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yourlocalshittywriter · 3 years ago

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The Duty of a Hero - Part 2

Author’s Note: Hello! Here’s part two to my first fic of many to come. Besides some mentions of pain, there are no major triggers in this story! So, I hope that y’all like this story, and here’s Part 1 in case you haven’t read it yet!

Songs to Go Along: Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd, Blackbird by The Beatles, Sunshower by Chris Cornell

The afterlife is nothing like how I expected it to be. It’s no different from sleeping, really. At least, that’s what I thought.

Silence, then ringing, then white noise, then voices, then hospital noises, and then the sounds of the city outside of the room. Darkness, then white light, then hazey colors, then figures, and then the view of my hospital room. Numbness, then fatigue, then soreness, and then pain.

I was alive? How? How in God’s name was I alive? How the hell did I even get here? What happened? How long have I been out?

All of these questions raced through my mind as my senses returned and I observed my surroundings. I looked to my right, where a starry night sky presented itself to me through my window, an IV casting a haze in front of the right side of my window.. In front of it lay a vase of flowers, a few cards, and one large, shiny, silver staple.

I sighed at the sight of the staple, a symbol of the very reason I was in this state in the first place. What did the piece of metal mean to me in the first place? Why had it presented itself to me on this bedside table? Was I supposed to take it, keep it as a trophy, a reminder, a warning, maybe? I decided to ponder the staple’s reason for presenting itself to me later, and with that, I turned to my left.

To my left, I saw the rest of my room, a heart monitor, the door, and a chair that housed my sleeping teacher, the man I had rescued. I smiled, I had saved him, I had succeeded. He was still alive and sleeping as if none of this had ever happened. The overwhelming wave of relief crashed over me and the water from the tsunami drowned my senses as well as my eyes. I smiled through tears, my balling straining my throat, but I was too happy to care at the moment.

I desperately wanted to jump out of bed and give Mr. Aizawa the biggest hug ever to make sure that he wasn’t with me in what was really the afterlife, but my weakened state wouldn’t allow that, and he’d probably kill me for touching him.

I didn’t realize how loudly I was crying, but apparently I was loud enough to wake up the man passed out at my bedside. His hair rose with him, a sign that he was using his quirk, but as he looked around the room to see no intruders, his defensive stance ceased and his hair fell before pooling back around his shoulders. Then he turned to me and found that I was awake.

Mr. Aizawa smiled the biggest grin before engulfing me into a bear hug. I hugged back, content with my situation, before I felt wetness flooding my shoulder. I was confused, before the erasure hero pulled back and met me in a tearful gaze. His face was red from crying, the usual dark circles under his eyes had gotten so ridiculously dark that they looked like somebody had painted his under eyes with black paint, and his cheeks were concerningly gaunt.

“You're alive, thank God, you’re still alive!” Mr. Aizawa sobbed, rubbing his eyes before running his hands through his hair, “You’ve been out for the past week in critical condition!”

My heart stopped at this revelation, a week? I had been out for a week? What happened in that time? Oh God, what about the training camp? Were the others okay? What about the villains, had they been arrested? What happened to Dabi?

I looked over to Mr. Aizawa again, who was still regaining his composure, before asking him, “Mr. Aizawa, are you okay?”

He turned to look at me after I said this, his face still pained and his tears still steadily falling. He looked horribly skinny, his clothes practically hanging off of his body and his hair was a disheveled mess, as if he had been pulling it out.

“You’ve been on the brink of death for the past week and you’re asking me if I’m okay?” Mr. Aizawa croaked.

I looked at him, locking eyes with him and maintaining a stern gaze before speaking. “Yes, I am asking you if you’re okay. However, you just avoided my question completely. So, I’m asking you again, are you okay, Mr. Aizawa?” The man seemed shaken by my forwardness, and he took a shaky breath before continuing.

“No, kid, I’m not okay. Not in the slightest. I’ve been kicking myself for the past week because I couldn’t fulfill my duty as a hero or a teacher. I’m meant to protect you, but you had to save me from some lowlife while you were already injured. You could’ve died and it was all my fault!” Mr. Aizawa lamented, his breathing becoming more and more unsteady as he fell into a hole of self-deprecation and despair.

I sighed, my face falling as I sat up, dangling my legs off of the side of my bed. I took a deep breath as I balanced my weight on my injured legs, which were covered in bandages that I assumed were there thanks to Dabi. Each step felt heavier than usual, even though I could tell that I had lost some weight by the way my hospital gown hung off of my weak form. With every step, I felt like my aching feet were becoming one with the bitterly arctic linoleum beneath me.

Mr. Aizawa was pacing and practically ripping his hair out as he mumbled awful things about himself. He was so distracted by his own mind that he didn’t even notice me stumbling towards him until I had wrapped my arms around him, effectively freezing him into place.

“Mr. Aizawa, I saved you for a reason,” I began, locking eyes with him in a stern gaze, “I saved you because you would do the same for me. You may not notice it, but everyone in Class 1A cares so deeply for you. You’ve changed us all for the better even if you yourself don’t notice the immense impact you’ve had on all of our lives. I could go on about how much everyone’s changed since day one, but that would take me hours. So, please just take my word for it. You are worth saving, Mr. Aizawa.”

After I finished my little rant, Mr. Aizawa was smiling through tears, tears of pain becoming tears of joy. We both had a long way to go, but this was the beginning of the road to recovery. I smiled, the pain I had felt eating away at me only moments ago became something that lingered in the back of my mind along with things like what I wanted for dinner and remembering to thank everyone who got me something while I was in the hospital. It faded into insignificance, just like the staple that sat on my bedside table.

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toxic-gorgon · 3 years ago

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Yandere Dio Brando x Reader: Useless

Synapsis: You are one of the last hamon users and while the practice itself has died along Lisa Lisa, except for a tiny handful of users. While most are willing to allow their gifts to die out and go about their daily lives, you want to put yours to good use and join the crusaders.

Content Warning: Extremely dark themes, click the read more at your own risk! Non-con, blood, yandere Dio, depression/hopelessness, corruption kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, talks of su*cide, violence, and extremely spicy themes. 18+, minors DNI! By continuing to read, you understand the risk.

When you joined the Speedwagon Foundation, you knew the chances of you dying for Mr. Joestar’s cause was almost inevitable. Your gifts were nothing compared to the powerful and unique stands that you came across during the start of your journey. You were one of the last remaining hamon users, but instead of allowing it to fizzle out like the others who trade their gifts for normal lives, you wanted to help and be useful! Lisa Lisa long passed and you heard stories of how hamon saved the world. Allowing hamon to die was allowing a part of yourself to die.

Hamon was useless against stands, but worked wonders against humans and vampires. However, you primarily used yours for healing and support! The crusaders could use all the help they could get, so it made sense when the directors approached you for the task. Their lives are in your hands, and if it means to put an end to the vampyric Dio’s reign, then you’ll do your part and make sure these boys stay alive.

That’s what you thought at the beginning, back before your days meshed together and all time seemed to stagnate.

You weren’t sure how many days it’s been since you first arrived in this suffocating manor in Cairo. The dark and coldness inside the manor contrasts the warm and vibrant colors outside your window during the day. You were ever the spunky one when you first arrived, you knew your friends were well on their way and you had no problem voicing that fact loudly in Dio’s presence. He would scoff, flashing you an amused grin, after all you were (as what he puts it) like a fangless, clawless feline. You don’t pose any real threat, but it’s cute to see you try.

Dio is every bit what the rumors said. His raw charisma and power alone should frighten you, but that’s just one piece of the puzzle that’s Dio Brando. His beauty was truly breathtaking, much more so in person, his shirtless form proudly displayed like a painting hung carefully in the Louvre. His voice charmingly suave, almost a mesmerizing melody that beckons you closer like a siren’s call that you can’t block out. Worst of all was his eyes, that piercing gaze of his that can see right through you, all your worst fears and highest hopes, nothing can be hidden from this man.

When you first arrived at his mansion, you were awestruck. Cat-got-your-tongue indeed as you drank in the imposing monster of a man, your enemy. What could he possibly want from you? His smirk makes your chest clench as the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You wanted to run, and you would’ve if it wasn’t for you being so goddamned weak. You were completely at his fucking mercy, all he had to do was give the word and you would meet your end. You expected to die right then and there, surely a man like Dio would take out his enemy while he had the chance, just so later down the line it won’t bite him in the ass. You weren’t sure if it was out of pity or amusement, but your death never came. Instead, the cocky asshole smriks and gives you his blessing to tour his home. Hell, he even allowed you access to his library, on the grounds that if you did decide to run, you would be all too easy to catch. You were convinced this man had no real plan for you being here, besides making things much harder for the crusaders by stealing away their healer.

You were determined to keep your head held high and wait for your knights in shining armor.

But now, you’re just a shallow husk of despair. All the hope and conviction you had died little by little as the days went by, as those dark thoughts that Dio would mock you with began to take root. There’s no point in brainwashing you when your conviction can be shattered so easily. During the day, Vanilla Ice and Pet Shop watch over you. You absolutely loathe Vanilla Ice. His blind devotion towards his master churned your stomach, all the while he’s looking down on you and lack of stand ability. His words stung, but now they mirror static, background noise for your chaotic thoughts.

Pet Shop was your preferred caretaker. He’s a bird, so he can’t talk like your other wardens. However, you could’ve sworn you saw that bird smirk once or twice, and his steely gaze mirrored his cocky yet powerful master. Perhaps the bird was silently judging you, even mocking you for being more caged than he was. After all, Pet Shop was allowed to move past the mansion’s windows and enjoy the fresh air and sun, even though he stayed within his bounds. A murder hawk has more freedom than you do.

The nights are always the worst. Screams of ecstasy or pain, you weren’t sure which anymore, filled the halls. After a while of being imprisoned, they all sound the same. How long before you’re next? You felt like it was any day now, and eventually your captor will grow bored of your constant banter. Perhaps that would be for the best, you’re dead weight anyway as long as you remain here.

Your friends were on a mission to save Holly, which you admit is more important than rescuing you. You knew the risk after when you joined this crusade, you just didn’t think it would end here in the lion’s den. You contemplated jumping out the window, not caring how painful the initial impact would be. You always decide against it, and instead sit and wait, chalking it up to being a coward as well. Everyday when your saviors hadn’t come, the little bit of hope inside was crushed gradually until barely anything was left besides tears of frustration and a luxurious queen sized bed to help you sleep.

Since you’ve been here, Dio took the liberty of making sure you’re fed three five star meals a day and accompanying you with a wine glass of blood. Such a gentleman, he even made idle chit-chat while you refused to take a bite (no matter how many times he told you it would be a waste poisoning you). Dio boasted about his many achievements, including how he stole Jonathan Jostar’s body, which you weren’t sure if he was just bragging or making sure that even in a casual setting, the threat still lingered. Was this supposed to impress you? Because the only responses you ever gave him were snide remarks and silence. Sometimes he would treat this like a silly game, but on days when he was more temperamental, you wisely chose to nod your head and actually eat what’s in front of you.

He made sure you were treated well, despite your situation. You bathed in a tub fit for a princess with fancy soaps and perfume, and was dressed in the finest of authentic Egyptian gowns that money could buy. All of which were gifts from Dio. He even took the liberty to do away with all your drab belongings and anything that didn’t fit his opulent aesthetic. He even gave you art supplies once. Whenever he gave one of these gifts, he always made sure to attach a rose with it. You always throw them out.

To occupy yourself when your host is gone and taking time for himself, you like to venture to his library and thumb through his vast selection. You’re sure you read over half of his stock by now, but something new always catches your eye to pass the time with. Usually you would saunter off into your room, avoiding the underlings as much as possible, but tonight was one of those nights where Dio met you there.

“There you are darling, I was worried I missed you.” His smooth voice did little to put you in ease.

“What do you want?” you sighed, making your way to the bookcase and browsing through different titles. Dio playfully scoffs, as always everything you say is just a game to him, and the disdain in your tone goes unnoticed. You didn’t move an inch when he moved closer to you, towering over your much smaller frame.

“You wound me dear, I only wish to spend time with you.” He leans in close next to your ear, his warm breath tickling your lobe. “Alone.” Now that’s laughable! Dio Brando isn’t a man who did anything out of kindness or ‘quality time’ without something in return. Did he run out of bodies to satisfy his hunger? What could you possibly offer him besides a snack?

“Spend time with you? I’ve seen what you do to the men and women who throw themselves at you for a sliver of attention. Their dead carcass lay about your manor like furniture when you’ve drained them.” You barely whispered. Why were you explaining his misdeeds to him like a child? You weren’t sure if you were trying to reason or reach the last thread of humanity within, but doubt was clearly written on your face. You wanted this to end.

You balled your hands into fists and shook with rage. “Just kill me and get it over with! I’m tired of you and I’m tired of being here!”

Dio couldn’t help but sneer at your sudden outburst. How can you say these things? He’s given so much to you, and this is how you repay him? Do you not realize what you do to him? How weak he is while in your presence? How absurd. You had to have known, and perhaps you were testing his patience on purpose.

Reaching up and gripping your chin roughly, Dio kept your gaze on him. “I ask very little of you and have given you everything you could ever ask for. Tell me darling, are you truly unhappy?” his lips brush against your own, and his voice dangerously low that it sent shivers down your spine. Your voice was caught in your throat, this tower of a man standing over you so domineering makes you seem insignificant. Like a large cat ready to pounce on his prey.

Tears run down your cheeks and you had no will to stop them. Why was he doing this to you? As if to answer your question, the blonde captures your lips and wraps his arms around your trembling form. With a jolt of energy you tried to shove him off you in defiance for your space. “Please stop, I don’t want…” you mumble. Growling, Dio pulls away and glares into your glossy puffy eyes, his brows furrowing when you don’t give in so easily.��

“Pet.” he said through gritted teeth, his hand drifting down to your neck and squeezing rough enough to cut off air supply. “You’re being selfish. All I asked from you in return is your loyalty and to surrender yourself to me.” He picks you up by your neck and amusingly smirks when you gasp and attempt to wiggle free, your hands desperate for air. Your nails grazing his skin with little scratches did nothing to phase Dio, instead he chuckles.

“Funny, isn’t it? The man’s body I’ve taken, the only man I would ever call my equal, possesses the same power as you do.” Black dots formed in your vision and your legs grew tired from flailing. He lets you drop from his grip, and while you sit slumped over and choking on air for your burning lungs, Dio looks down with his ruby hues. “Suppose my interest in you is fate, or perhaps you remind me of him.” Bending down to kneel in front of you, Dio pulls you towards his chest and picks you up bridal-style with very little resistance from you. He smirks and leans in to whisper in your ear “However, your strength will never match his.”

Dio took flawless strides towards the desk on the other side of the room and pinned you down on your stomach against the harsh oak surface. With the wind knocked out of you temporarily, Dio traced his long nails along the soft chiffon fabric of your golden gown before tearing it to shreds down the middle, revealing your back and ass as the now useless fabric pools at your feet. Looking back at your captor’s sadistic smirk, your bloodshot eyes widen with realization. You were observant, he didn’t need to spell out what his intentions were.

Almost immediately, Dio parts your legs with his knee and runs his fingers along your slit, examining it’s beauty before he decimates it with his cock. Squirming, you tried to push yourself up from the desk. As weak as you were, you had to try! Even though you knew Dio had more than enough strength to overpower you. As if he read your mind, he takes both of your wrists in his strong grip and pins them against your back.

“Careful dear, you wouldn’t want me to break your arms, would you?” You stopped your struggling and stilled. It was best to get it over with and maybe if you comply, he won’t be as harsh with you, right? Just let him do what he’s going to do and don’t make it worse for yourself. “That’s better!” He smiles. “Lay there and trust your Lord Dio. Don’t worry about a single thing.” Don’t worry? How can you not? But, you did as he said and Dio goes back to running his fingers along your pussy, this time his index flicking against your clit.

Biting your bottom lip, you shut your eyes tight. Be strong….be strong…. You chanted, but the small shocks of having your clip played with after being in turmoil for so long, it was difficult to not give yourself over for anything that can make you feel a moment of blissful ignorance. You were convinced that either Dio was a mindreader, or you were just so painfully obvious, but he stops his ministrations with your heat and leans in closer, he carelessly grinds his clothed hardened cock against you. He was quite proportioned.

“Let’s enjoy ourselves, hmmm?” You shuddered at his words (and sizable bulge), a small whimper escaping you. Pleased with your sudden turn around, Dio leans back and without missing a beat, undoes his pants, allowing his cock weeping of precum to spring free. You swallow down a moan when his cock rubs against your clit, teasing your lips. Your cunt quickly became sloppy, as you were beginning to come around and throw caution to the wind. Dio must’ve noticed, because chuckles and mutters. “Don’t hide your cute noises from me now.”

With his cock soaked with your juices, he thrusts in and you do as he says, allowing a hoarse moan erupt from your throat that’s muffled by your face against the desk. This wasn’t going to do, not for Dio. While thrusting at a brutal pace, he yanks your hair back and lifts your head so he can listen to your lustful melodies more clearly. While you pant like a bitch in heat whenever he hits that spot to make you see stars, Dio releases your wrists in favor of gripping your hip tightly, leaving bruises.

Gasping, you didn’t move your wrists for fear of your lord stopping or worse. Pleased by your obedience, Dio’s pace quickens, just for him to slow down to a tortuous pace. Flustered you cry “W-Why? Please….please….m-more!” You try to turn your head, but his strong grip keeps you in place. What a wonderful development! Definitely a change in the right direction from how you rejected him a few moments ago. But, Dio wasn’t quite satisfied yet. He wanted your everything, not only your spur-of-the-moment submission. He’s Dio Brando, Lord Dio to his brood. He doesn’t settle for less than satisfactory.

With a grin, Dio knew just how he would achieve this. “You beg so pretty darling, I see you’re finally coming to understand who owns you. But begging isn’t enough.” When he started moving again, this time his cock kissing your cervix, your mouth hung agape in a silent scream. Your thoughts thoroughly scrambled with nothing but the pleasure that Dio was offering you. Hell, you weren’t even coherent when your position changed to you being on your back with your legs spread wide and exposed, only for Dio.

He picks up his pace, your cunt constricting around him as he pounds into your sore pussy, his hand now free from your hair pressed down your abdomen. He felt the slight belly bulge from him delving into your sweet cunt, simply delicious. “Darling-” He said too sweetly. “- You’re absolutely stunning so full of my cock, but I have a wonderful idea. I didn’t appreciate your attitude this evening, but I know how we can fix that!” You were too fucked out to comprehend his words, but nodded like the dumb slut you were. His dumb slut. “I’m going to breed this pussy of yours, fill you up with my cum, and you’re going to take everything I give you. Wouldn’t that be great? You grow big and round while your breasts are full with leaking milk.” He pauses as his hips sputter, his cock pulsating with the vision of you growling his children within your womb.

“Yes..I think motherhood will suit you well. Forever my ___.”

Whimpering, you nod in agreement. Whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop. You were so very close! You mumble a breathy fuck when Dio pushes your legs up to your shoulders, diving in much deeper than before. Chanting strings of curses under his breath, Dio’s hand on your stomach drifts down to vigorously rub your sensitive nub and in almost no time at all you cum around his member, your juices rushing out to soak the desk and his cock.

“Oh god...oh god...oh god..” you chanted, making Dio’s ego inflate more if that were possible. Smirking, he lets you ride out your orgasm, before picking up the pace yet again, this time losing control of himself for once. Brutally he fucks you, his cockhead slamming against your cervix, as your pulsing walls from your aftershocks urges his throbbing shaft, begging to milk it. After a few final thrusts, Dio stills and his cock paints your womb with his seed.

He wasn’t done yet. Chuckling at your fucked out expression, it was so much like Dio to push for more. He wanted to mark you, make everyone but mostly yourself to know who you belong to. Your chest will do and his mark will be on full display. Using the nail on his index finger, Dio carves his name into your chest, pebbles of blood dripping down your sweaty and spent body after each scrape was made. When he is done, he admires his work, his name etched into your skin almost makes his cock spring back to life. What was he kidding, he could go a few more rounds anyway. But first, he leans in and laps up the blood, waste not want not right?

“There you are, how stunning. Darling, I wish you could see yourself right now.” Your eyes grew heavy, you were so exhausted and ready for a nap. Dio picks you up and doesn’t bother to cover you with your shredded rags. “No, no, don’t pass out now. We have a long night ahead of us.”

#jjba #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jojo no kimyō na bōken #dio brando #yandere #yandere dio #dio x reader #hamon user reader #y/n #dio x y/n #extra spicy #dark themes #part 3 #stardust crusaders #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader

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cupids-crystals · 3 years ago

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3 and 15 with hermione, but imagine helping her with her ruined dress? poor baby would be so upset 💔

Shreds (Hermione Granger)

3-getting ready together, 15- someone ruins your dress

The sounds of your quick footsteps echoed off of the stone walls of the corridor as you dashed to the Gryffindor dorms. Your girlfriend’s roommate had sent her owl to inform you of Hermione’s sudden state of despair. You bound up the dormitory stairs, following the noise of the familiar curses and grumbles.

It was only a few hours before the Yule Ball began, and you were ecstatic to attend the dance with your girlfriend. Her weeks of planning and preparing had brought two perfect dresses, practically identical in color and style. The sleek material of your dress grazed the floor as you stopped in front of Hermione’s dorm. Without hesitation, you pushed the door open and scanned the room for her brown curls.

You spotted her sitting on a bed, her back to you as she muttered a string of complaints under her breath. Her shoulders were hunched as she fiddled with something in her lap. As you walked closer, you could see the silken material of her dress in a heap in her lap, her fingers twisted tightly in the fabric.

“Mione? What’s the matter?”

She turned to face you with a reddened face, streaks of tears dripping down her cheeks. “It’s awful. Absolutely dreadful, y/n. Look what happened.”

Hermione thrust the material towards you, exposing the jagged edges of the bottom of her gown. The dress in her hands was at least a foot shorter than it should’ve been and had obviously been torn apart at the hands of another person. You gasped at the sight and let your fingers run over the tattered ends.

“What happened?”

She sniffled once before shrugging her shoulders, eyes downcast onto the floor beside your feet. “I’m not entirely sure, but I would expect that someone is trying to ruin our night.” You could see her racking her brain to figure out who would take such drastic measures against the two of you.

You weren’t about to let this blatant sabotage ruin the night. You glanced around the room, searching for something that could save her dress. Instead, another idea popped into your head when you saw a pair of scissors laying on Hermione’s desk nearby. With determination in your movements, you grabbed the shears and returned to your place in front of the upset girl.

“Well, I’m not going to let them.” You held the scissors to your dress and cut the fabric the same length as Hermione’s. Scraps of material fell to your feet; your action’s caused your girlfriend’s eyes to widen as she gasped in shock. Once you had finished, the end of the dress fell just under your knees.

You placed the scissors back down with a small thud and moved to cup Hermione’s warm checks. “I know it’s not perfect, love, but that doesn’t matter. All I want is to be at the ball with you; we could wear the sheets off your bed for all I care.”

She giggled at your declaration and leaned into your touch. “It’s perfect to me. Thank you.”

You hummed at her quiet voice before swiping your thumbs over her cheeks, ridding them of her tears. “Now, why don’t I help you fix your makeup?”

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carolinetano7567 · 10 months ago

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YAYYYYY this is such fun! Here’s another snippet from The Hope of Arnória.

“Do you think this will help? When your father’s kingdom tears itself apart from the inside, will you be healed? Will you at last be satisfied?!” She snapped back, grimacing . Fraener arose and stumbled back as if he had been punched. He looked about slowly with a glassy, empty look filling his face.

“Then—I am completely forsaken.”

“Even I cannot save you now; you are too far gone.” Celeste managed to contain a sob. The devil had him bound hand and foot; and he was ignorantly unaware. A realization dawned on Fraener’s face, his head snapped frantically towards Celeste; all his suave composer and nonchalant bribery had melted away to reveal a framed, terrified young man.

“Celeste…? Celeste, you believe me don’t you? Dear confidant; councilor to my father do not forsake me!” He begged, falling to his knees. Celeste’s heart ached with pity for the poor creature. She turned her head away from him. Fraener fell onto all fours, heaving deep breaths.

“Dear God, no. Not you as well—! Speak to me, my friend. Speak to me words of comfort!” He beseeched, desperation clinging to every word. Celeste’s frame shook as she tried to contain herself, but a tear snaked down her cheek.

“I have none to offer you.” She replied stiffly, sniffling slightly. She balled her fists. Fraener was on his knees before her, clutching her gown in both of his hands as his body shook violently.

“Do not say I’m beyond hope, despite what I feel to be true…have you no more grace to impart?” He whispered into her skirt.

“Do not abuse my trust again, Fraener. My benevolence will not be so credulously lain before you a second time.” Despite her tears for his soul, she turned her head up and away from him as she squeezed her eyes shut and kept her tone flat. Fraener’s shoulders shook, and he hung his head in despair. Celeste refused to look down at him, knowing that the sympathy would be enough to give her pause in her decision. She felt Fraener release her skirts, and took a shaky breath. He slowly arose, shoulders squared, and darkness saturated his countenance as he put the facade of coolness back up.

Celeste set her face.

“Then I’ve got no one else left to lose.” Fraener quietly said at last. Celeste shut her eyes, and hung her head.

“I dismiss you, Madame. Our audience is over.”

NPT: @luzfeather, @trapezequeen, @marvel-starwarsfangirl, and anyone else who writes and wants to join!

WIP tag game

Tagged eleven times since the last time I did these (two weeks ago, whoops)

Notable offenders (<3) are @winterinhimring, @musewrangler, @kraytwriter, @afaroffsong, @informedimagining, and @called-kept. however I’ve also been tagged in the Heads Up Seven Up twice, by @kraytwriter and @musewrangler. So how abouts I take care of all this at once by adding twenty-five (not all consecutive) sentences?

She had children old enough to take on some extra responsibilities, so there was no question that they could get by. Which might be why Erran’s offer of help felt like such a gift, despite his lack of experience. He could have looked at what they had and assumed that he wouldn’t be needed or wanted. He could have decided that his own responsibilities (whatever they might be, for surely he had to make his living somehow,) were more important.

Working on the tunic till it was time to start supper brought them more than halfway to completion. They often stopped to compare progress and make sure neither of them strayed off course. If Shona had a slight advantage in age and experience over Isie, it showed more in speed than in neatness, and in the end when Rose compared the sides they were both even.

>>——>

As it happened,[name] hadn’t learned much from his conversation with Erran. They’d talked mostly of the work, as she might have known they would. She pondered over what she’d gleaned from [name] as she rolled out dough for pasties: only a confirmation that Erran was not from the area, and that he had lived in a city before coming to live somewhere away west of town. An odd change to make, especially coming alone as he had. What sort of work had he done? Had he been apprenticed in a trade? [name] did not seem concerned about his lack of experience. He was willing to learn and the fact that he’d offered his services at all seemed to speak well of him, and that was enough for [name].

“The lads know enough to teach him,” [name] had said. “T’will be good for them as well.”

And well it might be.

____

The next morning, earlier than before, Erran was back and the work on the thatch resumed. He’d arrived with red cheeks, twinkling eyes, and three more apples for the children to share but his hands had been very cold. He could use some mittens.

She did raise her brows at the apples though. Where had these come from?

“Wynn Fullrede sends his greetings and says to say thank you for feeding me yesterday,” Erran said, rather sheepishly in response to her look.

Rose smiled.

EDIT: you’re all tagged back for the WIP game

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hurting-fictional-people · 4 years ago

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A Theft Gone Wrong

I started writing this last night, expecting it to be really short, but it endend up longer then I expected... oops

I don’t know, I have never posted something like this before so if you like it please let me know, I kind of have more ideas for this but don’t know if anyone would like to read it... Spoiler alert: It’s about a thief getting caught and not realizing how dangerous her captor really is. Also, as I haven’t posted something this long before I have never had to tag it, so let me know if I do it wrong or forget something!

Warnings: manhandeling, kind of a creepy and intimate whumper, noncon touching, murder (of very minor characters and only vaguely mentioned), mention of the death of beloved people, choking

She leaned against the wall, her body relaxed and her eyelids almost closed, the living image of someone who had had way too many drinks.

The prince, on the other side of the ballroom, eyed her carefully, his gaze never leaving her even as he danced with other women. She let her body move along with the song, praying silently that he would believe her facade. Any other day and she might have enjoyed the attention of a royal, especially such a handsome and powerful one – it never got tiring to use a noble as she wanted and then watch their shocked faces when she just walked away satisfied and with a few more jewels that she would sell as soon as she could. That night, though, the only thing the prince made her feel was exasperation. She knew she looked pretty, especially with so much makeup and such a beautiful dress, but she was definitely not flirting with him, so why couldn’t he just stop staring?

She waited until he was talking to a guard, and as soon as he took his eyes away from her, she moved as silently as a shadow, disappearing in the dark corners of the ballroom, all of her drunk act left behind as she moved swiftly through the crowd.

If her comrades had done their job, the palace aisles should be empty, and all the guards worried about an invasion on the other side of the castle.

She made it to the second floor of the palace without seeing another soul and grinned wickedly as she hurried.

Stupid royals and their arrogance, so sure that no one would dare touch their belongings they didn’t even leave a guard near their wealth.

The thief had already laid her eyes on the royal vault when she was suddenly pulled to the side, but when her training kicked in and she started to fight the hand that held her waist tightly and pressed her against a hard body, she felt the cold and sharp point of a knife touching her throat, so close to her skin that if she tried to do so much as taking a deep breath, she would cut herself.

She froze, her body going rigid in an instant.

“What is such a lovely thing doing wandering around my palace?” Murmured a husky voice so close to her ear that she felt the air that left his mouth against her skin.

She couldn’t answer, not with the knife so close.

“I’ve been watching you all night”, he said, the hand at her waist pulling her even closer to him. She could feel the prince’s entire body as she tried to lift her chin away from the knife “ah, ah, ah, stay still or I might cut this pretty throat of yours accidentally, and neither of us wants that now, do we, dear?”.

She held herself as still as she could. Not that there was any other option.

“You see, I thought you were just a simple, albeit incredibly beautiful, peasant. You would have been fun to play with like that, of course, but you have proven to be so much more interesting now” his breath was making her cheek tickle, and every part of his body that touched hers only gave her rage more fuel. As soon as she had even the slightest opening, she would not hesitate to open his throat with his own knife. Prince or not, no one touched or talked to her like that and lived. Nobody was crazy enough to do it anyway.

The prince seemed to feel her hatred, because he held her tighter still, until it started hurting and she knew she would have bruises in the morning.

Everyone knew the rumors about the prince’s cruelty, but she had never thought he also had a death wish. An enraged growl escaped her lips, and he laughed.

“Oh sweet thing, I love you already”, she locked her jaw and pictured him dead as he would be in a few minutes to try and calm down. He didn’t seem to sense that thought. “So, back to what I was saying… There would be absolutely no reason for a girl like you to be here in front of my vault in the middle of my ball. That is, unless you are one of the criminals that were wreaking havoc on the other side of the palace until my guards slaughtered them all”.

Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Her head started spinning and her heart started racing as it hadn’t up until now.

No, that couldn’t be true. He could not have killed all her friends. There were at least twenty of the most talented thieves and assassins of the Guild there. There was absolutely no way they were all dead. Many of them had trained her, laughed with her, been her only family. But, then, how could the prince know about their attack if it weren’t true?

“Oh, they were your friends?” He asked, his voice filled with mock concern “I would say I am sorry for your loss, but that would be too big of a lie even for me”.

She couldn’t breathe. There was not enough air in the world.

They were dead. All the people who had loved her, who she loved, they were gone, and their assassin had a knife against her throat. She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t, not until she saw their bodies. They were too good to have been killed like that. They could not be dead, she told herself, hoping she would believe it if she thought it fiercely enough.

She would destroy the prince for that, and she would do it slowly, painfully.

“If you keep trembling like that, love, you’re going to cut yourself” the prince warned, rubbing his smooth jaw against her hair. The thief didn’t even realize she was shivering until he said it. She wanted to vomit almost as bad as she wanted to see him bleed “Now, I’m getting tired of holding you here. Don’t get me wrong, my beautiful little thief, I love having you this close, but I have a ball to host”. She could almost hear his screams while she destroyed him bit by bit. He leaned closer to her, his mouth touching her temple as he spoke “Before I go, I feel we should clarify some things. All your friends are dead. I killed them. You, though, are so very lucky, because I like you. I could have you killed right here, or send you to jail for a lifetime sentence, but I am feeling merciful tonight. I’m going to save your life and claim you as mine. You belong to me now, darling, and no one is going to come looking for you, not that that would make any difference. We are going to have so much fun together. Or at least, I am”.

He laughed again, and that sound made her growl once more. The man was crazy, and she was tired of that too. But precisely when she began changing her stance to turn around and break free of his hold, the prince whistled, and ten guards showed up from around the corner. And then, ten more appeared from the other side.

“Hurt me and they will kill you before you can blink” the prince promised against her ear.

He pushed her at the same time he removed the knife from her throat, leaving a thin slice where the weapon stood a moment before. The thief tripped forward, and the only thing avoiding her falling on her face was the years of hard training.

She barely had time to prepare before the first guard attacked. She pulled free the dagger she had sheathed to her tight, cursing herself for bringing only one. She had not expected to fight that night, and even though her gown was flowy around her legs, it was definitely not appropriate for a fight.

She was a good fighter. She had killed people before and didn’t really have a problem with it. But even as she attacked guards and ducked their blows, she knew she could never win against twenty trained warriors. That didn’t stop her from fighting with all of her rage, slicing whatever body parts came near her.

She took the lives of two of the guards before three of them caught her from behind, and wounded at least five more before they disarmed her. She only stopped thrashing and kicking when there were four men holding her and six more around them ready to stop her if she somehow got away. Tired and shocked, she grinned wildly and with not an ounce of joy when she looked at them, showing bloodied teeth. She had been punched and bit her tongue at some point while they fought. They all held the same haunted expression as if they didn’t expect her to fight like that. Well, that was what grieve and rage did when mixed, she thought darkly. If only they knew that by now she was so exhausted she could barely stand they wouldn’t be so alert, but she was most definitely not telling them that.

She only remembered that the prince was still there when she heard someone clapping, and he showed up in front of her, smiling and looking very pleased.

“It’s going to be so much fun breaking such a wild thing”, he said. She took a deep breath, smirked, and spit right at his face. The prince’s eyes darkened as he cleaned his forehead with his long fingers.

“It’s going to be such a pleasure to open your throat from ear to ear and watch you choke on your own blood”, she said sweetly, the smirk still on her lips.

“You know what, love?” He said, taking a step towards her and stopping so close she could see his pupils expanding “I don’t think I’m going to be the one choking”.

As he spoke, he rounded her throat with his hands. She tried to pull away, but before she could move, he squeezed, and then she couldn’t breathe. As she struggled and convulsed, trying to escape, he started grinning, the smile growing along with her despair.

She couldn’t breathe she couldn’t breathe she couldn’t breathe

“You see now, love, who is choking? Don’t worry, you will learn to respect me and to be good. I’ll teach you. Oh, your eyes look so pretty when you are scared. It’s a pity we can’t play more right now. But worry not, I will come to you as soon as I can”.

She felt tears falling from her eyes, but there was no more strength in her to fight them. The world started to darken, and her body stopped responding to her.

The last thing she heard before she passed out was that awful, disgusting husky voice of the prince. “Take her to my room and tie her up. We are going to spend some quality time together later” he laughed, and then the world went black.

#whump #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #capture #defiant whumpee #medieval whump #whump fic #lady whumpee #please be nice to me i'm new to this

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omgkatsudonplease · 4 years ago

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[ficlet, bagginshield] call me thorin (bridgerton au)

The next morning, Bilbo wakes to the sound of an insistent knocking at his front door. Rushing through the halls, he makes it into the foyer just as his valet Holman answers the door for him.

“Delivery for Mr Baggins,” chirps Hamson Gamgee of Gaffer’s Flowers from the other side. Still only half awake, Bilbo toddles over to his valet’s side and peers out, and then promptly does a double-take at the veritable parade of flowers on his front step.

“What,” says Bilbo intelligently.

“It’s from the Dwarf-king,” says Hamson cheerily. “He bought out Papa’s entire stock.”

Shocked, both Bilbo and Holman stand aside to let the flower parade through. Hamson and his siblings array the flowers all over the foyer and the parlours, and when they’re done, Bilbo can hardly move without running into flowers.

It rather feels like he’s trapped in a hothouse, or the botanical gardens at Rivendell. His stomach is swooping with all sorts of strange and contradictory feelings.

“That Dwarf-king must really be serious,” remarks Holman when the Gamgees finally leave. Bilbo doesn’t have the heart to tell him that all of these flowers are a lie.

Bilbo has only ever run into one or two Dwarves before in his past, and he’s certainly never courted (or fake-courted) one before, so he has no idea if this incredible fastidiousness to the terms of the agreement is a Dwarvish thing or a Thorin thing. Either way, it works like a charm. News of the Dwarf-king buying out the entire stock of Gaffer’s Flowers for Mr Baggins quickly gets out, and all of his usual dissembling callers seem to vanish in an instant.

Well, almost all.

“Mr Gladden is here to see you,” says Holman halfway through second breakfast. Bilbo puts down the seed-cake he had been eating in the kitchen with a sigh, shrugs off his dressing-gown for his morning coat instead, and heads into the parlour. An array of cakes and finger sandwiches have been laid out for potential visitors this morning, as well as a pitcher of lemonade, but no one has shown up until now. Bilbo swipes one of the cakes as he sits down in his favourite armchair, and waves for Holman to escort his caller in.

Mr Gladden slinks in with a hunched-over little bow. Bilbo knows he ought to be charitable, but he can’t help but think that there’s something rather unsettling in Mr Gladden’s leer, not to mention his phlegmy coughing.

“Precious has so many flowers today,” remarks Mr Gladden as he takes a seat on the settee opposite Bilbo.

Bilbo bites down the frankly quite rude urge to tell the fellow that he’s not his precious. “How are you doing this morning, Mr Gladden?”

“Very well, very well.” Mr Gladden barely manages to say those words before he starts coughing again. “I came for our riddles, as always. Precious has such nice riddles.”

Bilbo doesn’t feel the smile on his face. It’s been five seasons of riddles, and he still hasn’t summoned the courage to be rude to Mr Gladden’s face. As far as the rest of the Shire is concerned, he’s practically Nienna herself for indulging this fellow in his love for riddles.

He’s about to start on one when Holman shows up at the parlour threshold again. “His Majesty King Thorin of Erebor for Mr Baggins,” he announces.

Mr Gladden’s brows furrow. “I thought I was the only one with Precious,” he says.

“I’ve been in high demand for seven seasons, Mr Gladden,” replies Bilbo neutrally.

“But Precious always has time for me.” Mr Gladden pouts. “Besides, it’s my birthday. I ought to have a riddle for my birthday.”

Bilbo sends a despairing look at Holman, who quickly leaves and returns with Thorin. Bilbo’s breath hitches at the sight of the Dwarf-king in his navy morning coat, whose long dark hair is, as ever, pulled back in a neat low ponytail and braids.

“Good morning, Thorin,” Bilbo manages, a little more breathless than he’d like. Or perhaps the right amount, given the company they’re in.

“I see that my flowers have not sent a strong enough message,” remarks Thorin with a withering glare at Mr Gladden.

“Mr Gladden visits me out of force of habit,” demurs Bilbo, sending Thorin a ‘save me’ look. The Dwarf-king nods, brisk but understanding, and walks over to loom over Mr Gladden. The other Hobbit seems to wilt at that, before slinking out from under Thorin’s glare and heading for the door.

“Nasty Dwarveses,” he mutters, before breaking down in a bout of coughing as Holman escorts him out of Bag End.

Bilbo exhales as soon as the door to Bag End closes. “He’s been like that for five seasons,” he explains as Thorin now takes Mr Gladden’s vacated seat, helping himself to a little cup of flummery. “When we met I was still fairly inexperienced with the season’s social expectations, so I thought I had to give him the time of day. Now he’s like a limpet.”

“I find it astounding that you have not put your foot down and chased him out yourself,” replies Thorin, stabbing idly at the flummery.

“I pity the fellow,” replies Bilbo. “His country manners have not made him many friends. But, over the years, he has grown more and more possessive.”

“Country manners?” echoes Thorin.

“His family is not from the Shire,” replies Bilbo. “They are staying in Buckland for the season, but they originally hail from the edge of Greenwood. But... since most of Shire society does not hold Mr Gladden in high regard, I do rather pity him.”

“Ah.” Thorin nods, leaning back. “So he’s not your true love.”

“Mandos, no.” Bilbo shakes his head vehemently.

“But if he unsettles you, you should let him know of it,” replies Thorin.

“And run the risk of being strangled?” wonders Bilbo. At Thorin’s raised eyebrow, he explains, “there is a rumour in Buckland that one of his ancestors in Greenwood murdered his cousin in a jealous rage because his cousin was leaving to get married. I suspect the very same spirit lurks in Mr Gladden’s eyes. I don’t have the lack of self-preservation to test that theory, though.”

Thorin hums. “Any other persistent callers I should be aware of?”

“Besides Mr Gladden? Miss Bracegirdle, probably,” replies Bilbo. “Neither of them will take no for an answer, it seems, but at least Miss Bracegirdle knows the concept of respectability.” Perhaps a bit too much, but that’s neither here nor there.

For a moment, they sit together, Bilbo idly pouring them both tea while Thorin spoons bite-sized scoops of flummery into his mouth. Bilbo very determinedly does not stare at the way the Dwarf-king’s tongue licks his mother’s delicate silverware.

“We should discuss the exact number of events to attend together, and what to do at them,” he says. Thorin hums in agreement, so Bilbo continues. “Tomorrow is the Brandywine River Promenade, which I hope you’ll attend.”

“I may bring my valet and advisor,” warns Thorin.

“That’s fine,” says Bilbo. “I also recommend packing a picnic basket.”

Thorin nods. “Are there other balls to attend?” he asks.

“Several,” replies Bilbo. “Eight, perhaps.”

“Eight!” The word comes out of Thorin like a winded surprise. “Surely that is overdoing things.”

“And this isn’t?” wonders Bilbo, with a pointed nod towards the flower avalanche surrounding them. Thorin’s cheeks flush pink.

“I did not know which flowers you liked,” he protests.

“Violets,” says Bilbo quickly. “Or daisies. But I wouldn’t say no to roses.”

“See, that sort of indecision leads to results like this.” Thorin’s eyes twinkle in amusement, damn him. Bilbo laughs off his nerves in reply.

“If you can buy out a flower shop, you can attend eight balls,” he declares.

“Three,” insists Thorin. “After all, I am to call on you or promenade with you at other times. But do you not think all of this will be taken too seriously? It rather closes off your schedule to other potential suitors.”

Bilbo chuckles. “In this war we wage against the rest of Shire society, our best weapon is our appearance,” he replies. “Thus, it must be made apparent to everyone what your intentions for me are.”

“The very precipice of marriage,” muses Thorin. Bilbo nods. If the next Stormcrow does not remark on the sudden whirlwind romance they’ve been concocting, he’ll eat his hat.

Thorin sighs. “Six balls,” he offers as a compromise. “After all, I am still king and have duties, even on tour.”

Bilbo concedes. “Six balls, and you bring the drinks to our luncheon tomorrow at the Brandywine,” he replies.

“Deal,” says Thorin. “Would you like it in writing?”

Bilbo chuckles. “That would find its way to Stormcrow eventually,” he points out. “Let’s just make it a promise. Six balls, and drinks to tomorrow’s promenade.”

“Agreed.” Thorin sighs, before looking around him at the state of Bag End’s front rooms. He grins. “Do you need any more flowers?”

Bilbo resists the urge to throw a rose at him.

#the hobbit #bagginshield #lily's dabbles #tolkien #bridgerton au

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40sbarnes · 4 years ago

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Medici: Spymasters of Florence

Chapter 15: Show No Love

rule number 5 <3

we are nearing the end! 5 chapters left my loves, i hope you are all still enjoying!! i reached 100 followers on this blog today so tysm for all the support, it is singlehandedly fueling this story lol!

pairings: lorenzo x reader, friends fracensco x reader

taglist: @brynthebulldozer @mythicalamphitrite @nana035 @valravnsraven @hannahhistorian92 @not-thatweird @isaac-lahey-is-bae @angrygardendeer @unstoppable-xavi @johnbolton

The day was finally here, the day all your work had been leading to, the day of the vote.

Lorenzo was in with the Priori as the members cast their votes. You stood outside amongst all the others who had gathered to hear the result, in one of your freshly made gowns. The first parcel from Lorenzo had essentially been a new wardrobe. The note he had left explained how he'd gotten them from the same dressmaker you'd gotten the ball gown that he had asked them to make you the clothes from the measurements they'd taken that day. It was a sweet thought, especially for Lorenzo. And the new clothes were certainly appreciated.

At the thought of it, your hand moved to sit on top of his second gift, where it sat under your skirt. A dagger, from the blacksmiths you had admired. It was like none you'd ever seen, forged of some sort of black steel, it seemed to absorb the light around it. The handle had intricate gold detailing, and it felt almost as if it had been made for your very own fingers. You had quickly swapped out Francesco's dagger in favour of Lorenzo's, ignoring the twinge of guilt you felt at the faint symbolism.

You pushed all those straying thoughts out of your mind as you the doors finally began to open, and the crowd stepped back. You stood up one your tiptoes from where you stood across the square, trying to see over the ever growing crowd. You held your breath as you saw the familiar head of brunette emerge, his head hung. You didn't exhale until he lifted his head, along with an arm, his fist rising into the air in success. You didn't bother trying to hold back your grin, clasping your hands together as the crowd cheered. Lorenzo's smile was wide as he looked at all his supporters, until his eyes fell on you. He shared a moment’s glance with you, his eyes saying all the things he couldn't. His gratitude was clear, but there was something else in his gaze that wasn't quite so easy to read. You didn't have the time to decipher it as Guiliano grabbed his hand and raised it even higher into the air, jeering the crowd on.

You continued watching as he was led away, until he was fully out of your sight. Your focus flittered back to the doors once again as the Pazzi's emerged, clearly dissatisfied with the result. You stepped forward slightly, trying to catch Francesco's gaze, but you caught his uncles instead. Jacopo motioned with his chin for you to follow them, as they made their way back home.

You did as told, and caught up with them just as they entered their own gates. Francesco waited a moment to fall into stride with you, before you made your way to Jacopo's office together.

"Thank you for coming," Jacopo breathed out, relaxing into his chair as you took the seat across from him. Francesco stayed standing, off to your side.

"Of course," you nod, "I was sorry to see the Medici boy so happy," you dipped your head slightly, trying to show your upset at the ruling.

"We share that regret," he held his hands together on top of the table, "but he won't be for long." You kept your head low at his words, not wanting your expressions to give away anything.

Slowly, you raised it once again, glancing between Jacopo and Francesco in confusion.

"We have put in place some... precautionary measures," Francesco explained to you.

"What measures would these be?" You questioned, keeping your worry out of your voice.

"Drastic ones, in which we need your assistance," Jacopo twirled a coin around his fingertips.

"Of course," you were eager to show your non-existent loyalty, "just how drastic are we talking?"

Jacopo raised his chin, meeting your eyes before he spoke. "You have to understand, Bellondini, the time for politics is over."

—-

"You're okay with this?" Francesco questioned once you'd finally left that office, out of his uncle's hearing. You had spent a long time going over the plan they had formed.

You simply nodded, before turning to face him. "Are you?"

"It was my idea," Francesco grinned, and you had to make a conscious effort to hide your surprise.

"So you're not just good looks," you smiled back at him, forcing yourself not to show how appalled you were.

"I suppose we shall see tomorrow," he took your hand in his, placing a kiss to your knuckles, before he dropped it, opening the door for you.

"I suppose we will," you bowed your head slightly in goodbye, before leaving.

Your heart was threatening to beat out of your chest as you made your way through the streets of Florence. You couldn't believe Francesco had come up with it. That it was Francesco's idea to murder Lorenzo.

—-

The familiar climb up to Lorenzo's window was the least of your obstacles right now. You knocked on his window, seeing him at his desk scribbling away. He got up immediately, helping you in by taking hold of your hands, which he failed to let go of once you were safely inside.

"Come to congratulate me?" He smiled down at you, squeezing your hands slightly.

"I wish," you couldn't bring yourself to return his smile, glancing down at your interlocked fingers, running your thumb over his.

He pulled one of his hands out of your grasp, placing it under your chin to gently lift your head up to make eye contact with him. His demeanour changed completely when he saw the despair in your eyes. "What is it, y/n?"

"They're planning to kill you, Lorenzo," you lifted a hand up to his cheek, holding him as if he'd fade away any second.

A snarl fell onto his lips, he pulled away completely, both of your hands falling to your sides, as he moved to close the window, before slowing turning back to you, a hand on his hip. "The Pazzis?"

You just nodded, knowing the spite in his tone wasn't reserved for you, but still feeling its effect.

"When?" He asked.

"Tomorrow night," Lorenzo had announced a banquet in celebration of his win, and the Pazzi's had decided it was the perfect place to enact their plan.

"Well, good thing I have you," Lorenzo's smile returned, and the tension in his shoulders fell. You were only pushed further into confusion.

"Well you know their plan, don't you?" He said it as if it was a blessing for you to have listened to all the details.

"Yes, but-"

"So we counter-plan, simple." He shrugged, not seeming to face the same worries you were.

"You think they'll stop after one failed try?" You question, desperate for him to see the larger issue.

"Their attempts won't mean much from jail. We just need to catch them in the act," he continued as if he were discussing something much more menial than his life.

"In the act of killing you? You're going to give them the chance?" You were shocked, not hiding any of your emotions, your eyes threatening to water, your voice desperate.

"Only once," he shrugged, "Why are you so worried? It's almost as if you care about me, y/n..." he teased, his hand falling to your elbow, gently caressing your arm.

"Lorenzo," You tried to keep his focus, "if they succeed..."

"They won't," he promised you, "I've already told you. With you on my side, there is no losing." You hoped he was right.

—-

After discussing the plan for hours again, this time with Lorenzo, you were struggling to find the perfect point to intercept. Jacopo had given you the simple task of clearing a hallway and a room, and then leading Lorenzo into it without any one to see. Here, Francesco would strike, while Jacopo remained in clear sight. It meant Francesco would be gone for less than a minute, and he would not be seen leaving with Lorenzo. You questioned why you wouldn't kill Lorenzo yourself at the time, but Jacopo insisted, it was evident this was personal.

You and Lorenzo were seated at his desk as you discussed it. He was insisting you just let the plan play out and that he could take Francesco, but you didn't want to take the risk, or for Francesco to die in the process. Not that you told Lorenzo the latter.

"What if... we weakened Francesco? Ensured he wouldn't win, but you could catch his attempt, and you wouldn't need to murder him either?" You suggested.

"Poison him?" Lorenzo followed your train of thought.

"Precisely," you nodded, "I know exactly what would knock him out at just the right time, we just slip it in his drink and-"

"No," Lorenzo shook his head, his gaze steady on the desk in front of him, "Francesco won't be drinking on such a crucial night for him, and he would be extra careful with his drink regardless." You opened your mouth to counter, but Lorenzo began talking again before you could. "And it would be nearly impossible to time it just right."

"What if we didn't put it in his drink," it was as if your brain had lit up as the idea came to you.

"Well then how would we deliver it?" Lorenzo questioned, his eyes finding yours.

"I could crush it up into lip paint!" You struggled to keep the excitement out of your voice, delighted you'd found a way to save Lorenzo.

Lorenzo's brows jumped together, he didn't seem to be following you.

"It would make timing it simple, I give him a good luck kiss before sending him into you!" You continued, "It would be on his lips, perfect way into his system. And I could withstand it easily, put my mithridatism to use?"

"You still practice?" Lorenzo focused on your last sentence, clearly unhappy with it.

You just nodded, smiling your cheeks off at your solution, ignoring his disapproval. Lorenzo didn't seem to share your energy.

"And Francesco would kiss you?" His voice was steady, but low, his eyes refusing to meet yours.

Your lips fell, realising Lorenzo's issue with the plan. But now was not the time for such feelings, his life was far more important. You let a few moments pass before you spoke, keeping your tone steady so as not to betray yourself. "He would."

Lorenzo simply blinked, nodding slowly as his mouth fell slightly ajar. He clenched his jaw before speaking again. "Very well. It seems we have ourselves a plan."

#would he?#i would 👀#finally some spice #daniel sharman #daniel sharman x reader #lorenzo de medici #lorenzo de medici x reader #medici fic #medici: masters of florence #medici: spymasters of florence #medici #francesco pazzi x reader #francesco x reader

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i-have-feelings-bitch · 4 years ago

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el desorden que dejas - the ending iago and roi deserved

so my beloved @roifernandez made me watch the show like a week ago and since we have literally no clue on how iago and roi are handling the aftermath, we sat together, aljoscha basically threw sentences at me and i created our own little happy ending for them. hope you like it! ♡

1.2k words // Iago x Roi // hurt&comfort // angst with happy ending

Raquel’s eyes are soft and understanding. Her voice is still husky, when she simply says, „It’s okay, Iago. None of this was your fault“.

Iago struggles to hold her gaze and eventually looks away. He knows he can’t fight back his tears any longer, so he turns to go back to his room without another word.

Shakily, he places one foot in front of the other. With every step though, Iago feels the darkness clawing at the back of his head, demanding entrance to his conscience, seeking awareness, trying to push him over the edge. He fails to keep his thoughts from starting to spin. His face twists in pain when everything that happened emerges in his mind once again, every horrible little detail visualizing in front of his inner eye. Iago’s legs can’t carry him any longer, so he just sinks down onto one of the terribly clean chairs in the hospital hallway. He doesn’t care if anyone sees him like that, he doesn’t care that he looks like he just crawled out of a dumpster; he certainly feels like he did.

A sob shakes his whole body, tears are now running down his cheeks in an endless stream, his heart feels like it’s going to collapse right in his chest. Desperate for any kind of support or stability, Iago clenches his hands into fists, his fingers entangling and his knuckles turning white from the force. Buckling over, Iago rests his forehead on his hands, a storm of self-hatred, guilt and black despair raging inside of him.

He cannot remember the last time he cried. It feels horrible, he feels horrible.

A desire creeps up in his chest, a desire he hasn’t felt in a long time. The desire to fill the void of loneliness. That very loneliness that has been a part of him for as long as he can remember; that very loneliness that has made its home inside of him and never wanted to leave.

He doesn’t want to be alone anymore. He’s sick of it.

Before Iago can lose the sudden will to look for company, he gets up and, without really thinking about the direction he’s heading in, strides down the hospital hallways, his legs and feet taking over while the tears are still blurring his eyesight.

Two soft knocks draw Roi’s attention to the door. He didn’t expect to have any more visitors today. Roi doesn’t have time to answer though, as the door is opened not a second later. The view he’s given has his heartbeat staggering. It’s Iago. His Iago. With tears all over his face, a deeply pained expression on his pretty features, and his eyes so full of sadness that it has a stinging ache jolting through Roi’s chest.

Iago doesn’t quite meet Roi’s gaze, be it because of the tears or whatever other reason, Roi doesn’t care. All he wants is to hold Iago, hold his pieces together.

Silently, Iago closes the door behind him. His usually square shoulders are slumped down as if to hide himself, the rest of his body looking oddly small and lost in the hospital gown. Without a word, Iago takes a step towards Roi��s bed, but falters slightly in the motion. Raising his eyes to lay them upon Roi, he inaudibly asks for comfort, for help.

Roi feels like a cold hand is reaching for his heart, crushing it in its powerful fist, rendering him motionless. He’s never seen Iago like that before. Not when he dragged him out of that bathroom with Viruca, not even when Viruca died.

Forcing himself to break free from his momentary, circumstantial rigidity, Roi is quick to shuffle over to one side of the bed, although it is already fairly small. Offering Iago a hideout, he lifts his blanket.

It takes a weight off his mind when Iago actually moves, albeit slowly and carefully, to lie down next to Roi. His body radiates coldness, so Roi cautiously shifts closer, drawing the blanket across Iago and himself.

He’s unsure how to act other than that. Iago is shaking next to him, so obviously desperate for care, for love. Hesitantly, Roi moves to lay an arm around his friend, but is interrupted by Iago, who suddenly moves.

An ugly sob is breaking its way out of Iago’s throat and he turns to press his face into Roi’s hospital robe, hiding. His fingers cling to the fabric, clawing into it, and his whole body is jolted by his heavy crying.

Roi clenches his jaw, it utterly breaks him to see Iago like that. He feels tears welling up in him as well. Finally, he carefully pushes his arms to either of Iago’s sides, catching him in a soft, comforting embrace. Roi wants to help him better – he wants to say something, anything that would make the pain go away, at the least soften it. But he can’t think of any words that would change the situation, because it’s the truth. It’s the horrible truth, that they now have to live with. That Iago now has to live with. All Roi can do right now is hold his friend in his arms, and he does.

They lie like this for an eternity. Roi doesn’t know how much time has passed, for how long they have kept this hug, motionless, soundless, save for Iago’s sobs. But Roi couldn’t care less about time. Looking down upon the mess that was Iago, Roi can’t stop himself from lowering his head and gingerly pressing a light kiss on his head.

For a second, it has Iago pulling onto Roi’s hospital gown even tighter, searching for comfort, but eventually, Iago withdraws a little – only to look up at Roi, his eyes watery and brows tightly drawn together. His voice is hoarse and it breaks a little when he quietly whispers, “Thank you, Roi.”

Roi doesn’t know what to respond. He just gazes at his friend, finding himself – once again – lost in his facial features. Even now, Iago is the most beautiful person to Roi.

Without really realizing what he’s doing, he lowers his head, his face approaching Iago’s like in slow motion, until he can feel Iago’s warm breath stroking his own cheekbone. He pauses for a second, silently asking for consent and giving Iago some time.

Roi feels the slightest pull on his hospital robe and it’s the last breeze to push him over the edge, his lips meeting Iago’s in a feather-like touch. A ball of warmth and contentment erupts in Roi’s chest, his eyes fluttering shut. It never felt like that when they kissed before, he knows this time it would be different. Everything would be different, better.

Barcelona was loud and busy, but also calm and soothing when he needed it to. Sometimes he would just sit by the window, look down upon the street and pick out a random person to follow them with his eyes until they vanished from his view. It was a rocky road they had to go, and still have to go. But Roi was right there by his side, all the way through judicial hearing, through the imprisonment of his father, through therapy.

He heard indistinct clattering from the kitchen and a soft smile spread across his lips. Life was different now, it was better. Roi taught him how to feel real love, and taught him what it meant to be loved. How it felt to be loved. And it felt amazing.

#el desorden que dejas #the mess you leave behind #edqd #fanfics #aron piper #roque ruiz #iago nogueira #roi fernandez #myfics

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industria-adastra · 4 years ago

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Inside the mirror do you see? (someone else in that body)

Summary: She’s running. From what, she doesn’t know. The winking flash of a mirror passes by and Madoka catches a glimpse of the screaming cosmos.

Note: I want to write a coherent fic with plot but mind said no so here we are now. Anyways dm me or smth if you wanna talk about madoka ig, random people reading this.

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Tap, tap, tap. Madoka’s heeled feet echoed with every step she took within this strange black and white hallway. With every step she took, the environment around her would shift-not in colour, but in the patterns and shapes it appeared in. From swirling spirals to zooming zig-zags, the confusing landscape was ever-changing and almost nauseating to watch.

Madoka continued until she found that she had reached both a large mirror and a dead end in front of her. Slowly, her pace decreased until she was simply walking towards the mirror. Nothing was reflected there.

How strange.

Almost as if in a trance, slowly, lightly, her fingers touched the glass. It shattered upon contact, an eldritch scream echoing through her head as she flinched. When she forced her eyes to open, a horrifying visage of a snarling sun, masked partially by a half-moon was what greeted her. It slammed its arms-made out of the void and stardust-onto the mirror, shattering it even further. Darkness seeped through the cracks, reaching for her.

Ancient fear filled her bones, dread pumped through her veins.

Madoka turned and ran, scrambling to get out, ignoring the changes in her surroundings, ignoring the gentle hums and repetitive sighs of happiness. Only knowing that she had to get out get out get out quickly quickly before-!

An invisible barrier shattered, and before Madoka knew it, she was looking around to see desolate ruins of what she knew was Mitakihara city. Pink eyes darted around frantically, taking in the scenery. Shallow waters flooded the ground, and the broken remains of concrete buildings littered the floor. All that was left standing was a lone, barren tree.

The wind howled and shrieked, clawing at her as wailing laughter grew louder and louder. Large pieces of rubble started to rise, balls of colourful fire burst into existence, signalling the arrival of the giant floating doll ( Witch ). She was dressed in a blue gown edged with frills, framing the giant metal gears that protruded from it’s torso. On her white cylindrical head were two pointed hats, each with a translucent veil attached to the pointed end. And on that bone white face was only a red painted smile. A smile that never changed as she continued to rain destruction upon Mitakihara’s ruins. Even without a mouth she managed to laugh, a loud distorted thing that could’ve been mistaken for the mad laughter of despair.

(What is this?)

Madoka watched with undisguised horror as everything was rendered to dust. As a brave, brave girl darted around, trying in vain to bring down that giant doll. And not even a moment’s notice later, that same girl was batted away by a makeshift bat of concrete, steel and glass.

Someone was screaming out a name.

Madoka ran, faster, faster. She had to, no. Needed to end this. She could do it. She could do it. She just had to–!

Unconsciously, her left hand opened to clutch a rapidly forming bow. And as she skidded to halt, without her even realizing, Madoka had already aimed and fired. From her bow came a thin pink arrow that pierced through the doll and the heavens, scattering the clouds with its might. Her mind was blank, as if she was running on auto-pilot, waiting for something.

That something came in the form of a resounding boom that shook the earth. Almost immediately, a dark mist burst into existence. And suddenly, the ground beneath her cracked and shattered to reveal nothing but ink black muck that crashed into Madoka, knocking her off balance and submerging her under darkness. Balance lost, Madoka frantically flailed around, trying to get free, to claw her way out of this prison. To reach that pink light that she just knew was out there.

She was suffocating, drowning in potent despair and fear that almost completely overwhelmed her. Her heart beat erratically, telling her that she needed to leave leave leave please why? . Indescribable agony jolted through her like never-ending shocks of electricity. Thoughts that weren’t her’s were her’s swam through her mind, rendering it a jumbled mess. Madoka had to get out she still had to find her. She needed to find her and save her save her she had to save everyone. And to do that she needed to let go. This way everyone would be happy, together and forevermore. But she couldn’t give them salvation in such a useless useless shell. She choked, clawing frantically at her chest, at her throat, back arching as Madoka let out a silent scream.

And then, she knew no more.

She reached her arms out towards the sky, becoming bigger and bigger. Her salvation enveloped the world, bringing them all to her paradise, her heaven. She had to become bigger. She had to. This way she would bring salvation. For everyone. To everyone. She would give salvation to everyone. No matter who they were, no matter if they were good or bad, they would all receive her salvation. Young or old, they would all be saved. Animal or human. It didn’t matter as long as they could all be saved (by her). Wasn’t that nice? Wasn’t that nice? She would save them all from this never-ending misery. No more pain, no more suffering, no more despair. They would all be happy together. Happy together because she helped them all be happy together. She was happy too, because it was all for them. All for them. She created this paradise for them. She gave salvation to them. She alone was their saviour.

Everyone would be happy, together and forevermore with her. Together and forever and forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever ever ever ever–

Pink eyes snapped open, and Madoka woke up to the warm early morning sunshine. Her heart was pounding, wild with overwhelming fear of something. Hair on edge, eyes wide open, Madoka carefully sat up. Her body ached with strange phantom pains, and as she slowly stretched several cracks could be heard.

“What was that dream all about?” She mumbled to herself, not expecting an answer. Her fingers dug a little deeper into the bedsheets. A calming haze started to settle on her mind, taking with it most of the memories about that strange, strange dream she had. It trickled away like fine sand until there were barely any (purple) grains left.

Madoka closed her eyes and flopped back down onto the bed. Nothing but a large cage and arms stretching out towards a darkened sky came to mind. She sighed, eyes opening again. Her dreams were starting to become stranger and more incoherent. It was probably nothing too important, so she stopped trying to think any further about it.

Yeah, it probably wasn’t that important.

...Right?

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ashsilla · 4 years ago

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Affections

Book: Distant Shores

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x F!MC (Birdie Bechtel) with hints of Oliver x MC

A/N: At the governor’s ball, Edward discovers Birdie in the arms of another and realizes that he may just lose her.

Birdie giggled, lifting the skirts of her gown up to perch on the edge of a crate of wine. Oliver grinned at her. Some of his hair had fallen loose around his face, softening the hard line of his jaw.

“I don’t know if the governor would like his staff sipping his wine,” she remarked, allowing a teasing tone to enter her voice.

Oliver merely shrugged, swishing the bottle in his hand. “And the Italian ambassador?”

“Oh, she can definitely have some.” Birdie plucked the bottle away and took a long sip. Her nerves were up, and a small swig of wine might help to curb them.

As she lowered the drink, she caught Oliver’s eyes, the tenderness there. “Birdie,” he said softly, and reached to cup her cheek.

But even as he did, Edward’s face swam into her mind. In truth, he never fully left her head. While she was sleeping, his rare smile danced in her dreams, lingering in the darkness behind her eyelids when she awoke.

Oliver repeated her name again and she was brought instantly back to reality. She stared into his eyes, wide and trusting, not guarded and tortured like her captain’s. With Oliver it could be good. Good, and easy, like breathing.

Even if it wasn't him that caused her heart to race.

Birdie smiled, somewhat sadly. “Oliver, you are a good man.”

He stroked her cheekbones with his thumb. “As you are a fine lady.”

She leaned a bit into his palm, memories of their kiss in Tiburon surfacing in her mind. By the flash in his eyes, she knew he was thinking the same. Slowly, he leaned towards her, gaze never leaving hers, asking a silent question. Birdie ignored the stab of guilt she felt, the wrenching in her gut that longed to be with another man. But Edward had made it quite clear that they could not be together.

Oliver’s lips brushed over hers, the lightest of touches, when footsteps thundered on the stairs to the cellar. He lurched back, though his hand remained on her cheek.

Birdie’s breath hitched as Edward stared at them from the bottom stair, his gaze downright murderous.

“Miss Bechtel,” he said stiffly, his tone ice cold. “Is this really the best use for our time here, or have you forgotten why we have come?”

She cast an apologetic glance at Oliver. The lieutenant’s cheeks were slightly flushed, and he loosed a small, sorry smile. “It was just a moment,” she replied.

“'Tis a moment that could have gone to locating Robert.” If possible, these words were even sharper than the last.

“As I said, it was just a moment!” Birdie glared at him, trying desperately to ignore the way his fine green suit brought out the blue in his eyes. “And now I will continue the search.”

Edward scowled. “Must I mind you like a child to ensure you stay on task?”

She stood from the crate, her skirts swishing back to cover her ankles. “Must you act like such an ass?”

His eyes flashed dangerously. Oliver cleared his throat, shouldering the crate of wine they’d originally come to collect. “Shall we rejoin the ball?”

“Yes,” Birdie snapped, and followed the lieutenant up the stairs. All the while, she could feel Edward’s sizzling gaze burning into her back. She refused to turn, to give him that satisfaction.

When they reached the landing, though, his hand closed around her wrist. “Miss Bechtel, a word?”

She exchanged a glance with Oliver. “Alright.”

Edward half dragged her around the corner to a secluded hallway. As soon as they were out of sight, she ripped her arm from his grasp. “What’s wrong with you?”

For a long moment, he just stared at her, no doubt picking up the slight flush to her cheeks. Finally, he spoke. “With me?” He exhaled strongly, taking a step forwards. “What of your behavior? Consorting with the Admiral’s son?”

“The same Admiral’s son that saved both of our asses?”

“He is still a Cochrane,” Edward seethed, and took another step towards her. “And you were...you were letting him --”

“What? Kiss me?” His whole body stiffened at her words. “Yes, I suppose I was, wasn’t I?”

He ripped his gaze away from hers, running a furious hand through his hair, mussing the curls. “’Tis...’tis reckless behavior, Miss Bechtel. Behavior I cannot tolerate from my crew.”

“What?” Birdie snapped. “And what’s so wrong about it?”

“Miss Bechtel --”

“You can’t punish me because Oliver actually had the guts to recognize his feelings and act on them!”

“Miss Bechtel --”

“What is it to you anyways, if the lieutenant cares for me? You have made it perfectly clear that you --”

With an exasperated groan, Edward lurched forwards with sudden intensity and captured her lips with his own. He swallowed her surprised gasp, bringing one hand to the back of her neck, angling her head just so while the other circled to her waist, pulling her roughly against him.

Kissing Oliver felt safe. Calm.

Kissing Edward felt like living; living, experiencing all of life in an instant, every sensation alight and awake and aware, the whole world spinning mercilessly faster and faster.

It was the best feeling in the world.

Birdie stumbled -- the heels beneath her gown were much less comfortable than those she was used to in the future -- and Edward stayed right with her, backing her into the wall and crushing her against him. She gasped for breath as his lips left hers, trailing hotly along her jaw and to the curve of her neck; within a moment his lips were at her ear, whispering feverishly into her dark hair, “Birdie.”

“Yes?” she breathed.

He pulled back slightly to look her in the eyes. “I do not wish to see you in the arms of another.” He was out of breath, and his words were rushed, clipped.

She only stared at him. “Edward...this can’t continue. You can’t just decide you want me because someone else made a move.”

Despair flooded his gaze. “That is not what I mean, lass.” He lifted a hand, his touch gentle now, and traced the line of her brow with his knuckle.

“You have to understand how it feels,” she said softly, and with her words came the memories of him pushing her away, keeping her at a distance, ignoring her at odd times. “I’m not just...something you can have when it is convenient for you. I can’t live with the foolish hope that sometime you will see me as more. I just can’t.”

Edward’s jaw was slack. “Is that what you imagine I feel for you?”

Birdie felt a prickle in her nose -- a telltale sign of approaching tears. She blinked furiously down at the floor. “What am I supposed to think?”

“Miss Bechtel -- Birdie -- I find you to be the person I wish to see when I wake in the morning and the last I wish to see at night. I think of you when I should be thinking of anything else.” Edward swallowed, the hand on the back of her neck stroking at the baby hairs there. “I do not wish to see you with another because what I want...all I want...is for you to be at my side.”

His words hung heavy in the air. “Edward...what are you saying?”

He leaned forwards, his lips brushing her brow as he spoke. “I want you, if you will still have me.”

And there, those words, were what echoed the vastness of her dreams, the plains of her fantasies, the pounding of her heart. Birdie couldn’t help herself.

“What -- why are you laughing?” Edward’s eyebrows pulled together.

She smiled up at him. “I’m just happy.”

And when he kissed her once more, for the first time, it did not feel like the last time.

#distant shores #choices #edward mortemer #edward x mc #edward mortemer x mc #ds #choices ds #fanfic #fanfiction #playchoices

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morethanaprincess-a · 3 years ago

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@despairfiles said: ❝ let me have the gun ❞ from Shirou

My muse has a gun in their hand. Send me ❝ LET ME HAVE THE GUN ❞ for your muse to carefully take the gun out of their hand and attempt to calm them down.

It was the fifth time in a month that the walls of and around Novoselic Castle had been breached. The disaster of a ball meant to find her a husband (that is, if anyone else was asked how it went) had emboldened the new Remnants and those who followed them, mad and obsessed with Junko Enoshima's grand plan for the world. But from her spot on the stone floor, Sonia knew that was only part of the problem: the more significant issue was that supplies were scarce. Building materials, shipping, workers, even her Castle's defense and security teams were not what they needed to be. No matter what money she could (and did) put towards repairs, it did not solve a labor shortage nor a trust shortage in a Queen whom, if current opinion polls were to be trusted, at least half the country despised and wanted dead.

This particular attack had gotten some of the aggressors into the Castle walls, in the dead of night as she slept. And yet, while the night guards scrambled to jump into action, the queen had taken matters into her own hands: quite literally. With a dressing gown thrown over her nightgown, she'd reached into her bedside table drawer to grab the most important items before slipping through the hidden door in her closet. The one that led into the curved staircase and the hidden underground passages. It was going to be up to her to plan her own escape, with the lack of trained staff awake and available.

But she'd only made it to the bottom of the labyrinth of stone hallways, choosing one lesser-used before she was stopped in her tracks: A man, five (or was it closer to ten?) years older than she was, brandishing a shotgun with hate, anger, and fear in his eyes.

A familiar set of hazel ones. Sonia had winced: of course he knew these passages, he'd worked for her family as a footman before she'd left for Hope's Peak. In fact, it had been a sweet source of amusement for her family that this particular young man, fresh out of school, had been rather keen on pleasing the Princess of Novoselic. Now, he wanted to kill her.

Yet, that wasn't the most alarming part of it all. What frightened her, after Sonia had tripped over her slippers and fell to the ground, ripping her nightgown from hem to mid-thigh on a piece of jagged rock along with the skin beneath it, was how little she'd hesitated to shoot someone she knew. Someone whom she'd shared conversations with, jokes with, asked for tea and about his family: if she could remember correctly, and that was a challenge these days, his father worked on one of the produce and dairy farms in the rural parts of the country and it had been his biggest wish to see his son make a life for himself in the capital.

And now, she'd just shot him in the head with the pistol she kept at her bedside. That was how Shirou found her, curled up in the dusty, dark passageway, with a bleeding shin and knee, swollen ankle, and the gun still clasped in shaking hands. She'd saved her own life but the sound would carry throughout the passages: if anyone caught her holding a weapon or traced its firing back to her, rumors that the Queen had once again fallen to Despair would circulate as quickly and as treacherously as the fires she used to engulf her lands with. Shooting robotic Monokumas in the countryside with Shirou was one thing: taking a life was entirely different.

"I...I did not wish to do this ever again," She stammered, tears welling up in her eyes as he reached for the firearm. She'd likely twisted her ankle and her wound was getting infected, yet both seemed terribly unimportant to Sonia right now. "I vowed to never take a human life again. It...it's too much to bear, and the people. They will never...never forgive me, Shirou!"

#more-than-a-princess answered #despairfiles #post neo world program verse #(Muse has a gun meme)#(Hi did someone order the angst)#(Because one order of angst is ready)

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 5 years ago

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Jealous (ITA Special)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Season 2 Bonus Episode

Warnings: none.

Word Count: Jealous Loki was requested by anon. I don’t know who you are but let me tell you this. I practically wrote this with all my senses closed. Tight. Shut. Just wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote and still kept writing even after I felt I was pretty tired. Don’t know what came over me. It just came out and spread all over here by the mere thought of not writing

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

The halls tonight were barely lit but Loki could see why there wasn't much need for the lights in here. The people present in Tony Stark's gala were enough to set the entire estate ablaze. No. Wait. Scratch that. Tony Stark alone was enough to set the Avenger's facility ablaze. The rest of the crowd? The rest of the crowd was just a bonus, adding twinkle effects to the star that was grabbing everyone's attention.

But as it went without saying, Loki himself was grabbing a lot of eyeballs, stares following the man who was looking dapper as the most delicious sin that ever walked in a human form on earth. Both men and women could not keep their eyes off this perfection surpassing Greek Gods- the ones that were supposed to be the epitome of perfection. A lady was even heard cursing 'oh fuck me' out loud as he passed her with a knowing smirk on his face, clearly making her suffer breathlessness for the next few minutes.

The music was quite well for his taste. Loki had to admit, if anyone knew how to party, it was Stark. No one made the best of entertainment like this man.

"Oh come on!" He heard a familiar voice gasp in his direction from the bar. "You really don't want me to win any bet against you, do you?"

Loki watched Scott reflect despair on his face as he gestured at the God with utter disappointment. "You were supposed to put in minimal effort, man. Do you understand what minimal even means? Standing there looking all hot and sexy. Making straight men and lesbians question their sexuality!"

Javier stood next to Scott, taking Loki's entirety frame by frame from head to toe with his camera. Peter, who was watching all of this unfold while eating deconstructed spring rolls, leaned in to whisper to Javier to 'keep today's recording in a safe. You have no idea how much some people would pay just to watch him in a suit.'

"I just put the first thing I got my hands on, Scott," Loki stated, leaning over the bar and gesturing the bartender for a drink that neither Scott nor Peter understood, "not my fault if I am devilishly handsome by default."

"Yeah well the devil's not helping right now when I have placed my bet against you."

Loki smirked his smirk, making the guy behind the bar nearly tip the glass off the edge before hurriedly stopping it from falling. Peter looked into Javier's camera to mouth 'wow' before turning back to Loki and Scott.

"How nice of you to show so much confidence in Y/N, Scott."

Scott jumped at Natasha's voice coming from right behind him, turning to find the assassin dressed in a red gown that hugged her curves with the will of a fish trying to survive on land in a small pond. She herself was catching quite the looks- making a lot of ladies wonder whether what they were feeling was envy or just pure excitement between their legs.

"Of course, Scott," Loki added to Nat's sarcastic statement earlier, taking a sip of whatever mysterious sweet intoxication he had ordered, "give Y/N some credit to wager she could look better than this."

"Okay," Nat interrupted him with narrowed eyes, "you better stop being so smug, Loki, and start thinking about what would happen she kicked your ass."

"Really?" Loki and Scott asked in unison. The latter got Nat's elbow in his gut.

"She's much more powerful than you think, Gourdy," Nat divulged, "you really should give the credit where it's due."

Loki found himself chuckling before his tongue darted out to wet his lips. "You really think the woman who was literally dragged out by you and Wanda to go get herself a dress for this ball will actually take the time and effort to look better than a God? It's good to dream, Natasha but only to a limit."

The green eyes looking at Loki did not stir for a single second while multiple gasps came out from the guys surrounding Loki. "See?" he whispered close to Nat, "even these men agree."

Now it was Nat's turn to smirk and tilt her head, her eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and sympathy. She stepped closer to Loki, taking his tie in her fingers and straightening it. "They are not gasping in awe of you, Loki," she whispered slowly, giving the God time to register every syllable, "they are gasping at the audacity of me winning a bet. Once again." She finished him with a wink before letting her eyes go behind him.

Loki, confused and egotistically pinched, turned around to find how exactly Nat won the be-

Oh. Oh!

You stood on the stairs, a sight fit for Valhalla. No. You were too majestic even for Valhalla. The green flowing over your body like a green stream finding its way down your body to fall with the most sophisticated rush. The straps holding your dress went to the back to twirl around a golden ring and come back down by the waist, leaving your back bare. Your hair was loose unlike the rest of the time, framing your face in light and shadow that was catching more than just Loki's heart. On one side, next to your chest were two green stones cut to perfection, glittering with the dim lights and catching everyone that even had you in your field of vision.

Loki stopped short of breathing, letting the beats from Alina Baraz's Pretty Thoughts fill every sensation he felt in those next few moments.

You stepped down the stairs, letting the slit in the dress expose your legs to the light that felt like it existed just so it could shine on them. Your grace when you pulled a strand of your hair behind your ear, exposing the golden earring twisting and dangling down your ears, wanting to touch your shoulders but being denied the pleasure of doing so. Your movement, as you swung your hips when you walked- a sight that was making so many souls stir at the sight in front of them. Too much heat. Somebody crank up the AC!

Someone out there responsible for the tunes seemed to sense the change in the surroundings by your mere presence, turning to the much more sedated and bass-filled version of Can't Take My Eyes Off You, giving the curious eyes a tune to feel their emotions.

Loki, once leaning ever so casually over the bar suddenly had to unconsciously feel the weight on his legs when he watched the smile on your lips painted nude- a shade of transparency- while your eyes glimmered with a playful smoke- a hue of everything that is delightfully shameful. But that was not what hit his heart through his eyes. It was you being stopped short by a man unknown, taking your hand and giving it a light kiss before making you laugh.

Loki felt something inside him twitch. To add to that, every pair of eyes standing next to him- along with that camera- turned to watch him like a bundle of curious hawks.

"Who's that?" Loki tried to sound casual while he took a good swig of his drink.

Nat looked at the man his eyes were pointing to- the one who was bringing you to tears from all the laughing fits he was giving you- and quite reluctantly let her lips leave the straw she was drinking from to speak. "Oh! That's Rhodey's nephew, Matt. He's a wildlife specialist. He removed a species of whales from the endangered list."

Loki, Scott and Peter turned to look at Nat with furrowed brows. Nat raised her fingers before she could hear their thoughts. "No! He did not kill them!"

They could see Matt bringing his hand forward for you as a sign of some formal request.

"Do you think he's asking her for a dance?" Scott whispered over Loki's shoulder.

You were already giving your hand in his, allowing him to walk you to the centre of the room where other couples were dancing.

"Oh my God, they are dancing!" Scott whispered again, catalysing this uneasy feeling rising in Loki's nerves. "Oh my God his hand is on her waist. Oh my God, it's going over her back. Her bare back! Oh m-"

"I can see that, Scott," Loki broke, "I can see all of it, thank you very much."

Scott raised his hands like a white flag, taking a step back as Loki turned around to watch you while the former turned to the camera to mouth his shock.

Loki could see that Scott was right. Matt had his hands on your bare back, holding you close to him, closer than one needs to while dancing- that too in such a formal setting. Clearly, that man did not know the etiquettes of the ballroom. Loki scoffed internally for thinking you would have a better taste in men after your last failed relationship. Right? You could at least show interest in men who knew how to treat their dance partner. Know their footwork, how much to move while you moved, how much to step back as they twirled you and let a mirage of a snake coiling up and over your shoulder with green eyes rest on your right shoulder be created while doing so.

Wait...

What?

Loki was not hallucinating. It really was a snake. When you twirled and let the lights shine on you, your dress created a phantasm of a golden and green snake running up your being. It was incredibly marvellous- partially because of the intricate design and mostly because he knew Thor had told you about his childhood snake stories this week.

And yet whenever you landed back in Matt's arms, something inside Loki seemed to squeeze. His eyes were not ready to leave the stranger's hands on your skin.

"Anyone can save whales. I don't get what's the big deal about it anyway." Loki did not realise those words leaving him. Nat raised her brows at him while Scott and Peter exchanged knowing glances with each other and the camera, Javier smiling like goof behind the lens.

"And isn't he too young?" Loki took another swig of his drink- before making a face at how disgusting it tasted- and turned towards others, trying not to lose your sight in the crowd. "He must be a little one like you, Parker."

"Wow," Peter exclaimed his hurt with crossed arms.

"He's...he's as old as Y/N," Nat said after a quick mental calculation.

Loki could feel something inside him feel like falling from a great height as Matt dipped you before bringing you back up, all in one full smooth swoop.

Crack!

Scott and Peter felt their eyes pop out at the cracked pieces of glass sticking in Loki's hand. Nat too had turned to look at the source of the sound. But she, unlike the two men, just furrowed her brows. "Oh, you've glass in your hand."

Loki broke out of a trance from her words, turning to look at the remnants of his drink running out of the broken shards of the glass while the rest were stuck inside his hand, blocking both the blood from rushing out and the skin from healing fully.

"Oh," Loki, much to the surprise of Scott and Peter, seemed unfazed by the whole situation, "I must have held on to the glass too ha-"

"Oh my God! Loki!"

Javier was nearly scared away from the group when he heard you shout from behind him, your eyes- carrying the look of horror- stuck on the pieces stuck in Loki's hand while your body moved on its own towards Loki, taking his injured hand in yours. "What the he- where's Bruce?"

Loki stood there for a moment- which seemed to stretch into infinity- to look at the lines of worry rising all over your face as you tried to get napkins after napkins to stop the blood from dropping, all the while asking him if he was okay. He could see the genuine concern in your eyes on watching him get hurt- the trembling hands trying to be steady just so they could help his. He saw. And he felt; felt much worse than he did before. Why?

Because he clearly could not see you in pain. Being happy with a stranger was far better than the sight of you losing all the glow in you.

"I'm fine," he finally uttered, trying to calm your anxious heart, pulling out the shards from his other hand like it was no big deal.

"Are you shitting me right now!" you announced, grabbing his better hand and pushing it away from his other before pulling it towards the door. "You're coming with me. Come on."

And so, you took him away from the party, up in Bruce and Tony's lab, asking Friday's help for it all, who was happy to walk you through the process of letting her take care of the rest while you stood beside the God and watched the AI work its way around the smallest pieces stuck inside his skin while you bit on your nails.

"I uh-" Loki cleared his throat- "didn't realise you were the competitive type."

You looked up at him, your nail still resting between your teeth, your eyes still in a concerned trance. "Huh?"

"You really went all out with the whole...theme," he mentioned with a smirk, gesturing at your ensemble, making you look down at your dress.

The forceps took out the last bit of glass, sanitising Loki's hand and the workbench when looked back at him, nodded casually. "Oh yeah. Yeah, I was just channelling the irritating snake always hissing around me all day all night, pestering me with those googly eyes and big...noodle body. That's what I was going for."

...clearly not what Loki was thinking.

"What...what snake?"

You turned your lips and spoke with the most nonchalant air, "You."

Silence.

You pressed your lips, carefully taking your steps back towards the door.

"You-" he moved his now fully healed hand away from the bench to look at you with tanoffended expression- "little-" he stepped towards you, mirroring your careful pace- "minx-" dashing out the door behind your squealing figure roaring with laughter outside.

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miss-nov · 4 years ago

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"The Neclace" by Guy De Maupassant Review/Analysis.

Important Info Before Reading:

Maupassant was a Realist and Naturalist writer with a rather pessimistic outlook on life. What is considered the most fruitful time of his writing occurred between 1880 and 1891. He also had a fear of death and mortality which is contributed to the syphilis he contracted in his youth that no doubt would influence his works.

Synopsis:

"The Necklace" or "The Diamond Necklace" (Published in 1884) is a short story about a couple that lives a simple life but Mathilde, the wife, longs to be rich. The husband is fine with how everything is. The pair get invited to a ball and Mathilde wants to look fancy or fit in with the wealthy women there.

Monsieur Loisel, Mathilde's husband, treats her to her dress instead of the rifle he wanted which she spends a decent sum on and she goes to pick a jewel form her friend, Madame Forestier, to go with her gown. The jewel she picks is a "...superb necklace of diamond." (3)

The dance goes well with Mathilde dancing with multiple partners and Monsieur Loisel sleeping through out it. At the end of the night the two hitch a ride in a "ancient noctambulant coupés which,... were ashamed to show their misery during the day, are never seen round Paris until after nightfall." (3)

Mathilde realizes she lost the necklace and the two search their house and Monsieur Loisel goes out to trace their steps, Mathilde laments at home, only to turn up empty. They look for one more week and give up hope. They find a similar necklace in a shop and convince the owner to give them time to buy it.

They use all of their savings, spare cash and they still have to bargain, and get loans to buy it. They buy the necklace for 36,000 Francs (6,673.08 USD) and give it to Madame Forestier.

They are forced to drastically change their lives to be able to afford the debt. They work hard to pay it off for the next ten years.

Mathilde sees her friend then with her children once the debt is finally paid off. The two began talking and, in an ironic twist, Mathilde finds the diamonds were actually made out of paste (hand-cutted leaded glass) and only cost 500 Francs (90 USD).

Theme(s):

Sub Theme One:

Happiness: That you should be happy with what you have. That you shouldn't find happiness in material items.

Sub Theme Two:

Women and Beauty: Women's beauty and grace can bring social mobility. While it's presented as conventional truth it actually serves as a reminder that vanity can corrupt ones self if held to a higher standard then it already is.

Main Theme:

Greed (overreaching theme): Greed will lead to ones downfall.

Theme Deconstruction:

The theme of greed holds up well throughout the story and is quite consistent. It teaches the common moral that greed does not buy happiness. The little contrast we have between Mathilde and Madame Forestier is well executed and the ironc twist really puts the nail on the coffin of not having riches being more then there worth by having Madame Forestier having a cheaply made necklace, despite being stated as wealthy, that looks gorgeous and can go as far as making someone, the Loisels, think it's genuine. The fact that the Loisels are "demoted" of the status they have and Mathilde is described as "dressed like a women of the people." All and all the theme as common as it is very well tied together.

Overall Analysis:

As stated before the theme is well put together and brings it point out very strongly. The issues I had with the short story are very minimal. One issue I noticed was the prose was rather stilted at times and disrupted the flow of the story with no clear reason to do so.

Some examples include:

"[Monsieur Loisel] was despair. He resumed." (2)

In this instance the prose and dialogue have been very long and fluid with many sentences containing many commas. While it does state the state he is in which could hold importance Maupassant also tells us how Mathilde is feeling without disrupting the flow though it is clear the main focus of the argument character wise is on Mathilde. Thus showing us that Monsieur Loisel's emotions aren't that impactful in that moment. The seemingly random short sentence among longer ones pulled me out of the pair's argument.

"Mine. Loisel looked old now." (5)

While this one doesn't exactly pull you out from reading I do feel like it would have been better to cut this sentence out and add descriptions of being old specifically to the part where Maupassant states what living the life of impoverished woman did to Mathilde since that is one of the major things. It also feels obvious and unnecessary. Also, it doesn't have an impact as most short sentence would in this instance and was rather lackluster.

Another minor issue I had was that even though it was a short story it could have spent a little bit more time on the changes and development on Mathilde because of her greed as that and her character are the primary focus of the whole piece.

To give the story an overall rating I would give it an 8.5/10.

#🍂Nov Reviews🍂#🍂Nov's Opinions🍂#🍂Nov Talks🍂#book review #the necklace by guy de maupassant #the diamond necklace by guy de maupassant #guy de maupassant #long post #tw long post #long post tw #very long post #short story review #🍂Nov Rambles🍂#🍂Nov's Analysis🍂

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years ago

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The Prince of the Sea and his Child of Fire - Chapter 2/15 (Rated NC17)

Summary: Blaine is a water sprite, prince of the undersea kingdom and sole heir to the throne. Five days away from turning seventeen and his big coronation, he decides to take a journey to the surface, to seek out a legendary flame said to be tended by an evil witch. Instead of a witch, he finds something else entirely ...

Kurt is a fire fairy, prince of a race of fire fairies and heir to the throne. Five days away from turning seventeen (on the night of a full solar eclipse when he will transform and become king), he sees for the first time in his life a water sprite - a member of a race that he's been raised to hate.

What will happen when these two mortal enemies fall in love? Is there any way for them to escape destiny and be together?

Read on AO3.

Chapter 2

“Kurt? Kurt, what in the world was that?” A fairy dressed in a gossamer gown of pale gold and followed by a trail of pink effervescence hurtles through the air toward the cove, her voice ringing like a crystal bell, cutting cleanly through the night. “Kurt! Kurt! Where are you? Are you okay?”

Kurt rolls his eyes as his younger sister alights on the branch beside him. She had just learned that sparkle trick and now she was overdoing it. She’ll have every hawk and owl in the forest chasing after her, looking to make a meal of her, and he’ll have the misfortune of having to save her.

“Yes,” Kurt answers in a pacifying, singsong voice, “I’m fine. But aren’t you supposed to be asleep? You have lessons in the morning.”

“I was watching you from my bedroom window,” Rachel replies, making a face at her silly brother, “like I always do. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says with a heavy sigh, “I know that.”

“Besides,” Rachel continues, not noticing her brother’s exasperation, “the way the flame flashed white like that, I’m amazed a whole regiment of the queen’s army isn’t down here to check that you haven’t screwed up.”

Kurt balls his hands into fists and squeezes tight, counting down from ten in his head in order to stay calm. He doesn’t want to snap at his sister. She’s not trying to be insulting. It just happens to be a talent of hers. In reality, this is the way she shows that she cares.

By being a humongous pain in the neck.

Still, Kurt sometimes wishes that his sister would care a little less.

“Yes, well, thank heavens I haven’t messed up too badly yet,” Kurt says, his sarcastic tone flying completely over her head. “But don’t you think you should be heading back now? It’s not good for you to be about at this hour of the night. Mother will worry if she finds you out of bed.”

Rachel blows a frustrated breath between pursed lips. “I’m fourteen years old! I’m not a child anymore!” (Kurt bites his tongue hard to keep from saying all the things crossing his mind while his sister rants on.) “And besides, I am a princess, and will become keeper of the flame during the night when you are crowned king. That’s in five days!”

“Yes, it is.” And thank you so much for reminding me. Kurt drops down on the branch beside the flame that is his charge - that has been his responsibility for the last fourteen years. Ever since his wings could carry him, he had been given the task of watching the Eternal Flame. His mother, the Queen of the Fire Fairies, watches the flame by day. It is a necessary duty that only a high-ranking member of the royal family can perform.

Kurt, heir to the throne when he turns seventeen, will become king and take over for his mother, leaving Rachel to guard the flame by night.

An eternity of this, only during the day instead of at night.

Kurt could hardly wait.

“Though I don’t see how I can.” Rachel sits beside her brother, sounding distinctly downhearted. “I don’t know how to tend the fire the way you and Mother do. You’ve had years of practice. You and the flame are practically one, closer than you and I even. And I …” She tuts her tongue and shakes her head, her brown locks brushing her rosy cheeks. “I’m going to be a failure as a princess … even more so than you.”

Kurt huffs and scoots away. Rachel sighs, her wings drooping, her body deflating with sorrow. Kurt eyes his sister, ready to send the wicked menace on her way, but as she sinks deeper into her own ridiculous despair, he can’t help the small smile starting on his lips.

She may be a menace, but she’s his menace. And he loves her dearly.

“Come on, you little pest.” Kurt flutters his wings and rises to his feet, hooking a hand beneath Rachel’s arm and lifting her up to join him. “Pay close attention. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

***

Rays of morning sun start as pinpricks on the horizon, but in no time they bathe the cove in golden light. Kurt yawns, twirling on his toes, stoking the flame higher to greet the dawn, and scowling at Rachel, who fell asleep in a cozy nest of grass hours ago. He yawns again, loudly to disturb her. It doesn’t have the desired effect. But when, in her sleep, she yawns back, he smiles. He can’t stay mad at her, even if he wants to. Even if he deserves to. He could never truly be angry with his sister. The closest to his age of all their sisters, she is the only fairy in his life that he can call friend, even if she is an annoying, obnoxious beast.

The sunlight races across the water to meet him and he knows at any moment she will appear. A shadow sweeps over their heads, circling once before landing effortlessly on the branch beside him. Kurt stops his tending and stares in awe of her.

She may be his mother, but in her regal glory, crowned by the morning sun, she’s a sight to behold.

“Good morning, Mother,” he says, bowing low to the fairy whose body shrinks before his eyes. Queen Elizabeth is a fairy of exceptional beauty - bright blue eyes the color of cornflowers, long brown hair that hangs down past her waist, and alabaster skin - one of the greatest gifts she bestowed upon her son.

”Good morning, my son,” his mother returns, resting a hand on the crown of Kurt’s head. “I see you’ve had an eventful night.”

Kurt’s eyes pop open, the color draining from his cheeks as he stares into his mother’s face. She knows, he thinks. She knows about the intruders – the sprites from under the sea. The sprite with the glowing golden eyes …

“Uh … eventful, Mother?” Kurt stumbles, not sure how his mother will react to knowing there were sprites in the cove – and that he let them escape with their lives.

At least, he hopes they had, that that beautiful sprite who had the audacity to stare at him, open-mouthed like a trout, was well.

Kurt swallows hard as he waits for his mother’s response. She is a fair and kind queen – most of the time. But being a fairy, even one imbued with tremendous magic that allows her to change size and shape at will, she can only express one emotion fully at a time.

When his mother becomes wrathful, the whole of Earth trembles in fear.

But Queen Elizabeth only smiles sweetly at her son.

“Your sister.” She gestures toward the fairy sleeping in the dappled sunlight. “She came down to bother you again, I see.”

“Rachel?” he squeaks, close to fainting away in shock. “Oh … yes. She’s nervous about learning to command the flame. I taught her a few steps, but then she fell asleep the little snipe.”

“She’s a talented fairy for her age but not quite so dedicated as you. If she would stop bothering you at night, maybe she could stay awake for her lessons during the day and catch up,” his mother says with a lighthearted chuckle.

“Yes,” Kurt agrees, nervously nodding his head, “but it was alright. Her visit broke up the … uh … monotony.” Kurt’s heart races, and he knows that his mother, with her immense power, can sense it. She can sniff out a lie for miles and Kurt has never been good at keeping secrets, especially from his mother. She tilts her head as she looks at him, her brow furrowing.

“Shall I take her back to the palace for you?” Kurt asks, hoping to sidetrack his clever mother.

Queen Elizabeth narrows her eyes and stares at him, a frown curling the edges of her delicate pink mouth.

“No,” she decides, smiling again as she begins her dance around the flame. “I’ll let her rest here. When she wakes up, she’ll start her lessons. Why don’t you return to the palace and get some rest?”

Kurt bows again, sighing his relief softly in the hopes that his mother won’t hear. “Thank you, Mother.”

“You are welcome, my love.”

Kurt turns his back to the fire, feeling its heat escape him as he starts to fly away. He spins once he’s in the air, gazing down at the cove, his mother and sister, and the pool where the two uninvited sprites had snuck up on him the night before.

What were they doing there?

What did they have planned for him?

To his knowledge, there haven’t been sprites above water anywhere near the kingdom on the fire fairies since before he was born.

Why now?

He’s soon to become king. Did their visit have anything to do with that?

Kurt gasps. Were they assassins, sent to kill him before he could take the throne!?

Kurt sputters a laugh thinking about how the sprite with the golden eyes had called out to him:

‘Fairy! Hey, fairy!’

Assassins - he thinks not. Not unless they are truly lousy at their trade.

They were curious about him. Curious as he is now.

Kurt had always been told tales of water sprites who lured unwitting fire fairies to the water’s edge and then drowned them. But the sprites he saw didn’t look like they meant him any harm. One seemed afraid and the other … the other was captivating.

Kurt only knows what he’s heard and, now, what he’s seen, but it’s still so confusing. He’s not sure what to think. What if they come back? What should he do then?

He knows what he’s supposed to do, but he doesn’t think he can turn them over to the palace guards.

And he definitely doesn’t think he can kill them.

He flutters back down to the log and sits. He watches his mother dance, envious of her beauty and her grace. So many times he’s felt awkward tending the flame. His feet don’t know the steps as well as hers do, even after many years of practice. His arms do not bend as smoothly. Hers she can curve like a petal, while his are all angles like a thorn.

But he’ll have a lifetime to perfect his technique.

Longer than a lifetime. An eternity.

“Mother?” Kurt asks, swinging his legs back and forth, careful not to touch the water. “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” Elizabeth says, not halting her steps nor her song.

“Tell me again, please, why we do not interact with those who live beneath the sea?”

Elizabeth’s dance ceases.

Not a favorable sign.

Kurt holds his breath.

“We just don’t, my son,” Elizabeth answers, shrugging the question off and starting again.

“I know …” Kurt ventures forward boldly with his question while his brain screams for him stop “… but why don’t we?”

Elizabeth halts again and Kurt prepares to retract his question, apologize profusely.

And fly as fast as he can for home.

“Why are you asking me this?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him. “Have you seen one?”

“No, my queen!” Kurt says, leaping anxiously from his seat. She says nothing, her eyes boring into him, trying to unearth the truth. He presses his knees together to keep his body from shaking. “I swear!” he lies. “I have seen nothing! I’m simply curious.”

Kurt can’t contain his trembling, a combination of excitement, exhaustion, and fear seeping into every muscle of his body and fighting for control. Seeing those emotions swirl in her son’s eyes - a well built from the preparations of the past few weeks as he moves toward the greatest transition of his life - Elizabeth takes pity on her son.

“My poor child!” She reaches out a hand and pets his cheek. “Look at you! You are so tired! So worried about such trivial and unimportant things!”

Kurt relaxes. His mother is evading his question, but that’s fine. He prefers her avoidance over her anger. Or her disappointment - both of which he rarely sees. Besides, there are other ways to find out the answers.

“Yes, Mother. I am tired,” he says, yawning for good measure.

“I thought so.” She continues her dancing. “Go back to the palace and get straight into bed.”

“I will,” Kurt says. He catches his mother long enough to kiss her on the cheek, then takes to the air, climbing high until the cove is out of sight and he can see the ocean stretching out from the land. Somewhere beneath the water live colonies of creatures and animals he has never seen, things he couldn’t possibly imagine.

Somewhere beneath the water is the sprite with the golden eyes.

Kurt recalls his face - his open, startled expression; his eyes with their soft light glowing from within; raven curls framing olive skin. The sprite didn’t seem dangerous and yet Kurt tried to burn him. His heart freezes with the shame of it – a wash of regret that weighs him down and almost drops him from the sky. Kurt can only hope that he didn’t kill him … and that he will find a way to return.

Kurt needs to see him again.

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine fic

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