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pastel9girlbunny000die · 4 years ago

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Headcanon: Omegaverse

Warning: little language and sexual moments

Problem: I don't push others away and label genders, I hate it. This is for any and all to read not just fem readers.

Rin x Reader 🔖

🔖Rin as a omega just think about it, soooo kawaii 😍

🔖But seriously he'll try and keep his second gender a secret, he doesn't want to be looked down on by anyone.

🔖You can't tell me otherwise!

🔖But when he met you his omega senses clicked right in. Your strong, brave, a little mean but also bit of a temper bitch.

🔖But perfect

🔖Taking suppressments, acting all high and mighty not letting anyone press him down

🔖Being a fake alpha

🔖Your alpha like status made your profile shine, not just that your one hell of a knight and tamer. Best in the class

🔖He wanted you to take him as your mate then and there. But he had to ignore his instincts and use his head.

🔖What made things difficult was his doubts and uncertaint thoughts. That wasn't all that held him back you both had things to do, important things to focus on and dreams to achieve.

🔖Fuck no! That's not what holds him back!

🔖Your freaking last name is holding him back!!!

🔖Pheles, bloody hell you had to be the clown's kid.

🔖He wanted nothing to do with Mephisto anymore the clown was enough, but you were nothing like that guy completely different that what he fell for

🔖Your personality, the way you are, he didn't just desire your body for sexual use or his heat. He wanted you as a person to love and care for, making you happy is all he wants.

🔖But it'll never happen. His a demon and his afraid to tell you that.

🔖Later on something kept running on his mind, if your Mephisto's kid and his a demon are you one two

🔖Have he not seen it or something?

🔖So he went straight to the source and ask Mephisto himself it was irritating talking to the clown but what piss him off more was that Mephisto answered him with a question

🔖"Why is it that you wanna know?. Mr okumura."

🔖"Come on man just tell me, stop beating around the bushes and tell me!"

🔖"So rude. Yes (Y/n) is indeed blood related to me, so what do you think?"

🔖He was lost for words he was happy and worried at the same time.

🔖Could you be together if you know about him

🔖Your already great friends have a lot of fun together enjoying time doing stupid shit when you two are chilling together both your IQ's drops to one, but being near one and other just felt right to him.

🔖Finally working up the courage to ask you out.

🔖This guy went all out! brought roses dressed in the nicest hoodie he owns did his hair even wrote a speech that took a week to finish

🔖It all flopped, he got nervous suttering not making sense at all, the words that left his mouth came out as wrong as if his chatterbox broke. His palms all sweaty smudging the ink on them making it hard to tell what he wrote.

🔖You just stood there with a smirk trying not to burst into laughter, the second he came to you with roses dress like a slop you already know that he wants to ask you out.

🔖You just sat back enjoying the show.

🔖It was cute, but started getting annoying.

🔖You had to sush him placing your hands on his cheeks, "it's okay chill, Rin. Yes I will go out with you." Those few words made him the happiest omega alive, he couldn't ask for more. Maybe ask your dad to fuck off cause Mephisto was peaking his out from a corner behind you.

🔖But his happy.

🔖When you two started dating it was a little confusing all the couple stuff not knowing what to do or what's right or wrong, what your partner wants or likes.

🔖You where all cool and relax about it figuring things out along the way... on the other hand Rin was dumb as fuck, he didn't know shit he even took exstra time Googling what couples does?

🔖When he finally found the perfect blog that shoot his taste, he started experimenting. With hugs

🔖He loves hugging you from behind pressing his chest against your back and hocking his arms around your waist, rubbing his cheek against yours.

🔖But you prefer, embarrassing him making him blush. You hug him normally wrapping your arms around his waist pressing your bodies against each other his face in your neck and your in his, but your hands though goes straight down to his buttcheeks giving them a squeeze

🔖He blushes fifty shades of red!!! No end becoming all defensive and making no sense, but secretly he likes it.

🔖With hugs comes cuddling, but your form of cuddling is a bit different whenever he is busy or chilling you just lazily get on him.

🔖In cram school you sometime lean on his side wrapping your arms around him protective, when his studies you sit on his lap facing him as your bodies press together he rests his chin on you shoulder looking at his work, when he lays on the bed you just flop on him no matter what position just fall on him

🔖Holding hands, no big deal you two use to do it a lot before dating, just taking each other's hand in the mall or in public making sure not to lose each other in big open places

🔖It came naturally to you two not one of you are embarrassed or nervous. It was okay

🔖Next's was kissing, he expected a normal peck on the lips, but from you he got the best make out session of his life, but what he hates the most is when your angry that you found a new way to cool yourself down.

🔖Yes you kiss him just a normal average kiss, but to get to the kiss you suddenly without any warning whatsoever grab a hand full of his hair forcefully pull his face near yours.

🔖At least his happy you don't curse or kick random things around you or break whatever is in your hand if your holding something that is, as much as you used to before.

🔖When eating together you and Rin started sharing food without knowing, at times making each other taste your food or genuinely splitting a milkshake.

🔖Rin is actually very simple, pretty much gullible and naive at times, so taking him on a date is pretty easy you once took him too the aquarium and he had a blast like a 5 year old kid, so next time just take him to the zoo, he'd run around pointing silly things out and do all the things mention for kids.

🔖You guys take naps together all the time, just shows how much you enjoy each other company but it's best to find a different napping place other than during class.

🔖Rin is good at cooking we all know that, he loves to bake but you not so much. Your father is freaking Mephisto Pheles ofcourse your going to love junk food just as much as the clown does. You rather have instant ramen than eat a full course meal Rin took hours to make just cause you hate homemade meals.

🔖One thing that Rin will never stop is wearing your oversized hoodies it has you scent all over it making it feel like home to him, not just that he likes getting you two matching outfits or secretly pick out your outfit for the day. He even brought matching bracelets which you love thinking it's cute your omega wants to show his love

🔖You love reading and it makes you relax jumping into a new world, while Rin lays on your chest between your thighs sometime taking short naps or not, while you run your fingers through his hair letting him enjoy the little massage

🔖But.. You suddenly get pissed and either through the book or literally take a lighter wanting to burn the book which he has to stop you.

🔖 When the others found out about your relationship they where actually suprised it took them this long, especially Yukio.

🔖in all honesty Yukio tried giving Rin the talk, which ended awkward.

🔖Mephisto knew from the beginning, he really didn't care as long as your okay that's that.

🔖Suguro was beyond furious, jealous by how Rin got a lover before him which turned into a big mess of teasing and yelling between the two

🔖The others congrat you guys happy for the newly formed couple.

🔖You love Rin but sometimes you can't tolerate the people he hangs out with, you hate Shiemi and Yukio.

🔖Shiemi once tried to take your omega. Which result in you giving her a rude attitude and telling her to shove off. But Rin was quick to defend her... it turned into a full blown argument.

🔖And Yukio, tried separateding you two by secretly getting you mad at each other, you where able to catch on fast and exspose Yukio, Rin turned to your side on this getting angry at his brother.

🔖Sometimes he gets jealous that you hang out with Suguro and Shima the most. He get all whiny about it which you reinsurer him your only his alpha.

🔖When you get jealous you immediately turn violent, you once tried to kill Shiemi for wrapping her arms around Rin's arm, or when Shura hugged him to her chest, even when Izumo wore Rin's jacket.

🔖Ready to tear off their heads. But you have to contain yourself.

🔖At some point you did stumble upon Rin's nest, it wasn't in his room but in one of the many rooms in the dormitory he and Yukio lives in alone, it was like any other nest filled with blankets pillows you could find one or two suff animals in there and clothes... your missing clothes.

🔖But you just left it not wanting to do anything to it, it is his save place after all you have to wait till he willingly allows you in on his own terms it is privacy after all.

🔖Scenting is something you guys do regularly, Rin just wants your scent to feel comfortable he got so use to it, makes him feel uneasy if he doesn't get to rub on you. You enjoy it equally if he doesn't scent a stuff animal or two that is yours you might get angry and punch a hole through the wall

🔖Rin loves you dearly but he didn't bonded with you in the way he thought he would.

🔖Somehow you came down in a rut affecting him aswell, falling into an early heat.

🔖Your will power was long gone force yourself on him giving him the most lovable night he'd never forget you where so gentle and caring taking care of him before yourself. It took everything in you not to fuck his brains out.

��But with that it came with you slipping for a second, biting on nape so hard making him bleed, made him scream in pain mixed pleasure.

🔖it took you awhile to have Rin bite you in return cause he didn't what to hurt you and was nervous about it.

🔖But afterwards you showed off the mark wearing it with pride, pinning your hair up (if you don't have long hair just ignore it.) And wearing shirts that exspose more of you neck and shoulders.

🔖After bonding you two stayed near each other having issues with separating for more than half an hour, this result in you leaving your dad's home moving into the dormitory Rin lives in both of you claimed a different room.

🔖Rin rebuilt his nest in both of yours room giving you full access.

🔖Others seem to keep asking you what it like in a alpha x alpha relationship, which confused you.

🔖But you simply answer with either ignoring them or "Just like any other relationship?"

🔖After becoming intimate, you love walking around him shirtless and pantsless. You can either get a blush or a horny moan out of him.

🔖Something more intimate is taking a bath with each other you can't keep your hands to yourself at times like these.

🔖giving each other pet names are normal and cute.

🔖Rin mostly prefers calling you- Babe, sweetheart or handsome/beautiful.

🔖You on the other hand call him- Baby cakes, love, Darling or idiot

🔖But in bed he once accidentally let a Daddy/mommy kink slip his mouth, it turned you on more than ever.

🔖But in bed you call his name mixed with a lot of dirty talk. Which gets him all rile up.

🔖Studying together is not a good option anymore you both can't concentrate, can't keep your hands off your lover, randomly start goofing off or get horny.

🔖You regularly get more piss off at Yukio more than Rin does, When mission come around your either stuck on a lame team or with Rin not allowed in the action.

🔖During the camping trip or exercise, instead of bringing back a lantern you kinda got lost in the forest.

🔖And only reunited with the others when Rin went viral, blue flames every where the trees burning and mist of the students were injured.

🔖Yes Amiomon did think about using you before Shiemi but it wasn't a good idea since Mephisto refused for obvious reasons.

🔖Number one the would have not been able to control you much less get underneath your skin though to your superior abilities.

🔖Number two you would've beating the shit out of Aniomon even if he wasn't your uncle.

🔖And lastly number 3 Your a demon with a class near Mephisto, he could've exspose it if you fought Amiomon but keeping you a secret from the order is more important than Rin.

🔖After all that crazy shit, Rin couldn't look you in the eye now you know he's a demon there could've been hope if he was just any other demon but his the span of satan himself.

🔖He doubt you would want to have him as your omega anymore.

🔖It sadden him and made him depress losing the cheerful happy attitude. Not just his behavior that changed as well as his scent it started becoming displeasing and disgusting.

🔖You treated him the same as you always do, you already knew everything since Mephisto opened his big mouth and blab to you long before you and Rin got together

🔖your also the first to feel the change in your omega, but thought it was cause of the way the others treat him.

🔖But it wasn't the same when he avoided you and didn't let you in him nest.

🔖At some point you had enough, doing something that an alpha shouldn't, you drag Rin straight out his nest to confront him

🔖It started in a argument leading of to crying and yelling, it ended with you mostly trashed the room, and the words never spoken once from you

🔖"I love you!" It made Rin extremely happy knowing you love him dearly.

🔖"I love you too"

🔖You two were finally on the same page again, continuing your relationship. Loving and cuddling.

🔖When the others treated Rin bad you where the one to comfort him and give him a not of ice cream.

🔖That's till Izumo birthday came aroun, You don't celebrate birthdays since your a demon and all much older than you look.

🔖You even helped Rin decorate the cake that was clearly Christmas themed, which confused you but you just brushed it off.

🔖Until Suguro yelled at you two claiming it was clearly not a birthday cake.

🔖They could understand Rin's explanation being that his birthday is really close to Christmas it is natural to celebrate the two on the same day not using up much money.

🔖You on the other hand were a different case, they where honestly worried, who would tell someone

🔖"I don't celebrate my birthday, I really don't care and truthfully I don't know the date to my birth?"

🔖What?

🔖Yes, you read it Mephisto never told you, and you really don't care about minor stuff like that.

🔖You suggest to them to just give the cake to Mephisto, your old man isn't much of a Christmas fan after all

🔖It was fun. And so where the rest of your days with Rin.

🔖Really happy.

***

Thanks sis for the request... I'm blocking you🤗❤

#blue exorcist #anime #fanfic #fem reader #male reader #rin okumura #rin x reader #ao no exorcist

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first-and-last-neocount · 3 years ago

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Whumptober Day 2

So much love to @theobscurepotato and @peregrinealpha, you guys are fantastic and I really appreciate the support, it means the world to know that I’m not the only one excited for this! <3

I have no excuse for this one. Pretty sure this is the purest definition of an id fic, because it just kinda wrote itself, and when I was done and went back to read over it the front of my brain was like ‘what the hell did I just create’ and my lizard brain was purring ‘yesss, good’ like goddamn Palpatine. This is definitely not a scenario that I think would actually have happened in canon, but apparently it’s a scenario my brain wanted to play with, and I definitely do blame it on Gerald canonically having way too much fun needling Damien for no obvious reason other than for the sake of winding him up.

Much like day 1, this is right in the grey area where I wasn’t sure whether to tag it NSFW or not, but I’m erring on the side of caution because I’d rather be overly conscientious than not. I also wasn’t entirely sure how to word the content warning tags, so I tagged it for general self destructive behaviour, because uh - what Gerald is doing here is not how to have a healthy relationship, kids. This is ‘personal experience with adolescent trauma’ meets ‘horrifically bad coping mechanisms’ with a dash of ‘really really warped views on intimacy’. This is also a consent nightmare, because Damien is not aware that Gerald is intentionally provoking him. Please do not try this at home.

Day 2 - Theme Chosen: Choking

Gerald Tarrant wasn't above using deception to further his own interests, but he preferred evasion to direct falsehood, and he certainly wasn't in the business of lying to himself. Thus, he was well aware of why he was engaged in his current endeavour – that being, inciting yet another argument with his companion, intentionally goading the priest he'd spent the last few months travelling with into a heated debate over the fate of the little girl they'd unintentionally absorbed into their group after encountering the Terata. The part of his mind that was coolly analyzing his actions, though, was smaller than the part which was focusing on the argument itself.

Both of those part combined were smaller still than the part of his brain that was fixated on what the priest's hands would feel like closing around his throat.

“For the last vulking time, I am not just abandoning her!” The Knight's fraying patience finally snapped, and the bulkier man took a step toward the adept, his eyes blazing. He was only letting go this much because Jenseny was well away from the cave that was currently their refuge, gathering sticks with Hesseth to make a fire; the rakh-woman had sensed the building tension, and had deliberately taken the girl out of the way so that the two men in the group could clear the air.

“I don't care if you think it would be easier, I promised to keep her safe -”

His hands were clenched into fists at his side, the force of his indignation expressed through the whitening of his knuckles, the corded tension in his arms as he held himself back from violence. Gerald fired back a retort on autopilot during an appropriate pause in the priest's rant, his own manner cool and detached, his mask of indifference firmly in place despite his mental preoccupation. God, the strength in this man – Damien Vryce was a fighter, and the proof of that was in every line of his body, the broad stretch of his shoulders and the thick muscle that layered his naturally-sturdy frame. His hands were large and strong-boned, the skin tanned and weathered by years of travel, thickly calloused by the tug of leather reins and the hilts of weapons. Fae-augmented healing or not, if Vryce hit him, it would hurt. It would leave a mark, at least for a while.

It would feel real, in the way things rarely did now, isolated as he was by his own carefully crafted cocoon of power.

The words of a past lover drifted through his memory, that long-gone voice dripping with disgust. You're pathetic. So desperation for attention, you don't even care what it looks like. I could make you bleed and you'd say 'thank you', wouldn't you?

“Are you even listening to me?”

Gerald snapped back into the present moment fully, his unnaturally slow heartbeat accelerating a little as he registered the building fury in Vryce's voice. His lack of attention had been noticed, it seemed, and the priest's handsome face was turning an alarming shade of red as his temper swelled. Pride simmered in Gerald's chest at the reaction he'd provoked from the normally level-headed man, satisfaction slithering through his veins even as he replied in a deliberately bored tone.

“It's not as if you're saying anything you haven't said before, Reverend. Given the intensity of our pursuit, the girl would likely be safer out of our presence than in it. Regardless, though, it comes back to the same point; our goals are too important, we can't allow ourselves to be sidetracked by one insignificant chi-”

He read Vryce's intentions through the fae before it happened, the sudden resolve bleeding off the priest in an unmistakable wave of crimson, but his own surprise at finally eliciting such a concrete and visceral reaction kept Gerald from responding in time – not that he knew, necessarily, what response he might have tried to make. In a single smooth movement, the Knight grabbed Gerald's shoulder with one hand, shoving him forcefully backward while the other settled around Gerald's neck. As the Hunter's back slammed into the rough stone of the cave wall, Vryce pinned him there, leaning in as he snarled out his words in a voice gone guttural with rage.

“Don't you dare call her insignificant.”

The vitriolic reply he would have given in any other situation died unspoken as Gerald's usually turbulent mind went utterly, blissfully quiet, only a single line of thought remaining to him.

Yes. That's it. Do whatever you want. Hate me.

Hurt me.

Just don't let me go.

A dark and twisted lesson it might have been, but Gerald had learned one truth of human nature early in life, and had never forgotten it even as centuries passed. People were more than happy to lie and cheat their way through life, and would deceive you at every turn; you could so rarely be sure of where their real intentions, or attentions, might lie. They could talk, laugh, eat, fuck, and at every moment their thoughts could be elsewhere – but not when they wanted to hurt you. If they were that angry at you, no distractions existed.

Once you drove them over the edge enough to put their hands on you, you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Gerald tipped his head back against the unyielding stone behind him, just to feel the way Vryce's hand was clenched around his neck a little better; he didn't technically need to breathe to sustain himself, but he was reeling and lightheaded nonetheless, from the heady mixture of triumph and adrenaline pumping through his veins. A sensation of mingled horror and satisfaction, so deep it made him nauseous, made him swallow reflexively against the way his mouth flooded with saliva in response – and then swallow again, when Vryce's grip tightened on his flexing throat, strengthening the whirl of emotions in his mind until Gerald felt a very real stab of fear that he might actually faint.

All of it lasted, however, for only the briefest moment.

He could see it as the Knight came to his senses; their faces were only inches apart, wide grey eyes staring into burning hazel, and he saw the exact instant that the blind haze of fury fell away and Vryce realized how far he'd lost control. A wave of horror doused the smouldering blaze in those warm green-and-brown irises, and Vryce wrenched himself away, his hands going lax and falling back to his sides as he stared at the Hunter in horror.

“I'm – I didn't mean – hell!”

Gerald drew in a ragged breath, now bracing himself against the cave wall intentionally as his head spun; there was a vague sense of loss echoing in his mind, but far louder was the roar of victory, the greedy hunger in his chest transmuted to a throb of purring satisfaction.

Yes, I can hold you, I can draw your focus, I can make you care...

Careful this time to show nothing of the emotional tempest in his mind, Gerald lifted one hand to rub lightly at his no-doubt-bruising neck, casting the Knight a sardonic glance.

“Don't flatter yourself, Reverend,” he muttered, with a icy steadiness that he most certainly did not feel. “I assure you, if I felt you posed a genuine threat, you would never have gotten that close to me. You couldn't truly hurt me if you tried.”

At least, not when I can make you look at me with that much fire in your eyes...

Vryce seemed to have registered his words as the subtle threat Gerald had meant them to be taken for, though, if the priest's thoroughly shaken expression was anything to go by. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated for a long moment, looking deeply conflicted and vaguely sick. Finally, he shook his head sharply, and bit out a curt few words.

“It won't happen again.”

With that proffered statement – surely meant to be reassuring, or perhaps pacifying, for no doubt he assumed the Hunter was furious about Vryce's presumption in laying hands on him – the priest turned and strode hastily out of the cave. Gerald stayed where he was, hands splayed out against the cold rock behind him, feeling his pulse beating forcefully in his throat as he closed his eyes.

Oh yes, it will. If that's the only way I can have your hands on me, I'll make sure it does.

#whumptober2021 #no.2 #Choking #coldfire trilogy #fic #masochism #self destructive behaviour #nsfwhump #evil is what you make of it #gerald tarrant #damien vryce #the neocount writes

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legobiwan · 5 years ago

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The muse came to me. Who was I to say no?

Dooku at the Opera: A Lineage Tale (A Comedy in 3 Acts)

Featuring: Yan Dooku, Rael Averross, Qui-gon Jinn, and Obi-wan Kenobi

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

“Here, take this.”

A dented, silver flask was thrust into Qui-gon’s inner pocket, the weight of the object throwing his deep brown dress robe off-kilter.

“Rael!” Qui-gon hissed, trying to fish the object from his voluminous, velvet-trimmed outwear. By the Force, he hated wearing this thing. “I’m not - “ The fabric tangled, wrapping around Qui-gon’s arm - once, twice - somehow pinning his limb immobile against his side.

Rael Averross tossed his head back and laughed for a good minute, leaving a scowling Qui-gon half-bound, trapped in the finest Jedi robes the Temple had to offer. Chuckling, he stepped forward to help Qui-gon unfurl from his self-made prison. “Just trust me, kid. You’re gonna need it.”

“I'm not sneaking Rodian liquor into the Coruscant Opera with Master Dooku at my side. He’ll flay me alive if catches me!” Qui-gon shuddered, testing out his freed arm.

“I’m not asking you to drink it,” Rael cocked his head with a small sigh. “That stuff would strip the paint off the side of a Grellan nightclub.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Qui-gon snapped, rolling his eyes. He didn’t want to know how Rael had such intimate knowledge of the infamous Grellan nightclubs.

“All I’m saying, kid,” Rael’s voice softened as he wrapped an arm around Qui-gon’s bony shoulders, leading him to the full-length mirror standing in the corner of his and Dooku’s shared quarters. “Is that Master Dooku has probably forgotten about about this particular escape tactic.” Rael put a finger to his chin, glancing to the ceiling in thought. “It was twelve years ago.”

Qui-gon frowned, his own confused expression staring back at him in the polished glass. The boy - man - seemed a stranger, wrapped in a long, velvet-trimmed robe, his tunics a darker shade of his customary beige, pressed, absent the usual dark soil spots and off-green streaks that so infuriated his Master. He looked...well, respectable.

He was fifteen now, had been Master Dooku’s Padawan for just over three years. He had also had the dubious honor of keeping Rael Averross’s occasional company for almost as long.

“Rael, it’s the opera, not the Citadel. Why do I need an escape tactic?” Qui-gon gestured with the flask in his hand, liquid sloshing against its container. “And if I’m not to drink this, then what in Nine Corellian Hells am I supposed to do with it?”

“I don’t know, kid, you’re a Jedi. You’ll figure it out,” Rael shrugged, pushing wavy black hair from his face. He cocked a crooked smile in Qui-gon’s direction, ruffling his short, spiky hair.

“Make your exit after the first intermission, but not too close to the start of the second act. Did that one too many times and Dooku’s cottoned on to it.” Rael began to push Qui-gon towards the door, ignoring the boy’s stammered protests. “Now get outta here before he gets suspicious.”

Qui-gon gaped from the other side of the threshold. “Rael!”

But the door only closed with a final whoosh, leaving a very confused Qui-gon Jinn in an empty Temple corridor, battered container of Rodian gin in hand.

What in the galaxy was that all about? It was the opera. Not just opera, but a Serennian opera. Truth be told, Qui-gon wasn’t much one for the more prestigious arts, not like his Master was, at least. But he had learned to keep those opinions secret after spending two weeks dusting and reorganizing Master Dooku’s extensive holoart book collection, a consequence of expressing his opinion at an exhibition of Tuerrilian landscapes that all the paintings “looked like the same smashball field with the goalposts removed.”

But this would be different, this wouldn’t be a bunch of boring green lawns perched atop various boring curved, silver architectures. This was a story about Serenno. Yes, with large-bodied, multiple-lipped Trellian singers in strange, pointed hats and all, but it was a way to get to know his Master better, learn something new about him, about his planet.

Behind Qui-gon, the door to Dooku’s quarters opened halfway. “Oh, and kid?” Rael called down the hall. “Say hi to Brigindia the Breadthful and Hagvor the Hu - “ Rael clicked his tongue, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks flushing. “Anyway, tell ’em Rael Averross sends his regards if you happen to leave by the stage door exit,” he finished, sly smile spreading across his face.

----

Knock knock knock.

Rael looked up from his holobook, tapping the bookmark button as he glanced at his chrono.

Not bad, kid, he thought, giving his arms a long stretch before leaving the comfort of Dooku’s plush arm chair. He stopped in the pantry before answering the door, pouring two cups of cold, Nemishian tea.

“So you got out,” Rael said as greeting. “Record time, too.”

Qui-gon pushed past the older Jedi, a flurry of wrinkled fabric and frustration, the faint odor of burnt Ceylla wood drifting from his robes. He made a series of aborted half-circles, like a jittery, indecisive Lothcat before Rael took pity on him and led him to the sofa, pushing a glass of the Nemishian tea into his hand.

The young Jedi sat, unmoving, for a good minute, eyes wide as he seemed to replay every last event of the past three hours in excruciating detail. Rael took his own glass, downing half of it in one go, giving a satisfied smack of his lips. Dooku always did have better provisions than the Jedi commissary, a way of enticing wayward Padawans out of mealtime trouble and sometimes extracting an extra hour’s work out of them.

“It was terrible, Rael,” Qui-gon finally spoke, eyes still wide, voice somewhat haunted.

Rael laughed, slapping his thigh as he sat back in Dooku’s armchair, extending his legs long, his ankles crossed. “C’mon. It couldn’t have been that bad,” Rael teased. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Five of them, actually,” Qui-gon murmured, taking a sip of his tea. The drink seemed to restore some of the color to his pallid face. “Each with a thirty-minute aria.”

“Ah, The Fall of the House of Carellic.” Rael grinned. “A classic.”

Qui-gon’s eyes widened, as he nearly dropped his glass. “You mean he’s seen this one before?”

“It cycles in every seven years or so,” Rael answered. “I imagine at this point Master Dooku has it memorized.”

“But then why,” Qui-gon's voice rose, “did he give me a three-hour running commentary of everything wrong with its portrayal of Serennian culture if he knows it so well?”

“That, my young friend,” Rael drawled, eyes tightening with barely restrained laughter. “Is all part of the experience. Now,” he leaned forward, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “How’d you escape?”

The corner of Qui-gon’s mouth quirked upwards. “Spilled your paint stripper on the mezzanine-level bar. Was a real shame everyone knows the Senator from Gorrusk likes to smoke indoors, although I think both his outfit and pride will recover from the mishap."

“And being the dutiful Padawan you are,” Rael continued, grinning, “of course you volunteered to accompany the poor Senator to the on-site healer, ensuring your Master would not have his night interrupted.” Rael tutted. “It’s just a damned shame there was so much paperwork to fill out.”

Qui-gon raised his glass in Rael’s direction. “Takes forever, really.”

Rael nodded, raising his own glass in salute. “Not too shabby, kid.”

The two Jedi sat in contented silence for a few moments, the adrenaline rush of Qui-gon’s frantic escape finally waning, the younger man’s head slowly tilting downwards, his eyes closing. A minute later, Rael heard a soft snore emanate from the pile of tunics sprawled on the couch.

Chuckling, Rael stood, collecting both glasses, pulling Qui-gon’s long legs fully onto the couch, boots and all, covering him with a soft blanket plucked from a nearby closet. Dooku could snipe at Rael later for letting his Padawan desecrate his furniture in such a manner. He wouldn’t be back for at least another five hours anyway.

Qui-gon was going to be one of the good ones, Rael thought. Still needed to loosen up a little bit - Dooku had him scared to rights most of the time, but he’d learn soon enough that his old Master was just as much bark as bite - at least, most of the time.

Fifteen years and Dooku has never gotten anyone to sit through the entirety of one of those Force-forsaken circuses. Rael had never been sure why he insisted on the charade every year - Dooku had to know full well his Padawans were sneaking off. Hell, even the other Jedi Masters always seemed to find a polite excuse to avoid Dooku’s yearly invitations to the opera, Master Windu going as far as claiming he needed to “shave his head and was busy that night and all the other nights the act was in town.”

Force help all of us the day he finds some kid willing to sit through that schlop. They’d probably end up being more terrifying than Dooku himself.

----

“Master,” Obi-wan Kenobi gave a series of gentle raps on the door to Qui-gon’s room.

Qui-gon peered his eyes open, squinting at the bright morning sun shining through the small gap in his curtains. Morning already?

“Obi-wan, come in,” Qui-gon groaned, voice still full of sleep. “How was the opera?” he asked, suddenly remembering where his Padawan had been last night, shuttled away in a familiar velvet-trimmed robe by his old Master.

Qui-gon felt a pang of disappointment. He had hoped his Padawan would come to him after making his escape, would share in his escapades with Qui-gon over a glass of Nemishian tea, that they would laugh like two younglings as he and Rael had every year until Qui-gon’s Knighting.

But like most other parts of their partnership, this, too, Obi-wan seemed to approach with cool, measured detachment.

Obi-wan brightened at the question, however, pulling out a crisp holoprogram from his robes. “It was delightful, Master! Master Dooku and I had a splendid time. He even treated me to a Drynarian spiced wine during the second intermission.”

Qui-gon gaped at his student, certain he had heard him incorrectly. His eyes flitted to the cover of the holoprogram - The Fall of the House of Carellic - emblazoned in regal Aurebesh and Serennian script.

“You - you stayed?”

Obi-wan furrowed his brow. “Of course, Master. Granted, the opera as a whole was a bit bloated, the singers past their prime - Brigindia the Breadthful’s range didn’t quite match up to her alias and Hagvor the Hu - “ Obi-wan hissed, his cheeks flushing red. “Well, Master Dooku said that wasn’t really his name, that it was a ‘improper moniker bestowed upon a great artist for base reasons.’ I didn’t ask after it, but he was alright, as tenors go.”

“But Padawan, the letter-opener I gave you - “ Qui-gon stammered. Not that he had expected Obi-wan to stab anybody with it in an attempt to escape the opera, far from it. But he had thought - Qui-gon let out a breath - hell, he didn’t know - maybe rip a curtain or sabotage some official’s clothing?

“Oh yes, that was quite useful Master, thank you,” Obi-wan beamed. “The packaging on those meiloorun pastries can rather difficult.”

Qui-gon nodded dumbly at his Padawan.

“Oh, before I forget, Master, this is for you, from Master Dooku.” Obi-wan held out a flimsi, folded in half, Qui-gon’s name printed in familiar, elegant script. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a shower and a short nap before the day begins.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Padawan,” Qui-gon said, distracted, not bothering to close the door as Obi-wan hopped out of the room.

With no small degree of trepidation, Qui-gon opened the note.

“Qui-gon -

I would like to thank you for allowing me to borrow your charge for the evening. It is rare to encounter a young mind with such intellect, curiosity, and, shall I say, an inherent sense of taste and propriety. I find myself wanting to repeat the experience, if Obi-wan (and you) should be open to it.

As for your letter-opener, I am disappointed that you would arm your student with such an unimaginative weapon. I would say that next year you should confer with Rael in the matter, but I do believe that will not be necessary, given Obi-wan’s sincere enthusiasm throughout the evening. Senator Rembran of Gorrusk sends his regards to you, as he does every year. Ever since the incident at the bar, he has been convinced of the Jedi’s importance in the Republic, so I must thank you for the unintended repercussion of your clumsy sabotage those years ago.

Brigindia and Hagvor also send their regards to Rael. I do hope you didn’t share the mortifying origins of Hagvor’s colorful moniker with your student. He has yet to encounter Rael Averross in person, and I would prefer he and Obi-wan to meet without any prurient preconceptions, as Rael is a good, if infuriating man. How he remains my former pupil is still one of the great mysteries of the galaxy.

Finally, I would like to extend an invitation for you to join me (and Obi-wan, again, if it is to be allowed) for next year’s production of The Sentinel’s Progress, which has not been staged in over a millenia. I am told it is a most inaccurate depiction of our ancient Serennian culture and I would be glad to share my thoughts with you and your Padawan. Of course, if you feel the need to come armed with a letter-opener, you need but slip the blade through Madame Tursky’s silver gown-train. Rumor has it she is most protective of her honor and can be seen hovering near the mezzanine-level bar like a drunken hawkbat at most intermissions.

Until then, Padawan. And may the Force be with you.

---Best Regards,

Yan Dooku”

#writing #yan dooku #count dooku #rael averross #qui gon jinn #obi wan kenobi #heeheeeheeeheeehee #THE LINEAGE

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danddymaro · 4 years ago

Text

Follow me| Higgs Monaghan x Reader

Damn that Troy Baker and his little voice of his, as well as Higgs for being so captivating. This game is lit.

Also, could this be romance? I’m really just writing concepts I come up with. Sometimes bullshit stories come to mind.

FUUUUUCCKKK, I already had this thought out and halfway through I realized he wears that fucking pod (ꐦ ಠ皿ಠ )

How could it slip my mind?

Anywhoo..

Everything is pretty understandable, but just a warning,

‘ example’ = Italics in quotations are thoughts

example = Italics W/out are flashbacks

He watched her, downright dumbfounded, eyes trained on the woman like she was a strange phenomenon.

And perhaps she was…

She was out In the middle of nothing, miles way from a single living being , excluding himself of course.

‘ So where did she come from? ‘ He wondered, truly perplexed, because it couldn’t be as though she magically appeared out of thin air.

‘Not a shelter in sight either…’ He observed.

He took a quiet step forward, being cautious in doing so, keeping his eyes fully trained on the bizarre woman the entire time. Though, it seemed as though his alertness was unneeded, because she seemed none the wiser, not knowing he was there to begin with.

Instead, her sights were placed on the little creature crawling along her (s/c) skin. Keenly staring on, she had no mind for anything but the little orange butterfly walking along her index. Meanwhile, the creature itself seemed just as oblivious as she was about any possible existing danger, happily moving it’s thin, little legs over the flesh.

‘ Like only you exist in this world,’ He thought with disbelief.

A small smile began to surface over her features, one that was undoubtedly pretty, stopping his musing, and every question he had in regards to the strange woman’s unexpected appearance.

It was then that the sound of the crackling sky erupted, echoing throughout the field, and as it did, he noticed she came out of her perfect little world.

The young woman gave a small jump and though he didn't hear it, he knew a small sound left her. The abrupt widening of her eyes, along with the parting of her pretty lips, topped with the sudden growing of her chest indicated it.

The little happy butterfly which was on her index finger fluttered away in fleet, leaving her behind to stare at it, not being able to do much but follow it with her (e/c) eyes.

.And then she was truly left alone, with nothing but blue eyes to observe her, marveling at her from a distance.

Standing up from the floor, she began to look up at the grayed sky with her eyebrows creased up, light worry lines on her forehead becoming visible. Inside her mind she began to fret, and finally he got a gimps of what concern seemed like once settled onto her face.

With steady steps she took as she finally rose, walking further from him in a direction that lead to more nothingness, all with notable uncertainty.

‘Are you hoping to find anything?’ He wondered, continuing to watch her, interested in everything she did, wanting to know just where she’d lead him to.

It all felt like a strange dream,a vivid one where he wasn’t tormented, where he didn’t see death , but instead a strange sort of angel, lost in an apocalypse.

In search of something...

She then reached up, her body lightly shaking as another roar erupted from the somber sky.

Afraid, she reached up, challenging extinction she stood her ground,

“Any second now,” he said to himself, knowing that there was only a few more moments left before the Timefall came. Absentmindedly he took a step forward, “If you don’t get out of here...” he trailed off, knowing there wasn’t anywhere she could go.

Knowing just what would happen...

Her palm faced up to the murky sky for a moment, longing in her heart as she reached out to where the glowing sun had become a stranger. And she wondered when she’d see the glowing star, not having seen it during the many hours she’d spent outside already.

The rain then fell, ready to claim anything that it touched. Merciless as always, it lay waste to anything that dared challenge it with existence with absolutely no exception.

A twitch to his heart made his current step falter, and abruptly he stopped, everything else in the world moving in slow motion as he found his eyes locked with the (h/c) young woman.

For just a brief moment she stared at him, having found him in her line of sight as she took a gaze at the world around her.

A cloaked figure stood in her vision, and swallowing down largely she took a daring step toward’s it.

If anyone were to ask him why he did it, he wouldn't have a single, sensible answer as to why he took action, but all the same his deed remained.

He moved faster then he could blink, traveling through the space and reaching her within a second’s time. He encased her within his cloak, huddled over her as he pressed her close towards his chest, pinning the (h/c) woman to him.

It was then that the downpour began, but of course, she was safe, protected within his safe cocoon, her body stiff with the strong press.

It took her a moment to move, being utterly surprised at first before she seemed to settle, her head inclining back as she brought her eyes up to him, once again connecting.

She stared up at him with wonder, her eyes looking large and beautiful, absolutely breathtaking to him as she stood before him. And to his surprise, she didn't squirm, but instead reached her hand up, cupping the side of his mask's cheek before trailing along the sharp edges with the tips of her fingers.

Cold metal connected with warmed flesh, but it wasn’t something that made her draw away either. He could see that dancing within her wide open (e/c) eyes was pure hearted astonishment as she continued to caress the golden piece.

She didn't look afraid, startled perhaps, but not afraid, and it stunned him, shaking him to the core.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her, his voice sounding breathy, but he wasn’t tired.

If anything, he’d never felt more alive.

He could feel it in his chest, a strange feeling invading him and taking over,

‘I can’t stop it,’ he thought to himself helplessly.

Blinking a couple times in silence and confusion she shook her head slowly, answering him with uncertainty, “ I don't know,” she replied, a very soft voice being what graced him. “I'm not sure what I'm doing here,” She added, a gleam to her eyes shining with sadness, replacing the awe that was meant for him.

“ I was here alone,” she admitted. “And I’ve been her waiting,” she added, a fore lone smile coming into sight.

“ I wouldn't be able to tell you with certainty how long I was by myself...simply waiting,” she went on, her hands descending, trailing over part of his chest before coming to the cool glass of his pod.

“...I don’t even know how to determine how long I had been alone.” she said with the same melancholy.

She'd woken up to the barren land, frightened and cold, left at the mercy of the new dark world she’d been dragged into. There was no sign of life, as even her own heart stilled, quieted as it waited in frightened suspense.

“...How long I had waited,” she added lowly, “ I just sat here waiting to die... waiting for either starvation or something to come and sweep me away,” she admitted with dejection and shame.

Initially, she’d screamed out for someone, anyone to save her, but no one called back.

No one went in search of the stranded woman, and so having no choice, she went on her own search.

She walked aimlessly, desperate for a ray of hope to shine upon her, but not even the sun graced her. Instead, it stayed hidden behind dark clouds, the murky sky and it's muted colors being all that lay in her sights.

Finally giving in , she fell onto her knees, surrendering at the game of life.

And then the single butterfly landed on her, it’s little legs tickling her nose as it walked along the bridge.

She didn't know how it ended up there either, and she thought that perhaps it came with her, traveling through the same strange route. It was the only thing that comforted her.

Narrowing her eyes at it she began to smile, abiet somberly,

“could it be that we are alone?” she asked it, not expecting an answer. “Could it be that no one will come?”

“But you're holding me... someone else is holding me...”she said with a tremor touched voice.

And then she questioned him,

"Are you some sort of God? ” she said with partial amusement, “ Or death itself?” She questioned him, seeming mystified by the possibility.

Was such an assumption strange?

Within the barren land someone came to her, appeared before her to hold her. And as though by strange magic he reached her, embracing her.

He was flattered to say the least, an amused chuckle leaving him, “A god?” he asked himself, liking the idea as she spoke,

‘No darling... but I am a partical of God,' he thought to himself with seething pride.

“ What if I tell you that you're right? " he asked her, watching those beautiful eyes sparkle at his response.

While she waited with diminished hope, and as she screamed and as she pleaded, she’d cried.

She cried her heart’s lament, knowing she’d lay to waste.

His hand's gloved fingers fell down her face, the thick, black material grazing her gently, falling down what had been dried tear trails.

‘ She’s been crying...

Waiting...’

" What would you do then?" he asked her his eyes never leaving hers as he found himself unable to draw them away.

He watched as she seemed to contemplate the question,

‘Will you try and run from me?

Push me away...

I want to know...’

She had to know that whatever savior she hoped for wasn’t there. The idea of a knight in shining armor wasn’t befitting for him.

" I'd be afraid," she admitted." I am afraid," she added, not holding back, " But you're the only one here…" she told him, " You were the only one that came," she reasoned.

He could be death itself, and even then she wouldn’t run, she wouldn’t draw back, so, happily, smiling softly with joyous relief she spoke,

"You found me.”

He could feel his heart once again bouncing, like a sort of detector setting off in her presence, “ I guess I've been waiting too,” he said lowly, his voice just a short whisper. And during then, his mask dispersed, leaving her to gaze at his true face and nothing more.

He spoke the truth, despite not realizing before how tangled with her he’d been. But there was no question in his mind that what had magnetized him to the same patch of nothingness she was at was a powerful pull sure to be fate itself.

The trailing fingers stopped, his palms cupping her cheeks instead, holding them dearly. Meanwhile, she reached up again, her fingers touching the dark tears that trailed down his cheeks.

He felt her fingers leave a warm trail where she touched him, effortlessly exiting him as she unexpectedly brushed the digits by the outline of his lips.

Would it be so bad to take her with him?

Would it be so bad to find out more about her?

Discover how she came to be...

Find out just how she came to him...

“Will you come with me?” he asked her, leaning down to her, his lips so close to her flesh as he spoke, “Will you follow me?” he asked, a curl to his lips as he felt her shiver.

Over the flesh of her arms little bumps had risen as she was both startled and exited. Nodding silently, she agreed, planning to follow him till the ends of the world,

which was coincidentally just where he planned to travel with her,

Right to it’s destruction...

‘Looks like I’ve got my plus one,’ he thought to himself, unable to deny the lovely feeling he felt in his chest.

#deathstranding #death stranding fanfiction #death stranding #death stranding x reader #death stranding x y/n #death stranding y/n #death stranding one shot #death stranding oneshot #death stranding reader insert #troy baker #troy baker x reader #troy baker x y/n #higgs monaghan #higgs monaghan oneshot #higgs monaghan x reader #higgs monaghan x reader insert #higgs monaghan x y/n #kojima games

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punkandsnacks · 4 years ago

Text

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Two; Outsider.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: Implied violence, sexual thoughts and some emotional abuse.

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

Night falls dark and still over the landscape brushed with snow. Westwell’s gardens seemed crushed under the icy weight.

It seemed the heavy blanketing of it muffled and blotted out all sound. But it’s a peaceful intrusion.

The huge square windows of Westwell Manor are flaked with frost and each square of glass glimmers gold with the tall candle holder placed in each one. A stick of fire and gold warding off that indigo night that shrouded heavy and deep in the sky above. Trying to spill into the window.

Iris is sat in her small bedroom. A tomb or a cell, really, was how it felt to her some days. Wall to wall draped in pretty Morris flowered wallpaper of white sprawling flowers with navy and blue birds and country vines.

Her double bed with twisting pillars of dark mahogany twine up to the wheat thick canopy that is draped over it. The mattress is layered in a fluffy champagne coloured eiderdown and white embroidered scalloped-lace pillows. The floors are dark walnut wood, and they creak wildly. Groaning. Cold and heat seeps easily through the cracks between them in winter. Chilling her toes. And in summer the warmth of the creaking cracking house bleeds upwards.

The walls of her bedroom are sparse but some have photo frames of embroidery or pressed flowers she’s collected over the years held neatly in small wooden frames. She has a small stool by her bed with the tapered candle lit on a brass holder. Apricot flame coming off the long drip of the Chantilly candle. Casting pools of orange up the warm-ivory-bone of the walls. A jug of dried wildflowers sat on that little stool spices up the air. Dried lavender and clary sage, wild shasta daisies and a green-pink hydrangea bulb. Her little stack of modestly worn books lay piled neatly on the floor next to her bed.

Iris is sat at her dresser, pulled near the window. With the roaring fireplace just to her left. Above the mantel hung a gilded mirror on the chain. Candlesticks alight, set on the dresser and on the alcove of the sash window. Two candles flank the oval of the mirror she’s sat looking into.

Mother is behind her, dressed and ready in her purple muslin gown and her white fichu. Stabbing pins into her daughters hair. Every time she sticks in another pin, Iris winces. Blinks through the stinging pain of it. She was attempting a more fashionable colonial coiffure. Easier to produce.

“Your hair is much too thick to curl properly.” Her mother addresses her idly. Snappily. Tugging back a section back behind her ear.

“Posy and Flora have much finer hair.” She offers.

As ever. Iris doesn’t know what to say to that. Should she offer an apology? Should she agree? Disagree? She fails to know how to be.

So she remains silent and watches her mother’s reflection in the looking glass as she almost crossly dresses her hair.

Caroline Ashton was maturely beautiful woman. With skin as clear as fine porcelain - like smooth cream. Even if sporting wrinkles by her mouth and eyes belying her later age. She had hair exactly the same as Iris’s. Except her mother’s was such an opulent shade of cinnamon-black. Stroked with streaks of silver like lightning bolts had struck through. Her eyes were clear silver. Two discs of shining moonstone. Very mysterious eyes, Iris had always thought.

Lately those eyes seemed permanently hardened over like rainstorms. Clouded over with disappointment at her eldest.

Always wishing she could do more to see more of the love that used to linger there. Nowadays it seemed like Caroline could only look at her and see the blemishes. Only see the wrongs.

The frown lines seemed deeper. The cutting remarks appeared more frequent. She was always telling her to sit up straighter, correcting her posture. Smoothing out the wrinkles in her dresses. Always picking. Forever finding something lacking.

Iris likes to think she was doing it out of an abundance of love. But it’s becoming clearer and clearer to her that it’s really about the opposite. It’s not about her wanting to provide for Posy or Flora or Father.

It’s purely selfish. It’s all about her ensuring they don’t lose any respect in the ever omnipotent eyes of society.

If her mother thought less about their image; perhaps Iris could love her more.

As it is. Coldness and distance lay weighty between them. Thicker and frostier than the snow outside. The ground between their geniality and affection lay strewn and twined with thick vines of barbed thorns. No way to tread such hallowed ground without drawing blood.

“Posy and Flora have had their hair in bows all day.” She points out. She shuts her eyes and grits her teeth as another pin slams into her skull. Yanking her hair right at the roots.

“And they’ve taken all week to fret over choosing their dresses.” Iris adds.

She looks up to see those steel swords of mama’s eyes cutting into her in the reflection. Mouth was a grim line.

“You should know by know what’s expected of you, Iris. And not take the matter so lightheartedly.” She warns.

“They can take balls seriously, as real chances of finding matrimony. Why can’t you?” She asks with a cruel tone.

“Mama. Flora and Posy haven’t taken anything seriously since they day they were born.” Iris insults plainly. Speaking truth.

“You know they only delight in attending ball’s and assemblies because they wish to make greater spectacles of themselves in front of soldiers from the militia, and get flirted with, by any creature sporting breeches.” She adds.

“Atleast they try.” Caroline cuts in.

“And I do not?” Iris asks. Flatly exasperated. She huffs.

“You only danced with three men at last months assembly. It’s simply not good enough. You must try harder. Your sisters may have prettiness and confidence in unholy abundance. And they apply it. You wither away and that will never gain you a husband. For heavens sake- What upstanding man wants to marry the silent wallflower?” She declares gruffly.

She fiddles with her new satin gloves sloped in her lap. Her dress was ivory silk printed with frail gold flowers and embroidered scalloping on the hem.

There’s Van Dyke pointed lacing around her neckline and the same embroidered trim on the three-quarter sleeves. White helped ‘lift’ her ash eyes apparantly. It was fresh out it’s box from the dressmakers, Madame Larousse, on Pembleton high street. Indian printed silk and Italian lace. The most expensive fabric in stock.

Their maid, Julia, had earlier laced her stays so tightly over her cotton chemise, Iris worried she broke several ribs. Her nails stung into the wood of her bed post.

Mother was stood getting her gown ready on the other side of the room. Watching her eldest have the breath thumped right out of her lungs. “Tighter.” She ordered. Iris clutched a hand at her stomach.

“A man could go a long way without seeing a bust like yours Iris. We must take advantage of it.” She comments wryly. Julia tugs tighter on the strings. Iris’s jaw clenched all the more.

By the time she’s finished her waist is tucked right in and her breasts clasped high on her chest, almost so high they hit her chin and there’s scant space between her cleavage and her areole tumbling free, this gown is so low cut.

She tugs it up higher when mother isn’t looking. Spectacles of her fertility not quite on such prominent display now.

She fancied this silk of it was so fine and thin - and clung so tight to her body, one breath of wind would closely reveal her wide hips. And doubtless her chemise and garters could be glimpsed through the thin sheer sheen of it.

And here she was now, submitting to her mothers inspection and brutal torture. Laced up in her silken gown. With her best stockings, and slippers. Earlobes dropping pearls, and a head full of silver decorative pins and an ivory comb.

Speaking of which, the latter is just being wrestled into the weave of her coiffured braided bun, at the back.

“There...” Her mother says. Fussing with a few strays. Tucking them in where they should belong. As she picks at Iris’s mud hued hair. She idly asks her questions.

“Will you be dancing with Armitage tonight?” She asks. Insinuated, more likely.

Iris averts her eyes and pats the back of her hair. Checking it in the glass.

“Will he be in attendance?” She asks offhand. As if she had no clue.

“Of course he will. Brendol knows the Hearst’s very intimately.” Her mother shrilled.

“You will dance the first minuet with him and I’ll hear no more fuss about the matter.” She orders. Cold eyes finding her daughters in the mirror.

Armitage Hux was the son of a strict local army colonel. Tall, dashing, hair as brilliant as copper and eyes as cool as teal sea-foam in contrast. He was lean and willowy in stature. Always bedecked finely in his uniform. Buttons gleaming, blushing blood of a red coat brushed and pressed to within an inch of it’s life.

He’s not a bad man - he doesn’t drink or laugh at her. Or try and fondle her in a darkened corner.

He just strikes Iris as being incredibly vain and undeniably haughty. He thinks all the world should be owed to him.

He only wanted to talk medals and glory and rank. How he was a model soldier. And so admired the bravery of gunfire and glory in battle. He’d never even seen battle - his father bought him a conscription and shook hands and pulled favours to get him a high rank in the military. Sergeant Hux, he now was.

He didn’t seem to be able to equate soldiers and uniforms and weapons with actual war or combat. But liked to boast about how deadly he was. His sharp reflexes. His skill as a swordsman and marksman. Iris felt like stuffing cotton in her ears - or sticking her eyes with pins all night - anything but listen to Armitage spew out his toy soldier reveries.

“He is a very agreeable man. You would do well to land him, Iris. He would make a most affable husband and a good match.”

“I barely know him, Mama.” Iris pointed out.

“You don’t need to know him. That is no hindrance to a proposal of marriage.” She says crossly. “You need not know your husband. You merely have to do your wifely duties by him.” She reminds.

My duty of keeping my mouth shut and my legs and womb wide open, Iris thinks.

“I thought I heard he was courting Mary Simpson?” Iris pipes up. Uncurling two tendrils of delicate hair from in front of her ears.

“She has barely a thousand pounds a year. Brendol would never stand for him marrying such a girl.” Caroline declares mightily. Speaking in derision of the girl who was beneath them in every sense.

“Besides. Lord Hearst says there will apparently be a very rich gentleman from the continent in attendance tonight too. A Lord Ren, from Bavaria. It would do well to seek him out.”

“Every matronly mama worth her salt will be throwing their daughters in his path. I do hope he doesn’t trip on the sheer number of them crushed underfoot.” Iris says lightly. Pulling on her gloves.

“And if he is a Lord, why has he deigned in all his lofty power to grace us with his presence, and to come to a small county rather than go to vastly over stocked marriage mart in London?” Iris questions.

“Don’t be so blockish, Iris. Maybe he has business here to attend. Mrs Wilson told me this morning that he’s bought Hellford Park out in its entirety. Now that takes an extraordinary fortune.” She corrects.

Iris looks directly at her mother. She spies the gleam of want in her eyes. The hunger that such a sum she could snatch up in her hands.

“Lord’s marry Heiresses to sugar mills who are poised for ten thousand pounds, or widowed old Duchesses with vast crumbling estates. Why would he in his lofty state and means, lower himself to wed a girl of simple country gentry, with a barely three thousand pound dowry?” Iris sarks.

Mama gives her a pointed look. Like a ream of needles pressing in her skin.

“Then you will make a even better spectacle in front of him. And show him how elegant and courteous country girls can be and see if you can’t win him over that way.” She insists direly. As if she were plotting a serious military offensive.

“If he is a Lord, he will be titled. Titled means landed money and dignity.” Her hair is yanked yet again. “He could well be the answer to all our prayers.”

Your prayers, Iris points out rudely inside her head.

“He could be a hideous old letch.” Iris says, rightly.

Mother stabs one final pin into her head. As if in revenge. “Looks aren’t everything- Money. Station, and respect? That is forever enduring.”

So are things like love, intimacy, friendship and happiness. Those things endure too. But Iris can’t imagine her acerbic mother has ever felt happy or loved a day in her life; she likes to think her marriage, when it comes, shall be different.

She ends the conversation on that dazzling note. Iris’s scalp is on sore-fire by now.

The door opposite them creaks as it’s burst open. Impending footsteps barrelling down the creaking floorboards of the corridor shortly before signalled their arrival. Flora and Posy.

Fully gowned and gloved and perfumed to high heaven, with their hair pulled in elaborate coiffures on their heads. They had perfect curls. Perfect flounces and ruffles on their dresses. Cheeks a healthy pink. Eyes wild bright with excitement.

They look like blooming silk roses in a summer garden. Iris feels more and more like a singed daisy in her own gown.

Flora was dressed in a cobalt muslin, with a roller print of dandelions laid in pinstripes down the fabric. Posy was in a demure blush pink cotton. With lace trim tumbling over the neckline. And Iris sees she wins the honour of wearing the rose silk slippers. Flora is in some ivory ones that have seen more mends and fixes than is earthly possible. For silk slippers didn’t come cheap.

Both her sisters have much lighter colouring; they both still have the chowder grey Ashton eyes.

Flora’s hair however, is darkly mousy brown. Golden like toffee leaves that come off the trees in autumn. Posy is far more chestnut red. Blazing bonfires and russet red embers. Overall more enchanting than that of Iris twigs and sticky-mud hued locks.

They are a barrage of noise and silliness as they barge into Iris’s room. Flora flops onto the end of the well made bed and Posy nosily inspects herself in the looking glass over the fireplace. Preening. Voices overlapping.

“Mama! Did I tell you what Fleur told me earlier today?” Posy insists. Flora speaks louder over her, in order to be heard.

“Mama....Have you seen my pink silk shawl for I’m sure I left it in the drawing room.”

“I haven’t seen your shawl, Flora. You should take better care. And what did Fleur say, my dear?” Caroline asks in a soft voice.

Whilst fixing strayed hairs at Iris’s nape. Pulling and pinching. She had no softness reserved in store for Iris. She rather wants to roll her eyes at that.

“There will be a gentleman of certain lordly magnificence at the ball tonight.” Posy sing-songs. Aiming her teasing words at Iris. Who gives her a cutting look at her bubbly behaviour. Steel daggers made of her grey eyes.

“He’s said to be most handsome, sable haired, and devilishly tall. And he’s single. And Lord Hearst says he’s a recluse who barely leaves his castle, so we’re very honoured he’s coming and he has eighty-thousand a year.” She awards with great enthusiasm. Flora giggles.

“Maybe you should set your cap at him, Iris.” Flora jabs teasingly. “We could all be vastly improved by such a match you know. I could finally stop wearing these hideous thin old slippers.”

Iris wished to point out that she wasn’t being induced into matrimony merely to vastly improve the quality and state of her siblings footwear.

And quite wondered if he sister knew all that she’d have to undertake in making such a match - all she’d have to give up to be some man’s wife. All she’d have to do-

“She won’t. For she’s already got a suitor whose madly in love with her.” Posy insists.

“Hux is not in love with me, Posy. Don’t be ridiculous.” Iris says. For starters she wasn’t his red uniform or his army commission. Those were the things he was resolutely enamoured with.

Standing from the dresser as she speaks, and going to where her new slippers were laid out by the maid on the bed. Flora eyes the silk things with jealous disdain. Iris fixes her satin gloves up over her elbows. Disappearing under her sleeves. Mother is too busy fussing with Posy’s neckline - tugging it up to cover more of her second youngest’s chest. She protested so at the action.

Iris took the opportunity to slide a small pearl hair comb into Flora’s hand. Her favourite one. The one with coral flowers and paste amber gems on it.

Iris flickers a look over the mother and a silent understanding passes between the sisters. ‘Put it in, in the coach in the dark. So she doesn’t see.’

Flora smiles awfully wide up at her sister. Grateful that she shared out her pretty things. Flora was the youngest - the youngest daughter deserved nice trinkets too.

“If you’re all ready we’d best be off soon. The roads are icy. It will take an age. I won’t have us be late.” Mama orders out to all her girls.

She turns her head to Iris “Fetch your things and the velvet cloak. And for heavens sake don’t be long. We don’t have all night.” She frets.

Marching out the room after rearranging some of Posy’s curls. Barking at Flora as she passed to fix the wrinkle in her gloves. The door grated and whines as she shuts it, lock rattling in the frame.

Iris savours the silence - the crackling of the fire. The owl hooting off in the tree tops outside her window. She lets it soothe her. Let’s out the deepest sigh as they’re now left alone.

She crosses to her wooden wardrobe cabinet by the door, and opens the door to search for her blue velvet cloak. She throws it around her shoulders and ties it up. Posy hands her sister her cream silk reticule.

“She just wants you to marry well.” Posy says with some attempt at comforting.

Iris nods, glumly stroking her sisters hand in thanks. Looking into her earnest young face. Still so full of innocence and hope.

Her heart shaped little face so full of impish naivety.

“She might do not to make me feel exclusively like a breeding mare to be sold to the highest bidder for marriage at every conceivable turn.” Iris says wryly.

Angrily shoving a meagre few possessions into her reticule from her dresser. She looks down at her empty dance card that mother would see absolutely filled with names by the end of the night.

She wipes away an angry tear from the corner of her eye with a handkerchief that Flora gives her. Her anger crowded and crackled the room. These two didn’t deserve her ire, after all.

She sighs yet again. Letting the churning anger eating at her bleed out. Frustration filtering away. She plasters on a smile. Posy steps forwards to her exasperated sister.

“Can I borrow your diamond droplet earrings? They’d go very well with my dress...” She asks coyly. With her hands behind her back.

Iris rolls her eyes. Maybe they did deserve just a little bit of ire after all-

“You are both enormous pests.” She says. Guiding them out her room.

“Come on. Lest we hold mother up and I don’t much fancy our chances then.”

She corrals her pests of sisters downstairs. Makes sure they too are cloaked and ready. They have their gloves and she does uncurl Posy’s palm as they’re heading out the door, dropping the diamond and earrings into them. They sparkle in the moonlight.

“Lose them and mother will have your head.” She whispers to her in caution as they alight the warmth of the house into the cold sting of the night air.

Snow crushed under their slippers as they make for the coach. Slipping to step up inside the cold wooden enclave of it. Rubbing their cold hands together to create some heat.

It was just the Ashton ladies in attendance tonight. Father cared little for balls. Something mother sniped at him for regularly. Ernest Ashton would far rather stay home of a night with his ledgers and his books and his brandy than subject himself to the silly gossip and frivolity of idiotic society people present at balls.

Her father was a tall, quiet man. Sturdy and aged as an old oak. Strong and strapping figure even in his later years. He quietly took interest in the world where her mothers inclination was to devour it.

He had an open broad face. With tame blue eyes and thick greying hair. He was a studious man. Often kept to his study or the gardens. He enjoyed his ornithology and his Entomology books. He collected butterflies. All pinned out in cases in his study. Lining the walls.

It was a place she found infinite comfort in. Wandering into her fathers study. His entomology collection like dots of silken colour in their cases. Old leather books and volumes and manuscripts. Edifying proud in their papery silence. The old wood of his desk worn by years and years. The smell of the study. Of old leather and pipe tobacco. And peppermints from the little jar he kept on his desk.

He didn’t press Iris in the same way her mother always prevails to do. But then she sees the frayed gems and worn and mended holes in his clothes. The faded material in his waistcoat. How he hasn’t bought himself new shoes in two years.

That’s how she can put up with every snipe and every cross word that spits out her mothers mouth.

Iris sometimes quite wondered how her parents ever stood each other for any length of time to bear any children. They were entirely separate people whose interests did not align. They agreed on very little. And settled for that.

It’s so cold in the coach they can see their breath as they bump and shift along the icy roads. Trees make terrible dark shapes in the near distance, beyond the frosted glass of the coach door window. Iris sits, peering out. Watching the full bowl of the moon slither white off the silver and black landscape. Off the snowy fields and perched on the roofs of the hamlet of houses they pass by.

The carriage crawls slow up the winding drive of the Hearst’s three acre estate. Horses hooves hitting the hard paved path. Clopping in the night air. Skipping over the frost. They’re but mere minutes from exiting the coach, when mother decides to speak up and issue a few last desperate words of strict orders upon her eldest;

“Take every opportunity Iris. I won’t have it said in the gossip sheets tomorrow that you didn’t even try.” Caroline insists. Fussing with her own thick muslin cloak draped over her lap.

Iris looked at her mother then. Across the dark carriage as she tuts at the specks of lint sullying Flora’s cloak where she’s sat next to her. Picking it away.

She strongly suspected Caroline Ashton could have the whole world in her palm or on a string; and even then she’d find fault in it. Pluck displeasing bits of it out like loose threads.

She has that irate frown darkening her features. Cloudy set in her eyes. Posy’s little gloved hand reached across and held her sisters tight. Squeezing it in comfort sat there in the dark. Iris turns and looks to see Posy’s heart shaped face beaming up at her.

“You should let us introduce you to Captain Clifford’s friends Iris. They really are the most splendid fun. I’ve heard many of them say they quite fancy you, you know.” Posy grins. Whispering hushed to her sister to keep her spirits buoyant.

Iris strokes her hand and she can’t help smiling. More at her always sunny hopes. How bright her outlook on life was. She saw ball’s for the fun they were meant to be.

A dance, a party, a celebration.

Posy wasn’t yet tarnished by the knowledge that her hopes for future happiness depended on her behaving well and taking things seriously. It stopped being fun and became a chore. Iris lost her starry eyed wonder about ball’s years ago.

She hoped she could help Posy keep her gleaming eyed wonder and fun for just that bit longer. She would suffer every second of misery to keep it that way if she must.

She squeezes her hand back. “Thankyou. That’s very sweet. But I fear I shall be otherwise engaged in dances.” She excuses.

Besides, most of the young Militia men she met were very wet behind the ears. And all madly enamoured with exhausting dances and infatuated with every beautiful young lady in attendance. Declaring they fell head over heels with every girl they so much as walk past. She finds their overeagerness and exuberance a little trying.

Before long, they draw up the grand old stone columns abutting the front of the huge house.

An immense hulking beast of a thing. Lit with autumn-blaze torches in the night. The coach lurches to a creaking uneven stop. Jolting. And a helpful gold liveried footman in a powdered wig steps to and opens the door to help the ladies out.

Caroline doesn’t even glance at the man. Looks right through him. Flora flutters a flirty smile. Posy and Iris offer a polite snippet of thanks.

The Ashton ladies make their way up the torch lit steps and into the greatly heaving bustling foyer of the Hearst’s grand house.

Renford Manor was one of the finest houses in the county. The gardens were splendid. There was a maze and a famed marble garden gazebo.

A great split imperial staircase opens into the large cool foyer. All ivory marble. Hues of Eggshell and ice. Imposing, echoing and cold. Footsteps rattle like claps up to the ceiling. Distant notes of the small orchestra float through the air like zipping flapping insects.

Everything glimmers. The chandeliers that drip with gold and crystal. The old pearl and sharp onyx pointed tiles on the floor look like they’ve been scrubbed raw. They gleam almost too brightly.

They hand over their cloaks to more footmen to be put away. Letting their ball gown splendour come forth. Iris is almost crushed by the amount of people there are in attendance here tonight. Lady Hearst was known to stuff her parties to the seams. The whole county, and all of the two neighbouring ones, had most likely been invited.

Mama encourages them all up the staircase. Idly smiling greetings in passing to her matrons of her acquaintance. Iris skims one hand along the smooth cold of the marble banister. Holding her skirts up as her slippered feet hit each step. Steps firm and steady.

They come to one of the big main ballrooms. Looking through the scope of many double doors, leading onto another room and the next and the next furniture pushed aside. There was such a crush of so many ladies and numerous gentlemen packed in. Coats of all colours on the men. The spectrum of silks and cotton dresses so vast, it quite made her head spin.

Flora excitedly giggles and slips away. A flurry of laughter erupts and she joins hands with a little gaggle of her more intimate friends.

Iris raises a brow at her behaviour, not surprised to see that she caught a glimpse of a fair few red coated members of the militia in that particular direction. Mother huffs and gruffly tells Flora, through gritted teeth, not to linger too long.

Iris and Posy linger by mother as they chat to an elderly companion. Mrs Bishop. An ever worrying woman, Who ventured the world was going to end if there was slightly too much rain. She was practically apoplectic about the snow. Iris shares a look of pain with Posy. Who excuses herself with a bob of a curtesy to go find Flora.

“Pest.” Iris smiles at her as she slips away from conversing will dull matrons about the impending end of civilisation and the earth as they knew it. Anymore and Iris will be forced to rush for a vinaigrette of smelling salts to revive the poor dear when she swoons.

Iris stands with her hands folded demurely in front of her. Her eyes wandering over the party in full swing behind her.

The crush of noise, music and heat and bodies. Candies flicker doomed shapes copper and black up the light walls. The tall windows are guarded with heavy emerald draperies. Cascading waterfalls of apple green. Spilling and tumbling like grassy hills.

The windows glimmer like yellow square gemstones from the candles in their stands dotted everywhere. The dark floorboards glow with it too. Patches of orange inbetween the shadows.

The ballrooms, of which there were three, all adjoined by French pocket doors, are kept fairly dark. Lit only by the honey slither of candles reaching apricot slithers of light at every corner. People chatter and laugh to the din of a faint violin chorus of Mozart.

Laughter, Baritone gruff and the sparkling light of ladies chuckling delight flutters up to the ceiling. The room seems to burst at the seams with it all. Like a room full of butterflies. The heat, the noise, the voices and music. It was almost too much. Everything is palpable and it stings and rips at her eyes and ears.

They eventually depart from the hysterical Mrs Bishop. Leaving her fanning herself on a settee. Trying not to succumb to a fit of the vapours.

They make their way through the ballroom. Chatting and conversing and being mangled in the almost too heaving crowds. She loses count of the amount of times her toes get stepped on. Or elbows sharply prodded into the soft of her back as people pass.

Eventually; much to her mother’s delight, Iris is propositioned by a young gentleman from the militia, into a dance. There seemed to be no sight of Hux yet. Much to Mama’s chagrin.

He’s very polite and puppyish, delivers her safely back to her mothers side when the polka dance is through. Kisses her hand, declares her daughter a fine dancer, then is off onto the next partner.

They are lingering on the far side of the dance floor, just idly watching. In full view of the doors and the adjacent ballroom. Through the two sets of double doors either side of a great roaring stone fireplace. It’s light casting copper over every dancer.

“We won’t waste our time on him.” Mother harrumphed when he leaves. Looking with disdain as they watched him ask Primrose Charleston to dance the next.

“Mama. It was merely a dance.” Iris points out with a futile smile. “Don’t tell me you were picking out wedding attire and embroidered initial pillowcases.” Iris mocks.

That earns her a sharp look. She smiles in forbearance right back at her mother.

Her cheeks now pinkened and her eyes bright from the exercise. She likes dancing. When her partner isn’t a clumsy one, or reeks of port or body odour, or wine, or has wandering letching hands. It’s actually rather enjoyable.

“We should be setting our sights rather more higher than some penniless officer.” She insists. Watching the couples twirl and sway in front of them.

“Heaven forfend I dance with a man sheerly for the joy of it.” Iris concludes.

Caroline tuts in exasperation. Mumbles under her breath. “You do so vex me greatly sometimes, Iris. Even worse than your sisters.” She grumps.

Deep down inside, Iris is a little proud of that accomplishment.

A flurry of footsteps and squeaking squeals and suddenly Flora and Posy burst into view where Iris and her mother are stood.

Their voices are high pitched and they’re panting with excitement. Flora slings her hands into Iris’s and twirls her around with elation. Iris stumbles in the circle Flora leads her in. Posy is stood by Caroline grinning up a storm.

“Mama, Iris. He’s here! He’s here and he’s coming this way!” Posy giggles. Iris and her mother remain perplexed.

“Who is, my dear?” Caroline seeks. Frowning a little.

“He is surely the most handsome man I ever seen. And so tall. Did you see him Flora? That chest...” Posy flatters.

“Taller than any man I’ve ever met. And so well built. Such stature.” Flora says back.

“And he has dark eyes, Did you notice?” Posy asks.

“Of course I noticed! Very dark eyes. They are positively enchanting.”

“Bewitching.” Posy giggles.

“And his shoulders in his coat. So large.”

“For goodness sake, lower your voice-“ Iris chides at the both of them, glancing around the ballroom. Trying to decipher who they were so flustered and flapping about.

Her eyes don’t make it past the door-

The room seems to have slowed. The dancers are distracted. People around the fringes of the ballroom chatter louder. Deafening din rising. Gossip flourishing.

For Lord Hearst is at the entrance of one of the double doors, conversing with someone, and that someone walking by his side, is one of the broadest and most strapping men Iris has ever seen in her whole life.

He wasn’t just a man.

He was entirely too much, man.

“That’s Lord Ren. The handsomely rich one all the way from Bavaria.” Flora hisses to them all. “I’ve never seen a gentleman more strongly built, or beautiful.” She giggles loudly.

“I beg of you, lower your voice.” Iris chides. Pearl earrings jitter as she moves her head. Ash eyes governed by lintels of her brows creased up in a light frown.

Everyone’s eyes in this small stale society, is fixed solid upon the sight of this newcomer. Hungrily devouring this unfamiliar brooding man.

Obsidian jacket. Snowy shirt. Scarlet cravat like a bloodied noose around his neck, with a seers eye of a winking diamond pin studded in the knot. He radiates charm and magnificence. And masculine appeal.

“He’s in mourning to be wearing such dark colours.” Mother presumes. “How unusual for a man.”

“Don’t fret, Mama. Lady Hearst assures me he’s most certainly single. Now, Iris might have her chance at him after all...” Posy cackles.

Iris rams an elbow into the bony cradle of her sisters petite hip.

“Do try and endeavour to behave.” She chides to Posy. Whispering harshly.

This mysterious Lord is unfashionably attired in all black. Perhaps he is in a state of mourning? Ink black breeches cling tight to his strong thighs and wide wide hips and shining boots come to his knees - the wrong sort of footwear for a ball but he doesn’t appear to notice. Or even care.

He had an air about him that couldn’t be ignored. The dark clothes. Sable hair. It was long too. Far too long by societal standards. It curled at his neck. Swept in tumbling waves back from his face.

He’s scanning the room like he hates everything and everyone in it. A soured scowl on his face. The softness of his full lips are pursed and there’s a predatory quality to the way his eyes flicker around the crowds. He seems above it all. Distant. Untouchable. He was a Lord - he held himself superior as one as if a different species.

“Fleur told me he’s quite the scandalous man....” Flora begins.

“I heard he was married. Once before, but she turned mad and killed several servants. So he locked her in the dungeons and she’s still here raking her fingers to the bone at the stone walls to get out.”

Iris wants to roll her eyes. Now it’s Posy’s turn for interjection;

“And I heard that his castle is haunted and full of ghosts. And he seduces young noble women and then sacrifices and feeds them to the devil. Maybe he’s prowling for next victim?” She gasps frenziedly.

“You two need to stay clear away from anymore novels.” Iris scoffs.

She lets her eyes slip back over this Lord’s frightening exterior. She focuses on the dark pits that were his eyes. They seemed oddly familiar. As if she’s glimpsed them before. In a fanciful daydream, maybe- or maybe it was a dreadful nightmare.

They’re too far away to make out their true colour. But it must be a truly dark for the way they eat up all the light and glitter like rough cut gemstones lost to shadow.

His arms folded behind his back pulls his coat right across his chest. Exposes the musculature of him: he is big and beastly. There was no denying; his figure is redoubtably masculine. Intimidating and strong- meaty arms, no tapering away at his waist. He was entirely built of great slabs of muscles.

A warriors figure through and through.

Iris thought that such a body frame belonged in a previous age. A more ravening one. A cutthroat one. That stature was suited to a gigantic rampaging viking or a crusading knight in steel armour.

Quite why she thought so she can’t fathom. That big shape of his seemed unsuited to the setting of a dainty English ballroom. It seemed more natural for him to be on a battlefield slicked up and splattered in the blood of his enemy’s.

She watches as he boredly sizes up the room before him. An arcing sweep of his eyes and he’s done with it. Thrown aside all interest. Devouring all pitiful excuses for life. As if he’s looking or searching for something...

Then he looks right at her-

His eyes spear directly into her. See’s her. Meets her grey gaze and keeps it. Steals it away beyond her reckoning.

One side of his lip curls up. His eyes churn to look nearly honey gold in the light. Trick of the mind. All in her head. It was surely just the candles malforming the shade-

But it seemed more than him just seeing her. It was as if he could gaze right through her. Pierce her skin. Puncturing her very soul - she’s sure.

Her whole body feels his looking at her. She thrashes and aches.

If she has one. Some flimsy scrap of quivering human spirit in her, it is quaking and trembling now, and very much intoxicated by this man.

Her cheeks flush and she feels that betraying annoying heat slither down her neck and flourish at her breast. She swallows and blinks and tears her eyes away. She looks at her shoes cause she’s suddenly got a spinning head and her mouth is woolly.

That look and those savage eyes had set a flame blazing right down to her bones. There’s something she feels deep down that almost seems strange. Uncertain yet resolute. A tug on her stomach. An unknown yearning.

She realises quickly that this was the same pair of eyes that stole her breath this very afternoon. The gentleman from the imposing black carriage. Twice now she’s locked eyes with him and stared.

He must think her either a raving simpleton or a gawping lunatic.

“Iris. I do believe he’s staring at you.” Posy hisses with a wide impressed smile.

“Oh he is! He’s definitely staring.” Flora squeals. Tugging and shaking her sisters hand.

“Iris. Stand straight. Stop stooping. Chin up for heavens sake- look decent.“ Mother shrills through a gritted smile. Smiling demurely in the intended direction of Lord Ren. Preening herself like a flustered hen.

Iris dares another look up. Clasping her hands together delicately in front of her. At the front of her skirts. Him and Lord Hearst are mere feet away now.

“He’s coming this way! Mama! He’s coming over...” Posy grins. Flora laughs with her.

By now, Iris’s heart resembles a mad creature clawing at its cage, desperate to be free. Thumping and thudding her neck. Quivering nervous breaths leave her lips. Heartbeat hammering and pulsing in her ears.

He’s looking at Posy or Flora, she thinks. He must be. They always draw men like magnets. He’s not looking at me- he’s not. Really. He’s not-

They are closer now. Lord Hearst and Lord Ren are mere metres away. The entire room seems to be holding its breath. Another dance starts up and she’s glad for that distraction.

Her cheeks remained flushed and she raises her eyes when the air shifts around them. She can scent the brandy and violet water coming off Lord Hearst. There is his stout waistcoat and his perfumed wig. Lord Ren appears unscented. But a fusion of aromas simply pour off his vast body.

Sandalwood oil. Probably used on that thick rakish mane of his. There’s something else too, something earthy darkly rich, that mingles with the musky new wool of his coat. Peppermint or spices. She can’t tell. It’s damnably distracting.

“Praise the lord in heaven. We are saved.” Her mother mumbles gladly under her breath. Smile wide and gentle. Artificial and superficial to hide her truer nature.

Lord Hearst and Lord Ren are right before them now. Right in front of them. “Mrs Ashton.” Lord Hearst begins in greeting. Iris watches her Mama curtesy politely to the old lord.

“Might I have the pleasure of introducing you to Lord Ren. An old acquaintance of mine...”

Iris looks from the doddery old form of the red faced Lord Hearst, up and up up, into the face of the dark stranger. The top of her head would barely come to brush at his collarbones. His eyes are still fixed on her face. A shock jolts through her like she’s been burned.

“Lord Ren, this is Mrs Caroline Ashton. And her daughters. Miss Posy Ashton. And Miss Flora Ashton...” Lord Hearst introduces. Flora and Posy bob demure little curtseys at him. Bowing their heads and smiling prettily like fools.

He barely glances toward them. His eyes were fixed on Iris.

“And this is her eldest daughter, Miss Iris Ashton.” Lord Hearst beckons to her. Stood back behind her two sisters, and almost guarded by her mother.

She curtseys. Chin to her chest and she bows her neck in a manner she hopes comes across as graceful.

Lord Ren smiles. It’s terrifying in its power and beauty.

It moves the corners of his lips. And he comes in a step closer. Advancing.

Posy and Flora flatten back a little. When one hand comes around from his back, Iris could see he had thick leather gloves on. As if entranced she reached out where his hand beckoned to hold hers.

She slipped her satin gloved hand into his big offered dark palm. It sits right in the middle of the wide thing. So dainty in comparison.

He brings her silken hand up. Bows down and lays a kind kiss to the back of it. His eyes hadn’t left her since he entered the room - they didn’t start shying away now.

This is a man who is not shy. Not any bit of him.

He draws her hand down, very slightly. Freeing his lips.

“Enchanting to meet you, Miss Ashton.” He says.

Iris never knew a voice could be so deep. His voice sunk right to the core of her. Right through flesh and bone. Sinking deep. She’d expected a Bavarian accent. Or a continental lilt. But his accent is precise, crystal-cut English.

She blinks. Remembering she had a verbose vocabulary to make use of.

“It’s an honour to make your acquaintance, Lord Ren.” She gasps out with some hint of strength in her voice. When she lets her hand slips from his, her body feels strange. Her whole arm is left tingling.

She finds herself sighing as she pulls her hand back. He straightens his back with ease. She knows her mothers eyes are looking sharply at her so she remembers her politesse.

She feels like the whole world is watching them converse.

“Are you, enjoying... your time in England?” She seeks. “I understand you are recently arrived.”

“Very much.” He looks amused. “I haven’t been on these shores in- quite an age.” He says. She can’t help but feel there is something cryptic to his meaning.

“Do you mean to stay long, in Hampshire, your lordship?” Flora asks. Batting her long lashes up at him so much she could fan out a chandelier of candles if she’s not careful.

His eyes calmly flick across to the smallest Ashton sister. But linger back on Iris.

“Not long. But after tonight I think I’ve found sufficient reason to extend my stay.” His smile twitches smoothly once again.

“Are you enjoying Hellford Park, your lordship? Surely it is the finest house in the county, is it not?” Posy enquires.

Another flicker of those charcoal eyes to the other little Ashton. Really, there were too deuced many of them, Kylo thinks.

“It is an immaculate house. The snowy woods are very pleasant this time of year.” He agrees.

“Of course. The climates in Bavaria are surely similar. I imagine there is much snow on your own estate, your lordship?” Iris asks.

He seems pleased with her interjection. As if she were the only soul whose voice he wished to hear.

When he looked at her, it was like they were the only two people in this room. The only two that mattered. It’s just them, in the candlelight, cast by flame. As if no pairs of eyes are watching - when in reality there are hundreds looking in.

“Indeed. The summers are short, and the winters are long and frigid. I am somewhat familiar with the clime of snow. It falls more gently here than in Bavaria.” His eyes glare warmly across at her. Increasing her blush.

Caroline steps in with a saccharine smile that showed far too much teeth. A leer it could rightly be called.

“You must come and dine with us at Westwell, Lord Ren. We would be honoured to receive you. We can promise you an elegant dinner service, and cards. Why we dine with six and twenty great and fine families around the county. We would be very much favoured with your visit. I wager you won’t get finer, prettier companions or better conversation elsewhere...” Mother boasts.

He smiles right at Iris and it spears into her hot chest like an iron poker stoked too long in the fire. Red hot.

“Indeed. I Thankyou greatly for the invitation. Madam.” Then his eyes grow blacker. “You have very fine daughters. God has blessed you three times over.”

Flora giggles a beaming smile. Posy bats her lashes and grins. Iris fiddles with her hands and examines the floorboards, reddening at his charm.

“I often think so, myself.” Mother preens.

“Of course all my girls are immensely beautiful. But, it is my Iris who is revered around these parts as a local beauty.” She lies.

“Mama.” Iris blushes crimson. Averting her eyes.

“A rumour well circulated indeed.” Kylo’s looking at her. And to her amazement. She bravely looks back.

“And she deserves every such compliment I can bestow.” Kylo adds.

“You are too kind, Lord Ren.” Iris smiles slightly at him. It makes his chest pound harder. Watching her bosom heave at the neckline of her dress.

His mouth waters. That same scent from this afternoon hits him square in the jaw like a rounded fist. He all but moans at the erotic pleasure of it. Of her sweet scent drifting up his nose. Stoking at his eager hunger.

He will tear something apart tonight, rip it limb from limb, and glut himself on that sweet penny-metal flush of blood spilling down his parched throat. And as he does- as he feasts and drinks and crimson drips from his maw, he will think of this moment; of her aroused scent tangled in his nose. Stirring his own lust to boiling point.

He bids the Misses and Mrs Ashton’s a goodnight.

Lord Hearst had more introductions for him to make. More simpering sickening people to meet. All the same. Savagely polite and viciously boring. Their superficial kindness and flattery turns his stomach.

A bevy of swans the lot of them. Preening and pathetic. He could barely hide his disgust at the stench of rotten perfume that beat off each one of their hot pulsing throats. All the vapid girls that desperate Mother’s shoved in his chest to make introductions.

It was like the sheep throwing their own sweet little lambs out into the slobbering wolves.

If this were a less guarded age he might have already slipped away under guise of a romantic tryst in the garden, to drink a few of them dry.

Posy and Flora squeak and shake Iris’s arm after he passes. He is led around the ballroom, that great vast man. Introduced to all the good and the great. They gabble and squawk at their sister about how she’ll be the next Lady of Hellford Park.

She shushes them and sees it makes Lord Ren lock eyes with her from over where he towered loftily across the ballroom crowds.

Her heart starts beating wild again. A demure smile and she takes her eyes away elsewhere. And that heartbeat calls out to him like the pound of a war drum. A bell summoning him to worship.

Oh yes. He thinks. She is the one.

And she’ll do splendidly.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

#kylo ren #kylo ren x oc #vampire!kylo #vampire au #very wolves and doves #Iris vibes 🕊#Lord Ren vibes 🐺#Draegan vibes 🥀#vampirelovestory #vampire #demon #ao3 fanfic #lovestory #angst #smut #slow burn #regency era

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rixxy8173571m3w1p3 · 5 years ago

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The Truths Found On Petram Viridios IV (1/?)

What started out as an idea for a short one shot grew into a multichap that I'm almost done editing. I think 🤔 it'll be either 4 or 5 chapters long depending on how long each chapter will be after I'm done editing. Anyway, I hope you guys will enjoy.

In this fic you learn how easily things can change, but how it effects you isn't always a bad thing.

________________

Chapter 1: The Phenomenon

There was little difference to what was happening around you at the moment. There were no little green men, or yellow submarines, neither were there tangelos, or bags of golden rings, but there was a blue-haired man with plenty of dreams. Still, life was swell; summer was around the corner, and you were reading in the garage just to be near Zeta-7; he was working on his latest piece of tech, and you were distracted by his charming quirks and ticks. If you hadn't known any better, you'd say it was business as usual. Yet, it was because you had been acquainted with Rick that the previous blindspots of your world were made known to you; conscious of the rare events which were going to take place in another quadrant of space.

A phenomenon was going to occur; one which would not happen again for another 1000 years; the blooming of the Milleannos flower. Legends say that those who touch its pollen might live forever, and those who smell its perfume might be cured of all that ails them, but those claims were supposedly unsubstantiated. There was to be a gala to celebrate the occasion; all in attendance were respectable, distinguished guests and because of Rick, you were also invited, but there were rules; strict guidelines which were to be obeyed unless you wished to throw away your life. And although you weren't happy about them, you were willing to abide by them for Rick's sake. However, there were a few things you didn't understand. "Rick, why won't we be allowed to dance together?"

His hands paused their activity, and his body sagged a little; dreading the reminder not because he's informed you already, but because it pained him to remind himself that he couldn't spend a once in a lifetime occasion with you. "B-because according to the laws of Petram Viridios IV, you are assigned a um - a party companion which is determined according to the alignment of your spine, carbon dioxide levels, as well as daily water intake. And due to the variety of guests, everyone must stand at least six feet apart to avoid air poisoning. However, if given an a-air helmet in order to assist with breathing, then I believe that the last rule isn't as severe. It's - there is a-a lot to remember."

Currently, he was piecing together the circuits and connecting the wires which would power his reflective shield. It was going to be worn under his dress shirt and would be undetectable under their scanners; as a precaution of course. "Ricky, you know I barely drink water." You weren't a fan of water, but you enjoyed flavored beverages and if you did drink water, it was always carbonated first. "I mean, I can get past the distance thing, but what am I supposed to do if I'm assigned to someone I don't like, and have to spend hours being bored and jealous that you're next to gorgeous, realistic fembots from Westworld?"

Unlike you, Zeta-7 drank so much water, you wondered how he wasn't rushing to the bathroom every five minutes. The only other people who drank that much water were beauty gurus who wanted to keep their skin in tip-top shape; you could really try harder if you wanted to. Good naturedly, he answered. "Gosh, y-you don't have to worry about that. I know a fembot when I-I see one."

You raised a brow at this, but seeing as he meant it literally, you listened on. "No s-siree, I won't be assigned a party companion because I'm going t-t-to be assisting the king in protecting their sacred relic."

How Rick became designated to assist with such a task was beyond you, but there seemed to be a glimmer of slight pride in the fact that he'd be so lucky and privileged as to be near the legendary flower, as well as to the beings who revered it. He was determined to find out the truth behind its properties, and if his hypothesis proved true, then he had a plan. You enjoyed when he was diverted with schemes; not the kind which was evil in nature, but the ones which could end happily or inconclusively. Anyway, you two were discussing how to go about it all.

The discussion had gaps of pause where he'd need to concentrate on bits of wiring that needed to be soldered or bent. Without distraction, you were more aware that it was humid, especially with the garage door being fully open for proper ventilation; bits of your hair stuck to your face and to the back of your neck despite how you'd try to tie it. As annoying as it was, it did have its draw; every so often, you'd catch Rick staring and you'd feel a thrill for it could be a year or ten years, but his shy tendencies would never stop being endearing; why he felt the need to reign himself when you were cool with him checking you out was something you hoped he'd someday become more comfortable with, but for now you'd simply giggle and wink at him to let him know you knew. He did his best to focus on the task at hand, but it wasn't going as well as he had hoped for it happened more than once that you'd have to hand him a tool he was blindly reaching out for. "You wouldn't happen to know who my party companion is," you inquired, as you were tying your hair up for the umpteenth time. "do you? And if you do, can't you change them?"

Giving you that look which always preceded his speeches of why he couldn't do that random illegal thing, he explained with kindly patience. "I could change th-the records, and assign you to someone I know, but that wouldn't be legal."

"I know."

"However," he brightened as he paused his work to face you fully. "I do have a copy of the guest list. Give me a-a moment to pull it up on my computer. Hmm," he wondered more to himself then out loud. "that's odd."

"What is it?"

Drumming his fingertips on his workbench, he double-checked his calculations, then went over and wrote it all out on a chalkboard to be sure. Tapping the freshly used chalk tip to his chin in thought, leaving a little powder on his face, he nodded when it seemed satisfactory. "According to um - to my calculations, it's possible that it's either the Salamandrian chemist, V'gha Khadaka or the Chordatan Knight, Noathamas."

"Is there a correlation between the two?"

"Other than their similar water intake levels, they both enjoy their privacy. However, I'm a-a little stumped as to how it might be possible to be assigned to them both. None of your occupations are similar, neither is there a species similarity, but I'm sure I'll figure it out before the event."

Great, just great. That sort of information wasn't all that helpful, but you pressed a kiss to his cheek to ease the worry which he had been hiding. You wondered if it was too late to back out, but for the most part you were determined to be there for him, even if it meant odd company. "Alright. Um… is there something I should keep in mind before I go dress shopping?"

A quick glance at your current outfit made him smile. You were wearing an old band tee and jeans with so many patches, that they were more patch then jean. "I-I don't think so. Almost anything is fine. Though, y-you might want to avoid plant-based materials in favor of synthetics just in case."

"Okay, I think I can do that, but don't be surprised if I look like I just walked out of a 1980s prom. I'll have you know that being slightly flammable is a dream of mine."

He chuckled at that and patted your shoulder. "Hohoho, I'm sure it'll be fine. You - you always look pretty in whatever you wear."

"If you mean that I'll be so fine, that I'll light up the room with my razzle-dazzle, then you better watch out. You never know who'll be charmed without my knowing."

Now, there had been little to no weight to your phrasing just now, but he felt differently. Giving your shoulders a squeeze, there was a distant, far off look in his eyes that you could only recall from specific occasions. It was a mix of longing, sadness, and regret, but you couldn't pin it on what exactly. It was as though he were trying to convey by sight that there was something he ought to do, that he ought to say, but as quickly as it had appeared, it left and was replaced by acceptance. He pulled away and returned to his previous task while you used a spare computer to begin the search for the perfect dress. He said it'll be fine, and you certainly hoped so.

____________

Adjustments in gravity made you feel as though you could jump in and out of craters as though you were wearing moon shoes; that is until you stepped onto a ship or station, then you felt as though you had fifty pounds tied to each foot. You were grateful for the terrain stabilizers that Rick placed in your flats a few adventures ago, otherwise, you would've already been worn out.

You two arrived a few minutes apart by way of the designated ship which held a variety of guests. To explain, the ship itself was a marvel and a work of beauty as far as intergalactic travel was concerned; its mechanical parts were held together by a compound whose main ingredient was a type of scarlet amber. Piece by piece, it had been crafted by a mixture of living matter and tech so advanced, that it'd have taken 300 years of Earth-based studies to understand a fraction of how one of its panels could work; probably sooner for someone like Rick.

Your eyes trailed the conduits as you were led through hallways that seemed to spiral and spill into larger hallways with varying temperatures and design and you wondered how it was those conduits crossed over and branched off like veins, but you had no time to find out and didn't feel privileged enough to ask as you were led into a cabin. Multiple voices hushed, but resumed to their usual loudness once you had settled into what appeared to be a loveseat with the coloring and texture of a pumpkin; it was your assigned seating, but it was not as soft as you would have liked.

It wouldn't be till later that you'd find out that Rick had traveled in a cabin on level 4 while you had been on level 2. In your cabin was a being composed of pure energy, with a name not spelled in letters but in frequencies, who was one of the musicians. A few feet away, was V'gha Khaḍaka; he was tall, sure-looking, had smooth, striped skin which glistened, and a tail strong enough to break someone's spine in a blink; the good thing was that he hadn't been trained in combat, but was simply a scientist who enjoyed the pursuit of knowledge. And a few feet away from the Salamandrian chemist was the knight Noathamas; he stood at half your height, but his chest was puffed out in such a way that made him appear larger, while his round amber eyes and curly whiskers gave him a soft, cuddly appearance; you had been warned by Rick that his appearance did not reveal much about his character and to watch out for him.

It was uncommon but not unheard of to be assigned multiple party companies as you had been; you were matched up to both V'gha and Noathamas due to your odd chemical makeup. Who would've thought that drinking a La Croix before leaving home would confuse their scanners? Goodness, you were grateful that it was a quick trip, and when it was time to depart the ship, you were escorted by two guards before you were given a helmet; it was nearly invisible except for its indicator light which was shaped like a flower, and it blended in with your dress; a colorful sequin cocktail dress you found on eBay. Not far from you were both your companions, who gave off the impression that they were your entourage rather than dates for the night. You saw Rick from a distance, and you knew he was trying to play it cool, but his eyes were sparkling with affection, although he knew he was supposed to suppress it due to the strict traditions imposed by the royal family; he looked away as he was escorted by six guards, but part of you wished that he hadn't.

You took a deep breath to calm your giddiness; this wasn't the time to allow your emotions to carry you away and affect the mission which was to get through the evening. V'gha could pick up on your subtle changes in body language, and thanks to a universal translator in your helmet, you could understand him. "From what I understand," he commented with a surprisingly smooth, velvety voice. "he's the smartest man in the universe. Is that true?"

"Maybe," you replied nonchalantly, "but he's more than just a brain. I heard he's a great lover. Not really my type," you lied because Zeta-7 suggested that you keep the details of your relationship with him a secret; again for safety, but you thought boasting up his reputation wouldn't hurt. "though, to each his own."

"Do you know him personally?"

When questions like this were thrown at you, it made you wonder about the curious people who meant it to sound nice, but in actuality wanted to test the waters as to how much can they ask so soon. Glancing at your nails, you feigned disinterest. "I'm not sure if I'm allowed to give out that type of information."

"You two are the only humans here." he stated matter of factly. There were humanoid beings but he was right. "It doesn't take rocket science to figure that much out."

"How would you know," you retorted with an air of certainty. "you're not a rocket scientist."

"You're right, I'm not. However, I do dabble into it from time to time. I'm sure he does too. I can smell the exhaust from here."

Hmm, perhaps this event was going to be more interesting than you thought. You shared a look of understanding with the chemist, and thought that perhaps you wouldn't need to be so wary of him; his charisma gave him a charm you hadn't yet decided if it was welcomed or should be ignored; whether his earlier comment was out of egotism or curiosity. And before you could make a comeback, Noathamas commented. "Shall we find our assigned seating and continue from there?"

"Sounds fine. Why don't you two walk ahead," you suggested with a coolness you didn't know you had. "I'll be sure to follow."

When you were sure that they were far enough, you took out your miniature glass terrarium necklace, which held a shrunken sunflower that had an iridescent shimmer on its petals; the one Rick had given you after a memorable date; it was made to remind you of how he saw you and you were very glad it had gone undetected under the scanners you passed through. And in your mind's eye you could still see the glimmer and shine of his electric blue eyes as he had taken in your appearance this afternoon before you two departed Earth; oh how he had wanted to kiss you and hug you but had refrained from doing so in order to double-check if he had all his supplies. His compliments had been many as he drove into the inky blackness of space, but when he parked at the station which was at the midway point, and you two lined up to board the ship which took you to this strange world, his face became neutral; his job made him good at that. You kissed your lovely necklace, replaced it so that it laid underneath your dress collar, and your heart called out to him in the void which was Petram Viridios IV; hoping you wouldn't have to go the through the evening without seeing your beloved again before you made yourself appear neutral and made sure to stay at least six feet apart from everyone in your midst.

Tbc

#doofus rick #doofus rick x reader #Rick Sanchez x reader #j19ζ7 #j19z7 #rick j19z7 #Rick Sanchez #rick and morty fanfic #rick and morty fanfiction #rnm fanfic #rnm #my fanfiction #My fanfic #My writing #My works #fanfiction #rnm fanfiction

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drjdorr · 17 days ago

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Hey you know how I said I'd do a post about the other pins(and stuff) I had recently gotten back in September? Oops. Anyways I got a package yesterday that reminded me to actually get around to it finally.

Firstly let's look at some Pride Knight pins

First the 2 trans flag pins. the dragon has some nice sparkles along its wings and along its body, a nice flowing flag. I'm not the biggest fan of that particular style of horn but it's not bad and it doesn't detract from how much I like the rest of the pin. The sword meanwhile is beautiful. I love the wing crossguard because let's be honest, it's cool. The colors are definitely better in person. I will warn if you are a weirdo taking pictures of the pins not actually pinned into something(you know, like me), the weight is all in the pin front and it's thin enough in design that it will try to fall over. All in all, love these pins, they did an amazing job

You can get them from here(dragon) and here(sword) for $12.99, though I will disclose like the enby pin I was (randomly, not my identity) given I got both of these 2 for for helping with a different thing from the enby one(though I got to choose these two). Again, this post is not the thing I was given them for, this is a thing I just do for the pins I get(if it was, man would they be upset since I got these months ago)

2 rubber backs, one over the other

Next up the progress flags and you can clearly see the glitter on these guys(thoughit is rainbowy on all of them). Firstly, I'd just like to say the sword was probably my most cooperative pin to take a picture of ever. I'd also say that this is my preferred dragon horn style, with the ridges and that slight s shape to their curve(real surprise I'm sure given my profile picture). The shield... I'll admit it's a pretty generic shield but it's a cool dragon and the way it surrounds and frames the shield is very well done. The castle is a neat castle, I like how the dragon is wrapped around it like it is. And the sword is admittedly cool by virtue of being a sword with its dragon cool by virtue of being a dragon, though I like the detail that one of its feet is resting on the sticky out spike shape of the blade

Shield castle sword each for $14.99, though I think they were initially cheaper or there may be some kinda bundle thing since I got them for $12.75 each(yes I am able to buy stuff from them and not just get free stuff for helping)

2 rubber backs each one above the other, except for the sword which is to the sides.

To break up the pins a bit here are some stickers

I like cat girl stuff and these are genuinely good. Also yeah, capitalism has ruined my life, that is a mood.

I got these from Ashleyloob's store here though more specifically here for $3.50 each. Fair warning, while they are a great artist, they do have some artwork that is atleast pg in the sexual way. Nothing explicit that I can recall but you know, informed choices.

Back to pins these last two sets are from Makeship meaning they are no longer available due to the limited time pre-order they operate under. Though apparently they are doing some permanent stuff which is neat.

They are nice... I'll admit this is one of those sets I got for one pin and I liked the idea of the spinny pin(the guy on the dart board spins. Is head heavy though). That being said they are well done and I do like the little ghost.

Again, limited time pre-order but if you want to look at the page here I got them for $29.99.

All 3 have a single metal back though in different colors. From left to right(pin side) it's gold, silver, and (my first thought is copper but given the pattern) bronze.

They also came with a free "pride pin banner"

It's... not bad. If I actually hung my pins up with my level of the hobby I would almost guarantee I'd probably have something better. But it's functional, definitely feels durable enough to take the stabbing of a bunch of pins but thin enough that you couldeasilystab through. Don't know what's pride about it though. It does have a pretty design. It also has a little red cord for hanging it up

Lastly, the pins I got that reminded me to post this

I like me some neat dragons, what do you expect. Bonus that the comic they are in is both funny and adorable. Swordfish(the blue one) I have noticed is top heavy and will rotate so his head is downward, though that could be a packaging thing and not a pin thing.

Again, limited time yada yada, here I got them for $19.99

Both have a single (thus Swordfish being able to spin) metal back. Gold looking on Swordfish, silver on Hopper (pink one of course)

So that catches you up on my pins(and related items) I believe. Hopefully next time I remember quicker so you guys don't have to wait as long. Though given how... not cheap pins are and how I am trying to save up money in the immediate future, it is going to be a bit

#my pins #pride knights #dragons #Ashleyloob #catgirl #makeship #Twistcmyk #fishtrout #hey. i wonder if i should tag people i know have a Tumblr on these posts. like all the artists for this post in particular...#if you want to tag them while i figure it out I'm not going to stop you

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c-atm · 4 years ago

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Morning routine

Her phone came alive at 7 am. A course of guitars and synths played, forcing the young R&D director to the world of the waking. She stretched her strong, toned body, getting the kinks out, feeling the rays of the sun on her skin. Crawling out of her bed, she walked out of her room and towards the bathroom, rubbing her eyes.

"Play Heartberry's morning list." She groaned tiredly as she walked in stripping off her sleepwear as 'Can't Hold Me' began to play while she stepped into the shower.

Fifteen minutes passed and Connie was dancing back into her room as her playlist resounded through her home.

I am the Eggman, that's what I am

I am the Eggman, I got the master plan

She sang, swinging her hips as she chose her clothing for the day. She smirked at the outfit in front of her, before stripping out of her robe.

"Incoming call from... Mister." A robotic voice called out from the house speakers.

She smirked.

" Answer!" She called out.

With a beep, the call was answered and the music dropped behind the call. still loud enough for her to still dance to.

"Morning, Heartberry."

"Morning Mister..Surprised you are up at this time."

"Really, don't I always call around 7:45?"

"When you're on earth, which last time I checked, you aren't." Connie smirked as she slipped on her underwear. "So how did it go or are you still on your diplomacy mission?"

"Pretty good, we actually finished sooner than expected, but enough about that..Wanna see how my Heartberry's doing and wish her a happy day before work.".

"Aww, you're sweet, but you're up to something as well." She chuckled as she pulled up her jeans on her waist. " Tight fit. Might need to go shopping soon."

"Jeans?"

"Yeah...How the hell?"

"I've seen your hip struggles."

"I don't know if I hate what you're insinuating, Bisky." She rolled her eyes at his playful chuckle. "So, you're gonna come with me clothes shopping whenever that may be." She placed an orange hoodie over her, pulling it down to her navel and pulling her hair out of it and putting it in a ponytail.

"What and watch you grunt, swear and dance your way into jeans..Oh I wouldn't miss that for the world."

"Punk."

"You love me."

"Naw, I tolerate you." She taunted. "I also mildly, slightly, diminutively...Miss you."

"Oh..Such blessing, much wow."

The two shared a laugh before falling into a silence of comfort. Connie looked at herself in the mirror, liking how her black Jeans and orange hood fit her form.l before putting on the smallest of clear lips gloss.

"I'm wearing orange on black today."

"Ooo! very cutey spooky..Guessing you just put on that lip gloss you made at R&D."

"Yup.."she snickered "Thank you for your cooperation...Your essence makes for great cosmetics and healing products."

"Anything to help...Besides, I got to use the true lab and its precious hidden sauna and spring…" He paused. "When did you find the time to make that and who taught you to make 'rooms'? "

"Hey, hard work and passion brings results, besides a group of gems actually made it...I just planned the design. "Connie sighed before continuing. Plus, I needed to keep myself busy someway and well...When you got a battalion of gems and humans who have the same mindset.." She sighed gently giving herself one more look over, blowing herself a kiss. "Great things are bound to happen.."

"That or explosions." He teased

"It''s a coin toss, really." she reciprocated. "And who says explosions aren't great."

"I guess it depends. So it’s 8:04 now. You're usually in the lab by 9:30, 9:45."

"Give myself time to do extra stuff..Like go down to the dojo and get some sparring in…" An impish grin enveloped on her face. "My figure isn't all gem magic and Maheswaran genes, you know."

"Oh, I know and it shows, trust...But I do take blame for being a motivator." She scoffed at his smug voice. "That and the gem magic. "

"You're cocky today, Mister. Maybe, you should come down and get tossed around a bit."

"More like you wanna get pinned under me." His voice took on a more husky tone "We don't need a ring for that when there's a perfectly strong mattress in your room."

She laughed gently. " Ease, Bisky...I think we're getting off track."

"We had a track? I thought we were just shooting the wind."

"Really."

"Well, I also wanted to make sure you left home with a smile."

"Come on." Her bashfulness and adoration showing though. "I'm talking to you. I'm gonna be smiling at least until dinner..Work at R&D pending."

"Well I can pick you up and treat you after."

"See, now I'm gonna be smiling all day. Though seeing you before would work better"

"It would bring one to my face as well."

"My good sir, thous my company not bring you glee?" She smirked at his chuckle.

"Thous company make for an exhilarating exuberance. When it's tangible company." he sighed dramatically, getting a giggle. "Alas, all I have is your disembodied voice. Woe is me as my heart grows fonder in your absence, my Heartberry knight."

"Bravo, bravo.. " She clapped at his performance with a snicker.

"Ugh, no! We had an alien delegate who spoke like that. It was sooo hard, not to laugh and cringe at the dramatics."

"Oh~ho ho. My poor Mister."

"Yeah yeah." He grumbled in annoyance

"What can I do to make my Mister happy?"

"Hmm? Really?"

"Or course.Making sure you're smiling before I get to R&D is part of my morning routine." She waited in silence for a few seconds before his voice resounded.

"Can you sing for me?

She noted how shy, tired, and downtrodden her Mister's tone became.

"Sorry that was strange..

"Are you nearby?" Concern was thick in her voice, all forms of teasing gone as she stood up from her bed and headed downstairs.

"Umm..Yeah, actually. I..

"You're already here, Right?"

"Uh..Yeah.."

She smiled as she walked towards the front door. opening it see Steven Universe, with breakfast from Startries. She should have been chuckling and teasing about how diligent he was, but the bags in his red eyes, the paleness and splashes of pinkish-purple of his skin, and the chapness of his lips said he had a rough one this time.

She took the bag in one hand and Steven's hand in her other as she guided him into the living room. Placing the bag on to the table carelessly, she sat on the couch lap together. "Head here, Mister." She slapped the top of her thighs as she gave him a tender and reassuring smile.

Steven nodded before following her direction, laying his head on her lap facing her. His arms immediately around her waist like a life line as he nuzzled into her stomach.

Her hand was instantly in his locs, running through his hair, feeling slight and receding protruding in various places.

"Any request, love?" Her tone was even and pleasant, unjudging and expecting nothing from him

"That…'Love'. Can you sing me that?" His tone was exhausted and broken, yet held a spark of love. He sighed feeling her cool lips in his heated cheek.

She breathed deeply..

Love

So many things I've got to tell you

But I'm afraid I don't know how

Cause there's a possibility

You'll look at me differently

Steven sighed at her contralto pitch. It hit his ear like a cool spring, cleansing him of his worries, doubts, and negativity. It was the sweetest and most relaxing sound ever produced.

Love

Ever since the first moment I spoke your name

From then on I knew that by you being in my life

Things were destined to change cause......

He hummed as she gave him another kiss. Looking up to see her smile down at him. Her black eyes; full of pride, and adoration.

Love

So many people use your name in vain

Love

Those who faith in you sometimes go astray

Love

Through all the ups and downs the joy and hurt

"Connie." he stated, feeling a bit tired due to the pleasing affection " You have got to..

"Day off." Her voice was doused with finality.

"But you.."

"Day. Off" She moved closed gently placing her forehead upon his temple, lips to his ear. She continued to serenade him.

Love

For better or worse I still will choose you first..

She did so for the whole morning.

#30 days of domestic fluff #Connie Maheswaran #Steven Universe #fighting flirty #Mister #Heartberry #morning routine #flirty fighting #connverse #Teasedere #they love each other #they show it through teasing #Steven had a hard time #Connie stays winning #Jambaes #fanfiction #older Connverse #steven universe fanfiction #Connverse fanfiction

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soleminisanction · 5 years ago

Text

The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship

Poised on the upper landing of the Manor’s grand staircase, Brianna Wayne bears a striking resemblance to Tim’s mother. They have the same sense of style (fine suits and commanding high heels, though Bria prefers boots to pumps), the same regal demeanor (squared shoulders, perfect posture, head raised high) and the same all-encompassing presence that makes his mouth go dry and his heart pound against tightening ribs.

They are of the same breed: resilient women in a man’s world, self-forged into weapons that only fools would dare challenge. The creeping knowledge that this woman is also Batwoman, Gotham’s dark knight, only increases the tension. He’s known for years, but now she knows that he knows. And he’s here to train with her. To maybe, if he proves himself, become Robin.

Tim has never been more excited in his entire life, nor more terrified.

He hides the latter with a grin, hands tense on the straps of his book-bag. “Hiya, Ms. Wayne.”

“Bria is fine.” As Bria descends, her cool, dark eyes give Tim a once-over, taking in his school uniform (rumpled), his hair (gelled, but wilted since this morning), and his school-bag (full of homework and the clothes he’ll need for this weekend visit). Her painted lips thin into a tight line. Her expression is unreadable.

Her gaze burns into Tim until he squirms, his chest growing tighter than ever. When they’d first met, Bria could hardly meet his eye; he’d been dressed as Robin, after all, a ringer for her dead partner and son. Now that she saw him for real, he couldn’t shake the idea that those shadowed navy eyes are peering into his very soul.

She reaches the floor alongside him and pauses only a moment to complete her observation. Then she turns, gesturing for him to follow. “Before anything else, you and I need to talk. Alfred, some tea would be lovely.”

“Of course, Miss Brianna.” The old butler primly tucks his driving gloves into a coat pocket and clasps Tim on the shoulder as he strides for the kitchen. It’s meant to be supportive, but the very idea that Tim needs support makes his stomach squirm.

He stars up at Bria, willing himself not to pout. “Am I in trouble?”

Her gaze softens. “No. But we need this.”

Tim nods and follows, his sneakers almost as silent as her heels on the thick carpet. She leads him to her first-floor study and motions that he should take a seat on one of the couches. Tim obliges, tucking his backpack under his feet and trying not to stare at the grandfather clock, now that he knows what it hides.

Alfred appears shortly thereafter, bearing a full tea set and several fresh-buttered scones. He places the tray on the coffee table between them, prepares each a cup to their preference, and bows out, latching the door behind him.

Bria muses over a few long, silent sips before, at last, she begins. “So. Tim.”

He straights his posture. “Yes?”

“You must know we’ve investigated you.”

He deflates.

She knows. Of course she knows.

“Naturally, we began with your school.” Her tone and expression are both carefully even, like she’s trying to soothe a frightened dog. “We needed their permission for you to spend weekends here. That meant getting access to your student records, including your parents’ names…”

Tim bites the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming.

“…which led to Alfred’s revelation that, so far as the public knows, Jack and Janet Drake have only one child. A girl.”

Tim hurriedly sets down his teacup before his shaking hands can do it for him.

“Tim—”

“I’m sorry!” he blurts, hands clutched over his thighs. “I swear, I didn’t mean…I-I’m not lying. Wasn’t lying, I swear. I just…”

He blinks against the tears that prick at the back of his eyes. He doesn’t have the words to explain why and how he’d approached her like this, why he’d dressed in boy’s clothes and given the name “Tim” when Dick and Alfred had asked. Maybe he’d thought he could disappear after Dick came home. Or maybe, maybe, when he’d thought this would be his only chance to meet his heroes, he’d been desperate for them to see him as himself. Or maybe…

“Tim.”

Brianna’s second call, more firm, cuts through his thoughts like a warm knife through butter. His heart trips over the realization that she’s still using his name. She has also set down her teacup. She pats the embroidered cushion beside her.

“Come over here. I want to show you something.”

Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, Tim abandons both his teacup and the untouched scone. Once he settles awkwardly alongside her, Brianna opens a coffee table drawer and pulls out a leather-bound family album, which she opens across both of their laps.

The photos contained within are clearly of her childhood. Some are even in black and white. They’re labeled in neat handwriting — Alfred’s, Tim would guess — but never with more than a date and few names. There’s school photos, galas, social events and private moments, all of the same three figures: a handsome man, a beautiful woman, and a lean, spritely dark-haired boy.

Tim frowns, his thoughts nagging, but it doesn’t register until Brianna stops on a family portrait. It looks very much like the one above the mantle in this very room, only the album’s version also features the young boy in a stiff, short-pants suit. The label beneath it reads only:

Masters Thomas and Martha Wayne, age 36 & 34 Master Bruce Wayne, age 7.

Tim stares at the page for a full thirty seconds before it finally clicks. He gasps as his head jerks up to stare at Brianna, goggle-eyed.

She smiles softly back, leaning in until their shoulders brush with something like affection. “I only figured myself out a decade after this was taken. I’d never heard of the word ‘transgender’ before then. It took me years to come out, but once I did…I’ve never looked back.” She lifts her hand, hesitates, then tucks a bit of hair behind Tim’s ear. “To possess that level of self-awareness at your age is admirable.”

Tim shake his head, trying to rattle his thoughts into some kind of order. “I…I’ve always known. I mean, I didn’t have the words, but I just…knew.”

Brianna nods in understanding. “When did you…”

She gestures to all of him. Boy’s haircut, boy’s uniform. Binder and cup.

“Just this year. I, ah, hacked the school records over the summer. Nobody noticed. New school, new level, new start and all.”

“And your parents?”

Without thinking, Tim’s shoulders slump. “They, ah. Haven’t been home to see my haircut yet. And without the gel they might not, you know.”

He bites his lip, silently begging that she won’t make him explain. Part of him wants his parents to know. He wants them to use the right name and stop sending him dolls or jewelry or dresses that feel like he’s wearing another person’s skin. But a larger part is afraid. What if they blow him off? What if his mother thinks he’s trying to cheat, to take “the easy way” to respect when she had to fight for it so hard? And Dad…Dad, who calls him “Janie” and dotes on “his princess,” who beams with pride when he sees the dresses he’s bought put to use…what would he even think?

To his unending relief, Brianna doesn’t pry, though she does gaze sadly upon her family photo. “My parents never had the chance to know. I’ve always regretted that. But it does make things easier.” She closes the album and sets it aside, turning to face Tim with a fiercely protective expression. “Tim, however this training pans out, I want you to know that you can always come to me if you need support. I have press contacts, access to research, top medical experts on speed dial, and a half-dozen lawyers on retainer who specialize in discrimination suits. And…I also have personal experience. For whatever that’s worth.”

She mutters that last bit, but to Tim, it means more than he could say. Brianna Wayne, Batwoman, C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises and one of the world’s greatest heroes, is like him.

He beams and half-wishes he could hug her. But they’re still basically strangers, so he holds back and hopes the smile says more than he can.

Brianna clears her throat and doesn’t look at him as she sets the photo album aside and stands up. “Now, about your training.”

Tim sits at attention. Brianna pins him with a sharp, stern look.

“No binders in the Cave.” She raises one finger to cut off his objections. “No buts. You’ll have enough bruised ribs from training alone, you don’t need to risk any more. Trust me, we have alternatives. Are you on puberty blockers?”

“No.”

“Do you want to be?”

“I don’t think my doctor would…”

“Your new one will. So long as it’s your choice, she’s supportive. And even if she wasn’t, well.” Bria shrugs. “It would hardly be the first drug I’ve procured under the table. Get changed after you finish that scone; you’re going to need the extra calories.”

She strides for the grandfather clock. Tim scarfs the last of his tea and hurries out to the guest room, where Alfred has laid out a training uniform. The first deep breath after he pulls off the binder tastes of sweet anticipation.

------

Four months later, Brianna presents him with a Robin costume all his own. He stands before a full-length mirror and admires the defined muscles of his armor, the way it broadens his shoulders and slims his hips. He puts on the mask and feels more like himself than ever before in his life.

And that night, the Boy Wonder flies again.

------

Originally posted on AO3 a bit over a week ago, but there’s been a lot of exclusionist bs on my feed today, so it’s here now too. Happy pride everybody.

#batman #robin #tim drake #bruce wayne #genderbends #genderbending #batmom au #batmom #the adventures of batmom and robin the transboy wonder #trans positivity #trans pride #batfamily #pride 2019 #happy pride 🌈#tw transphobia mention #fuck terfs and fuck transphobes

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petri808 · 6 years ago

Text

Royal Hearts

@hakyonaweeks Day 4- Battle (Medieval-ish AU Story)

“Do you know who you plan to pick? I have a feeling you’ve always known which one your heart has desired.”

“You know me too well, Cousin Lili,” Yona giggles, “but you’ll just have to find out with everyone else…”

All evening several Princes from around the Realm of the correct age tried their best to woo the Princess, it was a high stakes event after all, for tonight she would choose a suitor and the man that would become the future Emperor. It was a tradition that her father was obliged to maintain, and so Yona had waited for this very night of her 18th birthday in both anticipation and dread. She was friends with several of them and hated the idea of breaking anyone’s hearts but could only hope that those not chosen wouldn’t treat her differently after tonight.

She played it cool during the dances, accepting any suitors hand for a round, making small talk if they engaged her, or politely turning down offers of drink or food, but never letting on who she might decide upon. And a few tried, through clever questioning or sometimes bluntly, hoping to gain insider knowledge or a hint they could use to throw in the other suitors faces.

“I’m sure the Princess will pick me,” Prince Jae-ha tilts his goblet towards the group, “I am the most handsome one here.”

“But not the brightest!” Prince Hak scoffs, stealing the cup out of the other’s hand and drinking it. “and she knows all about your womanizing ways. She’d be a fool to think you’d be faithful to her.”

“Princess Yona has heard talk Jae-ha,” Prince Shin-ah quietly mumbles, “her attendants ratted you out.”

“Tch, I would settle down if it was just her,” a cocky grin emerging, “besides, at least I would keep her satisfied in bed, what would you fools know what to do with her?”

“Bite your tongue Jae-ha!” Hak grows defensive of Yona’s innocence. “Those sweet lips of hers deserve better than a perverted lecher.”

Jae-ha, “And you would know of how sweet those lips may be? I hear tell she’s never kissed anyone before.”

Now Hak can’t help but fuel the fire just to piss off his rival, “Oh, she has once,” smirking wide, “and I… can attest to how soft they are.”

Shin-ah, Jae-ha, Prince Kija, and Prince Tae-Jun all gasp, but Prince Zeno just chuckles at the statement since he is already married and not vying for her hand like the others are tonight.

“Oh, please,” Tae-Jun rolls his eyes, “you were 15 and only did it to taunt me cause you knew I had the biggest crush on her!”

“No!” reminded of that afternoon, Hak is flooded with the angry feelings from that day. “I did it because you thought it would be proper to mishandle her,” fists clenching, “and I swooped in to save her from you, damn bastard!”

“Yeah! Big bad bodyguard Hak!” taking a step forward, hand on his hilt. “It wasn’t fair how much access you had to her all these years!”

“Tch, tis not my fault that my grandfather has such close ties to the royal family. That still doesn’t give you the right to grab her like you did, Tae-Jun no, means no!”

Jae-ha cuts back into the conversation fuming, grabbing Hak by the coat and spinning him to face off, “I can’t believe you, you son-of-a! Not only did you defile the Princess, but why hadn’t you told any of us this before now?!” Tae-Jun takes the opportunity and slinks away, uninterested in getting in the middle of this fight.

Hak narrows his eyes at the man, “Because I don’t kiss and tell like you do. Now would you kindly let go of my jacket or must I make you let go?”

“Boy’s, Boy’s,” Zeno puts his hands on each of their shoulders, “there is no sense in fighting over Yona, I’m sure she wouldn’t want to see you two coming to blows.”

“I agree,” Shin-ah adds, “we are all friends here, we all care for her.”

Kija, “Yes, and despite the big decision she must make, it is also her birthday so let us not ruin it for her.”

Jae-ha lets go of Hak’s suit with a shove and cocks his head up in a prideful manner, “Fine. I need another drink anyways since someone took my cup,” and walks away.

“I’ll go check on him,” Zeno offers.

“I need some fresh air,” Hak mumbles and heads towards a balcony. Shin-ah tips his head and he and Kija follow Zeno.

Unbeknownst to the group of men, the Princess had been watching their heated discussion and although they were too far away for her to hear any words, based on their body language she could guess what they were discussing. She was happy to see that although Jae-ha had grabbed Hak’s suit, he had chosen not to react in a physical nature. Her childhood friend was usually cooler headed in those situations, but she knew he could also be quick in temper if he felt her honor needed to be protected.

“Are you okay, Hak?” her soft voice gaining his attention. He had gone out onto the balcony to think and was leaning against the railing when she found him.

He lets out a long exhale, “yeah, I’m fine, Princess, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“Well of course I’m going to worry about you! You are my oldest friend and I don’t like seeing you upset.”

Hak stands up straight and changes his frown to a grin, “Careful Princess, lest you give away the truth.”

“The truth?” tilting her head in confusion. “The truth about what?”

“Tonight,” lifting her face and leaning in with a softer tone. “You talking to me like this, all alone is going to give people the wrong impressions.”

A blush steals away onto her face, “w-well,” pulling out of his grasp, “no, you touching me like that will.” Poking him in the chest, “I will see you at the announcement!”

But as she turns away, Hak calls after her, “Looking forward to it Princess!”

‘That man always has to get a rise out of me! It never fails!’ Yona fumes to herself as she walks back to the front of the ballroom. ‘I think he likes to see me all excitable or… I don’t know what goes on in his brain sometimes. He’s just lucky that the rest of him is such a great guy to be around.’ Remembering the incident with Tae-Jun, he was always her knight in shining armor growing up. Sigh, ‘I hope the decision I’ve made is the right one…’

Two hours later at the stroke of midnight, the Emperor has gathered the eligible Princes in front of the stage, while next to him stands his daughter Yona. A hush falls over the crowd, with whispers here and there but otherwise you could hear a pin drop.

“Thank you all for attending tonight’s 18th birthday gala for the Princess, and I am sure you are excited for this next part,” he chuckles, “well a few of you are,” looking down at the dozen or so Princes standing before him. “As you know, it is tradition that on a Princesses 18th birthday, her betrothed is chosen.” Emperor Il turns to his daughter, “Have you made your decision?” She nods.

The Princes are blindfolded to avoid anyone making a grab for the Princess or a fight with the chosen suitor. “Please hold out your left hands in front of you,” Emperor Il announces, “and everyone one in the crowd, please stay quiet until they return to the stage.”

Yona walks down and heads straight for the man she has chosen, takes his hand and leads him back to the stage, quietly guiding him up the short staircase. The other guests watching from along the sides of the room start whispering, snickering, murmuring as the Emperor tries to hush the roused onlookers; is there an old man crying? She crosses the stage with her elected suitor in hand, a huge grin plastered to his face, and fingers already intertwined until she stops them next to her father’s side.

Emperor Il smiles at his daughter’s choice, he had a feeling it would be so, and he couldn’t think of any reason not to allow it. “Princess Yona has made her decision, Princes, you may now remove your blindfolds.” All the men fronting the stage pulled their blindfolds off as soon as they were told to do so, some sulking, a couple cursing, while others simply indifferent or quietly mulling over their loss.

But the man on the stage has had same goofy expression on his face since the moment she had taken his hand. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the Realm, I give you your future Emperor and intended husband of Princess Yona, Prince Hak of the Kaze Clan.”

The crowds erupt in clapping and cheering, whistles and shouts, most everyone seemed thrilled with whom the Princess had chosen. Prince Raiju Hak was known for his skills on the battlefield as both a leader and warrior, and he would surely become a monarch they could be proud of. Hak lifts the hand holding Yona’s and bring the back of it to his lips for a kiss, his eyes were soft but the glint in them made her giggle when he winked.

“You don’t have to be so smug,” she chides him, “and you better not rub this in the other’s faces, they are still our friends.”

“Aww,” he teases back, “but that’s no fun!”

“Hak,” smiling with a clenched jaw, “you are going to be an Emperor, you must start acting like one.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy life, Princess, and one of those joys is torturing Jae-ha.”

As the Emperor stands by watching the two bickering just like they’ve done since childhood, he chuckles and shakes his head, “you two already like an old married couple.”

“He’s right Yona,” Hak grins, “are you sure you’re happy you picked me?”

“I don’t know,” she teases back, tapping her chin, “did I make the right choice? Maybe I should have picked Shin-ah, he’s not as irritating as you are, and he’s such a sweetheart…”

Hak feigns a heart attack, clutching at his chest, “you wound me Princess, and here I’ve loved you all these years that you would toss me aside so quickly…”

“Oh, stop it, you big oaf!” aiming to punch him in the chest.

But Hak grabs her wrist, pulling her close instead, “I told you Princess,” tilting her face up, “careful lest you give away the truth.”

“What are you talking about, we just announced the...”

“The truth that you’ve been in love with me for years too.”

Yona stops fidgeting and her whole body flushes, “I-is it that obvious?” her eyes searching out her father, cousin Lili, her attendants, even a few in the crowd through her periphery and they are all nodding their heads. “Oh…”

Chuckling, “you are really horrible at keeping secrets Yona.” Hak leans in to capture her lips in a velvety kiss and smoothing his thumb over her cheek, “but I have waited five long years to do that again.”

A sighing smile, “me too…”

#hakyonaweek #hakyonaweek 2018 #day 4 battle #hakyona #royal hearts #petri808 #medieval-ish au story

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colorofinsanity · 6 years ago

Text

Sandalwood

Maybe trigger warning, themes of PTSD.

“Come now, Systina.” the faerie purred. “You and I were made for each other! Together we could propel our kingdoms into further greatness.” His grip tightened on her wrist, a small action that kept Morgan pinned and betrayed his kind smile and soft speech.

“I don’t need your greatness.” Morgan retorted, trying to twist out of his grasp. “And if you continue to annoy me, I might do something violent…”

A taunting expression appeared on the faerie’s face. He took pleasure in Morgan’s obvious discomfort, though was unheeding of the steel in her eye and the venom in her threat. He pulled her wrist, forcing her to lean closer to him, nearly unbalancing her from her seat.

“Don’t be rude, Systina. You wouldn’t dare to defy a god, would you? Especially when he’s been so kind as to offer a place at his side…”

Morgan scoffed, a flash of anger riling up. It took much of her dwindling willpower not to strike at the faerie. Violence was forbidden at this convention of fae monarchs. Morgan, personally, did not want to offend the King that hosted them, as she held great respect for him.

The faerie before her, though, was undeserving of any sort of that respect.

“I am just as much a god as you.” Morgan hissed, rising from her seat to tower over her tormentor. “Do you claim the Vanir lesser than the Tuatha? Or do you only claim I am lesser than you?”

Morgan’s wrist became hot as iron, burning the faerie’s hand with dragon fire. He recoiled out of his stool, releasing her with a suppressed yelp.

The faerie’s behavior was one thing; an enormous thing, to be sure, but it was his perfume that really set Morgan off. She was overly sensitive to such smells to begin with, but the sickening sweetness of it filled her sinuses, recalling unwanted memories of blinding light and burning cold.

“Why you-” growled the offending faerie. He raised an arm as if to strike her. Blue flames crackled at Morgan’s fingertips. No one had noticed yet, but it seemed the convention was quickly spiraling into chaos.

“Is there a problem?” asked a deep, level voice that was welcome to Morgan’s ears. A knight serving under their host inserted himself between Morgan and the faerie, a six by four wall of black armor and intimidation. Even better, it was a knight Morgan knew.

“It seems your company is unwelcome,” the knight continued, “It would bring my lord great pain if Lady Systina was distressed.”

The faerie glowered. For all his entitlement, he seemed unwilling to defy the knight, and by proxy their host.

“This isn’t over, Systina.” the faerie threatened over his shoulder, turning away and taking his leave.

Given the moment to think, Morgan took a shuddering breath. Her hands were shaking, she realized. She pushed her hair out of her face, trying to regain a modicum of calm.

“I… ah, thank you, Sable.” She spoke to the knight, trying to force her voice to be clear and level. It didn’t work.

“Are you alright, Milady?” Sable asked, turning to her. “I did not think it characteristic of you to lose composure so easily.”

“Oh. Yes, I am… I’m just… useless with this sort of thing.” Morgan gestured vaguely. “I can handle all the usual flirting, but taken to this level…” She gave a short mirthless laugh. “It brings, ah, bad memories…”

A mixed look of sympathy and disgust crossed Sable’s face.

“I see. Then I will not pry, Milady. But tell me. Who is that faerie? I will report him to my master. I assure you, he will not tolerate this harassment.”

“The idiot thing is,” Morgan sighed, “that bastard hasn’t had the decency to give me his name. But then, if he did, I would curse him blind. I know he is of the Tuatha de Dannan, if that helps at all.”

“...Yes. That helps.” Sable spoke slowly, committing the faerie’s face to memory. Such an amoral creature had no place in the world his master meant to build.

A silence passed between them. Morgan did not notice it as much, preoccupied by the jagged thought and memories she tried to avoid. She crossed her arms in an attempt to still her shaking hands. A hissing hatred seethed in her chest.

“Fae like him are no better than the humans we abandoned.” she hissed to herself. Sable gave a slight nod, almost in agreement.

“I… hah… sorry.” Morgan said, shaking herself back to reality. “Thank you, Sable. Truly. I might have done something incredibly inconvenient if you hadn’t shown up.”

The perfume of the faerie still lingered. It was making her dizzy. She had to leave. For her own sanity, at least.

“Think nothing of it, milady.” Sable nodded. “I am only carrying out my duties.”

The silence between them dragged out long enough to be awkward. Just as Morgan was about to make her excuses to leave, she heard a clatter of heeled shoes. Looking past Sable’s shoulder, Morgan met the gaze of Mahri, a retainer of hers. An unconscious sigh of relief fluttered in her chest.

Mahri swayed through the crowd with a self-satisfied smirk resting on her face. She managed to look like she owned the place, despite definitely being the youngest faerie present. However, as she neared Morgan, her cocky expression melted off her face as it became clear how uncomfortable Morgan was. Mahri’s pace quickened toward her.

Morgan took the few steps around Sable to meet her.

“Ah, Mahri.” she greeted in a half-baked facade of normalcy. She got unexpectedly close to Mahri, taking her arm as though she were some kind of gentleman. Mahri was taken totally aback, unused to such familiar treatment.

“Master? What’s wrong?” Mahri asked, flashing a dirty look at Sable.

“No, it’s not him, Firebird. Just… stay close, please.”Morgan begged softly.

Sable took a moment to observe Mahri.

“If you find yourself in good company, Lady Systina, then I shall take my leave.”

“Yes.” Morgan nodded. “Thank you, Sable.”

With a small bow of his head, Sable disappeared into the dense crowd.

Mahri, usually, would have tracked him as he left, but she was distracted by the faerie at her side.

“Master, you are trembling.” Mahri made the observation bluntly, unable to quite process what she was seeing. Morgan was folded in on herself, her posture small and hidden. Her hands gripped Mahri’s forearm, their bodies mere inches apart.

Mahri didn’t recognize the emotion in her chest nor the expression on her face. She was such a young flame, but already she missed the days when lust and pride were the only things she needed to understand. But today, Morgan needed someone by her side, and Mahri was the only one available.

Mahri, with no small amount of hesitance, pulled Morgan nearer to her. Their arms linked, Mahri played the role of escort, taking Morgan from the crowd with all the great dignity she could muster.

Morgan felt dizzy, unsteady on her feet, the memory of the smell of his perfume enough to make her ill. Mahri, the flare of dragonfire she was, smelled near obnoxiously of ozone, which is why Morgan couldn’t seem to get close enough. The smell of fire burned her lungs and sinuses, purging them of the ghosts of cologne. Mahri’s fire was the smell of home, of her kin and of comfort. It scorched away all else.

Mahri guided Morgan from the crowd, out of the hall and into the gardens. The cool night wind also did a great deal to chase away the offending scent.

They walked a ways down the path, until the sounds of the gathered fae faded. It was here that Mahri stopped, needing answers and explanations. Anything to relive the damned heaviness in her chest.

“Master.” she began strongly, but a soon as the address was out, hesitance creeped in by way of the rock in her chest. “Master, please....” she tried again, the word unfamiliar to her. It stung her tongue. “Tell me what is wrong.”

Morgan’s shoulders were slumped in, her spine curved forward. Her hair covered her face, but Mahri could still see Morgan’s glassy and unfocused gaze. Mahri wanted to shake her, but… something told her that wouldn’t help.

Somewhere, in the back of Morgan’s mind, she knew she was shut down. She knew she should come back to reality, that Mahri was worried about her, that she was acting strange…

But she couldn’t just turn back on. She wished she could. How could she be brought so low, by someone so insignificant? How could someone so easily bring her back to those white rooms and cold touches? To that smell that heralded the coming of her torturer…

It was cold out here. Morgan loved the cold. The night air. It was too cold. So cold it burned. It blistered and blackened and-

Mahri had pulled away from Morgan and held her at arm’s reach, but with a yelp Morgan closed the gap between them, her fingers digging into both Mahri’s arms.

Mahri stumbled back at the sudden burst of sound and panicked movement, shock written across her face. She regained her balance, gingerly holding Morgan without making too much contact.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Morgan muttered. “Bad dreams, bad memories. Sorry. Sorry, I…”

With a shaky breath, Morgan pulled back. Mahri released her, but didn’t allow her to stray too far. Now Morgan had scared her.

“I… ha… sorry…” Morgan pushed her hair out of her face with shaking hands. It was not lost on her what effect her episode was having on her poor vassel. She had never been exposed to this side of Morgan, and Morgan would have preferred if she had never found out.

“Sorry, sorry.” Morgan mumbled again. She wanted to back away further, but at the same time couldn’t bear the thought. For now, Mahri’s ozone and warmth were the only anchors she had to reality. She didn’t want to part from that, and she especially didn’t want anyone inside to see this. To see what wounds the Queen Systina bore.

“Sorry.” Morgan said once more, gaining more of a handle on herself. She could feel Mahri’s distress growing, and immediately felt the need to put her at ease.

“I’m… I’m okay now.” Morgan said. It was a lie, but… “I’ll be okay. I just… I need a minute.”

“Master, you have to tell me what’s wrong.” Mahri’s voice was level, her face was less so. “Are you ill? Should I find Lord Vath?”

“Yes… or…” Yes, Vath knew better how to handle Morgan’s episodes. However, if Mahri was sent to find him, Morgan would be left on her own. “No, no, just… ah… can you… walk me to our room? Then look for him.”

Morgan swallowed hard, unwilling to make eye contact with Mahri.

“I, uh… I shouldn’t be left alone.” she went on. “I’m sorry, Firebird, I just… I can’t talk about it. Not now. I… I’ll explain later. I promise.”

Mahri sighed, trying to force the weight in her chest to dispel in that breath. Her master had given her an order. That she could deal with.

Mahri laced Morgan’s arm though hers, carrying all the dignity that Systina’s escort ought to have.

“Then let us go, my Queen.”

#creative writing #Fantasy #original character #dragon #faerie #celtic folklore #norse folklore

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