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goodlucktai · 2 years ago

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soft ground, claiming moon

no other place to go

@natsumeweek 2023 day 4; calling/answering read on ao3

(previous) (next)

Shibata and Ogata arrive thirty minutes too late to witness the confrontation, juggling a ton of bags between them, but Shibata doesn’t even make it all the way out of the genkan before he’s scowling.

“Okay, we’re anxious,” he says, staring into Tanuma’s face like he’s been personally wronged by it somehow. “Why are we anxious?”

Tanuma, who got up to politely greet them at the door, does about as well as he always does under scrutiny. Which is to say, very poorly. He starts twisting his hands together. Shibata is only halfway out of the entryway and he’s already gearing up for an interrogation.

Ogata shoves her way past Shibata to meet Taki’s tackle-hug halfway, and beams at everyone else over Taki’s shoulder even as she spits out a mouthful of tawny brown hair.

Their presence isn’t exactly a calming factor, but it’s still a relief to see the two of them.

“I brought presents!” Ogata says cheerfully. She parts from Taki and collapses on top of Kitamoto in greeting in a move reminiscent of annoying sisters everywhere. Kitamoto squawks and goes down under her weight. Since Nishimura is still attached to his side, he goes down with them.

Takashi laughs at their tangle of limbs. He can feel Natori’s eyes on him, and glances over to find the exorcist watching the welcome committee with an incredulous expression.

“When you said you had everything under control, I was expecting a little more decorum,” the man says with false brightness in his tone. “Your friends understand what’s going to happen, don’t they?”

“Natori-dono,” Hiiragi says evenly before Takashi can speak.

He holds up his hands. “Right. I’m sorry.”

He looks as convinced about all of this as he was when he got here, but at least he’s sitting quietly to the side for the most part.

It’s not enough to keep Nishimura from avoiding eye contact with him at all costs. He looks very small and very sick and deeply uncomfortable to be sharing his first full moon with his favorite movie star. Which is fair, given that his favorite movie star showed up here to kill him.

Kitamoto and Taki are probably going to carry a grudge against Natori into their next lives. As it is, Taki won’t dismiss her familiars as long as Natori won’t dismiss his. Her foxes are smiling, teeth bared. It will take very, very little to convince them that they ought to take a chunk out of someone’s arm.

Sensei is back in his lucky cat form but his eyes are the deep vivid green that means trouble. He doesn’t quite manage to look menacing with the cake frosting on his whiskers but Takashi feels safer with him nearby anyway.

Ogata tugs one of her bags closer and starts digging through it, producing a small pile of stuff she’s accumulated for her friends since she’s seen them last.

“Wait, so you’re an exorcist?” Shibata says to Natori, his voice carrying skeptically across the room. “You can’t emote your way out of a paper bag, and you think you’re qualified to go hunting monsters?”

Nishimura flinches and studies the big frog stuffie Ogata gave him as if he’s going to be graded on it later. Kitamoto can’t sit any closer to him than he already is, but he looks willing to try.

Natori’s back straightens. He looks stunned. It’s a much better look on him than the grimly determined one he’s been wearing up until now.

“Excuse me?”

“Satchan has made me suffer through about a hundred of your movies. I think I’m over -qualified to critique you at this point,” Shibata says in a scornful tone, folding himself onto the cushion on Nishimura’s free side. He’s proving a point two-fold with the nickname and his choice of seat. “So I’m going to say what everybody’s thinking: it’s bullshit that you won Best Actor last year for your role in Dusk when your co-star carried that whole film.”

Okay, so Shibata has chosen violence. Tanuma must have told him why Natori is here. Takashi knows from experience that trying to stop Shibata now would be like trying to stop a trainwreck from happening with his bare hands. It’s easiest to just allow things to play out and then do damage control.

And also Takashi is still angry at Natori; letting him be bullied by a high schooler seems fair.

One of Taki’s foxes—the one called Chikao, Takashi thinks, but it’s indistinguishable from its twin Chimon, so he doesn’t actually have any idea—gives a high-pitched, yipping laugh and climbs into Shibata’s lap. He’s the only human in Taki’s circle who is anywhere near as catty as they are, which means he has their full approval.

“Hi, Chimon,” Shibata says, clearly pleased as he strokes its velvety black ears. “I’m not a chair, you know,” he adds, so no one gets the idea that he has feelings.

Natori seems to be wrestling with the clear and present urge to let himself be offended by the opinions of a teenager. Sensei is chuckling, a soft whuffling half-muffled by his dessert.

“Okay,” the exorcist finally says. “I understand why none of you are happy to see me here. And maybe I could have done things a little differently. But I hope that you all understand that I acted in what I believed to be your best interest. You know—better than most people your age—how dangerous these things really are.”

“We were there,” Taki tells him. She’s holding Tanuma’s hand, maybe for her own benefit, but probably for Tanuma’s. “We do know. We’re ready.”

“They’ve done all their witchy stuff already,” Kitamoto says. “Circles and charms and whatever else. This is definitely the most fortified temple in Kumamoto.”

“Or, like, all of Kyushu,” Shibata says.

“All of my friends on the mountain are keeping watch,” Takashi adds. “Nothing that happens is going to get past these walls.”

“It’s what happens in the walls that I’m concerned about,” Natori says through gritted teeth. “This is a stupid risk. You are half-human, you realize that? You can be hurt or killed just as easily as your friends can.”

“Not by him,” Takashi replies firmly.

“You’re much nicer on T.V.,” Ogata informs Natori with a frown.

“Natsume,” Nishimura pipes up suddenly. He’s looking past the tangle of their best friends right at Takashi. He’s still wearing Tanuma’s jacket but it’s not doing anything to stop him from shivering.

He has steadily looked more and more ill throughout the day, but now he looks horrible. His brown eyes are stark and bright in his pale face.

“I hear it,” he says very quietly.

The atmosphere changes on a dime. Natori surges to his feet, but he’s blocked from making any forward movement by Nyanko-sensei, Chikao and Chimon. Hiiragi murmurs something that Takashi can’t make out, but whatever it is convinces Urihime and Sasago not to instigate anything.

Ogata picks the frog stuffie back up from where Nishimura dropped it and pushes it gently back into his hands. Shibata starts grumbling about the tears in his sleeve from Chimon’s claws, left there from when the fox went tearing away with its twin, and how his wardrobe always gets ruined when he visits “you people.” When Tanuma waves him over to help with the charms, he gets up with great reluctance. Taki presses her hand flat against the floor and activates a few softly glowing circles.

Kitamoto hasn’t budged from Nishimura’s side and won’t be budged come hail or high water. He looks as frightened now as he did that day in the hospital, waiting for someone to tell him that his best friend was going to be okay.

Takashi kneels in front of Nishimura and offers his hands. Nishimura grabs them quickly and squeezes hard.

“It’ll be okay,” Takashi whispers.

“What if it’s not?” Nishimura’s voice is just as soft.

Takashi remembers being a child, hated for something beyond his control. He was so often abandoned that he barely knew what it felt like not to be alone. Then he moved here, into the Fujiwaras’ bright, warm house, and now he has light and warmth to spare.

But he’ll never forget how desperate he once was for any kind touch, any comforting word. He’ll never forget the difference it would have made.

“Then it’s not,” Takashi says. “But we’ll still be here.”

“Natsume, move away,” Natori calls urgently.

“Enough,” sensei shuts him down.

“Wolfy-Satchan can’t be any more difficult than Shibata when he’s in one of his moods ,” Ogata says, smiling,“and we still love him somehow.”

“This isn’t my moment, so I’ll let you have that one,” Shibata snaps. “That one .”

Nishimura curls in on himself and breathes harshly. Kitamoto is near tears but he squeezes his friend tight against his side and presses his face against Nishimura’s russet-colored hair.

“I can hear it, Acchan,” Nishimura manages between pants for air.

“So answer it already.” Kitamoto hugs him harder. “Go wherever you have to. Just make sure to come back.”

Outside, the moon reaches its peak. Beneath their hands, Nishimura changes.

#natsumeweek #natsume yuujinchou #natsume takashi #natori shuuichi #nishimura satoru #tanuma kaname #kitamoto atsushi #taki tooru #ogata yuriko #shibata katsumi #my writing #natsuyuu fic #soft ground claiming moon #one more chapter.. i can do this..

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venalier · 2 years ago

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Cuts You Up [Griss & Caeldori]

twistedisciple:

“Sure, sure.” Griss nods dismissively. As long as she was going to demonstrate the technique, he didn’t care if she “honored the blade” or whatever other traditional, though impractical, steps went with it. He’s pretty sure he’d seen one of Princess Ivy’s retainers do the same, back when he was floating around Elusia’s castle with little else to do but wait for orders, so at least their respective countries’ swordmasters had that much in common. In an act of surprising deference, he takes a step back from Caeldori to give her the space she requested, but his eyes remain fixed hungrily on her blade. To their onlookers, he would merely look attentive, a perfect student in his own right. The stillness is the quiet before a thunderclap. They both move lightning-quick. The blade flashes, tastes blood. Gasps turn the rest of the heads to gape. The not-so-hapless victim, a mere two steps from where he had stood, laughs, and the scene is in motion once more. He wicks the bubbling blood from the new, shallow cut across his middle with his thumb, then licks it clean with too much enthusiasm and too little shame. “Not bad for a blunted sword.” He chuckles, refusing to let Caeldori run from his stare. “Feels better hitting a person, doesn’t it? Get to see what it takes to draw blood too.” Straw effigies didn’t offer the same sort of satisfaction. The straw wasn’t dense enough, and they couldn’t move. But more importantly, nothing came out of them either. No screams, no blood, no entrails, and none of the trauma that would send these brats fleeing from their comrades in the midst of battle because they had never seen anything but straw and cotton spill onto their feet. Griss breaks the stare to assess his wound, which is already scabbing over in a thin, rusty line. He presses on it with his forefinger. It doesn’t even sting. “Your schedule’s real cute, but it needs some changes,” he says, and then sends their awestruck audience back to their warmups with a sudden, sharp glare. “First, they’re gonna be using that sword, not the wooden ones. Anyone serious about war can’t be scared of the real deal. And besides--" he opens out his arms, "I'm still in one piece. Now, with only one sword, that means they can’t all do it at the same time, so… smash the demonstration and the practice together. One of ‘em gets up here, tries the technique, the rest watch, got it?” Smirking, he holds up three fingers. “And the last thing: they’re gonna be hittin’ each other. Or me, if Miss Teacher’s Pet is too scared they'll go cryin' to the Archbishop and she won’t get to volunteer anymore.”

she doesn’t expect impact. it rips her from her concentration with a clipped breath of alarm like those of the dozen other students staring on in disbelief, whose expressions must also be a reflection of hers too. stunned, she takes in his sudden closeness and exhilarated laughter with wide eyes, everything about his action and reaction so unexpected, she isn't even sure how she ought to react. had that been deliberate? why? what point was he trying to prove? she had told him to stay back; if it'd been a real sword— eyes flick to the quickly-drying wound on his torso, fortunately more a messy abrasion than a laceration, though no less troubling for it.

but collective shock allows him to seize control easily; he steps into command with a sudden aplomb that whiplashes back to the ferocity of moments ago, dictating an ordinance of changes to her plans. caught off guard, caeldori steps back, and it isn't until he gets to his third stipulation about trying it on each other that consternation finally returns to her brow, the pursed frown to her mouth with a quick and emphatic shake of her head. "no, that's too dangerous. —professor." she nearly forgets to add, though it's plain by now he's anything but. he's a brute and a bully; that much is clear, if nothing else, from the sneer he flings at her; and she wills that truth to mind despite the unease his fluctuating and wild mood instills. ( teacher's pet, again. always that, thrown around like an insult! )

"why would you make it even riskier? the style is already new to everyone else. nobody should be taking up a weapon at all until they learn the foundations." what would letting everyone swing a sword just to swing it hope to accomplish, without knowing how, or why? "classroom learning shouldn't be sending anyone to the infirmary, especially the instructor—"

she forces herself to bite her lip then, obviously stamping down a further, sharper rebuke, coming just short of outright disrespect.

#╰ ･ thread ✱ ∶ cuts you up.#╰ ･ griss ✱ ∶ forgive me father¸ for i have dreamed a dream where blindfold and bandage were one.#╰ ･ sword point ✱ ∶ perfection in the blood¸ twilight in the heart.#twistedisciple #jk tumblr fucking hated that OPSIJNA #back to ur regular scheduled programming lmao #caeldori trying to apply normal people logic to griss

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michimichim · 3 years ago

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in-dee-ca | rosé

disclaimer: dom!fem!poc reader x sub!roseanne, substance use, semi exhibitionism, etc.

improved version

the church bells chime a brassy and insistent sound; an ear-splitting, melody you still struggle to get accustomed to as you leave the bustling building. your friends fall into step with you and together you trudge down the steps of assembly hall, hands in the pockets of your school blazer while they chortle with laughter.

a shiver wracks over your body as the breeze drifts into your hair and frost your cheeks.

“honestly,” it’s one of your closest friends who speaks up, “what does ‘stricter regulations’ even mean? as if the school doesn’t already have a stick up its ass.”

“it means open up your books for once, dipshit.” jennie, a senior and representative on the school board, snides as she brushes past you along some of her friends busy trailing after, hot on her heels.

you bite back a laugh whilst a ruckus of guffaws resonate around your small crowd.

“fuck off, kim.” your friend shouts after her, eyes rolling in nothing but annoyance, however their expression remain soft. they watch jennie’s retreating form before resting their eyes on something behind you. “here comes miss sunshine.” or rather, someone.

you spare a glance over your shoulder, an agitating feeling erupting in the pit of your stomach when your eyes fall on a familiar sight. she's surrounded by a total of three girls, all tittering as they saunter up the steps of the assembly hall. the dark red and blue of the school uniform brings out the peachy color of her skin, singling her out from the small crowd that’s assembled around. picture perfect she is with her plaid skirt hiked up. all pretty, pale thighs and slender legs. eyes naturally veer her way; she always seems to capture everyone’s attention, and it wasn’t solely due to her father being the headmaster, but rather the vivacious and nonpartisan aura she constantly carries around.

roseanne is the epitome of natural beauty. some still whisper about her loose hair and ruddy cheeks, and stout red lips, and lithe slender body that never seems to walk but rather float through the walls. she's perfect in every sense, the type of perfect that draws in boys and girls alike, girls like yourself.

as if sensing the heat of your gaze, her eyes flicker to yours and you stare back, eyes unwavering, challenging her to glance away first with a slight cock to your eyebrow. doe orbs scale down your body – syrupy and casual posture leaning against chilly stairs; it gives you an air of nonchalance – in such swift manner it might have never occurred, but attention from roseanne park could never be forgotten. dulce creamed, dreamy eyed with stars in her nebulas roseanne could never be forgotten. she averts her attention back to her friends.

“what’s it with you and the park girl?” it's someone else that speaks up near you, voice tinged with nothing but curiosity.

you turn to face them; their eyes seem to trickle with a mix of wonder and apprehensiveness.

you shrug in a dismissal manner, “nothing.” you hate denying it, but you learned to be discreet even when the questioning comes from your friends. even when you despised their questioning. even when you despised them for attributing you a role – one that doesn’t include roseanne in it, the golden girl who knows everything, does everything right. you disdain it and so does she.

the conversation lapses into one of silence and your friends say nothing else, some assess you before emitting out a low hum and dropping the topic.

you tune them out, distracted, as your attention returns to her, the latter’s laughing along to something – could be anything, really. it's not hard to get her laughing. you return your gaze to your friends and stand up. “i’ll text you.” you throw over your shoulder, willing an apologetic smile on your lips as you trade down the stoned stairs.

the sun’s seeping through the arched windows, a kaleidoscope of warm and golden light gushing out over your bodies, tangling with roseanne’s blonde locks. the room she pulled you in belongs to an abandoned and obsolete west wing of the school. no one actually comes here; it has been forgotten, gradually, by its founders until room 144 became nothing but a discarded memory. something close yet hidden.

the furniture around you is covered with white silky material, gently flapping from the frigid breeze sipping through the cracked open window.

your hand absently brushes up and down her smooth thigh, drawing arbitrary patterns; she's delicate under the pad of your fingers, a skin so silk angels would exchange for their wings. the hem of her blue plaid skirt is sitting higher than it ought to, her blouse unbuttoned lower than the hall surveillants would ever permit, and between her lithe fingers, something her father would pop a vein over – she’s at her best here with you. your rosie who plays the sweetest of melodies with your heartstrings.

the sound of fluttering pages fills the cracks of the comfortable silence and she shifts, her legs twirling down over your lap, shoes swiftly thrown off and her gaze, unknown to you, flicks towards your face. she calls you by your nickname, head tilted, exposing the slim curve of her neck as she releases a blanket of smoke through the cherry glossed curve of her lips.

“hm?” you hum in response and with one hand, the other effectively occupied with multitasking where they usually reside, turn the page of your book.

a laugh escapes the sheen of her lips. “i'm sensing some sexual tension between you and that book, am i interrupting?”

the side of your face ticks up into a half-grin, warmth infiltrating your ribcage and through your chest. you glance up from your novel, “kinda,” you tease, eyes softening into a warmer hue once they connect with pools of deep, hypnotizing browns. “mind giving us a moment?”

“ha. ha." the corner of her lips curve upwards, sarcastic, as she removes the blunt from her parted lips. she sits up and slide over the wooden floor, much closer to you and the substantial, sweet floral aroma of her jasmine and basil fragrance mingles with the herbal scent of weed as she hands the joint over.

“your mother was the one to assign this to me, you know.” you slump your weight against the soft beige wall, holding the blunt between your lips, before taking a drag out of it, inhaling, holding and releasing it through parted lips.

“of course she did,” roseanne replies, vexation beneath the delicate pastel shade of her words. you abstain from calling attention to it because here, golden girls like roseanne shouldn't feel anything synonym to anguish. golden girls like roseanne have everything, so why would there ever be a fold between her brows? here, golden, beautiful girl roseanne never has anything but euphonious laughter.

but the glint of sport in her eyes never wavers, so casting the book aside, you resort to laying a comforting hand on her thigh because you know the golden girl with saccharine smiles, the one who evoke tropical storms in your chest is solid bones and perfect imperfections in a sea of deceptive beings.

“what’s it about?” she adds, her fingers stringing with yours as the syllables overflow on her smiling lips. her smile, all-too-familiar, whirs something up your spine and her touch seems to burn into your palm, through the cracks of your fingers.

you take a drag, holding it until it burns, and pass it back to her, “charles duhigg,” your hands never part as you reply, a blanket of smoke slipping out. “the science behind habit, creation and reformation.”

“so, tell me,” she quips, rustling, inching closer, all hot breath and intoxicating perfume, the tip of her ears crimsoning when you maintain eye contact, “would you rather kiss charles duhigg or, me?”

"roseanne," you taunt good-naturedly, a laugh looming around to waver your lips. "are you jealous of a forty-something-year-old?"

you follow her eyes fluttering down to your lips, sharp and wanton. she breathes in another hit then says, "can you blame me for wanting all the attention?"

she wraps her lips around the opaque blunt once more, the scene arbitrarily sinful but then, rather than inhaling it, she cradles your jaw and hovers your lips. exhaling her breath into your willing mouth; it's undoubtedly one of the hottest things you’ve ever witnessed, and if possible, it heightens the smoke wafting in your gut with a coiling warmth.

“there’s no way i can blame you when you’re pulling shit like this.” you breathe out, slightly dazed from the smoke or her. you don’t really know.

“i know,” she whispers, several beats too late, breath ghosting atop your lips until they’re meeting in a smooth plash of lips, fluttering lashes and warm breaths.

the second roseanne’s tongue presses into your mouth, light and pliant and sweet-tasting of hot chocolate, imbued with the smoky aftertaste, you float through a state of euphoria. your hands linger down to the soft curve of her ass, squeezing. you can’t resist the urge, sticking a resounding slap on the round of her ass, loving the surprised moan that’s torn out of her.

she captures your bottom lip into her mouth, teeth toying with the flesh and something about that is thoroughly gratifying to you, as is her quiet pant against your mouth when you draw away – dizzy from lungs running out of air, she pecks your lips a final time before shifting back.

she sinks herself comfortably between your legs again, perched on your lap while you continue passing the second joint back and forth. as it shortens in size, you grow more physical. your hand never leaves her ass, ghosting over the silken lace of her underwear. roseanne is not far off; she sighs under every single one of your touches, hands threading down through the collar of your shirt, nails roaming up and down your back, scratching lightly at the plains of your shoulder blades.

you take two to four more hits, you think, you’re not too sure. you've lost count because now the haziness in your head is growing stronger, the sounds are softly intertwining with themselves that you have to haul her closer by the waist as to anchor yourself and think.

“you think,” you clear your throat, trying to swallow down the dryness. “you think we could order something to eat?”

roseanne turns her head languidly from the tiny spirals of smoke wafting in the air, her eyes fleeting to yours following a couple of seconds. she peeps at you, “mmhm," she utters. "i guess. well, yeah, it would make sense ... right?" and she titters.

after holding a straight face and retaining the roach (that you still haven’t noticed has been extinguished) for a few moments, contemplating, “rosie,” you let out a stifled laugh suddenly, like a blend between a snort and a chortle. “you really think the delivery guy, like, the car … can get up here?”

your bones feel weightless. like you’re soaring, there's nowhere else you'd rather be, and every bone in your body is at ease for the first time today. roseanne shakes with gentle laughter, cradling the scrap of the joint in her hands like religion and setting it aside, next to your knees.

she clumsily knocks the ashtray over, cursing. it's too endearing, you can’t help but mirror her accent, giggling when she pouts and steady herself from falling as you dissolve into a weed-induced puddle of laughter, stomach shaking, fighting a new hurricane of giggles herself. you just have a way of imitating her accent that is almost uncanny.

“asshole,” she leans her body into yours, pressing your chests together, feeling yours lift against hers. she then stretches her hand to descend the tip of her nail down your collar.

“your one and only.” you drawl, drawing in a long, faint breath.

the warmth hasn’t left your body still, it seems to be making its way from your chest to the rest of your being. you tip your head back so it’s resting on the back of the furniture, eyes lazily drifting over to the window. outside, the sky is clear, a stunning tone of cantaloupe, the sun about sitting so low in the sky it dazzles you through the clefts of the buildings and canopy of trees. this place has become your favorite; it’s all just so peaceful and beautiful here, away from the day-to-day activities.

you're feeling the floor below you stir like you’re in one of those massage chairs at the mall, combating the inexpressible comfort of roseanne’s weight on you and the sudden mass of your eyes – it wouldn’t be the first time you fall asleep right after smoking. usually, you'd instantly pass out to the steadfast rise and fall of her heartbeat, and she’d follow suit, curling in on herself against your chest.

“this weed is,” the sway of her voice brings you back from your daydream, “wow.”

picking your head up and letting the blood rush back down your neck, your brow ridges and you shift, sitting upright and inching closer to gaze into her eyes – they’ve turned a reddish hue, heavy-lidded, but as breath-taking as ever with pools of deep, mesmerizing, mocha brown, and you say, “well, it’s definitely hitting.”

you're becoming increasingly conscious of her nail gliding lower between the top buttons of your white buttoned-up shirt – you don’t recollect exactly when they’ve been popped open, but you don’t have it in you to think long and hard about it. the finger’s tracing the dark bites that have been pressed against the soft mahogany flesh of your skin, progressive shivers creeping up your spine.

“babe,” she whispers, and it’s the lilt of her voice that makes you glance up at her. when exactly did she pick the blunt back up? the shape her lips make to get those flawless smog rings remind you of the other instances when her mouth’s carved similarly – it’s when she first wraps her lips on your thumb and she teases, tongue swirling around the digit, just playing, taunting. she'd push it in and out of her mouth with suction and with her tongue, she’d bob her head, maintaining your eyes locked through the ordeal. knowing all too well that she's gorgeous with your fingers in her mouth.

“you’re okay to keep going?” she questions, moaning when you bunch her skirt up to press your hands back on the soft, small plump of her ass; they fill both of your hands, moulding back against your palms. you land a kiss on the sweet, red blossomed apple of her cheeks.

“how can i refuse when i’ve been eyeing this ass all day long,” you murmur, running a hand up, snapping the waistband against her skin.

that’s all she needs to press her lips against yours.

you lose yourself completely in how thoroughly your lips effortlessly glide against each other, it turns sweeter, cotton candidly sweeter. then lustful and something entirely more celestial. it could just be the weed accentuating the brush of roseanne’s tongue against yours but you know it would feel almost as good when sober, or even better – you’re not quite sure, each time always feels different than the last.

“rosie,” you ripple against her lips and she hums, moans mingling for a few moments, your hands gripping up the juts of her waist as she detaches from your lips to start mouthing at the junction of your neck and jaw, teeth scouring down your throat.

she grips, getting a fistful of your shirt in one hand with the other curving within the heated skin at the base of your neck. your bodies are so close, warm, and she wants to look at you but she’s in some kind of stage where all she aches to do is let her lashes wave shut, so that’s what she does along driving her hips instinctively down against your thigh.

even through all the layers of clothing between you, you can feel the wetness sliding through the flimsy fabric of her underwear on your bare thigh; the delicious friction of against each other.

your hands part from her hips to shed your school blazer instead, and roseanne opens her eyes to unbutton her shirt as you grab at yours, unceremoniously yanking it out of your skirt and sliding your palm up the delicate valley of her stomach. hand sliding up further still, you’re cupping, kneading her breasts, bringing an exceptional churning in her gut when one of your thumbs stroke her nipple through the lace. it's off with a quick push of your fingers.

she stretches out her stomach, feline-like, curves her back and chest out, granting you the sight of her petite breasts as she swivels back and forth back along the length of your thigh. “touch me,” she coos, “please, baby.”

“touch you,” you reiterate, finger tracing the outline of the damp spot lining up her labia. she pushes up her knees to raise herself only the slightest bit higher, “here?” she whines as your touch makes her nerves jump, stroking her lips slowly through the cloth, hoping to further drive her out of her mind.

slipping your fingers into the hem of her panties, the cloth clings against her sex until you push back against it. you shuffle a little so that you could capture her nipples between your teeth, sucking on the bud. her entire body tenses above yours, arms wrapping around your neck, cradling your head closer to her chest.

slick is smearing all over your panties, merely from relishing her like she’s a fucking gift from the gods, preening when her hands quaintly smooth over the back of your neck and your fingers play, lazily and easily through her lips.

she gasps against your ear as your fingers run over her entrance, pressing and teasing, slow and calculated, sliding in the slightest so rose could feel the webbing of your fingers just barely inside of her.

a final tug on her reddened nipple, you withdraw your fingers.

without notice, roseanne’s vision tilts, and she finds herself yelping with her back on the polished, wooden floor with your body hovering hers and a dopey smile adorning your lips. her focus narrows into the manner your eyes dilate – lust and the effects of weed in them. “was that … indica?” you ask, a childlike nature to your voice while sliding her panties down her legs, then yours. you drop them near and kneel before her.

“i don’t –” she cuts herself, contemplating the fleeting body-warming euphoria that expands through melting and blissful relaxation. “mhm.” she titters, letting the word draw itself out slowly.

she gives you that look – peering up at you, heavy eyes open and telling as she spreads her legs, revealing parted, wet lips, swollen and pink from what feels like hours of teasing. you stare longingly, pupils blown, squirming and urging to get your mouth to taste her.

you dip down. roseanne feels the warmth of your breath, and then the first hot touch of your tongue on sensitive skin. she breathes out, tilts her hips up against your mouth, so you move the muscle brusquely, forward at an angle that catches at every lap.

you’re ridiculously skilled at this; seriously, no one, not even her fingers, knows her body as you do. no one else makes the pleasure overtake her mind as you do, as you flick your tongue and suck on her clit, thoroughly enjoying the way her sweet, even as a salty mix dribbles down your tongue. you're murmuring what sounds like appreciative, sugary words that roseanne can’t entirely make out, she succumbs in the soothing oscillations of it, punctuated by the intervals when you prob and poke with the tip of your tongue. she pushes back into it, chasing the feeling of that tongue gently opening her up, exploring for more.

then, still feeling quite indolent and mellow, you're nonetheless agile to move, sliding roseanne’s long legs over your shoulders. and with a quick mewl and purr tumbling out of you, you grasp her skirt in the balls of your fist and shove it up her stomach, then gather yours to situate yourself over her glistening lips. the first thrust is everything. she had sealed her eyelids shut again, laid back down and gone docile, allowing you to rut freely against her like – contented with being handled however you like. but when her hips roll up to press back against yours, it startles a moan from you, the sensation of it making both of your bodies sigh.

there's a certain rush; like the one you get when you’re veering the wheels of your bike for the first time, or the one where you’re getting away with something you should not have. this rush is the one currently coursing through your veins, a rush of want that floods through you, feeling almost surreal, rendering you lightheaded. you're almost, almost worried something else was laced in the blunt, but roseanne’s pussy proves powerful for it gently coaxes you out of your anxiety-inducing thoughts.

they're gone with each thrust sending her body forward. you can’t help speeding and hardening the rolls of your hips in quiet appreciation. each jolt makes her whine and thrill— you have to grit your teeth to not reach your high before hers, intent on coming at the same time. you grind harder onto her, make her feel each thrust— no area of her core left untouched.

“you look so beautiful, rosie,” you lick your lips, the feeling jubilant. past rapturous you can hardly finish your sentence. "and warm, you’re so fucking warm.”

chest heaving, her throat’s enticingly on display and you think of wrapping your hands around it to feel the pounding of her pulse – it beats against your fingers, singing in no particular rhythm. but it remains a sound you wouldn’t mind feeling and listening to, over and over again.

you rub harder into the body lying beneath you, brutal and animalistic, carnal taking up your nature to feel more. the space between your bodies is so wet and she might be unbelievably tight, you regret not doing this at your place so you could fuck the living out of her with one of your straps.

“—fuck,” you hear her gasping, her nails drilling into the hand wrapped around her neck, “keep going, don’t stop—”

the wet sounds of your flesh meeting, the grip on her hipbone and your hand roaming all over her body every time you buck against her clit, hard and faster —the more you can’t take your eyes away from the jiggle of her breasts. you stroke your thumb up and down, feeling out the little lump of her thin nipple and her mouth opens in mid-gasp, grasping your ass when her hips give out, lazing prone on the cold wooden floor of the room as your body blankets over hers. your hips don't stop thrusting.

you're rendered voiceless and utterly reckless, letting natural reactions taking over. the sparkle in your eyes burn for a split-second, then a gut-wrenching moan, cut from deep inside you. roseanne throws her head back, returns travelling on her series of heresies, combined with a bit of praise in the mix. “god, babe, right there … mmm—my fucking god,” she cuts herself off as you almost effortlessly pin her hips down, not enough to hurt, but more in a show of dominance.

and the release that hits you just never fucking ends; it comes in waves. sober, you’d be surprised at how quick you’ve come, losing your thread altogether, but it only takes four long, premeditated but frantic rolls for you to send yourself in a complete state of a body awakening – it's almost too much to move any more than just the bare minimum – two more to enhance the sensations for both you and roseanne, the latter’s body reacting before her mind could race to a conclusion. her eyes flow open, hands scrambling to clutch your asscheeks tighter when she feels herself pulsing, thrumming and seeing white behind her lids.

“holy -”

“fuck.” you finish for her, elbows coming down on either side of her head, so close to collapsing if it wasn’t for the way roseanne’s staring up at you. it's the look of admiration she always gives you when you’ve fucked her just right.

you kiss down her body – but not without a little slap on her ass. as you lay pecks on her thighs, kiss bruises and marks onto them, you bite and nibble on them, clit twitching at the familiar scent of her dripping heat. it just has that thing that makes you delirious, like alcohol. you give a tentative lick.

she jerks from over-sensitivity, while her cunt throbs for what is to ensue. walls stretching to accommodate the length and thickness of your fingers slowly entering her, lewd sounds and heat licking deep through her chest. you dip the second digit in earnest, your burning touch only seems to make her core burn with greater need.

then, in the spirit of simply breaking her, you find her g-spot easily, ramming your fingers into it repeatedly with faultless confidence before pulling away.

roseanne clenches, whining at the emptiness. being filled just a few seconds ago to feeling friction, to her walls abruptly empty. the pressure inside of her gone, she squirms around trying to find your finger to sink back into her body. she moans, then tries again when all she receives is a giggle, hearing the teasing in your voice, but not possessing the patience to deal with it right now

... “daddy, please.”

it comes out breathy —imploring and wanton and you almost shake in rapture.

“you know i love it when you call me that, rosie,” you come up to murmur against the shell of her ear, words dripping an avid rush of honey. it repels any form of weed-produced laziness that’s taken ahold of your limbs.

roseanne guides your hand back towards her entrance, gripping down so you can’t move away from her – except, she knows it wouldn’t take much to overpower her, but she does it anyway. she feels the plush push against her walls, then you’re slowly filling her again, setting her nerves ablaze and she let herself cry your name, light curses, whatever comes through her mind out as you rub the spot that makes her toes curl.

you're gradually lured into snapping your hand, just to wallow in the release of breathy sighs and cries of ‘daddy’ in the crook of your neck that leaves the blonde’s lips every time you force the sound out of her.

you press your body flush against her form and writhe your fingers in a single-minded purpose inside her dripping entrance. you lick at her pounding pulse and plunge deeper in to make it soar higher and faster than weed ever could. she presses her hands into your shoulders, digging half-crescents into the fragile texture of your skin; clutching for more of your warmth against her.

with the windows open, people could definitely hear the mundane debauchery taking place right up inside the building. but she simply can’t hold in her moans, despite her best attempts at deadening them.

body unfurling, as your prodding fingers slides out at her entrance, pressing harder and harder until they slip back inside to hook deeper into her warmth — she sighs and throws her head back, body moving, torso arched, light nipples on opaque skin scrounging for your tongue. however, you’re pre-occupied with sliding in and out of her, kissing the pretty gasps out of her lips.

your palm hits against her clit each time, her inner muscles beginning to contract and squeeze around your fingers. she's so fucking close, you know it, so before she can start thrashing, you get better leverage. you push one of her legs wider with your knee to get deeper and pump freely inside of her, and the increased volume of her moans send a wave of arousal through you.

the more stimulation to her body causes the buzz to alter in one way or another. her vision is fuzzy as lazy eyes squint up at yours, body like jello that could collapse into a puddle any second. for the briefest instant, it’s almost too much to wrap her head around. it's some sort of fucking extraterrestrial experience, her almost entirely useless brain offers, as it proceeds to liquefy completely, overwhelming orgasm burning down her abdomen like scalding lava, leaving her breathless.

a while later, when the sun’s stopped blossoming in the sky and a blanket of stars have taken the grace of a breeze over your heads, you’re back in your original position – roseanne straddling your waist, buttermilk hair brushing over her breasts, lissome and comely body draped back in her bra and skimpy panties.

she leans down and inches her chin forward so she can seal her lips and mouth over yours. she drags her tongue, asking for permission. the taste of your skin, your perfume and scent of your body is intoxicating. the high’s worn off, now she could get drunk from just having her thighs wrapped and caging around you, kissing you for hours on end.

“hol’ up” then she’s pulling away, before leaning over the side to reach for your bag, procuring a small plastic bag.

you eye her with amusement, “while i don’t mind lighting up another one,” you start, the sweet, nonetheless imposing, concern in your voice is palpable, “grab my sweater first in there.” you nod towards the bag. you've closed the window but the weather is known to seep through bones once blankets of dark clouds had already rolled in.

roseanne smiles and rolls her eyes, dropping to kiss your cheek, then neck, then cheek once more. she has to tear herself away with a fit of laughter when you reach up and get a hand in her milky curls, directing her mouth to yours in a show of biting and toying with the sheen of her lips.

the wool blend of your sweater looks the best on her, it draws down to expose one finely boned shoulder and you wish to paint constellations on the exposed neckline, to dart hot kisses against the silky skin.

you watch, admirably as roseanne uses your abdomen as a workplace to pack the bits of weed into the blunt wrap she had also pulled from your bag. her nimble fingers work everything expertly into a rather attractive roll before bringing the blunt to her lips to lick down the length.

“the joy of roleplay,” she mentions, quite pleased from the attention. “we should do it more often.”

cocoa eyes peek at you from under long lashes before swiftly looking bavk down at her work. “daddy~” she adds.

“christ, rosie, don’t make me take you here again.” you deadpan, embarrassed, looking at her as though she’s meant to understand the gravity of your statement.

roseanne just laughs, conspicuously displaying how perfectly aware she was on the effect of her recurrent use of your ‘nickname’ in the most inappropriate choice of settings and moments.

you slide one hand up, rubbing and massaging the curve of her waist while she soothes down the edges with her fingertips, and grabs the discarded lighter from the floor to light the end up.

“professional,” you chuckle, and wrap your arms around her. she blows smoke halos in your face, bubbled laugh when you playfully gust them away before bringing you into a kiss. she hums as she closes her eyes, and glides her tongue across your bottom lip. “we’re never getting out of here if you keep this up.” your words a breathy pant between grazes of tongues.

“good,” she whispers, connecting your foreheads, unfocused gaze of seductive, glassy-eyed squint burning as she flicks them down to look hungrily at you. “because i'm taking what’s mine until i'm satisfied.”

and you wisely do not voice an objection. one of your last sober thoughts before your skirt’s tugged down your legs.

#blackpink smut #rose smut #kpop smut #sub kpop #gg smut #wlw

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slashbitch2 · 4 years ago

Text

Wavelength

slight nsfw warning ;)

Eve had always felt that she stood out from those around her. That in every situation, in every group and at every point in her life, she was walking round on an entirely different wavelength. Although, living this way wasn't as direly lonely as it sounded, rather she learnt to appreciate the few and far apart moments with company. When someone would, for just a split second, understand her.

The first person to ever make her feel this way, and regrettably the only for a very long time, was Ted. He'd swept her off her feet and into a less isolated world, a concept so unfamiliar at the time that she'd allowed herself be dragged out to sea. Then there was Brandon, who she was told would change her whole world. And he did, for a while.

Brandon was her life preserver until his priorities changed; until Mother's day cards became Valentines day cards, movie nights were exchanged for house parties and homework for alcohol. But Eve wasn't the kind of mom to act as though this behaviour was unwarranted and abhorrent, so she let him wedge the door shut and clear his search history. She could cope with a little more distance.

Then along came Ted's affair, their crumbling marriage and eventual divorce. Before she knew it, she was drowning.

The all too familiar feeling of solitude reappeared, completely devastating for her when Brandon left for college. However, this time she swore that she wouldn't let it overwhelm her, and did everything possible to prevent herself from sinking. Which initially started with a class at a community college, and ended with her lying in the arms of both her colleague Amanda, and classmate Julian. And yet, after they'd hurriedly packed up their things and left, she felt no better.

Brandon was sitting on the porch when she found him later. His back was turned to her, but the hunched up posture and awkward shuffling said more than enough. In that moment, Eve reverted back to her old way of thinking. She came to the conclusion that she'd failed as a mother, that her mistake was unforgivable despite the years of morose behaviour and selfish demeanour Brandon had subjected her to.

For retribution, she removed Julian's number from her contacts, predicting that he wouldn't be able cope with remaining friends. He too immature, still in that irrational sulky stage of adolescence. Next, she specified to Amanda that what happened was a one time thing, though she was already way ahead of Eve, chatting casually like nothing had taken place that weekend. Her easy-going reaction was a nice break from the prevailing tension with Brandon, which she then mentioned to her friend.

She tried to casually bring the subject up in the same manner that she imagined Amanda would if the roles were reversed, acting like the issue was nothing to do with her.

"As much as I hate to use such an outdated phrase," Her friend said. "boys will be boys. "

Eve chuckled, though the general concern weighing down on her shoulders meant it came out as more of a scoff. "You can say that again."

There's a brief lull in conversation as Eve disinterestedly taps away at her phone while Amanda sips thoughtfully at her coffee. The silence is only invoked by an awareness of social standards, since there's much Eve wants to talk to her friend about, but feels would be inappropriate in public.

Eventually, Amanda's the one to break the silence. "Are you still looking for someone to fill in for Sarah?"

Eve's attention flickered back to the woman sitting opposite. "I am." She replied hesitantly, knowing that she ought to have posted the job advertisement weeks ago, but had forgotten.

"I know someone who'd be good." Amanda was sliding her phone across the table before Eve got the chance to respond.

The screen displayed what she could only assume was a job application, though the font was too small to actually read. Squinting, she picked up the device to try and glean some information about the potential applicant.

Amanda continued as Eve scrolled. "She hasn't worked with seniors before, but has managerial experience."

"Are you sure she'd want this job?" Eve asked apprehensively as she set the phone down. "Seems a little over-qualified to me."

"Yeah, she's serious about it." Amanda's expression grew more determined. "Y/N just moved here. Mentioned she was looking for a more lowkey kind of job."

Eve remained doubtful.

"She's travelled a lot. Had a lot of different jobs." Amanda took another sip of her drink. "But she said she wants to settle down somewhere. Get a job that'll take her to retirement- which was an exaggeration, but you get the gist."

"Well." Eve sighed. "You can't get much closer to retirement than working at a nursing home."

"Exactly. So can I pass on her contact details then?"

"Sure." She shrugged. Assuming that her friend's recommendation was genuinely helpful, then she would be saved from suffering through the tedious interview process, which was worth taking a risk for.

---

As Eve sat at her desk, the world around her faded into obscurity. Without Sarah as the assistant manager, she'd been suffocating under piles of neglected paperwork, only now forcing her way through it. The main thought motivating her was that you were due to arrive any minute, for what she'd described as a first informal interview. The idea of conducting anything more formal this late into the evening was unappealing. So, based on the unusual circumstance by which you'd applied, and the strange time slot reserved, the interview would be more casual.

Finding that her eyes were starting to strain, she granted herself a quick break to look round the office. Eventually she settled on looking out the window, content watching the world pass by. The day had been unexpectedly hot, and some of that humidity still lingered, but judging by the gentle breeze filtering in through a crack in the window, the evening must've started to cool. A soft pink colour filled the sky, darkening to orange where the sun had just set over the horizon. From the other direction, a deep blue had begun to filter into view, the only indication that night was approaching.

When her gaze drifted back to the room, she realised that the pink light was cast around the room, bathing every surface in a delicate glow. How the simple beauty of the evening had previously escaped her attention was a mystery. One that prompted Eve to take a break to admire it.

The break was short-lived, however, as a sharp knock at the door quickly stole her attention away.

"Come in." She called out but found her voice hoarse from disuse. She frantically cleared her throat as the guest entered.

Eve looked up at you and smiled politely, then down at her desk, then did a double take. Although she hadn't given enough thought to form any preconceived image of what you might look like, she certainly hadn't expected someone quite so attractive.

As soon as the label crossed her mind, she was already berating herself for it. You'd barely entered the room and were here for business, she couldn't let herself think of you in that way. It was wrong. Both professionally and morally.

"Evening." Your voice was deep, smooth and with an accent she couldn't distinguish.

Eve tried her best to smile amiably, though she was sure the emotion wasn't reflected in her eyes. Instead she scanned your body from top to bottom, lingering on your neck, and then your hands. The action was automatic. An unintentional response to her attraction- and there it was again. She'd allowed herself to get distracted barely ten seconds later.

"Hi." Eve was too quiet, her tone lacking the necessary command. She swallowed. "Please, take a seat." And smiled, this time more genuinely.

"Thank you."

She watched you stiffly slide into the seat, effortlessly demanding the attention of the entire room. Although Eve had known you for less than a minute, she'd already decided that there was something hypnotic about the way you moved. From the slight twitch in the corner of your lips, to the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Every movement, regardless of it being barely perceptible, had her mesmerized, however she was mostly fixated on your hands. How they couldn't quite settle in your lap, rather were wrung about anxiously until abruptly stilling.

Your hands falling limp dragged Eve back into reality as it dawned on her that she'd been staring for a little longer than appropriate. She literally had to shake herself out of the senseless state and clear her throat once more before she was ready to continue.

"It's nice to meet you." Jolted into reality, she outstretched her hand, which you eagerly met. Your grip was firm, matched with a confident yet humble smile that looked well practiced.

"And you."

Eve already understood how you'd succeeded at accumulating such an impressive employment history, as every second of the interview so far, you'd acted perfectly. Like you'd written the book on 'How to Handle Job Interviews.'

"Just call me Eve." Separating from the handshake, she dismissively waved her hand, unable to hold the eye contact for any longer. There was an inquisitive manner to the way you were watching her, as though you were trying to ascertain the most information possible from appearance alone. Being exposed to your scrutinising glare caused Eve to shift in her seat, though not from discomfort or uneasiness, rather from inadmissible lust.

As the interview progressed, her eyes continued to occasionally stray toward your hands. Despite how hard she was trying to stay focused, she kept catching herself unintentionally imagining how they'd look gripping her waist, pushing apart her thighs. And if she blocked out this particular fantasy, then her attention would shift to your neck, and how she'd love to bite down on the supple skin presented to her.

She'd hoped that her fling with Amanda and Julian would've suppressed her incorrigible longing for pleasure, yet still found her thighs pressing together as her imagination overpowered reason. All the scandalous scenarios flashing through her mind only grew more vivid, more frequent. An incessant stream of borderline pornographic images, which worsened her guilt as she struggled to focus on what you were saying.

The cool breeze from earlier seemed to have vanished, replaced by unbearable humidity. She could feel herself sweating bucket loads, and only flushed more upon realising that she must've looked a mess; with stray hairs framing her face, an inability to sit still and a layer of perspiration covering her entire body. You'd probably noticed by now.

"God it's been hot recently." You commented, playing with the neckline of your shirt.

Had Eve not been observing you so closely, she would've guessed this was general small-talk. But judging on how you'd acted so far, this was a strategically placed act of mercy, a way of excusing her, no doubt, dishevelled appearance.

"Yeah." Eve chuckled, twirling a strand of hair round her finger. "We could move outside." She suggested, then quickly added. "If you wanted to, that is." Her desperation to please you came as a surprise. The roles should've been reversed. You should've been trying to impress her.

Eve had undeniably lost all authority in the situation, which simply excited her further.

---

When Eve laughed, she scrunched up her face and closed her eyes, which was inconvenient even at the best of times. Right now, however, she'd never despised the quirk quite so much.

As inconsequential as the current circumstances would look to any passer-by, she wanted to commit every detail to memory. From the lingering pink hue of dusk, to the way you threw your head back as you laughed. In fact, she wanted to memorise everything about you. Since leaving behind her stuffy office, conversation had flown easily between the two of you, the matter of employment seemingly dropped in place of getting to know one another. You'd indisputably gotten the job. Eve knew it. You knew it. So both were happy to indulge in a lighter tone of conversation.

The topic had turned to worst first date experiences, so she had very few to share with you, though that didn't stop her from enjoying listening to your little anecdotes.

"What about you?" Taking a calming breath after an outburst of laughter, you paused to ask her the dreaded question.

In comparison to your story, her worst date was relatively tame. "Well." She scratched at the corner of her eye, considering whether she could exaggerate in some way. "I went on a date recently that I had to walk out of."

"Really?" You folded your arms, leaning back against the brick wall. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I guess it just didn't feel right." She shook her head, hoping to deter any more questioning.

"Fair enough. Sometimes you just know- right?"

Eve drew her eyes away from being locked on the ground, finally summoning the resolve to look directly back at you. She bit her lip, compelling herself to nod.

There was something about you that was pure ecstasy to her. While looking at you, she could feel herself falling deeper into the hypnotic state she'd been in earlier, unable to tear her eyes away and unwilling to try. In spite of the normality of the situation, it felt meaningful. Eve didn't feel so alone, so out of place. Which made no sense to her as she'd known you for barely over an hour.

"What did you do after?" Your voice was somehow deeper, eyes lidded and posture relaxed. "After the date." You clarified.

The inquiry was personal, even without context that could be inferred. Eve hummed, delaying her response long enough to consider how much she was willing to divulge. "I-" She laughed nervously, suddenly embarrassed to confess. "I went swimming."

"Swimming?" Your eyebrows shot up, amused by the many connotations of her vagueness. "Where?"

Eve scuffed the heel of her shoe against the concrete ground, shamefully incapable of returning the eye contact. "Here." She admitted quietly, grinning as if in disbelief that she'd actually done it.

"Wow. I'll be honest, I wasn't expecting that." You took a deep breath, rendered speechless for a second. "So, you have access to the pool?"

Eve shifted restlessly, hesitant to pursue the topic any further. She knew where this was going, and that she shouldn't endorse this type of behaviour. But the heat wasn't helping, and neither was her overactive imagination. She was supposed to be responsible, but then again, so were you.

Inevitably the possibilities of what could be overpowered her better judgement. "Yes." She reached into her pocket, producing the coveted key ring and hanging it on her pointer finger.

Upon glancing up, she discovered you were watching her intently, indisputable lust reflected in your eyes. Eve found herself in one of those rare moments where she felt understood, on the same wavelength as someone else. The logical part of her brain argued that you were basically a stranger. That if she followed through on your shared idea, then your hiring and subsequent job experience would be forever tainted. But the possibilities were too tempting to ignore.

So when you asked. "Want to go swimming?"

She couldn't refuse.

---

You'd held her hand as she'd lead, the reasoning being that most the facility was shrouded in darkness. Though Eve liked the weight of your hand in hers, so she didn't bother to turn the lights on until reaching the pool. Only then did you separate, crouching down to check the temperature. You beamed with childlike joy as you waved your hand around in the water, skimming the surface then diving deeper down.

Eve grinned. Your pure happiness was infectious, the effect it had on her similar to being drunk. She was intoxicated from exhilaration. She would've been content watching you relish in the feeling of water running through your fingers for eternity, though to her dismay, you soon grew bored. And then to her surprise, you unabashedly began to strip. Her eyes were glued to the expanse of your back as you pulled your shirt over your head, and to the revealed skin as you tugged your trousers down.

She had to stop herself from stumbling back as the strange reality of the situation suddenly dawned on her. Instead, she reacted by comically clutching at her heart, clawing the fabric of her own shirt.

You turned to the side, looking at her out of the corner of your eye. "You coming?"

She chewed on her lip, pondering the two words in greater detail. This was you asking for consent, giving a final warning. You were both aware that this was an incredibly outlandish idea, an extremely irresponsible one that should've discouraged Eve. Yet it had the opposite effect.

Before she could overthink the consequences, her shaking hands were clumsily unbuttoning her blouse. At the unspoken confirmation, you smirked back at her, then without warning, threw yourself into the pool. The splash echoed round the room, proceeded by carefree laughter as you resurfaced and began leisurely swimming away from her. While you were busy, Eve took the chance to continue undressing without interference.

Her insecurities didn't emerge until it was too late, resolved moments later as she dove into the pool. The water was colder than she'd anticipated, but her burning desire dulled the intensity. Breaking through the water's surface, she inhaled deeply, grateful for the supply of oxygen. However, her breath was soon stolen from her as she noticed you were treading water directly in front.

Somehow, you looked even more beautiful now. With the wave's reflections dancing across your skin, your hair drenched and dripping. She wanted to chase after the droplets with her tongue, despite knowing she'd likely be met with the bitter taste of chlorine. But what really flustered Eve was the way you were staring at her; the hunger in your eyes that hinted at your intentions.

Your stillness was teasing her, the water practically stagnant around you both. Eve was becoming increasingly irritated, the heat between her legs only growing. So it didn't take long for her to snap. She lunged forward in an attempt to grab hold of you, though her hands couldn't quite clutch onto your slippery skin. She stumbled to the left, floundering around until you grabbed hold of her.

Upon securing her grip, she froze, due to both the sensation of your body pressed up against hers, and her embarrassment. She couldn't bare to look up, to face her awkward failure. After a beat of silence, she heard you laugh lightly. It wasn't necessarily unpleasant or mocking, but she insisted on keeping her eyes locked on the wall. That was, until your lips gently brushed against her ear.

"Were you trying to kiss me or drown me?"

She snorted, the tension leaving her body, then turned to rest her forehead on your shoulder. "The former. Definitely."

You laughed again. This time Eve joined in, happy to ignore what'd just occurred.

"Want to try that again, then?" You kissed just behind her ear, causing a shiver to suffuse across Eve's body. She waited a minute, expecting more before realising you intended for her to make the next move.

She glanced up at your face, fixating on your lips. You were so close. All she had to do was lean forward ever so slightly. One final glance to your lidded eyes confirmed you wanted the same- all she had to do was close the distance.

Taking a shaky breath, Eve shifted a hand up to cup your cheek, her thumb softly stroking your skin. There was no rush; you both wanted the same thing and were eager to revel in the experience. So, when her lips finally grazed against yours, there was no deep sigh or sudden change in pace, rather a blooming warmth in her chest. She was floating, both literally and metaphorically in a sea affection.

She kissed you again, this time with more conviction. Then fell backwards, her feet now comfortably resting on the bottom of the pool, her back hitting the wall as your grip on her waist tightened. You dragged a hand across her chest, causing her to gasp. Your touch was scolding compared to the cool water. A perfect balance between lustful heat and a mind-numbing, all-encompassing chill.

She raised her arms, flinging them around you and exhaling as her impatience reappeared. Though thankfully, you didn't make her wait long. Soon enough, your mouth had latched onto her neck, leaving messy kisses from behind her ear, to down by her shoulders. The feeling was pure bliss, encouraging her to lean into you and press your bodies closer together.

She didn't need to say anything. You seemed to know exactly what you were doing. Like you had her body memorised: every caress was perfectly placed, each touch just what she needed. It didn't take long for Eve to reach her pleasure, although she did spend a while in a dazed state of satisfaction, simply drifting in your arms. Eventually, she regained awareness to feel you tenderly nibbling on her lower lip, and eagerly reciprocated the kiss.

Motivated by the sudden fervour, she switched the positions, pushing you up to the wall.

"Get on the ledge." Eve murmured against your lips. She looped her arms under your thighs, ready to lift once you'd agreed.

Surprised by her abrupt confidence, you quirked an eyebrow, but obeyed nonetheless.

With you sat before her, she knew the evening was only just beginning, and judging by your breathless expression you felt exactly the same. This was one of those rare moments where Eve felt completely understood.

#eve fletcher x reader #mrs fletcher #eve fletcher

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honeybeezx · 4 years ago

Text

Armor - Oberyn Martell x Reader x Ellaria Sand - Part 4

Author’s Note: Sorry I’m getting this out so late, but It’s time for our girl Ellaria! I love her so much, but I don’t feel super confident with writing her. It might take me a while to find her voice, be patient with me guys lol. Anyways, hope you enjoy and as always, feedback is welcome!

Word Count: 4.0k

Warnings: crude language, mentions of sex

At this point, you weren’t even shooting to challenge or better yourself. You hit every target without fail, you weren’t even paying attention as you did so. Shooting helped you think, allowing you time to process your thoughts, you had a hard time doing so while being still. Well...sometimes it was hard sitting still in general.

“I always feel sorry for the unfortunate man that crosses one of your arrows.” Tyrion’s voice rang from behind you. You turned and gave a small smile before walking away a bit to retrieve said arrows.

“I’m surprised no one here has crossed them yet.” You joked, forcefully taking out the arrows from their targets and gathering them into your sling. “Was there something you needed?”

“Yes.” He replied, but still seemed hesitant to tell you.

“Tyrion?” You asked warily.

“You’re not going to like it. Oberyn is here again, but this time he brings his paramour, the Sand woman. But she insists on leaving the prince and I to our devices. However...Oberyn does not feel comfortable having her roam the palace alone. He asked if you might be able to accompany her?”

Bull fucking shit.

You were not stupid. Ellaria seemed like a capable woman who could more than defend herself. No, this was too deliberate, too planned. Ellaria wanted to get you alone. How convenient that she didn’t want to step on Oberyn and Tyrion’s toes when she was nearly attached to Oberyn at the hip the last time you saw the two of them together.

“I was paid to guard you, not the prince’s paramour.” You grumbled, but truthfully? After your talk with Oberyn, you were curious about the captivating Ellaria Sand. Equally as beautiful as her lover, and equally as passionate. If anything, you may be able to learn a bit more information about the guests from Dorne, and even more so, how to convince the prince not to kill the Lannisters.

“Fine. But next time Bronn gets babysitting duty.” You huffed. If you made it easy for Tyrion he might get suspicious.

It wasn’t as if you thought the prince’s lover was incredibly beautiful.

No, he wouldn’t guess that.

Right?

“They both asked for you specifically, but I will try to convince them next time.” Tyrion said, almost as a joke. “Tell me, why are they so taken with you? First Oberyn visits the palace only to converse with you, next Ellaria asks for you to keep her company.” Tyrion eyed you suspiciously. He was far too clever for his own good, and while it amused you most of the time, it was also extremely annoying.

“Now, are you going to tell me what really happened in that brothel?”

You punched Tyrion hard in the arm.

“Ow!!! You just punched me!! How dare you!! I ought to arrest you for treason!” Tyrion whined dramatically, but none of his words scared you.

“I didn’t sleep with either of them if that’s what you’re implying, you fucking bastard.” You spat. Tyrion often teased you, but this was a new low for him. “What I told you was true, I did as I was told.”

Tyrion was still holding his arm and wincing as he processed your words. “Oh come now, you must have done something for them to like you so much. Even I didn’t like you the first time I met you.” He teased.

“Fuck off.” You grumbled, holding back your urge to shove him. You knew Tyrion and you knew he would find out one way or another. And if he and Oberyn were going to meet today, Tyrion was sure to ask him about it. You’d rather tell him yourself than have him hear it from Oberyn. Only the gods knew what sort of version he’d give. “I gave them the girls, but they just weren’t as interested in them. They were...They were interested in me.” You tried to say as nonchalantly as you could, trying to keep your voice steady.

To say Tyrion was shocked was an understatement. “Really?” He asked, clearly amused.

This was not going to go well for you.

“And what did you say to that? A handsome prince and his beautiful woman want to fuck you, and you just said no?”

You punched him in the arm again, causing him to wince once more. “You she-devil! Will you please stop hitting me, you vile, terrifyingly strong woman!”

“Stop making jokes about this!! This is serious Tyrion!! They insulted me. I am a skilled assassin, known throughout Westeros and all they wanted to do was fuck me, thought I was another girl for purchase. And to make matters worse, I don’t think their feelings have changed on the matter.” You huffed, plopping down into the grass. You knew you would have to get back up soon, both of you couldn’t leave the Dornish waiting, but you wanted nothing more than to lie there forever and forget your troubles.

Tyrion softened and pulled you up into a sitting position to look at him as he sat across from you. “Is that why Oberyn visited you yesterday?”

You sighed but nodded. “We...have a better understanding now. They know why I was angry and they are smart enough to not press it any further, but they don’t hide their desire. I’m watching both him and Ellaria. I still don’t trust them. I think they want to use me to get to you and the rest of your family. It won’t work.” You promised confidently. Even Oberyn’s pretty words could not break you, and you planned on keeping it that way.

Tyrion looked sad and you could not, for the life of you, understand why. Surely keeping your guard was a good thing? Surely the fact that you were starting to get a hold of this little game was something he should be proud of. So why did he look so remorseful?

“We better get going. Don’t want Oberyn stabbing another Lannister while he waits for us.” Tyrion joked half-heartedly.

You eyed him suspiciously. He knew that you knew something was up with him, but he wasn’t going to relent. You decided to drop it. After all, you were keeping royalty waiting.

But before you could re-enter the palace, Tyrion grabbed your wrist. Your head snapped back to him at the sudden gesture. “Don’t let them in too much, but don’t dismiss them as an ally. They may be useful to us...and you need friends.”

This sort of sentiment didn’t suit either of you, but especially not Tyrion. You were confused by his words. “I have friends. I have Bronn, and Shae, and-“

“That’s different.” Tyrion cut off. “I hired you and we all became friends in the process. These people may want to befriend you just because they like you. I’m not telling you to bare your heart to them, I’m telling you to be open-minded.” He clarified. You weren’t used to seeing Tyrion so...serious, at least in this regard. He let go of your wrist and composed himself as if nothing happened.

You didn’t really know what to say to all of that, so you did the same and followed behind Tyrion into the palace.

“Prince Oberyn, Lady Ellaria, welcome to King’s Landing.” Tyrion smiled softly before giving a small bow.

The Dornish returned the favor. Both of them were once again adorned in the colors of their homeland. Warm tones of yellows, golds, and oranges draping loosely against their toned frames.

But when their heads came up from the small bow, both pairs of eyes settled on you.

“It is good to see you again, little hawk.” Ellaria cooed.

If her voice wasn’t so soft you might have been angry. You were not little.

“The pleasure is all mine, my lady.” You replied with ease, keeping your cool.

“As much as I would love to enjoy your company once more, I’m afraid Lord Tyrion and I have business to discuss.” Oberyn said sadly, but gave you a small smile anyways.

“Keep Lady Ellaria company. Shouldn’t be long.” Tyrion instructed, but his eyes still bore into yours. Remember what I said.

“Give me a tour?” Ellaria brought you back to the present, her mischievous eyes dancing over you. You had a feeling this was not just going to be a tour.

“Of course, Lady Ellaria.”

The Dornish woman cackled with laughter, as if to prove a point. “I am no lady. Ellaria is fine. I am not wed to Oberyn, therefore I have no royal status”

You quirked an eyebrow at her response. “Not married? But you two are so...close.” And the fact that they stayed together when they both preferred having several lovers was certainly saying something as well.

“We are wed in everything except name.” Ellaria explained. Oddly enough, it made sense. Dedicated to each other, but also able to seek pleasure with others. They could be attracted to several people, but love was another matter entirely. It went deeper than just fucking around. They were each other’s person.

You tried not to think about how easily you understood that.

“Oberyn is the love of my life. I love him, and he loves me, completely. There are no barriers with us. We take what gives us pleasure as long as it benefits both of us.” Ellaria smiled to herself. It was easy to see how much she loved him and vice versa.

What an incredible thing to know someone so completely.

“However,” she began, “Life in our homeland calls to us. Oberyn and I wish to see more of our children. We have seen enough of Westeros to last us a lifetime. We want to...settle down, to only leave Dorne on matters of business.” Ellaria explained. It seemed hard to imagine the two living a domestic life. They were so bold and free, and they possessed the power to go anywhere, do anything.

But you remembered your talk with Oberyn and about his eight daughters. So much was uncertain about the prince, but his love for his family was unquestionable. He was willing to kill Tywin Lannister, the most powerful man in all of Westeros because he believed him to be involved with his sister's murder. No one could fake that level of love and dedication. If you loved someone that much, you imagined you’d stay in one place for them too.

“Oberyn and I still love each other, very much, but we sometimes wonder if there is one another person who may join us. Someone more constant. Oberyn and I have been with each other for so long. To know someone else as well as we know each other could make things interesting.”

You really didn’t like that she was staring at you so intently.

Or maybe you did, and that was the problem.

“There are many people who I’m sure would be honored to receive the affections of Dornish royalty.” You replied easily, trying to draw the attention away from you.

“Not so many as we might have thought.” Ellaria teased before linking her arm with yours. How she had managed to do that so easily was beyond you. You looked around and were relieved to see that no one was around, but you were still on guard. Spies were everywhere in this palace. But when you thought about it, there was no way the queen could use this against you. She may tease you about it, sure, but she could not hurt Ellaria and start a war just because she didn’t like you.

So while you hated feeling your heart in your chest...this was safe.

“Don’t look so frightened.” Ellaria chided. “You are simply escorting me, yes?”

You eyed her disbelievingly. That was not all that was going on here, and you couldn't help but notice her choice of words. “I think we have different ideas on what makes a person an escort.”

Ellaria hummed and smirked. “Very different ideas.” She flirted.

You narrowed your eyes in warning and she got the hint...sort of. “I like a person in armor. Oberyn has dashing leather brown armor, but I very seldom see women with such attire, a shame really. It’s flattering in a different sort of way.”

You rolled your eyes. “My armor is not for appearances. It keeps me safe.”

“Safe and beautiful can coexist.” She smirked. “I know it was not your intention for the armor to be beautiful, but it is.” Ellaria used her other hand to trace the ornate design. There wasn’t much additional detail, just your crest, an arrow intertwined with a feather on your shoulder pieces. It was subtle enough for someone to notice at such close proximity, but otherwise, the crest was for you and no one else. You didn’t need people to know your crest, you kept it as a reminder of who you were.

“Your armor is a piece of you. I don’t pretend to understand what it is to be you, but I do understand what it is to be a woman. Not many women can say they are feared warriors or assassins, you’ve earned the stories they say about you, you’ve earned your reputation. You have every reason to wear it with pride.” Ellaria smiled at you before...seven hells was she cuddling into your arm????

You were glad Tyrion and Bronn were nowhere in sight.

But as quickly as she did it, she resumed her previous position, simply perched on your arm, as if nothing had happened.

“And it suits you because it does not hide your pretty face.”

You were sure the compliment was only meant to make you more flustered. “If you wish to catch me off guard, Ellaria, you will have to try much harder than that.” You snipped.

The striking woman chuckled and her laugh, her true laugh, was the sweetest noise in all the realms. Joy and life were in that laugh. Warmth. That was the feeling. You almost didn’t recognize it. It had been so long since you had felt anything close to it. It settled in your chest and forced you just...feel.

And you couldn’t run away from it, not with her arm locked around yours. You wondered if that had been her game all along.

“Do not tempt me, Silver Hawk. You forget that I stood before you in a brothel. I could very easily arrange for you to meet us there again.”

“No.” You replied before you could even stop yourself. Your mind reeled, trying to recover, to say anything that could give you at least some of your dignity back. “I only go where Tyrion tells me to. Otherwise, I am at his side or within reach.”

“And what if I ask Tyrion to just...have you visit a while?” She teased.

You rolled your eyes.

“Then I will acquiesce, but that doesn’t mean I have to do what you tell me.”

“Hmmm...We’ll just have to convince you then.”

You snorted. “It would be amusing to see you both try. I am paid to assist Tyrion, but even then some of his demands do not go without question. If I truly didn’t want to do something he asked of me there is not a man alive who could make me do it.”

Ellaria’s eyes darkened as she looked at you.

You didn’t know it, but she could have taken you right there on the palace floor.

“You are a fearsome thing to behold, do you know that?” Ellaria laughed. “Believe me when I say I would not do anything to push you away, not when I am enjoying your company so much. I believe my prince spoke to you of friendship, yes?”

“He did indeed.”

“That is what we both want. But at least let me compliment you. A pretty face as yours deserves at least that.” Ellaria grinned.

You sighed, but her deep brown eyes were impossible to deny.

“Only when we’re alone. I don’t need Tyrion or Bronn giving me any trouble over it.” You grumbled.

“Deal.” Ellaria agreed.

“Ellaria.” A familiar voice called from behind you. On instinct you pulled away from her, even though you were sure the Dornish prince did not mind. What you were worried about was the hand of the king that trailed behind him. You hoped he hadn’t seen you with Ellaria draped all over you.

“My prince.” Ellaria greeted, returning to her favorite place, at her lover’s side. “She is nice company when she’s not so defensive.”

“You should see her when she’s drunk.” Tyrion chipped in. “That’s the only time she seems to like me.”

Somehow you managed to glare at both of them.

“Oh stop now, just a bit of fun. The prince and I were actually just speaking fondly of you.” Tyrion had that familiar, mischievous glint in his eye that made your heart palpitate faster in your chest.

“Oh really?” You were not amused. Now the prince was the object of your glares. What did he tell Tyrion? Did he betray you? Tyrion knew the prince and his lover were enamored with you, but Oberyn didn’t know that Tyrion knew. Not to mention you told Tyrion nothing about your little threats you gave upon meeting them both. If he told Tyrion, you would never hear the end of it, and you would be even more on guard around the prince than you usually were.

“We were discussing the idea of a tournament.” Tyrion proposed. “The king is fond of...violent delights and your skill with a bow would most certainly amuse him. I made a bet against the prince here that you would beat any challenger.”

“I intend on losing.” Oberyn laughed. “That is why I did not bet a lot.”

“Still,” Tyrion smirked, “I would very much like to be in possession of more money that I have to do nothing for, so I was wondering if you could help me.”

How Tyrion thought he would be able to convince you so easily and propose this idea for his own benefit was beyond you.

“And what do I get from this?” You weren't one for showing off your skill. There was some sort of advantage to people underestimating you, you could always take them by surprise. But by now your reputation probably ruined any chance of surprising anyone. Not to mention you could change your mind if money or something of value were involved.

“The adoration of the king, the hand of the king, and the high society of Westeros.”

You snorted. “Forget it.”

“Fine! You can have the winnings too.” Tyrion huffed. “You rob me of my own winnings from my own bet. You wound me, my dear.”

“You’ll get over it.”

Both Oberyn and Ellaria laughed.

“Do you two always act like this?” Ellaria asked.

“Unfortunately her skill comes with a mouth and an attitude. She sometimes succeeds in making me question if that is worth the protection she provides.”

“If my protection wasn’t worth it, I would still be in the North right now.”

“Hmmm...yes sometimes I wish you still were.”

You gave Tyrion a playful nudge. “Don’t listen to him. He’d miss me.”

“I can tell.” Oberyn grinned. For a second you forgot all about keeping your guard up around the Dornish visitors. Tyrion always brought that out of you, the real, unguarded version of you. You supposed you could allow yourself some fun, just this once.

“This is so exciting! I’ve been dying to see the Silver Hawk in action.” Ellaria grinned something mischievous. In any other circumstance, it might have made you nervous, but the chance to actually get some shooting in was actually exciting.

Definitely didn’t have anything to do with showing off in front of Oberyn and Ellaria.

Definitely not.

“I hope to live up to your expectations, Ellaria.” You smiled, just a little.

“I’m sure you will exceed them.” She winked

Tyrion glanced between you and the Dornish. “It seems like she already has.”

If looks could kill, Tyrion would have dropped dead under the heat of your glare.

“She has been more than obligating in making us feel welcome here.” Your eyes widened at Oberyn, but you quickly concealed your shock. He hadn’t told Tyrion about your threats and less than warm welcome. But why? Why would he lose the opportunity to get back at you for insulting a prince, a prince who was an honored guest nonetheless? “You have a very loyal friend at your side, Lord Tyrion. You’re very lucky to have such friendship.”

Neither you nor Tyrion knew what to say to that. At least for a moment. Tyrion eventually had a response to everything.

“I choose my friends and allies well.”

No one could deny the double meaning in that. It was an offer to them more than it was a compliment to you.

“You do indeed.” Oberyn agreed.

Two more pieces to Tyrion’s game.

“You both are welcome to peruse the palace as you please, though I’m afraid I must steal away our Hawk. Please make yourselves welcome and do not hesitate to bother any of the servants should you need something.” Tyrion offered respectfully, ever the host to his new allies.

“Your hospitality is most appreciated, Lord Tyrion.” Both men have a small, respectful bow.

“We hope to see you soon.” Oberyn once again kissed your knuckles softly.

Tyrion had to do everything not to chuckle. That didn’t stop a stupid grin from forming on his face.

When the couple was out of earshot, you pointed a finger at Tyrion. “If I hear a single word about any of that I will be using you as target practice for the tournament.” You huffed.

Tyrion smirked. "Come now, my dear, having two incredibly attractive people want you like cats in heat is nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about."

You huffed and stormed away. If Tyrion actually did need you, you would punish him by making him wait until tomorrow for whatever it was.

Curse them. Curse them with their stupid charm, their incessant flirtations, their dumb, pretty faces, their kind words, their alluring charisma...

What the hell were they doing to you?

————————— Cersei waited patiently in her room. She had neglected a few royal duties all for this. Her nails tapped on the table, then quickly stopped when she heard the door to her chamber open.

“Well?” She asked sharply.

The blond-haired boy failed to control his nerves under the queen regent’s gaze. “The Silver Hawk has captured the interest of Prince Oberyn and his paramour Ellaria Sand. The assassin has not outwardly verbalized her affection towards the Dornish, but she was seen in the courtyard on Lady Ellaria’s arm.”

Cersei took a moment to consider this. You never showed any outward affection towards anyone except her brother, and she couldn’t do anything about that, not while her brother was being protected under Tywin. But she could do something to you. You were only under the protection of Tyrion, which meant very little to her. Her father she had to obey, her brother she did not.

“Keep track of her. They don’t call her the Silver Hawk for nothing. She has a sharp eye, make sure you stay out of sight while you spy on her. If she finds you, you run. If I find out she spotted you, you will be executed. Do I make myself clear?” Cersei asked, having no concern for the man who was her own blood, her cousin.

“Y-yes, my lady.” The boy gulped before taking his cue to leave.

The queen stirred about in her chamber, her thoughts were only composed of how best to take revenge on you.

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Tag List (if I’m missing someone please let me know!)

@ilikechocolatemilkh @rpcvliz @janelongxox @evyiione @grogusmum

#armor #oberyn x reader #oberyn x you x ellaria #oberyn x reader x ellaria #ellaria sand #game of thrones #game of thrones fic #got #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #prince oberyn #oberyn martell imagine

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt: anything with Jiang Yanli, I’d love to see more of her PoV

part 2 of whumptober 20 (JYL/LXC field medicine)

ao3 link

It wasn’t that Jiang Yanli never thought about other men.

After all, she was a female cultivator, and her opinion was therefore one of the ones that was rather eagerly solicited when it came to naming the most attractive young masters in the cultivation world; it was only that it had never seemed to matter. After all, she was engaged, and always had been, to her mother’s dearest friend’s only son, and that, it had seemed at the time, was that.

Oh, her father spoke warmly about marrying for love and not for obligation, but Jiang Yanli had never quite understood what he meant. Even if she didn’t love Jin Zixuan, she loved her mother enough to want to respect her wishes, and it was easy enough to dismiss what negative things she’d heard about him – arrogant, self-centered, impetuous, but of course he was still young, and weren’t most teenage boys like that? – and instead daydream about the life she would have in the future.

When she was young, it was mostly daydreams of having some faceless man (she couldn’t imagine little Jin Zixuan, who at three years younger was barely more than a baby) bring her gifts and tease her and kiss her, then say she was the prettiest person he’d ever seen. The way she’d always heard was supposed to be how lovers talked, the way people said that a marriage ought to be like - the way her parents’ marriage had never been.

When she was a bit older, her thoughts drifted away from retreading romantic stories and to the actual work of being married, of being the mistress of Lanling Jin. In the beginning, her duty would be to first and foremost produce an heir and a spare, to remain healthy throughout the process, and to support her husband as he slowly began to take on the duties that would eventually become his, but later on it would get more interesting. A sect leader could not be everywhere, and his wife would often be left in charge when he was not at home – she would have to know everything about the sect, same as him, enough to make decisions in his absence; she would have to answer correspondence, make decisions, negotiate with traders, collect duties, enforce the peace, and she’d also have to manage the sect’s social scene on top of it all.

She probably wouldn’t have much time to cook, Jiang Yanli thought wistfully, thinking about how Lanling women prided themselves on never having to lift a finger for themselves, and threw herself into her favorite hobby now, while she still could. If she was clever about it, she might be able to get good enough at it that her future husband would find some dish of hers that he liked, something that only she could make, and then her cooking would be something done at his request – a charming idiosyncrasy, an indulgence of sweethearts.

When she got older still, and learned about Sect Leader Jin’s philandering and the iron grip of control Madame Jin imposed on Lanling in order to keep her position in the face of all the backstabbing and politics, she thought to herself that that sounded exhausting. But by that point, all of her childhood daydreams had Jin Zixuan’s name on them – although admittedly not his face, for all that he had grown up into one of the most handsome young men of his generation, and certainly not his mannerisms – and it was far too late to raise a fuss now. So Jiang Yanli studied willpower in addition to trade routes, learned how to exploit social norms in addition to how to manage a dinner party, taught herself how to play people just as well as she played the guqin, absorbed the lessons of both murder and mathematics, and above all figured out how to stand up for herself and what she believed in no matter what overwhelming pressure she might face.

Even though Jiang Yanli was pretty sure that Madame Jin wouldn’t appreciate that last part in a daughter-in-law, especially not one reputed to be as easygoing as her father.

(“Let her be upset,” her own mother had snorted when Jiang Yanli had tentatively raised the issue. “Are you supposed to ruin your own future because she’s a bitter old mother-in-law that’d rather not give up control so early? I may have agreed to marry you to her son, A-Li, but she agreed to marry him to my daughter. If she wanted easy and pliable, she should have thought again.”

“But she’s your friend,” Jiang Yanli had said, frowning a little. “Don’t you want her to be happy?”

Her mother had looked tired. “Once, more than anything,” she’d said. “But the chance for that passed long ago.”)

So it wasn’t that she didn’t notice other men. It was just that there was no point in allowing herself to look, and she knew enough of her parents’ marriage, and of Madame Jin’s, to not want to look.

And then, suddenly, there was.

Her engagement was broken. One could say that it happened at her own beloved brothers’ hands, at her father’s blind dislike of arrangements even when it was one his own daughter had long ago accepted and had even learned to long for, but in truth Jin Zixuan was a proper young master, old enough to make decisions for himself, to exercise some control over his own life, and the first bit of control he’d taken into his own hands was to decide that he didn’t want her.

It was – not fine, no. She spent some time crying over it, and yet more time comforting Wei Wuxian who was distraught at having caused her pain, and the most time of all quietly wondering what the point of her existence was now that she was no longer useful as a marriage tool. She’d never been much of a cultivator, never been especially pretty, never been anything more than average – what was the point of her?

Maybe that was when she’d decided to pick up medicine.

Field medicine was womanly enough to satisfy critics, and yet it was something useful in a practical sense: she could save people’s lives, if she only learned enough, and studying she could do.

Sometimes, she even got the chance to save the lives of very attractive people, like when the First Jade of Lan lay crumpled in the cot before her as she patched him up. So this is the one they ranked first, she thought, examining him with her eyes even as she kept her hands busy, and she was forced to admit that the other female cultivators of her generation had good taste. He was devastatingly handsome.

Kind, too, she soon learned; gentle and courteous in his mannerisms. He smiled often, which she appreciated in a person (if one interpreted Jiang Cheng’s scowls as smiles, he smiled nearly as much!), and he seemed to genuinely admire her efforts at medicine, however rudimentary. Over dinner, which he insisted on sharing with her even after he was well on his road to recovery, the conversation between them flowed easily and well: they both had brothers they loved, which was a conversation topic of which neither of them would ever tire, and they both enjoyed art and music. He didn’t know the first thing about cooking, but enjoyed asking questions (especially after she’d made him a meal he particularly enjoyed, which was often), while she enjoyed the way he blushed when she teased him.

She didn’t think much of it, of course. If she couldn’t keep the husband that had been promised to her since before she could walk – if she was too dull, too plain, too weak, too average to be worthy of an untried young man like him – then she definitely had no hope of catching the most attractive and capable young master of their generation, a dashing war hero and sect leader in his own right.

And then, when they were both laughing over an especially hair-brained scheme they’d concocted to try to get Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian to spend more time together – Jiang Yanli had noticed how much Wei Wuxian talked about Lan Wangji once he’d returned to the Lotus Pier, and Lan Xichen swore up and down that Lan Wangji had been no better – he turned to her and said, “If you were in Gusu, your brothers would be sure to come to visit you.”

“Me, in Gusu?” Jiang Yanli was startled into a laugh. “Why would I be in Gusu? As your guest?”

Lan Xichen coughed. “I had been hoping for something – a bit more permanent than that. If that would be something you would be open to.”

It actually took her a moment to understand, and then she had to raise her hands to cover her suddenly burning cheeks.

“You don’t have to say anything now,” he said hastily. “Just something to think about, if you’re interested…and of course, if your heart is elsewhere –”

“It isn’t,” she blurted out, and had to turn away.

“I’d hoped that was the case,” he said quietly, his voice warm. “I’ll take my leave, Mistress Jiang.”

Jiang Yanli had grown up thinking of herself as the future mistress of Lanling Jin, with its riches and its beauty and its poisonous heart, and then she’d assumed she’d be nothing at all, an old maid that helped Jiang Cheng manage his sect until he finally found a wife to suit him.

She’d never thought about being the mistress of Gusu Lan.

Gusu Lan, which was not as wealthy as Lanling Jin but just as complex – with its own trade routes and subordinate sects and business to manage – with its beautiful and serene landscape, its culture that emphasized harmony and unity rather than backstabbing – with no overbearing mother-in-law that would have barely been tolerable even when her own mother would have been there to hold her back, but would have been impossible without such protection –

She hadn’t dreamt of Lan Xichen as a child, or even as a teenager, but when she thought about all those dreams with a faceless man that she’d named Jin Zixuan regardless of any similarity to the real thing…

Lan Xichen fit in much better to the idea in her head than the real Jin Zixuan ever had.

“I won’t live separately,” she told him when he came over the next day, before he could even say a word; it had been just about the only problem she could see with his proposal. “In another house, certainly, but not an entirely different dwelling, and if I have any children, I would want them to live with me regardless of their gender.”

“I wouldn’t dream of having you so far away,” he said, and he was smiling again, broad and bright and – somehow, impossibly – hers. “Might I kiss you?”

“You may,” she said, and he did.

“Mistress Jiang,” Lan Xichen said a moment later, “you’re the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met.”

Remarkable, Jiang Yanli thought to herself, was better than pretty any day.

#mdzs #jiang yanli #lan xichen #field medicine #no. 20 #my fic #my fics #macgyvertape

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cinaja · 3 years ago

Text

Before the Wall Epilogue

Masterlist

----

Ten years after the Wall

The crops have been coming along well this year, just the right balance of sun and rain and wind promising a rich harvest. It leads to a good mood throughout the human parts of the Continent. In the aftermath of the war, they have all made their experiences with food shortages, and so everyone is relieved that they seem to have moved past these times. All the bigger is the shock when, only a week before the grain was meant to be brough in, heavy thunderstorms with rain and hail ruin most of the harvest in one of Angolere’s northern provinces.

Andromache spends two mildly exhausting days visiting the region, travelling from city to city and offering reassurances that everything is under control, there are no risks of food shortages. Her presence has no practical purpose, the local authorities are more than capable of handling the situation, but everyone is nervous enough that they need someone to reassure them that all will be well.

By the time she reaches the last village, she is drained, although she is too well-trained to show it. As patiently as in the first village she visited yesterday, she listens to the town spokeswoman describe their situation, allows her to show her the village and the mostly-ruined regions.

“We will send grain from other regions,” she promises, as she did in every place she visited so far. The south of Angolere had rich harvests these years, and the other queens have already promised to send food as well should we not get by after all.”

She accepts an invitation for dinner and spends a few hours sitting in the townhall together with most of the village, making pleasant conversation, before she excuses herself. When she steps outside, she expected to be greeted by one of her guards. Instead, Yanis is waiting for her, leaning against a fence.

When he sees Andromache, he offers an exaggerated bow, grinning broadly as he straightens. “Good evening Your Majesty. May I be your escort for the evening?”

Andromache grins back. “I don’t know. You see, I have a husband who is waiting for me at home with our children.”

“I hear those children are sleeping already, and your husband missed you terribly these last few days and thought he’d pick you up.”

Andromache laughs and leans over to kiss him.

“How did it go?” he asks, wrapping an arm around her middle.

“All good,” Andromache says. “I barely needed to do anything, just reassure people a bit.”

These days, all problems she has to deal with seem easy. There is still a lot of work – drafting laws, dealing with arising problems, day-to-day governing work – but it only ever seems pleasant. What is a disagreement over a new law compared to the horror of war? Or to the initial years afterwards, when there were millions of displaced, traumatized people to deal with and they came close to starvation almost every year. Six years ago, a loss of harvest like this would have meant famine and deaths. Now, all she has to do is organize for food to be sent over from different provinces.

Things are good.

“I’m sure you were brilliant,” Yanis says with a broad smile. “Meanwhile, I have won a significant victory in the never-ending battle of convincing Leli that when her teachers tell her something, it is not a suggestion but an order, and I managed to keep Tano from breaking any priceless artifacts while running through the palace.”

Andromache laughs. “You’re my hero,” she says, half-teasing and half-sincere.

Yanis quit his work in the palace guard when Andromache got pregnant with Leli six years ago and has been staying at home to raise her and – three years later – Tano ever since. He could have kept his job had they hired someone to look after their children, but for Yanis, there was never even a question in that regard: He wanted to be there for their children as they grew up. It makes it easier for Andromache to know that even when she is busy at work, sometimes for days at a time, he is home with their children.

“My first meeting tomorrow is at eleven,” she says. “That ought to leave plenty of time for a nice family breakfast.”

----

Mor spends her days travelling the Continent, dealing with anyone her uncle currently wishes to improve relationships with. She has yet to decide whether she loves or hates her new position. Both, perhaps. She loves that it allows her to travel far and wide, to leave the Night Court and its restrictions behind, if only for a few weeks at a time. She loves the protection it gives her.

She hates the memories it brings up, though. For her, the Continent is full of memories of happier times. (No, that is not right. She shouldn’t think back to the years of war and wish herself back into that time. But then, to go back would mean getting Andromache back, and for that, she would accept a hundred years of war. But Andromache is on the other side of the Wall, married now and forever lost to her.)

Sometimes, Mor also hates the people she has to deal with. Today, it is Shey, who has been loosely allied with the Night Court ever since the war ended. Mor doesn’t know exactly how that came about, but her uncle exports iron for weapons and armour to Shey and he sends Mor to visit the emperor at least once a year.

Today is the first day of that annual visit and Shey is holding a welcome-celebration for her. It is a huge honour – Shey is easily the most important person on the Continent now, and him holding a celebration in honour of the emissary from a tiny Prythianian court is very unusual.

If Mor had been stupid enough to think it is for her sake, she might have actually felt honoured. But this celebration isn’t because of her, none of this is because of her at all. It’s all about Miryam and the fact that everyone knows that Mor was friends with her. That is why there are no doors locked to her on the Continent, why everyone so readily meets with her. Because Miryam and Drakon were her friends, and so to host her is to flaunt some sort of connection to them.

No, Mor does not enjoy the party at all, even if the music is brilliant, as is the food. She just makes conversation because it is what is expected of her and downs glass after glass of the clear, sparkling wine favoured here in the north to make it bearable.

She wonders what they would all say if they knew how things ended between Miryam and her, that she abandoned her before the end and left her to die. If they knew that she was so terrible that Andromache could no longer bear to so much as be around her anymore. If they knew about the charmed necklace that still lies unused at the bottom of some drawer in her rooms in Velaris.

No one knows about any of that, though. And no one ever will. Maybe one day, Mor will even be able to fool herself into believing that the sole reason her and Andromache split up was the Wall, that she never argued with Miryam and the only reason she isn’t visiting her is out of worry for her safety. It is not today, though, and so she downs another glass of wine and smiles at the nearest dignitary and allows him to pull her to the dance floor.

----

No one is coming for him.

Jurian fought against that truth for years, but he has given up on denying it for a while now. What use is it to lie to himself? No one is coming to save him. His allies, his friends, seem to have forgotten entirely about him. They moved on with their lives and likely never thought of him again, didn’t care enough to bother freeing him from that terrible nightmare his life turned into.

Jurian hates all of them. Andromache and Nakia and all the others for leaving him behind. Drakon for pretending to be his friend and then betraying him and making Miryam turn away from him. Miryam for turning against him. For not saving him. For dying. Her, he hates most of all.

----

Drakon puts down his quill and scans the contents of the text he just finished once more before putting the paper on the stack with the other usable results. That stack is the only tidy part of the table he was working on, the rest is a mess of books, most of them lying open on the relevant pages, and crumbled papers filled with ideas he dismissed as useless already. A few of those even ended up on the floor.

Well, that ought to be enough for now. He’s done with his edits on the draft for the new tax law they will be discussing later today. He still wants to show his edits to Miryam before then, but he still has plenty of time left for that.

Rising to his feet, he sets about cleaning up his mess. The papers he doesn’t need anymore go into the fire, he closes the books he used for reference and puts them on a second stack next to the one with the finished edits. He will be taking them with him, just to be sure.

Carrying the eight books as well as the stack of papers is a difficult task, given that he still doesn’t have proper use of his right arm. He has to carry the books with his left hand, the papers stuck between his useless right arm and his body. That movement alone hurts, but he is used to it by now. (There are magical prosthetics that function almost as well as an actual limb. But… well, Drakon hasn’t decided yet.)

A look at the clock reveals that it is almost seven. Drakon was in the library for the last four hours, and by now, Miryam should probably be awake. (Their sleeping schedules do not align very well lately. They usually go to bed together, but Miryam rarely manages to sleep more than half an hour before waking up again and then spends most of the night working, going to bed only in the early hour of the morning, while Drakon generally manages to sleep for a few hours but then cannot go back to sleeping when he wakes up. Miryam sometimes jokes that at least their inability to ever sleep through the night makes them both very productive rulers.)

Books balancing on his left hand, he walks through the halls of the library and out into the city. They founded their new capital nine years ago, and everything about the city still screams new. Many houses are only half-finished, as are all government buildings. Right now, their government meets in an improvised city hall and most of the high-ranking government members (including Miryam and Drakon) live in nearby houses. The council insisted that they start building a palace sometime, but that hasn’t been a priority yet.

The city Drakon is walking through now is nothing like Sajeo or any of the other cities in Erithia, all of whom were old, each building full of history. Drakon does miss Erithia, but he doesn’t think that difference is necessarily a bad thing, at least for their purposes. Not all history is good, after all, and in their situation, it certainly isn’t helpful. As it is, they all get a fresh start. There are human houses being build next to faerie ones, and all of them are equally new. They are all starting over together, and in a few centuries when this city has matured a bit, that will be the history the people living here will be able to look back upon. It will be one of unity, Drakon hopes.

----

Miryam frowns at her reflection in the mirror. Hair mussed from sleep and still wearing her long nightdress, she doesn’t look particularly dignified, but that is not what she has a problem with right now. No, the problem is that she looks young. It’s like she hasn’t aged at all in the last ten years. If she is being honest, the years of peace actually make her look far younger than she did at the end of the War. Then, at twenty-five, she looked more like thirty-five than she does now.

“Would you say,” she asks, turning to look over at Daín who is floating over her bed, “that I look my age?”

Daín is silent for a moment, cocking his head to the side to study her. “Now?” He asks. “You want to talk about that now?”

Miryam shrugs.

“Mortal ages are terribly hard to tell just by looks, really. There is no telling how old anyone truly is, as evidenced by you now looking younger than you did when we first met,” Daín says. When Miryam gives him a flat look, he quickly adds, “But in your case, I would say that you look twenty-five, for the simply reason that you haven’t aged a day since you were resurrected. Which is what you were getting at, isn’t it?”

Miryam glares at him, trying to ignore the sting of the words. “You knew the entire time,” she says, more statement than question. “And you never thought to tell us? Even when we spent the last five years trying to figure out if I was aging or not?”

“And yet, through all that time, you never thought to ask me,” Daín says with a sharp smile. He has been getting better at mimicking precise expressions lately. “You ask about everything – history, human culture, magic, the other worlds. Yet this one thing, you never brought up, not once in the four years since you decided to talk to me again. Neither did Drakon.” He shrugs. “I figured you didn’t want to know.”

Like it or not, he might have a point. Miryam didn’t want to know. If she is entirely honest, she still doesn’t. She never wanted to be immortal, not even in the not-actually-immortal way the Fae are. She always thought that having a limited number of years made those years more precious.

“Resurrections are a tricky matter,” Daín offers. He actually manages to sound comforting. “There is no telling what side-effects there might be. Even I still cannot tell exactly how it works.”

“Well.” Miryam wraps her arms around herself. “I suppose the alternative was to be dead.”

She doesn’t like the idea of being immortal. Not at all. But if there is one thing she knows for sure, it’s that she prefers it to having died and stayed dead at the end of the war. These last ten years certainly weren’t easy, but they were good. The best ones of Miryam’s life, probably. She wouldn’t have wanted to trade them for the world.

“So you’re alright with it?” Daín asks.

“I guess I’ll have to be,” Miryam says with a shrug. At least it doesn’t bother her as much as she thought it might. It isn’t ideal, but she would rather have a too-long life than a too-short one. She smiles at Daín in a way that is hopefully reassuring. “And now, I need to get dressed. So, you know.”

“I’m already gone,” Daín says, winks at her and vanishes.

Miryam glances at her reflection once more before turning to her wardrobe. She sincerely hopes that she is at least only “immortal” in the way the Fae are, which isn’t so immortal at all. But well, that is a question for later. For now, she has other things to worry about, and for those, she needs to dress.

Drakon barges into the room just as she buttons up her jacket. He doesn’t look at Miryam – cannot, because he is balancing a stack of books on his left hand, it swaying dangerously with each step.

Miryam picks up the four books at the top and stands up on her toes to kiss him over the now-smaller stack of books he is still holding. “Busy morning?” She asks, smiling softly.

Drakon smiles back and manages to place the rest of his books as well as the stack of papers he was holding under his right arm on the nightstand without any incidents.

“Yes,” he says, turning back to Miryam and wrapping an arm around her. “Very productive, though. I reviewed the new tax law we were drafting, and I think it should probably work out. Maybe you could read over it once more before the meeting later, though. And I brough along the books I used for reference, just to be sure.”

Miryam’s smile deepens. Of course be brought the books, as if there will be anyone but him at the meeting who read all of them.

“Sure,” she says, although she doesn’t think her reading over it will accomplish anything but making Drakon feel more secure about it. “I’ll read them right after breakfast.”

That way, they will still have time for small changes before the meeting, even if Miryam doubts she will find anything of note. She learned a lot about law-making in the last years and she would say that she is decent, but especially when it comes to the small details (which is what they are dealing with at this stage), she’s nowhere near as good as Drakon.

They go have breakfast on the small balcony belonging to the set of rooms they share. It is Miryam’s favourite place in the entire city, high enough that she can overlook the square below as well as some of the nearby streets. As her and Drakon eat and discuss the things they both worked on during the night (the tax laws for Drakon and a logistic issue with distributing food for Miryam), Miryam looks out over the city.

By now, the city has awoken and the square is full with people rushing about, going about their daily activities. Humans and faeries, all living together in peace. A woman is hurrying along, trailing two small children behind her. A young Seraphim girl and a human boy are playing together by the fountain. Next to them, a group of adults sits and eats a quick lunch, likely before going to work.

Miryam could spend hours watching them. On bad days, when her nightmares are worse than usual and the shadows of what happened chase her, she sometimes does. Watching the people down there go about their lives, happy and free and at peace, always makes the guilt and pain easier to bear. These people will have good lives, they and their children will be free, and that alone makes all that it took to get them here worth it. It makes everything worth it.

----

A/N: So, this is the final chapter. After over a year and 370k words written, I can't quite belive that this story is actually over. Writing this story has been lots of fun (and I might revisit it for a few oneshots sometime), and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.

At this point, I'd also like to thank everyone who read this story and left comments or likes - all of you have really made my day every time. A special thanks goes (once again) to @croissantcitysucks for all the wonderful conversations we had about this story, for all the great feedback and help when I had problems, and, of course, for all of the backstory surrounding Daín and the Mother (also, I'm looking forward to you acotar rewrite so much and I can only recomment everyone read it when it comes out!) It's really been so much fun!

Tags: @femtopulsed @aileywrites

#this is it guys #the last chapter #i can't believe this story is over #i will miss these characters #might write smth with them again if I have time #i hope you liked this (hopeful - like I promised) ending #and ofc the story in general (although if you stuck around through the last 370k words i hope you did lmao)#before the wall #THE LAST CHAPTER!!!#miryam #jurian #drakon

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justheretobreakthings · 4 years ago

Text

Whumpmas in July: Day 9

@whumpmasinjuly

“Look at me.”

Read on AO3 My house, my rules, my ko-fi

Even through his paladin armor, the fire was far too hot. Shiro could swear he could feel the flames of the burning walls licking against his skin as he raced by them, and was certain he would be covered in blisters by the time he got back to the castle. His helmet – especially the crackling in his ear reminding him that the comm hadn’t been working since they’d entered Viuter’s atmosphere and would be no help to him now – was irritating him, making him feel trapped and claustrophobic and plastering his sweaty hair against his skull and preventing him from wiping his bangs out of his eyes. Still, it was protection, enough protection to keep him upright and moving, and even though smoke clouded his line of sight, the visor of his helmet kept it out of his eyes, and the oxygen actuator mostly kept him from breathing in the ash.

Which meant Keith’s armor was giving him that same protection. Which meant he was fine. Wherever he was.

Keith shouldn’t have been in the building in the first place. He’d been blocks away when the explosion had occurred, the paladins all having separated to confer with different members of the Viuteran council. It had made sense, getting more done in less time and everyone getting to stick to their specialties, and it had resulted in Keith being all the way in the infantry armory building at the time of the blast. Shiro, though, had been right near the explosion, in the next building over where he and Allura were meeting with a group of military strategists. As he’d been wearing armor and Allura hadn’t, it was only natural that Shiro was the one to take the initiative of running into the building and taking charge of evacuating as many Viuterans as he could.

Sure, it would have been better if the comms had been working and the paladins could all coordinate together, but that wasn’t really any more than a flickering and quickly dismissed thought in Shiro’s mind. He would focus on rescue now, find his teammates when he was done.

It took longer than he would have liked to reach the point when he could look for them, but it came eventually. Once the building was deeply engulfed in flames and there was too much risk of it collapsing in on itself for it to be safe for Shiro to go back in and keep up the rescue efforts. He handed off an unconscious Viuteran to an emergency worker and looked around to find himself in the midst of a dizzying scene. Sirens were wailing, soldiers and civilians alike were running amok, some trying to escape, some trying to help contain the spreading fire. And all of it cast in an eerie red, the thick smoke in the sky blocking out all light except for that of the fire.

Pidge was the paladin he spotted, her green armor sticking out boldly against all the red and gray, and her face flooded with relief when spotted him approaching. “Oh thank fuck!” she cried, rushing to meet him. “When Allura said you were in there I – I didn’t know if – God, kept hoping the comms would magically start working and I could make sure you were – ”

“Is Allura okay?” Shiro hated to interrupt, but now that he’d found one of his teammates, he was more than eager to find the rest, make sure everyone was okay.

“Right, right, follow me,” Pidge said, and she hurried to lead the way, winding through the chaos. “Allura’s this way, they’ve got first aid stuff going so that was the first place I looked, to see who was hurt. Lance and Coran – they left ages ago. Before this bomb, apparently a different one went off on the other side of the city. Like, one minute difference. My guess is they were planned to go off at the same time, but they weren’t coordinated quite right. Anyway, they went to get Blue and they were heading that way, so I don’t know when they’re gonna be – ”

“Shiro! Shiro, you’re okay!” A voice cut across Pidge’s rapid speech as they approached what appeared to be a makeshift triage center in the square, and Shiro turned to see Hunk clambering in their direction as fast as the armful of medical supplies he was carrying would allow. Behind him, Allura looked up from where she had been bent over an injured Viuteran, her glowing hands pressed against his leg. Relief washed over her face, and she started in their direction too the moment she had finished.

Shiro nodded in acknowledgment to Hunk. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Hunk asked. “You’re not hurt at all? Your armor’s looking kinda beat up, you might be hurt and not even realize it because of adrenaline! Do you feel dizzy at all? Do you need water? Do you need to sit down?”

“Hunk, I’m fine, really,” Shiro reassured him, turning his attention to Allura as she joined them. “How’s everything holding up here?”

“As well as we can hope for,” Allura said. “Everyone’s been too busy trying to get people to safety to investigate, so I don’t know where the bombs were, who may have been behind it, what the intent was – I take Keith was able to reach you? Where is he now?”

Shiro frowned. “What?”

“I thought – surely by now he would’ve – ”

“Allura,” Shiro said, voice tight. “What do you mean? Where’s Keith?”

“He was here, but he – I told him where you’d gone, and he took off, didn’t even let me finish the sentence. I thought he was going to help you with the evacuation.”

Keith had gone after him. Shiro had gone into the heart of the fire, and Keith had followed him in, and he hadn’t even realized. It hadn’t even occurred to him until Allura mentioned his name that he hadn’t yet seen Keith anywhere, but now…

Shit.

“I’m going after him,” he said, turning on his heel.

“What?” Pidge said. “Hang on, you think he’s still looking for you in there?”

“I know he is.”

“Wait, Shiro,” Allura said, “It’s certainly not safe! Surely Keith would have had the sense to get out of there by this point, we ought to – ”

“No.” Shiro shook his head. “No, he’s – I gotta get him. I’ll meet you all here when I’ve found him.”

One of them called his name again, as he took off running, but he ignored it. All his focus was on moving forward, his feet pounding the ground as he raced faster than he could ever remember having moved in his life, back toward the flames.

In any other circumstances, Shiro would agree that, yes, Keith had the sense to get out. He could be rash and stubborn and even foolish at times, but Shiro at least liked to think that Keith had been getting better about knowing when it was better to retreat than to dive headlong into danger. His failed battle with Zarkon, at least, had knocked that lesson into his head.

But he knew Keith, and more importantly, he knew Keith’s past. As little as Keith liked to open up about his life, he had at least let Shiro in on a bit about his dad. And how he’d lost him. Shiro had seen the look in Keith’s face whenever his dad had come up, the emptiness and desolation when he’d explained how that fire had taken him.

And he had seen the desperation and determination in his little brother’s eyes whenever Keith made it clear that he couldn’t go through a loss like that again. Whenever he insisted that he’d never have to take on the role of team leader because Shiro wasn’t going anywhere. He’d heard about Keith’s expulsion from the Garrison, the explosive lengths he went to in order to get Shiro out to his shack.

When it came to family – when it came to Shiro – all logic and reason was out the window.

And now Keith might very well meet his end because of it.

Making his way through the burning building required him to shut out all of his natural instincts pointing him to safety, screaming at him to get out of there before he wound up seriously hurt, or worse. He had to turn on the shade of his visor to keep the brightness of the flames from blinding him, and even then it was hard to be certain where he was going. Halls were blocked by burning debris, pieces of the building falling around him and some coming dangerously close to taking him out with them. Shiro jetpacked through a singed hole in the ceiling when the hall behind him folded in on itself, blocking his route to the main entrance, and every step on the second floor was accompanied by creaks and crackles that had him bracing himself to fall right through at any second.

Still, he kept going. Pushing through the heat and the sparks and the roar of the flames, yelling Keith’s name over the noise and through the billowing smoke. None of that was important. All that mattered was finding Keith.

He had to find Keith. Had to find him. Had to find him. Had to –

A crack sounded above him, and around the corner and along the hall, flaming shards of ceiling toppled down, and that’s when he spotted it: the distinct blue light that accompanied a shield activating from a paladin’s armor.

Keith. Ducked under his shield, fire and rubble tumbling around him, the red and white of his suit gray with ash. Alive, and moving, and okay.

He was okay.

Shiro dived into the wreck, knocking falling debris aside with his sword hand and, voice breaking in sheer release, shouting out, “Keith!”

Keith’s head shot up at the sound of his name, and although for a brief moment he stumbled from the battering against his shield, there was no mistaking the way his exhausted eyes widened the moment he spotted Shiro across the hall, as if he were seeing a ghost, only for his face to light up in stunned relief.

He may have shouted something in reply that was drowned out by the fire raging around them, or he may have sprung up from his crouch without a word. Either way, Shiro got no warning before Keith was practically flying across the hall to tackle him in a hug.

Shiro stumbled back, startled. It wasn’t as though hugging was completely out of Keith’s character – once he knew and trusted the person giving them, he practically reveled in them – but he was never the one to initiate the embrace. A means of preemptively shielding himself from being turned away, perhaps; a fear that the gesture may be misinterpreted, may be mistaken as something romantic or even sexual; maybe simply a matter of making sure he never set off any discomfort related to touch that Keith was often prone to himself. Shiro had never known for certain which was the case, but it all made Keith a distinctly non-touchy person. Even when they had first been reunited after Shiro’s disastrous return from Kerberos, Keith hadn’t hugged him with this much fervor.

It all spoke to just how terrified Keith had been, how desperately he’d been searching for Shiro. The embrace was a grounding one. He was pressing himself so firmly against Shiro, gripping his brother so tightly. As though reassuring himself that Shiro was really there. Like if he dared to let go, Shiro would vanish back into the smoke and flame.

“Hey,” Shiro said, trying to keep his voice soothing despite needing to practically shout to ensure he could be heard, arm wrapping around Keith’s trembling back. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“I thought – ” Keith choked out through his helmet’s speaker. “Allura said – she said you – you’d gone into – into – ”

“I know. I know.”

“You went into the fire. Shiro, you went into the fire, I thought you – I was going to lose you, I had to find you, I couldn’t – I couldn’t just let – ”

“It’s all right, Keith, I promise. I’m okay.”

“You could’ve died! You almost died, you almost burned up and never said goodbye, I thought you were dead, I – ”

“Hey. Keith. Look at me.” Keith kept his face buried in Shiro’s chest, so he pulled back to hold him by the shoulders. “Look at me, okay? I’m right here, see? I’m not dying on you yet. Swear it.”

“Y-yeah. I see you.” His voice shook, and this close up, Shiro could see the redness of his face, the way his eyes seemed to be struggling to stay focused. As hot-blooded as Keith ran, even he was susceptible to fire like this. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m – I was just…”

“Scared?” Shiro finished for him, and Keith nodded weakly. “That’s okay. I get it. And hey, you found me. You found me, I’m here, and we’re okay. And now – ” A crackling sounded from above, and Shiro yanked Keith aside without a second thought, throwing up a shield as a beam collapsed right where the latter had been standing, showering the two of them in sparks. “Now we gotta get outta here, okay? We gotta run.”

“Yeah.” Keith took a trembling breath and straightened as Shiro let his shield fizzle away. “Got it, let’s go. Just – ” Shiro looked down to see Keith’s gloved hand wrapping around the gauntlet of Shiro’s armor. “No splitting up. Please.”

Shiro smiled. “Deal. We won’t let each other out of our sights. Come on.”

He activated his sword hand, and beside him, Keith did the same with his shield. Ready to race back through the flames, side by side.

#whumpmasinjuly #vldgen #shiro #keith #vld fic #my writing #fic: through the fire and flames

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sergeantsporks · 4 years ago

Text

Swapped

Ch 5/5

TW: Blood

Ao3

Or read under the cut

The question of how Douxie would know when Merlin had come back was answered very easily. His magical presence swept into town like a hurricane of arcane energy, old and powerful. Douxie dropped the books he was shelving. “He’s here. Archie—”

“I felt it, too,” Archie murmured, “Douxie—”

Douxie didn’t wait to hear whatever it was. He bolted, following the source of magic until he came to… Jim’s house. Of course. The trollhunter. Merlin’s champion. Why wouldn’t he be there?

Still, Douxie felt enraged on the real Hisirdoux’s behalf. Shouldn’t Merlin have come to his apprentice first?!

There was nothing for it. He couldn’t approach Merlin with Jim around. He trudged back to the bookstore, silently seething. The hell. He’d been waiting, waiting for CENTURIES, and Merlin couldn’t even bother to check in on his apprentice?! What kind of master was he?!

Douxie slammed the bookstore door shut. “He’s staying with the trollhunter,” he snarled, “What was the point of opening up this store if he wasn’t even going to—”

“I think you ought to call in for work at the café tonight,” Archie said mildly.

“What?!”

Archie nodded to a cuckoo clock on the wall. It was going nuts and bananas. “I think Merlin’s trying to get us a message.”

Night fell all too quickly, and suddenly, Douxie wasn’t too sure about this whole mission. He’d never studied how Hisirdoux had interacted with his master—he couldn’t have. What if he messed it up?

The bell to the shop tinkled.

An old man in armor strode through.

Douxie took a step forward to greet Merlin.

And a pulse of magic immediately sent him flying backwards and into a bookshelf.

Douxie lay there, stunned, wondering what had just hit him. Archie hissed and flapped down to stand next to him, his back arched. “Who are you?!” the familiar demanded, “Why do you look like Merlin?!”

The old man pushed through the room and towards Douxie. “Move aside, Archibald, this is not your familiar!”

Douxie struggled to push himself up, mind racing. He didn’t know—he couldn’t! This was a test, right?! “Master—”

Another blast of magic caught him, throwing him across the room again, this time so hard the books fell off of the shelf, burying him. “You are not my apprentice!”

Archie dive-bombed Merlin, clawing at his metal-plated head. “What is the matter with you?!”

Merlin pushed him aside. “Nothing is wrong with me, now move aside and let me handle this!”

Douxie blasted his way out of the books, burning with rage. Fine! Merlin wanted a fight?! He’d get a fight! He threw spell after spell at Merlin, but the wizard just kept approaching. Douxie threw up a hasty shield as Merlin sent another magic blast, but Merlin’s magic overcame his own, and he was pushed back again. He struggled back to his feet.

“If it’s a fight you want, it’s a fight you’ll get,” he yelled, pulling on the fire in the grate and hurling it towards Merlin with a scream.

Merlin caught the flames and dismissed them in a puff of smoke, his eyes blazing as chains shot from his hands and wrapped around Douxie. “Where is my apprentice?!” he shouted.

Archie pushed in-between them. “Both of you, stop it!” he yowled, “Merlin, it’s Douxie! Can’t you recognize your own apprentice?!”

“I think the better question is why you can’t recognize an imposter,” Merlin growled. He held up an iron horseshoe. “Let’s see who you really are, hm?”

“This is ridiculous!” Archie snarled, “Nine centuries napping addled your mind, Merlin!”

“Then it won’t hurt anything.”

Douxie struggled to get out of the magical chains. “Don’t you get near me! Leave me alone!”

Wrong move. Archie paused, looking back at him. “Douxie?”

“Arch—don’t let him get me, you know it’s me!”

Archie shook his head, “It… it can’t hurt, right?”

The door was pushed open, and Zoe gaped. “… Douxie?!” She ran towards them, but Archie flew up.

“Wait,” he said in a resigned voice, “Something’s… not right.”

Merlin brandished the horseshoe as Douxie thrashed desperately against his bonds. “Last chance,” he thundered, “Tell the truth now, creature!”

Douxie flinched away from the iron held inches from his skin. “Fine!” he howled, “Fine, I—I’m—I’m not—” He couldn’t finish.

Merlin set down the horseshoe. “Where. Is my. Apprentice.”

Archie fell to the ground, like his wings couldn’t support him anymore. “Douxie—no, you’re not—”

“I’m sorry, Archie,” Douxie pleaded, “I never meant—I know I…”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Merlin growled, “Where. Is. The real. Hisirdoux.”

“I don’t know.”

Merlin grabbed him by the shirt collar. “Yes you do! You’re lying! Where have you stashed him?!”

“He’s not lying,” Zoe interjected, “He doesn’t know. He tips his head and widens his eyes when he lies.” She wouldn’t look him in the eyes. “How long?”

Douxie stared at the ground. He couldn’t look any of them in the eye either. Every dream of rescuing his parents and then continuing with Zoe and Archie was crashing down around his ears, seeming to mock him for thinking he could EVER have gotten away with it. “Eight centuries.”

Archie’s claws went in and out. “Eight centuries. I didn’t notice you were an imposter for eight centuries.”

“It was a clever enchantment,” Merlin said softly, “It bonded him to Hisirdoux as a familiar, giving you and he the same attachment—there was no way for you to tell through your familiar’s bond. The same holds true for my apprenticeship bond. I only knew because I am familiar with Morgana’s magic on a much deeper level, and he reeks of her enchantment.”

“I still should have noticed.”

Merlin tilted Douxie’s face up. “What dark purpose were you sent for, creature?”

“I was supposed to spy on you,” Douxie muttered, tearing his face away, “I was supposed to report your plans to Gunmar.”

Archie shook his head. “How could you?!” he hissed, his ears flattened, “Why—”

All of the rage and confusion that had been building up over the last few months—at Merlin, at the Order, at Morgana, at himself, finally broke loose. “It’s not like I ASKED to be a changeling,” he shouted, “It’s not like I ASKED for every single thing about me to be ripped to shreds and pieced back together! I didn’t ASK to be born in the Darklands, and I didn’t ASK to be a wizard troll, and I didn’t ASK to get torn away from my family and be told I couldn’t see them or even think about them ever again, and I didn’t ASK to be a replacement for some wizard who’s somehow oh-so-better than me in every way!” Tears dripped down his face, and he HATED it, and he hated them all looking at him. “I didn’t ask for any of this! But when the Pale Lady says she’s picked you, and you’re living in the darklands where everything is a living nightmare and Gunmar has control over everything you don’t exactly get to say ‘no thank you! I’d rather not be a changeling if it’s all the same to you!’ No one ever ASKED me if I wanted to do it, but you all act like I had any CHOICE in ANY OF THIS!”

The chains disappeared, and he thumped to the floor, wiping at his eyes, “I don’t know where Hisirdoux is,” he said in a small, broken voice, “I don’t know what Morgana is planning.”

“Do you know anything?” Archie begged, “Even the slightest hint of how he is? Is he safe?”

Douxie felt like his heart was being ripped into shreds. He sounded so worried, and Douxie knew he wouldn’t ever sound like that for him again. It didn’t matter how much time they’d spent together, how many centuries he’d been away from the real Hisirdoux. He still preferred the company of someone he’d lost long ago.

Zoe had asked why he wanted to go back to Merlin so bad when the time he’d had with her and Archie was more real.

Now he could ask her the same question.

He sniffed, looking up at Merlin. “You know how changelings’ bonds with their familiars work?” he croaked. At a nod from the old wizard, he peeled his jacket off, revealing the blue lines of stone in his flesh. He took off his shirt, too, and stared bleakly at his skin, which almost seemed more blue than pink. Archie hissed in, and Douxie shivered. “I can’t help you find him. I’m sorry.”

“Get out,” Merlin growled, “Get out of my shop.”

Douxie wriggled back into his shirt, clutching his jacket like a lifeline. “Where am I going to go?”

“I don’t care. Hopefully you’ll wander into a patch of sunlight as a troll and get turned to stone. I’m getting my apprentice back one way or another.” He leaned in, yanking Douxie up by the shirt front and pushing him out the door. “And you tell Morgana that it doesn’t matter what she is planning. After what she did to my apprentice, I will kill her myself.”

He released Douxie, pushing him away, and slamming the door in his face. Douxie felt the sun start to burn on the exposed stone lines and he slipped back into his jacket, tears running down his face. Archie hated him. Zoe didn’t even want to look at him. His mission was in shambles. He’d somehow managed to lose everyone.

Well. He could still get his parents—maybe he couldn’t live happily ever after with Zoe and Archie anymore. But he still could at least have his family. He just had to get into trollmarket. And he knew just the person.

Douxie jogged to the Nunez house, throwing rocks at the window he knew was Claire’s. Morgana wasn’t there anymore—that was good. He didn’t need her slithering around in his mind right now.

Claire opened the window, her mouth open wide. “Douxie?!” she hissed.

“I know everything,” he said in a rush, “Claire, I know you’re a shadow magician. I know about Gunmar and Morgana and Merlin and Jim. And I need you to get me into trollmarket. Please.”

Claire slid out the window. “How long…?”

“The whole time,” he confessed, “I’m a wizard, Claire. And…” she didn’t need to know about the changeling thing. “I just need one favor. One portal in. I’ll find my own way out.”

“It’s going to be crazy dangerous in there, Douxie!”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, “Claire, please. And. Uh. Don’t tell Jim.”

She drew back. “Why?”

Douxie shifted from one foot to another. “Mmmmm Merlin wouldn’t be too pleased if he found out. Just… keep this one secret. Please?”

She hesitated, then summoned her staff to her. “Okay. Be careful, alright? I’m counting on crushing you in Battle of the Bands.”

“Heh. Okay.” Not something he’d be doing anymore, but he appreciated the sentiment.

Claire opened the portal. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, fair Claire.”

Douxie slipped through the portal and into troll market, snatching up a key that he saw. There. Way out, taken care of. He was pretty sure Dictatious would let him go if he told him the mission was going well, but just in case…

He made his way to the Hero’s Forge, where Gunmar was making Gum-Gums. In a cage in the corner was… the real Hisirdoux. Douxie’s familiar was limp on the floor of his cage, still bleeding from several recent wounds. Douxie traced the blue lines on his skin he knew matched up with the injuries. This wasn’t right. They should have known better than to harm a familiar, and besides, how could they… was this the fate in store for Zoe? “Where’s Dictatious?” he blurted.

Gunmar whirled around. “Dictatious is a traitor and a worm,” he snarled, “Tell me who you are before I rip your head off!”

Douxie held his hands up. “I’m a changeling! I was the Pale Lady’s special assignment?”

Gunmar regarded him for a moment, then growled. “I remember. Speak.”

“Dictatious promised that—that my parents would be taken care of,” Douxie stammered, “I—I wanted to see—”

“They’re dead,” Gunmar said dismissively, “Died a few years after you were sent out. Couldn’t survive in the Darklands. They were weak.”

A surge of rage swept over Douxie, and his magic responded, sending out a pulse that sent Gunmar flying backwards, and blasted open the cage in the corner. Douxie ran across the room, ripping the door of the cage off of its hinges. He picked up his unconscious familiar and slung him over one shoulder. Archie might hate him now. But he could still do this for him.

“TRAITOR!” Gunmar howled.

“You go back on your word, I go back on mine!” Douxie hissed, and he ran. Hisirdoux was heavy, but not unbearably so, and he made it to the gyre station, using the key he’d picked up earlier to escape into the sewers. Heavy stone feet pounded after him, but he had one advantage they didn’t, and the first chance he got, he surged into sunlight. Enraged howls echoed behind him, but he ignored them, charging through the streets of Arcadia.

He hesitated outside of the bookshop. They’d made it quite clear that they’d never wanted to see him again. Even if he brought back their lost friend, would they even start to forgive him?

He was about to just set Hisirdoux down, ring the doorbell, and run away, when the door was pulled open, and Zoe’s shocking blue eyes met his. “Douxie?” she asked, her voice faltering slightly.

“Hey,” he responded. He tried for his usual bravado, but his voice cracked, and he looked away. “I, uh. I found him. Gunmar brought him back from the Darklands, and… can we come in?”

She wordlessly stepped aside, and he walked in, gently putting his familiar down on a desk. Merlin was glaring at him, but moved towards his unconscious apprentice.

“DOUXIE!” Archie yowled, diving down and nudging his face.

Douxie stepped back as they crowded around the real Hisirdoux, shrinking into a corner. Why did doing the right thing feel so awful?!

When Zoe saw the injuries Hisirdoux had sustained, her hands clenched into fists, and thunder boomed outside. Rain came not long after.

“About your mission…” she started.

Hisirdoux woke up, quailing away from the hands trying to bandage his wounds. Zoe turned back to him. He flinched at the light, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Douxie?” Archie asked quietly, his voice cracking.

Hisirdoux reached a trembling hand out and clumsily pat the cat, his eyes still squeezed tightly shut. Merlin got the hint and dimmed the lights.

Slowly, carefully, Hisirdoux opened his eyes. They fell on Douxie.

And he started to scream.

“What is it?” Archie asked frantically, “What’s wrong?”

To everyone’s surprise, especially Merlin’s, Hisirdoux launched himself at the wizard, burying his face in Merlin’s armor, babbling about “his face but not his face and he got me.” Merlin patted his back, picked him up, and took him into a back room, presumably where he wouldn’t have to look at his changeling self anymore.

The sick, horrible feeling in Douxie’s stomach got worse as Archie gave him a tortured look and fled to the back room after Hisirdoux. Merlin emerged a few moments later, glaring. “I’m removing the bond between you and my apprentice,” he said stiffly, “After which you will leave and never come back. I… appreciate your rescuing of him, but you cannot stay around. It would cause him far too much distress, and recovery from his ordeal will be difficult enough as is without a visual reminder of the one who put him there in the first place.”

“I—”

Merlin waved a hand, and something seemed to go snap inside of Douxie, like a line being broken.

And fire broke out inside his veins.

When he’d been turned into a changeling, it had felt like he was being ripped apart and thrown back together. This transformation, it was different. Everything was stretching and elongating. His shoes fell off as his feet shrank, and the rest of his clothes got tight and uncomfortable as he got taller. The skin on his head split and dripped blood down his face as his horns erupted back. Douxie curled in a ball on the ground, blind with pain as his bones shifted and popped and moved in ways that human bones weren’t supposed to move. His canines popped out of his mouth of their own accord, heavy, sharp teeth meant for biting and tearing forcing their way out. He gagged on the blood, spitting it out with a whine. His feet felt like they were compressing and shrinking, like they were being shoved in too-tight shoes if those shoes were ten sizes too small and hardening all the time.

He hadn’t thought he’d miss crying, but the pain made him want to, and he just couldn’t, because his body didn’t work that way anymore and it hurt!

And then it was over, just leaving him sore and achy and clumsy and too heavy and with his body all rearranged and strange. The rain was pouring down even harder now, like Zoe had completely lost control of all her magic. She looked horrified, and he had to stop looking at her, because it hurt too much in a way that the transformation hadn’t.

Merlin waved a hand, and the door opened. “Leave. The rain will keep you from being burned by the sun.”

Douxie struggled to his feet—no, hooves, and they slipped and slid under him. He fell, and he knew if his troll body was capable of it, tears would have pricked his eyes as he tried and failed again to walk.

“GO!” Merlin yelled, and Douxie scrambled away, pulling his hood up to hide his face. He slipped and slid in the rain, half crawling and stumbling along the ground.

Where was he supposed to go?

Xxx

Merlin reentered the back room, dusting off his hands. “I’ve taken care of the changeling. How’s Hisirdoux?”

Archie shuddered. Douxie—the real Douxie—had fallen asleep, thank goodness. “Taken care of? Did you…”

“He’s alive. I’ve permanently returned him to his troll form, and he’s gone. He’ll survive.”

Archie told himself that he shouldn’t feel bad for the changeling. He’d kidnapped Douxie. He’d impersonated him for years. He’d tricked them all.

But he still felt… something. It was complicated. And hearing him scream and whimper from the other room…

No. He had his Hisirdoux back, the real one. That was what mattered.

Archie kneaded the ground with his claws anxiously. “Merlin… I’ve changed, over the last eight-hundred years since he was replaced. I’m sure he’s changed, too. What if… what if we’ve changed in different directions? And I didn’t even realize it wasn’t him with us. What if…”

“I expect getting back to some semblance of normal will take work,” Merlin responded gruffly, “You will both have to adapt to get used to this new reality. I expect I haven’t changed much at all, being asleep.”

“I think that will help. To have some kind of constant. I’m just worried…”

“Archibald. You are his familiar, and he is yours. You are linked in a way that is unexplainable, and your bond with him goes deeper than a superficial friendship. It may take some doing, but I think the two of you will be just fine. Can’t say the same for that other wizard. She’s long gone—took off after the changeling.”

Archie’s ears pricked up. “Zoe?”

“Is that her name? Yes, she left not long after, calling for him.”

Some part of Archie felt… relieved. His place was here, with the real Douxie. But the changeling… Archie had grown to love him, too, even if it had been a lie.

At least he won’t be alone.

Xxx

Douxie pulled his hoodie drawstrings tighter. He was hiding under a street, in a ditch tunnel. It was wet, and cold, and miserable.

Perfect for how he already felt.

He couldn’t even walk properly—how was he supposed to live the rest of his life in this form?

A shadow approached in the rain, and Zoe ducked under the concrete tunnel entrance, soaking wet. “Hey. You picked a hell of a place to camp out.”

Douxie hugged his knees to his chest. “I can’t go back.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Zoe shifted from one foot to the other. “Hey, uh. What I was trying to ask earlier, about your mission… was I a part of it? Was that first date on the belltower part of some plan? Was our relationship…”

“No,” Douxie replied immediately, “It wasn’t part of the plan, it was… it was the one thing I DID ask for. The one part of this stupid situation that I chose.”

“Okay. Good. I was hoping you’d say that. So… I’m thinking small-town Arcadia kind of blows. Where’s our next adventure?”

Douxie lifted his head. “What?”

“Where do you want to go next? I’ve heard Yellowstone is nice. Or the redwoods—those are even pretty close!”

Douxie’s brain short-circuited. “Wait. You… you don’t want to stay with the real Hisirdoux?”

She snorted. “I only knew him for like. Two weeks before you swapped with him. I don’t know the real Hisirdoux. I know you. I spent eight centuries with you. I fell in love with you. I’m not in love with the real Hisirdoux—I’m in love with you.”

“But I thought—all the rain—you’re not mad at me?”

“What? No! I—I was scared. I came in, and Merlin was attacking you, and Archie was taking his side, and—I was mad. I was mad because Merlin hurt you, and I was scared because you were hurting so bad and there wasn’t anything I could DO, and… I wasn’t mad at you. You can be… frustrating, sometimes, but this time… I was just scared for you.”

“So…”

She sat down next to him, lacing her hand in his much larger one. “So… what’s your real name?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I… I don’t remember. I’ve been Douxie for so long, I don’t know who I started out as.”

“K. I’ll just keep calling you Douxie, then. Where to next?”

“Isn’t it… I mean, I can’t travel in daylight now. We’d have to travel at night, or in the rain, or—”

Zoe shut him up by pulling him down by his collar and kissing him. “Good thing I like the rain.”

Douxie blinked, relatively certain that if he’d had his human form, he would be bright scarlet. “Uh. Heh.”

Zoe grinned. “So. Where to next?”

(Yay, ending! Thanks for reading, it was fun!)

#toa #tales of arcadia #douxie #zoe #archie #merlin #dalmar #swapped #toa fanfic #my fanfiction #my oc #changeling!douxie au

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gxccistyless · 4 years ago

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Kiwi || Part Six.

So um HELLO. I’m aware it’s been a very long time, truth be told I had totally forgotten about this!! I wanted to however finish this series before starting on anything new and so after this there will be a part seven and then perhaps an epilogue. IN THE MEANTIME HOWEVER I AM TAKING REQUESTS FOR HARRY SHORTS — What I mean by this is, well give me a prompt or something you want written and I’ll try my best!

Hope you all enjoy part six of Kiwi!

If you’re new here, please subscribe/follow... If you’d like to catch up you can read Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four and Part Five . ENJOY!!

“Please give me another chance? I know we’ve been through a lot but i really do love you and want to at least try and make things work…” The two of you had sat in the room in undisturbed silence for a further five minutes before you nodded your head. When you realised he couldn’t hear you nodding, you finally spoke.”Yes” Harrys breath hitched in his throat and if you ask him, he’ll swear his heart skipped a few beats. “But i have a few conditions...” He nodded waiting for you to continue. “You have to stop drinking and get yourself straight. You need to start talking to someone about your problems... and i want us to go to therapy... together.” The thought of talking to someone else about everything going on in his life and explaining to them why he would drown himself in alcohol seemed rather daunting, but a small price to pay to get back the love of his life. He tries to argue with you but he knows that you hold all the cards and he holds none, so he agrees. “do you know the gender?” You shake your head “Would you like to know?” He shakes his head in response “I quite like the idea of a surprise, seems very on theme” he lets out a small giggle, as do you. He moves closer to you and even though it feels a little awkward he reaches out for your hand and you give it to him, you both turn your attention back to the baby on the screen.

When Anne and Gemma return to the room that’s how they find the two of you, holding hands, looking at the child the two of you made together. Anne smirks a little, she’d been rooting for the two of you. Gemmas eyes go back and forth between your linked hands and both of your faces. “Thank Christ, I honestly thought I’d have to lock the two of you in the laundry room later, bloody as stubborn as each other” you roll your eyes, but you know she’s right.

_______________________________________ On the drive back to the apartment Harry and Gemma had organised that they would take turns to babysit you over the coming weeks. Harry would of course move back in and stay at night, and Gemma would watch you whenever he needed to be out of the apartment. Anne was adamant that she would come down every weekend to cook and help prepare a space for the baby... neither you or Harry could argue with her.

You could no longer fit the bump behind the wheel of a car and quite frankly after all the ups and downs of the last few weeks everyone was a bit worried that you would go into labour prematurely, yourself included. Even though you had promised Harry another chance you still had boundaries and wanted to take things slowly, he respected your boundaries and reluctantly slept on the couch. He quickly realised after two nights on a more than uncomfortable couch that this arrangement wouldn’t work. Never mind the fact that he was sleeping on a terrible couch that there was hardly any space for in this shoebox sized apartment, where would this baby fit when it came, your bedroom barely fit your side tables and bed let alone a crib for the baby.

“I think we ought to look at moving you to my place...” he broached the topic with you less than 48 hours after taking up residence on the couch. “Really? Why? I quite like it here” He shakes his head “I understand that, but where is this baby going to go? You know babies have stuff too... like a crib and a high chair, love you don’t even have room for a dining table in here let alone a high chair and your bedroom has absolutely zero room for a crib or a bassinet”

Deep down you know he is right, this apartment is way too small to fit all three of you, heck it barely was enough space for you and now Harry is back in the picture and the bump is very rapidly approaching it’s due date. The thought of moving right now however really overwhelmed you, the thought of being seven months pregnant and then moving all the stuff that you had made you feel like you were drowning, so you told him that through sobs.

“I’ll pack this up, I’ll send you to Mums for a night or two.... you don’t have to lift a finger.. I promise you I’ll do all the hard work, but love if I have to sleep on this couch for a second longer than necessary I might go insane, my back is so sore you have no idea the pain that I’m —” he stops himself and looks up at you, your face had a less than impressed expression “you have barely slept on this couch for two nights, how about you try carrying a watermelon around on your pelvis for seven months, a watermelon WITH YOUR HEAD” you let out a huff. He brings you to the couch and gives you two minutes to just sit alone undisturbed with a glass of cool water. When he returns you’ve had enough time to think about everything he’s said, you tell him that as long as he promises you don’t have to pack a single box, you agree to move.

That night you demanded that he sleep in the bed next to you, he was given strict instructions to stay on his side of the bed and you thought for certain you’d have no trouble staying on yours, especially considering the large pregnancy pillow in the middle. Even though it went against all the boundaries you had set, god forbid you have to hear him complain about his back tomorrow. He didn’t think twice when the words came out of your mouth, making his way straight to the bed. The next morning you woke up to your pregnancy pillow on the floor your legs entangled with his, his hand on the bump.

______________________________________

Two days later you are moved into his London house. It’s definitely bigger than your last place, a bedroom for you, a room for the baby and a room for Harry too and even then some to spare. Truth be told you didn’t use the room that was intended for you, telling Harry that the cooling system was much better in his room than yours. Both he and you know that this is a lie, but neither of you speak the truth. The two of you have started couples therapy, it’s really helped the two of you sort through issues and talk about old wounds. Harry even started solo sessions to help him cope with his drinking problem. _______________________________________________ As the bump continued to increase in size and your due date got closer it became harder to leave the house. Not only because you were uncomfortable and large, but the tabloids had caught onto the fact that you and Harry had moved back in together and so that meant that the paparazzi were camped out on your front door at all hours of the day. Harry tried to do as much work as he possibly could from home, but there were times where this was impossible and so true to her word Gemma came to keep you company, jumping any time you would move.

________________________________________________

The days went on and on with no sign of baby. “Maybe they don’t want to come until we can decide on names” you’d both gone back and forth on names for a few weeks now. “What do you think about James for the middle name?” He says whilst his head is in his morning paper. Truth be told you hadn’t been thinking of James for the middle name, you’ve had a boy middle name picked out for the longest time, but as for a first name... well you had nothing.

With a girl name however, well girl names came in an abundance, and it was a back and forth of name throwing, with a list longer than what your final thesis had been at uni. If this poor kid turned out to be a boy he would be lucky to even have a first name let alone a middle name.“It’s very British innit? and i was thinking it’s very gender neutral, so could work no matter what we have boy or girl” You roll your eyes at the thought, but just smile in agreement... He will forget about this in an hour and he’ll have mentioned another three names before the day is through.

“I quite like the name Grayson” it’s been one of your top picks for the longest time, whilst other names have come and gone Grayson has stayed. But Harry, well he won’t have any of it, he is totally against the name. He says something about the name doesn’t scream success, and that he wants his son to have a strong name. “So what James is a strong name to you? Do you know how many James’ there are in the UK alone? It doesn’t exactly scream individual?!” The two of you had been playing this back and forth on names since the night you moved in to his house. It started over text whilst he was moving your boxes and then eventually just became something the two of you would discuss every day.

“Ok... ok... we don’t have to decided right now, but eventually we will. But Grayson is definitely off the table” You’re taken back by his authority and you’re a little mad that he’s dismissed your favourite name so easily without even thinking about it. “Well if Grayson is off the table, the James is too” You stomp off toward the bathroom and run yourself a bath. Staying in there for what seems like an eternity. You think of how his face fell when you told him James was vetoed as a name. You’d like to think that he felt a little pang in his heart too when he realised your feelings were just as hurt. You intend to apologise to him, you intend to explain everything to him, you hope he’s still here when you get out of the bath.

When you reach the bedroom and slump onto the bed his back is facing you, you turn on your side trace your fingers over his torso tattoo. He tenses. You know he’s a little mad from earlier, he had really liked James for a middle name, and the way that you shot him down had hurt him, but in fairness he had hurt you too. “Harry.. Harry turn around... please?” He turns to face you, but doesn’t make eye contact with you.”It’s not that i don’t like your suggestion Harry, i do, but i’ve had a boy middle name picked since i first found out i was pregnant. And well, i’m sorry but James just doesn’t compare to it...i have a really strong name after a man who is so special to me, who i know this baby will admire and well.. James... it just won’t do.. it does’t compare. And so if we have a boy I want his middle name to be Edward”

The moment it rolls off your tongue his eyes light up, he finally makes eye contact with you. His breath hitches and his lips part, his eyes fill with tears. He brings you in close to him, hand back to the bump where it’s been at every moment possible.

#harry styles fanfictions #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #Harry Styles #harry styles kiwi #Harry styles oneshots #harry styles imagines #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles tpwk #tpwk #hs2

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sprnklersplashes · 4 years ago

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power of three

canon divergence where cady is not a plastic, and goes to janis’ art show instead (ao3)

It’s a strange feeling, all these eyes on her.

The room is packed, people swirling around in all directions, conversations fading in and out of earshot. There’s a glass in her hand (lemonade, of course) and people she vaguely recognises coming up to shake her free one, congratulating her on getting this far. She blushes slightly, thanks them and takes a sip of her drink to keep herself from passing out. Rinse and repeat, over and over, for what feels like an hour, but when Damian grabs her by the elbow and pulls her out, it turns out it had been five minutes.

It’s not bad, all this attention, not when it’s praise rather than damnation. When people come up to her with admiration in their eyes, rather than scorn. She’s just not very used to it.

“Thank you,” she breathes into Damian’s ear. He chuckles and loops his arm so that her hand rests on it, like they’re a married couple at some gala far more pretentious than this. She chuckles, and what’s more she can lean on him now. Keeping herself upright is suddenly far less of a challenge.

“Well, it looked like you were either going to explode if one more person came up to you,” he explains as they weave in and out of the crowd. “And funny as that would be, I think you’d need to be in tact when they give you your prize.”

“Oh shush you,” she replies, hoping her feigned nonchalance covers the prickling insecurity in her gut. Maybe it would, if it was someone other than Damian. “Besides, I don’t need to win. Getting to the finals is more than enough for me.” The words feel false on her tongue, and even more so when Damian raises his eyebrow, a silent signal meaning you’re talking bullshit and you know it. She stands her ground for a total of three seconds before she sighs and looks into her half-finished glass. “I don’t want to get my hopes up, is all.”

“Well too bad,” Damian replies. “Because my hopes are all riled up.” He nudges her with his shoulder, and she manages a smile then. “I mean it. They’d be crazy not to pick you. If they do, I’m filing a lawsuit.”

“You do that.” She turns and takes in her surroundings, mainly the other paintings on the walls, and the confidence Damian instilled in her dips a little. When her art teacher told her to fill out the application, she did so mainly to please her. She’s never really been interested in putting her art up to be judged. For her, that would be like ripping a page out of her diary and publishing it in the school newsletter. But she did it anyway, not expecting to get past the application stage. But she did, evidently, and then she got past the second round and the third, each time feeling like there must have been some mistake. Because now she’s looking at the other works on the walls, mostly made by real artists who go to real art schools, and she’s not sure how she’s meant to compare here.

“You seen Cady yet?” she asks, ripping her gaze away from the other paintings. Damian shakes his head and checks his watch before the two of them scan the room, searching for caramel coloured curls or a funky-coloured flannel. “She has the right address, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies. Janis nods and takes a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm. There could be a hundred reasons as to why Cady hasn’t showed up yet, right? After all, it’s a new city and she still doesn’t know it very well, or maybe she’s running late, maybe her tutoring Aaron went on longer than expected. Maybe she couldn’t get out of the thing with her parents after all. She did text ‘sorry, running late, be there as soon as I can’ about ten minutes ago, so that means she’s coming, right?

“Hey,” Damian’s voice whispers in her ear, his hand on her back as if she’s about to fall. “Don’t worry about it. She’ll be here. And if she isn’t, I’ll shove her into a locker myself, K?”

She nods, even though it’s shakier than it ought to be, and turns, her mouth open to reassure both him and herself, but something catches her eye. Something, or rather someone, coming through the door, with all the grace and care of a small hurricane. Someone smaller than her with wide eyes and caramel coloured curls and… a blue flannel.

She can breathe again.

“Caddy!” She waves her over, mindful of the drink in her hand and Damian beside her, and her friend hurries over to her, forgoing a handshake in favour of wrapping her in a brief but tight hug. “You made it.”

“I did,” they sigh. “Sorry, I’m late, I grossly misjudged how far away this place was and it was my first time taking the bus on my own.”

“It’s okay,” she replies. “I mean really, it’s fine.”

“Public transportation is a nightmare in this city,” Damian chimes in. “Glad you made it, little slice.” Cady squeals and hugs him too, stretching up on their toes and wrapping their arms around his shoulders. Damian grins, his joy so bright it’s hard to believe he was plotting their hypothetical revenge on Cady not seconds earlier.

She knows he’d have never gone through with it.

“Let’s go get you a drink,” Damian says. “Unfortunately, we can’t go up to the bar unless you managed to sneak in a fake ID.”

“I didn’t, sorry,” Cady laughs.

“Don’t worry about it,” Janis says as she hands her a lemonade. “Alcohol is far overrated anyway. We wanted to wait for you before we got food too.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”

“We know, we’re just awesome people,” Janis says as she and Damian lead Cady to the food table. It’s all little snacks mainly-tiny hot dogs, mini quiches, little finger sandwiches, and Cady is amazed by them.

“They’re so cute!” they exclaim as they load another sandwich onto their already-sagging paper plate. “It’s like little doll food!” Janis and Damian’s eyes simultaneously grow wider as they watch; this tiny girl who can apparently wolf down more than they can combined. Cady just smiles, brighter than any lamp in the room, and Janis feels compelled to smile back.

Cady’s funny like that.

“Okay, come on, kiddos,” Damian says, grabbing Cady by the hand and nodding for Janis to follow. The twinkle in his eye tells her everything she needs to know about what he plans and her cheeks grow warmer as she follows them. “We want to get a good seat for this.”

She ducks her head, her hair falling infront of her face like a curtain, but behind is one of the warmest smiles she’s ever known.

“I feel kind of underdressed,” Cady remarks, their eyes scanning the crowds. They pull on their shirt, the gesture seemingly subconscious. “I didn’t know how fancy this was going to be. Maybe I should have dressed up a little.”

“Oh you’re fine.” Janis waves her hand dismissively. “It’s not that fancy.” She feels a little hypocritical here, after all, she was the one who went out and bought herself a new jacket especially for this event, but she stands by what she said. Cady looks fine. “You clearly have your formal flannel on anyway.”

Cady bursts out laughing at that, earning a confused look from some passers-by. That only makes the two of them laugh harder, their snickers hidden behind their hands. It stings for a moment, because that gesture is so closely associated with Regina in Janis’ mind, but it’s brushed aside as Cady links their arms together. Janis breathes out. Regina isn’t even here, and she has no place in her friendships. Not anymore.

“Thanks so much for inviting me, Janis,” Cady says.

“Hey, no problem, Caddy,” she says. “You’re one of us now. Which means you get dragged to my art shows and Damian’s drama club performances.” Cady giggles at that. “And then to make it fair, you get to drag us to your Mathlete contests and everyone wins.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Cady says.

Something blossoms in Janis’ chest, something new and exciting. For so long it had just been her and Damian and she was fine with it. More than fine. But when she said what she said to Cady, you’re one of us now… she was saying that there was an us to be a part of. That they aren’t loners anymore. That… that she isn’t. That she can let people in now.

She wonders how that little 12 year old girl would react if she told her.

“Are you okay?” Cady asks. Janis blinks, her breath coming out in a quick gasp, and she takes a drink to cool her warm cheeks. Cady stands beside her, not overly concerned, but not oblivious either. They squeeze Janis’ hand, their eyes gentle and kind, and Janis tries not to get emotional. Again.

“Fine,” she tells them. “Just nervous.” It’s not entirely a lie. Her eyes meet Damian’s over Cady’s head and he sees right through her, because of course he does. She doesn’t mind though, not one little bit. Because she knows he’s thinking the same thing.

Strange, she thinks, how quickly this little jungle freak infiltrated their tight-knit friendship. She smiles and lets Cady rest their head on her shoulder. Strange, and she loves it.

******

It’s way past dark when Damian’s scooter pulls up outside Janis’ house. Her hair is tangled from the ride home, her back aching a little after having spent the better part of 30 minutes leaning over Damian, but she’s far too happy to care. In fact, it’s one of those rare instances where she can’t find it in herself to care about anything; school, her friends, her future, or the weather. All that matters is her and Damian, and the jokes they’re sharing, and the painting sitting in the jazzy’s front basket. That’s her world right now, and it’s all she needs.

She’s still laughing as she jumps off the jazzy, the cheeks-hurt-can’t-breathe kind of laughter, and Damian follows, making sure to double check all the breaks before he hops off. She goes to lift her painting but he holds one hand in front of her face and grabs it with the other, tucking it beneath his arm instead. She rolls her eyes, but it’s for show. There’s a proud smile on his face, the twinkle in his eyes evident even in the dark, and he stops to grab her hand before they head inside.

“Have I told you how proud I am yet?” he asks her.

“Only a hundred times,” is her reply, and she gives his hand a grateful squeeze.

“Can I say I told you so yet?”

“Only if I can kick you in the shins afterwards,” she says firmly, only for the two to burst out laughing as she turns the key in the lock.

The hallway is far warmer than outside and Janis can’t not sigh in relief when she enters. She takes off her jacket and hangs it up and Damian does the same. Her mom told him back when they were twelve to “make himself at home” and he’s never stopped doing so. They head into the kitchen, following the sound of low chatter and the muted lights. It doesn’t surprise her that her parents beat them home; even if she hadn’t already seen the car parked in the drive, she knows that car beats jazzy every single time.

What does surprise her, however, is the sight of Cady sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea from her Eyeore mug, and making polite chithcat with her parents.

They had offered Cady a ride on the jazzy, Janis even demonstrating how they would both fit on safely, but Cady had politely declined, insisting on riding their bike instead. Janis had relented, seeing there was no convincing them re: the scooter, and wrote down detailed instructions on how to get to her place and also telling them to call if they got lost. Even with those precautions, Janis wasn’t convinced Cady would make it, and was expecting her phone to vibrate on the way home.

But no. Here’s Cady. Sitting at her table like they’ve done it before. Like it isn’t the first time.

Their eyes find Janis’ as she walks in, and their face breaks out into a relieved smile. Janis hides a smile of her own, a small tug of sympathy in her chest. Cady is sweet, and she loves her parents, but she’s also sure there’s only so many conversation topics one can have.

“You’re back!” her dad announces, half-turning in his seat. “How was the scooter?”

“It was fun,” she says. “We got yelled at by these college kids.”

“Oh don’t tell me that,” her mom sighs. “Really, Damian, I’m surprised your mom let you ride that thing at night.”

“She said as long as I wear a helmet, everything’s fine.”

“I see. And did you?” her mom asks. Damian stops then, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and that’s enough of an answer. Her mom rolls her eyes, but it’s a fond gesture, and she chuckles warmly under her breath.

“At least Cady wore a helmet,” she says, gesturing across the table. “Maybe they’ll be a good influence on you.”

“Or we’ll corrupt them and turn them dark,” Janis jokes, winking over at them. Cady smiles softly, their cheeks turning pink. “One way to find out.” She heads over and pulls up a chair beside Cady, their elbows bumping on the table. “Sorry we left you hanging here on your own.”

“It’s fine,” they reply. “Got talking with your parents.”

“And I think that’s our cue to leave now,” her mom says. Her dad nods and finishes up his coffee before rising from the table, stretching his arms over his head. “You kids have fun, okay?”

“But not too much fun, I still want this kitchen intact when I get back.”

“No promises, Dad,” Janis grins. Her dad raises a playful eyebrow at her, meanwhile her mom counts on her fingers, ticking off her mental checklist.

“Okay, so the pizza menu’s in the drawer, money’s on the counter, we’ve got the living room set up and we’re just upstairs if you need anything,” her mom says.

“Thanks Mom.”

“Thanks Laura,” Damian adds, at the same time Cady says “Thanks Mrs Heron.” They shift slightly, only noticeable to those sitting next to them, and Janis threads her fingers through Cady’s, hopefully letting her know she’s just as welcome here as Damian is. Cady smiles softly in return and runs her thumb over Janis’ knuckles.

“Alright, have a good night kids,” her dad says. “We’re off to watch boring nature documentaries on Netflix like adults.”

“Maybe you are,” her mom adds, tapping his chest. “I’m finishing my mystery novel.” Janis chuckles, warmth fluttering in her chest. Her parents might be, well, parents, but damn she loves them.

Even more so when her dad pokes his head around the door and says “Janis… I’m so proud of you.” Sure, her cheeks burn in front of her friends, but a grin spreads across her face at the same time. Her parents are the best, and she’ll fight anyone on that.

Not twenty minutes later they’re sitting in the living room, all clad in their pyjamas, the room lit solely by lamps. Janis made sure to bring down as many extra blankets and pillows as she could, ensuring there could be no spot that wasn’t cosy. Three pizza boxes sit in the middle of the floor, each one a different level of demolished. Damian ordered Hawaiian, partially because he knew it would drive Janis crazy, and poor Cady got pulled into the ongoing ‘pineapple on pizza’ debate, something they had apparently missed out on while chasing lions in Kenya. Lucky they have them, then.

“It’s a fruit, and fruits do not belong on a pizza,” Janis says, standing on her couch for the full effect. “I will have pineapple on a lot of things. In a salad. In a cake. In my conditioner so that I always smell like a tropical paradise. But pizza is not one of those things.Thank you for coming to my TED talk.”

“Counter point,” Damian replies. “Tomato is a fruit, and there is tomato sauce on every pizza in existence.”

“Counter-counter point, tomato is an acceptable fruit for pizza, pineapple isn’t.”

“Coutner-counter-counter point, who are you to decide which fruits are acceptable?”

“Counter-counter-counter-counter point, I’m cute,” she says.

“Cannot argue with that,” Damian replies, leaning back on the couch. “Caddy, be our tiebreaker please?” Janis pouts, suspecting he’s only relenting so he can eat more pizza instead, but it’s a victory and so she takes it.

“I’m amazed neither one of you have gone out for debate team,” Cady says, who had been watching the argument with their head bopping back and forth. They sit with one of the blankets wrapped around them, their chin resting on their knees. They scrunch their face up slightly, their gaze shifting from Janis to Damian and back again, and a mischievous grin forms on their lips. “But… I am ultimately sold on Janis’ point of view, sorry Damian.”

“I am flabbergasted,” Damian sighs, throwing himself back on the couch. He throws his hand against his forehead, the perfect picture of the fainting Victorian maiden. Suitably dramatic, of course. “Horrified. Betrayed. Ultimately humiliated. My honour has been squandered.”

“You never had honour to begin with,” Janis quips as she jumps off the couch. She settles herself beside Cady, pleasantly surprised when they open up the blanket and drape it around her shoulders. She scoots a little closer until their knees touch, and her smile widens.

“Okay losers, what movie are we making Caddy watch?” Damian asks. “I’ve got Sound of Music, Chicago, Cabaret and if we’re not feeling like a musical tonight, we have Heathers, The Bee Movie, Night at the Museum and Legally Blonde.” He takes out each movie and displays it on the floor, sitting in front of Cady like jewellery in a cabinet, and their eyes grow slowly wider.

“Is the Bee Movie just a movie about bees?” they ask, their nose scrunched up.

“Yes and it’s a masterpiece,” Janis replies. “It explores the depths and complexities of human sexuality, the insidious reality of our capitalist society and what it means to truly love someone.”

Cady nods slowly but skeptically, and their hand passes over the DVD. Janis makes a mental note to work on her Bee Movie pitch. Damian shrugs sympathetically, a silent well, you tried in his eyes.

“What about this one?” Cady asks, holding up Heathers.

“Hell yeah,” is her answer. It’s a personal favourite of Janis’, and yes a little bit of a fantasy, not that she’d ever go as far as Veronica did. She taps Cady’s shoulder and pulls herself up. “I’ll go get the popcorn ready.”

“Why don’t I give you a hand?” Cady asks, already jumping to their feet. Janis jumps a little, taken aback by her new friend’s enthusiasm.

“Um… okay, sure,” she says. “Damian, can you set up the movie?”

“On it, kids,” he replies. “Go make me a shitton of popcorn.” Janis leads Cady out of the living room, half holding their hand, and into the kitchen. If Cady feels the same awkwardness she does they do a good job of hiding it, caramel curls bouncing around their shoulders as they almost skip after Janis.

“Hey can you grab some bowls for me?” she asks as she grabs popcorn out of the cupboards. “There’s some really big ones in the back of this cupboard here.” Cady nods and whisks around her kitchen, quick as the little lions they love so dearly, and emerges with three brightly coloured plastic bowls. Janis grins, especially at the size of them. “Amazing.”

“You know, back in Kenya, my mom would make popcorn for us sometimes, too,” Cady tells her.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. But instead of watching movies at night we’d sit outside and watch the animals roaming around.” Janis turns and catches the wistful look in her new friend’s eye. She almost sees it in her own mind, the kitchen floor transforming into a quiet, moonlit jungle. “But we’d be wrapped up in our blankets and sitting in our chairs and we knew we’d be safe. They weren’t pets but were our animals. And it was different every time.”

They duck their head then, hair falling in front of their face as a quiet, shaky breath escapes them. Janis rests her hand on their shoulder, drawn closer to the little jungle kid.

“You must miss it there,” she whispers. “Africa, I mean.”

“A bit,” Cady confesses. “Sometimes.” They don’t cry, but their voice is thin and strained, and it’s not unfamiliar to Janis. “But I wanted to come here for years. And I’m glad I did. So...” Their voice trails off and Janis can only wince in sympathy as she runs her hand in circles around Cady’s shoulder. They pause, taking the moment together, and Cady leans closer to her until their head rests on her shoulder. A smile graces their face, small but so bright. “Thanks.”

“No problemo,” she replies. Just in time, the microwave goes off and the two open the door to steaming warm popcorn. They shake it out amongst the three bowls, both secretly adding stragglers to their own even if they’ll share with Damian later. Cady balances two in their hands while Janis tidies up after them and switches off the light. They step into the dimly lit hall and are just about to head to the living room when Janis stops suddenly, a new sense of strength creeping in. The last time she felt like this was when she was twelve, and was looking over at Damian on a similar night. Like something is locking in her heart, and she’s deciding, yep, we’re definitely keeping her.

“Hey, Caddy?” she asks in a low voice. Cady turns, her eyes wide, and Janis feels herself soften. “I’m really glad you came tonight too.”

Cady grins, a kind of breathless gratitude on their face and goes to hug Janis, only to laugh and remember the popcorn at the last minute.

Janis hugs them on the couch to make up for it.

Damian doesn’t mind, especially not when Maxie decides he wants to join the party too and cuddles up with Damian on the chair. Janis mumbles something about a “traitor dog” before slipping right back into the movie, quoting it word for word like it’s a second language. Cady raises their eyebrows, seemingly impressed by her ability, and Janis simply shrugs.

“It’s a gift,” she tells them. “Wait and see kiddo, soon we’ll have you quoting this movie off by heart.”

“How very,” Cady replies, and the three of them burst into late night giggles.

They put on Legally Blonde next, another classic Cady hasn’t seen. Cady even talks about how excited they are for it, but before Warner has even broken up with Elle, Janis looks down to find Cady curled up in a ball next to her, fast asleep. Janis pulls the blanket over her, a rush of protectiveness flowing through her as she does so. It makes sense, she supposes. Cady is one of them now after all. They protect their own.

“Hey,” Damian’s voice comes as a loud whisper from across the room. He’s almost asleep himself, his hand slowly running through Maxie’s fur. He lazily points over at Cady, a crooked smile on his face. “You were right.”

Janis blinks in tired confusion until she realises what he’s referring to; that first day in French class, where Cady had so desperately tried to think of their ‘French name’. When Janis had leaned back in her chair and dropped a note on Damian’s desk.

“We’re adopting them. That’s our new child” it had read and they went into that bathroom that day and never looked back.

“Yeah.” She turns to say something else, but finds Damian asleep too, Maxie curled up in his lap. Unlike Cady, he had no problem pulling the blanket over himself. She chuckles softly, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. It’s his house too after all.

She gets up slowly, careful not to disturb Cady, and turns the movie off. They can watch it tomorrow morning after all. She settles down on the couch, right beside Cady again, and pretends that her eyes aren’t blurry.

As she looks around the room, she finds her prize winning painting propped against the wall, and her cheeks flush at the sight. It had been a vague idea in her mind for a while, but when her teacher had told her to “draw from the heart”, it was the first contender. It’s silly and it’s cliche and it’s sappy; all the things she pretends she isn’t. But it’s also the most authentic piece she’s ever created, and that’s why she loves it so much. It’s all the bits of herself she used to be scared of, sitting on a canvas for all to see. The parts that are open and loving and unafraid. Creating it may have been scary, but the rewards go beyond the prize she won.

It occurs to her, in her fuzzy, half-asleep mind, that maybe that’s the reason it won. Maybe she should try it again sometime.

#mean girls musical #mean girls broadway #mean girls fanfic #janis sarkisian #cady heron #damian hubbard #art freaks #áine writes fic

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witchcraftingboop · 5 years ago

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Re: Jbird & RainS. (Briar) Discourse

Previously, I have spoken with the person who made very serious allegations against JBird, calling him a racist, that were then used by others to spread slander against him. They have since apologized and admitted that JBird isn't a racist, and I genuinely think there was a stark miscommunication that went on to prompt such a claim. I don't want to name them or involve them here, since I do believe they've already reflected enough on the situation at hand, and is still deeply considering the multi-faceted hornet's nest of problems they've stumbled upon.

However, in light of the blatant dismissal and refusal to submit actual proof against the two, I feel as if I should share the information I offered this person before.

If you are basing your arguments against Jbird and Briar off of the previous, separate Discord group discussions of Trio & co. - screenshots of which have been, and continue to be spread years later, by Prim - then I especially implore you to be open to what I have to say. As a third party to this continually and rapidly spiralling debacle, I feel like there's not much I can say or do to assist my friends in being heard, but I feel as if I ought to try. Prim's following is large and actively prepared to follow her "do not interact even to ask questions" policy, so I worry it may be too late already. But I am not without hope or faith.

Tumblr is, unfortunately, a place where hate spreads rapidly, and while I do love the broad community it fosters, I am also aware that, even with the best of folks, it is hard to see the side of someone you've already decided is guilty and not worth approaching for an explanation.

First and foremost, I believe in innocence until proven guilty.

Now then! Onto my offered commentary/input! (Sorry to prattle on so much.)

To start, thedesertgod, also known as Trio, did go through and look for her personal information, which is messed up. But that person has already apologized, if I'm remembering correctly, and left Tumblr. And the other main user who helped spread information about Prim being a race faker also admitted wrong and left. The others in the chat, particularly Mystic and Ronan appear to just be making jokes and stating factual informative summaries, respectively. E-muete also said "ok no" after the Dolezal comment, which is a common "no that's too far a comparison/joke/statement" substitute among their forums and chats and often means they don't actually agree with what they themselves said. Ruby also politely reminds Trio that it's impossible to tell someone's race off of their appearance alone. So what I see here is definitely problematic, but entirely on Trio's part. I'm not saying it's not screwed up to find pictures of someone's parents and debate their race, but the persons who did those things have already left the Tumblrsphere.

Unfortunately, the people you've pointed out don't have a good history with Prim even before the whole "Trio nitpicking her race" thing. Prim used to follow more than a few of them and use their posts to fuel her platform, oftentimes creating uninformed mish-mosh articles with a voice of authority that simply wasn't warranted. As I'm sure you're aware, it's hard enough dealing with people stealing your content word for word, but to attempt to steal your knowledge? Your initiations and rites of passage? And use them to sell yourself as a master of a breadth of practices? The tradcrafters of that particular circle decided to band together and block her from interacting with them directly for that very reason. And because of that, Prim started telling her followers that they are all racist and elitist and ableist and gatekeepers. These terms over the years have become almost like triggers in that once they're said, everyone seems to put on a blindfold and fall into a frenzied rage. And to be fair, Prim is far too quick, in my opinion, to bring up racism as the reason others disagree with her. Most times, I've noticed at least, that if she calls someone racist or says they're unsupportive of POC, she nearly immediately brings up BLM activism in her posts or reblogs. I'm not saying I necessarily support calling all of her activistic inclinations performative, but where the tradcradt group she calls racist is more than willing to talk of and show proof of their contribution, Prim never has and avoids it if asked. I can see both sides, really. But the fact remains that calling someone performative in their actions, does not a racist make. Neither, in my opinion, does interacting with people who are assumed (without real and concrete proof) to be racist.

I can appreciate where you're coming from; honestly, I can. People have grown accustomed to hearing the prefix trad- and preparing for the worst. Racism is a systematic and prevailing problem in the society all around us, so it makes sense to be on the lookout for it. You want to protect yourself and your community. I can understand your sentiments perfectly. But I cannot support "guilty by association" viewpoints. As a WOC who grew up in some rough areas, I have seen boys killed under that very same reasoning. Jbird is a good friend of mine, and I have never questioned his morals or ethics. I have seen no sign of my being looked down upon for the color of my skin, nor anyone else who runs in that very same circle.

What I see is what I see in a lot of faces on this hellsite: hurt. Before Trio and after Trio left, the tradcraft community has been slandered and ostracized. They have shut themselves off to outsiders for the very thing you've done to Jbird just yesterday. They hold their secrets closer than most other communities now because persecution is seemingly forever at their door. On Prim's end too, there has been struggle and pain and needless arguing and hurt. If those you approach seem prickly, it is often because the world has roughened their edges, not because they personally are against you.

I asked for a couple examples from the group and one person (I'll keep them anonymous because I didn't confirm they'd like their name here) said: she has talked about saint magic (trio), hadean pamphlet (trio), hubris (Ruby), fairies, trad craft shit (Mahigan among others), etc etc

From what I personally have seen, her most recent was the Witch Fire podcast. A few tradcraft blogs had a debate/discussion about Witch Fire and its traditional eurocentric foundations in witchcraft not that long ago, and then Prim decided to put out a podcast that was so uninformed, I'm still worried about how younger or newer witches might be hurt by it.

Unfortunately the tradcraft community is vulnerable to that kind of thing [being called names or falsely accused] and an easy target. That's why being called those kind of harsh words - like gatekeeping, elitist, racist, and ableist - are met with so much anger from them. I take it very seriously because I've seen the kind of whiplash it has, especially on such a closed off group.

[A Reply.] Yeah no, Prim "apologizes" by talking about how she's been previously given a hard time with interjections of "but please don't go around spreading hate" and never directly apologizes to the tradcrafter in such posts. Unfortunately, her "apology" did more harm than good. I was hoping she'd just ignore it but . . . This tends to happen too 🤦‍♀️

I think that if both sides were able to approach it as openmindedly as you have, there would be a lot less drama and in-fighting on this app 😩 I really did enjoy talking with you though!

That just about covers everything I'd like to say on the matter.

I do not condone spreading hate, just as I don't condone misinformation or blind allegiance to what one person says. So if you can respectfully and openmindedly address your questions/comments/concerns, I don't see why you can't interact with Briar, Jbird, or myself. I understand it's easy to get caught up in the first perspective you're given, but it is my hope that Witchblr as a whole can be more open to hearing both sides of the story. Blindly blocking and cancelling certain bloggers is something I don't support nor encourage. I understand Prim must be tired of addressing all of the drama that churns around her, so I won't speak as to what her reasoning could be for suggesting such a solution. I'm simply stating what I hope for the community as a whole.

| | Note: The statements above were written early (I think, my sense of time is off) yesterday, and as of yet, I have still seen no concrete evidence that Briar or Jbird have ever made racist comments. On Briar's part, I have seen her observation that activism on a performative platform such as Tumblr can come off as performative, but she never once said she doesn't know or see why Prim would support and promote BLM activism. Something I think was misconstrued and lumped all together to sound as if she thought Prim were faking her contributions altogether. | |

#witchblr #witch community #witchblr discourse #discourse #disappointed #tradcraft #traditional witchcraft #primrose #nightshadeandroses #gabrielle #chthoniaa

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smolbeandrabbles · 4 years ago

Text

Hanging On - Emmett Dutton x Reader (Australia)

GIF Credit: X

@happyskywhale @wltz-bby

A spiritual sequel to: When She Says Baby / Starlight / Living Proof

Requested by @slurpin

Author’s Note: Every single ride I mention existed in the 1940′s and honestly it’s not research that I ever thought I’d have to do but here we are!

Massive shout out to @saddadfanclub for the catalyst, truly an excellent suggestion 🙏

Also, Kathner is back - because of course he is. 😉

Also, just because the lyric video is set at a Theme Park, which is too good of a coincidence... Hangin On - Chris Young

It takes 2900 words to get to the smut, and no I will not apologise!

Disclaimer: Australia & all associated pieces not mine / lyrics & gif neither.

Premise: Emmett takes you on a surprise date, and while you’re having the best time, there’s still no where you’d rather be than loving on him back at home...

Words: 7136

Warnings: Soft/Sweet Smut - it’s more emotional than it is Sinday/Sunday. / Emmett should always come with an insulin warning... he’s a little feistier this time though!

_______

I'm a few drinks in, but that ain't the reason I'm all tongue tied and my breath's leaving this fast I can't get past Those blue eyes shining They keep drawing me in to you Got me fallin' off track, you get me like that It's every smile coming off of your sweet lips That makes me wanna stay here No, this ain't a one night, one time thing You always light me up like a flame and it's clear Every time you're near Yeah, I'm hangin' on, hangin' on To every word you say, every move you make I'm hangin' on, hangin' on Wondering what's up next Girl, I can't wait Ain't nothing like spinning you around the room Where everyone can see You hangin' on, hangin' on to me So let me pull you a little closer Even when the music's over I'll be hangin' on, hangin' on To every word you say Every move you make I'm hangin' on, hangin' on Wondering what's up next I can't wait... ---

It was quite the view. Okay, fine, it wasn’t the most perfect view, but the man walking it sure as hell was. You were leaning on the wooden frame of your front porch awaiting the return of your other half, who had hurried off into town to get something that was clearly important for whatever date he was taking you on. As you would be leaving immanently when he arrived, you decided to stand out in the warm sunshine – luckily by the time you were outside he was already returning. Emmett was always easy on the eye – there couldn’t have been a woman in your little town who didn’t know that, and you often watched them call to him up and down the street as he walked by. The catch for all of them of course was that they could stare at him all they wanted, but they couldn’t be with him. (On second thought, maybe you ought to start charging them for looks). That had been your place for several years now, ever since he’d been stationed here for the first time. He’d moved up to Darwin during the war effort, and you’d made the trip a few times, but, now with the war over he was back with you. Still a Captain, of course, but today out of uniform. Emmett stopped just short of the steps, gentle smile on his face, “Ready to go?” “Mhmmm.” He tipped his head, “What’s that look for?” “Oh, nothing…” You sighed dreamily as you descended slowly, “You’re wearing my favourite shirt.” The dark blue was fairly faded and worn these days, but he still looked flawless in it. “Oh.” His smile became slightly shy, and those beautiful blue eyes lowered from yours, “I mean I could pretend I didn’t think about that, but I am taking you on a date.” That somehow managed to make you more overjoyed, “You wore it for me!?” “Uhm, yes.” “You’re gonna make me cry before you even take me on a date, you know that!?” But you were kidding as you wound your arm around his and Emmett linked your fingers, “May I kiss you for that?” His smile widened, “You may.” You pushed yourself up on your toes to brush your lips to his, and then pecked his cheek just for good measure. He gave you a knowing look, but said nothing more as he walked you to the car. “Is this a big surprise, Captain?” “You should know, you only mentioned it to me last week.” You mused for a second, “Well, we’re not going to see any Kathner reruns…” that was obvious by the time of day. “You need to stop with the Kathner fixation before it gets out of hand.” “Process of elimination! WAIT- The fair?!” Emmett only nodded, “That’ll be the one.” “OH MY-” you gasped, “You said it wasn’t your thing! I completely dismissed it!” “Yes, well.” That little smile was mysterious. “You said it was hard to get tickets!!!” After you’d practically begged him to humour you, he’d only presented you with that news. No way, Emmett didn’t have it in him to play you like that, did he?! He reached into his back pocket and slid the tickets apart, “Did I?” He was clearly very amused by this. “Did you lie to me!?! I can’t believe you!” “Well, I just wanted it to be a nice surprise, now get in or we won’t get there, will we.” You stood by the car door, arms folded and mouth slightly agape as he opened it for you, and couldn’t help but laugh, “Consider me surprised!” *** The drive was fairly short considering it’d been set up reasonably close to your little town. Emmett was already shaking his head at you as some of the larger structures came into view before you arrived, eyes wide as saucers. “If I’d known this was going to be your reaction, I’d have taken you right away!” Your voice was pitched in joy, “There’s a pleasure wheel and flying swings. This is already the best date ever!” “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment, considering.” You turned to him and batted your eyelashes, “Oh, but Emmett, any date with you is the best date ever!” He chuckled, holding his hand out for yours, kissing the back of it when offered, “Alright, stop.” Your intake of breath was sharp, “Oh, Captain, I’m not sure you can stop me now!” “Ha-! I’m not sure I ever could!” That much was probably true, had your relationship up until now been anything to go by.

While at first your excitement got the better of you, and you almost literally dragged Emmett around from place to place trying to decide on what to do next, he – as ever – pulled you back to reality. “Y/N, Y/N- hold on!” He pulled you back to face him, not entirely sure what your long and extremely fast babble had been about, except every so often you exclaiming ‘Look Emmett they have-!’. With you now looking up at him, quiet for a moment, he framed your face delicately with his hands, “Sweetheart, calm down. We have all day – we’ll get everything done; I promise. I know you’re a firecracker, but you can… slow up every now and then too, y’know?” You placed your hands over his, interlocking your fingers, nodding gently, “I… I’m sorry I just, got over excited.” “Yes, I know that too.” Emmett pressed his lips to your forehead, “Give yourself a chance to think. Not everything needs to be a million miles an hour.” You giggled softly, accepting his kiss and squeezing his hands tighter, “That’s why I’m with you. You calm that chaos and I don’t even know… how. But you manage it.” “Well, nothing like a bit of order.” He let you fall back in step with him, and you wound your arm around his, still holding his hand. Emmett made sure that he was the one setting the pace, glad to see that you might actually settle, “Though I believe being proper about things will be out of the window today.” “I believe, Emmett, we’ve been together long enough for you not to have to worry about that one.” “Well, unmarried, still a bit-” “Now you can hush.” “As long as you know my objections.” You scoffed, “Objections!? Yes, I know all of those by now!” His face turned a little pink at that, “You know what I meant!” which only sent you into a fit of giggles, “You are far too easy to fluster for a man who has been with me as long as you have.” “Yes, well,” He sighed gently, “some things you never get used to.” That only made you hope he never would, it was far too cute. By the time midday arrived you were already on your 5th sugar rush of the day; Emmett was being a little more reserved and sat opposite you now shaking his head. “I can see you’ve never heard of the word moderation.” You pushed the box of candy towards him with big eyes, “You and I both know it is safer to snack between rides, and now I’m worried you don’t eat enough.” He studied the box carefully before selecting one, “You’d have me believing I had enough sugar.” “Well, you’re certainly sweet.” You leant on your hands to admire him, “So really I always get my sugar fix.” “Ah, well, then you certainly shouldn’t be eating it!” But he agreed with your ‘snacking’ point, “Now, you’ve been staring at the wheel since before we got here, so that’s my suggestion for what’s next.” “Awww…” You exhaled, “A man after my own heart.” “That’s certainly enough from you,” Emmett held his hand out to help you stand, “I believe I earned that a long time ago.” “You deserved it, I’m still unsure I was worthy of yours.” “You, my darling, should have no fear of that.” The pleasure wheel was at least slow, and you could admire the view for miles around; even though the best one was quite clearly sitting right next to you. Emmett - having done his fair share of travelling - was pointing out nearby points of interest, including what he affectionally termed ‘home’. Although you couldn’t say you were really listening to him, staring at him and nodding for sure, smiling where appropriate and focusing on the tones of his voice, but not the words themselves. In fact, you found yourself thinking on the conversation you’d just had – and interrupted his geography lesson to ask your burning question. “Has there ever been anyone else?” The change of track didn’t even faze him, and Emmett lowered his hands from pointing to his lap, looking into your eyes he blinked slow. “For me? No.” For you it was very nearly too sincere, and it struck your heart like a lightning bolt, “Oh, Emmett, you’re going to make me cry!!” You wailed, throwing your arms around him and burying your face in his shirt. His tense was enough to tell you how proper he thought that was, but Emmett kept his mouth closed, before running a hand through your hair, “If you’re going to cry I think I have a handkerchief and-” “No, no I-” You pulled back, fanning your face and sniffing, “I’m sorry. I just, even here I see the way they all look at you… but you’re here with me. You chose to be with me.” His eyes flicked to the fair below, yes of course Emmett noticed this, occasionally, but he didn’t really think anything of it. Most of the time he thought it was more to do with the uniform. He placed his hand over yours, and then enclosed it, focusing back on you, “You think I don’t notice how they look at you? Y/N, I would choose you every single time. Sometimes I think you forget that. How much you mean to me, I would have fought that war and won it just for you.” Now you really were crying. “Oh… Darling…” He pulled you back closer to him, “Come on, this isn’t like you.” You rubbed your tears away on the fabric square he handed to you, and almost looked at him angrily, “Will you stop being so perfect!?” He held his hands up promising not another word, but couldn’t stay too stoic for long before smiling – you were perfect to him too, he was certain you had a habit of forgetting these things; but Emmett liked reminding you, and often. After certainly vowing him to silence on any waterworks that were to occur today, you went back to the carousel. You’d already been on a few times but it always reminded you of your childhood and constantly begging your parents to go on any time you saw one anywhere. As a bonus, Emmett would also help you up onto the horses by lifting you, and you could sit with a smug little smirk at the women who wished they were you. Even more so as he took your hand as the ride went around. He pointed out how much you were thoroughly enjoying your ego trip and you only shrugged, you thought you deserved one of those once in a while too! Annoyingly you were too far away from each other on the flying swings to hold hands but that wasn’t for lack of trying (and you did try real hard.), but soon enough Emmett was the one dragging you onto something. “What are they?” “You’ve never seen these?!” “No, but the fact that you’re so excited is enough to get me curious.” “Well, they’re called flying scooters, but what do they look like to you?” “Aeroplanes.” “Exactly!” The excitement in his voice made you think of how often he must hear it in your own. “…I didn’t think you ever flew?” He nudged you gently, “No, but I have friends that did. I suppose the actual answer to your question would be… not officially.” “Oh my gosh, should you be telling me this?!” It was hard not to get concerned that he’d be the kind to get talked into flying a plane with no experience. “It’s very hard, most of the time I was passenger.” Emmett had to lift you up into this one too, which of course you were fine with. In fact, when you thought on it, he was getting as handsy with you as you usually got with him only to get scorned… usually. Not today, and already in the back of your mind you were wondering if you could play that to your advantage. As he sat up with you and started to explain things, you understood his excitement. Each car had a rudder and a control so you got to manipulate the direction of the ride, also if you were skilled enough you could get the cables to snap which made everything a little bit more out of control. “Why… would you want to do that?” “You’ll see if I manage it.” “…Why does this feel like something you’re gonna tell me you did with your Army friends?” He laughed, grinning back at you, “Because it was!” “Oh. No.” Soon you found out exactly what he meant by a snap. The sound was fairly distinctive, as the cables slacked at the rides top speed, and all he had to do was turn the rudder just the right way for everything to spin slightly crazy. You were alright holding onto the ride for the majority of the time but when Emmett managed to do that, you couldn’t help but shriek and throw your arms around his waist, gripping onto him super tight, to hold on. You supposed, with the way he smiled every time you did, that was the point. The day was starting to slow down, and you’d been on nearly everything you wanted to see, and probably eaten a little too much, but it was good comfort food so you didn’t mind that. Emmett however had other ideas and you caught up with him again leaning against a railing and nodding over to something else. You placed your hands on your hips, “And I thought we were about done.” “We were, but this one’s been put here just for you!” You turned, and then were stuck between the ‘aw’ that your heart felt and your brain wanting to punch him in the arm. “Is that a tunnel of love?” “Sure is.” “You old romantic.” You weren’t sure if you wholly meant your sarcasm “You’re the one who has relatively little regard for personal space and always wants her allotted public displays of affection.” “I believe we’d be going back to Victorian ways if you had your say.” “That’s real courting. There’s nothing wrong with it.” He folded his arms. “Emmett, darling, you’ll barely touch me at a party with a dancefloor, don’t give me that.” “Just a difference in how we were raised is all, my romantic values are… reminiscent of the class I grew up in. But that hardly matters. I already told you, I’d chose you every time.” “Well, it worked between Sarah and Drover so…” He gave a nod at your affirmation of his point, “Exactly, and it works between us. Indeed, I would be so bold as to say that’s why it works between us.” He pushed himself away from the railing and held his hand out for yours, “Now, if I may?” You shook your head at him with a small smile and took his offered hand, “You may, dear Captain.” And as you walked over you gave a smirk, “Your mother would never approve of me, would she?” He chuckled, “She’s not here to disapprove either. And here I am staying.” Once through the queue and in the boat, you turned to him suspiciously, “This better be a romantic one, because if it’s scary I’m going to kill you!” Emmett raised an eyebrow, “Whatever someone took you on that’s scary… I don’t think that was a tunnel of love, and I don’t think you ought to have been on it with them.” He smiled, “Luckily you have me now. And I had been standing outside a while, I heard no screaming.” “Are you teasing me?” “Me?” His blue eyes shined innocently, “I would never!” Your eyes narrowed, but you still smiled, “I’m watching you, Emmett Dutton.” He was right though, the ride was romantic, the music setting just the right tone to cuddle up. You had read somewhere these were created when touching (especially when unmarried) was pretty much frowned upon. Right up Emmett’s alley then – ah, to be in Darwin again now. You wondered how some of those stuck up bigots were doing now. They certainly weren’t a fan of you, especially not with ‘their’ captain. Need you point out he was stationed in your town first. Emmett’s need to always defuse the situation and calm things, with you internally fuming at everyone… You shook your head, that was a while ago now, and you needed to focus on him. You wrapped yourself around him, head against his chest as he wound his arm around your shoulder, gathering your hands on his lap, stroking his thumb over them. Emmett instantly relaxed you, and you were no longer paying attention to the ride itself. All your focus was on his breathing, his heartbeat, his scent and how warm he was. The feel of his body this close, and under your fingertips; you knew what was happening to you. You were about to become a swooning mess and couldn’t give a damn about it. You snuggled further into him, making Emmett chuckle and kiss the top of your head. “You alright, darling?” “Mhm,” You nodded, burying you head in his chest and holding him a little tighter, “I just wanna get you home…” *** He was very good with you, even though he knew what was coming. Emmett let you hold his hand the whole way home. By this time your fidgety nervous energy was kicking in and your heart was letting you know that, by the way it continued to flutter as you looked at him. He wasn’t about to complain, even though your nails dug into his skin a little uncomfortably. You felt like a teenager with their first crush, just hoping to get noticed, as he rolled neatly into the driveway. And you thought for a moment that sugar rush was finally catching up with you. “Well,” He spoke was a voice as soft as his smile, “We’re home.” “We are.” You agreed, and Emmett took your hand to kiss it before he left the car and, like the gentleman he was, opened the door for you. You stepped out and it was all you could do not to melt into him instantly. “Lead on,” He let you take his hand back and run him up the front porch steps, you were happy that he didn’t say ‘I’m yours’ because you would have lost it right then and there. Once inside, with the door closed, everything slowed down but your heart. Your hands linked with his as you stood in the hallway, spinning with him for just a moment. Eyes locked on his, Emmett’s face held the same amusement that yours did. “What? What is it?” “I just…” you drew yourself a little closer, “I need a moment.” Your hands left his to run gently up his arms to his shoulders, then linking behind his back as you closed your eyes and leant into a kiss. His hands stilled on your waist, keeping your balance as he reciprocated your kiss, slow and gentle. You kept him against your lips running your fingertips into his hair, Emmett groaned softly as he allowed your body to push up against his, hands remaining respectful. Sometimes you wished he wouldn’t be. The movement of your tongue over his lips tentative, not begging; but he was forthcoming in the acceptance of your invitation, kiss still slow as you allowed yourself to focus on the taste of him. Emmett’s kiss and tongue were playful however, and every teasing attempt to pull away from you was only met with you gripping his collar tighter. Eventually you let him pull away as his hands reached for yours, “Come on…” his voice coaxed, “Let us not stay here, darling.” His fingers laced with yours as he led you upstairs leisurely.

He must have wanted this too, or else just so happy to play to your whims. No, surely he wanted this - you knew Emmett; if he didn’t want your hands all over him (or, indeed, to put his hands all over you) then he would have protested. He was very good at that. Instead he walked those stairs very nearly backwards to keep your hands in his and his eyes on you - you tried to ignore the flutter that remained in your heartbeat to no avail. The heat and excitement building in your body that culminated in your wide-eyed, lips parted look, complete with your deep, short breaths.

He knew what you were feeling, every meaning of that look on your face, and once at the top of the stairs Emmett bit his lips together as he drew your body closer to his, hands running through your hair to kiss you again. These kisses were sweet and meaningful. This would be a slow, delicate, love. And almost certainly love with the way he was touching you now. There was no room for any other emotion. Emmett continued to lead you backwards to the bedroom, and your hands only left his to close the door behind you. Winding your arms around his neck as he paused for a second, one last kiss to your lips before he took a little bit more notice of the room.

You followed his eyeline; you’d always been very specific about how you wanted the colours in here. Everything cream or off-white gave it a purity and warmth. The sunshine through your balcony windows glinted on the polished wood floor, and of course, with him facing the sunlight it sparkled in his eyes too. “Emmett.” Your voice was soft, to draw him back to you, hands rising from your waist to the buttons on your blouse his head nudged yours, kisses a little lighter. Of course the sun was reflecting on you too, throwing a thousand shades into the colour of your eyes and hair. That only made him chuckle, “No you’re right, the real view is here.” Blush covered your cheeks for a second, but you smiled, “On that one we might agree.”

You let him finish with your buttons, running his hands delicately over your collar bone, across your shoulders, brushing them down your arms as you let it fall to the floor behind you. His lips ghosted kisses across your face, and your eyes fluttered closed as he caressed your skin with his fingertips. Bowing your head forward you inhaled him, fresh air and sunshine and grass, clean sweat and sugar from your day out, lingering notes of aftershave, all over the familiar warmth of his own body. You opened your eyes, running your hands smoothly up his chest, and undid his own shirt buttons one by one. Your movements were just as slow as his had been, and after each one - as more of his skin was exposed to you - you placed a gentle kiss. Emmett hummed his delight, fingers now stroking your shoulders and tangling in your hair. You slipped his shirt from his shoulders as he had with your own and as it cascaded to the floor the sun illuminated his skin, which immediately had you smiling at the collection of freckles that blessed his face also kissed his shoulders and chest. You were already smiling too much to bite your lips and stop yourself. “What?” He chuckled, but you knew he already knew the answer. “They’re just so cute I can’t help it!” You shook your head slowly, still smiling, and leant up again to kiss him. Emmett gathered your face in his hands, guiding you gently backwards towards the bed. As he walked, you set to work relieving him of his belt and even as you pulled it through his belt loops slowly, it was still gone by the time he stopped moving. Drawing back from his kiss for a moment you looked back into those beautiful blue eyes. “Did I tell you how much I love you today, yet?” His next smile was a little shy, but he drew your waist back to his, unfastening the ties on your skirt before undoing the zip, “Trust me,” Emmett kissed you again, letting your skirt fall, “You don’t need to.” “Oh?” The look on your face was mischievous as you undid the button on his pants and teased the zip down slowly, “But I want to.” “It’s not like I can stop you, is it?” His hands ran back around your waist, fingertips grazing you relaxingly as he ran them down the small of your back - you couldn’t help a tiny shudder and a soft moan escaped your lips. “No.” You agreed, eyes shining, “Because I do, love you, so much.” “I love you too.” Emmett ran his hands a little lower, hoisting your body up for you to wrap your legs around his waist and arms around his shoulders, your lips met once more.

This kiss full of promises, perhaps a little more passionate than you’d both meant as he lay you back in the sheets, but every bit worth it, as his lips transferred to your jawline and down your throat as you tipped your head back for him. You sighed his name like a prayer as he planted them delicately across your shoulders, sliding your bra straps down your arms. You pulled yourself back to his lips if only so he could undo the clasp; although Emmett’s arms remained around you holding your body close to his. You couldn’t help but giggle a little, hands running back into his hair. Even under that uniform he didn’t always look it, but he was so strong, and he felt that way whenever he held you like this. But a bigger sweetheart than you thought you deserved. Emmett only pulled back from the warmth of you when your giggling became a little too much for him not to begin laughing himself, and you observed each other for a minute. The sunshine was still working wonders on those freckles of his, and your fingers attempted to neaten the curls that were already falling out of place. “I mean it,” you breathed, “I don’t deserve you…” “Oh,” He tsked, “don’t start that again.” His hands ran down your body gently, varying his pressure over where he knew would cause giggles to rise in your chest from being ticklish, or gentle sighs in places you found it calming to be touched before he coaxed your hips towards his, sliding his fingers into your underwear. Your eyes remained on his. “You okay?” “Yes, Captain, I’m fine.” The graze of his lips to yours was hardly enough, as he slid them down your legs and they joined the rest of your clothing on the floor. Emmett balanced himself on his elbows as he took his time to observe your body. You always got a little bashful about this, no matter how many times you might joke with him about bathing together, or his absolute refusal to be in the room if you were changing and your constant ‘Emmett! You’ve seen me before-!’, but you supposed it was the weight of his stare, the vulnerability of letting someone see you like this. Especially him; the first time you’d been intimate you’d worried that he wouldn’t like what he saw, and you still worried about that. But you discovered that he honestly didn’t care; to him you were flawless. And if there was one thing your Captain liked to do, it was affirm that - respectfully. He traced his index finger carefully from the hollow of your throat straight down to your navel, feeling every motion of your breathing and your body under his, the slight shake at his touch.

“You are so…” This time he didn’t finish, because he didn’t need to, “I just…” “I know.” “No… No, I don’t think you do…” This time his thumb traced your jawline and then ran gently over your lips, your own hand resting on his wrist, eyes still only beholding his. “You are my world. What do I have without you?” You thought of a thousand smart things to say, but realised that Emmett wanted to hear none of them, and before you knew it he was wiping a single tear from your cheek and replacing his thumb with his lips as he kissed you again. Your legs tangled with his, even though he wasn’t fully undressed yet, and the feel of his body against yours only made you moan into his kisses. “Emmett…” “Shhh, darling shhhh…” He helped you remove his final garment and this time as you threaded your legs together you made sure your hips were wide enough for him. Emmett was back to staring into your eyes, although yours kept flicking to those damn cute freckles of his and you were almost ready to start crying all over again. One of his hands framed your face, caressing your cheek and stroking your hair back, as the other held your own for just a moment, he squeezed your hand gently and you knew exactly what he was asking, giving a short nod back.

Emmett’s caress moved to your thighs, and it was enough to have you tremble beneath him. His fingertips just felt so good over your skin, and he was always so gentle with you. He continued to draw a number of sighs from you as he inched towards the heat that was building in you, you couldn’t deny being needy for him now and your body was more than eager to betray that. Even with his touch being exploratory your hips couldn’t help but rock into his fingertips as you gasped. Damn, maybe you were more needy for him than you thought. It certainly got you flustered, Emmett, ever the gentleman, only chuckled and kissed your forehead. He seemed to be telling you it was okay, but it certainly didn’t leave you any less embarrassed. His fingertips were gentle and lazy - to tease you and please you - and from every sound emanating from you were certainly doing the trick. You were desperately aware of how wet you already were, and the gentle ache at being touched like this was quickly becoming a slow throb. “Emmett-!” You whined his name, greeted by a kiss, rewarded by his fingers moving to your entrance. You thought he might continue to tease you, but he didn’t, even though he only inserted one finger into you at first. When you were fine with that, he pushed in a second, this time making you moan; your arms back around him by this point meant your nails dug into his skin - Emmett gave a shudder of his own at that. His groan was quiet at the feel of your heat; you were certainly ready for him, and his fingers were still gentle as he stretched you a little wider. You shuddered again for him at the feeling, moan a little louder. He brushed his thumb over your clit in reward, body arching into his. “I love you.” You panted it again, and that confidently flashed smile Emmett gave you was nearly a smirk.

His fingers withdrew from you slowly, and Emmett moved to arrange your body with his. He wanted as much contact as possible, to have you as close to him as you could be. Kiss to your stomach, then over your ribs as he travelled back to your lips. His hands travelled up with his kisses, and as his tongue darted out across one nipple, his fingertips caressed the other, hand kneading your breast. This time you cried out in pleasure, certainly hardly expecting that. “E-Emmett-!” You were breathless, voice shaking and hands in his hair as he switched sides. Brief maybe, but that shot of pleasure made you want to squeeze your thighs together for relief. You couldn’t, of course, because his body was between them. That only made him chuckle as he finally claimed your lips again, this time his hands slid back to yours. “You sure you’re fine?” “Yes…” You placed your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed again, “please, Emmett…” at the needy shake in your voice and the way you said his name, Emmett slowly pushed into you. This time his lips against yours swallowed your groans.

You clung to him as you both settled, feeling his heartbeat against yours. Although so close, he was supporting all of his own weight and you were on the verge of pointing out all that army training again. Instead you stayed in that comfortable silence, gathering your hands to the middle of his chest for a moment. “Go slow…” you whispered, “Emmett, I want to savour you.” It was what he always wished for, but this time you wanted him to know that’s what you needed. He nodded, with another gentle smile, kissing you once more - a little too chaste for your liking. “As you wish, darling.” Making sure that your body was tightly wrapped around his, Emmett’s hands glided smoothly over your skin - leaving a pleasurable tingle in their wake - which made you hum in comfort and content. He moved in you, to a gentle sigh and your arms cuddled him closer. It was so easy to let his name spill from your lips, he wasn’t about to stop you - and you couldn’t stop yourself. You loved tangling yourself with his body, whether that be as you snuggled down to sleep for the night, or relaxing on the couch downstairs, radio or paper or book attempting to draw your focus from the way it felt to be in his arms, or he’d draw locks of your hair back and kiss your neck… or like this. With nothing between you but love. There was no other word for this than perfect - and yet even that didn’t seem to do the feeling or the moment justice. Emmett’s movements were slow and drawn out. It almost made things torturous. The heat in the room built slowly between the two of you and the suns warming rays - but it was a lovely thing to be wrapped up in. And you couldn’t help your smile; nor being so utterly taken with him. Emmett did nothing more than whisper his sweet ‘I love yous’ into your skin as he continued to kiss you. Every groan he drew from your body causing him to smirk into your skin. But it wasn’t long before you were pulling gentle moans and pants from him, which caused exactly the same reaction when you were able to kiss his lips once more. His rhythm built more comfortably; but your sex was still sweet and slow. He paid so much attention to every sign of your body, the gentle shake as your pleasure built, but your whine against it to not end yet, your insistence with your hands through his hair, over his skin, grazing your nails, pulling him back to you, that Emmett kiss you more. And more! But that his lips worshiping any part of you was not unwelcome, and if he got a little too excited and you ended up with bruises, you weren’t about to mind those either. You were as in tune with Emmett as he with you, though, and he was all of him beautiful. The feel of his muscles under your fingertips, of those silky dark locks under your touch. How his groan could almost become a growl if you ran your nails through them just so. The freckles you could count across his skin when your love was this slow. The ones across his back may have been out of sight, but they were certainly not out of mind. He was still so soft under your touch though, Army Captain though he may have been by profession. And the feel of Emmett’s body against yours was not one you could easily describe. Those eyes of his, that blue could be so gentle, yet so fierce, and when it was dark like this and he bit his lip when he looked at you… your heart leapt to counter that rush of heat that coursed through your body. And he moaned quietly again. But that look in his eyes was of nothing but pure adoration - and that’s how you stared right back. You pulled him into you, closer, deeper, body flush to yours. Emmett Dutton was all you ever wanted; he became the only thing you’d ever needed. You couldn’t imagine your life without him, you didn’t even want to think on the possibility of that ever happening again. After Darwin. After the war. Never again. He was yours, and you’d be damned that anyone or anything would take him from you now.

This time he was the one to shake, and his breaths got a little shorter. You coaxed Emmett’s lips to yours, arms around him as it became much more of an embrace. “I love you.” He breathed between kisses, which almost had you giggling. You knew that, of course you knew that. It was about the one thing you really did know. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get over you saying that.” Your voice was still a whisper, the waver of delight raising a smile from Emmett. He almost managed a laugh then, “I don’t think I want you to.” “I’ll certainly not get bored-” You gasped suddenly; your body’s own reaction to his - brushing you in just the right place as he shook again, getting just a little harder. “Sorry.” “What are you---” your sentence was punctuated by another moan, “Apologising for!? God- Emmett!” Your voice pitched and this time the edge of your climax wouldn’t be ignored. Your body was just a little too greedy, and your wish to finish together, clenching around him was enough to have him calling out for you.

You needed him so badly, tangled in your arms like this, wrapped up in him. Your vocals were both pitching in unison even with the sex this slow. Somehow that made things more intense. You nearly wanted to beg him to stop, for just a second, to just let you savour this. Freeze the moment, let me catch it! No such luck, and that rush of heat hit you too hard; the constellation of freckles over his skin became a blur of stars that closing your eyes to only had you pouring tears. You triggered the same reaction in him, and his muffled moan of ecstasy into your skin was still the best sound you’d ever heard. Before Emmett blushed horribly (not to you - but he probably wouldn’t like how red his face got), as he wound back down, panting heavily. He still tried not to put too much of his weight on you, but the feel of his body on top of yours like this only added to your happiness, that feeling of protection, to have him so close that he almost faded into you. And yet more tears ran.

Emmett framed your face with his hands, “Hey… you’re crying again.” You sniffed, trying to hold them back, but only succeeded in giggling through another set of them: “Of happiness.” “As long as that’s what they are.” You continued to giggle as he attempted to wipe them away with his thumbs, and you reciprocated, cupping his face with your own hands - but Emmett wasn’t crying. “I love you, Emmett Dutton! I love you so much!” His eyebrows knitted, but he was still smiling, “I’ve known that a long while, don’t you listen to me?” “And I told you it wouldn’t stop me.” “Mhm. You did.” He kissed you once more, “But it’s not something you need to waste your words on. I know that in my heart and soul.” Emmett laced his fingers with yours once more, “I can feel your love, physically… and I can see it, observe it… in the way you look at me, in every smile on your face. And hear it in your voice, without the use of such words.” He shifted his weight from you, pulling you closer into his embrace, running his hands over your skin to relax you once more, “I can feel your love even when you’re not there. That most important of all. That matters to me most of all. And yet I know that you would rather spend every waking moment you can affirming it.” “Would that I could.” You breathed gently, eyes looking between his. “And yet you think you are not worthy of all the love I can give you?” He didn’t let you protest, kissing you back into silence, “Just know, you are wrong.” This time you kept your mouth shut, but the little wiggle in his arms let him know that you’d only let him win this time. Next time that victory would be yours. You cuddled into his chest, closing your eyes with a smile, “To the end of the Earth, Emmett Dutton.” There was silence for a moment, and his lips grazed your forehead gently, “Forever.” Of course he would… you could only smile though as he continued to caress your bare skin with his free hand, as you kept his other between yours, kissing his knuckles gently. Forever - if he was prepared to let you love him for that long. Forever held a lot of promises, all of them you were sure he could keep.

When did forever start though? You pondered: had it already? Did it start tomorrow? ...Did forever only really begin when he got down on one knee? ...Or only when you dressed in white and received a gold band?

No… You could think on this all later, in his arms today was neither the time or place to focus on anything but this moment with him. You could think on forever, forever. You could only revel in this moment right now. That was what really mattered; after all, forever with him would still be lived one moment at a time. So - no matter when forever may begin - why waste them?

---

Thank you for reading! 🥰🥰

#slurpin #Captain Emmett Dutton #Emmett Dutton #Ben Mendelsohn #Emmett Dutton x Reader #Captain Emmett Dutton x Reader #Amalie #195 #5 to 200 hoooly shiiiit #how'd we get there!!!#Sinday/Sunday #Soooorta #CEPS #I have literally no tags to add #this was a super easy edit considering---!!

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shy-magpie · 4 years ago

Text

RQG 156

live blog under the cut

Heads up about half way through I realized I go a bit further into analysis on where Zolf & the Kobolds are mentally than some people might be comfortable with. Just as they trust us to back off if the episode gets to real, I am trusting you to close the tab if my little live blog is hitting you wrong. If it makes a difference I have years between me and the reason I relate to this stuff.

"In Memorium" they are trying to kill us Ah they lampshaded the speed intros Yes Alex it is rather Paris Right to Azu & Zolf. Oh he's jumping right in. And there's my first pause of the episode. No “better” isn't a magic finish line you pass then never find yourself in that place again. No, knowing that doesn't mean you don't wonder if your back at square one every time you realize You Are In A Bad Place and Not Handling it Well. Gosh Azu is good at this. Yeah learning to walk away is hard. Learning to ignore the part of yourself that says "and never come back for their sake" is harder. Symbolic much Alex (Zolf is too small for the room, Azu is too large) Yeah it would be easier to not blame Zolf for last episode if I related to him a bit less. Okay they are talking about Hamid and their concerns for him directly. Yeah Hamid's relationship with power & privilege is an arc; and without the Doylist level of trusting Bryn & Alex, I can see where even if you trust/like him you'd be worried about it. With the best of intentions people misuse power. Azu quoted Grizzop at Zolf. Didn't name him, wonder if Zolf is ever going ask directly about his replacement in canon or if its best left to fic. Its easy to dismiss one's own successes. Okay fair and OW, Zolf isn't up to talking about Sasha; which is the part of this I was most prepared for. Hell yeah! He is coming down but not going to be attempting to lead so as to relieve pressure on himself. Maybe if he can let Hamid step up without making a Kew Garden thing he'll see how much he's grown. Hopefully without that setting off a "Hamid does better without me" thing. Yeah intellectual knowledge and it feeling real on an emotional level are very different things. Alex, why does it matter what order they are in? ALEX? The necklace? The Heart of Aphrodite shaped necklace? Azu got a Sign from Aphrodite approving of her reaching out to Zolf as an act of love. Yes! Blue Black no take backs! Yeah those two (players) know exactly what they are doing: breaking my heart in the best ways and not skipping over the actual work those two (characters) need to put into their relationship with OOC "its all fine now"s. Ok that settles the timeline, Azu went up same night, the device isn't made yet. Yeah Zolf wouldn't, probably best to back off while things are tender while being present enough to assure he isn't planning on leaving. Seriously bless Azu, this has to be at least as hard on her as Helen but she is letting the boys have room to work it out for themselves instead of "trying to help". The last thing either of them need right now is pressure especially on this point. Aw the Kobolds teach Cel draconic. Oh smart kid, not only is it just logical for the Kobolds to work with Cel directly, it might help them get over the "looking to see if the boss approves of how you breathe" stage. Especially if he is clear about not being threatened by them having advantage over him in this area. Heck of a relief this isn't hitting my rank issues. Ooh all the Kobolds are amazing engineers, wonder if its a Kobold thing or if Skraak recruited people with similar interests. Nice rework of the "Kobolds build traps" thing from pathfinder. I genuinely love how instead of pitching the original description of Kobolds out the window, Alex has backwards engineered it. Reputation for traps isn't a dishonorable approach to fighting, its a sign of their skill. They aren't minions, their trauma is interacting with a cultural attitude about rank in weird ways. Oh Cel! Cel is amazing. Under Shoin's orders they: made Magic Steroids, did maintenance (more towards the end as Shoin wasn't taking care of things), built the place initially, sourced ingredients, other Kobolds built the Mechkraken. Damn Shoin, they can't even be proud of all they were able to do in adverse circumstances because he tainted it. If they weren't forced to do it and have it used for ill ends, building the kraken would be impressive. A lot of that sounds like difficult work. Hamid stuff: yeah it is from a place of fear; and they would be hypersensitive and need to try to "defend him" so he doesn't react. Terrified of his anger? Handle anything that even annoys him to cut it off at the pass. And being a good person who doesn't like scaring them, Hamid is going to over do the very "Mary Sunshine" routine that makes Zolf think he doesn't appreciate the gravity of the situation. You'd think Mr "do a grief later" would get that Hamid doesn't have to walk the halls wailing to be aware of the end of the world. Not that the kid can win, if he cried and threw up it would be proof he hasn't grown from season one. Hopefully by taking a back seat Zolf will have a chance to see Hamid's actions and realize being chipper & wholesome doesn't mean stupid. Oh Alex has thought this through, one of these days I'll quit being surprised he actually gets this stuff. Not being able to read the person whose emotions feel like life & death is a Bad Thing. Thank Alex for Skraak. Weird seeing this stuff from this side, of course learning to focus on my end instead of being preoccupied with what was going on in the heads of people who were on Hamid's end of it was rather the point. Perfect balance, Hamid gives them enough space to realize he isn’t going to explode, Skraak "translates" into something clear enough not to stress them out. Like when Zolf snapped at Skraak when he pledged to Hamid; might not be pretty but not knowing what The Powers That Be want? Very bad place. Rank and clear orders are very important when appeasing those who outrank you is everything. Cel has dealt with a lot of young and unsure apprentices!?! Yeah well Cel isn't in their chain of command and gears don't get offended if you have an opinion on the right way to configure them. Cel is great Azu & Hamid talking about Zolf! Helen is wonderful! I thought this was going to be drawn out and indirect, instead they are actually facing things head on and dealing with them. Aw these two are so good for each other. Azu would set aside her own emotions. Hot damn Azu, getting right to it! Hamid can be amazingly open about his self awareness and it surprises me every time. It fits him and is a very good thing, but going from answering "how are you?" with "the Kobolds are doing well" to "I never knew how to help him" without it being jarring made me do quite the double take. Guess I was expecting more deflection. Yeah well you two are redefining your boundaries, entire relationship, and rank in specific, while being the perhaps the only people with enough of the picture to figure out how to save the world. Working out the balance between conflicting views on that, when neither of you knows what the end will look like was never going to be smooth. Oh yes and none of you have directly addressed that half of Zolf's rank & dick measuring stuff is because he doesn't know if he even has a role if he isn't The Boss or The Healer.* Oh the grin in Alex's voice as he tells them there is something else before the brorb interview. Whisky tumblers for each? Quite a sigh there Ben News? Big news? While they were in the institute? They ought to sit down. Wilde get to it. Ah Azu & Hamid are holding hands. Poor kid with his prop. Letter? Ancient Rome? Sasha? Are all the fics coming true? Their founder "Askingus"!?! Oh Sasha, oh Zolf! Lydia! Oh the kids! She named the kids after the party. She even found her faith. A break? How the hell are we only half way through the episode. Also hell yeah Lydia deserves all the awards, that was an amazing letter. XD Ben! Oh Hamid, we reacted that way to the epilogue that way too. It really is okay, it was a good end. Yeah he could use a drink. Poor Zolf. Hamid gives Wilde a hug. "technically I think that makes Sasha my boss". XP be cryptic Alex, The RSB will have it figured out by Friday. Ok Zolf got to read the letter on his own. Azu lit 3 candles, because Helen wants me to cry. Hamid is at Zolf's door with a bottle and two glasses. Lydia this is a compliment to your skill. More direct than I expected from Hamid. Oh these two! Okay he is drunk enough to go there (angry at Zolf for leaving but he gets it). About time someone told Zolf directly he's grown. Aw Zolf puts him to bed. Thank you Alex! Ben! (okay fair, if any of Hamid was left he'd cuddle). Sorry Cel! Lydia wanted to break/heal our hearts more than she wanted the plot to move forward ;) Good plan: take the orb to the anti magic field, only those who have already talked to it can talk directly. Info control. Hive mind/telepathy directly addressed. Finally what Shoin eats is addressed. Ok Cel has some teeth on them. Hasn't fed it, is using the vibration to threaten to explode his brain, (no English doesn't have enough pronouns we are working on it)... Oh good point better feed it. Aw Zolf is possessive of the kitchen. Shoin is still Shoin. Cel is not happy about not being recognized. Nice to hear the boys working together. The Infection might block him from being directly aware of being infected. Bullsh$% he backed himself up. Good point Zolf even if he does, they are separate lives, this instance can still fear death. Oh all the party have teeth, nice they don't have the "good guys have to be sweet & gentle with the baddies" thing Yeah Cel isn't stupid, the brorbs arm isn't a threat. Oh auto painting that will make the people theorizing on the bio side of how the Brorb works happy. A circulatory diagram, and am ocean of faces. Paints like a printer. A creepy charcoal sketch of London staring at the artist. *I swear on Rusty Tower if they let him hurt himself any worse because he thinks his new role is "a brick wall on wheels" I am joining the line to fight Ben in a Whetherspoons parking lot. Yes it would be in character but so would healing. There are other hills. Although seriously its been great having a character that shows so many of the aspects of depression that usually get left out. That Zolf is also a three dimensional character with a full personality beyond just "the one with mental health issues" while not making it look like those issues are tacked on or easy to handle? Stunning work.

#Rusty Quill Gaming #RQG Spoilers #alcohol #live blog thingy #RQG 156

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