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zakthefiend · 3 years ago

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The Shadow of the Night

(Happy Birthday @pebster! I hope this adds to the celebration very well! Damn it’s been awhile since I’ve done one of these hasn’t it? Life gets in the way, new hyperfixations, Tumblr constantly killing itself, same old and same old. Well I feel like I’ve written a lot from other sources so why not return to my first MMORPG with a bang! Tyrande VS Sylvanas! Night Warrior vs Banshee Queen! Personally I didn’t much care for the cinematic, looked nice but I’ve long since given up on Blizzard actually doing good with their characters. That aside, my personal thoughts on WoW deserves it’s own separate post and shouldn’t be here where I gift an old muse and friend of mine something she’s probably been wanting for a long time. So without further adieu, I hope you enjoy!)

Ciradel lunges forward with her moon blades ready, her Elven weapons focused on their mark and their serrated edges threatened to rend the Banshee’s neck wide open! Suddenly she feels a shadow over take her chest before a sudden force smashed into her chest and sent her hurdling back! Her back slams into the ground, the force shaking her to her very core as she tried to pull herself back up. The Warden could barely catch her breath from such an attack yet willed herself back on her feet. Her fellow wardens were trapped in the midst of battle with the Jailer’s forces, and only she could delay Sylvanas from completing her ritual at that moment.

“Damn it!” She curses, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth quickly as she coughed some up in her helmet. Her hands rested over her chest and felt the overall damage. A cracked breastplate would explain why some of her ribs feel almost like dust now. Ciradel tried to regain focus, focusing on her stance again before drawing her moon blade again. Her breathing was ragged but as a Warden of Elune she must fulfill her duty before death!

Sylvanas simply took a glance at her before refocusing on the ritual once more, her attentions better spent on something far more important than Elune’s attack dog.

The Warden tried to move but found herself stumbling too much and ultimately fell to her knees. She tears off her helmet and coughs loudly while sucking in as much air as she could. Her hands gripped the grass beneath her and watched it slowly change colors from teal to black and grey. She felt the plants wither in her gauntlets and further inspection shows it all but ash in her hands. The sight of it, the smell of death that now permeated the air, it flashed images of her home before her eyes. The devastation brought on by the War of Thorn and the burning of Teldrassil ran before her very eyes. The faint screams and dying flames filling her minds and dulling her hearing before ultimately succumbing to the crushing weight of despair upon her shoulders.

“Poor lost soldier...” Sylvanas says, lowering herself to the ground and standing over Ciradel with a slight smirk on her face. “So hard you have fought for kin and nation, to stand for Elune only to watch her leave you to your fate. It reminds me so much of an old life I once had.”

Ciradel looks up, but not with a face of fear or intense grief, she stares up defiantly to Sylvanas. Tears running down her cheek as her blood stained teeth gritted as she stares into the Banshee Queen’s scarlet eyes. “I do not fear you, banshee! Kill me and raise my body if you wish, but my mind and soul belongs to the Kaldorei! I will not forsake my people as you have yours!”

That smirk faded, and a dark look overcame the Banshee’s face before drawing her bow. “Then die braver than most, Warden.”

Ciradel prepared for the arrow to make it’s mark, and muttered her prayers before feeling something yank her from her armor collar with such a sheer force of speed that she had thought it teleportation! She quickly gathers herself and the situation, seeing the Banshee Queen almost yards away from where she originally was only centimeters from here the arrow was pointed at her head!

Then, she saw her.

High Priestess of Elune: Tyrande Whisperwind.

The woman who brought back the Night Warriors to the Night Elves after their darkest hour, the one to have stood against Azshara when she sought to bring Sargeras to the world, and the woman who lead the Night Elves through the many wars and battles Azeroth has had over countless centuries. She stood over Ciradel, almost a towering presence now with the powers of the Night Warrior changed her appearance more now. A moon hovered above her head like a halo, as the markings she had received from her transformation now dazzled like stars upon a night sky, and runes of azure blue glowed across her arms and legs as she held her glaive in her other hand.

She let go of the warden, and gave it a wave and suddenly Ciradel felt her body completely healed of all it’s wounds! She looks up to Tyrande, whose black eyes stared at Sylvanas with a hatred rivaled only by Maev’s loathing of Illidan and of the Xaxa’s himself!

“Go.” She said to Ciradel, treating it less like a demand and more like something she was supposed to do, “Aid the others with repelling these deathless mongrels from these lands. Sylvanas is mine to rend justice upon.”

The Warden looked between the two, feeling these two near demigods were about to engage had her prepared to leave. She stood up quick and looked to Tyrande a final time. “Shaha lor’ma, Tyrande. Elune-Adore, an Andu-Falah-Dor!” Ciradel fled the scene to return to the other Wardens at the battle, leaving those two alone to their battle.

(Darnassian: ”Thank you, Tyrande. Elune be with you, and let the balance be restored!”)

______________________________________________________________

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut it with an axe, the two Elves who walked the path of vengeance were faced to face once more. Their previous fight back on Azeroth, where Tyrande had caught up to Sylvanas was interrupted and left unfinished until now. The peerless void filled eyes glared towards Sylvanas, returning the stare with a scowl as the memory of their last fight still burned in her mind.

“So. You found me once again. Did you wish for an award of some kind?” Sylvanas starts, opening her hands and closing them around twin shortswords of Quel’dorei design now warped to reflecting her darker attire now.

Tyrande took out her other Glaive from behind her, and did not hesitate with her answer. “Your head.”

Sylvanas nodded, removing her cloak and tossing it aside and shaked her head free of her cowl before smugly responding to her hunter: “Then come and try.”

Tyrande lunged forward, slamming her galives against Sylavanas’s blades and used her weight to swing the other blade at the banshee’s arm. Sylvanas quickly ducked beneath the swing and pulled her blades down with her and moved in to stab Tyrande in her gut but watched her swing herself out of the way for another slash to the Banshee Queen!

The two Elves were caught in a dance of blades and swords, each moving to a different tune and song of battle and war. Tyrande heard and felt the drums of the Kaldorei beat and boom as thunder inside her mind as she swung and spun herself with the weight of her blades and body against Sylvanas. The Banshee however felt the solemn sounds of a lute strummed and played louder and quicker within her, her parry’s and dodges and counters constantly keeping the other on their toes the entire fight. Neither dared to use their magic for this fight, as this was an almost ritualistic tradition that both Elven women of their races held close to their heart. With every swing that cuts the Banshee, the Priestess felt a stab to the exposed flesh of her armor. With every missed slash of the short swords came the near death experience of the magical glaives coming towards her neck. While the music within them played to different tones and themes, it was the same song that began to control their movements in an almost entranced way.

It ultimately ended when Sylvanas pierced Tyrande’s midsection with her blades, watching the woman drop her weapons from over her head to the ground. It was over.

Sylvanas won.

That is, until Tyrande gripped her fists together and swung a hammerfist across the Quel’dorei’s face! Sylvanas immediately stumbled backwards from the sheer force of the swing before forced to stop when Tyrande stomped her foot down on top of hers and swung a right hook across her face! She pulled her arms up to guard her face from the next punch, but felt an uppercut to her gut nearly shook her entire armor!

Sylvanas forced her foot free, and quickly side stepped the next punch and quickly backed away from the Night Elf to formulate a counter. Unfortunately Tyrande was on top of her the entire time and refused to give her a moment of rest. The next swing slammed into a tree and the bark practically exploded off from the force of the punch! Her knuckles bloodied from the swing, she gritted her teeth towards Sylvanas who used her new powers to bind Tyrande in shadowy chains long enough to catch her breath. In that moment, she realized that the Night Elf still had her swords firmly implanted into her gut! Before anything else could be discovered, a beam of light blasted down from the sky and blasted the Banshee onto the ground! She rolled onto her knees, snapping her fingers as the swords faded away and her bow was summoned into her hands. She quickly took pot shots at Tyrande, who now dashed to grab her Glaives from the ground. She was quick enough to dodge most of the arrows but felt one firmly implanted itself into her shoulder! She let out a quick groan before rolling for her weapons and quickly wielded them to block the next volley of arrows and slashed one in half before charging at her once more.

Sylvanas quickly realized the position she’d be in again if Tyrande was to close the gap again, and transformed into her banshee form to fly out of reach! Just as she turned to fire a shot at the Night Warrior, she saw Tyrande had blasted herself at Sylvanas with a mighty leap and slammed herself into the other Elf and the two came crashing back down to the ground below!

The air around them swirled with a blackish blue dust cloud, before it revealed Tyrande having impaled Sylvanas in her shoulders. Tyrande pinning her as the markings slowly faded, having expended much of her power to healing the stab wounds in her gut and that powerful leap. She kept herself over the Banshee by kneeling over her midrift. The Quel’dorei groaned in pain as she struggled to fight the Night Warrior off her body.

Tyrande leaned close to the pained expression of Sylvanas with a calm fury over her face, before speaking to her in a cold tone: “For Teldrassil, and Elune’s mercy be upon you.”

She pulled her glaive’s out from Sylvanas’s Shoulders, and impaled her in the chest with her weapons! The Banshee cried out, her hands trying to pull the blades out of her body while cutting her hands on the harsh steel of the blades. This pain forcing her to remember her final moments alive at the hands of Arthas all those years ago, forcing a boiling rage to swell within her at being reminded of such a hated memory. Her head rolled back as the pain shot through her body, her eyes burning with fury and pain as she looked back at the one who had done this to her.

In her eyes, she saw no joy nor satisfaction in this act. There was no pleasure in this act of vengeance. No glee or pride found in the Priestess’s eyes. Instead, she saw only pity. She almost saw a hint of regret behind her cold glare, as if she wished she didn’t have to end this life.

Sylvanas breathed heavily, her breathing ragged as she looked at the Night Warrior who kept the blades embedded into her body. She smirked up to the woman, feeling her blood escaping from her mouth.

“I... I suppose this is wh... where you take my head then? Well go on. Your trophy need only a swipe to claim. Ash karath, Tyrande Whisperwind.”

(Darnassian: “Do it, Tyrande Whisperwind.”)

Tyrande pulls a glaive out from her chest, and raised it over her shoulder. She looked down and took a deep breath, “Selama Ashal’anore.”

(Thalassian: “Justice for our people.”)

Just as she swung down, just before her blade could meet the banshee’s neck, she was interrupted by the Jailer’s minions and slammed off Sylvanas. She was pulled away, as the invading forces retreated and left Tyrande behind. She tossed her Glaive at them, but missed as they were too out of range for her. She watched them get further and further away, her breathing quickening as her anger soon boiled over, and she released a blood curdling scream as loud as she could that echoed across the realm!

Tyrande had won, but failed to finish off Sylvanas this time.

(Author’s note: I know, I know, I know, this is a shitty ending. Look we all want Tyrande to put down Sylvanas after all the shit that had happened between them. Hell, I’m hoping they duke it out and the cinematic gets the animation of Saurfang V Sylvanas! But for now, until we get to see where the story goes, she gotta stay alive. Still, I hope you still enjoyed this fic and hope you have a wonderful birthday Pebs.)

#pebster #pebe-art #pebsterino #Tyrande #Tyrande Whisperwind #Lady Sylvanas #Sylvanas #Sylvanas Windrunner #world of warcraft #WoW #Shadowlands #World of Warcraft Shadowlands #not my art #my writing #canon characters #Ciradel #not my character #zakthefiend

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dancingthesambaa · 3 years ago

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The Smell of Plum Blossom Tea Ch 14

Summary: Just like a butterfly wing, a single act of kindness can change the course of the future, it certainly did for MK as a black furred monkey put out a hand towards him.

Rating: Teen and up

Also as a heads up, since college started back up for me I decided to change my posting to every Thursday night rather than Friday Mornings. There also might be times where I won't be able to post that week or be late due to schooling, so this is an apology in advance!!!

Chapter 14: Memories Intertwined

A clear cut path was set for the public eye as it stood between rows upon rows of Plum Blossom trees and flowers spread all around. There were quite an abundance of people along these paths as families came together for a picnic, couples went for a stroll together as they held hands, or the occasional jogger or artist that ran or drew as they wandered in. Many don’t try to venture off the path, not because of its danger, but rather in fear of getting lost in the woods.

Well except for two people, a human and a Monkey, as they stood on the outskirts of the forest.

“Well this is it, welcome to the Plum Blossom Forest,” MK said as with his arms raised high. “The most awesomest place to be.”

It took a few minutes for Wukong to respond as he took in the beautiful view, but also felt that there was something else rooted in the leaves, along the branches, and deep into the ground within the forest. It wasn’t bad, just something different. Normal trees don't usually have any types of aura on them unless they are spiritual in nature, these aren’t those types of trees. At the same time though it does, he can’t quite put his fingers on it, but it just feels like…like safety. “Yeah, it is.”

“Monkey King?”

“O-oh yeah,” he snapped out of it, “this place looks absolutely amazing.”

“It sure is, now follow me,” MK went into the forest as the Monkey King followed.

“It would probably be faster if I used my cloud instead of going through the forest, you know,” he pointed out.

“Sure, but this is your first time, so you have to experience it on foot at least for your very first experience!” He countered.

“You got me there,” he grinned, “on foot it is. So, tell me more about this place, anything interesting about it besides the abundance of trees?”

“Tons! Like this forest doesn’t just have regular animals, but it also has so many mythical creatures living here!”

“Really? What kind?”

“Well we have a few Qilins that like to roam around here.”

“Qilin, haven’t seen one of those in a hot second,” he muttered.

“They sometimes come and go, but some even make a den here,” MK continued.

The further they went in the clearer it was that MK really knew the forest as he began to excitedly tell all sorts of things to his mentor.

“So the faeries tribe get along with the Xianglu? Now that is something I didn’t think was possible, the faeries are especially a…crafty bunch,” which was Wukong's way of saying manipulative sons of bitches. He got lost in a forest for a month because of those little bastards.

“Not really surprisingly, they both like to collect shiny things so they usually like to show the other what they have found, bargained, and/or stolen,” he shrugged. “And-oh hey BaBa!” He cheerily waved to his long time friend.

Wukong just blinked as he looked at her and just nodded, “Okay, not even gonna ask how or why he managed to get a Bashe here.”

“Dad says that apparently she just came here one day and decided to stay.”

The monkey opened his mouth and promptly closed it instead to bow to her, “It’s nice to meet you.”

BaBa gave a shallow nod to him and laid her giant head back down and curled up in the sun rays.

“Come on! We’re almost there,” he grabbed the Monkey King's hand and dragged him back on track, or at least they tried to get back on track as not even twenty minutes later, MK was ambushed by a couple of macaque monkeys.

“Guys! Guys! I’ll play with you all later,” he tried to push them away, but they held a tight grip on him. “Guys! Why are-don’t you even think about it,” he snatched one by the tail, who was sneakily digging into his pockets and hanged him upside down. “Really?”

They all just grinned at him as the infants attempted once more.

“That’s-okay, no! You can’t just steal from me like that unless you have a distraction in place,” he managed to gather all four of them in his arms and put them down. “A distraction helps a lot, it will steer your target attention away from the pickpocketer and towards something else.”

The monkeys were paying very much attention to his impromptu lecture as they stared wide eyed.

Wukong, on the other hand, was holding back his laugh as he looked on in the scene with fondness and amusement as he was drawn into a familiar memory.

“I can easily steal from those people no problem, why do I have to disguise myself and sneak in?” Wukong groaned out as they made their way to the edge of the market.

“Just because they look weak doesn’t mean they are, haven’t you heard the phrase ‘Don’t judge things on how they look.’” Macaque argued back.

“No.”

“Of course you haven’t,” he rolled his eyes, “well how about this, you distract them, I’ll grab the food from the assholes.”

“Works for me!” He happily threw away his brown cloak and gave a loud screech as he dashed through the market causing a huge commotion when he ran into people.

“I didn’t mean now,” he hissed to himself as he quickly grabbed the fallen cloak, but nonetheless got to work as he stole from the fruit vendor, who cussed them both out yesterday, grabbed a few loaves of bread from the bitch who decided to stomp on Wukong tail, and took a few things here and there from customers who he recognized from other days that always sneered in disgust when they saw him.

He was just about done wrapping up, and with such a nice haul, all that was left now was to sneak around and look for Wukong, quickly tug on his shadow to bail out and make way to the forest.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work out quite like that as not even twenty paces in he heard sounds of a fight occurring as many scruffed up looking people were all going at it at each other, and guess which reckless monkey is in the middle of it all.

“Damn it Wukong,” his eye twitched as he once again contemplated about leaving his reckless ass, but begrudgingly moved his way to the front. The first, and last, time he had tried that, he got side tackled hard by the monkey and he swears the bruises haven’t left him since.

When he reached the point where he was not entirely in the front, but still had a good angle on the fight, he saw that it wasn’t just humans that were drunkenly fighting each other, but also demons…who were wielding weapons.

“Shit!” The monkey shrieked as he dodged a flaming spear to the back of the head.

Weapons that happened to be enchanted…great.

“How does he even get himself into these messes,” Macaque lowly growled as he made sure everyone's attention was focused on the fight before slipping into the shadows, something he has recently been learning when he saw something on the rooftop. There was a figure standing there and in his hands was a bow and arrow that was aimed right towards the fighting monkey.

Now this wouldn’t usually worry him, he has seen him tussle with deities for fun, but then he noticed that the arrow too was also enchanted as he heard a soft crackle and saw a shimmering blue glow as he soon released it.

“Shit!” He quickly, and he will admit a bit recklessly, dived into the shadows and straight in the middle of the brawl.

Good news, he made it to the middle of the brawl and tackled his friend out of the way. Bad news, he currently has an arrow stuck in his right shoulder that hurt worse than the time he got stabbed by the selkie.

“Fuck!” He grunted as he laid on top of Wukong and promptly winced when everyone started screaming at the arrow that came out of nowhere.

“Mac! What do you do that for-your shoulder!” He screeched as he got the monkey off of him and sat him up and saw his shoulder was currently smoking. He didn’t even look back to use his tail to throw the man about to attack them from behind as he was focused on the arrow. “What happened?!”

“We can worry about this later,” he gritted as he tried to stand up, only for his head to feel dizzy and he stumbled.

Wukong quickly grabbed him before he could fall and set him back down. He knew that he had to get the arrow out of him soon, but now was not the best time to do that as he gazed upon the people looming over them. He looked to see his friend trying to stand back up despite his injuries and was fully ready to fight back with him.

It was time to go.

The monkey stopped his black furred companion from moving, “Shall we bail?”

Macaque gave a nod as he grabbed his friend and sank him down into the shadows once more and managed to travel all the way to the outskirts of the fight. They didn’t stop there though as Macaque quickly gave Wukong his cloak back and the two began to make their way through the town, past the entrance, and back into the field with a large tree stood, which is where they agreed to meet up in case things went south, like a lot of times before.

“Well,” the injured monkey grunted as he sat down, “that could have gone a lot worse.”

“You're telling me,” the bruised simian agreed as he began to look over the arrow that was still embedded in his friend's back. “Sit still, I’m about to take this out.”

“Yeahhh, it hurts like hell,” he grumbled as he sat in place as Wukong got the arrow out and only flinched when he began to lick the wound shut. The first time he found out that this was a thing was when he pricked his hand against a thorny bush and the impulsive simian decided to put his finger in his mouth without warning. He had almost chucked the monkey for that. Soon enough it was over as the bleeding stopped and the tongue left his back.

“That should be good, though you were an idiot for getting struck in the first place,” he said.

“Me?! I was only doing that to save your stupid ass,” he indignantly said.

“I would have been fine!”

“Maybe, but I wasn’t about to take that chance with an enchanted weapon,” he shot back.

“That does explain the weird marking, wait there was another one?” He was already interested in that flaming stick that the demon used, but now there was another weapon he didn’t even see…that had struck his friend…he really wants a round two with those fuckers. “Who even were they?”

“Hopefully people we don’t have to meet anytime soon,” Mac grunted as he took the sack that he managed to quickly snag on their way back and grabbed himself a nice looking mango. “Come to papa,” he said and took a big bite.

“Bring it here,” he said and he caught the bag thrown at him and rummaged through it a bit before he found some nice looking loquat.

After that, they filled the two rested up in the tree, and dozed off in a peaceful slumber. Though the same couldn’t be said for a certain group of people as in the middle of the night they were ambushed by a cloaked figure and proceeded to get thoroughly pummeled into unconsciousness, the archer especially as his hands were broken beyond use and his bow shattered. Then the figure slipped off into the night with his hoard of coins and trinket stashed into his pocket and bounded his back to the tree where his friend laid.

No one was allowed to mess with anything that was claimed by the great Monkey King after all.

“Bye! Now use that to mess with everyone else!” He was snapped back to reality as he saw the monkeys leaving and MK waving to them. “But don’t use it on the faeries please, they tend to hold grudges!”

They got screeches of confirmation as they eventually vanished from sight and were ready to commence their new found knowledge amongst the wildlife.

“Alrighty,” his protege clapped his hands, “let’s back on track.”

“I’m just gonna assume that means we’re heading to that big tree over there,” he pointed to the enormous tree they were heading towards.

“Yup! It’s the very first Plum Blossom Tree that was grown here!” He stated as they continued onward, “and it’s where our home is.”

“You guys live in a treehouse,” Monkey King amusedly said.

“Yup!” He exclaimed as he began to climb up the tree and leap towards the house, “race ya there!”

“You're trying to challenge a monkey?” He grinned as he easily began to catch up to him. “You don’t stand a chance!”

“Home Field advantage!”

“Dream on!”

“First!” Wukong cheered as he landed on the wooden porch.

“Damnit!” MK said not even a second after, “you cheated! You pulled me down!”

“All is fair in love and races,” he cockily grins then he stilled as he felt a killer intent behind him. He swiveled around only to stop and see a smiling child behind him. “Hel-”

“MK, it’s about time you got here,” the girl playfully rolled her eyes as she wrapped her arm around him. “It took you long enough.”

“Says the one who was lazing about here waiting for us, speaking of us,” he wiggled out of his sister's arm and pointed to the monkey. “Mei meet the Monkey King!”

It could have just been Wukong, but he swore that her grin seemed to grow a little wider when their eyes met. “It’s nice to meet you Mei,” he tried to play off that weird feeling.

“Same,” she said as she stepped forward and pushed MK towards the kitchen, “it’s your turn to help pops in the kitchen.”

“Why? Can’t you do it?” He whined, he literally just finished walking here.

“I already did my part, now wash those nasty hands of yours,” she fully pushed him out the room.

“But-”

“Bye~”

“Ugh fine!,” he huffed and turned to his mentor, “You can wait in the living room with Mei! I’m pretty sure there are still some plums if you want, we have plenty of those.”

“You're telling me,” Wukong chuckled as he saw his student leave the room, so he turned back to Mei. “So how long have you-” he paused as he saw the pigtailed girl hold up a small piece of paper in front of him with words saying.

I don’t like you

“Umm,” he paused as Mei continued to smile.

“Well let me show you the living room,” she said as she went to the next card.

You may be MK mentor, the great and powerful Monkey King, and Dad old friend, and they may have both forgiven you, but I will not

“Thank you,” he managed to wrangle out as he followed Mei who began to walk forward.

“It’s no problem,” she said as they made it to the living room and held out the last card. “Just promise me to remember where it is next time monkey man.”

I know what happened and I’m keeping an eye on you, cause if you fuck up again then it won’t be pretty

Her eyes glowed a dark green as she stared down with wary golden eyes.

“I promise,” he nodded his head.

She looked at him for a few moments before walking away, passing by a trash can filled with torn up letters, and to the kitchen, but not before calling out, “I do hope you keep that in mind.”

It was only after she had left that Wukong sank down into his seat and breathed. ‘Well that wasn’t frightening at all,’ he sarcastically said to himself as he picked up a plum from the middle of the table and began to eat it. ‘I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I expected it to be from the awkwardness, not the girl who looked like she would gladly see me twenty feet under.’

He would continue his train of thought, but then he smelled something delicious making his way to him and saw Mac walk towards him with a plate in hand.

“Hope you still like dumplings,” he said as he plopped a huge tray of dumplings, filled with various fillings, in the middle of the table.

“Hell yeah…So you learned how to cook?” He was about to reach for the chopstick but paused and waited until the other monkey sat down first.

“Kinda had to with everything and all,” he didn’t specify as he sat down on a chair adjacent to the couch Wukong was on.

“Do you know how to cook?” Wukong was momentarily surprised at MK's voice as he and Mei were actually following behind the monkey and carrying plates, cups, and a pot.

“In a way yes, thank you,” he nodded his head to Mei as she gave him a wide grin.

“Hair food does not count,” Mac deadpanned.

“Hair food?” Both teenagers looked in confusion.

“He uses his hair to make food.”

“It’s not that bad,” he tried to defend himself.

“It’s fast I’ll admit, but it’s bland as hell,” he stated.

“It’s still not that bad.”

“I’ll take your word for that,” MK said as he sat down next to his mentor and happily began to eat the dumpling.

Wukong, after seeing everyone starting to eat, began to follow suit and his eyes widened as he quickly grabbed another dumpling. “This is delicious!”

“More than your hair food,” the black simian smirk.

Wukong stuffed another dumpling in his mouth in place of answering and drank some Plum tea, only to blink in surprise. “What kind of tea is spicy?”

“Pffft,” Mac couldn’t help himself as he barked out a laugh that was quickly followed by MK giggles.

And that’s how it was for the rest of the lunch, small chatter here and there, mostly from MK as he talked about his week or Wukong in his small questions from ‘What he likes to grow in his garden?’ to ‘How long did he take to build his home?’ It was nothing too invasive, just simple questions here and there and they finished up the plate, though there was a small fight between both humans and the sage monkey over who would get the last beef dumpling. It was a tense match, but it was MK who won in the end after a serious battle of Jan Ken Po.

“Victory tastes so good,” he smirked as he devoured the dumpling.

“I will remember this,” Mei hissed as she messed with her pigtails.

“Maybe it’s time we review the basics again,” Wukong huffed and he slurped down the tea.

“You're just mad that I won.”

“Children all of you,” Mac said as he got his clone to put the plates in the sink.

“You're not wrong,” she said as she leaned back against him.

The simian hands then began to unconsciously undo her messed up pigtails and groom her hair. Both parties didn’t really take note of the change as this was a daily routine for anyone who has known them long enough.

Wukong just eyed the scene with mirth and a small bit of jealousy, that he will forever deny, as he watched his friend groom his child.

“Can I groom your fur,” he was startled by MK’s question.

“Wha-I mean, sure,” he quickly agreed after getting caught off by the question.

He smiled widely as he pushed the great sage Monkey King to the floor and began to gently groom his hair as well. He couldn’t help himself slowly become relaxed as the fingers gently caressed his fur. He has done this multiple times with his tribe, but this feeling will never get old.

“What is up with your fur being so soft?” The boy commented, “Dad’s fur is super soft and now yours? Is there a rule that demon monkey fur has to be soft?”

“Technically not a demon, but that is just the side effect of quality grooming,” he had to stop himself from letting a purr out as the kid continued. “Makes the fur nice and silky.”

He didn’t really pay attention to what his student said next as he closed his eyes and let the soft hands thread through his fur then when he opened his eyes once more it was dark and the hands had stopped.

He took a quick glance around and saw that he must have dozed off during their impromptu grooming session as he saw MK was now leaning against him in deep sleep and Mei curled up like a small cat on the couch with a pillow under her head. Yet there was no Macaque insight, his eyes flashed a bright golden as he scanned the area and saw the familiar outline of violet aura sitting on the railing outside.

So, he carefully dislodged himself from his student grip, laid him down gently with a blanket, and softly padded his way outside the warm home and into the cool night air.

“Could have sworn you were passed out,” Mac said as Wukong sat down next to him.

“What can I say, grooming plus silence equals sleepy time,” he shrugged, kicking his feet as he looked around, “you do have a nice home.”

“Thanks,” he awkwardly answered.

“Must have taken quite some time to build.”

“A few years.”

“Oh,” he said, then an awkward silence filled the air as neither side knew what to do without the kids acting as some sort of buffer between the two. Neither monkeys knew how to go from here despite one inviting the other over, they didn't know where exactly how to start nor, which is both their biggest worry, how it might end. But the inevitable conversation did need to start, so Wukong turned to his friend.

“Look, about the whole fight the other day and me saying you were just trying to use MK, I’m sorry,” he really knew he did a major fuck up then. “You really do care for the both of them and I can tell that they really love you as well.”

“…thanks, I got really lucky having them in my life,” he smiled then he winced, “Sorry about almost killing your friends back then, that was stupid of me.”

“Yeahhh, about that,” he turned his whole body to face him, “that has been nagging me for the longest of times. Why did you attack them?” He surprisingly watched the black furred monkey groan and put his face in his hands.

“It was both parts stupidly and sheer impulsiveness. I came to find you after Guanyin freed you and I heard you screaming and I saw you in pain, I thought you were being tortured,” he quietly replied.

Wukong's eyes were shot wide open as the truth of this finally came to light. This whole time he thought rage towards humans finally erupted in one huge explosion and attacked them, but it wasn’t. That wasn’t it. Macaque attacked them because he thought they were hurting him, he attacked his friends because he thought he was in pain because of them. Everything that happened, from the fight to their long separation was due to a fucking screwed-up misunderstanding!

“Oh,” yet he didn’t know how to voice any of that out, which is ironic considering he is known for being a loudmouth after his impulsiveness.

“I am sorry,” he reiterated as he barely got a reaction out of his friend. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, but I just heard screams and I saw you lying there, that I couldn’t stop myself from listening to the voices,” he admitted. Wukong is one of the few people he has ever told about the voices that like to whisper in his ears all their malicious intent and their cruel lust.

“…we both are truly hot messes huh,” he finally said as he looked back to the moon and gave him a small nudge. “Just look at the two of us, you somehow became the recluse medicine man that lives in the forest alone, but still somehow ends up with two kids, and me, who lives up in the tallest of mountains and became the Great Sage Equal to Heaven.”

“You forgot to add reckless idiot, somewhere there,” Mac lightly jokes.

“Heh yeah…I forgive you,” he quietly stated.

Macaque whipped his head to him, “Just like that? I almost killed you and your friends back then and that whole fight, and the words-” they both winced at the reminder of those damned words they spoke to the other. “What I did was horrible.”

“And we fought and I made you fucking blind!” He hissed out as he tried to see past the glamor in place to look at his hazy eye.

“I’m pretty sure I left you with a few scars yourself,” he shot back.

“A few scars are nothing compared to being blind!”

“That is just one injury compared to the multitude!”

“It doesn’t work like that, you are literally a physician?!” He threw his hands up.

“And I do declare myself completely capable despite my disability!” He barked back.

“I never said you weren’t capable, I know better than to underestimate you. Remember back with the fire spirits.”

“Which ones?”

“The arrogant bastard ones.”

“Which ones? There are numerous of them,” he deadpanned.

“The ones centered by the river, you know the spirits who thought they were powerful enough-”

“To take on the deity that commanded that puddle of water,” he said with him and continued. “I still can’t believe that those words came out of his mouth,” he snorted.

“And after we kicked their asses,” Wukong reminded him with a wide grin, “remember the look on their faces when the river goddess heard what they said.”

“I have never seen a fire spirit look like they want to piss themselves that fast before,” he barked out his laughter.

“Right!”

The two shared a laugh at the memory of the deity whooping their asses once more as the arrogant spirits either ran away screaming or died beneath her thundering waves. Both of them were completely safe as they watched the entire thing from on top of a tree and made bets over which idiots would survive. Their laughter eventually died down as the night silence took over once more, but it wasn’t the awkward silence that greeted them but a kindling of familiar comfort they shared before.

“We really are idiots,” the medicine monkey faintly commented.

“Glad to hear you finally admit it,” the sage monkey replied then he paused as he thought for a moment, but pushed forward. “After our many years of friendship, I would have never thought I would ever hear the day.”

Mac's eyes widened at his admission, “Friends?”

“Yep,” he boldly looked him in the eyes, “I mean I have spent centuries with you, so I think we are way past that level you know.”

“Despite not seeing each other in between those centuries,” the simian retorted.

“Well friends do have stupid fights with each other sometimes, it’s just not specifically for mortals you know,” the monkey slightly grinned.

“You're not wrong,” he swung his feet, “do…do you want to start over? Maybe try anew?” Thinking that maybe they couldn’t go back to how things were before, how the easy smiles and laughter that they used to share between the two of them and thoroughly dissipated. That maybe, if they begin right here and right now, there can be some resemblance of that bond that was once shattered.

Wukong let that answer sink in and ponder it only for a few moments before shuddering. “I…no I really don’t,” he said with a surprising harshness in his tone. “You were the one person who has known me longer than anyone other than the ones that still reside on the mountain, you are the only one who knows me the best out of anyone, and call me selfish, but I don’t want to start over with the only person who knew me from the inside out and still give a damn about me.” He can’t even imagine just throwing away all those years that he spent with moonshine, it would be easier if they ripped his head out instead, at least then the pain won’t be so bad. “So how about we both agree we made and did stupid ass decisions and continue on, cause if I’m being honest here, I really missed your grooming,” he teased.

“You just want me for my hands,” he couldn’t help but say.

“You do have very lovely hands,” he didn’t deny.

Macaque snorted before nodding, “Yeah, I like that peaches.”

“It’s been a while, mango,” Wukong grinned as he took in his friend form once more. He really had changed a lot since the last time he saw him, who he was is still the same, but he has opened up his soul a little wider and has beautifully flourished. Just how, well he just has to see more for himself. But not just his soul, but his whole outer appearance and he’s not talking about his ‘feminine’ clothing, both of them aren’t ones who care for gender roles or whatever the humans have decided their identity is based around. Rather his long fur that is swaying gently in the breeze under the moonlight night.

He couldn’t stop himself from taking glances at that fur each time he looked at the black furred simian. From just the sheer size to the fluffiness, as his student had proclaimed (though he can’t help but agree) he really just wants to thread his fingers through his fur. Maybe it’s just the absence of not grooming his friend fur in a long ass time, but he wants to remember how soft his fur is, to gently smooth out any tangles, to let him sit in between his legs as Mac sinks into his ministration and purr once more, to hold him as long as he can as they gently relax in each other arms to have his hands move down from his gorgeous fur and to his beautiful face and tilt his head up so that his golden eyes meet his own and ben his head down to meet-…oh.

And it was at this moment as he stared at Liu Er face did the thought occur to him as their tails unconsciously had entwined for the first time in over five hundred years and sat together beneath the stars.

‘I still love him,’ he faintly thought and his own heart pounded in confirmation. Not even when they have been separated for five hundred years did he stop loving his moonlight. ‘I really won’t stop loving him…and for some reason, I don’t mind.’

But instead of saying anything, he instead put his face on top of Macque's head and playfully nuzzled him. He can see his moon fondly rolling his eyes at his antics, but lean in as he feels his smaller friend rest his head on his shoulder.

‘This is enough,’ both simians privately thought as they cuddled close together.

Though they weren’t quite alone as two pairs of eyes were trained on them from the living room and they haven’t moved an inch since they heard Monkey King walk outside for the first time.

Mei and MK looked at each other in complete shock as they took in the scene. The surprise wasn’t from their conversation nor from the harmonious aura that surrounded them, but rather from the black and brown tails that were intertwined with each other. Now they may not know how romantic love feels and looks except from t.v, movies, couples strolling, and the scarce amount of times Mei parents come around, but they can tell there is something definitely there as it was hanging around the two monkeys and seeing them like this, it clicked.

‘Holy shit, Monkey King is the old flame!’ MK exclaimed with his eyes as he looked toward Mei.

‘It would seem so,’ her eyes flickered.

‘And he likes Dad back!’ His eyes widened.

‘Indeed he does,’ she narrowed her viridian eyes.

‘What do we do?’ He blinked three times as he was happy that they reconciled, but was unsure of what’s to come.

‘Watch for now and see what happens,’ she breathed as they both turned to look at the two silent monkeys basking together in the night.

Slow burn? Slow Burn?! They have been slow burning for countless centuries that even the polar bears are starting to feel the heat

HAHAHAHA I’m turning up the fucking heat for these damn monkeys

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #mk #macaque #six eared macaque #monkey king #PlumTeaAU

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bungou-stray-dingus · 5 years ago

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hey there, so like this is my first time requesting but your writing is sooo good i can't help myself. if you could, could you make a scenario for dazai and chuuya where his s/o is a non-ability who is very bubbly and innocent but they find out she has a deadly skill that could almost pass as an ability. im sorry if you're busy, you dont have to write this if you dont want to. I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH💕💕

OH IM GONNA WRITE IT BECAUSE I THOUGHT OF THE FUNNIEST BUT ALSO CUTEST THING OH YEAH ITS GETTING WROTE

THANKS BOOBOO ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Dazai

You were like an angel, too pure for this world. Your heart was filled with nothing but good. You donated to charity, helped out in elementary schools during the week and volunteered at children’s hospitals, homeless shelters, and animal shelters during the weekend.

He looked at you as if you were a saint. Whenever you would come home from volunteering he’d bow down at your feet. “My goddess has returned! I’m not worthy!” You’d laugh at his dramatics, grabbing his hand and helping him off the floor.

“Shush.” You’d say before pecking a kiss on his lips.

When you weren’t out helping in the community, you were at home doing what you could to help out without being there. You took up knitting, and Dazai joked about it often. He even went as far as to buy a rocking chair with extra cushion for you to sit in while you would work. “You’re the cutest grandma, you know that?” He’d say, and you’d throw your ball of yarn at him.

“Shut up, and bring me my yarn back.” He’d re-wind the yarn that came undone when you threw it as he walked the ball back to where you sat.

He poked fun at it, but he would often sit on the floor next to your rocking chair, becoming entrances as he watched your hands carefully wrap the yarn around the needle and thread it through the loops. He didn’t understand how you did it, but everything you made came out perfectly, especially the tiny hats for newborn babies with matching booties, and sweaters for dogs and cats in the shelters for when it got cold. You had even made blankets for the people at the homeless shelters, making sure to use the softest yarn that would also be warm.

Sometimes he would come with you to the hospitals or the homeless shelters when he wasn’t working. He never went to the animal shelter though, he didn’t want to be anywhere where dogs were.

When he would go to the hospitals with you he would spend hours making over the babies and how cute they were in the new hats and booties you had made for them.

“Y/N, is it illegal to take a baby from the hospital?” He would ask you on the way back home and you’d just stare at him.

“You’re a cop, I hope you’re joking.”

“Yeah, obviously I’m joking but... so it’s illegal?”

You were used to people not liking your boyfriend. He had helped bring a lot of people to justice in his line of work. You weren’t expecting people to hate you though. Dazai had worked hard to make sure that anyone from opposing agencies or enemies didn’t know that you and him were dating. In the beginning he was always worried and on edge that something bad may happen to you just for being associated with him, but it’s been a year and a half now and nobody had tried to hurt you or kill you.

That’s why you were less than serious when the door got kicked open and three men stormed in, all of them wielding knives. It had to be some kind of weird prank by Dazai, or maybe even some strange act that would set the stage for a new fantasy kink.

“I’m kind of busy right now, can you come back in an hour?” You said calmly, holding up the knitting needles to show them that you were occupied.

“We don’t give a damn. You’re coming with us.” One of the men said, you didn’t know what he looked like, all of them had black masks on.

“Eh, I don’t think I am.” You shrugged, not even looking up from the new sweater you were making.

They were getting angry, the three men stomped over to where you were sitting in the rocking chair. One of them held his knife to your throat, and you finally realized that they weren’t joking, and Dazai wasn’t in on it. “I think you are. That bumbling boyfriend of yours needs to know. Mess with us and we mess with him. Now let’s go.” He pressed the knife deeper and your fight or flight instinct kicked in. You wouldn’t be able to outrun the three of them, so you had to fight.

You gripped the needles tighter, bringing your arm up to jab it into the mans neck. He staggered back and fell to the floor against the wall, trying to pull the needle out.

“What the fuck!?” One of the other men shouted, as the third one started sprinting towards you. You quickly grabbed the knife that the first man had dropped, preparing yourself to stab the man before he could get to you. As soon as he got close enough you forcefully pushed the knife into the mans stomach. He screamed as you twisted it, making him drop to his knees, blood dripping out of his mouth from the damage you had caused.

The final man stood there, assessing the scene, his hands in the air. He had already dropped his knife.

“Get the fuck out of my house.” Your voice was low, you were out of breath. You watched him run out your door, then took the time to finally realize what you had done. “Oh my god. Oh... oh my god....” You swallowed back the bile that was rising up your throat. You had killed two people, you had single handedly taken out two grown men. You were a murderer.

With sweaty hands and shaking fingers you dialed Dazai’s number, praying that he’d actually answer.

“Hey swee-“

“You need to come home, I need your help. Please hurry and come home.” Your voice was as shaky as your hands were.

“I’m coming.” His voice wasn’t as cheery as when he first picked up. Obviously his first thought was that you were being attacked or someone was trying to break in. He wasn’t expecting the grisly scene he walked into.

He examined both guys, confirming they were dead, and you couldn’t really understand why he was smiling the entire time he was making his mental report. You couldn’t see anything good about having two dead men in your apartment.

“You did this? Yourself?” He finally looked up to you while poking the knitting needle protruding from the mans neck.

“I was scared! I didn’t know what else to do! I didn’t mean it.” He watched you try to explain yourself. He tried to imagine what was going through the men’s brains when his adorable girlfriend, wearing a skirt with knee high socks and buckle shoes started fighting back, especially with knitting needles. He couldn’t help but laugh. “Why are you laughing!?”

“You’re just so... sexy. You got a little blood on your shirt too.” He got up off the floor and surprised you by sweeping you off your feet as you tried to find the blood stain he was talking about. “Don’t worry, I’ll get that shirt off you soon.”

Chuuya

If he could describe you as a color, it would be yellow. You were bright, fun, happy, you always found a way to put a smile on his face, even when he had the worst day. It was as if a ray of sun took form and for some reason decided that he was the one who deserved it.

Your spontaneous adventures, even if it was just to the park always kept things exciting. He would stand back and watch as you ran over to anyone with a dog, sitting on the ground in front of the furry animal as you looked up and conversed with the owner about the breed and how cute the dog was. He would hear about it for the rest of the day, your hands moving freely through the air as you described the dog, even though he was right there and seen it as well, he would smile and nod. You always found something to be excited about, even on days when it would rain and you both were stuck in the house you would find some way to make him forget about the dreariness of the outside world. Building pillow forts and watching movies as you both attempted to toss popcorn into each others mouths. You had a stash of board games for days like that, and you would let him pick which one he wanted to play. It was the simple things that he enjoyed.

Waking up to the sound of music drifting into the bedroom from the kitchen, your spot on the bed empty. He would groggily walk into the kitchen to find you in front of the stove, the smell of eggs and bacon and pancakes filled the room, but that wasn’t the best part. You would be wearing one of his button up shirts, and only that. Your hips would sway to the rhythm of the song and he’d just stand and watch, unable to fight the smile that would form on his lips and the feeling of pride as he watched you, knowing that you were his.

Other days he’d come home from work while you were straightening up, singing into the broomstick handle as if no one was watching and the living room was your stage. He’d shrug out of his coat, kick his shoes off and slide across the floor while playing the air guitar. You always put a smile on his face, everything you did was his favorite thing. He could never pick one particular thing that you did that made him happy, because honestly you in general made him happy.

Even when you weren’t being goofy, which was rare, but it did happen, he would take the time to sit back and appreciate your beauty. When you would curl up on the couch and drift off to sleep and he’d come home and find you there, he would just marvel at how perfect you were in that innocent state.

That’s why he did everything he could to keep you safe, make sure you were protected everywhere you went. Sure, it was kind of ridiculous to have the black lizards guarding every store you went into, but it was a precaution that needed to be taken. As long as his little drop of sun was safe he could relax.

The two of you were on your way to the restaurant, it was date night. You looked flawless, as usual, and Chuuya couldn’t wait to show you off. His phone started ringing and you picked it up for him so that he could keep one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh as he drove.

“Hi Mori!” You greeted him excitedly, and although he didn’t understand how Chuuya ended up with you, he couldn’t help but smile at the sound of your voice. You seemed to have that effect on anyone you came into contact with. “Will do! Thanks Mori! Buh-bye.” You shut the phone and put it back into the center console. Chuuya looked over to you, his eyes asking the question. “There’s some problem in an alley around the corner. He said it should be quick and you can handle it and get back to our date.”

He groaned but took the sharp turn that would lead to the alley in question. He saw the cloaked figure, like they were waiting for him. “Alright, this’ll be quick. Stay in the car.” He said, kissing your cheek before hopping out of the car.

You stared out the window, watching him stride into the alley. It sent a shot of electric up your legs, seeing him so dominant in situations like this. That was your man, and you couldn’t be prouder. You smiled as you watched him deliver kicks and punches to the figure in the alley, silently rooting for him.

Then you saw more figures coming from nowhere it seemed. There were at least six of them, and you started worrying. He would get hurt if he tried to fight all of them by himself, and you couldn’t have that. It would take too long to call someone and have them come out and help. Your mind raced as you tried to think of something to do, then you remembered the pistol that he had in the glove box. You pulled it out, checking to see if it had ammo, and then hopped out of the car.

“Hey, assholes!” You called, and everyone stopped to look at you. You cocked the gun and aimed it at them. Your hands didn’t shake, and you eyed up your target and pulled the trigger. Headshot.

The figures split up, some advancing towards you while the rest went after Chuuya. You fired the gun quickly, they all dropped like flies. Each one being hit exactly where you aimed. Headshots, chest shots, you even managed to get one in the throat which even you were shocked about. You moved further into the alley, pressing the barrel of the pistol against the head of the one who was about to attack Chuuya while he was fighting the first figure. “Not today, pal.” You said menacingly, pulling the trigger. Blood and bits of flesh and brain tissue splattered onto your face and you dropped the gun to the ground.

Chuuya finished with the final figure and ran over to where you stood. You were frozen, the warmth of the blood against your face made you want to vomit. “Are you okay?” He asked, grabbing your arms and examining them, then moving to the rest of your body to make sure there was no damage done. The amount of blood on you worried him, but once he realized that you were okay, he sighed with relief.

“I need a shower and and and and.... oh my god this is gross.” You couldn’t keep your hands from shaking as you tried to wipe the blood off your face.

“I mean, it’s pretty gross, but god damn, my bad ass little princess. Who would have thought?” His sense of pride sky rocketed.

After you both returned to the penthouse, the date was completely forgotten about at this point, and you both showered together. He rubbed your shoulders as the water fell over both of your bodies. The water was stained with red as you washed the blood from your face and when the shower was over you wrapped the towel around yourself and laid in the bed.

“You took the gun and you were like ‘bang bang bang’ and I was like ‘oh my god!’ And you shot all of them! How did you learn to do that?!” He was pacing the room in his boxers as he described the whole situation again, his feet padded against the floor leaving water footprints on the hard wood.

“I don’t know, I just didn’t want you to get hurt, so I shot them.” You said it nonchalantly, rolling to your side and propping yourself up on your elbow. “Seems like you enjoyed it.” You joked and he whipped around to look at you. The look in his eyes, you knew the look well.

“Oh I enjoyed. I don’t think you know how much I enjoyed it.” His voice was low and husky.

“You can tell me.”

He got into the bed and situated himself over top of you, holding himself up with one arm while the other pulled open the towel that you had wrapped around yourself. “I think I’d rather show you.”

#bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd request #bsd imagines #bsd headcanons #bsd scenarios #nakahara chuuya #chuuya nakahara #chuuya imagines #chuuya scenarios #chuuya headcanons #dazai osamu #osamu dazai #dazai scenarios #dazai imagines #dazai headcanons

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alleiradayne · 4 years ago

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Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story…

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE

Long is our list of ghost stories laid to rest. But when the dark rider returns thirty years after his exorcism at the hands of the Winchesters, Sam, Dean, and I are faced with the possibility that we’ve been wrong about one thing.

Some urban legends never die.

Part II - Tales From the Crypt

Summary: In Sleepy Hollow, New York, Sam, Dean, and the reader begin their investigation. Warnings/Tags: A dead body, talk of bodily harm, language, alcohol consumption, and some flirting. Characters/Pairings: First Person Female!Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Word Count: 3,103

“We were able to identify most of the bodies, but a few are still John or Jane Does.”

The coroner led us around a table where a cadaver lay covered by a thick white sheet. She continued talking as she drew the sheet to the corpse’s waist, but I heard little and less of what she said. I barely stifled a yawn before sipping from my thermos. Coffee scalded my tongue but I’d rather deal with that than pass out on my own two feet at four o'clock in the afternoon.

Sam and Dean had insisted on driving through the night. Every time I had managed to fall asleep in the Impala, I had woken up sore and aching ten minutes later. So instead of risking another chiropractor bill, I had researched what I could of The Headless Horseman. Unfortunately, I had learned next to nothing besides boring variations on the same bullshit story from the urban legend.

Another yawn scattered my thoughts, and my vision finally focused on the exposed body before me. Headless as expected, no surprise there. Lacerations crisscrossed all over the torso and what remained of the neck, also expected. But something about those lacerations piqued my interest and so I leaned closer.

Thin black crusting outlined every cut, no matter how deep or superficial. The coroner and Dean were chatting amicably when I prodded Sam in the rib. He regarded me with a raised brow as I pointed at the lashes and said, “Look.”

Sam bowed in beside me, and the scent of his freshly washed hair filled my nose. So close, I eased into his warmth and leaned closer. “That,” I muttered as I pointed. “Aren’t those burns?”

He eyed me with a suspicious sideways glance before his smile spread across his lips, and he nodded. “Good catch, Y/N,” he started. “But the lashes alone are confusing. Since when does the Headles—”

“We’ll get back to you if we learn anything else,” Dean said loud enough to drown out Sam. “Thank you for your time, miss.”

Sam and I followed Dean’s lead and thanked the coroner for her time as well. She thanked us in return—flashing a warmer than casual smile at Dean, who blushed—and covered the cadaver as we headed for the door.

In the hallway, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “Christ, she’s too smart.”

“What, did she reject you before you even asked?” Sam jested.

Dean tossed a tentative glance my way. “Nah, I got her number. But after that, she started asking about the decapitations and the lashes looking strange…” He trailed off as we stepped out into the cool fall breeze and pale October sun. “I don’t think she knows more, but I’ll have to be on my toes later.”

“And by later you mean after we finish this hunt, right?” I asked across Sam.

At the car, Dean popped the driver’s door open, then said, “She asked me out tonight.”

As they slid into the front seat, I eased into the back. “And you said what?”

He shot me a dark glare in the rearview mirror. “I asked her for a rain check until this weekend.”

Wow. “Okay, I’m impressed,” I replied.

“I’m… not surprised,” Sam replied. “Considering what’s going on.”

The Impala roared to life as Dean twisted the key in the ignition. When he pulled away from the curb, I leaned over the backrest and asked, “What is going on?”

Sam shot a nervous look at Dean before he took a deep breath. “Can we solve the case first?”

When he turned to look at me, I glared back. Earnest. Honest, even. But I wasn’t about to let my feelings for him cloud my judgment. “No. I need to know what we’re up against and...” I paused, my attention snared by the houses we passed. Every yard displayed a scene from the urban legend that had put Sleepy Hollow on the map. Various iterations on The Headless Horseman stood in every yard, myriad pumpkins and overly detailed horses impressively crafted. But each and every rider had a jack-o-lantern for a head or held one aloft. Not a single display had armed him with a whip or a cannonball. “Seriously, those lashes were burned into that victim. Since when does he wield a whip? And what kind of whip can do that?”

“One made from the spinal bones of human corpses,” Dean strained under his breath.

I blinked several times before I responded. “Excuse me?”

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Dean started. The Impala followed his command as it lumbered over the driveway into a diner’s parking lot. “We’re gonna eat dinner here. But we can’t talk about work. Once we’re in there, we’re FBI agents, and on-going investigations are off-limits. Got it?”

Better than nothing. “Once we get back to the motel?”

Dean pulled into a spot and slid the shifter into park. “We’ll tell you everything.”

Everything. So foreboding. As if all of their skeletons had been buried in an urban legend. Both of them turned over the backrest when I remained quiet too long. Weighed and measured, their expectant glares demanded an answer.

So I agreed.

“Deal.”

“I haven’t had a pot roast sandwich like that in ages.”

Dean covered his mouth with his fist as he held back a deep belch. “The pecan pie was damn near the best I’ve ever had.”

“And that hot cider!” I added. “That was definitely homemade.”

“Uh, you’re damn right it was homemade. Everything there was homemade,” Dean replied. “Well, except for maybe Sam’s salad.” He turned to Sam and his face fell. “Sammy?”

I followed Dean’s concerned glare and found Sam near the motel room door, eyes glazed over and staring into the middle distance. I knew that look. I’d felt it before, and I’d seen it on both of them too many times over the years. The severity of the situation sank in then, and reality returned in a rush. Forgotten was the pot roast, the pecan pie, and the hot cider. Abandoned was the lighthearted banter, and our carefree dinner.

Death stalked us in the shadows, no longer a friendly face.

“I think we should sit down,” Sam suggested as he crossed the room. When he slumped onto the bed, he said, “This story gets dark in a hurry.”

I shed my suit jacket and boots at the small table under the singular hanging lamp. “I get the feeling something pretty awful happened,” I said as I crossed the room and sat beside him.

Dean withdrew a bottle of scotch from his duffel bag. “Normally I’d save this for after we waste this asshole, but,” he paused as he popped the cork free of the bottle. “I have some doubts that’ll ever come to pass.” He pulled three short plastic cups from his bag then and poured two-finger pours into each. He handed a cup to Sam, who passed it on to me, and handed another to Sam before seating himself at the table with the third. A sip and a hum preceded his thoughts. “You got that picture handy, Y/N?”

I dug through my backpack at my feet and withdrew the article. “Right here. I saw The Headle—”

“Yeah,” Dean interjected. “He’s back there, in the field. Anything else jump out at you?”

Confused, my brow knotted as I focused on the article once more. “I mean, there’s this family standing in front of what is clearly the Sleepy Hollow museum. I recognized the building when we got into town,” I said. Another yawn reminded me I had not slept more than a couple of hours over the last twenty-four. "But I don't see anything else. No aberrations, no distortion, no orbs… other than Tits McGee up in the field there, I got nothing."

Sam pointed to the father. "Look a little closer here. You might recognize someone."

Recognize? The picture was thirty years old. Hell, I'd have been a kid back then. Probably just shy of seven years old.

Seven.

My focus snapped to the caption.

Thomas (7).

Something instinctual snapped my attention to Sam, and I saw it then. My jaw dropped as recognition crept along my spine. Boyish charm had grown ruggedly handsome, but the fear behind his wide stare had remained the same. I returned to the photograph, focusing on the older brother, and the truth settled in the pit of my stomach. A suave sense of confidence radiated from John (11). And he was the spitting image of his father, Richard Phillips (36).

He still is.

The image blurred as tears burned my eyes. I looked up to find Dean glassy-eyed and well into his cup. The start of so many thoughts stuttered on my clumsy tongue. How had I missed it back at the Bunker? Of course John Winchester would give an alias to a reporter. When I returned to the photograph one last time, I stared at their father, and the tears rolled down my cheeks.

"Every few months, John grew out his beard," Dean started. "He had this laser-like focus on hunting down the thing that killed Mary, and a time or two every year, he'd get a wild hair up his ass so bad, he'd forget to shave."

"That year," Sam said as he pointed to the photograph, "the wild hair was Sleepy Hollow. He was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that we would learn something important here."

Dean finished his pour of scotch and refreshed his glass. "He found nothing except for a bunch of busted pumpkins and a vengeful spirit."

I wiped at my eyes with the cuff of my shirtsleeve. When I turned to Sam, I asked, "How did he exorcise it?"

He shifted closer on the bed as he looked at the photograph. "We don't know. I was too young yet."

Dean grunted as he sat up in his seat and stood, caught his balance, then shuffled across the room to sit on the opposite bed. "Dad had just started filling me in on what he was doing about a year before we came here. But he did his best to ease me into it. Sam had hardly a clue until that day," he said as he pointed at the photograph.

"What happened?" I asked as I turned back to Sam.

A deep breath allowed him space to stall, but that same fear in his eyes returned. "I saw something." His stare glazed as it drifted off into the middle distance once more. "Bodies. Headless bodies," he stuttered. "A headless rider on a dark horse." He continued through a stream of consciousness, as though he were somewhere else. Sometime else. "Cannonballs and a whip of human spinal bones engulfed in flames."

My heart railed against my ribs as if to escape. Numb with dread, my fingers and toes burned, and fresh tears blurred my vision. "You were so young. That must have been terrifying."

He nodded and sipped from his drink. "At the time, yeah. I had nightmares for months. Over the years, I must have forgotten about it or blocked it out. But then you found this case. However you ended up with that article, it was no coincidence."

I looked to Dean then, and he clarified. "Something wanted us to come back. I think. To actually finish the job Dad didn't."

Something about that statement sparked a thought I had not yet considered. "How do you know this isn't something leftover from Chuck?"

A thoughtful look twisted his face. "We took care of Chuck and his mess. It's definitely a hunch but, I'd wager this isn't related. No, I think Dad just got this one wrong. He thought he did the job and we skipped town. But he screwed up and now The Headless Hessian is back again."

Hessian.

"What did you just call him?" I asked.

Dean regarded Sam, and they shared an equally confused look. "The Headless Hessian."

"I thought Hessians were German soldiers that fought for the Brits in the Revolution," I said.

When Sam nodded in agreement, he said, "You would be correct. And that was the original story until more retellings of the urban legend were printed."

Retellings. Talk about wild hairs. I dove for my backpack then and tore out my tablet. As it booted, I said, "I tried doing some research on The Headless Horseman on our way out here, but all I found was bullshit about the urban legend. Pumpkins and horses and heads and Ichabod Crane and crap like that. Nothing about cannonballs and whips made out of human spinal columns."

Sam propped one leg up on the bed as he turned to face me. "Regardless of what I saw as a kid, that story sounds familiar, too. I know the Hessian angle but I know I've also heard a version with a whip and a cannonball."

"Those," I started, then paused to type furiously, "I never knew. I always thought the myth was Ichabod Crane. But yesterday when I was searching for information, I think I found a website that mentioned a Hessian soldier as a part of the myth." Once I had found what I searched for, I turned the tablet to face them. "I thought it was a mistake. I know way too much about American history and its bullshit colonialism, so I wrote it off as a discrepancy. But when Dean referred to him as the Headless Hessian, it clicked."

The image on the tablet flipped through several iterations of a headless rider. The first carried a jack-o-lantern high over his head, then a headless horse with a headless rider appeared on the screen. Next, a rider carrying his own head, followed by a headless rider brandishing a sword. Then another hefting a muzzleloader, and finally a headless rider wielding a vicious whip made out of bone.

"Wait, which legend is that one?" Sam asked as he pointed.

The image of a man carrying his head under his arm while astride a horse froze on the page. "According to the website, that appears to be the dulachan. Irish folklore. The whip is a part of that legend, too."

"But our guy doesn't have his dome on him at all," Dean clarified.

"Exactly," I said, "Which was why I basically wrote this website off. Came to the same conclusion."

Sam pointed to the screen as the image changed to a giant man astride his horse brandishing his own head high above his shoulders. "That's the Gawain myth. Gawain beheaded the Green Knight."

Excitement flooded my senses as I exclaimed, "Yes! The Green Knight returns to challenge Gawain to a duel every year." The image changed again to that of a headless rider and horse. "And that's the Scottish story of the would-be chieftain, Ewen, who was decapitated at the battle at Glen Cainnir."

"And the headless man on a carriage?" Dean asked as the image changed once more.

"The Coiste Bodhar. Sometimes referred to as the gan ceann," I explained. “Damn, this website has everything…”

"But what does it all mean?" Sam asked.

I opened my mouth to reply but found I had nothing to say. A sudden silence filled the tiny motel room, all the wind sucked from our sails. It had to mean something. So many stories with their variations. Then again, they all shared a singular consistency.

“Maybe they’re all correct,” Dean mumbled.

Confusion scattered my rambling thoughts, and my focus snapped to Dean. “What are you saying?”

“Every story has the same headless dude in it, right?” he asked, echoing my idea. “Even the Hessian myth isn’t the original story. Irish, Scottish, English. They all have their own versions that are way older than the American story.”

“But a lot of Americans are the Irish, Scots, and English,” Sam added.

“Son of a bitch, we are English. I bet our forefathers fought in the Revolution,” Dean concluded and Sam agreed with a confident nod.

With the pattern weaving before my mind’s eye, I found a thread, a singular frayed end, and tugged on it. “So it’s not surprising at all that the stories are so similar. Immigrants made up the Headless Hessian based on their own urban legends from the motherland.”

“Exactly!” Dean declared.

Elation filled me for a brief moment before Sam ruined it again. “But then what is it?! A fae? A spirit? A curse? It could be anything with that theory!”

“You’re a real party pooper, you know that?” I said as I flopped back on the bed. “We were so close to something, I know it!”

Dean stood in a rush, then quickly returned to the bed. “Okay, that’s enough of the hooch,” he said as he crushed his empty cup and tossed it into the bin. “Let’s pick something and go after it. We’re never going to figure out what it actually is in a reasonable amount of time.”

“That’s a terrible plan!” Sam barked. “We’ll waste more time just trying random shit.”

Both of them fell quiet at that. My brain, on the other hand, was anything but. We had everything to handle a fairy, a vengeful spirit, even a curse. But how? How could we blindly choose? I agreed with Dean; we needed to do something and fast. And yet, Sam had a very valid point. I gritted my teeth against the frustration that supplanted my hope. What kind of spirit manifested once a year to kill a bunch of people? How, if all the stories are true, could we put down a fae-curse-spirit?

Then it dawned on me.

I bolted upright on the bed and blurted, “It’s all three.”

“What?”

Between Sam and Dean’s incredulous faces, I forced myself to grasp the last shred of confidence before it fled. “It’s all three. A spirit cursed by the fae.”

They regarded one another again, then turned away, silently considering my theory. Even I struggled to believe it. But then Dean snapped his fingers and said, “If it’s ultimately just a cursed spirit, all we need to do is roast his bones.” He pointed at the tablet as he jumped to his feet, steady as a rock. “The Headless Hessian was buried in an unmarked grave of the Old Dutch Church!”

I turned to Sam then, tense as a drawn bowstring. When his crooked, knowing grin spread across his lips, my stomach jumped into my throat. I hadn’t seen that smile in what felt like a century. And when he spoke, my heart nearly burst with relief.

“Looks like we’re doing some digging tonight.”

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writingsofmyimagination · 4 years ago

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Conjecture |13| The Final

Idol Reader Au, Enemies to Lovers AU

Summary: Your management refused to renew your contract unless you collaborated, so you ending up working with Min Yoongi. A guy you’d disliked from before both of your debuts. There is more to their past than meets the eye.

Links to other parts: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |11|12|

Last Chapter guys.... thank you for everyone that has liked and commented.... it means an awful lot. :)

Hope you guys have enjoyed the series.

Words:3304

Rating:18+

Warnings: SMUT!! (Slight exhibitionism maybe) Swearing. General sass.

Permanent Tags: @msunnsstuff @rosey-roseu @eyelessmin @backtonormalthings

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The leather straps were cooling across your chest; just as the strap was tight across your hips. You struggled, the buckles keeping you firmly stuck to the table. The white lights quietly warming the rest of your bare exposed skin. Your obliques teasing their way to the surface as you wriggled against your restraints. Cut here scissor lines decorated across the most common places women dislike about themselves. Crescents at your side, inner thighs, cupping your breast. Two figures hovering over you, crazed hunger filled looks scanning your being.

Lee Jooheon was stood over you in pale blue scrubs beneath a pearly white lab coat littered with scruffy black writing. He was stood menacing in the wielding of a scalpel while conversing animatedly with the person next to him. Im Changkyun was dressed to the brim in a perfectly fitted black suit wielding a clipboard with a picture of a barbie on. IM was shoving his fingers to the picture and then to you. Jooheon nodding intently in agreeance, scalpel still active in the air.

“CUT!” The director called. A bell vibrating round the warehouse. Jooheon immediately tearing the Velcro under the fake buckles and rushing to reach under the table for the large white dressing gown placed discreetly under the table. The basic black lace lingerie set was the only thing covering you as you hauled yourself off the table before coating yourself in white fluff.

“You good?” Changkyun asked lightly supporting you to your feet.

“All good” you affirmed.

“That was great guys, a clear cut. Scene done in one. We’ll get the stage set up and do the combined verse and Y/N’s solo then we’ll call it a day” The director confirmed. All you heard was

Break time

The three of you b-lined straight for the snack table. The crew around you slowly setting down their equipment to follow suit. A mini swarm of black tee’d crew descended onto the set working quickly to dismantle the makeshift operating room and prepare the next set.

“Glad I can finally put some clothes on” selecting the bag of wotsits crinkling over your words.

“Never thought I’d hear you say that” Yoongi’s voice creeped in from behind. The other two chuckled into their mouthfuls of carbs. Without even eyeing him your trajectory already planned to slap his arm on your rotation round. The Acne studios hat comfy on his head, the blue grey hair pressed to his forehead. Long black sweater draped over loose wash out ripped jeans which were tucked into hi top vans.

There’s a comfy boyfriend right there

“Never thought I’d see you conscious before lunch on a day off” you quipped back.

“Alright… it’s too early for your sass” Yoongi said in defeat to your ear, his arms encasing the shield of fluff around you with the sweet extra of a kiss to the forehead. His camera gentle in sway to your hip, the leather strap resting on his shoulder.

“Loved the set though” he added

More like loved the fact I was strapped down

“I’m literally kidnapping this Dr’s coat” Jooheon flicked the collar up of the coat.

Dweeb

“It’s such a cool concept” Jooheon added

“More female artists need to be speaking out about the image pressures companies force” Changkyun piped up.

“It’s 2020 dude, guys can write about it too you know” you teased

“There’s ten times more pressure on you guys though”

He was right. Your concept was the bomb though. You and your image held hostage by the agency only for you to rebel against them all accompanied by some aggressive thought-provoking rap.

What more does a girl want?

“And we’re here doing this project with you so we technically are” Changkyun added.

Also true

“You also know I wouldn’t have you let say no” One of the runners dropped your outfit off to you. You both exchanged silent polite glances.

Mid conversation you held no reservations, untying your robe. It slid off your shoulders Yoongi saving it from the floor. You shrugged on the tight-fitting scrub top. The top conveniently had slits through the fabric. Making its function as a top dubious at best. The shorts were free from any intentional rips and were nice and basic. Yoongi’s eyes flitted briefly to the ground, gaze not sure where to settle. You were still getting used the fact he wasn’t as comfortable with your skin on show as you were. Multiple times you’d teased him at how awkward and polite he still was when you were actually his.

“Are you sure you just didn’t want an opportunity to tie your two favourite rappers to a chair? Beside me of course” Yoongi teased as your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, mouth agape hand delicate finishing a perfect cat flick on your eyeliner.

“Jealous?” You paused the application of your makeup while teasing, the flicks won’t be ruined for anybody. Eye contact cheekily held in place.

He leaned in just a tad, enough to make his words inaudible to the fanfare around.

“Babe, you know I wish it was me. Just at home, with less clothes. You in that set I love, ooo and the way you love to ride me like that…” You shoved him away.

“Alright alright enough, don’t tease. Go over there and behave” You indicated with your pinky finger behind the camera. Puckering your blood red lipstick equally, crew swift in moving out of your way as you stepped up onto the newly built mini stage.

A lonely microphone on the small rectangular stage was all to keep you company. The two boys looking calm, jovial in their conversation to each other as you adjusted the stand to your height. Yoongi trying to shield a half-cocked smile. You flipped him off. He always liked to tease your height.

He’s not even got much on me, cheeky shit

“Ready on set!” The director boomed. Crew obedient falling silently in a heartbeat.

“Action!”

The strongly worded verse and chorus were the first lyrics you’d scribbled down in some painful PR meeting. The topic of you and your body image and how they wanted to sell it was just slowly infuriating you. You were an Idol, rapper whatever people called you now. This shit comes with the territory but the way they guy was talking about you just ruffled about every damn feather in your being.

The bell rang again and the major scuffling on set commenced. You jumped off the stage and raced to Chloe who’d returned from taking Ted for a walk. Completely bypassing Yoongi, dropping to your knees and ruffling the ball of excited fluff.

“Hey boy” you cooed, scratching the belly after the desperate drop and roll he gave you.

“Dude he wanted to play with evvveerryyyone today”

“Well he was probably excited to hang out with auntie Chlo”

“You love him” you added

“I can’t even lie about that; can your assistant be on holiday more often?” His attention quickly became focused

“You would get me into soo much trouble if you were my assistant”

“But you’d have the best time” The pair of you laughed knowing she was absolutely right.

“I’ll catch you in a bit” Giving Ted once last squeeze before you went to makeup.

All paint removed; hair now styled to perfection. Makeup fairly natural and light, the artist dabbing a pad around your cheeks catching any moisture. Heavily ripped boyfriend jeans sat at your hips finishing just at the lower end of your calves. Pristine snug white trainers cushioned the weariness of your feet. You had to change your underwear to a white set as to not show through the thin white tie up crop top. You secured the tie at your chest, even Yoongi would have to work at undoing the knot.

“Ready?” the director popped his head round the door. You responded with a bright mumble as you were mid swig of your water bottle.

“Sweet, we rolling in three”

“Seriously, how did I land you?” Yoongi purred making his way into the office converted dressing room. The artist leaving the room promptly.

“Looks good right” You agreed, puckering your lips in the mirror.

“Mmmhhhmm” he growled low at your neck; hands secured round the front of your stomach. The warm body pressed up against you.

“I love when you dress more casual” His fingertips elegant in their tip toe over your curved behind, etching their impatient way to the tie in the centre of your chest.

“Oi! Keep your hands to yourself” A weak willed play fight broke out. Yoongi going straight for where you were ticklish; leaving you completely vulnerable to him manoeuvring you round to face him.

“Careful Min Yoongi, don’t be getting yourself worked up for something you can’t have”

“Can’t have?” If stroppy pouts could melt you, you’d be in a puddle right now.

“Last I remembered you invited the boys round to mine for a recording sesh” Your stroke on his chin phased his eyes to roll regrettably.

“Pretty sure you regret giving Hobi the key now ey?” you crept the words in his ear, pressing your hand to his crotch. His cheeks puffed up, sulking against your smirk poorly disguised through your mouthfuls of water leaving the pouty boy in the dressing room.

The pout was a constant tell as much as he tried to hide behind the lenses capturing the formidable stage unit the three of you formed. The multiple takes had a thin layer of perspiration gracing the foundation on your skin. The second the final bell rang through the metal interior the three of you took a breath, or several before you bowed to all the staff before embracing the two guys. The make-up artist rushed over to where you’d sat drooping your legs on the temporary stage, padding at your face. You shooed her off prematurely, not bothering with how wisps of hair were loosely stuck to your skin.

“That looks ace, thank you so much guys!” You exclaimed bright as possible. The three of you snug crowded round one of the main cameras

“It was a pleasure” Their eyes both drifted off to their manager who’d stepped in a bit closer

“Well that’s our cue to leave” Changkyun mumbled the drop in his face noticeable but not obvious.

“That’s fine, don’t get yourself into trouble”

“Give him ten minutes” Jooheon quipped.

You’d changed into a cool and floaty navy maxi dress. You’d fought and brushed as much product out of your hair as you could and shoved it in a loose pony. With only a few of the crew left on site, the wide-open space of the rooms seemed much larger, sound travelled heavier and echoed more. Yoongi was a picture holding your large D&G holdall glitzed with the gold emblem. He held the door for you leading into the drafty stairway. The grey concrete bleak, the bright blue railings guiding their way safely down. The walls were drab and plain.

You held out your hand, offering to relieve your boyfriend of the oversized bag from his slight frame. He began to oblige, eyes not wandering from his phone. His wrist caught in your hand yanking him into you and into the back of the wall. Did he resist? Absolutely not. Did he need any more guidance, most certainly not!

“Babe…”

“Mmm” humming in between your chest where his head and kisses were firmly being planted.

“Touch me already” your arms were loose as they draped over his shoulders.

“Seriously here?” It was more of a check than a complaint. Strong eyebrow raised.

Fucking yes

The hem of your dress slowly crept up your leg, crumpling up over his hand. His lips nearly caressing yours, the warmth of his breath rolling over your skin. The knowing smile escaped onto your features

“Fuck babe!”

“What?...mmm” your tone creeping higher feigning innocence. His fingers ghosting at the apex of your thighs. The bundle of nerves buzzing at the slight contact, he brushed his cheek to yours

“It’s too warm for underwear” you whined, still pleading innocence. Yoongi knew better, knew the lack of innocence you actually held.

“I’m calling bullshit” Your head gently rolled back into the wall.

“I’m reallllyy not complaining…” he added pushing a bit more of his weight into you, growling into your neck. Your grip tightening round his neck.

“Well let’s play a game of hurry the…mmm fuck up” you urged, teasing his fingers hard against you. The way his hips jutted feeling the rush of how much you wanted him. With the heat combusting through the heavy kisses, the air was thick and blissfully suffocating. Engulfed in heat he dragged your body round. It was your turn to be shoved hard against the cool concrete

“Careful…” you choked between laboured breathes.

“You’ll give yourself a problem we won’t have time to fix”

“My only problem is not hearing you moan my name” Aggressive hands crept back round the front hoisting your dress back up.

Metal clinked; voices echoed. Heartbeat petrified still in your chest.

Innocent coughs smuggling smiles, arms linked as the last of the camera crew polite in their bow as the gave passage to you.

“Thank you, you worked hard” you responded in kind as Yoongi let you take the lead single file past the biggest cock blockers of the year.

“UUUGGHH” you whined slamming your head back into the head rest as Yoongi parked the Land rover in your bay in the gated underground parking of your building.

“I’m soo sorry babe, you know I want to finish this track with Hobi and Joon…I promise I’ll make you…What are you doing?”

Knitted eyebrows with brown pools twinkling with rare mischief that only glistened with you. Like the first time he decided to be brave and go down on you in a dressing room. He’d missed you a hell of a lot, too much apparently for even unbothered Yoongi to take control.

You’d shuffled and maneuvered yourself to the back seat dropping to the chair with a success filled sigh.

“I don’t want to wait until later” A teasing lip bite was all he needed to be scrambling into the backseat to join you. The tinted windows offering you more privacy than what waited for you in the apartment.

“And what I want I get” Your legs were already snug on either side of his hips

“Don’t I know it” His hands already ruffling up your dress as your hands dived desperate to unhook his jean buttons.

You secured his hands round the back of the head rest

“Stay” you urged; hands remained obedient as yours went to elicit controlled groans from his throat as your hand wrapped around him. The need between your legs grew, your bites of his lower lip grew harder, hips rocking against a frustrating nothing. Your ponytail got pulled back sharply. Yoongi apparently had enough of you torturing yourself and him

“Turn around and let me feel you now”

“My hands not good enough for you anymore?”

“Not when I know your just desperate for my cock”

Fair point

Agreeing with complete compliance, invested in his way of thinking. You swept your hair to the front of your shoulder. Following a hard grunt, a deep wet kiss was pressed to shoulder blade you needed to take a beat adjusting to him.

“Mmpphh” you both grunted, head falling forward. Hand grappling behind looking to hook onto any part of him. Palm closing in on his thin waist. Circle movements heavy in your hip

“Better? Is that all my baby wanted hmm?”

“Mmmhmm…Just you” you choked as his hips jutted upwards.

“Yeah?” hair weaved in the long genius fingers tugged hard lips, soft teeth not so on your neck.

“Use me then”

Oh I’m going to

His hand not leaving your hair, hips refusing to offer you anything. The filth Yoongi whispered in controlled pants still offered the motivation for your movements. Every time Yoongi felt the tensing of your thighs or your moans reached a certain pitch too high he couldn’t help but buck up into you. The dusting of a chuckle would ease in through his grunts at your cries.

He wanted to tease. The grip in your hair, the honey on his smirk and the slight growl in the background of his words told you that. Min Yoongi was now unbothered about keeping his friends waiting.

Not today

“Min Yoongi if you don’t make me…mmm… cum in the next 10 minutes…fuuuck” His fingers now tight between your legs, each burst of movement causing you to clench round him with a desperate tension.

“Your body is telling me you need a lot less than ten princess. I certainly don’t”

“Prove it” you challenged. A Challenge you knew he’d destroy in minutes. The air seemed to dissipate from the car, the heat instead hovering round the two of you. Goosebumps erupted all over your skin. Legs beginning to store the tension building up like Jenga blocks in your muscles. Back arching into him forming the perfect crescent. Your moans escalating both in pitch and volume rattled through his brain, trickling in hot drips down his spine adding the pressure within him to breaking point. A breaking point which spilled over before he could gain any control. The hand secured round your pony tail released and dropped to your shoulders with his head following suit, a few heavy breaths later

“I’m sorry… baby, you just feel too good”

“Turn around again baby”

“Do I need to do some more training with you? Your stamina is …” you teased hasty in your shuffle round, hasty to not let your climax slip to nothing.

“Probably” he confessed

“Thought…Mmhmm”

“Just be quiet and let me make you cum”.

The tips of Yoongi’s hair were damp, you tried to ruffle it but the damp ends still reflected against the midday sun. Your selfie camera informed you that out of the two of you, you were the only one that didn’t look like they’d just fucked in a car. Unfortunately for Yoongi his face always flushes a cute tinted light red. He hated it. You thought it was hilarious.

“Will you please do a better job of not smirking, you know how observant Hobi is” Yoongi scolded, amusement drained from his face.

“Sorry…” you chuckled. You passed your hand over your face, smirk disappearing. Normal face trying to hold while your hand pressed down on the handle. You were met with silence for a few seconds before you had Ted bounding for you. Soon followed by Joon and Hobi who had been sat on their phones on the sofa. The TV was a silent black.

“I said you guys can treat this as your own space when you’re here, no need to sit in silence” You reminded half chuckling swiping Ted off his feet into your arms.

“I know, I know” Joon acknowledged.

“Sorry we were late, shoot ran over” Ted was put back to scrambling excitedly at your feet as you maneuvered your way to the fridge. Your eyes shot to Hobi, controlled by the unconscious notion if anyone was going to pick up on your white lie it would be him. His eyes were hovering on Yoongi for more than they should.

“It’s alright we get it” With Hobi’s smile being as sweet and as kind as it was. It was hard to decipher.

“You guys okay to chill for like five more minutes while I grab a quick shower” Yoongi checked.

“I’ll even but the TV on for you” he added. At this point you’d already disappeared and enjoying the hot water streaming across your skin.

“Sure, don’t let that run over too though” Hobi jested emphasising the ‘run’.

#smutcentralnet #ksmutclub #hyunglinenetwork #bts #mygsnet #yoongi #yoongi x reader #bts smut #BTS suga #conjecture

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leninouche · 5 years ago

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Some Les Mis observations I made today as I watched the show at the Sondheim Theatre in London. Hope you enjoy!

- jean valjean is SOFT his voice is soft and silky and i love him

- THEY INCLUDED PETIT GERVAIS IM DLWNLDSLL

- At the „you know what that means“ „yes it means i‘m free“ „NO“ they made it as if Javert said no to keep a guard from hitting Jean and I‘ve never seen that before??

- The confrontation was LIT i mean it was ON they FOUGHT and it was amazing I loved it a lot

- Javert‘s overpronounciating everything and it‘s perfectly in character (but his french is terrible)

- His OUTFIT (tight black pants and boots, blue coat and ponytail, he hot)

- Very high Tension ™️ between Javert and Valjean, they „held hands“ for approximately a minute straight

- After Javert told Valjean about „this con man he once knew“ he went off-stage. Valjean kept tense for a long moment. Then face-palmed while he sung: „he thought that man was me without a second glance“ as if to say: ughgh javert is SO embarassing!

- The thenardiers are excellent and very much in character, amazing

- Okokok paris scene was good but THEN ENJOLRAS APPEARED AND I WAS NOT READY FOR THIS MAN NOT READY

- he had beautiful blond curls and was wearing a violet coat with a red waistcoat

- Marius is a Dork ™️ he‘s living the dumb dumb life

- My god, Enjolras talked to the poor people around and to his friends and he was genuinely concerned and attentive

- When the Thenardiers attacked Jean, Cosette fell to the side a bit and nearly got robbed by Montparnasse, but Marius sprung in between them. Monty continued to threateningly wield is small little pocket knife at a very distressed and scared Marius

- Montparnasse is excellent btw, long black hair and tailored clothes, he cute tho

- Ponine and Cosette are both awesome and I enjoy them so much. Cosette hit the high notes flawlessly and Ponine‘s end of On my Own was luminous

- Jean let his tissue drop when he ran away with cosette and Javert picked it up. Is that a UF tissue reference??? He even smelled it

- THE AMIS SCENE I AM

- grantaire gave his all, he even danced a little

- When Marius started singing about Cosette all the amis shouted at him to shut up in a joking manner

- Enjolras is the BEST omg he is genuinely excited and soft and laughs at Marius and enjoys his friends a lot, I love him so much. And his voice is SOFT and beautiful, he is beautiful and one of my favorite Enjolraii ever

- They had Vicky Hug‘s aquarelle paintings as background

- Gavroche is GREAT, he really lives his role and does little dances and gestures

- Stars was just utterly beautiful. Javert was super excited about the stars in the first part, it was very adorable, and the second part was just his voice filling the damn hall, straight into my heart god he was so good

- Omg omg a heart full of love was great. Ponine and Marius heard some of the conversation between jean and cosette, then when they were gone Marius climbed into the garden. That idiot threw a stone at Cosette‘s window what the heck, cosette came out, then suddenly ran away excitedly when she saw who it was- Marius didn‘t understand what was happening and that‘s when he sang: I‘m doing everything all wrong. It was great.

- Also great romeo and juliet reference with the balcony

- My god, the robbery. Montparnasse was just squatting on the fence the whole time, like a bird. What the fuck. He got to wield that little knife of his again as well

- I don‘t know if it‘s real or if i‘m imagining things but during one day more Enjolras looked up and in my direction and smiled and i smiled back and i hope he was looking at me and that i didn‘t just imagine it

- i forgot what awkward props muskets are

- At the barricade Enjolras jumped down the different levels with such speed and grace i am honestly Amazed

- Grantaire kept to the side the whole time, cowering on the floor or sheltering Gavroche

- Just- Javert‘s face when Gavroche called him out was heavenly. And when he was done, Gavroche literally flipped Javert off. Legend.

- Javert‘s undercover outfit was very cute and his hair was open

- They had literal torches on stage

- Ok at the beginning of drink with me they played a flute- feuilly reference??

- After Grantaire‘s solo Enjolras came up to console him but Grantaire pushed him away and retreated to the background again, with his face to the wall. Gavroche approached him and then pulled him into a hug, they went to sleep side by side

- Towards the end of Rain will make the Flowers grow, Gavroche noticed Ponine dying and froze which in turn made Grantaire notice what‘s going on. He signalled to the other barricade people to shut up and pay some respect and they watched on silently as the song finished

- The guy who i think was feuilly had a girlfriend which i assume was musichetta? They were adorable

- When Gavroche had climbed over the barricade, Grantaire froze with his face to the audience and waited with bated breath for the sound of a shot. When it came, he nearly collapsed until he heard Gavroche singing again. He ran towards the barricade and shouted something like: GO ON KID, HURRY UP. When Gravroche appeared at the top of the barricade he was shot. He fell into Enjolras‘ arms who in turn handed him to Grantaire. As the fighting ensued, Grantaire slowly carried Gavroche over to the side of the stage, seemingly unaware of shots being fired

- Next encounter between Valjean and Javert was intense again, and then Valjean uttered the softest „go“ ever as he stared into Javert‘s eyes

- Usually i don‘t quite enjoy Bring me Home but this Valjean did an awesome job, his singing was so mellow and emotional

- At the barricade, Enjolras was the first to die and he fell over the barricade into the void, and Grantaire was the last to die. He got shot in the head.

- When the barricade got cleared away and Javert inspected the grounds a cart was wield up on which Enjolras was half lying half hanging off it. They put Gavroche‘s body on top of him and pulled them off-stage

- Javert‘s suicide was fucking weird. The song was great, but when he jumped off the bridge they added a bit of animation in the background and lifted him up slightly with the help of ropes so that you saw him fall from different angles but... it just didn‘t work, it was more funny than dramatic

- During turning the women placed candles on stage. One woman began to cry and a small girl (who earlier had played cosette) gave her her handkerchief. It was really sweet. During Empty Chairs the boys came onstage and each took one candle, together with Marius

- During the wedding-feast the actor that had played Enjolras was one of the waiters and he was hilarious, even though the role was so small

- After bowing, as they ran off-stage, Enjolras made a heart sign with his hands

- And bonus: as the applause thundered through the theatre, Jean Valjean and Cosette were the last on stage. Jean carried Cosette in his arms and just stood there for a while, grinning. Then the curtain fell.

#les mis #les miserables #enjolras #grantaire #jean valjean #javert #musical #les miz

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thecurseoflife · 4 years ago

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CHAPTER 16 - Once upon a time, there was Saporia

On their way back to prison, Camalia was ecstatic. She kept jumping everywhere, spinning, dancing, sometime just stopping in her track to enjoy the moment.

Her mind was free from that dark pressure it had been under all those years. She felt finally completely in control, liberated from that thing that had restrained her for so long. She could run, jump, feel the wind in her hair, the grass uner her feet, everything was... brighter. Like an invisible curtain had been lifted.

Behind her, walking at a much more reasonable speed, Varian and Captain were distractly watching her, deep in thoughts. They both realized something during that terrifying episode.

For Captain, it was to fully understand how wrong he had been, and how dismissive of the girl's pain. He felt a big shard of guilt in his heart. He hated how close to death she- they had to be for him to embrace the danger the snakes, her curse, actually was. Cap' was conflicted, and all of his beliefs were shook to the core. He didn't like that.

For Varian, if it was close to Cap's realization, it wasn't the same. He wrapped his mind around what Camalia had been trying to tell him all this time. That she wasn't completely in control of her choices, of anything she had ever done. But he couldn't help but to feel hurt. No matter the girl's excuses, or what happened, or how hurt she was, he had been hurt too. And he shouldn't... No, he couldn't close his eyes on his own pain in order to help her feel better. He had to listen to himself, take care, take more care than he used to. So, he wasn't going to be this... agressive, violent person he had been impersonating for a year, whenever he felt hurt. But it didn't mean he had to forgive her, close his eyes on his own wounds.

And he was damn right, people. You see all the aspects of Camalia, and you know that she doesn't mean anything bad, but she still hurt people in the process. If someone, as nice and good as they might be, hurt you, don't close your eyes. Don't brush it off like something minor. Take care of yourself, 'cuz no one is going to do it for you. You don't have to hurt the person back, actually please don't hurt the person back, but . I know you guys are probably internally being aggressive toward Varian whenever he prioritized himself over Camalia, and told her to stop. I want to set this right and explain once and for all this is no one's fault. It's not Camalia's, and it's not Varian's. But this far, their relationship has been mainly portrayed as toxic, even if there was a few nice moments between them. It's just people, in the wrong situation, at the wrong time. They need time to actually build up a healthy, good friendship, and at their current state, it couldn't be rushed, it couldn't be suddenly besties. Of course they immediatly held to each other, like their lives depended on it, but it doesn't mean it was good.

Life doesn't have bad and good people. Nothing is white and nothing is black. Everything is grey. Sometime lighter, sometime darker, but always grey.

Camalia stopped in her track and yelped. Varian and Cap' immediatly snapped their neck back up, a drop of sweat running down their spines. They looked around, throat tight, expecting to see a giant snake emerge from the bushes and attack them. But the girl, unaware of their fear, ran straight forward, to the horse that fled the scene earlier.

Scared of that hyperactive human rushing at him, the horse back down a little. But the mage slowed down before reaching him and pulled out her guitare, hastily playing the melody of heal, effectively calming down the horse and easing his pain coming from all the tiny wounds he had all over.

Once they got the horse back up and running (literally), it was much easier and faster to go back to the kingdom... and to jail.

Of course, after what he saw, and maybe also to ease his guilt a bit, Captain decided to put them into a cell together, refusing to leave either of them alone.

-Look, he explained to Varian when he started complaining, I'm a grown man, a captain of the royal guards, I have fought and seen many things, but those things ? They terrified me, and for the first time in my life, I realized I had no chance in a battle against them. I only saw them twice, and they're going to haunt my nightmares. Now, imagine you, an already broken, misguided kid, and her, that had to endure this for 10 years, alone in cells at night, the shadows waving, making you believe the curse and the snakes are back. What now, hm ?

Varian closed his mouth and didn't open it again.

And here they were, the mage, the alchemist, and the elephant in the room.

Varian wanted to talk about the Saporians, and the plan, but he feared he would be left alone. Even if he didn't forgive her, he still wished for her support. Camalia wanted to talk about her behavior and the brutal way she handled the situation back in Old Corona, but she feared that it would only make him upset.

So they sat awkwardly on their respectives couches, sparing a quick glance at the other from time to time. Varian felt incredibly alone, and the disapperance of Ruddiger left an empty, dark and cold spot next to him and in his heart. The girl catched the sad look on her friend's (yes, for her they were friends whatever he said) face.

-I'm sure he's okay.

The alchemist sighed and hugged his legs.

-How can you be ?

-Well, I know for a fact that Witheria wouldn't kill anyone or anything out of rage. So he's safe from her. I also know that despite Decaiera's tendencies to torture and slowly murder her victims, she has a soft spot for everything that isn't human. Even if they were angry, I'm sure Ruddiger is fine.

Varian didn't answer, but held on her word with all the despair he felt in his heart and soul. He hesitated, shifted a bit, bit his lips, shifted again, turned to Camalia and put his legs down, hesitated, opened his mouth...

A loud noise under the cell made them both jump. They looked into the well, a bit nervous, but overall curious.

-Once you kids are done whining on that rodent, maybe we could start making the plan.

Varian's eyes widened, while Camalia huffed in shock and annoyance. She didn't know who that man was, but she already knew she didn't like him. But her friend didn't seem bothered by this thug rude manners. He bowed more, trying to decipher the darkness of the cell under them.

-Andrew ?

-Hello, jailmate. How have you been with the cursed girl ?

Varian stood up, blinked once, then twice, and a huge grin spread across his face.

-Heh ! This is great ! It will be so much easier to work on the plan like this ! Right, Camal-

His smile abruptly disappeared as he remembered the cause of their argument back in Old Corona. She wouldn't help him. She didn't agree. She was an obstacle, an ennemy. Unaware of the thoughts crossing the alchemist's brain, Camalia sighed and got up as well.

-Look, Varian. I know the way I acted back in your house was... very violent and... not... What I mean is I shouldn't have done what I did, and I'm really, really sorry about what happened. However... I don't really have any good reason to not help you anymore. I mean, the curse is gone, I don't really WANT to stay in jail for the rest of my life. Plus, you're my friend, and I think... I think friends should support eachother, so I want to help !

She looked more confident than she felt. She was inconfortable with Varian's plan, and didn't really want to participate in that, but maybe it was for the better... He did have more experience of the outside world than her, he knew what he was doing. Right ?

The boy felt guilty. Not to make the girl his accomplice, but to have made the assumption that she was an ennemy, and making a... plan to sort that out. She already helped him so many time, even if she did screw things up, but he was sure that even if she decided to not aid him, she wouldn't have confessed everything to Cap. He just knew that.

Varian hesitated, then looked down the well. He needed a second opinion.

-What do you think, Andrew ?

-I think that we already have a mage.

Camalia squatted down, and when she spoke her voice was cold and harsh.

-I am not just a mage. I am a music mage. Your people slaughtered mine because you were scared of our power. I am not some wand wielding, trick making maniac. I make actual magic, don't compare our art with your pathetic replica.

The alchemist looked at his accomplice in disbelief, surprised that the sweet Camalia would speak like that, then brushed it off. An offended scoff was heard beneath them, then the cells felt silent for a minute. Andrew's voice finally rose.

-It's your friend, kid. If she joins us, you will be responsible of her.

Varian winced. The music mage was way too impredictable to assume responsability for her. For all he knows, maybe tomorrow she would have burned the kingdom to the ground. Who knows ?! Not him. Maybe he had to consider not-

-I can be responsible for myself. I don't need a babysitter, I just got rid of two. You want me in, or out. No inbetween. And why do you want the downfall of Corona so bad ?! I've read nothing about it.

When words rose again, it wasn't Andrew's voice. It was sharp, broken-like, but definitely a woman voice. Camalia concluded there were at least two people under them, probably more.

-Once upon a time, there was Saporia. It was a thriving kingdom, strong and happy. We had our own culture, our own food, legends and magic. We had a festival, each year, that took place in the middle of winter, and it seemed to have been really important to us. But we, the separatists of Saporia, the descendants of those people, we can't remember why. We can't remember what happened at that festival, what people did there, why it was OUR festival.

-Why ?

Another voice took over. It was deeper, a male voice, probably strong judging by the tone. It was different, yet it ringed in the same soft, sad, low pitch.

-One night, in the middle of summer, Corona attacked. That wasn't really important in itself. Saporia was used to attacks of their sworn ennemy. We prepared ourselves for battle, again. None of the proud Saporians would admit it, but they were tired of that war. Tired of fighting, of being half-awake every hour of the night and day. We wished for peace, but were scared of how it would come.

Silence fell again in the prison. Through the tiny windows, the sun was going down, making the shadows longer and the lights warmer. The animosity that was piercing in Camalia's heart was gone, and both her and Varian had sat down around the well, religiously listenning. The music mage heart was drumming in her chest, and she could feel the tightness of her throat. Their story felt familiar. It hit home.

Like they were hesitating, the minute of silence became two, then three. When the story continued it was a woman, pretty young, that told it.

-That night, our queen told the soldiers to stand down. At first, no one understood why. Then, we realized we weren't getting attacked. The coronan army was there to escort someone to us. The king. That night, the war ended, and everyone was happy. Absolutely everyone. We were all thrilled, coronans like saporians ! There was a huge party in Saporia that night, were kingdoms and borders didn't matter. The problem is, they never did anymore.

Another voice took over, with quite a strange pitch, much higher than expected, but definitely male. Still holding that sad tone with every word.

-Not long after that, our queen and your king got married. It was a time of celebration and happiness. We didn't understand at first why it was not right to have taken the borders down. We were simply relieved to be at peace. Then, it started. It was small at first. We took in Corona's festivals and parties, then we moved closer to them, leaving behind our ancestral temples, then we stopped making our food, and made Corona's. At that point, people were noticing how our culture was being wipped out. We spoke out to our queen, that tried to convince the king to make the coronans interested in Saporia's culture. But we don't know how, he convinced HER that Saporia's culture didn't matter.

-And from then, Andrew continued, they destroyed everything, completely eating us without any trace of what we had been left behind. They took our books but never showed them on shelves, broke our temples pretexting to need stones for the new houses, destroyed everything we were, and no one said anything. When most of the saporians realized what was going on, it was too late. They gave up fighting, and today, saporian's descendants have forgotten who they are. But we haven't. Facing that cultural genocide, some of us rose and tried to fight back, but we were painted as the villains, the ones that were against love and union. But we wanted peace and union. Mutual respect, the merging of our cultures, not the downfall of one for the benefit of the other.

Destruction of a culture. Of what it was. Erasure of their past. To nothing but a line in a forgotten history book. Yes, their story ringed home, because it was. It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. Corona was built on lies, pain and suffering. She still didn't agree with their plan but... Maybe she could make a difference. She would try.

-So, music mage, are you in or out ?

A grumble answered, in the same cell as Andrew's.

-I say we left her out... She insulted my magic.

Camalia flinched but knew it was fair. Unlike what their people had been through.

-I'm in.

WHAT’S THIS ?

First / Previous / NEXT

#the curse of life #tangled the series #tangled #disney #fanfiction #chapter 16 #tcol #camalia #oc #ocs #original character #varian #varian the alchemist #saporia #saporians #the separatists of saporia

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tvdversefanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Origins of Magic

Warnings: I do not own the rights to the television series “The Originals”, “Vampire Diaries”, or “Legacies” and do not own any of the characters within the TVD universe, I am making no profit from this and have no intention for this fanfiction series except for readers to enjoy. 15+ Mild to Strong Violence, Strong Language, Witchcraft, sexual scenes, and sexual references. F/F, F/M, M/M, Other.

CHAPTER 8 HERE

Chapter 9 - The Fall of the Mikaelsons

Sapphire Black stormed into the Mikaelson compound, with her eldest son Magnus in tow, walking like she owned the very world, because once upon a time she did, as the mother and daughter broke up a clearly heated exchange between Henrik Mikaelson and his siblings Elijah, Kol and Rebekah, who were all stood by the fountain looking like they were ready to go to war with each other. “Henrik Mikaelson, I presume,” Sapphire greeted the youngest Mikaelson as she walked towards him, ignoring the existence of the others. “I hear you hold the power of the hollow within you…Inadu was a very special witch for her time, what she lacked in originality she sure made up for with that wickedly wretched werewolf curse.” “You’re Sapphire Black?” Henrik replied in shock, knowing exactly who the woman who now stood in front of him was. “You’re one of the original witches, the supreme witch of the Midnight Coven.” “What now?” Kol asked, chiming in on the two witches’ conversation. “Did you just say your last name was Black?” Rebekah asked the woman witch, realizing she was a relation of her former love Annabella.” “Yes, I believe you know my children Annabella, Kayne, and Primrose…well, I suppose it is you knew Kayne, now that I am a grieving mother.” Sapphire answered the original female vampire, while casually mentioning her youngest son’s death as if it meant nothing to her. “Kayne Black is dead?” Elijah asked in horror, sick to his stomach by the revelation. “I am not here to discuss matters of my children,” Sapphire responded before returning her attention to Henrik. “My son informed me he granted you the hollow’s power but you see it was not his to give away…after all, all witches are descended from either me or my coven and I would like that power back.” “How exactly do you suppose I give you…” Henrik began to say, but before he could finish asking his question, the supreme witch had plunged her hand into his chest, before pulling out his beating heart and dropping to the ground, dropping at the same time as Henrik’s now completely lifeless body, as Rebekah, Kol and Elijah looked on in horror, completely shocked by their brother’s sudden death. “Well now that I’ve dealt with that arrogant little witch it is time to deal with you vampires,” Sapphire addressed the remaining Mikaelson’s, who were still shocked by Henrik’s death. “Another thing witches got wrong while I was away, at least during my days the only thing killing witches was other witches…mostly me but still it is far better than bloodsucking corpses claiming superiority over witch kind when we have always been superior to your kind!” “Listen lady I do not really have much patience for witches on the best of days but you just killed my brother so I am going have to kill you out of family principle although your elitist old crone act and the fact you do not give a damn about your own son’s death is sure going to give me pleasure in ending you!” Rebekah threatened the supreme witch as she walked up towards Sapphire. “Oh darling you act like the big bitch around here because you lived a thousand years, how precious…” Sapphire stated as she raised her hand, the force of her magic causing Rebekah, Kol and Elijah to fall to the knees in agonizing pain, the excruciating groans from the vampires were met by the sounds of their bones breaking. “I was older than you are now when I had my first child, you are all nothing more than a spell gone incredibly wrong!” As the force of Sapphire’s power kept Elijah, Rebekah and Kol down on their knees, screaming in pain, a seemingly unlimited Sapphire walked turned around, raising her right hand once again before chanting in a long forgotten language as the supreme witch cast a spell which made a tree grow from out of nothing, in the compound, in front of the Mikaelsons and Magnus’ eyes. The tree in question was a small tree but it’s height did not take away from the sheer excellence of Sapphire’s magic, as she revealed to all she was capable of more than any witch that came after her, and what type of tree did this ancient witch create from out of thin air? None other than a white oak tree and yes, the type of tree chosen by her was anything but a coincidence. “Your reign is over!” Sapphire declared gleefully, as she turned back around to face the three crippled Mikaelsons, as they completely fell to the ground, passing out from the excruciating pain they had endured due to Sapphire’s sinister magic.

Sapphire Black just stood there in all her glory, as her and her eldest son Magnus stood in front of Elijah, Rebekah and Kol’s unconscious bodies, which were spread across the ground within the Mikaelson compound, both mother and soon looking as victorious as they felt as Sapphire began walking over to the small white oak tree that she had recently conjured up courtesy of many spells she had memorized from centuries passed. As she slowly began to reach out towards the tree, picking an easy branch on it to pick, she quickly found the entire tree going up in flames causing her to let out a sigh of frustration as she turned around to see her daughters Bella and Rose walk into the compound defiantly. “Let me guess your fragile ego has led you to take out the Mikaelsons straight away well mother you are nothing if you are not predictable!” Rose stated with a wicked grin, happy to have spoiled her mother’s plans. “Clearly you are stupid enough to believe their own hype and are so threatened by it you got to take them out just to prove to yourself you can.” “That’s our mother for you Rose, she may be powerful in terms of actual power but when it comes to the so called human wielding said magic she is nothing more than a jealous insecure excuse of a woman who needs a title to feel like she is not completely and utterly pointless.” Bella chimed in, eager to join her sister in verbally bashing their mother. “You think I am envious of a bunch of blood sucking bag of bones!” Sapphire scoffed, eager to dismiss her daughter’s claims. “Well you wanted to have a kingdom, but you failed, and they managed to have everyone bow to their say for over a thousand years.” Bella replied to her mother, not buying Sapphire’s dismissal. “Thing is dear mother you can have all the power in the world, but you are not immortal.” Rose informed her. “I mean come on you were defeated by Bella and Magnus…now my sister has upgraded her choice of partner you stand no chance of making the rest of this day!” “How can you still side with Annabella after everything?” Magnus asked Rose furiously, as the rage and envy over Bella’s bond with their siblings being greater than his only continued to grow. “Magnus you were never really one of us, in fact you if we did not kill you, you would have bored me to death!” Rose snapped at her older brother. “You’re as self-entitled as our mother with not even half the power and I can promise you that your first death will seem like a breeze in comparison for what I have got planned for you and mother after what you did to Kayne.” “Now girls, this rebellious attitude really does impress me but it is going to grow tiresome really quick…may I remind you that the two of you along with my son Kayne completely destroyed the mechanisms of death which is how myself and Magnus found ourselves back to the land of the living.” Sapphire explained to her daughters. “Which means if he wants to Kayne too will find a way back…unless I fix what you broke and leave him stuck there forever.” “You would stop your own child from a chance at bringing himself back from the dead?” Rose asked in horror, unable to understand how her own mother could be so cruel. “She does not see him or any of us as children,” Bella told her youngest sibling Rose, before turning to look at Magnus. “We have always been and will always be nothing more than powerful pawns to her…” “I will of course close and fix your little mess up after Kayne returns to the living, Annabella, if you promise me your undying loyalty,” Sapphire bargained with her oldest child Bella, before turning her attention to Rose. “And yours too my youngest child.” “I guess we really are nothing more than pawns.” Rose replied reluctantly. “Well played queen you bargained the only thing I still give a damn about…which means of course you have my loyalty.” “Mine too!” Bella gave in, looking disgusted with herself for what she knew she had to do to get her brother Kayne back. “Good,” Sapphire replied with a sinister smile, knowing she had her daughters exactly where she wanted them. “Welcome home my darlings, I think this place will make a fitting new kingdom for what awaits us all and where else is better than the soon to be extinct Mikaelsons.”

Unaware of the extent of the chaos which awaited him upon his return to New Orleans, Klaus sat behind the wheel in his car driving home late at night on a lonely road eager to find out what mess the latest union of his siblings and the Black siblings had caused not only his family but his city too. He could not help but think of the last time he was around the Black siblings, especially Kayne Black, as he wondered whether it would be difficult to see the man whose heart he broke, wondering if Kayne hated him for denying his love for him and whether he was another old friend turned foe. Klaus Mikaelson had always regretted how he handled things with Kayne Black, the fact Kayne had spent centuries believing his love was never requited was by far one of the original hybrid’s greatest regrets, however, he always believed it was better than putting him in danger if he had told Kayne his true feelings. Klaus spent the journey thinking over his past with the only man he had ever loved, and deep down within all the guilt, regret and heartache, he could not help but begin to consider the hope of a second chance, not knowing that chance was already dead….or was it? Suddenly a figure of a man appeared on the road in front of Klaus and his car, shocking the Mikaelson sibling by its sudden appearance as he found himself unable to stop the car in time to not hit this man, something a few years ago he would not have even cared about, however, as the car hit this figure, there was no crash, no hit, nothing, for Klaus’ car went straight through him, as if there was nothing there. After his car came to an abrupt stop, a curious and somewhat furious Klaus launched the car door open, climbed out of his car and stood up on the open road shocked to see a non-corporeal version of Kayne stood in front of him. “No…” Klaus managed to say, as tears formed in his eyes, the startling realization of what this meant for Kayne’s existence within this world, going from hoping to heartbroken within mere moments. “They need your help Niklaus.” Kayne stated before disappearing out of sight only to reappear once again. “Do not return to the compound…” “Kayne you’re not making any sense…what happened to you…what the hell is going on?” Klaus questioned the spirit of Kayne Black, struggling to work out what was going on around him. “Please just trust me,” Kayne pleaded with his former lover. “Head to Athens...” Before Klaus could hear more, in order to work out what had happened to Kayne or why he was warning him about returning to New Orleans, Kayne had once again vanished out of sight and after standing on the open road all alone for more than a few minutes he realized Kayne was not returning and the only thing Klaus could do was either follow the advice of someone that could be a foe, or head back home with the possibility of a trap awaiting for him. Klaus never trusted Kayne Black enough many years ago and he believed that was a mistake, but would this time around be any different, well one thing is for sure if he wanted to stop the fall of the Mikaelsons then he better trust the newly deceased with the second time around.

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ramblings-of-a-mad-cat · 4 years ago

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i should let you know that i have written an entire (shifting)script for game of thrones and my drself(basically like a version of you that exists there but it can also be like an oc)‘s full title at the end of the show is

Rosalie of the House Tarth, First of Her Name, Lady of Evenfall Hall, Former Advisor to the Late King Joffrey Baratheon, Kingslayer, The Archer, Queen Consort in The North

not as many names as Dany but still(if you want me to talk more about her then i gladly will just like say so in the reply or whatever) also i think this answers the question on who i was jealous of in that scene, if rosalie wasn’t off with her older sister then she would have pushed HIM through the moon door after he did lysa

okay one more thing, this is a moodboard my friend xo made for her and it’s scarily accurate lol

I’ve always wanted to try writing something for Game of Thrones but I never knew what I would actually write about. It’s funny because my OC that I came up with was actually Brienne of Tarth’s daughter, so there’s some connection there! At the end of the day I just never know where to take a character post-S8E6, but I guess that’s what AUs and “fix it” fics are for. In any case, I really dig archery and if a video game allows me to wield a bow, there’s like a 90% chance that I will. I also stan Katniss Everdeen for multiple reasons, but this is one of them. I also stan anyone who can put up with Joffrey long enough and consistently enough to be considered one of his advisors, (I fell in love with Tyrion during Season 2 largely for this reason.) so please oh please tell me more about Rosalie! I very much would like for you to talk about her more.

The Moon Door scene is so intense. Like, I seriously do applaud that gambit because it was perfectly played. It was at around that point that I began to ask myself, “Is he going to be the final villain?” Because he was gaining more and more power and showing more ruthlessness, but no one was paying attention to him. From the moment Sansa walked in, I knew someone was dead. I just prayed it wouldn’t be her. I am also an unashamed Sansa stan and she needs to be protecc. I know there are fans who hate her and hey, that’s valid, but for me it’s like Beatrice in that I simply cannot understand why. She was a slightly annoying kid in Season 1, sure...but she got a harsh wakeup call at the end of the first season and clearly learned her lesson - she was about to push Joffrey, damn whatever happened to her, before Sandor stopped her. Ever since, she’s been through nightmare after nightmare, just trying to stay alive. (Fun fact, I also adore Margaery for multiple reasons, but her kindness toward Sansa is one of them.) Sansa deserves some peace and quiet, some healing, and just overall deserves happiness and mental stability.

#Game of Thrones #Game of Thrones OC #Sansa Stark

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imagine-loki · 5 years ago

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Pride and Prejudice

TITLE: Pride and Prejudice CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 12 AUTHOR: wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was raised on Jotunheim as Laufey’s son after the war, but an agreement was then made that he would wed Odin’s daughter so Odin could secure the alliance of Jotunheim through the marriage. Loki, in turn, was raised to be king of Jotunheim, but how he views Asgard is far different from how Odin’s daughter is raised leading to a clash of cultures as well as uncertainty between the pair of betrothed youths. RATING: Mature NOTES/WARNINGS: Forced Marriage, not all fun and games. My first real step back into the Loki scene in over a year.

Tags - @skulliebythesea

Laufey sat on his throne and waited for Odin’s retribution. He resigned himself to die in the very near future, as well as knowing that his realm would become a wasteland once more as soon as Odin brought the Casket away once again.

“Arden?”

“Sire?” “Where is Loki?” “I am not sure, Sire.”

“Have him found and brought to me at once.” “Yes, Sire.” Arden bowed and went to retrieve Loki.

A short time later, Loki entered the throne room having been found by two guards. “Father?” “Where were you?” “Preparing.” “For what? Your marriage to be annulled? For your confession to the realm that you cost us the Casket? For what exactly?” “For battle.” Laufey shook his head. “There will be no battle.” “But Father, we can fight him.” “Odin alone, perhaps. But he has that staff, Gungnir is a powerful weapon, it feeds from the seidr of the wielder, and Odin Allfather, like his wife, is an incredibly powerful wielder. I stood on the battlefield when he aimed it before and it killed over two dozen Jotnar with one solitary swipe. No, there will be no war. Norns, if I thought his old generals were strong, his son...he wields Mjolnir. You saw it yourself, I have heard of how he uses it. He does not possess his parents’ abilities to wield seidr, but he wields lightning. Burning hot electricity, against Frost Giants, I would be sending every able-bodied man to his slaughter. My life will save the lives of hundreds. It is a cheap price to pay. I am king, I do it willingly for my people.” “Father…” Loki went to touch his father’s arm. “I can…”

"You have done enough," Taking his hand from Loki's reach which affected Loki worse than if he had struck him. “Your actions caused this. The manner in which you treated that girl. I stated it. Arden stated it. The Allfather has just stated it. She cares for Jotunheim, she cares for her new realm, she showed nothing but respect to the court, to me as her new king and you would not listen, you were so adamant of her character that you never waited to see if what you decided of a woman you never met was what you thought or if she was something more. She was good. The Allfather took more Jotnar life than you could ever imagine, but his daughter, she was only concerned about giving it back, through the realm.” He looked at his son angrily. “She is so easy to love with her good nature. No daughter born to me would be able to make me happier on seeing her keen interest in our home. Yet you cast her aside, for what?”

“She is as arrogant as the rest of them.” “Well, any arrogance she could possess pales in comparison to yours.” His father retorted. “The manner in which you answered the Allfather’s question regarding Ladies, did she ask for some?” Loki nodded. “And you denied her.”

“We do not have that ridiculous tradition here.” “Did you not receive tutoring specifically in the Aesir court? Did you not learn the reasoning for this role? Did the Allfather not specifically inform you of its purpose? They are not there to tend to her but to keep her company. You were told this again not an hour ago and you still dismiss it.” “She chose to remain in those rooms and I am somehow to blame? How is this fair? How is it she can bring Jotunheim to ruin again if she supposedly loves our realm?”

“You know nothing of the darkness that is isolation, Loki. You never can understand the ever consuming feeling of it if you have not truly experienced it.” Laufey commented. “After the war, we had so much to rebuild. Nap was taken from me. I mourned her. With the promise of marriage between you and the Allfather’s only daughter and the knowledge the Casket would be part of it, I thought I would only have to bide my time and it would come, but people starved, children became ill and they turned to me and asked why I allowed this to happen, why did I make a pact with one such as Harold of Muspelheim, I condemned us to this half-life, the blame of the dead young was solely on my shoulders for my decision. I took their words on board and I locked myself away with them. Arden pulled me from the darkness, as did Farbauti, their presence was all that stopped me from succumbing to it. Their forcing me to eat stopped me from dying. None have shown Ella such compassion. She has been allowed to rot into what she now is, alone and without the feeling of caring and love.” He sighed sadly. “When you went to her last night, how many words were shared? Can you count them on one hand?”

Loki, still reeling from everything, shook his head. “I don’t need to count them on any, nothing was said.” “And the time before that?” Loki did not answer. “Yet you went to try and make a child with her? It was all done in silence? What sort of manner is that to create a child? That is not living, that is merely existing.” He thought for a moment. “Go to your wife’s room and look at her. You are not permitted to leave, not to eat or sleep, your food will be brought to you. You are to remain there with her. Looking at her, until further notice.” “Father…” “That is my order, as your king.” Laufey insisted. “If Odin says anything, you tell him you are beginning your penance. If he says anything else, you take everything he says and you say nothing back. If he tells you to leave, you remain.”

Loki, angered by his father’s order, did not bow as he left the room.

“Follow him and ensure he does as instructed,” Laufey ordered two guards.

Irate at his father, Loki stormed from the room. More than once on the journey, he thought to ignore his father’s orders, but knowing that it was not a time to act out, he did as instructed and went to Ella’s rooms.

When he made his way between her living area to her sleeping area, he heard a soft voice speaking. He listened for a moment before his eyes widened as he realised who it was that spoke.

“Do you remember the time you smuggled in that cat and thought we did not know? How long did that thing last, it must have been close to twenty years? Your mother is allergic to them, but you realised that quickly, didn’t you, I heard Lord Gregor caught you learning the spell to prevent it from shedding its hair, you made the damn thing hairless for a time. Norns, it was ugly.” He laughed. “Oh Ella, you were always the most mischievous thing. I’m sorry we failed you, Sweetheart. I thought you would fair alright here, that your bright mind and personality would allow you to make your own path even away from us, but you were in a prison of sorts, weren’t you?” He sighed. “Your mother will be in no fit state when she hears. Thor offered to retrieve her but, of course, he did not comprehend that you do not simply enter the Garden of Tyrell, but you know him. He is older than you and has nowhere near your maturity.” There was a moment of silence. “Please, Ella, fight this. What I would not do to have it that I were the one dying and not you. I am an old man, I have lived. I have done wrong in the realms. You have never wronged a single being in your life.”

Loki did not know what to say, hearing the old Aesir king speak in such a manner. A moment later, the door opened fully and an invisible entity seemed to shove him into the room.

“It is rude to eavesdrop,” Odin growled. “What has you here?”

“I am here to stand over my actions and begin penance for them,” Loki stated.

“Of your own free will?” Loki said nothing. “Those are the words of a wiser man, not some youth who refuses to learn such things.”

“I…” “When you look at me, what do you see?” Loki said nothing. “Answer me.” “I will not.” “Why not?” “I do not owe you an answer.” Loki glared at him hatefully as he spoke. “You have my daughter on her deathbed because of how you see me, so I think you do.”

“How many people did you put on their deathbeds?”

“Too many. Perhaps this is my penance. To lose the one pure thing I have ever created.” He looked at Ella. “If you wished to make me pay for my wrongdoings, then take comfort in knowing that you have done so, but look at her, know you cost her life to do it.” He took his daughter's hand. “When she was two hundred, she got sick, so sick that Eir told us to say our goodbyes. Thor could not understand how his little sister was going somewhere he was not, Frigga was inconsolable and I stood there, looking at my little girl, feeling entirely useless. I was the Allfather, the most powerful king in the realms and my little girl was dying of something I could not fight, something I could not protect her from.” Odin shook his head. “We did as we were instructed, together and alone. She managed to scrape through the first night, and the second, Frigga and I stayed with her, day and night, then one day, Frigga fell asleep in her exhaustion and it was just Ella and I for a time. I spoke to her, the entire time, of every little thing. How she did not wake to tell me to give her some silence, I do not know. But she pulled through. I was holding her little hand when she gently gripped it back. She did not wake for another few days, but she held on so tight, as though holding onto her very life.” He looked at her hand in his. “It is bigger now, as she has grown, but to be here again, in this position again...Once was once too many. She is supposed to be by my side saying goodbye to me, not the other way around.”

Loki swallowed. He had seen how Odin acted with Ella and had assumed by the stoic manner he did so that it was a lack of love that caused such interactions. He realised at that moment that behind it all, it was not true and that the Aesir were not simply without hearts.

#loki #others #submission #Submitted fic #wolfpawn #chapter 12 #pride and prejudice

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aviss · 5 years ago

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👀

This was also written pre season 8. I had wanted to see everyone defending Brienne, so this was the first scene. It also had Sansa and Arya and the Hound defending Brienne’s honour :)

Jaime rested against the wall catching his breath for a moment, his sword still in his hand and his entire body aching with the beating he had taken. He couldn't help the smile on his face as each individual muscle let itself be felt; he hadn't had a sparring session like this in a long time, and would be offended that Brienne wasn't that short of breath were it not for the matching smile on her face at his progress. They had been at it since whatever passed for sunrise in these dark times, their concentration narrowed just to each other and the clash of their swords, and it had only been the grumbling of their stomachs what had made them stop.

He pulled his absolute focus from the fight their surroundings resolved into Winterfell's yard, the noise blanketing it into the voices of its inhabitants.

Jaime knew the only reason he had not been beheaded the instant he had arrived, without his army and with the news of his sister's betrayal, was the fact the Wall had fallen. They were all living on borrowed time, and Jon Snow refused to deprive his army of any person willing and able to fight, especially one wielding Valyrian steel. He had been told, in no uncertain terms, that should they survive the fight he would face justice for his many crimes. That was fine by him, it wasn't as if he had a longer life expectancy in the south now Cersei wanted him dead, and this way he had a chance to fight next to Brienne and maybe die with some honour.

He turned to ask if Brienne wanted to break her fast in the Great Hall with him like every morning, and saw the smile slipping from her face, a flush that had nothing to do with exhaustion taking over her features. Jaime frowned and focused on the noise around them, tuning in the conversations. He usually tuned them out at the first mention of his hated title, something he had too many years of experience doing.

"Is she even a woman or do you think there's a cock under those breeches?" One of the men around the yard was asking, his voice pitched to carry, designed to be heard and hurt. Even during the end of the world, men were cunts. "I mean, she looks enough like one of those wildling giants for it."

"I think the giants are prettier than she is," another one said, chuckling. "She's always around Lady Sansa, and looks even uglier next to the Lady."

"Or with the Kingslayer, who's also prettier."

Laugher around them and Jaime clenched his hand around his sword, turning to face them, damned the consequences. Brienne's hand on the crook of his arm stopped him, and she shook her head. "It's not worth it," she said, but her eyes were dulled and her face flushed with humiliation. Even if the Starks decided to kill him for attacking some of his men, it would be worth it if it wiped that expression from her face.

"You Southron kneelers know nothing of real women," a new voice interjected, rough sounding and dripping with scorn. At this Jaime finally turned, though Brienne's hand on his arm tightened. It was the red-headed wildling Jaime had seen around King Jon, and he looked wilder and more imposing up close than he had in the glimpses he had caught before. "You think small and soft's good cos you're weak and can't take a real woman, need one weak like you. When the Walkers come small and soft run and die, but that woman," he nodded at Brienne, his face full of admiration and desire. Jamie saw reflected in the wildling's eyes the same respect and adoration he tried to keep concealed when staring at Brienne and wondered at the fact that he was only filled with satisfaction, not jealousy, another man saw her value. "She fights, and saves your ugly hides while you weaklings cower behind her."

The soldiers who had been mocking her looked too terrified of the wildling to retort, apparently only brave enough in the face of women and cripples forbidden to fight them. Jaime turned to Brienne again when he felt a pull on his arm; she was moving away, pulling him with her, face still aflame with mortification, but there was something easier in her posture, her shoulders not as taut as before, and for that Jaime was glad.

He'd find the man later.

…

Jaime found the wildling in the Great Hall the following day, breaking his fast with the King and laughing loudly. It seemed the free people north of the Wall didn't stand on ceremony; even if they were willing to follow the King in the North to death, they would not kneel nor show any respect that had not been earned with steel and blood. Jaime was reluctant to approach him in the current company but had wanted to speak to the wildling since the incident the previous morning, and Brienne was currently occupied sparring with Arya Stark.

He walked to their table before taking any food, ignoring the puzzled frown on the King's face. For a moment Jaime considered summoning his old arrogance but immediately dismissed the idea, he was only there on the mercy of that man and they were both fully aware of it.

"Your Grace," he said with as respectful a bow as he could manage. Jon's frown deepened, his eyes narrowing and before he could say anything Jaime turned to the wildling. "I heard you're called Tormund Giansbane." It hadn't been difficult to find out who he was, though Brienne had refused to talk about the man the previous day. She had refused to talk about anything that had happened in the yard, much to Jaime's frustration, and he had been unable to find out from her whether those kind of insults were frequent.

Tormund stared at him fiercely for a moment. "Aye," he said finally, nodding at the empty seat in front of him, a clear invitation. "and I've heard you're called Kingslayer."

Jaime gritted his teeth. "Jaime Lannister, in fact."

"But you did slay your king, kneeler that you are," Tormund insisted, though there was a lack of malice and judgement in his voice and expression Jaime had rarely encountered, it made it easier for him to reply with sincerity.

"He needed slaying, the Mad King," he admitted, the words coming out of his mouth without leave from his brain. He had only ever confided in one other person about this. "It was him or an entire city burning."

Jaime could feel Jon Snow's eyes burning on the side of his face and knew there would be a thorough interrogation in his future, possibly with the mad cunt's daughter present, but he didn't say anything, probably too curious as to why would a Lannister seek a wildling.

Tormund just nodded, as if that was all he needed to know, and maybe it was. Why would a free folk judge a kneeler who stood and killed his King? "What you want with me, Jaime Lannister?"

"You defended Lady Brienne yesterday," he began, only to be interrupted.

"Aye, and you didn't," he said, eyes narrowed. "She's your woman, right? You let those weaklings insult and mock her, you a weakling too?"

Now the King wasn't even bothering to hide his interest, looking between the two of them as if watching a particularly interesting spar. Jaime gritted his teeth, his face flushing in anger. "She's not my woman," he ground out, almost a growl. Yet, a voice in his mind added. "And I would have if she hadn't stopped me and dragged me away. If I raise my sword against the living in the North, your King will take my head," he said with a nod to said King, who was now frowning. He took a breath, he had not come here to fight, he had a question which needed answering. "What happened yesterday, is it common?"

Tormund looked at him, calculating. "What you gonna do if it is? You can't fight them and she won't."

"Is it?" he growled, beginning to get annoyed with the Wildling.

"No," Tormund finally admitted, and Jaime unclenched his fist, letting himself relax. "Usually's worse, but you ain't wanna know. She ain't want you to know."

It was what he had suspected; the soldiers from the yard had been unpleasant, but nothing they had not heard before, nothing Jaime himself hadn't hurled at Brienne during their forced sojourn south, back when he was completely enthralled by his sister and Brienne saw nothing but an Oathbreaker when she looked at him. Would that he could take those words back now. She wouldn't have been in such a hurry to drag him away from the yard if she hadn't anticipated worse. "Don't I? I asked her, and she wouldn't tell me, now I'm asking you. I need to know."

Tormund stared at him, searching, his gaze evaluating him. Whatever he was looking for, he found it, his sharp gaze softening minutely. "The big lady, that's a real woman, I'll take her for mine if she want." She doesn't, Jaime wanted to say but kept behind his teeth, not wanting the wildling to stop before he found out what had been happening. "Those weaklings, they know nothing of women and call her ugly and mannish. The lady and I would make big giant babies to rule beyond the wall." Brienne hadn't been interested, that much was plain to see in the way she always had a frown on her face that moved between puzzlement and disgust when around Tormund, not that he seemed to care much. "Then you arrived, and they saw how she looks at you and fights with you and spends all her free time with you, and they ain't call her ugly beast anymore. They call her Kingslayer's whore."

Jaime froze, his blood turning to ice in his veins before it suddenly turned into lava, a searing rage that threatened to consume him. His left hand went automatically to the pommel of his sword, fingers clenched tightly around it, itching to pull it free of its sheath and take off the heads of everyone who had called Brienne that, who had dared use him to insult the most honourable woman in Westeros. "Have my head if you will," he spat at the King, his voice twisted into a snarl. "I will kill anyone who repeats that within my hearing."

He needed to find Brienne and apologize for the trouble his mere presence was causing her, put himself between her and the entirety of the North, wrap himself around her sturdy form and keep her safe from everyone and everything. He just needed to find Brienne and stare into her eyes to calm himself before he did something rash.

Without so much as another glance at Tormund and Jon, he turned from their table and went outside, where he knew he would find her this time in the morning.

…

#wip meme #my fic #jaime x brienne #pretty-thief

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mamabearcat · 5 years ago

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Into the Woods - Part Five

Hey! I’m having trouble blocking out my big ass fight scene - I want it to be awesome sauce, so I’m spending extra time on it. But, because the first half of the chapter is an entirely different pace, I thought I’d let you have that now. So, short chapter, but sooner! Thankyou so much for all the love this fic is getting - seriously, I’m so flattered and amazed.

Also, a quick explanation - in this AU, I’ve decided youkai age the same as humans until they hit their peak physical strength at around thirty, and then their aging process slows down (makes more sense to me anyway - who would wanna be stuck in their awkward teen years for decades!) Inu’s in his mid twenties, a couple of years older than Kagome.

Tagging my two main cheerleaders for this @clearwillow and @keichanz and also @redflamesofpassion @xxracheyxx @mcornilliac@inuyashasnook @cstorm86 @xfangheartx @wenchster

Song inspiration for this one is The Last of the Real Ones - Fall Out Boy

I was just an only child of the universe And then I found you And then I found you You are the sun and I am just the planets Spinning around you Spinning around you You were too good to be true Gold plated But what's inside you But what's inside you I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you But not as much as I do As much as I do, yeah'

Cause you're the last of a dying breed Write our names in the wet concrete I wonder if your therapist knows everything about me I'm here in search of your glory There's been a million before me That ultra-kind of love You never walk away from You're just the last of the real ones

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

Kagome couldn’t stop smiling as they walked away from the dojo and back down the darkened hallway. She was still scared, terrified even, of the confrontation still to come, but suddenly her whole existence made sense.

She’d made sure to never reveal to her family and friends how utterly disconnected she’d felt from her life in Tokyo. No matter how hard she’d worked, how hard she’d studied, how hard she’d laughed to cover the existence of that small soft voice, she’d always felt that she didn’t fit. A weirdly square peg in a teeming city of smooth round holes. The discovery that she made sense here in this place was a little overwhelming, but in a good way.

She tightened her fist around the grip of the bow; it was comforting feeling the roughness against her palm, the weight of the quiver on her shoulders. She had purpose. And discovering it had rather a lot to do with the gruff but good hearted hanyou walking beside her in the darkness. She gave the large calloused hand that was safely leading her through the gloomy hallway a grateful squeeze.

A sudden thought occurred to her. “Hey Inuyasha?”

“Yeah?”

“You said before that you grew up knowing what you were destined for. How did you know exactly?” The gloom was lessening, she could just about see his silvery hair now, and she was relieved. She had always been a little afraid of the dark, and it helped to have something to focus on. She could see his pointed ears swivelling back towards the sound of her voice, and she pushed down a sudden urge to reach up and touch them, find out if they were as soft as she hoped they might be.

“My father was a Guardian, so I grew up here in this house. There was no way of escapin’ it. And then when I was ten, I was chosen by the Tessaiga”, he said, reaching back with his free hand and fondly patting the axe handle near his shoulder. Light from the onsen was filtering down the hallway now, making it easier for her to watch her step, but in the shadows behind his back she saw a pulse of yellow light surrounding the axe, as if in response to his touch. “The Tessaiga originally belonged to the first youkai that battled alongside Midoriko, and it’s passed down to each new Guardian to wield after they’re chosen. Each generation pours more youki into it – it’s sentient to some extent; knows who the best match for it would be. And it chose me.”

“Wow!” breathed Kagome. It was so fascinating to learn that outside her regular boring existence in Tokyo there was a place where something this magical continued. Especially now that she had found out that she had some part in it.

“Was there some sort of ceremony when you found out?” she asked eagerly, moving up to walk beside him now that she could see better. She could just picture it; a crowd of Youkai children all reaching out to touch the axe with no response. Then Inuyasha laying a small clawed finger on the handle and emerging triumphant, holding the axe up over his head with those cute puppy ears standing up straight on his head, a proud beaming smile on his face. It made her happy to just think about it. She was surprised to hear his cheerless sigh.

“Not exactly”, he shrugged, guiding her past the onsen and back into the main room. “About fifteen years ago, Ichiro and my father were asked to help at another shrine – the Guardian’s never usually leave the shrine unprotected, but a dragon youkai clan moved down from Tokyo causing trouble. The bastards thought they could run some sorta yakuza style drug smuggling operation outa the port in Fukuoka, and it would have been bad if it had escalated to include our area. My father and Ichiro didn’t want to take the risk of a physical attack on the shrine, in case it released Naraku. There ended up being a massive battle with several shrines involved. My father never came home.”

“Oh, Inuyasha”, gasped Kagome, squeezing his hand gently, “I’m so sorry!”

“Can’t change what happened. He was a great dad, and I missed him for a long while; still do, but I’ve learned to live with it”, he said, shrugging again. “Anyway, Ichiro made it home relatively unscathed; he’d managed to bring the Tessaiga with him. Said that a choice would have ta be made between me and my brother, seeing we were the only ones left from the original youkai blood line. Everyone was expectin’ Tessaiga to choose Sesshomaru, me included.”

“Why?”

He scratched the back of his head self-consciously. “Well, he’s the eldest – he’s nearly ten years older than me, and he’s full youkai. His mother is an inuyoukai, like my father, and comes from a very influential family in Kyoto with a lot of political clout in youkai society. My mother was human, just a local girl from the village, with no other family of her own. My father fell in love with her and after I was born, they got married. Sesshomaru and his mother had already moved back to Kyoto. They’d been divorced for a while before he met my mother.”

Inuyasha stooped to tip a ladle of water over the fire pit, dousing the embers. The only light in the room came from several covered lanterns which hung from brackets in the wall at regular intervals, and the round full moon rising over the mountain, shining through the large window behind them. Inuyasha’s hair gleamed like polished silver in the moonlight, and Kagome noticed his amber eyes glowed, cat-like in the semi-darkness. She supposed that made sense, seeing he could see well in the dark.

“So Sesshomaru didn’t live here with you?” She put down her bow and quiver and picked up the empty teacups and saucers, placing them back on the black enamel tray with the teapot and tea caddy. She followed Inuyasha as he took the tray from her and carried it and the kettle over to a small sink with a hand pump.

“Nope. Just me and my Dad”, he said, pumping water into the sink and adding the remainder of the hot water from the kettle and a small squirt of detergent. “Mama died when I was eight, from a fever.” He picked up a teacup almost reverently, stroking around the gold rim and over the hand painted image of dainty plum blossoms before he placed it in the hot water along with the other teacup and saucers, washing each carefully.

Kagome swallowed a small noise - she realised with a pang of empathy that the tea set must have belonged to his mother. She had wondered earlier why such an obviously rough and ready outdoorsy type of male should possess such a thing, but now it was perfectly clear. Spying a dish towel on a hook, she took it down and dried each cup carefully after he’d washed them, placing them back on the enamel tray next to the ornate tea caddy. Smiling his thanks, he rinsed the teapot, and passed it to her for drying.

“Sesshomaru only came back from Kyoto because Ichiro called him to let him know about Dad’s death. Both a them thought Tessaiga’s choice would be a formality - they were pretty pissed when it chose me.”

“But why would my Great Uncle be mad if the sword chose you?” she wondered, placing the dry teapot on the tray. “I mean, you were obviously meant to be the Guardian?”

“Uh…” Inuyasha paused, looking sideways at Kagome, who smiled in understanding and patted him on the arm.

“You can say whatever you like about him. I only met him once, when I was much younger, and I didn’t like him, not at all.” Kagome hung the dish towel back on the hook and crossed her arms, glowering at the memory. “He came to my Father’s funeral, tried to get my Grandpa to turn me and my very pregnant mother out of my father’s house so it could be sold, seeing my father had left no will. Grandpa refused, and they yelled at each other. I think it caused some sort of rift between them, because Grandpa stayed in Tokyo to help look after us, even though he didn’t really like living in the city at all. And Mama told me when I was older that Papa had moved away from Takamori village because he didn’t like the way the Higurashi family controlled everything.” She startled at Inuyasha’s rumbling growl.

“That explains a lot actually. He said he wanted to wait until he’d spoken to your grandfather before choosing a successor, but if they weren’t talkin’ to each other at all… keh! It sounds just like somethin’ he’d do. Whenever my Dad wasn’t around, he spoke to my mother like dirt. Misogynistic bastard.” He growled, pulling the plug to empty the sink. “He never liked me either. Didn’t let a day go by without lettin’ me know how Sesshomaru would a been a better choice. He didn’t like youkai much, but he liked half-breeds even less.”

His eyes widened suddenly and he swung around abruptly, turning to face Kagome. “Wait, you said that he came to your father’s funeral?” Kagome nodded. “And you said that the first time Midoriko spoke to you was just before your father died?” Kagome nodded again, and Inuyasha’s sudden roar of anger made her jump.

“Fucking bastard!” he yelled. “He would a known! He would a been able to tell that Midoriko had chosen you, and because he was a narrow-minded bigot, he chose to look the other way! You could have been here Kagome, all those years ago!” He paced the length of the room, snarling, clenching and unclenching his fists spasmodically. His voice deepened, his previous pleasant baritone gravel becoming harsh and rasping. “Always knew there was somethin’ wrong. I couldn’t trust him. We never worked well together; our spiritual energies never blended. And he always said it was cause I was a hanyou, that Tessaiga made a mistake. That I was a mistake.” He roared his anger towards the window where the shrine on the mountain was just visible in the light of the full moon. “YOU’RE LUCKY YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD ALREADY BASTARD, OR I’D TEAR YOU APART!”

“Inuyasha?” said Kagome uncertainly. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up in response to the pure rage rolling off him as he paced around the room. She understood why he was so angry. She would be upset too if they didn’t have much bigger problems to handle at the moment. She had to try and help him calm down.

“Inuyasha!” As he strode past her, she reached out her hand, tugging on his sleeve, and squeaked in surprise as he flicked his gaze toward her with a snarl, his teeth shutting with a loud snap. The sclera of his eyes was a deep ruby red, and jagged purple marks snaked across his cheeks. He looked savage and wild in his anger, ready to hurt anyone who opposed him.

But instead of doing the obviously rational thing and running away, Kagome threw herself toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burrowing her face into his chest. She could feel the frantic pulse of his heartbeat and the vibration through his chest from his increasingly loud growls of anger. The axe on his back seemed to pulse too, a heavy dominating presence against her own, demanding that she submit and cower. His clawed fingers wrapped around her upper arms with bruising pressure, but she refused to pull away.

“Inuyasha, it’s okay!” she shouted, tilting her face to the side, trying to be heard over his anger. “We found each other, and it’s all going to be okay. Please, I need you to calm down! I don’t know how to do this by myself!” The snarls grew less intense, and the pressure around her arms lessened. She felt Inuyasha’s head drop to hers, his cheek resting on her hair, heard him struggle to calm his breathing. She tried to squeeze her arms around him even tighter, rubbing her face against his chest, the buttons on his shirt hard against her cheek.

“It’s okay”, she repeated softly. We’re together now. It’s okay.” The growling stopped altogether, and his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Sorry”, he sighed heavily, still trying to calm his breathing. “Sorry you had to see me fly into a battle rage like that Kagome. That should only happen when we’re in mortal danger. I lost control a myself. ” He rubbed his cheek against her hair, and Kagome made a soothing sound. “Kagome”, he sighed wearily, his voice still a low and rasping. “It’s just, for the last fifteen years I was told that I wasn’t enough. I thought there was something wrong with me. And you said before you had felt the same way. And to find out it was because we were meant to connect and had been deliberately kept apart… I’m sorry Kagome.” His hands moved to rub up and down her upper arms gently. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Kagome looked up and shook her head, relieved to see the anger fading from his face. “There’s no need to apologise - I’m glad I could help. We’re meant to be a team, remember?”

She reached up hesitantly to stroke feather light touches over the fading purple marks on his face, smiling a little as a blush flooded his cheeks to cover the jagged lines. “Inuyasha? I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but… before, there was this moment where I felt… like a link… a… a…” Her own cheeks flushed, and her expression twisted in frustration, groaning at her inability to put what she felt into words. She pulled her hand from his face to clutch at his shirt, hiding her face in his chest again.

“I felt it too”, he said softly, resting his chin on the top of her head. “It was our souls accepting each other as a guardian pair. A bond formed – you accepted me as your protector, and I accepted you as the heir of Midoriko’s spiritual power. It don’t always happen like that Kagome.” A short rumbling growl vibrated against Kagome’s chest. “You only gotta look at how well me an Ichiro worked together to see that.” He swallowed; Kagome could feel the movement of his Adam’s apple near her forehead. “Part of my training was reading the shrine records. They said sometimes, a pair of guardians is reborn, wanting to find each other again. They said it only happens when it was a very strong pairing, a true friendship.”

“A friendship?” repeated Kagome, unable to hide the slight tone of disappointment in her voice.

“Sometimes friendship, sometimes… more”, breathed Inuyasha, the blush on his face intensifying.

Kagome tipped back her head and beamed at him, her eyes lighting up, a blush still pinking her own cheeks. Then she looked at him seriously, standing up straighter and releasing him from her hug. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed herself away from him a little, creating some space between them. “But first, Naraku”, she said in a very serious voice.

“Of course”, agreed Inuyasha, in the same serious tone. And they both walked over to the genkan, sitting down to put on their boots in a determined way, lacing them tightly, securing weapons, ready for the fight to come. But Kagome couldn’t help the small smiles and glances she continually sent his way. And she couldn’t stop her heart beating faster and the swooping feeling of pure joy she felt when he returned each little gaze with a beaming fanged grin.

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Part Six

#Into the Woods #inukag fanfic #inuyasha fanfic #inukag #inuyasha x kagome #Bearpluscat fanfics

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hgamesfan · 5 years ago

Text

Unmasked ~ Sixteen

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations.

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. Also my thanks to @hgamesfan and everyone else who has offered up their inbox for submissions. Please enjoy the sixteenth chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

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~~ Chapter 16 ~~

After my talk with my father, I am strangely full of nerves. I manage a bath and change of dress, although given the uproar the house is in, Mary is not available to help me dress, and so I wear an older dress, something simple and loose that does not require a corset. I wrap a light shawl about my shoulders, feeling oddly bare without the undergarment, and spend a few moments in the study, attending to tasks left neglected while Peeta and I were caught in the stables. In truth, the tasks could wait until tomorrow, but I am not certain I wish to be near anyone right now, my head awhirl with so many thoughts and the enormity of the events of today. The tasks do not take long, however, and I then return to my parents’ rooms in time for yet another uproar.

“Really, Kent. We can have dinner brought up to you,” my mother insists.

“Darling, you know I respect your opinion as a healer but this is too much,” my father argues, hobbling from his room with the aid of a cane, garbed in a dressing robe and slippers. “I have been bedridden for months and will continue to be so no longer. It is a simple trip down the stairs and then dinner. Nothing to it.”

“Perhaps some assistance the first trip down the stairs,” I suggest then.

“Pish, child. Will my own daughter now dictate my actions? I am not an invalid any more. Step aside.”

“Kent–”

“Cease your fussing.”

My mother purses her lips and retracts her hands from my father. My throat constricts. I have no memories of my father speaking to my mother or to me thus. With such…anger and annoyance. No memories of them fighting so openly, nor of him scolding me. It is not like him at all.

He approaches the stairs and, for one breathless moment, sways precariously. Gasps fill the air and then Peeta’s there, grasping my father by the elbow to steady him. Father glares at Peeta.

“It changes the balance.”

“Twas not a leg,” my father argues and Peeta nods.

“Do you hold your arms stationary when you walk then?” My father ponders this for a moment and then shrugs.

“I suppose not,” he concedes.

“It takes time to adjust. Which hand do you write with?”

“The right,” my father says.

“That is most fortunate. You’ll not need to relearn writing. Other tasks may require some adjustment, but no matter, they are still possible,” Peeta says as he takes one step, exceptionally slow. “It took me at least three months to learn to walk properly again. Learning again how to ride a horse turned out to be easier, once I could manage to get in the damn saddle. And stairs…well that is a more recent accomplishment.”

“You did not sleep on the ground floor… on a sofa, for months, did you?”

“No, but there are other ways besides walking to ascend and descend the stairs…have you watched a toddler learning to take them? The way they sit and use their arms more than their legs?” At this, my father actually laughs.

“Apologies. I mean no offense,” he says.

“Of course not. Small victories are in truth not such small accomplishments with a missing limb.”

Peeta continues talking as they descend, one step at a time with Peeta supporting my father. Peeta tells another story of the first time he tried to ride a horse after his amputation and my mother clutches at her throat with one hand and my arm with the other as we follow their sedate pace. A concerned footman moves to assist, but Peeta waves the man off as Father laughs again at the image Peeta paints of himself relearning how to walk and how to mount a horse with his tone humorous rather than piteous.

“Then I found Cicero and that changed everything,” Peeta explains, prompting my father of course to ask about Cicero.

Absorbed in their talk as it shifts to horseflesh and how Peeta and Joe trained Cicero, my father and my husband safely reach the landing. My father is intrigued, I can tell, at this idea of training a horse to bow to assist in mounting. Father is short a hand and will need to learn how to mount one handed or make similar adjustments.

He wheezes and pauses at the foot of the stairs, reaches out for Peeta to steady himself.

“I do not recall there being so many stairs in this house,” Father says.

“You should try them with a wooden leg sometime.” My father stares at Peeta for a moment and then chuckles. The sound is wondrous and then he nods, seeming to reach some sort of conclusion.

“Perhaps some assistance into the dining room,” he says. “At least until I am more recovered.”

Two footmen hurry forward and I hear Peeta whisper, “Small victories, Mr. Everdeen,” then he leaves my father in their care. Beside me, my mother releases a heavy breath and my heart begins to beat normally again. We reach the first floor and my mother lets go of me to grasp Peeta’s face. She pulls him down to kiss his cheek and then hurries after my father.

Peeta offers his arm to me and I stare at him rather than take it. I stare until his cheeks turn pink and he lowers his proffered arm. Then I finally ask what I need to know. “Why would he listen to you and not his wife nor his daughter?”

“How often do you use two hands for a task? Eating? Bathing? Dressing? Reading a book? Working in the fields?” My cheeks burn as I begin to understand what Peeta means. “There is no aspect of his life that will be left untouched by this and that is a difficult thing to accept, especially when one has no knowledge of the amputation until much later. You, your sister, your mother, the servants, even Madge, have all known him as an active and independent man. Now he requires assistance or time to relearn simple tasks. He will want to do these things on his own, to prove to himself and to everyone in his life that he is no less of a man.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” His eyes flash in the dim lighting of the hall and I see in them the challenge. The dare to deny that what he says is true. “If you do not believe me, then hold your left hand in your lap tonight for the entire meal. See how well you can slice your meats and wield a knife one handed.”

And the trouble is, Peeta is right. I cannot imagine the amount of pride my father will need to swallow tonight in asking assistance to cut his food, like a child. We could rage about the unfairness of it all, but my father is a man of strong constitution and of strong convictions. He always has been and I know that while the road may not be smooth, I have hope he will travel it successfully. Perhaps with some help.

I loop my arm through Peeta’s then, my fingers curling around his bicep. Angry with myself for not understanding my father’s psyche, yet grateful for how steady Peeta is now, for how quickly he responded upstairs to prevent another disaster. I only wish I had thought to act sooner. I would have thought that concern might be easier to accept from a daughter than a stranger, but then again, perhaps not. Peeta has never known my father until today. Perhaps this is another role tailor made for my husband. Doctor Aurelius has said repeatedly that Peeta’s experience would be invaluable in helping my father adjust. Tonight’s scene must be precisely what the doctor referred to.

“I shall talk to Mrs. Chilton tonight about perhaps adding more stews, dishes eaten more with spoon or just a fork, and tender meats, to the menu for the upcoming weeks. Fish is easily sliced with just a fork is it not?” I say quietly as we enter the dining room. Madge and Prim are already here.

“Yes. Yes it is.”

Dinner is a strange, informal affair. There is father in his dressing robe and slippers, myself in my faded walking dress and shawl. The other ladies of my family have been so absorbed in the excitement over Father’s recovery that none bothered to change from their day dresses. Of our party, Peeta is the only one both freshly washed and formally garbed for a usual dinner.

For months now, our seating arrangement has been fluid and shifting, although Peeta would usually sit beside me. With father back at the head of the table, Primrose has seated herself in her old position, leaving the seat to father’s immediate left open for me. Peeta sees me seated in my old chair, between father and Prim, and moves around to the other side of the table, to sit in between my mother and Madge. I shift in the chair, for some reason unsettled. At least I am not the only one. Peeta appears suddenly ill at ease.

Mother, however, appears to have recovered from our fright on the stairs. She glows brighter than the candles. I have not seen her so happy in months. Primrose is full of stories and news, and thankfully she mentions Rory Hawthorne, which shifts Father’s focus of concern from my romantic interests to hers, as well as to the matter of inheritance.

Otherwise the mood is light as Madge and Primrose swap stories across the table of recent months mingled with those of a more distant past, with stories of our youth, ones that my father laughs at. He even refrains from commenting at his much different meal – a bowl of broth, another of tender cooked apples, and a crust of bread. I am relieved to see him accepting the doctor’s orders at least and the dishes tonight for him do not require a knife.

The stories, however, only seem to push Peeta further into his state of quietude.

My hand in my lap grasps tightly to the folds of my skirt as I eat, blowing gently on my vegetables to cool them before consuming, watching my husband across the table as he withdraws further into himself and wondering if our path together will ever be straightforward.

There is no denying the joy I feel at Father’s revival. His laughter and loving presence have been sorely missed. Several hours ago, I would have given anything to bring him back to us. Now that he has, I wonder if the cost will be what little gains Peeta and I have made in our relationship. Yet, I cannot see why that should be.

“The Doctor says I am not to ride for at least a week, until I gain my strength back a little, but I cannot stay confined to bed. Tomorrow, Katniss, we shall take a cart and you can drive me about the estate. Show me what you have been up to.”

“Are you certain that is wise, Kent?” Mother asks, worry plain in her voice. I should have Peeta speak to her as well and perhaps help explain Father’s mental state.

“I think it necessary. I’ve been abed for months. It is high time I cease being so lazy. Katniss, what say you?”

“Of course, Papa,” I agree immediately, before I realise that the invitation did not include Peeta, and what my father proposes is something that Peeta and I have taken to doing together since…well since my father could not.

I briefly catch Peeta watching me before his eyes return to Madge and he speaks quietly to her, answering whatever question it was that she asked him. I did not hear and I am not sure that I care. There is a sudden tightness in my chest and a sense that he is somehow slipping away from me, just as we had begun to truly understand one another.

The dinner is excellent, and most are in high spirits as we adjourn to the drawing room. My father is ensconced on a settee, my mother fussing over him while he pretends to be annoyed by her attentions. His quick swings between accepting and rejecting help will be difficult to deal with, but we will manage, I tell myself. We must.

Prim sits at the piano and my father asks me to sing. I cannot turn down such an entreaty, and soon become engrossed in the music.

It is after the third song we perform, as my father applauds with enthusiasm, that I realise our audience is short one person. I hadn’t even noticed Peeta slip away. Wherever did he go? When did he leave? Does he find my singing deplorable? I have been told that my voice is quite pleasant, beautiful even.

I am not given a chance to investigate, however as that is when my mother yawns, insisting that she is much too tired for further amusements. I hurry from the room as soon as I see that Father is willing to accept assistance from one of the footmen in escorting my mother to their rooms.

My mother’s protests follow me, but I hear my father’s calm voice halting her objections. “Let her go, dear. They are still sorting through what it all means.”

I shake my head, confused at what exactly my father is referring to. My feet carry me from one room to the next until I find Peeta in the study, bent over the desk and sorting through a stack of parchment.

“Is my singing voice so dreadful to you?” I ask and he startles.

“Katniss!” His hands scurry to order his papers. “I did not hear you enter.”

“Hunter’s tread and soft slippers,” I say as he finally holds the stack behind his back where I cannot see them, not quickly enough, however. I spot the edges of what is clearly one of Peeta’s drawings. “What are you doing in here?”

“Your voice is beautiful,” he says then, finally meeting my eyes and holding my gaze for the first time since we entered the dining room. “The first day I heard you sing…even in your sadness your voice was mesmerising. I think even the birds outside cease their song to listen to yours.”

“That is a pretty piece of flattery,” I say, my cheeks warming as I maneuver to trap him against the desk. “But it does not answer my questions, husband.”

“I did not wish to intrude further on a family evening,” he says. My feet halt as I recall something he once said to me in our bed at night.

I am used to being unwanted.

“I came in here to clean out my mess, make the drawer available again and–”

“And what? Strike your presence from our lives?” Such a question would normally come forth with venom in my voice, but I think I begin to understand my husband and what motivates him, perhaps even the direction of several of his thoughts.

“I am aware that I am no longer necessary to you, Katniss. The only reason you sought a marriage was in case your father should die, and now he is thankfully recovered.”

“Not entirely. You could help him, as doctor Aurelius said.”

“And I will. I shall also endeavor to not cause problems for you. As it turns out, you needn’t have married anyone at all.”

“Tis a little late for regrets and second thoughts now, don’t you think?”

“Yes, well. I told you we should have stopped,” he says. “You should be with your family now, Katniss. Tis a joyful thing, your father returning to you.”

And that for some reason, triggers my anger. The idea that I could celebrate even as Peeta withdraws from me, the thought that perhaps he now regrets what transpired between us in the stables when I cannot, that implications in his words that Peeta is somehow not a part of my family. I reach around him and snatch a handful of papers before he can respond. Several of them are torn from both our grips and flutter to the floor. Peeta makes a sound of protest and grasps at me, but I am too quick and move out several steps out of his reach.

“Are these for the plant book?” I ask. “Why would you hide them?”

“They’re not for the plant book,” Peeta says and his words halt my feet. I watch as he carefully bends to retrieve the rest from the floor.

“Then…what are they?” He sighs heavily and I hold them close to my chest. “May I see them?”

“You may as well,” he mutters and waves a dismissive hand at me. I scowl but glance down at the one on top of the stack.

My heart stops.

Only for a moment as I stare at the drawing in my hand and flip to the next and then it roars back to life.

Me. They’re drawings of me. All of them. Here I am smiling, lounging in the garden, head tipped up to absorb the warm rays of the sun. There I am riding Sagittaria with a serious mein and then with laughter on my lips. Perched in a tree with a book and my skirts draped towards the ground. Another of me with head bent and eyes half closed, lost in contemplation. In my nightgown, feet curled up beneath me in my chair as I gaze into the fire, a glass in my hands. Pouring tea with a scowl on my face. Playing happily with Maysilee. Walking and sharing secrets with Madge. Several studies of eyes and braids and even my hands holding a bow. At least two dozen sketches, all exquisitely drawn with ragged edges on their left side. Torn from a book, I realise.

I am too stunned to speak at first. My upset and jealousy – yes I will admit now that I was hurt and jealous that Peeta seemed to use everyone and everything in his life as a model for his art except for me — is now proven so very wrong and ill founded.

“Why…why would you hide these?” The words stick to my throat like stale bread.

“Things were uncertain enough between us. I did not wish to make you uncomfortable with my obsessive scribbles,” he says, finally catching me as I have not been able to move since looking at the first drawing of me. He reaches for the papers in my hands and I hold them to my chest, out of his reach.

“Why do you draw me like this?”

“Like what?” he asks, and I can hear the frustration in his voice.

“As though you find me beautiful! Or hold me dear to you!”

He laughs then, although there is little humour in it. “Are you mocking me?”

“I think you mock me, sir. All your pretty words about my singing and the things you said to me in the stables today…yet you would hide these from me? Give up on our marriage?”

“I am not giving up on our marriage!”

“But you are withdrawing from it. Are you not? That is what this is about, lessening your presence in our lives.”

“It’s clear that other than assisting your father adjust, I am no longer needed here, and that will only be a temporary requirement. He will get better, and soon. Therefore –”

“You are needed! I need you!”

Peeta is finally silent then. As am I, as the truth of the words manifests in my chest. I have come to rely on him in so many ways I can scarcely take stock of them, not just in helping to care for my father. Our lives have become…entwined. He remains silent as I hand the drawings back to him.

“You made me beautiful,” I accuse again. “I am scarred and you have made me beautiful.”

“I did not. I draw you as I see you. You are already beautiful. Scars could never change that.”

“Then perhaps you need spectacles,” I say as he shuffles the papers together and sets them on top of the desk.

“I assure you, my eyesight is perfect.”

“Really? Such a claim to make when you are blind to what is right in front of you. Circumstances have changed since our betrothal.”

“Yes, I am aware,” he says with frustration and a hand in his hair.

“Therefore I think it time we re-examine the terms of our alliance.”

“Of course, madame. As you wish,” he says, with a slight incline of his head. All business and aloof, perfunctory.

“Grant me patience! You are insufferably noble sometimes.” I grasp his hand and drag him from the room. Up the stairs as he questions what I am doing. I do not stop, nor do I answer him until we are in our chambers.

Mary stands, wide eyed, from a seat by the fire. “Mrs. Mellark, I–”

“Your services are not needed tonight, Mary. Enjoy the evening,” I say, uncaring what sort of servants’ gossip my actions will unleash. She curtsies and races from the room with one astonished look over her shoulder at me. I shut the door in her wake and lock it. There will be no interruptions tonight.

All of my bravado vanishes when I face Peeta.

Despite the fact that we consummated our marriage in the stables today – oh good heavens! I consummated my marriage in a bed of horse food. Father Crane was quite right in calling me a tart when I was fifteen and still running around in breeches. Now my transgressions have taken on a new form and my cheeks burn as Peeta stands there and waits. Clears his throat and watches me expectantly.

“Now what, madame?”

His insolent smirk gives me a conduit for my frustrations and I stand tall, lifting my chin to deliver my next words.

“Now you take me to bed.”

I am left reeling by my own words. That is not at all what I meant to say! and Peeta’s lifted eyebrows reveal that it is not what he expected to hear me say.

“It’s a little early for that. What will the servants say?” I scowl at this, at the knowing look in his eyes that tells me he has determined my dislike for being the topic of gossip in the kitchens.

“I have had a most trying day. How do you know I am not seconds away from hysteria and need to take to my bed?”

“I rather doubt that, Katniss. As you have told me repeatedly, you are not so fragile. Try again.”

“I need a reason to take my husband to bed?”

“I’m not certain that it is a good idea, given–”

“Of course it is. You take me to bed, removing my corset this time. Don’t think I didn’t notice you neglected to remove my clothing this afternoon–”

“I was concerned with being discovered. I thought it wise to leave you somewhat dressed in case we needed to respond with haste.”

“Yes, well that is a fine excuse, but I have locked the door and we are husband and wife. What we will do in our bed is quite expected.”

“Quite expected,” he says and takes a few hesitant steps towards me. He gazes down at me with fire in his blue eyes. “How very…responsible of you, madame. You are playing pious again, hiding behind duty. Or is that what you truly want? The way you were today in the stable, and last night, was that all an act to convince me to consummate this sham of a marriage? To perform my duty to you?”

“No,” I deny, unable to tear my eyes away from his mouth, nor my mind from the memory of what extraordinary things that mouth has done to me, even as my heart aches at his words. “And our marriage is no sham!”

“Then what happens tomorrow morning? What am I to you then? A nuisance?”

“You are my husband, my partner, my…” I gasp out and lift my eyes to his. He seems a little stunned. I fill the silence with words I cannot seem to stop. “I expect you to wake beside me tomorrow and perhaps kiss me before we dress, then break the fast with me. I expect you to plan adventures with Maysilee while we eat and to be there for her as you have been. She has come to love and rely on you and I will not see you break her heart. I wish to work more on our book, as we were…distracted today and did not accomplish much on it.” As I speak, my words gain strength and conviction. “I want you to ride with me, and my father tomorrow, to help me show him how we have cared for our home and to see to any pressing needs. You are expected at dinner and then in whatever family amusements claim the evening. And after all of that, I expect you in this room, in that bed,” I fling my hand towards it now, “With me, where you will sleep beside me unless we choose to not sleep. And I most certainly expect flowers and a drawing from you. You promised them, and I took you for a man of your word, Peeta Mellark, a man with a sense of honor that is unmatched.”

I turn away then, unable to face the possibility that I have read this entirely wrong and just made a fool of myself. He grasps my arm and turns me back to face him. “Our home?”

“Yes, you obstinate bastard. Our home,” I say, although there is no bite in my words, because I can see in his eyes that those two words are precisely what he needs to hear.

Our home. And it has become so, hasn’t it. Just as I can no longer imagine Everdeen without Madge and Maysilee, Peeta too has planted himself firmly into this place. Without him…I do not even want to consider it.

But at the moment, I can see that his fears need assuaging. I see in his eyes the flickering remains of a child whose world was upended first with death then with a simple game played with the wrong boy. But wrong to whom? I see the pain of a boy on the cusp of manhood abandoned by the only person left whom he’d known to love him unconditionally, abandoned for a supposed chance at a better life in the dubious care of those who would spend years making him feel unwelcome, unwanted, inferior, even as they saw him educated and dressed in fine clothes. And I see the ghost of a man who was sent away to the military when his presence could no longer be tolerated, with the expectation that he would not return. The shadows of the man who survived anyways and was then forced to relearn how to walk through a world that did not wish to see him for two reasons rather than one, and most especially I see the man who was coerced into marriage with his brother’s discarded fiancé. I understand fully the sting of that last one. I felt it myself the day we signed our engagement contract.

I can see in his eyes the reflections of a man who was required to be content with the leavings and table scraps, yet has somehow found it in his heart to create a life – a good life – here with me out of what could have easily been a misery. But Peeta has needed to act in this manner nearly his entire life, as a matter of survival, learning when his welcome had run thin and it was time to move on to another sphere or change his purpose to those around him.

No longer. His welcome has not run out here yet and I intend for it to never run out. We shall take the table scraps given us and make a feast.

I slide my hands up his chest then, up to his neck as I press my body to his. “I want you to be here tomorrow, Peeta, and the day after that, and the day after that one, just as you have been. You promised to love, honor, comfort, and cherish me, until death do us part, husband, and I will hold you to those vows. Are those terms agreeable to you?”

“I suppose those will work,” he says, his hands resting on my back, a light touch as he lowers his head towards mine. “You are not disappointed? Now that you are truly and needlessly stuck with the crippled, bastard son?”

“I know exactly who I married, and I am not disappointed at all,” I whisper right before he kisses me. I savour the touch of his lips to mine just for a moment before I allow myself to sink into his embrace, into the depth of feeling and sensation.

There is no rush this time, no frustration or doubt. No fear of being discovered nor interrupted. We both know where this kiss will end and yet neither of us are in a hurry to arrive there. He kisses me as though he has the rest of our lives to do so and yet it awakens a towering need inside me.

I search through fabric until I find the ends of his cravat and slowly untie it. Peeta lifts his head, ending one kiss and resting his forehead on mine as I pull the length of silk free and leave it on the floor.

“The poor valet,” he says with a rueful shake of his head. I laugh and guide his hands to the sash tied about my waist. He understands and grasps one end, pulling until the knot falls apart. We take slow steps towards the bed, leaving a trail of clothing across the bedroom floor as we undress one another. My skin tingles. Alive with the touches of air and Peeta’s skin on mine. Alive in the way one feels after a good, deep yawn, and yet I am not the slightest bit sleepy, despite my eyes drooping. They do so with want. We peel off layer after layer until we are down to my chemise and stockings, his trousers and shirt as we come to stand right beside the bed.

He kisses me again, a language more profound than words, in some ways, his hands gently holding my jaw. We reaffirm territory already explored. The taste of him sparks recognition and comfort as well as desire now. The trailing of my fingers down his neck, down over soft linen shirt, down to his waist, gives rise to such goose flesh and need. His eyes never leave mine as I gather fabric in my hands and lift. Up and up and over his head until I must stand on my toes and then can reach no further. Peeta takes over then, discarding his shirt and standing motionless for me to examine him.

I allow my eyes to roam over the expanse of skin now bared to me, uncertain where to even begin touching him. I step back slightly and take him in – the broad shoulders and chords of muscle on his arms, the burn scars extending down from his face to cover one side of his neck and splay over his left shoulder, like a handprint forever etched onto his skin in flames, the touch of violence and war leaving its visible marks on him. A curved line over his ribs that looks like it was perhaps caused by a knife. The scattered dark blonde hairs on his chest that tighten into a line pointing down, down to his trousers where I cannot see the end but am eager to find it.

“Are you simply going to stare all night, wife?” he asks, and while there is teasing in his tone, there is also a slight thread of uncertainty. I lift my palms and set them on his pectorals, breaking the thread of uncertainty and casting it aside.

He is so warm and solid, like a stone kept in fire to heat and soothe in the coldest of winters. His breathing lifts his chest and my hands in unison, and with a quick glance at his eyes to ensure that I am not overstepping, I run my hands over him, learning the shape and the feel of him beneath my palms. Up to his shoulders then down his arms to his wrists where my fingers tickle slightly before venturing back up to his shoulders.

I trace the outline of fire branded into his skin, watching my fingers as they skim over ridges and crests. We are both of us marked by flames. A pair of beasts forged in fire and branded as unwanted. A scarred should have been a spinster woman, and a crippled bastard man. I can feel tears in my eyes as I think on the pain I endured and how such pain exists in his past as well, perhaps tenfold with his leg. I flatten my palm over the scars and lift my gaze to his.

Without a word spoken between us, I somehow know that we understand one another in ways few others can. So I continue learning his body. My palm skimming over heated flesh, curving over the scar on his ribs, meandering down to his abdomen.

As in the stable, certain muscles of his flinch and contract, but he remains planted where he stands and allows my exploration. I step forward and slide my hands around his waist to his back, finding that expanse to be much the same. Warm, solid, responsive to my touches. I cannot look at him as a curiosity takes hold and I press my mouth to his skin, just at the edge of one scar. He sighs and finally moves, lifting one hand to my hair. He plucks pins from my tresses as I kiss him. They fall discarded to the floor with each caress of my lips over him until my hair hangs loose down my back.

Peeta buries one hand there, cradling my head gently as I explore with my lips as I did with my hands. He lifts his other hand to caress over my shoulder, to move aside my chemise and mirror the touches over my own scars. When my lips reach the barrier of his trousers, though, his hand tightens in my hair and he brings me up to stand before him again.

“Now your turn,” he whispers with a smile so beguiling, I can forgive the interruption of my exploration. Especially when he first joins our mouths in a heated kiss that soon has me clawing at his chest and his neck, bending my body to bring myself as close to him as possible. I feel the hard proof of his arousal against my belly so that when he grabs fistfuls of my chemise, I eagerly lift my arms for him to remove it, shivering only slightly as the removal of the fabric, warmed from its hours spent so close to my body, leaves me slightly chilled and standing before him in naught but my stockings.

Peeta takes my hands in his then and lifts my arms out to my sides, his eyes taking their turn in roaming over me, their blue depths lit with an unmistakable flame of desire. I cannot hold such an intense gaze and drop my eyes, only to see the effect I already know our kisses and touches have had on him in the tenting of his trousers.

I look away then, focusing on the candle set beside our bed as he steps closer. Then his lips brush over my skin, on my shoulder. Higher until he reaches scars. I hear a soft sigh, ripe with longing and wonder if I am responsible for such a sound or if he is.

“Katniss,” he murmurs, his fingers scarcely touching me as he caresses over my body. He traces round my navel, down to tease dark curls, then back up to circle nipples, with such reverence that I am tormented, burning and yearning yet not ready to move on from how this feels.

“Draw me like this?” I gasp and he laughs, the sound light yet somehow tortured.

“Not now?”

“No, of course not,” I say. Then something occurs to me as I cling to his shoulders and my knees quake with the kisses he paints over my neck, the way his fingers barely seem to connect with my skin as he traces over shoulder blades then down my spine to my hips, arcing over swells and curves, teasing hidden places. “Would I have to pose for you?”

“Not unless you wish to, my love. You are now etched permanently in my memory. I do not think I will ever forget the way you appear right this moment.”

“Oh,” I say, more in response to his kisses than to his words. They leave me aquiver in a most delicious manner.

“I would have to hide that drawing in a very secure place, for I do not wish to share you in this state with anyone else.”

“Nor I you,” I murmur. His lips gift me with sweet, indulgent kisses, sensual licks and suction that makes my eyes roll back in my head and my knees weaken to the point that they buckle and he has to hold me upright. “Oh God my thoughts were quite right about you that day we met.”

I have to step out of his embrace and sit on the bed, moving to the center, away from him before my brain is turned completely to slush and my skin burned away to ash.

“Oh?” he asks, a smile playing about his lips.

“You have a sinner’s touch,” I say and he laughs, his cheeks turning pink.

“You make it sound like I am a rake.”

“Well, it is twice now that you have gotten me into bed and failed to remove my corset…”

“You weren’t wearing one tonight,” he says, his voice dark and delicious. “And we weren’t in bed earlier.”

“Details,” I say with a flippant wave of my hand and then wait for him to proceed. He does not at first, and I decide to give him some encouragement.

“Go on then,” I motion towards his lower half and bite my lip.

He shakes his head, smiling slightly as he begins to unfasten his trousers while my teeth bite deeper. My pulse spikes once or twice in anticipation. I’ve never seen all of him, not even this afternoon in the stables, my skirts and our bodies blocking my line of sight. His eyes stay on mine, perhaps searching for doubt or regret, but he will not find any, for I feel none.

He turns and pushes the garments down. I am gifted with a brief view of taut buttocks and narrow hips before he sits to finish removing his clothes and his false leg. Then I am given the chance to truly admire his back and shoulders and the strength so readily apparent in them. I’ve already experienced that strength, plucked from the mud with such ease, like a dandelion after it has gone to seed.

Bracing one hand on the bed, he turns to face me, halting on his knee and the truncated end of his left leg and spreading his hands to his sides for my examination, one eyebrow quirked and his head cocked in question.

I am leisurely in my perusal of him, his thick thighs of which I am already somewhat familiar, the thin trail of hair that I can now see fully, leading all the way down to a thatch of more cradling the source of my curiosity and many a maid’s anxieties. Yet I can no longer feel anxious, now that I already know how it feels to be joined with Peeta and that he will take care with me. It is a good thing too, otherwise I might be concerned that he would not fit. I am fortunate to already know that he fits quite well. There is, however, one detail that inflames my cheeks and teases my desire to new heights.

“Are you blushing, husband?”

I refer to the pink shade of his engorged flesh, so striking set against the rest of his fair skin. He glances down and blushes in truth, his cheeks and neck turning a matching, ruddy color.

“I suppose in a way I am. Not out of embarrassment, though, I assure you madame.”

“Hmmm, I should think not,” I tease and rise to my knees, crawling upright on them towards him until I can feel the warmth of his skin radiating onto mine. I glance down then and reach out to watch my own motions as I touch him. Peeta sucks in a sharp breath and rests his hands on my elbows in a light touch. “I am not hurting you, am I?”

“No,” he says through a strained laugh. “Though I may expire from this.”

“Is it not acceptable for a wife to touch and discover what pleases her husband? You did for me,” I whisper and he sways but does not stop me. I marvel at the heat of him, the weight in my palm and the contrast of softness and rigidity.

“It is perfectly acceptable.”

“Am I doing this wrong then?”

“God no,” he says with such vehemence. “Your touch is… so pure.” If I were not already blushing, that would turn me bright red. Then something terrible occurs to me. A brief image of another woman touching my husband thus. A woman who knows how to please him where I am only just beginning to learn, and perhaps the purity of my touch is not a compliment.

“Have you been married before?” I ask, my grip tightening in reflex as the cursed words leave my mouth. I never thought to ask before now. Peeta groans and sets his hands over mine. He leans towards me and begins kissing my ear.

“No, Katniss. I have never been married before, and before you ask again, I have lain with two others before you. One was due to the stupid impetuousness of youth, the other lasted only one night and happened because I was feeling sorry for myself, certain that I would die alone a crippled soldier. They were both well over a year ago, nearly five years ago in the case of the first.”

“Oh,” I say, a strange lightness lifting my spirits as our eyes meet, my hands still full of him. “Did you remove their corsets at least?”

He laughs then, full and hearty. “I honestly do not recall enough of either encounter to remember such details. I was not in a fair state of mind… to be frank, I was drunk.”

“A tactful answer. Will you forget me then and blame the wine?” I say and he glances down at where I have him in hand. My eyes follow his for a second before meeting his blues once more.

“I am not exactly in a position to anger you and limp away unscathed, madame.” I blush furiously at that, but there is something in his eyes that makes me feel bold and empowered, rather than chastened or cowed. Somehow I know, Peeta is enjoying both our banter and our touches as much as I. He leans forward and brushes his lips over mine. “And I am completely, blissfully aware of everything we have done today. It will not be easily forgotten.” His words flow through me, intoxicating like wine, and warm. Mollified, I am able to tease him further.

“Are you not going to ask me how many men I have lain with?” A smile curves his lips and mine mirror the action. I tilt my head and shoulders in what I hope is a coy expression.

“God do I love your spirit,” he whispers as he cups my jaw in his palms again and kisses me. “How many men have you lain with before me, Katniss?”

“None, and I shall thank you to never ask me such an insulting question again, husband,” I say with false superiority and no bite to my words. I could not summon any if I wanted to. My lips are consumed with kissing him and my hands with touching him, learning him. In between kisses, he whispers to me. He whispers words of guidance and promises. Such delicious promises that make me eager to hand the reins back to him, but not before I am completely familiar with his body.

It is not long before his breathing turns ragged and his eyes hazy. His head tips back and he bites into his lip. The sight of him thus makes me think of what he did with his mouth in the stables. Surely there must be an equivalent act for me to perform for him. I kiss the hollow of his throat and am working up the courage to try loving him with my mouth when his hands drop to mine and pry my touch away from him.

“Stop. You have to stop.”

“Why do I?” I ask, confused and hurt.

“Because if you do not, I will spill all over your hands and the sheets.”

“Oh,” I say and let go of him. Then I was doing well, I think with a small thrill of pride.

I’ve no chance to ask him though, as his kisses have turned insistent. Passionate and deep as he shifts us both so that our naked bodies press together. I moan into his mouth, the sound undignified and desperate, but I cannot control the way his heat feels, engulfing me in a sensual embrace like nothing I have experienced before. The intimacy of flesh to flesh unparalleled in my memory as I cling to him and match his kisses as best I can, with every ounce of fervor I feel for him.

I know a moment of unsease as he lays me on my back and covers me, but then his mouth and his hands touch everywhere. I relax beneath his almost reverent kisses and yet I am strung tight as a bow, ready to spring. His hands precede his lips, and soon I am quivering on the sheets. Desperate so much so that when his hand curves around my hip, down to cup one thigh, I open my legs without question for him to settle between them.

His mouth returns to mine then and something slender slides inside me. “Oh mercy. Katniss,” he groans to the space between my parted lips then kisses me again, rough and fast before lifting his head to gaze down at me. “You overwhelm me.”

I cling to his arms as he touches me and finds hidden patches inside me that make me shudder and moan and beg. I can no longer draw a decent breath and plead with him, gasping his name and writhing against his hand, a sinful tart drawn to his touch.

“I wish to be inside you when you climax,” he whispers then bites gently on my ear. I give a breathless agreement and wonder to myself if he will be able to last. My only experience thus far is the stable, when he finished before and without me. Granted there was the way he kissed me to completion before that—

His fingers find the small patch of need his tongue worshipped in the stables and I cry out, the sound sharp and loud in our room. His mouth covers mine and our breaths make ragged music in the night as I plant me feet on the bed and let my hips move freely, seeking and aching for those rolling waves of release.

My muffled sounds crescendo against his tongue as I draw tighter and closer. My fingers rake bars of delight into his skin. I cannot get close enough and then he rolls on the bed, taking me with him so that I am sitting on his stomach, straddling him. My body aches, denied the pleasure it so desires, right on the cusp.

“What are we doing?” I ask, uncertain of his plans. I have no scullery tales, no whispers of maids nor cooks, nor even Madge to place what is happening as he pushes my hips up and back so that I hover over his erection.

“You are going to ride me,” he says and I sputter at that.

“What like a horse?”

“With a few noticeable differences but yes. Very much like a horse,” he says with a laugh and a cheeky smile. “More like bareback riding. And do not try to convince me that you’ve never ridden a horse bareback, you hoyden. I shan’t believe you if you try.” His words carry no insult, and so I take none, only desire and wonder. His hand caresses up my thigh then, back to my sex where he resumes what he was doing just seconds ago until I am mindless in my arousal and unable to hold still. “Yes, like that my pearl. Open for me.”

I vaguely feel him again, sliding past my entrance as his fingers leave me. A growing fullness and his low, elongated moan until my hips are flush with his and I am dizzy with the need to move, although I do not know how until Peeta rests his hands on my hips and guides me in a slow circle over him. I make an incoherent sound. My fingers dig into his chest and my head rolls back, hair brushing my back and his thighs. I find a rhythm and surrender to it, riding after the spreading pleasure that warms me throughout.

“Wait! Wait!” Peeta gasps and grasps my hips, holding me still on top of him. Frustrated, I growl and stare down at him, annoyed with the interruption, since there’s no good reason for it.

“What about…” he swallows before finishing his question. “…what about children?”

I glance around the room and growl again. “There are none here.”

“No,” he says with a slight laugh and a shake of his head. “No I meant the possibility.” He flattens his hand on my belly and I stare down at it. His fair skin almost pale against my darker tone. “Of… our children.”

My eyes meet his again as it registers, what he’s asking. “You want to discuss this now?”

“Admittedly my timing is poor.” His eyes drop to where we are joined and he makes a small whimpering noise as I shift my weight on him. “And I realise that I am also late raising this issue. Given what transpired this afternoon, but there are precautions we should take if you do not want children yet or at all…” he trails off as I laugh. I laugh and rest one elbow on his chest, leaning down onto my hand.

“Yes, I know. My mother is a healer after all. There was a tea she would give to women who did not wish more children. She tracked cycles on calendars to advise them on when to abstain.”

“I see,” he says. “So then you’ve had some of this tea recently?”

We remain motionless, joined together, prepared to copulate as I consider his questions. In an instant, I live a thousand moments with him by my side. Birthdays and holidays, every season and every harvest. A parcel of children in a motley mixture of our features crawling across the rug, clamoring for his attention, climbing into my lap for kisses and cuddles. Peals of potential laughter and the echoes of future joy bring tears to my eyes, an unbearable overflowing in my breast. If it feels this way to merely consider children, what would it feel like to carry them? To nurse them and raise them? To bestow all of this love I now feel surging through me upon them?

Exquisite. That is how it would feel.

For years I had never considered my own desires where children were concerned. Romance and marriage and family seemed such an unlikely possibility after the fire. Who would want a family with an unbiddable, scarred and surly hoyden? But as Peeta gazes up at me, his eyes shining in emotion, and I think on those sheets upon sheets of his hand forever capturing me on paper as someone beautiful and intriguing, I know. He would. I ask him despite this growing certainty, if only to hear him say it.

“Do you wish to have children, Peeta?”

“Perhaps some day. If you wish to,” he whispers but his hand caressing my belly, the rasps of longing in his voice, and the feel of him throbbing inside me speaks volumes. He is too wonderful with Maysilee. If there were anyone in this world that I would wish to have children with, it would be Peeta.

My body hums with the need to move, to love him and relieve his body if it’s seed, to accept him into my womb. I can feel a content smile curling over my lips then and the widening of his eyes as I lean forward and kiss him, our chests brushing together as I feel heavy with want, with need.

“Then there is no need for precautions tonight or any other night, husband.” To prove it to him, I begin to move again. His hold on my hips loosens, though he does not fully release me, only loosens his hold enough that I may once more move freely. I am glad of his touch, the flex of his fingers on me and the additional connection keeping me grounded to him.

“Take what you want, my love. See what feels best for you.” His whispered words barely register as he cedes control to me and I move my hips, my entire body over him as I test first one movement then another. Some create a slow, melting pleasure. Others cause bright bursts of it that are nearly unbearable in their strength. Still others coil as pressure low inside me. I recognize those feelings and follow them, bracing my hands on his chest and shoulders as I feel the need to move with more urgency and strength.

“What about you?” I ask at one point and he smiles at me.

“Your pleasure pleases me.”

Through it all, Peeta’s eyes remain fixed on me – on my eyes or my body as I move over him – but even when I look away for a moment to close my eyes and focus on the feel of him stroking inside me, against me, or of his hands spreading loving touches over my body, whenever I open my eyes, his are there to meet me again. And I can see in his gaze, the way he looks at me now, that his drawings are no lie at all. Moving over him thus, I feel exactly as he depicts me – beautiful, powerful, desirable, spirited.

We are unguarded in expression and I cry out for him to not stop when he takes one breast in his mouth, the heat and suction unleashing a torrent of mirror sensations as it builds and builds until I think that I can stand no more.

Then he rises up slightly, setting one hand behind him as he joins me in movement, bodies gyrating together. He caresses over my back, down to my buttocks where he flattens his palm on me and pushes me to ride him harder. His soft words and groans spur me on and I chase the rapture until it bursts inside me, an explosion of sensation.

I know that I scream. I know that I lose control of my limbs and my hips as I continue to move erratically. I know that Peeta grasps my hips with both hands, his hips rising up into me and his hands controlling my motions in bouncing on him in a handful of rapid pulses until he shouts into my neck.

As we lay there after, both of us heaving to gain control of our lungs, his fingers trace over me. The touch is gentle and sensuous, through the coat of perspiration dotting my skin and the gooseflesh arisen from his touch and the cooling of the air breathing over my naked skin. When I am able to look up at him, he is smiling. I shift to kiss his jaw and curl my body closer to his, although I am not certain it is physically possible. His lips press a kiss to my forehead and he begins to run his fingers through my hair.

“Satisfied?” He whispers to me.

“Not until you put my pictures back in your sketchbook where they belong,” I say, barely getting the words out before a yawn takes over.

“I will do that tomorrow then.”

“Now I am satisfied, husband,” I murmur and he chuckles softly. His fingers still comb gently through my hair as I fall asleep.

To be continued…look for chapter seventeen on the blog of @katnissdoesnotfollowback

#unmasked #m #everlarkficexchange #prompt 88 #everlark fic exchange #spring 2019 edition #so excited #but I have no time to read it today!#but I wasn’t going to keep it from you!#thank you m!#submission

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