor,” he said between kisses. “I have to go.”

“No. Five more minutes. Please,” you whined, pressing your body against his.

Rafael groaned, all the blood from his brain rushing towards his cock. You were playing a dangerous game. “If we keep this up in five more minutes I’m going to be between your legs, fucking you so hard that you’ll forget your own name.”

You nuzzled against his neck as your hand began to palm his growing erection. “Well they do say that testosterone is higher in the morning. Care to put that theory to the test?”

“Y/N,” he said in a warning tone.

With a sigh of defeat, you stopped. “Alright, can’t blame a girl for trying.” You planted one last chaste kiss on the tip of his nose and gently pushed him towards the door. “Go on. Get outta here.”

“I’ll see you later tonight.” He grabbed his jacket and left the bedroom only to return 30 seconds later. “I forgot something.”

“What did you—” Rafael cut you off with a passionate kiss causing you both to fall back on the bed. Your heart fluttered. You were so lost in the moment that you forgot how to breathe. You could taste him on your tongue. All too soon the kiss ended and you were left dazed with thoroughly soaked panties.

“I love you,” he purred and playfully nipped on your lower lip before leaving with a smug smile firmly planted on his face.

“Love you too,” you mumbled and held up the shirt to your nose, inhaling deeply.

*****

A few hours later you were sitting in the small studio at the back of the gallery, dotting leaves onto a canvas. You skipped to the next song on your playlist and stepped back to analyze your work. The painting was of a large, vibrant tree in the center of a grey, bleak city. The tree was designed to look like Rafael. Its leaves matched the color of his eyes. Of course it wasn’t typical for trees to have seafoam green leaves but that was the beauty of art. You even tried to sketch his face in the trunk, its bark resembling his crooked smile and strong aquiline nose.

Underneath the tree stood the shadowy figure of a woman meant to be you. The tree’s branches were outstretched, gently caressing you, comforting you. In the palms of your hands, you cradled your heart, offering it to the tree as the only possession you had to give. In your opinion, it was the perfect depiction of your relationship. Rafael was your protector. With him, you felt loved, safe, hopeful for the future. He symbolized a new chapter in your life.

Your “Rafael-inspired” piece was meant to be a surprise, since the elusive search for the perfect art for his home was still ongoing. Lucky for him, inspiration struck one rainy Saturday several weeks ago. Well, lazy for you. Rafael was busy typing away on his laptop. Snuggling against him with the rain pattering against the window, a flood of emotions washed over you. The next day you woke up before dawn, grabbed your brushes and paint and snuck over to the studio.

From above the sound of your music playing through your headphones, you heard the door open and turned your head to see your coworker, Phoebe, walk in.

“Bonjour, ma petite aubergine!” she said in a tone that was way too chipper for 8:30 in the morning.

You snorted a laugh and turned off your music. “Good morning, my little eggplant?” you repeated the phrase.

“I love eggplant,” she replied with a shrug and went to stand behind you, surveying your work. “Hmmm… I like it.”

You made a face. “You sure? It’s not too cheesy?”

She hemmed and hawed for a moment before answering. “A little, but that’s ok. It's the good kind of cheesy.”

A sigh below past your lips. “You sure?”

“Absolutely,” she tried to reassure you. “And anyways, love makes people cheesy.” You blushed and went back to your painting while she milled around the room looking at your other pieces. “Ya’ know, there’s a new artist night at this gallery my friend works for. You should reach out to them. See if they’ll let you show your art. There are enough pieces here to choose from.” You opened your mouth to speak but she cut you off. “And before you say anything, I don’t wanna hear any excuses.” She gently took you by the shoulders and made you stand to face her. “You are incredibly talented and you should share that talent with the world while making a few bucks in the process.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you conceded, glancing back at your unfinished canvas.

Phoebe’s eyes widened. “I am? I mean, of course I am! Damn, this is the first time I’ve ever heard you consider doing a show. That Rafael guy must be a good influence on you.”

“Yeah, he’s the best.” You smiled, thinking back to earlier that morning.

“Speaking of which,”—she grabbed a spare chair and sat down, getting comfortable—“how did the whole ‘meet the parents’ scenario play out?”

You threw your head back and groaned. “Ugh, why did you have to remind me?”

“Uh-oh. Sounds like we’re gonna need coffee.” She stood up and grabbed her purse. “I’m gonna get a cappuccino from the cafe around the corner. Can I get you something?”

“An Americano and a cinnamon roll.”

“Be back in a flash. I wanna hear all about it. Family drama sustains me, especially when it’s not mine,” she teased before leaving.

You rolled your eyes and began to tidy up. While you stood at the sink, cleaning your brushes, watching the colors swirl and dissolve down the drain, you wondered if Rafael would like his surprise. You hoped he would. It took you hours to get just the right shade of green.

This gift was a big deal. Apart from your parents, you had never created a piece for anyone else. Your art was private. It was personal. Giving it away was like giving away a part of you. But you and Rafael were beyond that. This past weekend only confirmed what you had known from the moment he stepped into the gallery— that you were his, completely.

The sound of the door opening snapped you out of reverie. “That was fast, Phoebe,” you said over the running water. “I guess the cute barista wasn’t working today cause normally you spend a solid twenty minutes flirting before actually ordering your drink. I’m almost finished here. Give me a sec and then I can tell you about the worst Sunday lunch in the history of the Carisi family and that includes the time my Aunt Anita stabbed my Uncle Tony with a fork. ”

“Awww c’mon, babe. It wasn’t that bad,” said a voice that you recognized all too well.

Stunned, your hands froze, the brushes clanging against the sink. “This can’t be happening. Please, God don’t let it be him,” you thought, slowly turning around only to find your ex-fiancé standing right in the middle of your studio.

“Theo,” you stammered. “What are you doing here?”

He ignored your question and took a step towards you with a sinister smile that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

Tag List: @glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @mgarner1227 @dreila03 @frenchiefoxy @tropes-and-tales @thecraziestcrayon @goodluckfindingone @scarletsoldierrr @youreverycolor @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii @imagine-all-the-imagines @imjustreallynosy @graniairish @ashley-chi @lolacolaempath @cocomel0613 @mysterioustrashadventures @that-girl-named-alex @scapricciatello @mrsrafaelbarba @zizzlekwum @katierpblogg @crowleysqueenofhell @caked-crusader @garturbo @rachelxwayne

#rafael barba #rafael barba fanfic #rafael barba fic #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fan #barba #barba fanfic #barba imagine #barba x reader #law and order svu fanfic #law and order svu imagine #barba fic #taking chances

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ly-canthropewrites · 4 years

Text

Love or War

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 2998

Rating/Warnings: SFW. Brief mentions of previous season drama.

Summary: “I saw you staring at each other, I wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage”

You can feel the heavy gaze from across the field. Intense eyes fixated on your figure as you rattle the chain-wire fence that surrounds the newest section of Alexandria. The post-apocalyptic town has been thriving since the end of Negan’s reign and with the undead being the town’s only consistent antagonist, it has given the community an opportunity to expand their borders. The chain-mesh fence was scavenged from the Sanctuary before the community fell off the map and serves as a strong protector as the new plot of land gets tilled. But it remains fragile when leant against and it has become a daily task during guard duty to rid the walkers that stumble near the temporary fence, a job you jump at to vent your frustrations.

The deliberate noise draws the attention of the few walkers close by and they turn, growling as they catch your scent in the wind and they shuffle your way. It’s second nature now, muscle memory, to shift your grip on the knife handle and strike at their heads, using the fence for leverage and stability. The motions do nothing to quench the frustration and fire that rages inside you and you growl, yanking your knife from the last walker’s head with more force than necessary. The bloodied blade gets cleaned on the rag that is tied to your belt loops and then you are left with nothing to do, no more walkers to distract you from the boredom or the swirl of emotions that fester inside.

You find yourself glancing over in his direction, succumbing to the gravitational pull of the universe and you don’t find yourself surprised at all to find him still staring at you, a dark scowl painted across his face. You sneer back at him, standing strong with your own gaze.

“Stupid, fucking redneck,” you mutter under your breath and the fire that burns in your chest grows hotter, feeding off of your anger.

The swishing of grass on your left distracts you and you are met with Carol only a few feet from you. You nod at her, giving her a tight-lipped smile as well before turning to look at the perimeter, finding nothing in the wilderness has changed and you sigh.

“I saw you staring at each other, I wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage,” Carol says lightly, walking to your side and mirrors your stance; arms crossed and back straight.

You scoff, openly showing that you aren’t in the mood for her banter today but it doesn’t deter the older woman.

“Most definitely murderous rage” you grit.

“See, I don’t know about that - I see a lot of passion,” She teases.

You throw her a withering look, disdain heavy in your eyes and if Carol isn’t careful; some of that murderous rage will be pointed at her soon.

“So if it is murderous rage, how long are you going to remain angry at him?” Carol tries a gentler approach, obviously getting the message and you wince, guilt beginning to set in as you mentally chastise yourself about your unrestrained attitude.

Shrugging, you refuse to make eye contact with your old friend. “I don’t know Carol, he humiliated me,” you breathe.

“He didn’t mean too, he was worried,” Carol begins to defend him but when she sees you shaking your head and the flash of hurt across your face, she stops herself.

“But he did it anyway. He humiliated me, he berated me in front of everyone, undermined me, treating me as if I am some soft fucker who hasn’t been beyond the walls” you spit and you render the woman silent, unsure about what to say next.

When the silence between the pair of you becomes stagnant, Carol realises it’s time for her to leave and she steps back a few feet, mulling over her next words.

“Talk to him,” she pleads and you snort, “Fuck no,”.

Carol says your name in warning, making you roll your eyes. “I’m not fucking submitting. If he wants to talk, then he can man up and come to me with a goddamn apology,”.

You hear her heavy sigh behind you before her retreating footsteps, leaving you to stew in your malcontent alone. It is your stubborn pride and bruised feelings that prevent you from talking with your old companion, from making amends and burying the hatchet, an ideal that is important in this world because life is too short and unpredictable to be so petty. And yet, you cannot help yourself this time. He hurt you, deeply, a stinging wound that will take time to heal.

It’s not like you have done anything wrong in the first place. With the apocalypse a decade old, resources are unimaginably scarce, leaving only items that are grown, hunted or handmade to be used. It was commonplace for you to be the first person out of the gates in the morning and the last to return in the evening, spending hours and even days hunting, refusing to go back to Alexandria empty-handed. You are too stubborn for your own good, too arrogant in your capabilities to survive and adapt to the dangerous world. As a repercussion, your last run was almost the death of you.

Enemies are like hydras; one falls and another takes its place. Negan was once considered Alexandria’s greatest threat, but that fear was usurped by the latest peril; the Whisperers. Negan ruled with fear and violence. The Whisperers rule with death. Their ability to influence herds is an obstacle that the community does not know how to overcome. The capricious nature makes every run, every scouting mission, every patrol dangerous and life-threatening. Therefore, it became law that no-one is to go outside the metal walls without a group and without informing the council. It should have been expected that you would struggle with this rule, never been one to abide by strict regulations, but the thought slipped the minds of the council and you kept slipping outside the gates.

Your last run is a perfect example of why the rule is in place; you got caught by the herd with Whisperers dotted within. Perhaps they tracked you down or perhaps it was just shit luck that you ran into them, but it resulted in a fight for your life and an injury that planted fear on sight. It was sheer, dumb luck that allowed you to escape with your life; an old tree fell whilst you were in the midst of swiping at walkers and humans alike, and caused a great enough distraction that gave you the opportunity to bolt. You damn well shocked Rosita who stood on guard duty that evening as you came sprinting towards the main gates, coated in two types of blood and clutching at your side, out of breath with wild eyes.

That night you had Siddiq inform you that you got lucky the knife wound at your abdomen was free of infection but he was stern to chastise that only one hour more and you wouldn’t have made it, wound too deep to be stemmed by only pressure and the combination of exhaustion and blood loss would have defeated you. His words didn’t shake you that night, instead, you shrug nonchalantly and smirked, telling him that death in this world is inevitable and you would greet it like an old friend.

You refused to stay in the infirmary that night, scrunching your nose at the thought of being surrounded by sick people in a sterile environment, rather opting for the privacy of your own place. He was unable to stop you, letting you go with an armful of supplies and a sigh, watching you stagger down the pathway. You made it only halfway home before you were halted by a loud yell, the noise capturing the attention of not just you but the other residents that were milling in the nearby courtyard.

“What the fuck wer’ ya thinkin’?” Daryl yelled, storming towards you with a glare that would frighten Hades. “How fuckin’ stupid are ya?” he adds.

He berated you in public that night, practically screaming in your face about your stupidity, your lack of respect to the council and their rules, your selfishness and conceited attitude. He didn’t let you get a word in to defend yourself as he raged, words becoming harsher by the second. You could handle the words but it was the venom in his voice that surprised you. It was filled with so much anger, so much hatred and spite that you lost the words that you wanted to scream back at him. Instead, when he took a moment to catch his breath, you just walked away, your eyes on the ground as you stifled the bewildered cry that ached in your chest.

The incident happened two weeks ago and you haven’t spoken since, avoiding each other like the plague but the distance hasn’t stopped either of your from directing heated glares at each other, consequently deepening the rift in your friendship.

----

The guard changeover occurs on dusk and when your replacement comes, you greet them with a tight smile as you pass over the unused rifle before quickly leaving the post. You don’t head home after the shift and instead, you go down to the armoury with hopes that working maintenance on the weapons will distract you from the words Carol has lodged in your mind. Daryl worried? You scoff at the thought. In a previous time, those words would have made sense - you and Daryl have been partners in crime since the fall of the world, similar in too many ways and it made sense that you were friends. But after seeing the pure acrimony he directed at you, you fail to believe it stemmed from a place of compassion.

It was well past midnight when the doors to the armoury creaked open. It was probably someone on shift wanting to pick up more ammo or something alike. What you didn’t expect was to see the rugged hunter ease into the room. You stared at him with furrowed eyebrows and a twist in your lips, hands paused on the shotgun you were working on.

“You weren’t home when I knocked,” Daryl states simply, gruff voice a melody to your ears after the long radio silence.

“You know I don’t sleep when I’m alone,”

It’s true; you struggle to rest when there is no-one watching over you, a position that is usually filled by the man in front of you.

Daryl nods, biting down on the inner side of his cheek as he reflects. Of course you don’t, you never have and he knew that. The poignant silence weighs heavily between you and Daryl shifts uncomfortably, moving further into the room to take a seat on the chair that sits in front of the sole workstation. You never sat at the workstation, preferring to sit on the floor so you had more space to work with but at this moment, you hated how you were positioned lower than the man.

“Yer gonna use that thing on’ me?” There is a ghost of a sly smirk upon his lips, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes but you aren’t having it, you won’t befall to his sparse charm.

“Don’t tempt me, Daryl Dixon,’’

The full use of his name and the stern attitude makes Daryl wince, the severity of damage he inflicted to you now evident before him. He nods silently, gnawing anxiously at his lip as you both fall back and stew in silence. You resume cleaning the weapon in your hands, needing to keep busy in an attempt to distract your mind from the chaos that sits in front of you. Daryl watches you, this time without the hatred and disdain, but his gaze is just as heavy as before.

“Why are you here, Daryl?”

He notes the tiredness in your voice, not the physical exhaustion that is a permanent state in this new world, but the emotional weariness that burdens you.

“‘M here to apologise,”

“Are you here because Carol told you to or because you actually want to?”

His hesitation is a loud answer and you scoff, glaring up at him with your teeth bared.

“Of course not. Daryl Dixon never apologises because he actually wants to, no, someone else has to puppet him. You are so fucking incompetent,” you growl, “You can’t even do the right fucking thing. Whatever ‘apology’ you have concocted to make this all better; forget it, Daryl. I don’t fucking accept it!”.

You take a predatory satisfaction in seeing the raw hurt flash across his face at your words. Your words are harsh, digging at old wounds that the man harbours but you can’t even conjure up the guilt or regret; hungry to dish out the same pain that you have received. Vexation and wrath raise its ugly head and you furiously rub at the long barrel of the shotgun, as if you would be able to transfer your rage through kinetic energy.

“Yer keep sacrificing yerself for the group ‘n’ and I fuckin’ hate it,” He breaks the icy air. His voice cracks despite his whispered tone but you catch it the little hitch.

Your cautious gaze meeting his is the signal he needed because he keeps going, as if the dam inside breaks and the words come spilling out; unrestrained, pure and honest.

“You’v’ done it since the beginnin’. Take the burden of the group on yerself ‘n’ takin’ all the risks. We’v only survived this long b‘cause of ya. You’v always kept us goin’. When the prison fell, you wanted ter round everyone up ‘n’ then Terminus happened and..” he breaks off, eyes squeezing shut as he recalls the horrible and degrading things the savages there threatened you with; how they held the machete to your neck and how powerless he was to stop everything. You were so close to death that afternoon as well, mere seconds away from being just an empty vessel.

“Then all the shit that's happened since. You’ve never stopped, never broke down. Just kept trudgin’ on. But it all caught up and you could’ve died out there… without me. ‘N I wouldn’t have known until it was ter late”.

“But I could have died in here and you still wouldn’t have been able to do anything, Daryl - that’s life,” you argue.

Daryl’s head whips up so fast, you are sure he could have suffered whiplash, but you get distracted by the flames in his eyes.

“It’s not life. You ‘ave no fuckin’ idea what yer do to me, woman,” Daryl groans, looking at you so helplessly, almost insulted at how you don’t get it.

“Apparently I piss you off!” you retort, “Ya know, with my selfish attitude and lack of respect” you parrot his own words back to him, a glare resituating across your face. “You yelled at me, Daryl. You screamed in my face, in front of everyone, and then gave me the cold shoulder. Me, out of all people, your fucking friend”.

He shakes his head while you speak, an action that only infuriates you more. You are ready to attack him about that, mouth already open as you reveal your disgust, “Stop fucking shaking your head as if I’m playing the vic-”.

In your rant, you don’t acknowledge the scrape of the metal stool along the concrete, given barely enough time to react to the new stimulus of rough lips upon yours and a hand that grips your chin. Daryl swallows your surprise, mouth unyielding as he crowds into you, pushing you back against the back leaving you no room to run. He kisses you desperately. Frantically. It is messy and unruly, a bruising kiss that steals the breath from your lungs and makes your head spin. You can taste every single secret that has ever danced across his lips, taste the fear that dwells within him but has never been uttered to another soul. You learn more about Daryl in this instance than you ever will in a lifetime.

You both are slow to break apart; lips barely separating as you catch your breath, greedily sucking in as much oxygen as you can to sate the burning of your lungs.

“‘M so fuckin’ sorry,” he cries against your lips.

His hand still has a firm grip on your jaw, which is sure to leave finger-shaped bruises in its wake, but like his kiss - his touch is desperate as well.

“You’v neva been a victim. I was just so fuckin’ scared that I would lose ya. I can’t lose ya,” he stresses, a voice that sounds so pained and winced; it sounds as if the wounds were personally inflicted upon him.

He drops his death-like grip on your chin, bowing forward to rest his head against yours, never straying too far from your space. Your arms wind around his hulking form; bringing him closer and Daryl lets himself slump against you, his head slipping to rest on your shoulder as he nuzzles into your neck and his body, although heavy, feels like comfort from a warm blanket. You can feel him utter endless apologises into the crook of your neck, lips brushing along your skin and you memorise the soft tone of his voice as he echoes “‘M sorry,”.

You hush him, turning your head to press a gentle kiss to the dark tresses, whispering “I know,” to every apology he mutters. Eventually, the apologises fade and you are submerged in peaceful silence, curled into each other. You don’t need to ask why he couldn’t have just told you all those words at the beginning, to save you both the agony and trauma of the last few weeks. But your Daryl is complex, a stunning mosaic of intricate emotions that aren’t easily given and you accept that this is who he is. The man would go to war for love; for you.

Tags:

@guywithacrossbow

@oncemorewithfeelingg

@rachelxxraucous

@gaenahelleborus

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vivithefolle · 3 years

Note

Love isn’t a Deus Ex Machina thing, it’s literally the core theme of the series, hence why Love Magic exists

Love Magic is never a concept at any time in the series. It’s only about “Lily Potter’s spell”. But what’s so special about Lily Potter? What’s so great about her? She did the thing any halfway decent mother would do for their child: she gave her life for them. Molly would’ve done it for any of her sons. Narcissa would have done it for Draco. Mrs Granger the nonentity would have done it for her daughter had she not been lobotomized instead. Lily Potter’s sacrifice isn’t anything special. It’s only special because Rowling decided so, because the Plot needed it to be.

Love isn’t a Deus Ex Machina thing? Then how come Quirrel conveniently burned to death at Harry’s hands? How come Harry had to live at Privet Drive because reasons so he could be abused so naive readers like you could feel very sorry for the poor widdle orphan and pat themselves on the back because wow, aren’t you special for feeling sorry for the poor widdle orphan?

And I didn’t misunderstand Harry. I literally explained him to you

If you don’t like him, I don’t care. Just stop giving his uniqueness to other characters

And you literally showed me exactly why you don’t understand him.

Harry’s superpower isn’t teh special uniqueness of his luuuurve, or the absolute pure pureness of his heart, it’s that he has FRIENDS. Friends who’d die for him, friends who’d sacrifice themselves for him, friends who’d do anything for him. THAT’S the power of love, not some bullshit ~special pure pureness of the heart of Harry Christ our lord and savior~. Harry isn’’t unfailingly kind or uniquely loving or whatever the shit. Harry is a run-of-the-mill teenager who has such obscene luck I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he was conceived under the influence of Lucky Potion.

You just showed me you’re a member of the Church of Harry Christ and I’m not interested in joining. Dear God I thought I was too attached to fictional characters but wow am I glad I’m not at your level.

Also one more thing: “tortured” someone?

Sure. A painful stunner is DEF torture (that’s legit all his Crucio did; it acted as a painful stunner. It threw Carrow backwards and hurt him while it did. Crucio isn’t even close to that when performed properly)

............ you... you fucking little hypocrite.

You filthy, lying, little bitch cunt of a fucking hypocrite.

Remember when I said the next person who’d try to lie to me to pity poor wee widdle Hawwy would be sorry? You pathetic little piece of shit. If you’re so in luuurve with your precious cuntfuck of a camera archetype you’d accept EVERYTHING about him, wouldn’t you? Haha, but noooo. “Oh wee poor Hawwy only used a painful stunner :)))))))” you fucking little bitch. Oh you accuse ME of trying to “make Hawwy not special :(((” but you... YOU... Hahahaha sorry everyone. I have a slight aversion to people blatantly trying to gaslight me. You may find me getting a little bit angry if you happen to trod on this trigger of mine.

Let’s see that again shall we? Open your eyes and your chakras, bitch, we’re going for a ride.

“It’s not a case of what you’ll permit, Minerva McGonagall. You time’s over. It’s us what’s in charge here now, and you’ll back me up or you’ll pay the price.” And he spat in her face. Harry pulled the Cloak off himself, raised his wand, and said, “You shouldn’t have done that.” As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, “Crucio!” The Death Eater was lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain, and then, with a crunch and a shattering of glass, he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor. “I see what Bellatrix meant,” said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, “you need to really mean it.” - Deathly Hallows

If I could reach through my screen to force you to look at the relevant bits, I would. And I’d also slap you in passing. Yknow, just so you think twice before being a stinking fucking hypocrite again in the future.

Now, let’s do some actual literary analysis that isn’t your ~wah hawwy puwe of heawt luuurrrve~ diarrhea you’re still trying to paint my poor innocent blog with.

Now let’s see that PaInFuL sTuNnEr in detail:

He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain

In bold so you can see it very well. Admire the curve of each letter, the angles and the lines. And most of all, interpret the meaning of each and every word. Watch how he’s compared to “a drowning man”, do you know how excruciatingly painful and distressing it is to drown? How the air fills your lungs as you claw desperately for the surface, trying to find something to cling to, anything, the feeling of your lungs filling with this foreign substance you cannot spit back out? The feeling of fading away as all your oxygen is consumed by the futility of your hopeless flailing, your muscles losing their strength, your panic dulling as you slip into unconsciousness and water claims yet another victim...

Of course, drowning people don’t thrash and howl in pain. Because all they’re focused on is trying to BREATHE. But Amycus’ focus isn’t on trying to breathe. Amycus is only focus on Harry’s Crucio and the pain it’s bringing him.

But sure Anon. A pAiNfUl StUnNeR. Fuck you.

and then, with a crunch and a shattering of glass

Now I’m aware Dummywood has made you believe that glass can be traversed easy without any consequences but real glass doesn’t work like that. Real glass takes some force to shatter. Real glass shatters into hundreds of tiny pieces that embed themselves into your flesh and skin, kinda like... oh! Kinda like that glass chandelier that fell on Hermione, once. After she herself was Crucio’d if I remember well. Hmm, by whom exactly, I have it on the tip of my tongue...

“I see what Bellatrix meant,”

Ah yes. By the woman who tortured to insanity Neville’s parents and whom Harry is literally acknowledging as having taught him this particular lesson.

Harry himself is TELLING US HE LISTENED TO BELLATRIX’S ADVICE. ON FUCKING TORTURING PEOPLE. But “a PaInFuL sTuNnEr He’S aN oRpHaN :’‘‘(((((”. Fuck off. Fuck off, Anon. Fuck off and learn to fucking read.

Ah but I got ahead of myself! We’re not even CLOSE to the point!

he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor

So Amycus gets tortured - or, as Anon astutely put it, pAiNfUl StUnNeR - smashes through a sheet of glass, and gets knocked out.

Hmm. Now if Harry just took out a knife and brought it to Carrow’s neck, he’d be worthy of being called Bellatrix’s faithful apprentice.

And now I’m gonna quote one of my Quora answers again because my followers deserve better than to see me completely lose my mind at some anonymous cowardly cunt trying to lie to my fucking face.

On the topic of Harry’s Crucios:

This could mean that Harry is scarily proficient at casting Crucio, that Amycus has low pain tolerance or that he was knocked out when he fell, but regardless of the meaning, IT’S NOT GOOD. EVEN IF IT’S A DEATH EATER, EVEN IF HE PROBABLY DESERVES COMEUPPANCE - IT’S NOT HARRY’S JOB TO GIVE OUT SAID COMEUPPANCE.

(Like, can I please remind everyone that Harry is supposed to be the Jesus Christ of his story? In the Bible we never have Jesus Christ torturing the pharisees or any of those who didn’t believe in him. Just… you’re telling me Jesus “Peace and Love” Christ would torture people… what the hell, Joanne?)

“I see what Bellatrix meant,” said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, “you need to really mean it.”

…………………….. Um. Harry, what the fuck are you doing???! He’s taken Bellatrix’s advice! He actually relates to the insane sadistic terrorist! He is capable of using a curse that literally requires sadism to work!

(Again, when someone tells me “Jesus Christ”, “sadism” isn’t the first word that would come to my mind.)

At least there’s some sort of reaction. “the blood thundering through his brain”. But that’s a very… nondescriptive reaction. Is it the “adrenaline pumping in my veins” blood? Is it the “holy shit what have I done” blood? Is it the “I could get used to this” blood?

We don’t know. We’ll never know.

Alright, skipping to the part that interests us -

She struggled to pull herself together. “Potter, that was foolish!”

Eh, I’d have said “tactically unsound” (what if Amycus wasn’t knocked out), “monstrous” (that’s Bellatrix’s favourite curse you’re using, Harry), “insane” (re: Bellatrix), but yeah, I guess “foolish” would also cover it.

“He spat at you,” said Harry.

Ever heard of Disproportionate Retribution, Harry? A few fascists regimes all over the world were especially fond of it.

Then I’m skipping over the one thing that causes the most outrage because I’ll go back to it soon, just let me finish with this:

“[…] but don’t you realize — ?” “Yeah, I do,” Harry assured her. Somehow her panic steadied him.

I guess we can imagine that McGee is saying “don’t you realize what you’ve just done?”

Harry “assures” her he realizes. Harry knows. Harry has just used the literal goddamn Torture Curse and he’s totally cool with it. Or, if he was uncool with it, now he’s cool with it. Because “her panic steadied him”. So seeing McGonagall panic makes Harry think “yeah, using Crucio was the right thing to do”.

Well then! Onwards then, Dark Lord Potter! First it’s just one Crucio, then it’s just three, then it’s just one little murder of one lowly little naysayer, then it’s only a little more murder…

And now we’ll go back a smidge, because how are we supposed to react?

How are we supposed to reconcile the idea of Harry, who’s supposed to save us all through his Power of Love, with the Harry that has just tortured a man into inconsciousness?

Even if that man was a Death Eater, Harry is supposed to be the Christ-like figure. He’s supposed to be love and forgiveness incarnate. Heck, not a hundred pages later he’ll offer forgiveness to freaking Voldemort! He forgives Draco Malfoy, he forgives Albus Dumbledore, he forgives Severus Snape!

So how do we reconcile Harry Potter The Forgiver with Harry Potter The Torturer? Tell us, O Author! Tell us how to navigate the murky, twisted depths of human morality!!

“Potter, I — that was very — very gallant of you — […]”

…

…………………

………………………………………………

That was… gallant?

Gallant?

Wait, doesn’t gallantry imply some form of honor?

As in, not taking your opponent by surprise -

Harry pulled the Cloak off himself, raised his wand…

As in, facing your opponent head-on instead of hitting them in the back -

As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted…

As in, not torturing your opponent???

He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain

That’s… unless the definition has changed, nothing about this is gallant…

Let me just -

(of a man) polite and kind towards women, especially when in public

showing no fear of dangerous or difficult things

Alright, so, Amycus isn’t a woman, so Harry can’t, by definition, be “gallant” to him.

Still, being “polite and kind” to a woman didn’t involve “torturing someone who disrespected her”, last time I checked. Punching an asshole harrassing her, definitely *pats Ron*, but torturing that asshole… no, just no.

And well, I guess casting Cruciatus is a difficult thing to do… and Harry didn’t seem very afraid to do it… that’s not supposed to be a good thing, but apparently, now it is…?

What made that

As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, “Crucio!”

more gallant than

“What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!”

After all, they’re the exact same thing. Torture. Inflicting tremendous pain upon someone for the heck of it.

Why do people lose their heads over Harry using Crucio, when they seem to neglect the fact that Draco Malfoy cast it?

Well, easy enough - Draco Malfoy is an evil little cockroach. The guy wished death upon people, he bragged about the fact that his Daddy dearest was a terrorist who killed people. It’s not too surprising that an evil little cockroach like him would find it acceptable to torture someone he considers “not human”, isn’t it?

What’s more surprising however, is that the hero, Harry Potter, who has been subjected to the Torture Curse, whose only use of the Torture Curse previously was when he felt distress and pain unlike any other, that Harry Potter whom is supposed to be a hero and some sort of role model, would actually manage to use said Torture Curse even though it requires real sadism to actually work.

And what’s even worse is that Harry Potter casts that curse, that literal Torture Curse, and instead of being rightly horrified, instead of being terrified by the boy’s use of such a heinous spell, instead of saying “alright Harry, you’re not doing this again, ever, right?”, instead…

Instead McGonagall calls Harry “gallant”, instead of telling him off for using such a curse. She briefly calls him “foolish”, but it doesn’t register, really, since she ends up calling him “gallant”.

That’s what angers people. That the Torture Curse is the most horrible, awful thing you can do to people… unless you’re Harry Potter, in which case it is a little “foolish”, but mostly “gallant”.

......................

But of course, little Anon over here isn’t angered. Because little Anon is a faithful devoted member of the Church of Harry Christ Our Lord And Saviour. Little Anon can say enormities like A pAiNfUl StUnNeR and believe it with the whole force of their little Anon heart, because uwu Hawwy speshul orphan pure lurve uwu.

Little Anon, please get the fuck out of my blog and never, ever come back. I’m sure this arrangement will be beneficial for everyone involved.

#vivi answers #ask #harry potter #harry potter series #crucio #cruciatus #cruciatus curse #bellatrix lestrange #hp meta #lily evans #lily potter #tw: drowning #harry potter critical

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notyetneedcoffee · 4 years

Text

Date Nights 2

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut

New Naughty Series

“That went well.” Pepper sighed once the two of you were in the elevator alone. “I was concerned they would change their mind since Tony, well, blew up the roof garden last time.”

“He didn’t blow the WHOLE thing, just a marble urn.” You fought the smile. Pepper’s charity projects were one of the more fun parts of your gig as her PA. “You knew they wouldn’t say no.”

“I suppose.” She was reading something on her phone. “We’re good for the day. I’ve got to head into the office.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” She smiled just as the elevators from the Patron’s Lounge opened on the Sculpture exhibit. “Enjoy the museum.”

“Huh?” You looked up to see Steve leaning against the wall behind the people waiting for the elevator. He grinned at you from under his old baseball cap. “Okay. See ya, Pep.”

Steve’s smile spread as you clasped your hands behind your back, swaying your hips as you playfully sauntered over to him. “That’s a great dress.”

It was new, something you bought to celebrate spring returning. Three-quarter sleeved, tighter at the waist with full, knee-length skirt, it was conservative enough for work. However, the cornflower blue behind spring florals and the buttons running the whole length of the front made it light and flirty. It complimented you well, and you knew it.

“Glad you like it.” You smirked. “What are you doing here? I thought you were up at the Compound.”

He held up a little strip of paper, making a show of reading it. “Take time to appreciate something beautiful.” He looked around the halls of the Met Museum. “Seems like the right spot.”

“You’re adorable.” A giggle escaped.

He pushed off the wall, spinning on his toe and holding out his arm. You took it, happily swinging your small handbag. “Do you care if we head down to the American Art wing first?”

“Wherever you want.” You looked up. “How long have you planned this?”

“Since, ah, breakfast.” He chuckled. “My afternoon opened up and Tony couldn’t shut up about how Pepper kept making him promise not to wreck the next place she found for the benefit party.”

You pulled him behind a large marble statue. Scowling at him, but not seriously. “Did you purposely dig out that slip? That’s not the way it’s supposed to work.”

His hands rested on your hips, pulling you closer. Steve fought to not smile. “No. I just grabbed one.” Your eyes narrowed. He grinned, leaning closer covering your lips with his in a chaste kiss. “I swear. But there’s several that would have worked, if it had been something else we’d do it. I’m not cheating.”

You tried to be stern, until he whined and pulled you closer to kiss your face, your ear, the side of your neck. Giggling, your arms wrapped around him. Steve usually wasn’t one for PDA’s. You weren’t complaining. “Fine. I believe you.”

He laughed, low and privately, as he wrapped his arm around you. “As you should.” Steve began to lead you back through the galleries. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in the Met.” He paused, staring at the enormous screen among the medieval sculptures of religious figures. He guided you to the side.

You followed, admiring the work and enjoying the quiet. The museum was not very busy. In fact, the only two other people in the gallery room you were in slowly made their way out. Steve’s hand drifted from your back to take a firm hand hold of your ass.

Even as you shot him a look, Steve grinned. He stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you. Hot breath tickled your ear. “So, these buttons could be, ah, convenient.”

His teeth nipped your neck, sending a shiver all the way down your body. His fingers deftly unfastened two buttons just below your hips, and he slipped his hand in your dress to cup your mound. “Steve!” You hissed.

“Shh, Sweetheart. No one’s here.” His tongue playfully danced over your neck.

“Cameras.”

“Not at this angle.” He chuckled. “Don’t move.”

You felt his fingers slip beneath the silk of your panties. You sunk your back deeper into his chest with a whine.

“Mmm, so wet for me.” He purred. You shivered.

Suddenly, Steve stood up straight and efficiently rebuttoned your dress, leaving you panting. The sound of footsteps broke through your fogged brain. Leaning into his chest, you looked up into his mischievous blue eyes. “That was not fair.”

He smiled, licking his fingers slowly. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”

“Oh my god!” You felt your face flush.

He chuckled. “You are so beautiful when you blush.” You pressed your forehead into his strong chest, torn between wanting to smack him and wanting to climb him like a tree. You noticed you weren’t the only one riled by his little stunt, so you snuggled closer to rub yourself against the hardness in his jeans. Steve sucked in a breath, “Damn, woman.”

It was your turn to chuckle. You turned fake innocent eyes on him. “What?”

He laughed, biting it back as it drew the attention of the people who’d joined you in the gallery. Steve’s arm wrapped around you again as he led you through the exhibit, and yet kept you both away from the others. More people milled around the next room. Still, Steve leaned close to your ear. “I can taste you on my tongue. I want more.”

Steve walked you through room after room of beautiful paintings, commenting on the subjects or the style. He watched the others, stealing opportunities to steal kisses, to fill his palm with the swell of your breast, and to whisper filthy promises in your ear.

Eventually, he held you pinned against the wall in a little alcove by a service door. One hand gripped your hip, the other cupped your breast, while he pressed his thigh between your legs. Steve’s deep timber sent heat flowing to your core. “I want to hike this skirt up and bury my face in your sweet pussy.”

Your hands clung to his shoulders beneath his light jacket, whispering into his neck. “Fuck, Steve.” You ground against his denim clad thigh. “I need you.”

“Hold tight, Sweetheart.” His hand cupped the back of your neck. Steve froze. Someone walked by, not noticing your entangled bodied. He released a breath, hot over your skin. “Can’t wait.”

Steve took your hand in his and purposefully marched through the museum. You trailed a little behind, having to take two steps to every one of his long strides. A few people glanced your way, but you didn’t bother to notice their reaction. He pulled his keys out of his pocket even before you made it to the Great Hall. Damn it, why did the parking garage have to be at the other end of the building?

He blew past the elevators and went for the stairs. As soon as the door closed, Steve pulled you close, crashing his mouth to yours in a desperate kiss full of tongue and teeth. He growled, pulling you tight against him, letting you feel how hard and ready he was. You moaned as he lifted you off your feet.

“Come on.” Steve set you down, and you both rushed down the stairs to the parking garage. His SUV was parked in a dark corner of the garage. Steve opened the door for you, but before you could slide in he pulled you to him. Mouth hot and wet, kiss heated and desperate, he pulled at you. He bunched your skirt up in his fist until you felt his bare hands on your ass.

“Need you.” Your voice shook. He tore you panties, fingers sinking into your wetness. You gasped. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yes.” Steve growled, finger pumping against your wall perfectly, knowing your body so well. Wet, sloppy, his fingers pumped. He made you shake. One of your legs came up on the running board, spreading your legs wider for him. When you began to quiver, Steve’s other hand grasped the back of your neck and nipped at the spot on your throat that sent you over the edge.

Biting back a moan, you came over his hand, shaking and grasping his shoulders. Steve unbuckled his belt and you pulled at his jeans until your hand wrapped around his hard cock. He groaned as you stroked him. “I need to be in you, Sweetheart.” Steve pulled your leg over his hip. “Gotta fuck you now.”

A breath exploded out of your body as he plunged into you with one deep thrust. Steve pulled back, slow. You whined. He gripped your ass in one hand, protect your head with other and lifted you against the side of the SUV. Hips snapping hard and fast, Steve pressed his face into your neck. You just held on.

Tension coiled. You moaned. Steve breathed heavy in your ear, “Quiet, love. Ah, fuck. Shhh.”

You bit your lip hard. Fingers pulled on Steve’s hair. He growled, fucking you harder. You practically cried. “I’m gonna come. Steve, oh shit.”

His fingers dug into your ass hard. You bit down on his shoulder, holding back a scream as you came apart. Steve grunted holding you to him tight, burying deep, emptying himself. You clung to him, panting.

A small giggle started, but bloomed into a wicked laugh.

Steve moaned at the way it felt. “What’s so funny?”

“I can’t believe we fucked in the public parking garage?” You giggled in his ear.

He kissed you deep, smiling against your mouth. “You’re just a bad influence on me.”

“Me?” You laughed. “You started it.”

“Well, I’ll have to make it up to you.” Steve lowered you to the ground. You pouted at the loss of his touch, of his weight in you. You could feel the slick of your sex left behind. “Let’s get back to my place. How does a hot bath and dinner in bed sound?”

“Amazing.” You grinned.

He covered your mouth with his one more time before he made sure you were settled in to the passenger seat before running around the driver’s seat. He caught your staring, studying his gorgeous face, lips full and pink. “What?”

“Just taking time to appreciate something beautiful.” You rested your head back. He smiled, bright and loving.

TAGS

@rainbowkisses31 / @dsakita / @geeksareunique / @lbouvet / @buckybarneshairpullingkink / @theneuropsychwriter / @vanillabunn21 / @sammghgecko / @beautifullungs / @badassbaker / @the-omni-princess / @sebbysstangirl / @jesseswartzwelder / @unadulteratedwizardlove / @the-reading-octopus / @bangtan-serendipity / @kiki5283 / @mindtravelsx / @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines / @patzammit / @thegetawaywriter / @vxidnik / @jennmurawski13 / @wildmoonflower / @rynabarnesrogers / @notyourtypicalrose / @sllooney / @wwe-fanfiction-queen / @thorfanficwriter / @scarlettsoldier / @morganhoran1671 / @michelehansel / @sexyvixen7 / @readermia / @buchanansebba / @what-is-your-plan-today / @imma-new-soul / @asiaaisa77 / @babygurl8840 / @acf2510 / @firefly-in-darkness

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fan fiction

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dontshootmespence · 4 years

Text

The Most Natural Thing In The World

Summary: An experienced Dom and a virgin meet in a bar. Can he introduce her to a world she’s always imagined but never known before? Is it everything she wanted?

Words: 2,876

Warnings: Suspension play, public sex, voyeurism, butt plugs, oral sex, face fucking, creampie, aftercare.

A/N: My next entry for @cm-kinkbingo run by my beautiful girlfriend @heycasbutt. This fills my suspension play square.

Patent leather black heels, a purple dress the hugs every curve and your hair perfectly coifed, you stride to the car with Spencer right behind you. “Please tell me. Please?”

“Never,” he laughs, opening the car door for you. “But I’ll take mercy on you. If you happen to guess before we get there, I’ll let you know if you’re right.”

Happily, you bounce in your seat and buckle yourself in as Spencer slips in on the driver’s side. “Okay, okay. Does this has something to do with our dynamic?”

“Yes,” he says softly, the slight change in his voice indicating that Sir is the only acceptable title.

The difference in demeanor makes you squirmy. “Is this something we’ve done before?”

“Partially, yes. One aspect is new.”

You rack your brain, running through the list of things you’d told him you were willing to try nearly a year ago. There was one thing you tried weeks ago that you absolutely loved - maybe that was part of it. “More ropes?” He’s silent for a moment, so you know you’re on to something. “Suspension play?”

“That’s one part.” His voice gets a little lower. He’s excited about this, and that eagerness influences you even though you don’t know what he has planned yet.

Reaching over, he grabs your hand and continues to drive, his thumb ghosting over the back of your palm. “Any ideas?”

The lightbulb goes off. “Sir, are we- are we going somewhere where people can watch?”

His smile spread across his face and you lose your breath. “Yes.”

----

The drive lasts nearly an hour, leaving you to imagine all the eyes that will be on you both. When he parks the car, he turns to you and asks, “Are you wet already?”

“Yes, Sir.” Wet is an understatement. Saturated is more accurate.

He opens the passenger side door for you and takes your hand before grabbing a bag he’s brought with you, filled with ropes and changes of clothes for you both. It’s just an apartment building - very unassuming. “There are some ground rules for this,” he says, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger and turning you toward him. “Physically, this isn’t much different than anything we’ve done before, but the audience is. I’ll be using light name calling, like I always do. If anything happens and it gets too much for you, use your safe word. It doesn’t matter who’s there.”

“Of course, Sir,” you reply. His concern in all of this is what you love about him most of all. “Are you excited, Sir?”

He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Yes.”

“Why?” Numerous times before, you told him why this lifestyle completed you in ways you’d never thought possible, but you rarely asked him. “What is it about this, all of this, that makes you happy?”

For a moment, he contemplates his answer. “After prison, I couldn’t control much, but with you I do, because you give it. When it comes to some of the more extreme things we’ve done, I guess the appeal is knowing what lengths you’ll go to for me.”

“Big ones.” You step up on your tip toes and kiss him deeply before he grasps your hand and brings you inside.

In the elevator, you want to push him up against the all and make him fuck you, but you don’t, too excited for what’s ahead. He knocks on the apartment door; it’s just a penthouse taking up the entire top floor.

“Evening,” the man says, extending his hand toward Spencer and then yourself. “You must be Dr. Reid, and this ravishing creature must be Y/N.”

“That she is,” Spencer said proudly.

The man and owner of the apartment, Mason Hunter, ushers you inside. It’s nothing special. People think that every BDSM or D/s lifestyle venue is the dark place bathed in red light, but while you’re sure they exist, Spencer assures you it’s normally more like this - a nice penthouse or apartment with a plethora of rooms for varying activities.

Mason tells you that nearly 100 people will be attending the party - some spectators and some participators. He asks which ones you are.

“We’ll be participating,” Spencer says calmly. “Just her and I though. I don’t share well, but I’d like to show her off.”

You blush and lean into him when Mason compliments you once again. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to be doing, so I can direct you to the right room?”

Spencer looks down at where your head is buried in his arm. “Would you like to tell Mason what we’ll be doing tonight?”

“Suspension play, Mr. Hunter.”

“No Sir?” He asks.

“Sir is reserved for Him.” You look up at Spencer and smile, following Mason as he tells Spencer what a lucky man he is.

He opens the door to where hooks are screwed into the ceiling. “The rules are simple here. I’ll write instructions on each couple or group’s door regarding whether or not spectators can only watch or whether they can participate as well. Anyone who doesn’t abide by the rules gets kicked out. No questions asked. Can I ask how long you’ve been together?”

“A little over a year,” Spencer replies. “Slightly less than a year in the lifestyle together.”

When the doorbell rings once again, Mason excuses himself to let others in, mostly spectators you learn, with a few other participants milling their way in. As the guests continue to pile their way into the spacious penthouse, Mason gives you an instruction list to tape to the door for the spectators and insists you can enter your room at any time. “Any other questions?” He asks before you turn to go.

Spencer shakes his head, but you speak up. “I have two. Is this your place?”

“Yes, I work 20 minutes away and it’s fairly lucrative, hence the space.”

“Okay, now I have three all together,” you laugh. “I’m assuming you have a bedroom that no one is allowed in?”

He laughs and you feel Spencer chuckle at your side. “Yes. That’s the only room that’s off limits.”

“Last one. Do you have a cleaning crew come in after one of these parties? I would imagine there’s stuff everywhere.”

Mason lets out a belly laugh. “Absolutely. I have people come in to clean once a month regardless, but I have people that are ‘sensitive to the event’ come in to do clean up the day after, so I’ll have people in tomorrow.”

“That’s all, Mr. Hunter,” you laugh. “Just curious.”

Spencer kisses the top of your head when you turn to find your room. No one is there yet, so he starts to rig ropes to the ceiling. “Do you have anything to say or ask before we start?”

“Can we have the lights dimmed? This is new for me, so-”

“No need to justify, I understand.”

Outside the room, you hear people stirring. “I’m ready, Sir,” you whisper, knowing spectators will be joining you soon.

He instructs you to remove your dress, leaving you in only your black lace panties. “God, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Just focus on me, love.”

Nodding, you feel your legs quiver as the first spectators enter, leaning against the wall in the corner of the room. As Spencer had told Mason, only he is allowed to answer questions from the spectators - you are just to do as you’re told.

Though the door continues to open and more onlookers file in, you keep your gaze locked on Spencer’s, watching with rapt attention as he ties the first of the ropes affixed to the ceiling around your wrists. They’re bamboo silk so they’re soft; after time passes however, they will dig into your skin, leaving marks for hours.

Your eyes are on Spencer, but everyone else’s eyes are on you. For some reason you thought you’d care more, but you don’t. You want them to watch your devotion, your depravity.

He makes quick work of tying you up, your knees bent in front of you and tied to your thighs. After he lifts you and ensures the ropes are tied safely, you’re essentially in an upward fetal position. Mason makes it a point to come watch - you specifically. Knowing Spencer was about to show everyone in this room who you belonged to made your pussy quiver.

“How long she been yours?” Someone asks out of your line of sight.

Spencer doesn’t bother looking toward the one who asked, but he answers. “A little less than a year. And now she’s perfectly pliant. And needy.”

You swallow hard and feel his finger slip between your pussy and the lace, pulling it to the side so that everyone in the vicinity could see how deliciously wet you already are. When he passes, you see him smile. Finally, he turns his attention toward the audience. “How about a vote? Which hole first? Can I see a show of hands?”

You’re practically gushing already. Wiggling against the ropes is a bit uncomfortable, but it’s nothing you can’t manage. Once he gauges the audience’s preference, he crouches down in front of your face. “Looks like they want to see me use that pretty little mouth,” he says, his eyes clouded with lust and pride. “How does that sound?”

“Amazing, Sir. I’d love that.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I’m a slut, Sir. Your slut.”

“That’s right.” Standing up, he removes his cock from his boxers and teases you, barely touching your tongue. You stretch for him and he laughs at your desperation. “Oh, and look she’s already dripping on the floor.” You didn’t notice that. “Open wide.”

In an instant, you do as he commands, feeling some of the pressure lift as he cradles the back of your head so that you don’t have to keep it up yourself. You moan when the head of his cock hits your tongue. Somehow he tastes even better in this situation. Maybe it’s the adrenaline running through you. After months of training, you can take him fairly easily now.

His cock slides across your tongue and down your throat. At first he’s gentle, even inviting others to come and see your throat pop with each thrust. Just looking, no touching, of course. As far as you can tell, he grabs the ropes binding your hands and uses it as leverage to move you back and forth over his mouth.

Moaning, he picks up the pace, telling you over and over again what a good girl you are. Some spectators - men and women - are touching themselves. Others sound like they are but you can’t tell. You steady your breathing, in and out through your nose as his cock hits the back of your throat. His muscles tighten. You want him to come, but you know he won’t. It’s too quick and he knows he’s close too, so he removes himself and walks toward the bag of supplies he brogan with you.

When he returns, he’s holding your stainless steel plug, with a purple cubic zirconia heart at the end of it. “Suck.”

The cool metal enters your mouth; you know what you’re prepping it for. He pulls it from your mouth and allows the small trail of spit to fall down onto your cheek. Taking hold of the rope, he spins you around and nudges the plug against your ass. He knows Mason came here to watch you and Spencer knows it, so he’s playing to him - letting Mason know that he’s the only one that can have you.

For a moment, the stretch is uncomfortable, but the moment the plug moves passed the tight ring of muscle, you feel full, but you need to feel fuller. “What do you want, love?” He asks, sensing your desperation.

“I want you to fuck my little pussy, Sir. I need it.”

“Is that right?” He asks, condescendingly. “Then beg for it. I don’t simply want you to say it. I want to feel it.”

With the rope digging into your skin, the feel of your arousal dripping down your ass, the fullness of the plug, the feeling of all eyes on you, it’s all so much and it brings tears to your eyes. “Please, Sir. I need it. I need your cock. My pussy needs it.”

“Whose pussy?”

“Yours, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. Please, I need it. I-”

You gasp as he slips his cock inside you to the hilt. In this position, in this situation, you feel so ridiculously full. “More, Sir. Harder, Sir. Please.”

Head hanging back, you begin to sway, his grip on the ropes tight again. With each push and pull, you feel more and more shaky. You’re so tight it practically hurts. With each thrust you’re milking him. You whimper when he picks up the pace, swinging you harder and faster into him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you breathe. It comes out of you in waves and you can’t stop it.

He’s close. It’s maddening because you can’t do anything to make yourself come faster. You just have to wait and hope that he takes mercy on your quivering body soon enough. “Where should I come tonight, little girl?”

“Pussy. Your pussy, Sir.”

“As you wish, love.”

One final time, he pulls you again him, burying himself inside you as he spills into you. He groans and bends over to place a kiss on your leg. “Such a good girl.” Pulling out, he allows the spectators to witness the come dripping out of you as he politely asks them to leave. Clean up is somehow more intimate - something he wants just for the two of you. “How’re you doing?” He asks as the last of the audience leaves the room.

“Shaky and thoroughly fucked. Can I call you by your name now?”

“Yes.”

“Thoroughly fucked and a lil’ sleepy and really smiley, Spence. What about you? Everything you wanted?”

“Gods, yes. I think I was more aware of the audience than you were.”

He begins to untie the binds around your legs, gently lowering you to the floor, before undoing the ties around your wrists. “Like I knew they were there, but I didn’t care, and I wanted them to see what you were doing to me. Who I belonged to.”

Kneeling down, he kisses you, loosening the ropes until they fall away and he can gather them up again. “Mine. Mine. Mine,” he says softly. He grabs wipes from the bag of supplies and cleans you both off, but your a melty puddle on the floor. “I still have plans,” he continues excitedly.

“What might those be?”

“Still a surprise. But I do have a comfy pair of clothes for you to leave in.”

You sit up and smile. “You thought of everything.”

After changing into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top and he into sweats and a t-shirt, he asks if you want to observe anything before heading to the next part of his surprise. But you don’t. On another day you could come here and observe, but now you just want him.

You exit the room and find Mason heading toward the kitchen, so you thank him and promise you’ll be in touch. His eyes rake over your body, but all it does is make the experience more heady. Your Spencer’s and only his. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Like the perfect gentlemen he escorts you out of the building and drives a few blocks before stopping in front of a fancy hotel. “We’re staying the night,” he says with a smile. “In the bag I have some of your favorite movies, a blanket from home, snacks, and we’ll order pizza and snuggle in bed.”

“Yesssss,” you sigh. “While you order can I get a little nap in? I got fucked sleepy.”

He laughs and hauls you out of the car, allowing you to lean against him as you walk inside and check in. The room is sprawling, the bed even larger than the one you have at home.

After tucking you in, you can hear him on the phone, ordering your usual meatlover’s pizza with agreements to meet in the lobby, before you drift off.

It’s nearly an hour until he wakes you and you devour two slices of pizza a piece. “That was delicious,” he mumbles with his mouth half full. “If you want I can go get us ice cream later. There’s a place a few doors down.”

“Sounds amazing.” You’re still a little tired, your muscles a little heavy with the evening’s events, but you’re content. “Until then, can we cuddle? I’m feeling very clingy.”

Spencer chuckles and slides back against the wall, pulling you against his chest. “You doing okay?” There’s a hint of worry in his voice, as if you might’ve gone too far.

“I’m great, Spence. Just a little worn. That was intense, but...amazing.”

With that, he’s able to relax and begins combing his hand through your hair. “I love you, you know. More than anything.”

“I love you, too,” you reply, your head feeling heavy against his chest and the steady thumping of his heart.

#cmkinkbingo #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #dontshootmespence #the most natural thing in the world

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dolphin-bouillabaisse · 4 years

Text

Beards of a feather flock together

(I only wanted to write a short, jokey thing about lockdown beards for the Ineffable Husbands. Why did it turn into an actual fic-long jokey thing?!)

Crowley is using the lockdown efficiently, he thinks, to experiment with facial hair, like all the humans seem to be doing.

He knows he doesn’t technically need the excuse of ‘nobody will see me for a while, so I can let my beard grow out and play around with it’. He knows that he is using miracles for it anyway, and could do it any day and have it disappear and reappear instantaneously.

He knows that. He’s still using the lockdown as an excuse. He’s absolutely not above lying to himself, or making up explanations that sound far more plausible than “I was being extremely bored and had told Aziraphale I was going to sleep so I couldn’t even bother him without exposing that as a blatant lie to avoid being honest about wanting to come over to his place”. There's only so many times you can scream at plants and clean the entire flat top to bottom before you end up at this level of boredom, which was usually interrupted by a particularly wine-laden dinner or a quick run-in at a park, both out of the question now as well.

And so, Crowley is experimenting with facial hair this afternoon. He’s not done it a lot before, to be honest. Oh sure, he’s changed his hairstyle almost as often as his gender, if not even more, and he’s had the rare moustache when human fashion called for it, but he’s never kept any kind of beard for longer than absolutely necessary. He wonders why.

Seeing himself in the mirror, he realises why.

He’s decided to re-visit some old styles at first, but brushing along the small tuft of hair on his chin, all he can think about is the reactions he’d last gotten for it. Some drunkard in a tavern had compared it to a goat, he remembered, and Aziraphale next to him had giggled. Giggled. It had not felt good.

An angry snap of fingers later, and an equally troublesome moustache is staring at him in the mirror. He wonders if it had maybe been the glasses that had put this particular ensemble together decades ago, or the shirt, but he knows neither of it had been able to save him back then, and nothing was able to save him from it right now. At least this time around there is no angel to tell him that it seems less reminiscent of some movie stars and more of a dead member of his beloved rat army.

Snap after snap after snap, the dark red patches across his face change from bad to horrid to absolutely unmentionable, and his patience grows thinner than it has ever been before, and it's been pretty much at the level of a piece of rice paper for several centuries.

One last snap leaves him with just a regular, run-of-the-mill full beard, slightly darker than his normal hair, but styled just as meticulously. He runs his fingers through it, feeling the soft rasp along his hand.

“That's not half bad.” He reasons to his reflection. Not something he's going to go outside with any time soon (he's not going out anyway, but, just as a general point), but not so bad he'd have to fear more unwanted comments or giggles from certain blonde, one-style-fits-all-centuries angel.

The phone rings. He swirls around and almost races towards the throne room office, but remembers quickly enough that he's supposed to be asleep and not ready to answer the phone after the first ring.

He's allowed to pick it up before it goes to the answering machine, though, right?

“What.” He grumbles, hoping it sound sufficiently drowsy and just-woke-up-ish.

“Oh, my dear, I'm terribly sorry. Am I bothering you?”

“Told you I was gonna sleep.”

“Yes, I know. I only wanted to check. I thought I would get that horrid machine, anyway.”

“Why d'you need to check, then?”

“Well.” Quiet rummaging, shuffling. Crowley can see Aziraphale adjusting his waistcoat before his inner eye. “It's recommended.”

“What is?”

“Checking in on-” A soft pause. “Friends and family. Keeping in touch. You know.”

“Ah.” Is all he can manage to answer, which is not exactly anything, so the line stays quiet for a while.

Quite a while.

“Well, I shouldn't be keeping you from your sleep-” is said at the exact same second as his “How's your baking going?”

They pause again after that verbal collision, to gather themselves and their wits back up. Crowley clears his throat, but Aziraphale manages to break through first.

“Oh, my baking is going splendid. I'd say I've mastered the European styles by now. I've been experimenting with some Middle Eastern breads and desserts, and some things I remember from back when we were, um, stationed in the area. But it is awfully hard to find the proper spices and ingredients for it in the shops at the moment. Essentials, you know?”

Crowley doesn't know. Crowley hasn't set foot in a supermarket for years, but the idea of Aziraphale with a shopping trolley and a bag for life and a little list of items on a torn piece of paper makes him want to spend several hours at Waitrose's looking for whatever extinct herb Aziraphale needs.

“Sounds like you need something else to pass the time.” That is not meant to sound as obvious as it does, so a quick addendum is needed. “Reread all your books by now?”

“Well, yes, actually.” Aziraphale sighs. “Ah, I decided to look around on that interweb you set up for me a while back, as well, you remember?” Crowley remembers staring down the ancient desktop pc in the bookshop and telling it to better rear up a good browser and immaculate virus protection or so help it... so a quick hum is the only reply before Aziraphale rattles on.

“And, well, there are quite a lot of people talking about things to do during the lockdown, you know. A lot of people are baking, just like me! And they’re making all kinds of very entertaining videos, and jokes, although I don’t understand all of them. I think they are very popular media related, I’m afraid.”

“You're planning to become a youtube star now? An influencer?”

“Heavens, no!” He can hear the soft smile in that, and it's almost annoying that he can despite not seeing it. He had no idea how badly he wants to see it. Well, maybe he had, but he hadn't admitted it yet. “I'm only saying, humans are coming up with the most random things to entertain themselves during this horrid time. It's quite heartwarming.”

“I suppose.”

“And everyone seems to be using this unwanted time off to try new things! They're being so creative and courageous. The young lady down the street, with the flyers, you remember? I saw her at the grocer's, and she's shaved off half her hair! It does look marvellous, I have to say.”

Well, it's not exactly surprising for Crowley to hear, he thinks, because if he'd had to peg anyone on Aziraphale's street to go straight for some queer quarantine hairstyling, it would've been her. But he doesn't get much time to think about that before Aziraphale's voice pulls him back into the very one-sided conversation.

“It's all very inspiring. And I figured, well, why not? Nobody is going to come into the shop for a while, and I'm not going out, and I've always wondered-”

“Angel.” Crowley cuts through the babbling with almost a bit of dread in his voice. “Did you shave your head? Is that what you're trying to say?”

“Oh gosh, no, nothing that extreme! Really, would you actually believe me to do that? I know you like your hair changed every few years or so, but I-”

“What did you do, then? What did Holly and her shaved head inspire you to do?”

Another round of silence on both ends of the line. Crowley prepares himself for the worst, though he has no idea what that would be.

“I've grown a beard.” Aziraphale almost whispers.

“You what?”

“I've grown a beard!” He repeats, a tad louder. “I've always wondered – there's barely any angels with facial hair, and you used to have those- I just had no idea what I might look like with one, and I thought, if not now-”

“And?”

“And what?” Aziraphale huffs.

“What do you look like?” Crowley's grin is mischievous, and his voice really shouldn't sound like this, but he can't help the teasing as he rubs across his own beard, still not vanished away by miracle. He hears a soft scratching on the other end of the line.

“It's not- it's not bad, if that's what you're expecting to hear. Although it seems a bit patchy, the colour, at least.”

“Patchy.”

“Yes, there's this bit – in the front – my chin, you see. It seems an awful lot lighter than the rest.”

“Angel, you have to expect some white hairs after six thousand years.”

“You are mocking me.” Aziraphale tuts down the line.

“I swear I'm not. It's just hard to imagine you with a beard. Never seen anything on your face, even when it was the style for humans.”

“Well you certainly won't be seeing it anyway. I'll make sure to be presentable once the lockdown is lifted.”

“What?!” Crowley interjects a bit too shocked, maybe. “You can't do that to me, angel! You can't dangle this little morsel of information in front of my face and then never let me have it!”

“I'm not going to go outside or greet customers like this only so you can have a quick laugh, old serpent.”

“You leave me no choice, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to see this beard of yours, angel. Even if it means coming over before regulations are changed.”

“Well.” Aziraphale says, and Crowley is sure he can hear a smile again, but definitely not a soft one. That bastard. “I simply can't keep you from breaking the rules, can I? You are a demon, after all. Not all your wiles can be thwarted, I guess.”

Probably not, Crowley thinks as he realises he's been had, but you're definitely an A-class tempter.

(the story actually goes further here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24402841

because nobody seems to reblog the second, longer version :( )

#Crowley #Aziraphale #Good Omens #Ineffable Husbands #my writing

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eirian-houpe · 3 years

Text

The Pawn Shop On Main Street - Chapter 2

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson & Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Additional Tags: Cursed Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), Angst, Romance, Eventual Smut, Will add more as apropriate

Summary: Gold is suddenly awakened from the curse, not by the fail-safe that he programmed into his mind, but by the unexpected presence of his long lost maid, with whom he fell in love well before Regina cast his Dark Curse, Rumplestiltskin must now find a way past Belle's disbelief and fear. She is still under the influence of the curse. With the help of his dear - his oldest - friend, Gold seeks a way past obstacles so that he can rekindle the love which he rejected back in the Dark Castle.

The story is set in the same 'verse as The Library Beneath the Clock Tower, and could be considered a sequel of sorts.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 2 - The Lock On the Door

If anyone had asked, he couldn’t have said how long he sat there, spent, a lump in the darkness like an abandoned sack of potatoes, staring over the top of the revelers and into the sky. He watched the stars move, the moon set, and the horizon darken toward dawn, and still he didn’t move, lost in memory, and the pain of memory, and the ecstasy of one sweet moment he denied himself… denied her.

Finally, as the flickering embers of the bonfire collapsed into a glowing, almost neat circle of color against the darkness, he reached out to find the handle of his cane, and hauled himself to his feet. Then, one limping step after another, made his way down to where the Cadillac was parked.

At that moment he was simply concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other to make it to the car. Then, in the car focused on the steps necessary to safely drive a vehicle such as this, the juxtaposition of his former and his current personae warring inside of him, the familiar and the unfamiliar.

One thing remained true in both worlds - Rumplestiltskin - Gold was a man of power.

By the time he pulled up onto the driveway of the pink Victorian, the maelstrom inside of him was so great that he was all but ready to take up his cane and smash anything breakable within reach. The imagined gratification of bringing the handle of his cane down on the mailbox, the trunk of the car, the rear windshield, with its melodious sound of splintering glass, the tail lights, the windows at the side…

…the soft expression that was there, barely a heartbeat, but there in Belle’s eyes. A second chance…

The desire to break things melted like ice in the midsummer sun, and Gold sat, breathing hard from the exertion of mere thought. He had gripped the steering wheel as though it were his lifeline. Slowly, he forced himself to release his grasp, and then get out of the car. He walked, with seeming infinite care, up to the house, and in through the door as soon as he had it unlocked. Then, without even waiting to see if it closed behind him, he lowered himself into a chair just inside the lounge, and put his head in his hands.

He didn’t think he had any more tears inside of him than those he’d shed with Jefferson. Yet, as he thought on Belle, on all that he’d - that they’d - lost when he sent her away from the dark castle, and on the emptiness of his life until the moment he took Belle’s hand, he wept for it all.

It was long into the morning by the time he emerged, exhausted, from his despairing self recriminations. Although there were things he knew he needed to do - even on the day after the Miner’s Day Festival - he also knew that he would not be at his best without some rest. Even a little would help. So, he slowly climbed the stairs toward his bedroom, stripped off the gold brocade jacket, which was now in need of a good dry-cleaning, peeled himself out of the rest of his finery, and fell exhausted into bed, where he dreamed, strange and knotted dreams of past and present interlaced and with a warring warp and weft.

It was a late morning by the time Gold woke, and for all that he’d had so little sleep, he felt remarkably well rested and, more importantly, clear headed. He knew exactly what he had to do, and made himself a mental checklist. He had a reputation to uphold after all.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Gold got out of bed with a spark of hope in his heart, which he took with him to the shower, where he hummed softly to himself; a tune that his aunties used to sing when they were spinning, or better yet, baking the meat pies he loved so much. He stopped suddenly in the middle of soaping his chest and stomach. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought, so happily and peacefully, of his aunties. It made him wonder how long it had been since he used the memory to draw back the power of his magic. He shook his head at himself, and smiled, feeling so full of love in that moment it was almost painful, but it was not love for his aunties, it was love for Belle, who had unlocked all of the kind wonders inside of him…

…a flicker of light in an ocean of darkness…

…and for the first time in longer than memory, that thought didn’t hurt him to the core.

The first order of business for the day was a short stop at Granny’s and then on to the hardware store. It would be remiss of him not to fix the lock on the door to the library apartment, especially since he noticed it hadn’t closed properly the day before. What kind of landlord would he be if he didn’t attend to the safety of his tenants? The hopeful spring in his step had nothing to do with the possibility of seeing Miss Marchland again. Not at all.

He smiled as he passed the library and saw the sign stuck on the door declaring the public building closed for the day. That meant that Belle would be home, and he would have the opportunity to… apologize for whatever it was that had caused her to run off at the Miner’s Day Festival - and a part of him, a small part hoped that it was not because she remembered their life together and had not forgiven him for sending her away. The larger part hoped that he, his intensity as he had remembered everything, had simply spooked her, and she didn’t yet remember. That way he would have the chance to court her properly - if she would give him the time of day.

His impulse pulled at him to climb the stairs, once he had the outer door unlocked, and knock on Belle’s door, but no. He could not force his company upon her, so instead, he set to work on the lock. He tried to make sure that the action of the catch was as smooth as silk and closed first time, every time. Hadn’t he promised Belle forever?

He knew the thought was a kind of loophole. She had promised him forever, but what he had denied in the Enchanted Forest he embraced as the truth. Forever was a flow of time that looped both ways, and surrounded them both. He smiled and leaned down one more time to finish reattaching the catch-plate to the door.

He was so focused - or perhaps so lost to his surroundings - that when the sharp cry came from behind him, followed by the discordant jangle of keys hitting the sidewalk, he almost echoed it with a cry of his own surprise. He covered the slip, however, by reaching for the keys, and straightened up before he turned and found himself face to face with Belle.

“Miss Marchland,” he greeted her, using all of his self control to appear calm and collected. He gestured behind him. “I was just working on the door. Seems a little attention was necessary to ensure it closes properly.”

“Well,” he watched as she punctuated her own greeting with a deep breath, he guessed, to compose herself in kind. “Thank you, Mister Gold. I appreciate it.”

The slight pink already creeping into her cheek was delightful, alluring, and he couldn’t help but tease gently as he said, “Well, we can’t have just anyone walking up to the apartment without invitation, now, can we?” He raised an eyebrow and was more delighted than he had been in many a long year when she returned the gesture. In another life, he might have thought she was flirting with him, but there, he dare not hope for it.

“No indeed. There’s no telling in what state they might discover me,” she said, and the pink in her cheek deepened to flush of red. It warmed him deep within.

Ever the gentleman, however, he did not want to cause her discomfort or embarrassment. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll be out of your hair before too long.”

He was about to turn back to be sure he had indeed finished when she completely derailed his attention by snapping, “Why didn’t you tell me what was happening with Paige?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Paige,” she began, then added, “Grace,” and his heart lurched with an almost painful hope. Did she remember, then? “The girl that helps me in the library.”

“Yes,” he said, his heart sinking when he realized that she was simply using the girl’s cursed surname. “I know the girl to whom you refer. However, I fail to see what I should have told yo—”

“Oh, drop it, Gold! You knew, and you said nothing!” The fire in her eyes brought back the painful memories of the last time he had seen it, and he almost stepped towards her; almost moved to protest his innocence, and tell her how wrong she was. Her next words snapped him from the memory of it, and he closed his mouth on the words that were about to reach out to her. “That poor girl has been… maid and… nurse, and… who knows what else besides. I could have done something, could have helped. Instead you pretended there was nothing wrong, and let it all continue. And for what!”

“Be… very careful, Miss Marchland,” he rumbled, part in annoyance at her challenge, but the greater part in warning for fear of what she might stir up, should Regina decide to oppose her right-hearted desire to help poor Grace. “You know very little of which you speak, and none of the harm your interference could—”

“Interference?” He winced at the incredulity he heard in the tone and pitch of her voice. “Only you could think of offering help as interference. You are unbelievable, you know that?”

“No, Miss Marchland,” he said, trying, by his words, to convey the meaning of his warning, without openly making accusations in the street. “I am a man that simply knows how, and when to best take sides.”

“Take sides?” He frowned as she threw up her hands, and the pitch of her voice grew higher yet. “This is a child’s life we’re talking about, not some meaningless argument about… parking restrictions on Main Street.”

“Indeed,” he said and nodded his agreement. “Which is exactly why I have acted as I have.”

“Done nothing, you mean,” she spat. “At least you didn’t try to deny you knew what’s going on. At least I’ll give you that.”

He said nothing to counter that accusation either, and she made a sound of derision, before she stepped forward, obviously meaning to push past him as she finished curtly, “Excuse me, I have cleaning to do.”

He caught her elbow as she did, and stepped in closer to her as he held her against the open door. For just a moment at least, his eyes met and held hers in an uncompromising stare as he repeated a warning, his mouth almost against her ear.

“Everything comes with a price, Miss Marchland, so you need to be very sure how much you’re willing to pay.”

She held his gaze still longer, as if searching for something within his eyes, and he held his breath, willing her to find what she sought. After only a moment though, her face clouded with anger and she snatched her arm out of his grasp, pushed past him and left him watching after her as she mounted the stairs toward the apartment.

With a sigh, and no further excuse to loiter at the door, he closed it softly, and hanging his head, began to walk away. She was right, of course. Even before he awakened, he knew what was happening to Paige - to Grace - and who was behind it, of course. As much as he opposed Regina and her hold on the town of Storybrooke, as much as he had always stood in opposition to her, he never did anything to help that child, who now turned out to be the daughter of his oldest, dearest friend. He felt ashamed, and it was an uncomfortable feeling. He should have acted.

He continued walking toward the pawn shop, and pulled out his cell phone as he went, dialing the number that he knew by heart, but only now knew that the man he’d known as a friend for all this time, had been in his heart for so much longer.

“Rumplestiltskin…?”

The sound of his name, his true name on Jefferson’s lips, even through the artificial sound of the phone, brought a smile to his face, though it was a sorrowful one as he thought about all that he and Jefferson had shared.

“Can…” he cleared throat as his voice cracked a little, “Can you meet me at the shop? There’s something I’d like to discuss.”

He could almost hear the hesitant frown on the other man’s face as he answered, “All right, I’ll… head that way.”

“Thank you,” Gold said quietly, “And Jefferson—”

“I’ll see you in a little while,” Jefferson cut him off, and disconnected the call before he could say any more.

He spent the intervening time between then, and when the bell above the door sounded to announce his friend’s arrival, cleaning and polishing every item in one of the glass display-cases. He was agitated, and even that mundane task did little to quell his nervous energy.

“I think you missed a spot,” Jefferson raised a cheeky eyebrow, and made a pantomime of polishing the top of the case with the sleeve of his coat.

“Funny,” Gold answered dryly, making Jefferson chuckle.

“What’s so important,” he asked as the chuckled failed, “that you had to drag me all the way into town.”

“An… apology,” Gold answered, hesitation drawing out the words, and making Jefferson frown.

“There’s nothing—” Jefferson began, but Gold interrupted.

“Grace,” he said. “I should have—”

Jefferson shook his head, and craved softly, “Don’t. There was nothing you could have done. Regina—”

“I should have done something.”

“And what!” Jefferson asked, beginning to pace in agitation of his own. “She would never have let you interfere with whatever reason she has to punish me.” Gold’s heart broke as Jefferson swung round to face him, stopping dead as if he hadn’t been pacing at all, and ran his hand through his hair, leaving the front even more mussed than usual. He let out a huff then. “She has no reason to punish me… save perhaps spite. She had already separated me from my daughter. Trapped me in Wonderland, where—”

He stopped suddenly, as if whatever he had to say was some great shame, and Gold stepped toward him, took a tentative hold on his arms.

“Where?” he prompted, his tone tender, full of the worry he had for the man, but Jefferson shook his head.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t.”

“No one blames you, Jefferson,” Gold told him, his voice low, soft, compassionate.

“They should!” The Hatter suddenly cried, throwing up his arms and breaking Gold’s hold on them. He paced away again, then swung an accusatory glare his way. “She begged me - pleaded with me - not to go, but no… my arrogance, my certainty that one. Last. Job…” a sob that became a shiver, then a tremor that shook his body. “If I had listened. If I had stayed,” he continued in a whisper, “Grace would still have a mother. We’d still be a family. She wouldn’t be trapped, living a hell, with a withered hag as a jailer.”

Gold knew Jefferson was referring, not to Cloe Grace, but to Mother Trude, the ‘neighbor’ supposedly looking out for Grace, where the woman the curse had cast as her mother could not.

“I can fix this,” he whispered.

“No!” Jefferson cried, snatching at him and hauling him close as if to shake him like a rag doll. “Rumplestiltskin, No!”

“You can have her back. Your Grace.”

“She doesn’t know me!” Jefferson released Gold, and unbalanced he teetered back until Jefferson steadied him, but then The Hatter threw up his arms again. “Not as her father. As far as she knows, her papa was taken away when she was small. Ripped away from her by the authorities for gods know what!”

“Jefferson…” he tried to interrupt the man’s agonized tirade.

“That’s her reality. All she’s ever known in this world.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Gold said softly, when Jefferson’s anguish burned itself out. “Nor in the way she has to live now.”

“You think Regina wouldn’t find some way to torment her to punish me if anything about the life she inflicted on Grace changed? Especially if she knew you were involved… even if she doesn’t know you’re awake?”

Gold shook his head, but couldn’t find the words to disarm Jefferson’s justifiable fears.

“And if she finds out!?” Jefferson’s agitation rose again, and he filled the space around him with desperate gestures. “No… Rumplestiltskin, no. I… I can’t… I…”

Through Jefferson’s flailing, and over his shoulder, Gold saw the shadow of a figure moving past the front of the shop, pausing for a moment by the door as if the person would come inside. No one did, but Gold had recognized the figure none-the-less. He would know her anywhere.

“It may now be out of either of our hands,” he said, and watched as Jefferson turned in time to see the shadow move away from the door.

#rumbelle #cursed storybrooke au #angst #romance #eventual smut

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cadence-talle · 4 years

Text

Rain Against A Window

Pairing: Eventual Fitz Vacker/Dex Dizznee, Eventual Biana Vacker/Sophie Foster

Wordcount: 1,746

Summary: Dex continues, “have you heard the rumors? About the prince and princess?”

“You mean the princess whose name is so similar to mine I visibly react whenever anyone mentions her? Yeah, I’ve heard of her.”

“They’re saying-” and here Dex’s voice drops to a whisper- “that Fitzroy and Bianca are alive.”

Other notes: Here’s the first chapter of the Anastasia AU! I’m a little nervous about starting a multichap, so please bear with me!

Read it on ao3 or under the cut!

St Petersburg, Russia. October 12, 1917.

Della rushes through the palace hallways, holding tight to the hands of her two smallest children. Fitzroy stumbles, and she pulls him to his feet.

“Come on, sweetheart,” she says. “We need to keep going.”

She doesn’t know where Alden and Alvar are. As soon as the shouts of “assassin” had been heard, she had taken Fitzroy and Bianca and run. She hopes that her husband and her eldest son are all right.

They turn into a hallway, and Della can see the doorway that will lead them outside at the end. She breathes a sigh of relief- they’re almost there. They’re going to make it.

Gently, she pushes Bianca and Fitzroy forward towards the door, spinning around when she hears footsteps behind them. Della’s sags when she sees Alvar standing there.

“Al, thank goodness,” she says. “Come on, we need to leave.”

“You’re right,” Alvar says coldly. “You do.”

Della blinks. “Alvar?”

Slowly, her son reaches behind himself and points a gun at her. Della freezes. “Alvar,” she pleads, “Don’t do this. You’re better than this.”

Alvar snorts. “Funny. I wasn’t aware you thought of me as ‘better’ than anything.”

“Alvar-” Della starts, shooing her other children towards the exit behind her back. Alvar growls.

“Even now, they’re more important than me.”

“They’re not,” Della says. “But it’s me you’re frustrated with. Don’t take it out on them.”

“I’m not frustrated,” Alvar responds coolly, gun never shifting in his hand. “I’m simply tired of this facade.” He steps closer.

“You’ll see. Or, you won’t, really. But as you go blind, know that this is what’s best for Russia.”

He pulls the trigger.

-/-

St Petersburg, Russia. February 23, 1927.

“Comrades!”

A crowd surrounds a wooden platform, the man atop it spreading his arms wide. “The revolution hears you. Each and every one of you. Together, we will forge a new Russia that will be the envy of all the world!” The crowd erupts into tears, and he gives the people below a wide smile.

This is Alvar, the ex-Vacker prince who took out his mother and siblings in a single night. Everyone in Russia- or, at least, in the general area around Petersburg- knows him. Some love him, some hate him, but all are agreed on one thing: you don’t mess with Alvar. Those who do tend to disappear.

A brown-haired girl lurks on the edge of the onlookers, frown deepening with each word Alvar says. When he begins to wrap up his speech, she sighs and ducks into an alleyway.

This is Biana Dizznee, fifteen year old scam artist and oddly good singer. She’s technically an orphan, but she��ll refute any claim towards that- this is my family, she’ll say, gesturing towards the Dizznees, not some people who didn’t even care enough to keep me. She disapproves of the current government, not that she’d ever be loud about it; she likes being alive very much, thank you.

Biana moves along the dirty streets to a small market, loud with the sound of voices. She walks over to a boy with strawberry-blond hair, tapping him on the shoulder. He turns around, leaning against the fruit stall they’re standing in front of.

“Hey, Bi. What’s going on?”

Biana shrugs, picking up an apple and inspecting it for spots. She doesn’t know why she even bothers anymore, honestly- any and all fruit that’s being sold down here is sure to be half-rotted already. “Not much. Alvar’s on another of his tangents. Apparently Petersburg is now called ‘Leningrad.’”

Dex snorts. “Good luck with that.”

This is Dex Dizznee, Biana’s adopted brother. People say he can fix everything; and, while almost true, fixing things is nowhere near his most useful talent. No, that would be his ability to forge papers, hotwire machines, pick locks. If Biana’s the face of their little group, the one who talks their way out, Dex is the one who gets things done.

“Right?” Biana agrees, giving up on her apple. “He’s tried stuff like this before, too. It won’t work- Petersburg will always be Petersburg, no matter how many new names they give it. The tsar’s influence is too strong for that.”

“Speaking of the tsar,” Dex says casually. Biana recognizes the twinkle in his heads and jerks her head covertly to the left. They move out of the market, out of earshot of anyone incriminating. Biana raises an eyebrow and Dex continues, “have you heard the rumors? About the prince and princess?”

“You mean the princess whose name is so similar to mine I visibly react whenever anyone mentions her? Yeah, I’ve heard of her.”

“They’re saying-” and here Dex’s voice drops to a whisper- “that Fitzroy and Bianca are alive.”

Biana scoffs. “That’s impossible. Alvar killed them- he boasts about it once a week.”

Dex shrugs. “Maybe so. All I know is that the Ruewens, over in Paris, are offering a huge reward if someone brings them the lost Vackers.”

A slow smile creeps over Biana’s face. “And if someone was to, say, bring them the lost Vackers, or people who seemed like the lost Vackers…”

“That someone would get a reward.” Dex finishes. “A reward so huge we could pay off all of Mom’s medical bills right now.”

“Then let’s do it,” Biana says. “It can’t be too hard, right? I could play Bianca, you could be Fitz-” she trails off, thinking. “No, that won’t work. I look pretty close to a Vacker, teal eyes and all that, but you’re not even the right skin tone.”

“But you know who is?” Dex responds. “That streetsweeper everyone keeps thinking is your brother.”

Biana gasps. “You’re right. That’s brilliant.”

“All we need to do is get him on board.”

-/-

A light mist settles over the city as a teal-eyed boy sweeps a broom across the sidewalks, shivering as the cold sets into his clothes. Passer-bys push him this way and that, barely sparing him a glance.

This is Fitz. He doesn’t know quite who he is, or why he’s in Russia, but he doesn’t need to. Sweep the streets, he’s told, and sweep the streets he does. It’s a simple, mind-numbing job, but Fitz doesn’t care- if his mind is numb, it distracts from the numerous blank spots in his memory.

He’s just finished, leaning his broom against the wall inside a small hat shop, when a truck in the street backfires, emitting a loud bang. Unbidden, Fitz flinches.

Loud noises startle him. The nurses at the hospital believe that it’s a side effect of getting shot in the head, that every shot-like sound will trigger him, but Fitz thinks it’s more than that.

Loud noises these days, after all, never mean anything good.

The truck on the road moves on, a small paper-wrapped package falling out of the back. Curiously, Fitz picks it up and peeks inside.

It’s an ornate box, initialed with a gold-inlaid V that even Fitz, with his limited memory, knows- the sign of the royal family. He moves to tilt the lid open, but footsteps behind him make him hurriedly rewrap the box and turn around.

“Hello,” a girl with eyes the same shade as Fitz’s says. “We’d like to talk.” She loops her arm through his and Fitz’s eyes go wide. He pushes away, trying to back up. A boy with red hair, standing a few feet behind the girl, sighs.

“Bi, that’s probably not the best way to do this. You sound like you’re kidnapping him.”

Bi makes a considering noise and nods. “You’re right. Sorry,” she says to Fitz. “Just to clarify, ‘We want to talk’ wasn’t a way of saying ‘we want to kidnap you’- we actually do just want to talk.”

Fitz narrows his eyes at them, gesturing towards the hat shop in front of them. They huddle under the awning, and Fitz raises an eyebrow.

“Talk,” he says. Bi turns to her friend.

“Uh, okay,” she starts. “First of all, I’m Biana, and this is Dex. And we.. well. You’ve heard of the Vackers, right?”

Five minutes later, Fitz leans against the glass of the shop window, staring at them. “You’re going to impersonate the prince and princess and go to Paris to get money,” he says, “and you want me to help?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Dex agrees. “We’ll give you a third of the profits, though. What do you say?”

Fitz should say no. He should say no, and walk away, and tell the government. That’s what a loyal citizen would do, and Fitz has worked hard to be a loyal citizen.

But something in the back of his mind says Paris, and something in the back of his mind says you need to get out of here, and something in the back of his mind says aren’t you tired of being a streetsweeper, and Fitz finds he can’t say no.

“I’ll do it.”

-/-

The rumor mill in Russia flows as steadily as the Neva river, always staying its course. It can be diverted, of course, and it is- sometimes to Germany, sometimes to Belarus, sometimes to France.

Now, rumors flow to Paris, where a blond girl walks the streets, greeting people who she knows. She smiles and chuckles and seems, for all the world, like a people person.

She is not.

This is Sophie Ruewen, previously Foster. She’s the adopted daughter of Grady and Edaline Ruewen, ex-count and countess of Russia. Sophie’s never actually been to Russia- her parents left before things got too bad. She’s heard the stories, though, and keeps an ear out for any rumors.

Rumors are flying around Paris today, though, and Sophie carefully commits them to memory.

The Vacker siblings, it seems, are back.

-/-

And back in Russia, Alvar sits in his office, door closed and scowling. People are saying Fitzroy and Bianca are alive, which is impossible. Alvar killed them himself.

Still, every rumor in St Petersburg has a hint of truth.

Carefully, Alvar slides a drawer in his desk open and takes out his gun.

Better safe than sorry, after all.

-/-

This is Alvar, Biana, Dex, Fitz, and Sophie.

They don’t all know each other, not yet. They’re scattered, each with their own hopes and dreams and fears. Some of them are luckier than others. But all have a role to play in the drama of the Vackers.

This is Sophie, Fitz, Dex, Biana, and Alvar.

And with them, on a cold February day, we set our scene.

#lynn rambles #my writing #fitz vacker #biana vacker #alvar vacker #sophie foster #dex dizznee #kotlc #anastasia au

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xaphrin · 4 years

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I hope you don’t mind I smooshed these together. Also, this got WILDLY out of control.

Damian glared at Raven over the rim of his glass, watching as she leaned against the bar, likely showing a flash of cleavage. She’d specifically worn that dress - the one with the black sequins and the low neckline - because she said men were easily influenced by the allure of sex, and it made getting information from them “a piece of cake”.

Damian had originally scoffed at the idea, he didn’t think anyone would be dumb enough to just blurt out information to a pretty face and a pair of tits. But, now that he had alcohol burning through his veins, he realized he would have gladly given Raven anything she wanted if she was next to him. Her eyes suddenly seemed too wide, her lips too red, her breasts too full, her dress too short - short enough to show the lace edge of her stockings - she was too much of everything.

“I didn’t think Raven could be that hot.”

Damian looked at Gar, who was sitting next to him, gazing longingly at her. Gar propped up his head up on his hand, and grinned like an idiot, a flush working across his cheeks. “I didn’t even thing she had breasts. I mean… look at that.”

Raven gave the guy a soft smile and took a drink that was offered to her by the bartender, sipping it. She leaned forward even more, and Damian stared at the lace edge of her stockings, his gaze sliding up the back of her thighs until he caught the black edge of her panties just barely peeking out from the hem of her dress. He felt his blood boil in his veins, and suddenly his mind was filled with him ripping her panties off her hips, hoisting her against a wall and-

Raven’s eyes widened, and he could feel her glare flick to his own. Her lips twitched, and with a subtle movement, she tapped the side of her head.

Right. Empath.

Damian flushed and reached for his third drink, downing it in one movement, as he looked out onto the dance floor. Starfire looked like a model, nearly a whole head above the other women, and men kept coming up to her, asking to dance. She fluttered her eyelashes and danced with them, each movement a lie. She was watching for their second target, who was currently in a booth by the corner, his inebriated following Starfire’s every movement.

Sex, it seemed, was a way to get bad guys to do bad things. Damian hated it when they were right. Jaime sunk down next to Gar and sighed. “No luck trying to get anymore info from the bodyguard. Just a bit about a party downstairs, which we already knew about. How is Raven faring?”

Damian looked back at her, and he watched as the man she was chatting up finally kissed the back of her hand, leaving a small smudge on her skin. It was her ticket downstairs to the party. “Better than us, I see.”

“Good.” Jamie sighed and leaned back in their booth. “Well, at least our magical tank can get into the party. You think they’re really serving meta drugs downstairs?”

“Or trafficking metas. Or it’s just a normal party with run-of-the-mill drugs. That’s why we’re checking it out.” Damian felt his tongue struggling to work, and he silently cursed himself for never having the foresight to build up a good alcohol tolerance. Two drinks and he was buzzed, three drinks and he appeared to be inebriated, which was embarrassing.

Damian watched as Raven turned away for just a moment, and he saw the guy she’d been chatting slip something into her drink. When Raven turned back, she reached for the cocktail glass, and Damian swore time stopped. Panic, painful and urgent, filled him to the brim, and he launched himself out of the booth and crossed half the bar in two steps, knocking the drink out of Raven’s hand.

“Hey, babe.” The word felt weird on his lips, like a term of endearment that didn’t quite belong to either of them. “Sorry, I’m late. I got caught in traffic. I thought you were going to wait for me?” He leaned down and pressed his lips to her ear, whispering. “He slipped something into your drink and I can’t tell if it’s magical or not. Don’t drink it.”

He felt her tense, but otherwise her composure stayed the same. “I just got invited to a cool party downstairs.” She smiled at Damian, and then at the stranger. “You mind if I bring my boyfriend? He’s cool, I promise. Plus, he doesn’t mind sharing… if you know what I mean.”

Raven bent over again, fluttering her lashes and winking, and Damian caught the bare edge of her nipple exposed from the edge of her neckline. Fuck. She was really laying the sex on thick. He flushed and glanced at the guy’s face, who was so entranced with Raven that he didn’t notice Damian grabbing her drink and pouring it into the floor.

“Uh… y-yeah. That’s cool.” The guy licked his lips and reached out for Raven before pulling back. “Sharing… that’s neat. Been doing that awhile?”

“Yeah. Makes things… exciting.” Raven smiled and shifted her hips, a slit in her barely-there dress flashing the edge of her stockings. She reached out and grabbed Damian’s hand, lifting it out towards the stranger. “You mind?”

He curled his lip up at the edge, looking at Damian’s hand and pressed a quick, messy kiss to the top of Damian’s hand. It took everything in his power not to wipe his hand on his pants and then immediately punch the guy in the face. He had to remember that this was their ticket into the party. He plastered on a fake smile and wrapped his arm around Raven’s waist. When had she gotten so short? Damian glanced down at her.

“Wanna head down there now?” Raven pretended to down the now-empty glass in her hand, and smiled at the other guy. “I’m feeling kind of… hot.”

“Yeah.” The guy grinned and cocked his head to a door in the corner, flanked by two bodyguards. “I’d love to show you around. The music is better down there anyway.”

They made their way through the packed dance floor, and Raven nodded in Starfire’s direction, letting her know that they had made it in. Damian bent down and pressed his lips to her ear.

“He doesn’t mind sharing?”

Raven looked up at him and shrugged. “The guy was only going to let me in there if he had a chance of sleeping with me. I had to think of something.”

“We’re not even dating.” Damian glared at nothing in particular. “And you called me your boyfriend?”

“You don’t even like me, and yet you made it look like you were dating me.” Raven flicked her stare up to him, lips tilting down in a frown. “And you’re the one having drunken thoughts about fucking me.” She paused and gave him a flat stare, a slight flush to her cheeks. “Tell me, is it the stockings that do it for you?”

He didn’t want to say yes, so he just kept quiet and glared ahead. “Shut up.”

“You’re drunk.” Raven rolled her eyes and made her way to the door. The bodyguard pulled out a UV light and saw the kiss on her hand light up, and then Damian’s. He nodded and ushered them forward, eyes staring out into the dancefloor.

Raven took a step forward and wrapped her arms around the stranger’s elbow, flashing him a saccharine smile as she asked some benign question about what was going on downstairs. The guy didn’t have an answer, and all he could do was grin hungrily at Raven. The door opened and there was a hum of high-powered techno that wafted up from the basement. “You’re right, the music is way better. How’s the booze?”

“Good.” The guy looked down into Raven’s cleavage and smiled. “We got a few things stronger than that if you’re interested.”

“Ah… well, I do need a good, stiff one before I get started.” Raven smirked, like she was telling him a secretive joke that only they shared. “Like I said, I’m getting pretty hot and might need to… cool down.”

Damian rolled his eyes and followed them both down the stairs, a mixture of jealous and annoyed. On one hand, he knew this was just Raven trying to keep up the ruse, and on the other hand, he didn’t want to share her with anyone. Then again, it wasn’t exactly like she was his to share. What a fucking joke.

The hum of the music was so loud it practically vibrated his bones, each step brought him deeper and deeper into the smell of sweat and drugs and lust. Raven reached back and grabbed Damian’s hand, pulling him with her. Her fingers tightened, as if she needed someone strong to cling to, and Damian remembered that the rush of emotions was probably drowning her. His heart seemed to beat harder as she ran her fingers along the line of his pulse, and he watched as she looked over her shoulder at him. Her face was flushed and he could see the way she watched him from beneath those heavily lidded eyes. There was too much all at once, and she needed a stronghold to protect her, no matter what she acted like.

Raven was smart, she kept play acting through her worry, creating a narrative that everyone else seemed to buy, and he had to remember to play along with her. And protect her from whatever was down here. They finally landed into the packed basement, the pounding of the music drowning everything else out. Raven let go of the guy’s arm, and he bent down to yell something into her ear. Raven nodded and she grabbed Damian’s hand, leading him to the bar in the middle of the floor.

Damian pressed his lips to her ear. “Where is he going?”

“To find his boss.” She glanced around, eyeing the drinks in everyone else’s hands. They had to blend in. “Let’s get a drink.”

Damian didn’t know if he could handle another drink, but he knew he had to avoid any kind of attention. He stood behind Raven as she ordered for them both, and the bartender gave them both a heavy pour of something strong. Damian coughed as he sipped at the drink, the fuzziness in his head getting worse.

“I didn’t think we’d get in.” Damian glanced around again, his free hand threaded through Raven’s as she clung to him. “What does it feel like to you?”

“A shitty rave. Sex, drugs, bad techno.” Raven shrugged. “I’ll look for a meta drug, but I’m not sure if this is the place we need to investigate or not. So far it’s all the usual suspects - meth, coke, pcp, pot. Nothing that even hints at a meta drug.”

Damian looked around at the alcoves set up around the perimeter of the basement. Some of them were private booths, others were more of an exhibition. A man was shackled to a cross while some naked blonde was performing felatio on him while she was being whipped. Damian jerked back and glared at the scene before he glanced at Raven.

“What? Never been to a sex club before?” Raven smirked and took another sip of her drink, eyes scanning the rest of the room. The subtle push of her powers was the only thing that alerted him that she was still acting. “I thought that would be your kind of thing. Always took you for a Dom.”

“Tch.” He rolled his eyes and looked around again, trying to see anything that might have brought them both here. So far it looked all pretty run-of-the-mill illicit drugs and sex. Nothing the police couldn’t handle. Well, at least that was one club they could mark off their list. He’d send a report to the police when they got back home tonight, and this place would be busted by the morning.

“Am I wrong?” Raven was obviously teasing him, but still… there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes, like she really wanted to know. “You’re not interested in tying your lady friend up and making her submit?”

“First of all, I don’t have a lady friend. And second of all, if I did I wouldn’t discuss it with you.” He glared at her, and without thinking about it, he downed the rest of what was in his glass. Fuck. Not good. Now he was going to be impaired, and that was not a good plan. Not around Raven, and definitely not while she was wearing those damn stockings.

“I would have thought you would have popped your cherry by now.” Raven finished her drink, but it didn’t do her any harm. Her healing powers kicked in before she was able to even get a little drunk. She turned back around and ordered them both another drink, handing it to Damian. “I mean you’ve had to at least gotten a little handsy with a girl, right?”

“No. And I don’t want to. Women are a distraction.” He followed her around to an unclaimed alcove, and they both sat down, sipping at their drinks. The truth was, he hadn’t found the right girl. He’d kissed a few, and yes he’d gotten a little… handsy, but none of them had even held his attention for very long. None of them were very interesting, and Damian had always found more solace in being a part of his team than trying to find some kind of romance.

He glared at her. “Why are we having this conversation?”

“I’m scanning the room, and I need you to distract me, or I’m going to get pulled into the sea of emotions. And then things will get… messy.” That was specifically vague, and Damian didn’t want to think too hard about what she meant. She shrugged and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “What would you like to talk about? Video games?”

He flushed, trying not to be embarrassed by his hobby. As a child he wasn’t really allowed to enjoy games, he was meant to be a killing machine. Nothing else. It was only when he found his father was he allowed to be a normal kid, and he found video games a comfortable, normal change of pace. He glanced down at her. “I’m allowed to have video games as an outlet.”

“I never said you weren’t.” She propped her head up on one hand and glanced at him. “I’m just trying to find a topic that isn’t so awkward to talk about as your sex life.”

He scoffed. “What about your sex life?”

He glared at her and took another drink from the glass in his hand. His head was definitely fuzzy now, and he felt like he was falling into nothing and everything at once. The bad techno almost sounded good, and the rumble of the bass made him feel like he was a world away from everything else. He could see why people were drawn to drink, it felt… nice. Delightfully numb. He glanced over at Raven and thought about how good she looked in the hazy lights, her skin lighting up a hundred different colors. Sweat gathered on her brow and pooled in hollows of her form, and Damian found himself wanting to explore ever secret hollow she had. Even in the smoke and sin of this place, he bet she tasted amazing. He glanced down and saw the lace edge of her stockings again, imagining hiking up her skirt as she crawled over him.

“My sex life isn’t as exciting as you think it is.” She took another drink from her glass, her eyes looking out into the crowd as she continued to flush. “Trust me.”

“I find that surprising. You seem to know a lot about places like this.” He snorted and looked back into her face, lifting an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I do research for places like this.” She shrugged, her face apologetic. “We have to know what we’re getting into when we come to places like this - how we’re supposed to act, what the rules are.” Pause. “And… maybe I’m a bit curious too. But, I regret to inform you that I am just as virginal as you.”

Damian glared at her. “And yet you’re making fun of me?”

“I never made fun of you.” Her eyes were wide and she set the glass down on a table to the other side of her. “I was genuinely surprised and curious. I honestly thought you had more… love interests than you have had. But, I can’t fault you for wanting to find someone special to share your first time with. Someone you trust, especially with all your scars.”

He flushed and looked away, not liking the way his stomach twisted and his heart flipped. How did she manage to disarm him so quickly? “I’m not broken.”

“I didn’t say that either.” Raven reached out and touched his knee, her fingers soft. “But you have been wounded, and it’s perfectly normal if you’re a little gun-shy.”

He looked over at her, his face suddenly flush with heat and emotions. Not good. Not good. He didn’t want to think about how she looked right now, her eyes searching his face, her lips full and swollen, her cheeks flushed. It was as if she was somewhere between a daydream and a nightmare. Everything he wanted, but everything he told himself he wasn’t allowed to have. Her hand was warm on her knee, welcoming and comforting, and he… he didn’t know what to do next. All he could do was stare at her and hope the rest of the world crashed around him, just so he had a reason to break this spell between them.

Damian swallowed the lump building in his throat, unsure of what he was supposed to say to her. The alcohol was making his lips loose and his mind numb. “I didn’t like you flirting with him. That… that guy.”

Her eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t pull back. Instead she leaned forward, dropping her voice so that he could barely hear her. “I had a sneaking suspicion you had a thing for stockings.”

He flushed. “I think I do. On you, at least.”

She leaned even closer to him, so that her lips brushed along the line of his jaw. “I-”

“Don’t.” Damian wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him, the heat of the room practically stifling now. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he stared down into her eyes, swallowing whatever fear was consuming him. If everything went to shit after this, at least he could blame it on being drunk. But right now, in this exact moment, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. “Stop talking. I’m going to kiss you now, and I… I need you to shut up or I’ll never actually do it.”

Raven paused, as if she wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. A moment passed between them, stretching out into an eternity, and then she leaned up and captured his lips in a kiss that nearly burned him. Fuck. Her mouth was hot against his own, needy and desperate, and she practically stole the breath from his lungs. It was like she was branding him with each of her kisses, spoiling him for any other woman he might meet. He wondered how much of it was influenced by the feelings of those around them, and how much of it was her own desire. Right now, he wasn’t sure if he cared. The alcohol was coursing through him, making him question his own thoughts, but knowing better than to stop this.

Gods, this felt like heaven.

Raven crawled into his lap and curled her fingers in his hair, pulling him tight against her. She broke away, gasping softly. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I don’t like anyone.” His hands slid up the back of her thighs, disappearing under the short hem of her dress and pulling her hips down against him. “But… I think I tolerate you more than anyone else.”

She smirked. “It sounds like you like me.”

Damian growled and pulled her hips down, feeling the heat of her body burn him through his own clothes. She hummed and her fingers tightened in his hair as her hips began a slow ride against him, the thin layer of their clothes the only barrier between them. Her lips found his again and she bit into his lower lip, drawing it into her mouth as he groaned again. Her hands trailed down his neck and she pressed her forehead against him.

“We have an audience, you know.” Her voice was low, and Damian glanced over her shoulder to see a few people watching them, obviously curious.

He glared and they scattered, obviously not that interested. Damian looked back into her face and he dropped his voice low. “What you said before was a lie, Raven. I don’t share.”

She swallowed hard.

#damirae #demonbirds #I feel like this is a bit messy #but I hope its enjoyed at least #also now you all know my secret-not-secret headcanon for Dami

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bigfrozenfan · 4 years

Text

Frozen III plot / fanfic - part 4

The Secret of the Northuldra

The previous three parts you can find here: part one, part two, additional thoughts, part three.

I do have now a permanent beta-reader for my translation, writing style, possible logical errors and for discussions about my ideas.

Thanks Anon (i'm in private contact with him) for your support and for being such a huge fan of my fanfiction!

I hope you like this next part of my fanfic. Enjoy.

It has existed for so long. So long that, over the eons, it saw even the stars move and how the world was formed. Time passed, and it was content. It was at one with this world. Then life arose and at some point this began to develop its own consciousness. For a long time everything was good and remained in balance. But this did not stay that way for long and humans began to multiply and slowly but surely change this balance. It sensed this in advance and withdrew to a place high up in the north of the world. This place was not chosen by chance, but it did not look for this place either. That happened just like that. With the help of the elements it was in contact with every place in the world. It observed and learned, collected everything worth knowing and stored the memories of everything that existed. It was a river of knowledge and at some point it decided to intervene.

Humans felt that there was something at this site. Something special. Some of them, however, were more receptive than others and they went to this place because the river attracted them irresistibly. It chose these humans and made them serve itself, influenced them and sent them dreams. It gave them knowledge and wisdom and made sure that everything remained in balance.

As the centuries passed and the river froze, it finally became a glacier as the world changed. The place slowly fell into oblivion and eventually became a legend. But it was still there, and at some point decided to give a living form to four elements and to choose only one of these receptive humans in his short life time to control them all. It gave him a little of its own power for this task and thus ensured that the balance was maintained.

Generations passed, humans someday gave the glacier a name and four large monoliths were made, showing the symbols of the four elements. They had seen them glowing in the sky above the glacier more than once. The family of the One, called the Fifth who was admired and respected by all, made a scarf to pass on the legend to their descendants in a vivid way. It showed just these four symbols, grouped around a central fifth spirit, the symbol of a bridge between nature and mankind.

For some time all stayed that way and man and nature lived in harmony, but humans were the ones who finally changed things. There was a war between two peoples and it had to intervene once again. But in this turmoil something happened and remained undiscovered. Destiny took its course decades later when it, which they called Ahtohallan, finally realized his mistake.

Envy arose and desire for this power they called magic and a human took advantage of Ahtohallan's innocence. One human, in whom Ahtohallan had put too much faith in.

A mistake that in time would cost Ahtohallan dearly. But by then it was already too late.

***

They had given the horses the spurs and rode as fast as they could. They changed the pace from time to time from gallop to fast trot and back again to spare the animals. But at some point the sun was already very high and the heat affected humans and animals alike.

Mattias let his horse recede into the walk and Halima did the same. He patted the horse’s neck and looked over to Halima. “We have already done a good bit more than half of the distance and I think we are well in time. We should be there shortly after sunset. Would you like something to eat?” He reached into one of the saddlebags and pulled out an apple, which he held out to her.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile and accepted it. Then she took a hearty bite. “That feels good now,” she muttered with a full mouth shortly afterwards.

He grinned at her and pulled the leather water bag from the pommel, took a deep swallow and then hung it back. “When we are in Arendelle and I have sorted everything out, we could take the time to have dinner together. Shall we go again to that nice tavern up near the mill? Like last time?”

She nodded, “That would be genuinely nice, the food there is really good and afterwards we could go for a walk and look down from the hill onto the fjord. The weather is perfect, and we have almost a full moon.”

“Good idea. Let us do that.” He thought it did not really make sense for Halima to ride back with him in the morning. It would be better if she stayed at home, and they would see each other again the next day, when they had taken Elsa to the castle and the doctors were looking after her. There would be nothing more he could do, and they would have plenty of time for themselves. “Darling, I think I’d better ride back alone with the men and the wagon in the morning, and you stay in Arendelle until I return the day after tomorrow. All this riding is too tiring for you, you’d better rest.”

“Yes, maybe you’re right, I’ll wait for you and then have some time to do some errands,” she said and smiled over to him.

They rode comfortably in silence for some time, enjoying the beautiful landscape that slowly passed by until Mattias’ face slowly darkened and he finally expressed the thoughts that had been running through his mind since they left this morning. “I can’t get the whole thing into my head, you know? I just do not understand it. Not that I understand magic, but I’ve been with the Spirits there in the forest for decades. They didn’t hurt us and they left us in peace. They always assisted the Northuldra. And now this.”

“Apart from the fact that they held you captive,” Halima objected. “You have been away from me for so long, my love, and I have missed you terribly.”

He looked at her and his face brightened again. “I missed you, too, and it somehow kept me alive all this time. I never gave up hope of seeing you again one day and living with you in Arendelle. But year after year went by and…I mean-” he raised his arms helplessly and finally admitted “You’re right. When Queen Anna…well I mean before she was queen…when one day she suddenly appeared with Elsa in the woods in the middle of us and we…I talked to her that evening and I asked her if you were still over at Hudson’s Hearth and-” he faltered and his eyes became damp. “She said yes, you are, and then I asked her if you were… married.”

It took a moment for Halima to process what he had said and replied quietly “There has never been anyone else, Mattias. Only you.” She paused for a moment and then added, “We could have had children, Mattias.”

He looked at her sadly. Then finally he nodded and sighed, “I’m so sorry. I honestly imagined it so often. You and me in a cozy little cottage in Arendelle with a rattle band of feisty little kids.”

Halima said nothing about it. They both knew it was too late for her to have children at that age. They rode on in silence, both lost in thought. Then suddenly, in a low voice, she said, “We could adopt a child.” There was a short pause and Mattias didn’t know how to react to this suggestion. He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “What do you think? There are some very nice children at the orphanage in Arendelle who are eager to be welcomed into a good family.”

“You’ve been there?”

“I have nothing else to do and I help out there from time to time. Every Friday afternoon I also tell stories to the little ones there. They love it. Don’t you ever have wondered why I’m never home that day?”

Mattias looked embarrassed and shrugged his shoulders. “I must admit I’ve never thought about it. During the week I have my duties at the castle, as you know now that Queen Anna has made me a general.”

Halima shook her head rebuking and sighed, “You are taking your new duties far too seriously. We are at peace, so what’s there much to talk about?”

Mattias couldn’t think of anything to say. She was right… as always. He nodded and then said “Let’s go there next week together. In my time, the orphanage hadn’t been around very long.”

“Yes, much had changed for the better since King Agnarr and Queen Iduna.” Halima put on a dreamy look.

“You knew them personally?”

“Well, I had no direct contact with the Majesties themselves. But I often saw them in Arendelle, even at the time when they were not yet married to each other. But I got to know Anna well about three years ago, she always is eager to meet and talk with people, she knows almost everyone by name.” She looked at him and asked, “Did you know Iduna was once at this orphanage?”

Mattias shook his head. “Why have we never talked about any of this before? It’s been so many months now since I came back alive from this forest. There is so much to tell. We must change that soon.”

“Nice of you to finally notice.” she rebuked and they looked at each other. Then they both had to laugh about it and he rode a little closer to her horse. He took her hand and looked deep into her eyes, “I love you, Halima. Now at last I can ask you what I wanted to ask you even then and only never dared to. Will you be my wife?”

Halima tore open her mouth and eyes and stared at him. Her heart pounded wildly as she nodded slowly but surely and answered with a broad smile, “Yes, Mattias, my love. I do.”

Mattias couldn’t believe it and a tear ran down his cheek as he bent over and kissed her.

They rode close together like this for quite a while, hand in hand, with a happy smile on their faces.

***

“Yelana, Yelana… something’s happened!”

One of the Northuldra men ran excitedly towards the leader. When he reached her, he stopped in front of her, completely out of breath and rested his hands on his knees, exhausted. Yelana looked at him in a slightly bewildered way and raised an eyebrow. “Calm down, Joná. What’s so important that you run around the village like a madman, shouting loudly and scaring everyone here?”

The man took a deep breath and started talking with his eyes wide open “I was out fishing and I thought to myself, they’ve got a good bite today. Then I looked over the calm waters of the Dark Sea and thought d…”.

Yelana raised her hand and rolled her eyes, “Get to the point, please. You don’t have to tell me about the weather, I can see for myself that today it is almost windless and very warm.”

“Yes… of course, once I start talking then-” Yelana looked at him with a penetrating look. “Excuse me…um…I was rowing towards Ahtohallan and I was already close when I saw something very disturbing. It…”

Yelana interrupted him again. “What were you doing so far out there? It’s forbidden, you know that.”

“Well, I figured since the spirits are gone and all, I’d take a look and…and try to find out something.”

Yelana shook her head, “So, you thought you could find out something about it. You.”

Joná looked at her sheepishly. “I…”

“Well, go on. I’m curious what you think you saw that was so disturbing,” she said somewhat sarcastically and tilted her head a little to one side.

“Ahtohallan is hidden behind a thick wall of fog, just like the one that has kept us locked up here all these years.”

Yelana looked at him at first in disbelief, then lowered her eyes broodingly. After a few moments, she took him by the shoulder and turned him away from the others, who were now looking curiously over at them. Then she whispered to him, “You won’t tell anyone here a word about this, do you hear me? That will remain between us for the time being. This is a serious matter and I first, must think carefully about it. You will also not tell anyone that you were out this far today. If anyone asks you, you tell them something about your catch, something about a big chunk of fish that almost pulled you over the edge of the boat, or something like that. You know what I mean?”

Joná nodded slowly as he stared at her, but couldn’t get another word out.

“Good. Now go back to work and don’t worry. I’m sure it’s half as bad as it looks.” Yelana directed him gently towards the beach and watched him thoughtfully as he walked away.

“This can’t be”, she whispered, lost in thought. Finally, she turned around and slowly walked towards her kota.

***

To be continued...

Remark: I have wondered who or what Ahtohallan is since I first saw Frozen II. Except that it is the source of magic from where Elsa got her powers, is master of the four spirits and cares about the balance of nature, we know nothing about "this being", if it is one. I thought it was about time to describe Ahtohallan from my point of view and I hope you enjoyed my thought process. Since I don't know whether it has a male or female (more likely) nature I have called the being "it". Background of the idea also was to connect Ahtohallan with Gaya, the Mother Earth, as she was called in Final Fantasy. Omnipotent and vulnerable at the same time. It is always the people who harm nature and who are hungry for power, who wage wars and spread without regard for losses. I don't know what WDAS was thinking when they designed Ahtohallan and its purpose, but maybe it was also an approach of Disney to show a connection, between the Spirits and Ahtohallan and a fifth spirit that forms a bridge between these two "worlds", man and nature. The introduction of the Northuldra with the background of a real people, the Sami, certainly had a deeper meaning in this context, especially if you know something about the history and way of life of this indigenous people. The dam is also directly related here.

And...I've now worked out most of the plot of my story. What I mean to say is that I now know exactly what is going to happen and I've already written the last section of the last chapter. But I can't tell you how many parts I still have to write before I get there.

#frozen2 #f3 plot idea #frozen3 #frozen au #fanfic #part 4 #mine

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