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youaretwicemine · 1 year ago

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Beyond the Sea

What if death is just the beginning of the next adventure?

This short story was loosely inspired by the prompt found here. It's not meant to be super polished, it was a one-shot, but feedback and constructive criticism are welcome! I'm also taking title suggestions. I don't think much of Beyond the Sea, it doesn't sum up the idea like I want, but everything else evades me right now.

In Logres, they say the dead pass into a great valley, sheltered on either side by mountains around a calm lake, set apart from the noise and destruction of this world. There they rest, in the land we call Aros, until their legacy has faded and the living remember them no more. Tall crystal-blue ships sail from that valley, and thus the dead pass out of memory, ti hwnt i’r mor, beyond the sea. The winds of the equinox blow through the forest near Edrych Lake, and I shake out my woolen mantle in preparation for the 106th autumn since I left Logres. My coracle swings softly out to the middle of the smooth water, trees arcing from the banks in golden-green panoply. When I arrived here, poisoned by the grief of leaving my family, I hardly left the lake day or night. Clinging to my old life, gazing down through the frigidly still waters at my home, wishing I could travel as far as my sight did, back from this silence. As winter stretched to spring, and months became decades, missing them became less painful. I visited the lake twice a year, watched my children grow and have children of their own, happy their lives were to be filled with joy longer than mine had been. All there was to learn and do in my new life soothed grief for a time, and I soon began using my interest in farming to improve Aros’ food production. I gathered friends about me, whom I loved as dearly as any family, and this, too, helped drive away the darkness.

The best and worst in this fulfilling season began one day in high summer, while my friends and I inspected the wheat fields in the agricultural district. I heard my name called from behind and turned.

“Efa?” A man in a crimson tunic, dark-haired and bearded, ran towards me. Alan. My husband.

It had been nearly fifty years, but his face in that first glimpse looked just as I remembered it from my last moments alive. Only now, instead of concern and pain filling his eyes with tears, joy lit his face more brightly than the golden sun itself. I ran headlong, knocking both of us over in my haste, so that we were kneeling in the mud as he folded me to him and we wept. Looking up, I recalled the way his eyebrows wrinkled and lips pressed when he cried happy tears, the way he’d looked on our wedding day and at the births of each of our children. I had memorized that look, in the first weeks here, fearing I’d never see it again. He caught me staring at his face and flushed beneath his tan, as we studied one another for a moment in silence.

“You have sunburn,” I said, touching his nose where the skin was peeling slightly. Then the absurdity of that being my first sentence to him in fifty years struck me, and we burst into laughter as Alan helped me to my feet.

“And you, m’lady, are more speckled than a sparrow, and lighter-haired than usual. But other than these gifts the sun has left us, we are as of old, you and I.” Alan dipped me dramatically for a kiss as I giggled, my witty remark cut happily short.

We dwelt in bliss for a time, visiting the lake together each spring and fall thereafter. Our children had moved out of Logres to neighboring lands, where still we saw them safe with their families. Alan and I organized our own belongings in a new house on the northeastern shore of the lake while we talked about our children– Ellis, Jenna, and Tarian.

“This change of homeland will mean they don’t join us here in Aros–each country has a different place between one life and the next. But all go across the sea, ti hwnt i’r mor.”

“It will be good to see them again,” he replied. “Before my ship went down in that gale, I lost the second game of cards to little Llio and she owes me a rematch for best of three.”

I batted his arm and rolled my eyes. “You’re telling me you sank your ship because you couldn’t beat your 7-year-old granddaughter at cards? Seems you’ve grown old and senile.”

“No, it was because I couldn’t stay away from you a moment longer, my acerbic bride.” He grinned and kissed my cheek.

As I resumed unpacking, I saw a keepsake box that held a carved wooden whistle. Seeing my curiosity, Alan took it in his hands and turned it between them before he handed it back to me so I could look at the patterns on it. A sparrow holding a sheaf of grain, and what looked like waves on a shore.

“Remember Tarian, Efa? I mean, remember from before the lake?”

My last son, who I never got to know beyond his first beautiful day. “Yes, of course.”

“He loved you so. I know he never truly…well, I told him stories about you, and how you used to whistle for the wind, back home in Logres. Then when he learned to whittle, he made this for me, and told me if I was ever becalmed all I had to do was think of you and whistle for a wind. I took it with me on all my voyages from then on.”

My heart clenched at this reminder of all I’d missed, but joy trickled in at the thought of my family’s affection. Alan took the whistle and slipped it into his pocket.

The day before the autumn equinox, some decades later, Alan and I sat near the newly harvested wheat field, talking as we often did of the sea. “We’ll go together,” I said, as we’d planned a thousand times in our fancy. With both our graves visited less and less, our families’ strong memories of us would likely end with the last grandchild, little Llio. “The crystal ship will slip into the water, and we’ll see…I don’t know what. That’s the adventure, I suppose.”

His head in your lap, Alan agreed. “Adventure, for certain! A full sail in the sunrise and my dearest love by my side, never again to be parted! Often, I wonder what’s beyond–we have guesses, but none who leave ever return. Will it not be splendid to know?” I woke in the night to an empty bed beside me. Alan, where are you? I didn’t find him inside despite calling out, and hurried to the edge of the lake, still wrapped in my blankets. Alan stood looking down the valley to the harbor. He turned at my approach and smiled, but his eyes were sad as he reached to hug me.

“Darling, I’ve just received the news– Llio died this evening. The ship is ready.”

I twisted out of his arms to look at his face. “What’s wrong? There’s more, isn’t there? This should be happy news, we get to sail together…” I trailed off as his hand gripped mine tightly, as though he feared I might vanish any moment.

“Efa…I am to sail in half an hour. You…have not yet been forgotten. The messenger wouldn’t tell me how, he said that you must inquire yourself, but you can’t sail with me and I—”

He broke off, and sat on the bench, hands covering his face. I went over, tears dimming my eyes, and took his hands and kissed them. Then I buried my face in his chest and we both wept. Neither of us could speak for a while. We broke apart somewhat and our eyes met, and in that look was all our love, and all our sorrow, too. Never have I felt so understood as in that moment. The sun was rising, and at last I broke the silence.

“I’ll help you pack.”

I do not know how to set down the parting itself. In it was nothing remarkable to any of the others on the pier, no shouted words of farewell, nor even weeping. We had said our goodbyes in that long moment at the lake, and nothing else was needed. Few words passed between us as Alan packed his belongings and we walked to the harbor. The pale logistics of boarding preparations blurred around me; Alan dealt with them speedily, never leaving my side or letting go of my hand. At last he was standing facing me, holding both my hands now, and I knew the sea was taking him away.

“Alan,” I said, quietly so that no one nearby could hear. I meant to say more and could not, but he seemed to know.

“I have something for you, Efa.” He pulled out the carved whistle. “To remind you I love you, always. I’ll see you soon. If you’re ever becalmed, think of me and Tarian and whistle for a wind.” And he was gone.

I feel the whistle in my skirt pocket, a small lump of memory, as I paddle out onto the lake now. I slept fitfully last night, unable to stop wondering why he had gone and I had stayed. At last I gave up trying to rest and flung my dark green mantle around my shoulders, marveling at the beauty of the sunrise and marveling still more that I notice–that beauty still arrests me, even now. I look down through the water. My grave, tucked in a corner of the old cemetery, sits bathed in the sunlight of the other world that’s no longer home. No answers there, it looks the same as always. I turn to leave, but a flash of yellow catches my eye as a gray-eyed teenager with a bright golden tunic and scabby knees walks through the rows of stones, carrying a few small blue flowers. She places them on my headstone and looks thoughtfully around, then leaves. Why? I don’t recognize her as a family member, or even someone who looks related to me.

“I was at the cemetery again, putting flowers on that lady’s grave.” A friend joined her on the way home, and now the girl begins to tell how she went to the field yesterday and wandered across a random grave–mine. Seemingly, she liked my epitaph (I’ve never thought to read it), wondered who I was, and found some spotty records in the bowels of the local library that mention my marriage to Alan and early death in childbirth. “She died over 100 years ago, and she was only 34,” the girl says, curls bouncing with intensity. “I’ve always thought it’s sad when people get forgotten. I can’t explain it, but when I read the bits of information they had about her, I wished…I wished we could have known each other. And that she could have lived to see her children all grow up.” She pulls out a portrait of me at my wedding, auburn hair cascading around my shoulders. “This was in the records, and the librarian said I could take it, since no one’s asked for it in the while it’s been there. I’m going to keep going there, Mair.”

And she does. Over the next 70 years, Amser visits my grave regularly. When she lives nearby, it’s every week. Later she moves to the city and comes monthly, always bringing wildflowers, always with a faint smile. I wonder about the rest of her life, but she must really not be blood family–the lake won’t let me see her anywhere but the cemetery. As I always have, I carry on, missing Alan but intrigued by this strange girl’s remembrance. One of my friends on the agricultural team visits often with her children, and I am an honorary aunt for the first time.

It’s the autumn equinox again when a messenger finds me in the fields again, this time working on an irrigation system for growing rice.

“My lady Efa, your ship has arrived. It is time for you to leave Aros for the sea.”

Amser! She must be here then! I want to meet her before I go, but swept up in the preparations for sailing, I forget to ask the messenger. Standing on the pier, my thoughts are a tangle as I think about all the people I knew and the adventure still ahead. I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see gray eyes and bouncing dark hair.

“Amser!” We are already friends. I embrace her and ask, “How did you find me so fast?”

“I didn’t, really,” she says, her voice familiar and yet strangely clearer and deeper than it was through the lake. “I’m sailing, you see, and when I saw you…well, I felt sure it was the same woman in my picture. To think after all these years I get to meet you, Efa!” We laugh with delight, but something she said strikes me as odd.

“You’re sailing already? But you must have just gotten here!”

“Yes,” she says, “I am already forgotten. I had no family, you know, and all my friends have already gone. I got to see some of them on the way to the harbor, though. Mair has great-grandchildren now!” She says it without regret or envy in her voice, and I blink back tears. All this time, she’s been making sure I haven’t been forgotten, while she…

“Why did you do it?” I hadn’t meant to ask the question, but it doesn’t bother Amser.

“I wanted you to know someone remembered, still. And maybe…oh, I don’t know, it gave me someone to care about, in a way. I wanted to give you what I knew I wouldn’t have– time.”

I think about the friends I made here after Alan left, the discoveries my team and I worked for, the children who had run screaming around my house playing pirates, and I knew it had been a good gift.

“Well, may I give you something in return?” I pull out a whistle, whittled to look like the one Tarian made but painted bright yellow, with a carving of wildflowers and rosemary. We board the tall crystal-blue ship, its bows pointed toward the horizon. “If ever you’re becalmed, all you have to do is whistle for a wind.” The high notes rise on the air and the sails billow out, slipping out of Aros Harbor ti hwnt i’r mor, beyond the sea.

#zaki writes #beyond the sea

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marvelslut16 · 4 years ago

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I missed you, Doll

Prompt number: 13 “I missed this”

Fandom: Marvel

Paring: 40s!Bucky Barnes x reader

Rating: G

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, spinsters, and

A/N: Like always, I procrastinated so this isn’t really up to my standards. I really wanted to use a lot more 40s slang but I was running out of time. Either way, first time writing for 40s Bucky, and Bucky in general, but I absolutely love 40s Bucky. Also slight AU I suppose since Hydra and the serum don’t exist in this story.

Growing up being best friends with Steve and Bucky caused many in the neighborhood to look down upon you, the older women in the neighborhood found it unbecoming that a young lady was spending her time with boys. Their distaste for you only seemed to grow when you started to wear trousers in your teenage years, that way you could keep up with Bucky and you could move around easier to defend Steve. Now in your early twenties your neighbors consider you to be a spinster.

You were about to practically beg Stevie to marry you, your parents would never approve but at least that way they would get off your back, but they arranged for you to marry a man fresh out of the army. His name is Bernard, he’s in his early forties and with just a few chaperoned dates you could tell he had an alcohol problem, a souse. He made it very clear that he didn’t like pants on a lady and if you ever wanted a proposal from him that you would have to wear skirts and dresses only. Your parents heard the ultimatum and burned every pair of trousers in your possession, leaving you with no other option than the flowy garments. After your parents forced you to say yes to his proposal Bernard forbade you from seeing Steve, your best friend and last connection to Bucky.

Every night you would cry yourself to sleep to the picture of Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, the edges frayed from how often you clutched it. The picture was never far from your reach, always keeping it by your side tucked into a pocket of your handbag. Bernard didn’t know of the photo and neither did your parents, Bucky would send your letters to Steve’s apartment knowing they wouldn’t be intercepted by your overbearing parents that way.

Bucky Barnes was a dream boat, he had women practically throwing themselves at his feet, even the married women. He would flirt with you constantly, but he flirted with every woman so you didn’t let it get to your head, especially when he started to date Dot before he was deployed. Much like every other woman you fell for Bucky and his charm, especially the caring side only you and Steve saw first hand. You had hoped that over the years his feelings would grow to match your own, but he never seemed to want to settle down, especially with you.

Your father is throwing a party today, one where he officially announces to your relatives that you're engaged to Bernard and to be married by the end of the year. You can’t help but hide in a quiet corner and cry, you imagined this day since you were a child and none of it was how you imagined. Your father wasn’t announcing your engagement to Bucky, Steve by his side- he wasn’t even invited to the party. And neither was Rebecca Barnes, your best friend besides the boys and practically your sister.

A knock on the door pulls you away from your silent tears, figuring it’s another guest for your party. You stand and flatten your blue dress with white polka dots and wipe your eyes with your gloved fingers, before faking a smile and opening the door. The figure on the other side of said door is the last person you ever expected to see again. Standing before you in all his glory is Bucky still in uniform, he looks stronger and even more handsome than when he left almost a year ago.

Before you can say anything he swoops you into a hug, lifting you from the ground and spinning you around happily. When he sets you back on your feet he keeps his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You bury your own face into his strong shoulder, trying not to shake and alert him to the tears falling from your eyes.

“I missed this,” he murmurs into your hair, strong arms pulling you impossibly closer to him. “I missed you, doll.”

“I missed you too, Bucky,” your voice breaks, Bucky tries to pull away to see what’s wrong when he hears this. But you won’t let him. You just want a few more moments of bliss before you're never allowed to see him or be in his arms again.

“You stopped writing to me doll, why?” hurt laces his voice, causing your shoulders to shake as tears stream harder and faster. This time Bucky successfully pulls away slightly, right hand reaching up to caress your face, his calloused thumb wiping the tears away as they fall. “Steve and Rebecca both told me I needed to come see for myself when they picked me up from the station earlier. But you look fine, beautiful even, even if you aren’t in trousers. I wrote to you last month hoping you’d be there to pick me up.

“(Y/N), sweetheart, who’s at the door?” before you can tell Bucky of the new developments, Bernard’s voice pulls you away from Bucky. You take a giant step away from the man you love, his face falls as his hand slips from your cheek, you look at the ground in hopes to calm your nerves and stop your tears.

“Who are you?” there’s malice in Bucky’s voice as Bernard rounds the corner and into the front room with you and Bucky.

“I’m Bernard, (Y/N)’s future husband,” Bernard glares up at Bucky, turning to you and kissing you on the cheek, the stench of alcohol rolling off of him in waves. You try to pull away from his chapped lips but his arm snakes around your waist to keep you close, hand too close to your rear for your liking. “Who are you?”

“Sergeant James Barnes,” Bucky straightens his back and squares his shoulders, towering over Bernard in hopes to intimidate the older man. “I’m (Y/N)’s best friend and I was hoping to speak with her, seeing as how I just got home.”

“Seeing as she’s promised to me,” you let out a yelp as Bernard’s fingers dig painfully into your hip bone. “I’m afraid that’s inappropriate and I cannot allow it.”

“(Y/N) who’s at the door?” you father calls, too busy squirming trying to get out of Bernard’s hold you don’t answer him. He soon rounds the corner, eyes widening as he sees who's at the door.

“Mr. (Y/L/N),” Bucky’s voice is strained as he glares at your father, his face softens as he turns to look at you. “Doll, tell me he’s treating you well and I’ll be on my way.”

“He’s not,” Bernard's grip so tightly you're surprised he hasn’t broken your bone or his fingers. “I can’t marry him Bucky, I tried to say no. No to marrying him, no to going on dates, but they forced me to.”

Bucky’s jaw ticks as he grinds his teeth down hard. He reaches forward, roughly grabbing Bernard’s hand and removing it from your waist, and gently pulling you into his arms. The sergeant’s deadly glare leaves Bernard and lands on your father.

“You knew of my intentions with your daughter,” you know he’s fighting to keep his voice low so as not to alert the guests in the other rooms of the house. “And you still tried to arrange her to marry someone else while I was gone?”

“What are you talking about,” you rest your hand on Bucky’s chest as you stare hopefully into his crystal blue eyes.

“I would like to know that too,” Bernard glares at both men in the room.

“Before I left,” Bucky pushes a stray hair away from your eyes, talking to you as if you're the only in the room with him. “I made my intentions clear to your father that when I got home, if you’d have me that is, I wanted to marry you.”

“You do?” tears start to well up in your eyes, but for the first time in a long time they’re happy tears. Bucky nods, calloused thumb caressing your cheek again. “What about Dot? You two seemed to be going steady before you left.”

“She was in love with her milkman, and I was in love with you,” Bucky rests his forehead on yours. “I wanted to keep it a secret, ask you to marry me in person. But I couldn't wait any longer so I asked you in a letter, but then you stopped responding and I was worried I scared you off.”

“You could never scare me off Buck,” your hands slide up his chest and into the short strands of his chestnut hair. “I love you too much for that. Why else would I put up with you all these years?”

For the second time today, Bucky lifts you off your feet and twirls you around. “You’re making me the happiest man alive,” Bucky murmurs as he sets your giggling self down. “So doll, (Y/N), the love of my life, my best friend, would you put me out of my misery and be my wife?”

Bucky drops to his knee and pulls out the ring Steve brought to the station with him earlier, the ring Bucky bought for you before being shipped off, the ring that he wanted to give you before he left but he didn’t have your father’s permission. The diamond glints on the rays of sunlight streaming in from the picture window in the room. “Yes! Yes, of course!” you nod happily, and Bucky grins up at you as he slides the ring on your finger- it’s a perfect fit.

You can hear the protests from Bernard and your father behind you, but both you and Bucky choose to ignore them. You don’t care about what either of them have to say, all you care about is the future you’ll finally get to have with Bucky, the man you’ve always loved. Bucky stands up and pulls you in for a searing kiss, your first ever kiss. Sparks shoot from your lips down to your toes, causing them to curl in pleasure. It’s a kiss you’ll remember for a lifetime, one you'll tell your children and grandchildren about. And there was no one you’d rather share it with than one James Buchanan Barnes.

Permeant tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny

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a-dorin · 5 years ago

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admit it | darth maul

word count: 1,635

warnings: nsfw, oral (receiving), smut, cursing, master/apprentice relationship, pet names

prompt: “can i ask for maul smut where he and reader are sparring and reader denies feelings until he convinces her otherwise”

you blocked his jab, panting, your chest heaving, “you have to be quicker than that, master.”

your master, darth maul smirked, sweeping his leg, catching you by surprise. you yelped, stumbling backwards. your butt met the forest floor, your eyelids brimming with tears as a burr pierced your skin.

maul narrowed his eyes, snarling, “get up. now. are you going to surrender that easily in battle?”

“okay, okay,” you muttered, rising to your feet. cursing to yourself, you pulled the burr from the fabric of your robe, “my apologies, master. when i fell a burr got stuck on my robes, and pierced into my skin.”

“such an insignificant wound,” maul snorted, “how are you going to handle an injury battle? are you going to whine and whimper while you’re fighting? you have to learn to fight past the pain. feed off your adrenaline, apprentice. it will fuel you.”

“thanks for the wisdom,” you mumbled darkly, “i’m fine.”

“you just cried over a mere flesh wound,” his amber eyes stared into yours as he chastised you, “that is not promising.”

“it hurt for a moment okay?” the words were defensive.

“as long as you’re not bleeding,” maul rolled his eyes, inhaling, “i don’t smell blood, but i do smell something else. something far more intriguing than blood.”

you arched a brow, “and that is?”

“your pheromones,” the zabrak’s lips tugged upwards, into a sly smirk, “your hormones are elevated. i can practically smell your arousal. you’ve never gotten like this before. is there something you would like to tell your master?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you shrugged, settling into your stance, “we’re not finished with our sparring session quite yet, and i am getting quite hungry. can we discuss this later or are you going to keep running your mouth?”

maul paused, shocked. never had you defied him like this, and boy, was it attractive. sexy, even. more than anything, the zabrak wanted to put you in your place. to hush you, filling you up with his ribbed cock. to watch your eyes roll back, pleasure rippling through your as he gripped your throat, leaving love bites all over your skin.

without a doubt, you were in love with your master. ever since you first laid eyes on him. the two of you met at a cantina on tatooine, where maul was investigating the whereabouts of a potential force sensitive child. you were at the bar, helping serve drinks. the cloaked figure intrigued you as you poured his drink. but when he pulled his hood down, revealing his beauty to you, were enticed.

he was alluring, a crimson sabrak covered in black tattoos, the ink woven in intricate patterns all over his face. the most enticing aspect about him were his eyes. you were in awe of the amber pools, flowing so effortlessly into crimson. they were the eyes of the sith, but you were lost within them. they radiated power, and intelligence. and gods, did you want to know more about him.

you beauty caught his eye as well, along with a pull by the force. you were force sensitive, and maul made an offer you couldn’t refuse, his voice smooth as you spoke to him. he offered to train you, as long you provided him your unwavering loyalty in exchange.

the two of you had been traveling for months, intertwined together through the relationship of teacher and student. you were his apprentice, comprehending the ins and outs of the force with ease. it also helped that you were eager to learn, eager to harness your power. maul also trained you in saber combat, along with the basic techniques of sparring. that was what the two of you were working on today.

even if the zabrak held up a fortified exterior, he allowed those walls to crumble when it came to you. although the two of you were not together, maul expressed the desire for a more intimate relationship. after all, the two of you were attached to one another. he didn’t want to admit it, but you knew he was quite attached to you. the two of you were bonded through the force, and maul wanted to explore that bond further. however, you knew that if you wanted to witness force bonding, you wanted to be in a romantic relationship. why the two of you had not gotten together yet, you had no idea.

his stern voice snapped you from your thoughts, “why the sudden shift in your tone?”

“because you can’t control me,” you countered.

maul blinked, “i would think about that statement very carefully, (y/n).”

you swallowed thickly, aware of his eyes trained on you, tracking your every movement, “i’m so sorry, i don’t know what’s gotten into me and-”

“just admit it,” maul cooed, stepping towards you, “just admit it, little one. you have feelings for me.”

“i would never give you that satisfaction,” you retorted, your palms clamming up.

“you’re nervous,” he remarked, circling you like you were his prey, “why are you nervous, (y/n)? are you scared that your little secret will come tumbling out from those pretty lips of yours? are you nervous because i can make your pussy soaking wet without even laying a finger on you? don’t be coy, i can see through your denial.”

you bit your lip, desperately attempting to avert his intense gaze, “i-i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“let me touch you,” maul paused, the words filling your ear, “let me satisfy you. i can sense your arousal, your need. let me make you feel like a princess.”

“m-maul,” you stammered, blush spreading through your cheeks like wildfire, “i have something i want to tell you.”

“oh my sweet,” a purr rumbled from his throat, “you don’t have to utter a single word. i know.”

“d-do you feel the same way as i do?”

“if i didn’t,” a hand grasped your chin, tilting it so that your eyes met his, “i wouldn’t be acting this way. just let me satisfy you, (y/n). i can’t hold back any longer. i have to keep myself from pressing kisses all over your body. i have to remind myself that i can’t ravish you every single time i lay eyes on you.”

“i need you maul,” you murmured.

your words were enough for the zabrak. he couldn’t hold back any longer, craving to taste your lips. his lips crashed into yours, your heart racing. the kiss was blissful, as if you were long lost lovers reuniting, feeling each other’s lips for the first time. a hand wrapped around the back of your throat, pulling you closer to him, the zabrak aching for more. his tongue traced your bottom lip, requesting access. you parted your lips, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth.

“so sweet,” maul whispered, his mouth drifting towards your neck, “you’re so beautiful.”

“are we going to do this here?” you inquired, practically moaning as maul sucked on your skin, leaving a harsh pink mark on your skin.

“no,” he shook his head, “we’ll take this back to the ship.”

“take me there then,” you whined, pleading with maul.

“eager aren’t we?” maul tsked, “your wish is my command though, my sweet.”

he scooped you into his arms, slinging you over his shoulder. you yelped in surprise, clutching his robes as he carried you to the scimitar. every step was agonizing, as the friction of your robes against your clit was sending ripples of pleasure through your body. you were soaked, your juices running down your thighs.

finally, maul boarded his ship, still hanging onto you. once the door was shut, he bent you over the console in the cockpit, “just relax, (y/n). i promise i won’t hurt you.”

you nodded meekly, “okay.”

his hands gripped your hips as he kneeled to the floor. seconds later, you felt his tongue on your thighs, kissing your heated skin. his tongue traveled from your thighs to your swollen clit, giving it an experimental lick. your knees almost buckled, a wave of pleasure crashing into you.

“relax my love,” his voice was muffled by your robes, “gods, do you taste heavenly.”

reaching out, you gripped the metal console as his tongue delved between your folds, sending shudders down your spine. gods did he know how to pleasure you. maul showed no mercy, leaving not a single inch of your pussy not touched. he discarded a glove, inserting two fingers into your dripping core. you threw your head back, your moans sending satisfaction rippling through the zabrak.

his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking gently as he curled his fingers within you. eyes rolling back, your knees trembled as you came, your orgasm racking your body. stars bursted before you, flooding your vision as you rode maul’s tongue.

maul’s head popped out from your robes, your juices soaking his chin. he wiped his mouth, panting. coming down from your high, your chest heaved, your knees weak, cheeks tinged a rose hue. maul’s eyes raked over you, taking in the way he made you feel. gods, was he satisfied.

“how do you feel?” he inquired, his voice smooth.

“perfect,” you murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “that was um, amazing.”

maul grinned, a smile so wide it flashed his incisors, “anything to express my love for you, my princess.”

his words left you awestruck, your cheeks hot, “you love me?”

“was that even a question?” his eyes narrowed, his tone playful, “well, perhaps i should express my love for you even further, hmmm?”

“i mean-” you began, but were cut off by maul picking you up in his arms, slinging you over his shoulder once more.

“this is a matter to be discussed in the bedroom, my dear.”

tagged: @smokahuntis @maulieber @queen-disera-the-fifth @witchy-goth-unicorn @maulfrk @smaulahlee @obiorbenkenobi

#darth maul #darth maul x reader #star wars x reader #darth maul smut #maul #darth maul fluff #maul x reader #maul smut #sith #star wars

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maria-scribbles · 4 years ago

Text

glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part two

summary: the pogues get up to a few shenanigans, burn the shit out of some marshmallows, and have a group hug of epic proportions. the dynamic duo of kiara and sailor brings out girl power in full force before getting real about a certain golden group rule.

word count: 4.2k+

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn)

warnings: mentions of abuse/neglect/parental abandonment/anxiety, underage drinking, weed usage, more fluff, flirting, reference to absolute legend kobe bryant

a/n: hello again! thank you all for the great response to part one, i’m seriously blown away and so grateful for your support! <3 i’m happy y’all enjoyed reading about sailor’s adventures with the pogues! here’s part two, which had previously been combined with part one but i decided to split it because it was getting wayyyy too long (over 8k words, oops). also i’ve never even seen weed with my own two eyes before so my bad if that part’s not realistic, i did my best lol. unbetaed, so i apologize for any mistakes. enjoy!

gif credit goes to @toesure

~Masterlist~

part one | part three | part four | playlist

part two: treading water

The pogues spend the next few hours among the waves, surfing their hearts out until they’re waterlogged, exhausted, and hungry. As the sun starts to sink over the island they pile into John B’s beat up Volkswagen, all their boards tied together on the roof, and head to The Wreck, where Kiara’s dad begrudgingly feeds his daughter and her ‘delinquent’ friends.

That word seems pretty harsh at first but as the evening goes on and the group gets a little louder, it’s kind of well-deserved. Pope can’t seem to stop dropping his fork, sending the rest of them into hysterical laughter each time, and everyone knows when Taylor Swift comes on the radio, Sailor has an obligation to get up and dance. The fact that she knocks a chair over in her haste to show off her moves only makes them laugh harder. When they finally leave and head back to the Chateau for the night, she makes sure to put forty bucks on their table for the food and the twelve pack of beer Kiara swipes from behind the bar when Mr. Carrera isn’t looking.

While it may not look like much, John B’s house if home for more than just him. It’s a safe port for all the pogues when they get lost in the storm, a place where they can all be themselves, be real, without judgement, and it’s Sailor’s second favorite place on the island. She’s lost count of how many nights she’s spent here, sleeping in the spare room, on the pull-out couch, and the hammock in the yard (sleepovers have become even more common in the eight months since Big John’s disappearance at sea, no one willing to leave his son all alone in an empty house.).

The hammock is where she finds herself now on this warm June night, sitting beside JJ with his arm around her shoulders, clad in his sweatshirt that she unashamedly stole last year, passing a joint back and forth while the others lounge around the small bonfire, roasting the old marshmallows John B found in the very back of one of his kitchen’s cupboards and drinking beer. One of her long legs dangles over the edge, toes pushing against the cool grass as they lazily swing back and forth, watching Kiara burn her third marshmallow in a row.

“Kie, what did those poor things ever do to you?” Sailor asks, exhaling smoke through her nose before passing the joint to JJ, and the brush of his fingers against hers sends warmth through her whole body. Kiara just shoots her the bird in response as she stabs her fourth marshmallow and holds it over the fire. The redhead laughs and rests her head against JJ’s shoulder, her limbs light as air. In the distance, lightning arcs between the clouds and creates a dazzling show over the water as thunder rumbles but none of them care enough to notice.

Although she never outright asks to smoke, she also never refuses the chance to get high with her best friend and let their problems drift away with every hit, if only for a little while. Lines get a little blurry between them, too, as both become oh so affectionate with each other when their inhibitions disappear like the sun over the horizon. She sighs contentedly at the blissful feeling of his fingers running through her hair and burrows further into his side, turning so she can throw an arm over his waist and curl her own fingers into the soft material of his shirt.

“Damn it!” John B yells as his marshmallow, in the span of a few seconds, catches fire and unceremoniously falls into the flames with a hiss.

“Ha, I’m not the only one on the struggle bus!” Kiara laughs gleefully, delicately turning her fourth attempt to keep it from burning like the other three. “We can’t all be Pope, I guess.”

The other boy looks up at the mention of his name and grins, holding out a perfectly toasted marshmallow on the end of the stick in his hand. “It takes talent, Kie.” He jokes, chuckling as she sticks her tongue out at him.

Sailor can’t help laughing, too when the two of them dive headfirst into a heated discussion about the finer points of roasting things over a campfire, their voices becoming louder and louder as they try to talk over one another while John B, unfazed from his spot between them, just holds another marshmallow over the fire and ignores them completely as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Aaaand JB’s totally checked out of that particular conversation,” She says to JJ under her breath and she feels more than hears him laugh in response.

“Poor bastard,” He whispers back before taking one last hit of the joint, now burnt down to a nub in his hand, and flicking it into the fire with a shout of “Kobe!”

“Nice one, hotshot.” She shifts her head up on his shoulder as her eyes unabashedly trace his profile in the warm orange glow of the fire, from the golden hair falling haphazardly onto his forehead and down the straight slope of his nose to the curve of his lips before she’s caught -not that she was being subtle in any possible way-, his ocean blue gaze holding hers with an electrified energy that would’ve normally set her whole face aflame. She’s not Normal Sailor now though, she’s High Sailor and High Sailor has positively zero shame so she just looks up at him with a saccharine smile on her face and blesses the fact that weed makes her bold as hell.

The flickering flames throw JJ’s features into sharp relief and highlight the dimples that she loves as he returns her smile, the hand in her hair now twirling a single curl around his finger. His free hand settles on the strip of bare skin at her waist where her sweatshirt has ridden up and her heart beats a little faster when he starts drawing agonizingly slow circles with his thumb. Her hand releases its grip on his shirt and before she even realizes it, she’s reaching up and brushing a finger along her jaw, just like he’d done to her that afternoon on the beach, and she feels the fingers at her waist press against her skin.

It’s moments like these that make her wish she could freeze time and live in them forever. Just the two of them, looking at each other like they’re more than just friends, touching each other like they’re falling into something beautiful and all they need to do is stick the landing. The possibility of taking that final leap teases her. He’s so close, it wouldn’t take much to just reach up and make that minuscule distance between them disappear and from the way his eyes flick down to her mouth and back, she’s sure he’s thinking the same. They won’t though and for now that’s okay, but deep down she wonders just how long they can balance on the cliff’s edge before they both fall.

As much as she’d like to stare at his stupidly handsome face all night, the weather has other plans as lightning flashes white across the sky, immediately followed by a big crack of thunder that makes Sailor jump and accidentally headbutt JJ right in the forehead. The stick in Pope’s hand goes flying somewhere into the bushes when he startles, too, and there’s a pause as everyone looks at each other before bursting into wild laughter.

“Jesus, Sail,” JJ says, reaching up to rub at the spot she hit, “you have a hard head.”

Her reply of “speak for yourself!” is drowned out by another clap of thunder and seconds later it starts pouring rain, sending the group scrambling to head back inside the Chateau before they get too drenched. The duo, in their haste, get tangled together in the hammock and nearly fall to the ground in a heap but manage to hold each other up with their hands clasped tight, both laughing so hard she’s sure the water on their faces is more than just rain.

“The beer! Don’t forget the beer!” Someone yells and John B, halfway to the porch in front of them, does a smooth 180 on the wet grass and runs back for the booze sitting beside the dying fire, sending them a lazy salute when he passes by.

“We honor your sacrifice, Captain!” JJ calls over his shoulder before they clamber onto the porch alongside a giggling Kiara.

“Oh my God, you two almost bit it so hard.” She says while wringing out her shirt, adding to the steadily growing puddle of water at their feet.

“But we didn’t, all thanks to me and my impeccable balance.” He says proudly, grinning down at the girl still snug against his side before she lets go of his hand to slug him in the shoulder.

“Ow, what was that for?”

“Oh please, J, I was the one who kept you from falling on your face. Now, hold still.” Sailor orders and places her hand on his arm, using him for balance as she brushes the grass from her feet.

“Yes, ma’am.” His reply is low in her ear, his hand settles even lower on her back, and she pretends the shiver her body makes is just from the cool rain.

“You like being bossed around, Maybank?”

Her hand grips his strong shoulder a little bit tighter, and she feels his fingers tighten on her sweatshirt as he replies, “Depends on who’s doing the bossing, Flynn.”

Kiara coughs pointedly, staring at them with her eyebrows raised and Sailor feels her face begin to flush bright red because, to be honest, she’d kind of forgotten she was even there as they both let go of each other. The other girl snickers and drawls, “If you two are quite done-”

Thankfully, a thoroughly soaked John B joins them and interrupts whatever Kiara was going to say, his hair plastered to his face and dripping onto the soggy carton of beer protectively cradled in his arms.

“Mission accomplished.” He says with a satisfied smile, setting the drinks down on a chair before shaking his head like a dog and splattering rainwater on everyone, including Pope as he emerges from the house carrying a pile of towels. A few drops land on his cheek and he wrinkles his nose in disgust, wiping them away with his own towel hanging around his neck.

“I was just kidding about the beer.” He says, throwing one and smacking John B right in the face, then kindly passing out the rest. Sailor barely grabs the last one before Pope’s suddenly put in a headlock by the brunet boy, yelling something about mutiny and a captain “not standing for this” as they start to grapple back and forth. JJ pauses in the middle of drying his hair and instantly jumps into the fray after tossing his towel to the floor, the scuffle quickly turning into a three way wrestling match.

She and Kiara both glance at each other and roll their eyes before scooting by the melee and heading into the house, leaving the boys to do their thing. They quickly dry off and change into pajamas, hang their wet clothes up to dry in the bathroom, and then tiredly flop onto the bed in the spare room together.

“How long do you think it’ll take until Wrestlemania out there’s done?” Sailor asks, rolling onto her stomach and reaching to pull her phone and glasses out of her bag on the floor; under her newly acquired hat, the lightning whelk peeks through its towel and the sight of it makes her smile softly. Kiara snorts and sits up, crossing her legs and running her fingers through her damp hair. “Knowing those fools, too long.”

The redhead laughs and mirrors the other girl’s position before slipping her glasses on and glancing down at her phone in trepidation, where no new texts block the lock screen picture of her and the rest of the pogues, and she does her best to ignore the hurt coiling in her chest, the smile fading from her face. She places the phone screen down on the bedside table and when she raises her head, she’s not surprised to find Kiara, ever so perceptive, staring at her with sympathy in her soft brown eyes.

“You okay?” She asks and Sailor takes off her glasses, then pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them.

“Could be better.”

Lightning illuminates the room, followed by an impressive crack of thunder a few seconds later as rain continues to pound against the window and down the hall, they hear the door slam closed as the boys finally storm inside after their scuffle, still yelling like banshees. The other girl reaches over and quickly squeezes her wrist before shooting her a bright smile.

“If you ever need to vent, I’m all ears.”

She knows she means it. Aside from JJ, Kiara’s her closest friend and from the moment they met, the two had quickly bonded over being the only girls in the group and their love of the environment: she’s lost count of how many times they’ve volunteered, both themselves and the rest of the pogues, to help raise money for animals. Despite Kiara’s kook year, Sailor considers her a sister and knows that Kie feels the same about her. Having each other’s backs no matter what is just what they do.

The redhead looks away from watching the storm outside and matches Kiara’s smile, then scoots closer to wrap her arms around her in a grateful hug.

“Thanks, Kie.”

The dark haired girl eagerly returns the embrace. “Any-”

“Comin’ through, gotta get me some of this group hug action!” JJ yells, storming into the room like a hurricane and throwing his arms around them, all but tackling them onto the bed before they even realize what’s happening.

“No, no, you’re still wet!” Sailor cries as his head rests against the back of her neck, his damp hair slowly beginning to soak into her shirt while Kiara growls, “Oh my God, get off!”

“And miss out on this? No way.” He says cheekily and pulls them both closer, ignoring the dark haired girl’s venomous glare and attempts to pry his hand away from her arm. Sailor, resigned to her fate, just laughs and calls over his arm to John B and Pope as they curiously poke their heads in from the hall, “Get your asses in here!”

She doesn’t have to tell them twice. They throw themselves into the hug faster than she can blink and with such contagious enthusiasm that Kiara can’t fight the affectionate grin making its way onto her face, even as she threatens, “I’m gonna kill all of you.”

Sailor rests her cheek on JJ’s outstretched arm and smiles to herself. This, right here and now, is where she belongs, surrounded by the best friends she could ask for, living each moment to its fullest. No matter what comes their way, she knows this is true: as long as they all stand together, the pogues will be just fine.

Some time later, the hug comes to an end as JJ jokingly complains about Sailor’s big head making his arm numb, which earns him a swift elbow to the stomach from the redhead.

“Weak.” She replies, smirking at the little oof he makes before grabbing his arm and pulling them both up from the bed. “Now get out.”

“Please.” Kiara agrees and pushes John B out the door, followed by Pope. “This room is girls only.”

“Since when?” The latter asks, sidestepping to avoid JJ as he’s playfully shoved into the hall by Sailor, who replies, “Right now.”

“Why?”

“’Cause we said so!” Both girls say in unison before they slam the door shut and then lean their backs against it, giggling. On the other side, they hear Pope ask in a very amused voice, “I thought this was your house?”

John B sighs the deepest sigh they’ve ever heard before replying, “Yeah, I did, too.”

“Ten bucks they’re gonna talk shit about us.” JJ says and there’s a not so subtle bump against the door that gives away the fact that he’s got his ear pressed to it, trying to listen in on them; a fact that gets proven when Sailor smacks her hand on it and makes him stumble back with a yelp of surprise.

“Dream on!”

“You wish!”

She and Kiara call at the same time, then glance at each other and burst into another fit of giggles.

“Tough break, dude. You’ll feel better in the morning.” That was John B’s tactless way of saying he’s tired without actually saying it and seconds later they hear his footsteps disappear down the hall to his room as he makes his escape, followed faintly by the sound of his door swinging shut.

“You don’t talk about us at all, Sail? Seriously?” JJ asks and Sailor can almost feel the sheer force of Pope’s inevitable eye roll when he mumbles under his breath, “Oh my God.”

Kiara’s on the same wavelength as him because she rolls her eyes, too and all but yells, “If we say yes will you fucking leave?”

There’s a pause and then: a slightly miffed “...yes.” along with Pope trying and failing to disguise his laugh as a cough.

“Then yes, we do talk about you. Now go.”

“Okay, okay! Jeez.”

“Goodnight, boys!” Sailor calls in a singsong voice before hearing them retreat to the living room, arguing about who gets the sleeper sofa and who gets stuck with the regular couch. When she’s sure they’re gone she shakes her head fondly (she doesn’t see why they can’t just get over themselves and share the damn thing) and turns back to Kiara, who’s already in the middle of pulling the damp comforter from the bed, her face the picture of disgust.

“Ugh,” She shudders, tossing it to the floor and then wiping her hands on a discarded towel from earlier. “Don’t touch that.”

“No shit.”

The dark haired girl jokingly flips Sailor the bird and then joins her in lounging on the bed, watching the fan spin in circles above their heads while the storm outside continues to rage on. The silence is comforting, soothing, and goes on for so long that the redhead’s nearly sent off to dreamland by the sound of the rain before Kiara finally speaks, “Hey, Sail?”

She hums in response, slowly turning her head to face her and blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” She replies with an impish grin, but it slips from her face when the other girl shoots her a flat, unamused glance.

“Ha ha. I’m being serious, okay?”

Well that wasn’t worrying at all. “Is something wrong?” Sailor asks, rolling onto her side to face her friend completely and propping her head on her arm, all traces of lethargy thrown out the window. Kiara does the same with an unreadable look in her eyes as she answers, “No, I’m just a little...okay, a lot curious about something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

“I mean, I kind of have to. You know I suck at lying.”

She frowns when Kiara doesn’t even react to her comment and instead starts to worry her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s kind of a personal question, though.”

Oh, Jesus. She’s gonna ask about her dad, Sailor knows it, and that’s something she’s just not ready to talk about -she hasn’t even told JJ the whole story yet and she tells him (almost) everything- but before she can think of a semi-decent excuse, or run to the bathroom, or pretend to just pass the fuck out, Kiara blurts, “What’s the deal between you and JJ?”

Okay, that’s decidedly not what she expected to hear and it completely throws her for a loop, her brain blowing a fuse in epic fashion. A long stream of gibberish comes from her mouth as she tries and fails to articulate a response because holy hell she’s so not prepared for this; she’s a listener, not a talker! She’s the confidante not the confider, the asker not the answerer, and she can feel herself getting a little sweaty at just the thought of talking about her feelings, even with someone as close to her as Kiara. She almost wishes the other girl had asked about her dad.

To be honest she should’ve seen this coming, considering the looks Kiara’s been sending her recently and especially today, the ones that clearly meant that the dark haired girl’s seen what’s been happening and wants. that. tea. What Sailor doesn’t get though, is why she’s being so serious about it: she expects at least an overexaggerated wink or a teasing comment or two from her friend but she’s just waiting patiently, the slightest hint of mirth in her eyes.

Finally, the redhead manages to collect her panicked thoughts enough to squeak oh so eloquently, “Me-him-nothing!”

Kiara arches one eyebrow. “Sail, you really do suck at lying.”

Sailor flops back onto the bed and slides her hands down her furiously blushing face with a groan. “I’m not lying.” She mutters insistently but even she can admit it sounds weak as hell.

“It’s obvious there’s something-”

Something in her snaps and before she can stop them, words just start coming out with the force of a wave crashing against the shore, rough and callous. “It’s obvious there’s nothing going on, okay? Nothing. And even if there was -not that I’m saying there is- it can’t happen. That’s the golden rule, Kie.”

Kiara looks momentarily taken aback at the redhead’s outburst and then rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before she whispers quietly, like a secret she’s reluctant to share, “Maybe I think that rule is stupid.”

“Stupid?” Sailor glances over incredulously, the brief flash of anger aimed at her friend slowly morphing into confusion. “You’re the one who came up with it in the first place!”

“I know...” The dark haired girl sighs, tiredly running her hands through her hair, “I wanted to keep things from getting weird! It’s worked pretty well so far but I’m kind of, sort of, maybe starting to think it might not have been the best idea.”

“Why?” She asks, brow furrowing.

Kiara appears deep in thought as she keeps staring at the ceiling, working her jaw until she seems to come to a decision and turns her head to look Sailor in the eye. “Because I don’t think something as simple as a rule should be able to dictate who you can or can’t...love.”

Oh, God. Anxiety starts to take hold in her chest and she tries to keep her brain from going into five-alarm fire mode, her fingers tapping nervously against her leg. Why oh why did she have to say the L-word? Who said anything about that? Hell, it’s been a few months and she’s still getting used to her world-changing, panic-inducing, everything-clicking-into-place epiphany that made her realize that she does, in fact, like JJ as more than a friend (how and when her feelings changed, she hasn’t quite figured that out yet.). She’s not even close to thinking about love. Noticing her friend’s distress, Kiara reaches over to place her darker hand on the paler girl’s and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m not saying you love him, okay? But there’s obviously something good going on between you guys and I’m not cool with some dumb rule we made when we were twelve getting in the way of your happiness,” Her mouth curls into a lighthearted smirk, “even if it happens to be with someone as, uh, distinct as JJ.”

Despite herself, Sailor snorts a laugh and the tight feeling in her chest slowly starts to become a little more bearable as its replaced by a swell of gratitude that she has a person as wonderful as Kiara for a friend. She really did luck out in that department, she thinks, and the corner of her mouth lifts in a small smile.

“Distinct?”

“Hey, I was gonna say idiotic but I’m trying to be nice here.” The dark haired girl says, laughing as Sailor affectionately rolls her eyes before continuing, “But you do know that if he messes this up I’ll kick his ass, right?”

“Trust me, I do.”

“Good.” She punctuates that with a massive yawn, then rolls away from her and pulls the sheets higher over her chest, mumbling, “Now I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for bed. All this deep talk made me tired.”

“Big mood,” Sailor replies, reaching over and flicking off the bedside lamp, the only light now coming from the occasional flash of lightning through the windows as she rolls comfortably onto her side, tucking her arm under the pillow. Silence settles over them, dark and calm and stretching for who knows how long before she says quietly, “Thanks, Kie.”

There’s no answer. Realizing she must’ve already nodded off, the redhead’s just about to crash herself when her friend’s reply softly cuts through the silence like a knife.

“You’re not the only one I did it for.”

Kiara doesn’t say anything after that and Sailor falls asleep wondering what, or rather who, exactly the other girl meant.

let me know what you think!

taglist ❤ (i added everyone who’s comments and reblogs made me smile so let me know if you don’t want to be tagged!) : @jiaraendgame @obxlife @sunflowerbecca @maysbanks @obx-adventures @mortifiedposts @sexualparkour @coltonparayyko @heavensalreadyheres

#outer banks #jj maybank #obx netflix #outer banks netflix #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x oc #jj maybank fic #obx fic #outer banks fic #jj x oc #jj x reader #my fics #obx #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank imagine

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lumau · 4 years ago

Note

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss: 50 for Froststorm?

Thanks for the request! This is extremely fluffy... I hope you like it!

A kiss out of love / Froststorm

... in which I propose the idea that Ao Shun speaks French with an exaggerated accent when he wants to make Li Ming laugh, and it rarely fails.

For all readers who need it – Scroll down for a version with added translations for the French bits. Oh, also – neither English nor French are my first languages, btw.

“Aaah, n’est-ce pas beau?”

Ao Shun straigthened to his full height and inhaled deeply as he stepped up to the banister. They had just climbed the sweeping stairs of the Palais Longchamp and stopped in the shade of the colonnade to enjoy the view of the waterfall. The Durance fountain was most impressive when seen from below, but up here a light breeze cut through the summer heat, making it a lot more bearable. Ao Shun himself did not mind the tight air, but he knew that it could take its toll on Li Ming.

It had been a while since they had the opportunity to stay in Marseille for a while, and even longer since their last proper time off together. On the rare occasions where both of them were able to get away from their respective duties for a few hours simultaneously, they had always liked to come here in the past.

The Palais d’Eau was a beautiful sight, and while the chatter of the tourists could be somewhat annoying, the crowds also provided a welcome anonymity. Ao Shun prided himself not to be seen as a tourist himself though, so he had taken to practice his respectable, yet rather accentuated French whenever they might be overheard.

“Quelle bonheur de pouvoir enfin revenir ici!”

A noise that sounded like a small chuckle made him turn around. The expression on Li Ming’s face was just a little too politely blank to be completely innocent.

“Quoi?” Ao Shun raised an eyebrow.

“Rien, mon seigneur. Je profitais juste de la vue.”

His French was just as perfect as everything else about him, with an easy flow and natural intonation. Almost annoyingly perfect, Ao Shun thought. But of course that was his personality, and, after all, what had made him his assistant, and part of what he appreciated so much about him.

“Tu moques ma prononciation?” he inquired with a grim look of faux indignation.

This time Li Ming could not hide the smirk on his face.

“Tu te moques de ma prononciation, en fait.”

Ao Shun took a quick step forward and grabbed Li Ming around his waist, wheeling him around to pin him against the banister with his body.

“Tu oses insulter ton roi comme ça?” he snarled, his eyes flashing red. The effect was starkly mitigated by his wide, crooked grin, though.

“Je vous demande dévotement pardon, Votre Majesté! Vous êtes trop charmant, je n'ai pas pu m'en empêcher.”

“Tu penses que mon Français est charmant, hm?” Ao Shun asked slyly, “Oh, je n'ai même pas commencé, chéri.”

Li Ming dissolved into a bout of giggles, as Ao Shun feigned to ferociously attack his neck with his teeth, alternating nipping and kisses with drawling French pet names.

“Mon beau… mon loulou… mon petit chou...”

“Stop it!” Li Ming exclaimed, laughing. “I give up! I will never mock your French again!”

Ao Shun let up on him and watched as he caught his breath. Li Ming’s flushed cheeks, his bright eyes and relaxed, gleeful expression were such a beautiful sight to him. He rarely let his guard down that much, especially in public. A sudden rush of fondness overcame Ao Shun, wondering how he could love this icy dragon just as much as he did.

He reached his hand out behind Li Ming’s neck and pulled him into a long, deep kiss, that left both of them breathless again.

“What was that for?” Li Ming gasped as they parted.

Ao Shun looked at him with affection.

“You. Just you.”

Li Ming blushed crimson and dropped his gaze, but Ao Shun caught the broad smile curling his lips. He stepped back and held his hand out to him.

“Aux Musée des Beaux-Arts?”

“Mais oui, mon amour.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

v with translation v

“Aaah, n’est-ce pas beau?” (Ah, isn’t it beautiful?)

“Quelle bonheur de pouvoir enfin revenir ici!” (What bliss to finally return here!)

A noise that sounded like a small chuckle made him turn around. The expression on Li Ming’s face was just a little too politely blank to be completely innocent.

“Quoi?” Ao Shun raised an eyebrow. (What?)

“Rien, mon seigneur. Je profitais juste de la vue.” (Nothing, my lord. I was just enjoying the view.)

“Tu moques ma prononciation?” he inquired with a grim look of faux indignation. (Are you mocking my prononciation?)

This time Li Ming could not hide the smirk on his face.

“Tu te moques de ma prononciation, en fait.” (It’s actually “Tu te moques de ma prononciation”.)

Ao Shun took a quick step forward and grabbed Li Ming around his waist, wheeling him around to pin him against the banister with his body.

“Tu oses insulter ton roi comme ça?” he snarled, his eyes flashing red. (You dare to insult your King like that?) The effect was starkly mitigated by his wide, crooked grin, though.

“Je vous demande dévotement pardon, Votre Majesté! Vous êtes trop charmant, je n'ai pas pu m'en empêcher.” (I devoutly beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty! You are just too charming, I could not stop myself.)

“Tu penses que mon Français est charmant, hm?” Ao Shun asked slyly, “Oh, je n'ai même pas commencé, chéri.” (You think my French is charming? Oh, I haven’t even started, darling.)

Li Ming dissolved into a bout of giggles, as Ao Shun feigned to ferociously attack his neck with his teeth, alternating nipping and kisses with drawling French pet names.

“Mon beau… mon loulou… mon petit chou...”

“Stop it!” Li Ming exclaimed, laughing. “I give up! I will never mock your French again!”

He reached his hand out behind Li Ming’s neck and pulled him into a long, deep kiss, that left both of them breathless again.

“What was that for?” Li Ming gasped as they parted.

Ao Shun looked at him with affection.

“You. Just you.”

Li Ming blushed crimson and dropped his gaze, but Ao Shun caught the broad smile curling his lips. He stepped back and held his hand out to him.

“Aux Musée des Beaux-Arts?” (To the Museum of Fine Arts?)

“Mais oui, mon amour.” (Yes, my love.)

#the invisible library #fanfiction #froststorm #shameless fluff

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talesofsonicasura · 5 years ago

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Keeper of Dreams

A story I written last year and can be considered a very weird brain child if I'm being honest. We've seen the ridiculous power that certain cute citizens of Dreamland can conjure up. Let's see how it goes involving a certain devil filled universe.

Children missing, wife slain and seriously injured, a dark knight treads to find the pieces of his now broken life. Funny thing is... Dreams come to those that least expect it and for Sparda, they can be his salvation, whether big or in case this particular case, cute and very small.

Long long ago, there existed a world of dreams. A place where innocent thoughts of every living creature manifested and brought to life. This world, Popstar, was the holder of the country of bliss known as Dreamland. It was very peaceful filled with all kinds of bright and wonderful characters in the shape of its citizens and wildlife. Dreamland was the core of the Dream World which existed between imagination and reality. Creatures of the dark, Nightmares threatened the balance to destroy Dreamland with the Dream World following.

However it had its own protectors, the Star Warriors and their leader, the Dream Keeper. The Star Warriors were fighters born from the hearts of the brave and kind, each powerful and unique in their own right. The Dream Keeper, their general, a being who possesses the essence of the God of Dreams himself capable of traveling from reality to Dreamland with ease.

Every Dream Keeper and their warriors were successful in driving back the nightmares while protecting Dreamland especially with the power of their strongest warrior. However all good things had to come to an end. Dreamland was under attack from the inside. Their strongest warrior had been taken over by a malevolent force that they had never seen before. The land was in a panic, especially since it was also the day that the child of their Dream Keeper had been born. A child who wouldn't be able to protect herself.

Whatever changed their comrade was devouring everything in darkness as it spread like a vile disease. Dreamland had to be abandoned, the sacred core and the Dream Keeper's child evacuated immediately. The Dream Keeper gathered all of his available warriors and his most trusted comrades. He turned to his main general but also closest friend and handed the warrior his child with a final task. "Protect her." The Dream Keeper was going to face his possessed warrior alone.

The Star Warriors tried to stop him but their most trusted general stood in their way. They realized their keeper's daughter and the core came first. With heavy hearts, the Star Warriors evacuated leaving behind their home empty of life except for their lost comrade and their Dream Keeper. One large flash of light was seen through the darkness that consumed Dreamland whole. A red butterfly fluttering towards them once the light had died.

Their keeper and most cherished friend were both forever gone. What was left of their fallen comrades was their two children. The Dream Keeper's daughter and the child of their fallen friend. Soon years had passed, the Star Warriors watched over the two children of that dark night, Rosa and Kirby. The young girl and the pink puffball were inseparable, never saw one without the other. The sacred core had crafted an item to house a brand new Dreamland, the Book of Dreams. They spent time looking for lost civilians and missing comrades but also a place where they could rest and recover.

Rosa and Kirby being trained to not only protect themselves but the Book of Dreams for it now laid on Rosa to protect it. The group had safely made it to their deceased generals home, the Planet Earth. The monsters of the past wouldn't be able to reach them in their previous general's realm. The rescue ship descended to the surface below, perfectly concealed within the woods of a place near a city called Redgrave. Kirby and Rosa, being as mischievous as young children were, ran off to explore the woods. An act that changed everything.

A little girl of around 7 years old was playing in the field of flowers within the forest. Her hair curly and pink like magenta roses, eyes a sparkling green and two yellow star shaped marks on her slightly rosy cheeks. Following her was a tiny strange creature. It was pink and reminded anyone of a puffball upon first glance, dark blue eyes, red shoe like feet, stubby little arms and absolutely adorable. Their names were Rosa Everglade and Kirby Kabai. Siblings in bond not blood.

"You have to be faster than that to catch me brother!" Rosa giggled. The little puffball Kirby giggled too before speeding up to catch up with his sibling. It didn't take long for Kirby to jump on the girl before they rolled and tumbled through the field laughing. Rosa however stopped when she spotted a growing puddle of red and a shadow covering her.

Her eyes looked up to meet the body of an injured male giant. His purple coat dyed in large blotches of red, white cravat stained crimson, white gloves though one was completely red holding a bleeding wound, skin deathly pale and ice blue eyes foggy under a monocle.

He eyed Rosa before his pale orbs landed on Kirby and those foggy blue widened greatly. The man wobbled then tilted before beginning to fall towards the ground. He would have hit it too, if two gloved hands didn't grab him. These hands belonged to a grey masked dark blue puffball with glowing yellow eyes, purple armored boots, dark blue shoulder pads marked by a yellow M and soft purple cape. "Papa Meta Knight. Is he going to be okay?" Rosa questioned looking at the dark blue puffball unperturbed.

"Don't worry little star. He'll be okay once Doctor Healmore treats his injuries but it'll take time for him to adjust upon seeing Kirby. For now let's return to the Halberd, everyone is worried sick about you both." The knight spoke, calm voice riddled heavily with a Spanish accent. Rosa merely scratched her head sheepishly while Kirby tilted his head clearly confused.

It had been a trap. An ambush to separate him from his mate and nestlings. Something Sparda foolishly ran into without thought. For a 2000 year old demon, he was such a fool. He was fortunate that he had survived but 1 cm to the right and the Legendary Dark Knight would've been slain for sure. Yet it was too late for his family.

Came back to a now burning home, missing nestlings nowhere to be seen or sensed and the still blood covered body of his human mate laying outside the park lifeless. His carelessness had cost him dearly but he couldn't lay there to die. His nestlings were out there somewhere, alive.

Thought about to rest up and regain some of his strength was interrupted when he had sensed it. A peculiar energy slightly demonic in nature but one he couldn't read the remainder of its whole. However it felt bright, similar to that of his nestlings. Very very close to the point it could be his two sons. Sparda pushed himself forward from there.

Dragging himself to that signature, his wounded body leaving a trail of red as he went. He couldn't stop… he had to find them… Then his eyes laid on magenta hair and green eyes… A little girl around his nestlings' age before falling on the source. A nestling of some sort...round and puffy but he could easily feel the ocean of power in its tiny form along with a shred of hope… Then everything went black.

A quiet beeping repeated in his head as he grumbled in pain. Bright blue eyes opened up to stare into dark blue and black cute orbs under glasses. These eyes belonging to a small blue puffball dressed as a doctor. What was the word to describe something like this creature? Cute...if he remembered correctly.

Sparda looked at what he guessed was the doctor who treated him with a bewildered look. "Good to see you are awake. You were quite beaten up when Meta Knight brought you in. Giving 7 year old kids scares like that isn't a smart thing to do." A soft adult male voice came from the puffball. Strange he would admit, but he would be a hypocrite to judge.

The puffball jumped off his chest as Sparda sat up on the hospital bed and now able to see his surroundings. He appeared to be in a 'medical bay' being the human's version of a healer though it appeared the room was mixed with things he'd seen in hospitals along with actual magic ingredients healers used from his memory used. A mix of past and modern being the term. "Where am I? May I ask thou name who healed me?" Sparda inquired, the puffball let out an amused chuckle.

"Thy name is Simon Healmore, chief doctor of the Halberd's medical bay. I asked my assistants to give you space since we didn't want to overwhelm you once you woke up. Would you like to speak with our captain? He was the one who brought you here himself after all." Healmore questioned, looking at the dark knight. He had a thoughtful look but nodded.

"You can come in Captain Meta Knight!" Healmore called as the armor knight walked in his cape coating his body almost like a count. Sparda was honestly surprised that the masked puffball was even able to carry him but he could feel the immense power in this Meta Knight's small body. Looks can be pure deception.

"I am glad you appear better now. My name is Meta Kishin or what my subordinates and my adoptive daughter Rosa calls me Meta Knight. I am the captain of the Halberd and it's crew." Meta Knight spoke before giving a respective bow. Sparda could smile at the irony of being rescued by a warrior like Meta. He was more humble than other devils who held the title of knight and even a fraction of the masked creature's power. "I thank you for saving my life. My name is Sparda, known to others as the Legendary Dark Knight." Sparda bowed back in honest gratitude.

"Can I ask why a devil general was attacked by his own kind? We already knew when I brought you in that you were a demon. Star Warriors can sense what is human and what is not. Your wounds reek purely of demon." Meta questioned taking the human disguised devil by surprise. He heard stories about the Star Warriors and their home, Dreamland. It was a fairytale for many demons since Dreamland holds the source of unimaginable power. Power that could rival every demon king that ever ruled.

"I betrayed my own kind by protecting humankind and had two children with my human mate… I was ambushed and led away from my family. Found my dear mate laying lifeless and both of my nestlings vanished." Sparda said softly in sorrow and regret.

Meta Knight's eyes turned light blue and Healmore had a saddened look on his face. "I am very sorry for your loss. Though if I may ask a question... how did you find Rosa and Kirby?" The knight questioned. No demon could lock onto the aura of a Living Dream. They can hide themselves from their supernatural senses unless injured or ill.

"I felt a faint signature of demonic energy similar to my nestlings. I followed it only to find the little girl and that small pink nestling instead." Sparda answered, Simon's eyes widening in response. "That explains it. The reason why Kirby has traces of demon energy… he must have been born of your children's dreams. The people of Dreamland are born from fragments of dreams, especially those of children. Kirby must have been made from fragments of your own children's dreams and in turn carry a signature similar to them." Simon explained as Sparda had a wistful look.

"Made from my nestlings' dreams? No wonder why I felt both Dante and Vergil's own energy from Kirby and the massive amount of power hidden deep inside. Can Kirby have the potential to seek out my sons?" Sparda questioned Meta Knight. "You are correct though Kirby isn't able to at the moment. He's too young to properly sense your children's energy but it doesn't mean your children aren't safe. On the night Kirby was created, a spell was cast." Meta Knight explained.

"Weaver's of this newborn dream. Granted protection under the Dream God's seam. Safe haven shall always be grant. Impenetrable from the force of any tyrant. Yet sanctuary shall isn't forever. If thy bond fell prey to hatred's endeavor. Death will truly flood. By the first crimson spray of thy own blood." Simon quoted. Sparda easily understood what it detailed.

"My children are safe...until they draw the blood of one another?" Sparda questioned. "Correct. If they purposely harmed the other with the intent to kill or with pure hatred, the spell preventing them from facing death will break. This spell is granted for each creator of a Star Warrior as a sort of blessing." Meta Knight explained. "Then it should give me time to find my sons." The former demon general picked himself off from the bed.

"I rather not rush off if I were you. It won't be easy finding your kids and you haven't fully recovered your strength yet. Fighting alone almost got you killed once and it wouldn't miss the opportunity to try again." Healmore spoke, Sparda looked back at the doctor. It was clear neither of them were going to back unless...

"I think an arrangement should be made. We'll help you recover and find your sons. In exchange, we wish for information about this world and a chance to find a safe haven to house the refugees on my ship." Meta Knight offered much to both occupants' surprise. Sparda went in thought for a moment upon those words.

The knight had raised very important points. He hadn't recovered his power and also had no resources that could help him find his nestlings. There's the fact he is alone and no safe place to recuperate or any leads. If he took Meta Knight's offer then not only could he get back his full power and find his sons but he will also have powerful allies to assist him and a place to go if things ever went to Hell. "Very well Meta Knight. I shall agree to your offer." Sparda said as Meta Knight bowed in agreement.

"Yay! Spar-Spar gets to stay!" Came a childish giggle for Rose and Kirby popped up from underneath a table to their surprise. "Great Kabu! Were you two hiding under there the whole time?!" Healmore asked, clearly taken off guard by the children's entrance. "Spar-Spar! Spar-Spar!" Kirby giggled while he nodded.

Sparda couldn't help but raise his eyebrow in amusement at the ridiculous name the two kids gave him. "Mischievous little imps aren't they?" Sparda asked, obviously amused watching the two children run around him. Out of everything he was called in his life, no one had ever called the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda, Spar-Spar.

"Rosa and Kirby, if you have enough energy to run circles around our guest then you have energy to go to Susie and Magolor for your daily lessons. Or do I have to get Dedede to take you both there." Meta Knight asked as that got the sibling duo to stop in their tracks. "Ok! We're going meanie! Please don't get Pen-Pen on us! Come on Kirby!" Rosa exclaims, both kids ran out of the room leaving a trail of dust in their wake from how fast they went.

Healmore chuckled seeing how quick the little kids were to leave. "King Dedede sure left an impression on those two. Though considering his habit of taking their desserts as punishment and the sweet tooth both siblings have it's understandable. Now then Sparda, we did manage to find you a room to sleep in. However considering the large amounts of refugees, you'll be sharing a room with Taranza for now. Taranza is one of our best mages and highly skilled at our craft. He is also the best when it comes to showing the ins and outs of the ship to newcomers." Healmore explained.

"Very well. I thank you for your hospitality." Sparda answered, the small doctor escorted him out of the medical bay. The white haired man was greeted to an incredible sight that was held in this vast ship. It was a large plaza filled with so much life and energy. Trees, plants and all sorts of flora nestled comfortably amongst multiple stands, tents and businesses. Children of different forms and species were playing as the adults went through their normal lives. It looked more like a town than part of a ship. "Sparda, this is one of the numerous camps within the Airship Halberd. Welcome to Star Plaza." Healmore stated with a smile on his face.

First impressions were everything when it came to meeting new people or going to new places. And if Sparda was honest about something. It was that the Halberd wasn't any normal ship and neither were it's passengers. It was expected when a demon witnessed something only dreams held. And dreams can create the impossible and a bit of magic to bring it to life.

And that is it. Yes. I crossed Devil May Cry with Kirby. Sparda is alive in this because there is a huge lack of stories where he is alive. Not counting the ones that are misleading from inappropriate tagging. Hope you enjoyed it folks!

#mun sonicasura #tales of sonicasura #sonicasura #devil may cry #dmc sparda #sparda #sparda lives au #kirby x DMC #kirby #nintendo kirby #meta knight #kirby oc #dmc #au #crossover #dark knight sparda #devil may cry meets kirby #story #original story

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shardminds · 5 years ago

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The Swan that fell for the Sea (1/3)

To @itsfabianadocarmo ♥ It is me, your Secret Santa!

You've been the most lovely giftee and gave me LOADS of free reign on this one and, as a result, you're receiving one of the longest works I've ever written! I went off your love of Captain Duckling and Silver Fox!Killian, wove in some Christmas elements and a sweet epilogue and sprinkled in some ~drama~ and here we are! You're a fantastic part of this fandom, my love ♥ Here’s to a wonderful Christmas and I hope that 2020 brings you love and joy and lots of good times! also, this monster is the reason I haven't got around to posting the drabble prompt you requested yet ;)

Thank you to @cssecretsanta2k19 for running this event! You’re a star and have brought so many people joy! I hope you have a wonderful Christmas ♥

And, finally, a HUGE thanks to @thisonesatellite for whipping me into shape and helping me mould the idea of this into a story. I owe you a million hugs and a bottle of something nice. ‘Tis the season, after all!

Emma Swan falls for a man of the sea. She doesn’t mean to but she does all the same. The scent of salt and leather and rum lingers on her skin long after he’s gone and, as the warm summer breeze makes way for winter’s icy chill, she wonders if he’ll ever return.

He does, and things will never be the same again.

Part 2 ¦ Also available on AO3 ♠

Emma had never wanted for much in her life.

A sunny day, here and there, perhaps. A brief reprieve from the mundanities of her duties, now and again.

Here, now, there is nothing she wants more than for time to stop.

It’s selfish, to want one moment to last an eternity, not to mention impossible. At many points in her twenty-one summers, she’d been told falling in love was an impossibility too.

Yet, here she is.

The far off crash of the waves and the gentle ebbing of the ship had awoken her far earlier than anticipated. Sleep still grips at her lids, her wrists, her ankles, and though its draw is ever so tempting, to bathe in the ignorant bliss of it all, she wills away its tendrils and lets the familiarity of worn sheets keep her company. Through the cabin window, the sun has not yet breached the horizon and the stars still stand prominent between scattered clouds, the collection he’d named for her glinting softly. A reminder.

He hadn’t named it after her, he’d named her after it.

Cygnus.

Swan.

She’s already forgotten the moniker she’d used before that. Her true name, she remembers, and, more than anything, she longs to tell him. Just once, she wants to hear him say it, to hear it fall from his mouth in the throes of passion, to hear it whispered in her ear when there’s no one else around, to hear it spoken proudly in front of an audience at their wedding.

But there’s no time; no time for questions, no time for confessions. There’s only time for this.

Killian holds her tighter, his arm tight around her bare waist as his solid chest presses to her back in the same way they’d spent all previous nights that summer, with the scruff of his beard catching at her temple along with the brief softness of his lips. It’s sweet, reverent, and it takes everything in her power not to meet him in a fierce kiss and resume their activities from the evening before and somehow sear his touch into her flesh so she’ll never truly be without him.

He’s leaving in the morning.

She cannot stand to see him go.

It had been early summer when The Jolly Roger had first made port in Misthaven. The solstice celebrations had come and gone, but the cool ocean breeze and promise of excitement coaxed Emma to the docks each night, visiting taverns in tattered skirts, drinking from bottles of cheap wine and cheaper ale, dancing barefoot in the streets around glowing embers of what were once fires and just being in a way that was so foreign and yet so familiar that existing among it made Emma’s heart swell. By beggar and thief, soldier and sailor, wench and widow, she’d found a place for herself.

That’s where they met.

Ruby, her friend, barmaid of the tavern closest to the shorefront, and always dressed in shades of red, had brought it to her attention first.

“It seems you have an admirer.” She noted, toothy smile parting her red-stained lips while slamming an overflowing tankard on the table beside where Emma sat, tucked into the corner just enough to avoid unwanted attention while still being able to see the commotions of the crowded inn unfold. “This is from him.”

“Ruby–”

“Trust me on this.” Flashing the five gold she’d taken as payment, Ruby smirked. Five gold. To most people, five gold would fund an entire week of celebration with a few silver to spare. But not Emma. She flashed her friend a smile, bringing the tankard up in thanks before taking a sip. She let the flavours dance on her tongue before swallowing. Wiping the foam that had escaped her lips with the sleeve of her dress, she looked in the direction of her admirer.

Candlelight painted him in a warm glow, catching on his worn leather overcoat, embroidered crimson waistcoat, and the chain around his neck that lay nestled in the dark hair of his chest. Dragging her eyes up, she caught sight of his face. He was older, significantly so, but he still held a youthful essence in the strength of his jaw and the quirk of his brow, it caught her off guard in a way she hadn’t expected. Grey and white teased at his temples and in the stubble of his beard but despite it all, he was captivating. In fact, it enhanced his appeal.

In his eyes, blue as the summer sea, a brewing storm.

With a knowing smile, he raised his tankard and took a deep gulp, mirroring her as he wiped the moisture from his lips with the cuff of his sleeve. Her eyes followed the movement intently, transfixed on the brass buttons and definitely not on the softness of his lips. She didn’t even realise she was staring until he winked and she abruptly turned to focus on her own drink.

Surrounded on all sides by crowds of drunkards, cowards and fools, the only sound in the room was the beat of Emma’s heart and the rush of blood in her ears. The tingle of a smile creeping to her lips.

She’d avoided looking his way again that night, knowing that she’d find him looking right back, with eyes dark and dangerous. It didn’t stop her thinking about what his lips would taste like.

The next few nights were more of the same. She’d dance in the late evening with the children out way past their bedtime, sing with the sailors sat atop empty barrels, drink and laugh inside the tavern on that same little table tucked away in the corner, but he never came over. He sat a fair distance away, sending her a tankard of the sweetest ale each night along with smiles, winks, stolen glances and nothing more.

His friends each had a woman in their lap most nights, sometimes two, but he never did.

It was five days before she even learned his name.

“Captain Jones.” Ruby yawned, on a rare break from her duties, sipping a cup of something with a sweet and spiced scent. “Story says he’s moored here all summer but one of his men let slip that he’s waiting on an important contract from the palace.”

“So they’re sellswords?” Hiding her surprise, Emma finished off the dregs of her brew. It’s not likely that anyone in the palace would stoop to such levels. They had armies, navies, dedicated men who would lay their life on the line for the crown. They had no use for pirates. That’s not how they do things in Misthaven.

Two tankards thunked to the table, catching both women by surprise.

“Pirates, actually.”

It’s an accent she couldn’t quite place but there’s no mistaking who it belonged to. Her stomach dropped as he took a seat beside her, not imposing on her personal space but still close enough that the scent of the sea air rolled off him, enveloping her in its comforting embrace. “It seems our favourite maid is taking a reprieve, so I took it upon myself to bring this over in person. I gathered it’s well past due that I make your acquaintance.”

Up close, the crow’s feet at the edge of his eyes were unmissable, but they didn’t distract from the intensity of his gaze. His whole look had an ageless and yet ancient quality to it, like somebody who’d seen too much and yet still longed for more. Emma searched his face for any sign of threat, ill will or nefarious intent but found none, only met with a soft smile and eyes she could drown in. She wanted to.

“I do believe you have my name already.” Honey. It’s what was in the beer, and what coated his voice, thick and deep and teased with a sharp edge. Her name sat on her tongue, heavy as lead, and she reluctantly swallowed it back. Here, Emma did not exist. Here, she was someone else.

She allowed herself to smile, or really, she couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. There was something about him, something intriguing that drew her in deeper each time their eyes met. Against her better judgement, she wanted to know him and, more worryingly, she wanted him to know her. Lifting up the drink he’d provided in thanks, Emma responded.

“Leia.”

His focus shifted from her eyes to her lips and, instinctively, she darted her tongue out to wet them. Averting his gaze with a smile, he shook his head, dismissive.

“No, that’s not it,” Emma’s kept her face blank, fighting the urge to react to his observation. How had he seen through her so easily? How had he been able to hear one word from her mouth and know, instantly, that it was a lie? His eyes still held no trace of malice, a softness coming over them in a familiar understanding and she wanted to trust him. “but your secrets can be yours.”

He didn’t push further and Emma didn’t offer an invitation to, but the conversation flowed comfortably, well into the night, until the shimmer of dawn lightened the horizon as they walked along the empty beach and he, Captain Jones, pointed up to the barely visible stars, reciting long forgotten stories of men that lost themselves in the sun and their lovers who mourned them.

“Swan.” He said, with an outstretched finger pressed to her chest, just above the neckline of her dress. Had it been any lower, she’d have given him a playful smack but, as it was, the contact made her smile, warmth emanating from his touch. The smile he wore in return was free and open, with straight white teeth and lips pink as middlemist petals. How he managed to captivate her, with the threat of sunrise rapidly approaching, was beyond her comprehension, her alcohol-addled mind thinking far too deeply into things better left unsaid.

“Pardon?” She started, looking up from his finger into his eyes, dark in the predawn haze but kind in ways she didn’t then understand.

“That’s what I’ll call you.” His eyes lingered for a second too long on her lips, something he’d been doing a lot, not that Emma minded.

She found herself doing the same thing.

“Why?” She hummed, placing one hand on his chest and feeling the steady beat of his heart. She could’ve danced to it, a waltz at a masquerade ball, with full skirts and sharp suits and masks slowly slipping. A memory of another life.

“Tomorrow. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” The words reverberated through his chest beneath her fingers and, more than anything else, she wanted to kiss him. The alcohol was probably to blame, and the rush that comes with welcome attention from a handsome stranger but, above all else, it was the ease of their conversations that night, how no matter what subjects or topics they veered down, they were there together, unravelling each other in a much more intimate way than ever expected.

She wanted to be Emma with him. Just Emma.

Maybe one day she’d allow herself that privilege.

She wanted to kiss him, drunk on ale and good conversation and something else.

So she did.

Rum and salt. A calloused hand holding her cheek. Stubble teasing at her chin. Soft hair beneath her palms. Heart hammering against her chest.

It was gentle, a press of lips before the rising sun bathed them in an angelic glow. He pulled away first, resting his forehead against hers to catch his breath, eyes closed and still smiling, but Emma leaned in for more, catching his lips again in something deeper, only satisfied when his other hand found its way to the small of her back and he pulled her close until not an inch of space was between them. She was on fire, from the tips of her fingers, one with a fist full of hair and the other still over his heart, right down to her toes, where the ocean lapped at her bare feet, shoes forgotten in the sand.

The next night was a similar evening spent enjoying the summer festivities, and when she found him at Ruby’s tavern, he greeted her with a slow kiss. She leaned into it, deepening it with a press of her tongue against his lips until her breath was short and his hands made their way to her hair. Before he could take control, she pulled away, catching the end of a quiet curse under his breath. His men cheered on and the Captain threw some colourful expletives their way, all the while following Emma to her corner table. They spent the night there, drinking and talking and laughing and existing until need got the better of her and she pulled Killian by the sleeve of his coat out of the tavern and towards The Jolly Roger.

She held onto him the whole way, fearing that losing his touch would cause her newfound courage to dissipate into the sea. She wanted this, this spark of elation that had overcome her so suddenly, and the anticipation of what it could bring, no matter how temporary. Emma knew that summer romances weren’t meant to last – she’d heard as much from the hushed voices of maids and servants when no one thought she was listening, stories of hope and desire, falling with the umber leaves come the first touch of chill – but she couldn’t not chase this feeling.

It was something new, dangerous and it left her soaring, light as a feather, released from all the burdens of the life she’d have to return to in the morning. It was escape in its basest form. She had not felt anything as intoxicating in her life.

She had not known him long, less than a day, really, but her mind was made up.

He tasted of laughter and smiles and the sweetness of summer wine when she kissed him on the deck. The moon their only audience.

“Swan,” He sighed, her name a whisper on his lips, as Emma let the cloak around her shoulders drop to the wood below and reached to unlace her bodice, urgency coursing through her, a fire in her veins. Her dress was simple, only slightly nicer than what she would’ve usually worn, with fewer tatters at the hem and tighter lacing that enhanced her chest. It was a world away from what she would have worn at home but then again that’s exactly where she was. A world away.

He caught her hand in one of his own, untangling her fingers from the leather ties as he brought them to his lips. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t truly want to. I don’t want you to think I expect this from you.”

Confused, she searched his face, finding a conflicted frown there. Did her inexperience show that badly? Yes, the nerves were there, simmering within her as he kissed the pad of each finger but, at that moment, she’d never wanted anything more than to be one with him. She’d waited a long time to feel that way about anyone. No pressure, no expectations, nothing guiding her other than her own agency.

Reaching for him, she let her thumb trail his jaw and trace his lips. He smiled, focused on the path of her thumb as she stepped into his space.

“I do want to, Captain–” His eyes snapped up to hers and she almost lost herself in them, their depth threatening to swallow her whole. If it was his intention to devour her with one look alone, he’d succeeded.

“Killian. Please call me Killian.”

Below deck, two pairs of hands worked at Emma’s bodice.

His and hers.

Naked together, exploring each other, she felt part of herself slip away, finding its home in the gaps between his ribs, in the scars of his back, in the hair below his navel. She felt a part of him too, in the hollow of her collar bone, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her spine.

It was slow, exhilarating in a way that had the hairs of her arms standing on end, gooseflesh spreading across her thighs as Killian caressed her in all the places she’d craved to be touched. He built her up to a precipice she’d only ever reached by her own hand and encouraged her over the edge with his tongue. Her legs trembled as she fell, clenching around his ears, orgasm overtaking every atom of her being with a rush of energy emanating from her core. If she screamed out, it was lost to the crash of the waves and, later, Killian’s greedy kisses stealing her breath.

“You’re divine, my Swan.” He whispered the words against her mouth, lips slick with an unfamiliar but not unpleasant tang. It took her a second, world slowly becoming clearer through the haze of her orgasm, to realise that the unfamiliar taste was her own.

When he finally came to enter her, she was beyond ready, begging for his touch with nails biting into the flesh of his shoulders from sheer want alone. Gasps of please fell from her parted lips as he pressed kisses into her skin, some delicate as butterfly wings, others fierce and sharp that she hoped would leave bruises, some kind of token that the pleasure she gained at his touch was real.

He built a rhythm, gentle at first, easing her through the discomfort with words of encouragement and languid kisses. Emma felt as the uncomfortable stretch of him faded away with each slow entrance of him, replaced only by her own urgency to reach her peak. When her hips bucked up to meet him, unsatisfied each time he wasn’t fully seated inside, he knew she was ready.

One finger trailed over her breast, circling her peaked nipple and teasing the pebbled flesh there, and in his eyes was pure lust. The touch of it enveloped them both in a fog that had her reaching out for him, a single whine falling between them as the angle of them shifted and he met her in a kiss that ignited fire beneath her flesh. He rocked deeper, faster and soon they were both clinging to each other, awaiting release on each thrust, gasping with the sensation of it.

They fell apart together, with Killian using two fingers to stroke at the apex of her thighs as his rhythm became quick and uneven, and Emma not able to hold back the moans that tore their way out of her throat, rough and broken but oh, so good. It was blinding. Emma couldn’t help but arch against him, hair frayed from its usual braid and eyes squeezed shut as the entire world flashed white behind her eyelids.

She awoke in the dark, sore, sated and happy, not quite remembering how she’d fallen asleep in his arms, only knowing that she didn’t want to leave.

“Cygnus.” With a kiss pressed just below her ear, Killian started, his voice deep and husky. The roughness of his beard tickled her skin and sent promising shivers down her spine, her body already anticipating where his touch might lead her.

“Cygnus?” Emma prompted, turning in his arms so she could look upon his face, see the satisfied smile and unruly hair and know that it was all her doing. Her own smile followed and she pushed herself up from his chest to greet him with a kiss, languid and warm. He tasted of her and his hand fit just right against her lower back, stroking soothing patterns with his fingers. Two unlikely puzzle pieces slotting together so perfectly. The Pirate and the–

“It’s a group of stars above this realm. You can see it so clearly in these parts.” He nodded towards the far side of the room where the window was and the stars beyond it. “There, can you see?” Through the wind-beaten cabin window, a cluster of lights shone back at her, a stark contrast to the canvas of black. She knew nothing of the stars but he told her anyway of the stories that predate the histories of all realms, the love and the loss and the pain they’ve suffered and yet, through it all, how they still manage to shine. He told her how it was his favourite, with heavy lids and a slow smile. How, whenever he saw it, he felt a little more at peace.

Emma let herself fall again into his arms, dragging him with her by the chain around his neck for a kiss that sent heat to all her most intimate parts. A boldness the had taken root in her, the nerves from earlier were nowhere to be found, and she revelled in it, taking advantage of the feeling while power still fizzled in the tips of her fingers. Killian let her roll him onto his back, sat astride his hips as she kissed him with a passion she’d always craved to possess. She only came up again for air, softly gasping as his smile against her lips sent her heart fluttering, pace as erratic as a rabbit escaping a fox.

“In the common tongue,” He said, quiet as a whisper, free hand making its way to pull out the braid in her hair, letting the blonde fall from its restraints and unfurl in a curtain around them. “Cygnus means Swan.”

She kissed him again.

And again.

Until the stars were no longer their witness and Emma left his bed with a soft smile, reluctant to leave but dreading the consequences if she stayed, as she laced herself back into her dress and made her way through the back streets, trailing in the dim morning shadows until she reached her home.

The Palace.

In the months between then and now, something changed. Whatever tied her to this earth before; her father, her mother, her people, her responsibilities, none of that matters now. She’s never felt more whole, more at home, than she does with him.

And that worries her.

He doesn’t even know who she is, not really. He knows her, body and soul, he knows his Swan with her love for seashells and the acquired taste of sweet rum, he knows she carries more secrets than she lets on and more than she could ever tell, but he doesn’t know Emma.

Princess Emma, sole heir to the Misthaven throne.

Future Queen.

No one does.

Between song and dance and kiss and touch, Emma had convinced herself that she was only Swan; that she was born of normal birth and had no ties to the crown, that the money lining her purse was from adventure and gambit rather than allowance, that the dresses cinched to her form were her best and not stolen from the maid’s quarters. In his arms, surrounded by a brand of adoration and care she’d never known before, she believed it too.

She can’t lie to him forever.

He shifts behind her and she turns to face him, to take him in, perhaps for the last time. His beard is longer, what once was trim to his face now developed into a thicker scruff streaked with grey and ginger, and his face glows with the kiss of summer sun, but it’s more than just that.

He’d shown her more of herself than she ever thought she could know.

He’d taught her to seek freedom and rebellion and excitement and love in all its many forms. He accepted her in rage and fury at the truth kept locked behind the prison of her teeth, bitten off before she can reveal it. He never pushed for her history, or how she knew so much about what occurred behind the palace walls, or how occasionally she’d hide behind his form when the King’s soldiers drank themself stupid on the shorefront, with kisses to her knuckles and a wisened smile saying only “when you’re ready, my Swan, I’m here.”.

She fell for him somewhere between their first kiss and now, slowly coming to the terrifying realisation that, her life would be bleaker without him in it. The docks would become the dirty, sullen place they were before his time here, the taverns sapped of their joy, the beach a place of driftwood and windburn.

And she would be alone.

No matter her company, loyal subject or bar rat alike, without him, there is an emptiness, unlike anything she’s ever felt. It’s overwhelming how she’s let herself become so dependent on the presence of another person in her life in such a short amount of time that, without them, she is destitute.

No.

She can, and will, survive his absence. She will come through it stronger and when he returns she will tell him her name.

Because now, with his sleeping face mere inches from her own, she is a child in a glass house preparing to throw a rock, willing the glass to not shatter and for her heart to not break. The confession is stone, jagged and true, and in her hand, it draws blood.

There are tear stains on her cheek when he opens his eyes. She pretends they’re not there, letting a smile fall into place while she’s greeted with the sleep-darkened blue that she’s come to look forward to every morning. She’ll miss them the most.

He smiles sadly at her, bringing a calloused thumb to wipe the wetness from her cheek with such reverence she could swear he was savouring it.

“Come with me.” It’s barely a whisper, carried on the borrowed breath between them but it hits Emma like a punch to the gut.

If she were anyone else, if she were just ‘Swan’ or ‘Leia’ or any of the countless personas she’d curated, there would be no doubt about her answer. His eyes are hopeful and honest and open and it breaks her heart to see how much he wants her to accept.

She can’t look at him directly, choosing instead to bury her face in his chest, the soft hair caressing her cheek, listening out for the comforting beat that lulled her to sleep many a time before. Tears come but they do not escape.

She has to be strong for this.

“I can’t.”

Quiet falls, as if not even the sea wants to disturb them, and Emma counts the seconds before he responds, his arms winding their way around her back and holding her there. She’d come to associate his embrace with good things, safety and protection and warmth and peace, and she wants to melt into it, forget about her responsibilities and agree to his request, setting sail by his side.

But she can’t.

Fifteen.

Fifteen seconds of silence.

“Swan–”

“Killian,” She pleads, unable to stop her voice from breaking. It’s too much. It’s all too much. “Please don’t, I won’t be able to say no again.”

The weight of the crown sits heavy on her head; a chain she can’t break, a burden that only she can carry.

Killian lets his fingers tangle in her hair, the same way he does before drifting off to sleep only now he’s wide awake and tense in a way that Emma wishes she could smooth out. She wants to kiss him and feel as the tension bleeds out of him with the pressure of her tongue.

But it’s too late for that now.

“I don’t know what keeps you here, lass,” He hums. She can’t see his face but she can hear his frown – a mix of concern, frustration and something else, something more. His lips press to her crown and her stomach flips at the feeling. “I wish I did. I don’t trust half the bastards in this kingdom.”

Emma leans up until she can meet his eyes, wearing a matching frown. “I can take care of myself.”

“And I don’t doubt that.” He laughs, and Emma wishes she could trap it in a conch shell and listen to it forever, light and carefree and hers. He kisses the crease from her brow and she lets him, leaning into it before pressing their foreheads together.

He loves her.

He loves her and she can see it in his eyes, how they’re creased with a smile but still fogged by sadness at the thought of distance between them.

“I think what I’m really trying to say is… I don’t want to be apart from you.” His lips are so close, slightly parted, his warm breath ghosting her own.

“And I you.”

The kiss itself is smouldering and inevitable, fire and passion and so much more. It burns away every modicum of doubt in her mind, everything that had tried to convince her against this man who held her as if she was someone to be cherished and celebrated.

She pushes everything she can into it, a goodbye passed between their tongues in a language no one else can speak.

Time passes as it does, each grain of sand in the hourglass bearing the weight of a thousand things left unsaid.

“My Swan,” He sighs, pulling away to bury his face in her hair, inhaling as if to commit her scent to memory. Emma does the same, breathing him in. “I will show you the world one day. That is a promise.”

“You’ll come back for me?” She asks, softly, shifting so she can see his face.

“Aye, Always.”

Emma has always been able to decipher lies, being such a compulsive liar herself, but there’s nothing short of the truth in his voice. Her heart hurts all over again.

“I’ll be back when solstice comes.” Her blood turns to ice at his words. Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. Four months away.

If he comes during solstice, there will be no hiding. He’ll see her paraded through town, the prized jewel of the kingdom, and she doesn’t know how he’ll react to that.

“When I see you again,” Her voice begs to crack under the weight of her promise. She does not let it. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Now, that’s one way to guarantee a man’s return.” The chuckle catches her off guard, it’s short-lived as he brushes the stray hairs that managed to fall in front of her face so gently she barely feels it.

“And what’s the other?”

“I do believe we’re already quite familiar with that particular activity.”

She bats at his chest, only causing him to laugh more before he pulls her close again, any distance between them proving too much. “You really are a dirty old man.”

“I bathe quite frequently, thank you very much.” Raising an eyebrow in his typical fashion, he takes a sniff of his own underarm. She can’t help but laugh as he does so, peels of laughter cutting through the silence of the night.

It’s this that she’ll miss. The effortlessness of their relationship. There’s a piece of her in Killian Jones, it snuck beneath his skin while she wasn’t looking and now it lives there, staring back at her from his eyes, wearing his smile.

“I’ll miss you.” It’s out before she can stop it.

She watches the smirk die on his lips, replaced with only a sad smile. This is the oldest she’s seen him, ocean eyes dark and misty and filled with so much love she feels her own tears spring from where they lay dormant.

He shushes her sobs, in the safety of his arms.

“And I you, my Swan.”

There’s a shallow clink of metal before an unfamiliar weight falls to her chest. His chain, it’s pendant the thick iron ring that once belonged, as Killian put it, to a far better man than him, rests heavy between her breasts. In the starlight, it glints, the robust scarlet gem reflecting dull pink facets on her skin.

“Look after it for me.”

#itsfabianadocarmo #cssecretsanta19 #captain swan #cs fic #cs fanfic #ficminds #the swan that fell for the sea #merry christmas everyone!

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moniadler · 5 years ago

Text

( margot robbie. twenty-nine. cis female. she / her. ) was that monika adler ? i heard a rumour they work for the faust family, but who knows for sure ? they can be a bit calculating & vindictive but i also heard they can be adventurous & ambitious. you’ll usually find them at wolves in their spare time, when they’re not being a caporegime & burlesque dancer at centro del sole. you may want to keep an eye on that one !

bonjour! it’s me again—your local trashcan chrissie with another muse. this is my precious angel ( more like a demoness, tbh but still ) bby girl monika and, to quote the legends that are queen, she’s a killer queeeeen. she’s sassy, classy and a lot badassy. she’s a rather feisty, fiery, ball of rage and anger with hella abandonment issues like woah. but uhhh, anyways, hmu for plots here or on discord, i’m open to everything and anything so fire away!

MONIKA’S PINTEREST BOARD!

fundamentals.

full name. monika odette adler.

nicknames. moni, mon, & nik.

current age. twenty-nine.

date of birth. august 15th.

gender. cisgender female.

pronouns. she / her.

nationality. american.

religion. agnostic.

birthplace. manhattan, new york city, united states.

current residence. chicago, illinois, united states.

sexual orientation. pansexual.

romantic orientation. aromantic.

education. psychology degree obtained from nyu.

past occupation. bartender, & dancer at genesis.

current occupation. burlesque dancer at centro del sole.

affiliation. the faust family.

rank. caporegime.

connections.

birth mother. unknown.

birth father. unknown.

sibling/s. unknown.

adoptive mother. rachael adler.

adoptive father. william adler. †

adoptive sister. lucy adler. †

adoptive brothers. jacob, & noah adler.

significant other. n/a.

child/ren. n/a.

pet/s. a balinese cat named tigger after the character in winnie the pooh.

proficiencies.

spoken languages. english, spanish, french, italian, german, & russian.

negative traits. brusque, obstinate, destructive, deceptive, & promiscuous.

positive traits. elegant, headstrong, observant, independent, & confident.

strengths. optimistic, energetic, creative, practical, spontaneous, rational, knows how to prioritise, great in a crisis, & relaxed.

weaknesses. stubborn, insensitive, private, reserved, easily bored, dislikes commitment, & has a rather risky behaviour.

skills. skilled with blades and various knives, skilled with firearms, hand-to-hand combat, memory recall, physical stamina, able to use initiative, & excellent problem-solving abilities.

talents. violin, piano, ballet, dancing, singing, bartending, & photographic memory.

appearance.

eye colour. blue.

hair colour. natural blonde.

height. 5′5″.

weight. 61 kg.

build. she is considered average height for a female and is both slender and toned.

scars. a rather noticeable one across her clavicle and a few others in less visible places.

tattoos. a crimson lily on her left shoulder.

piercings. both earlobes.

glasses. n/a.

prominent feature. sparkling sapphire eyes.

miscellaneous.

zodiac. leo.

strengths. creative, passionate, humorous.

weaknesses. arrogant, stubborn, self-centred.

likes. theatre, being admired, expensive things.

dislikes. being ignored, facing difficult reality, not being treated like a queen.

element. fire.

colour. gold.

day. sunday.

ruler. the sun.

lucky number. three.

house. gryffindor.

myers briggs type. istp-a ( introverted, observant, thinking, prospecting. )

alignment. chaotic neutral.

enneagram. type 7: the enthusiast ( the busy, fun-loving type: spontaneous, versatile, distractible, and scattered. )

temperament. sanguine.

intelligence type. intra-personal.

character label. the vixen.

diseases. infertility.

past mental disorders. drug abuse, acute stress disorder, depression, & anxiety.

current mental disorders. addiction, & abandonment issues.

addictions. tobacco, cocaine, & alcohol.

vices. lust, greed, & wrath.

virtues. temperance, diligence, & humility.

allergies. penicillin.

diet. vegetarian.

dominant hand. ambidextrous.

accent. american.

blood type. o negative.

felonies. petty theft charge when she was fifteen. she also has a history of both kleptomania, & pyromania when she was a teenager.

vehicle. red 1966 shelby 427 cobra.

background.

( triggers for abandonment and abandonment issues ) in truth, monika isn't entirely sure where—or how—her story originated. well, minus the obvious: the birds, the bees, yadda yadda. whether or not her biological parents ever actually cared for her or loved her will remain one of life's greatest mysteries. at only one month old, she was discarded by those who gave her life; left abandoned and unwanted. a feeling the girl would grow up carrying around like a weight around her neck for the rest of her life. an incessant voice telling her she wasn't worth it, niggling at her every single time she would allow herself to get close to another human being. a dark shadow looming over her shoulder, whispering sinister thoughts into her ears—warning her that everyone would eventually leave in the end. they would always leave in the end.

( trigger for a mention of foster homes ) monika's earliest memories feature fragmented visions of various foster homes and the faces of many guardian figures; some good, some bad and some not worth even mentioning. that was her life for the majority of her childhood—bouncing from one home to another but never sticking in one place for too long. given her turbulent upbringing, she was somewhat of a difficult child. too boisterous, too unruly, too stubborn, too inquisitive. too much of everything but never enough of anything. never enough for anybody to want her.

( trigger for a mention of adoption ) finally, after eight long years of being uprooted and thrown into new environments time and time again, monika was adopted by the adler family. and, from that instant onwards, her upbringing was mostly positive. of course, she was thankful and grateful that she had been welcomed into their family and given a good life. things could have been a lot worse for her and she knows that. still, it didn't take the girl too long to figure out that it was just her alone, against the big bad world. from the age that she was old enough to realise it, monika knew that she had to fend for herself—that she could never truly rely on a single soul but herself. rachael and william adler were the best family that she'd ever had. the only family that she ever truly felt she might have belonged to. the only family that she cared enough about to continue carrying their last name, even to this day.

however, once monika reached a certain age, her personality shifted south. she was outgoing as ever but soon became meddlesome, troublesome and much too outspoken. the hollowness inside her chest never quite satiated, leaving her empty and only too well aware of the lack of her real parental figures. as a young adolescent, this started to crawl under her skin and mess with her mind. it rendered her void of affection and unable to form genuine bonds with others—filling her with deep-rooted resentment that festered beneath the surface of the indifferent demeanour she plastered over herself every day. no matter what the adler family done, monika always felt starved of love. despite their best efforts, monika never felt fully satisfied—as if some integral part of her heart was missing, leaving a gaping void nobody could ever fill. thus, as a teenager, she started searching for a cure in the wrong places. she fell in with the wrong crowd, causing trouble for both herself and her family.

as a result of her out of control behaviour, monika found herself shipped off to an esteemed all-girls boarding school from the ages of fourteen to eighteen. once again, she felt as if she was being cast aside. admittedly, at first, it didn't seem so bad and although she took a while to settle in and adjust, it wasn’t long until the girl found her feet and made her mark. she had always been intelligent so it was no surprise that she excelled in her classes and extracurriculars. of course, true to form, she remained prone to rebellion every so often, but never enough to become detrimental. she had a small group of friends and the clique was rather close-knit and she finally felt she belonged somewhere.

( triggers for mentions of death, cancer, mental health issues, alcohol, and drugs ) however, as all good things do, they come to an end. in monika's case, those few blissful years reached a rather abrupt cessation—taking a drastic plummet into darkness. she was sixteen when her younger sister, lucy, tragically passed away after battling leukaemia. as a result, monika lost control of herself and of her path in life. she spent weeks alone and aimless, wavering on her tracks. she became isolated and withdrawn. she hid away in her dorm room that school year, only leaving to go to classes. she became quiet, reserved and wanted to be alone. after months of this—reverting to type—she went looking for stability in the wrong places once more. running with the ‘wrong’ crowd was simply something that came naturally to monika, as if she felt comfort in pressing the self-destruct button when times got tough. for her last year at school, she partied hard, drank way too much, experimented with drugs and with people and although these instances gave her a thrill, it never lasted too long. therefore, she continually crawled back to the things and the people she knew deep down was no good for her. but as long as she felt the high, nothing else mattered.

( triggers for mentions of death and huntington’s disease ) after she graduated, she moved back home to her adoptive parents and brothers, which, at first, felt as gloomy as she'd expected with the absence of her sister. due to her lifestyle in the final year of her education, monika's grades didn't quite cut it—not for her dreams of attending an ivy league university, anyway. after some consideration ( and the encouragement of her mother ), she attended night classes in order to obtain better grades before she managed to obtain a place at nyu where she studied psychology. but, once again, tragedy hit the adler's like a freight train. the summer before she left for university, her father passed away. while monika had always known that william's death was imminent given the fact that he had huntington’s disease, it didn't make the reality hurt any less. still, monika knew that life had to move on—as it always had—thus, she had no choice but to pack up her belongings and move to into her new home for the following few years: nyu campus.

during her university years, monika worked a lot of jobs around new york while visiting her family home on weekends. finally, once she graduated with rather impressive grades, she'd decided that her life was no longer tethered to manhattan. so, aged twenty-two, she packed up and travelled around the states for two years until, eventually, she wound up in chicago. in the beginning, she managed to get herself a job at genesis as a bartender where she met oliver faust ( without knowing his surname, of course ). completely clueless as to his prominence within the city, the two had a one night stand, seemingly never to see one another again. at least, until a year later.

after bartending in the club for quite some time, monika plucked up the courage to take her work a step further and take her place on the stage as one of the dancers. it was during this time that she met another faust member and quickly, the two became friends and through this friendship, only then did monika find out a little background information on the faust name. this faust member was the one who brought monika into the fold where she started as an affiliate. of course, you could imagine her surprise when she uncovered oliver's role as the boss—especially after a whole year had passed since their first encounter. regardless, monika felt secure and welcomed among the faust family, thus she was more than happy to work for them.

due to her no-nonsense approach and attitude, and her ability to handle herself whilst dancing, she found herself promoted to a solider. then, after ‘dealing’ with a target ( a regular at genesis who just so happened to request a dance from monika every night ) under the guise of an escort, the blonde was swiftly advanced to a crimson whilst continuing to dance at genesis. after maintaining the role of a crimson for a year, she climbed the ranks where she now remains a caporegime while now dancing at centro del sole.

throughout her twenty-nine years of life so far, monika has built herself back up time and time again. with every punch swung her way ( both figuratively and literally ), she has risen to her feet each time. for as intelligent as she is, she is just as resilient and unyielding. the need to prove people wrong is almost overwhelming but never to her detriment. while she continues to bear the emotional scars of her past, monika refuses to write herself off. she allows herself to admire people, history, art, music, places, but she never grows comfortable enough that she is prepared to show even the people closest to her, her innermost, truest self.

as a result of her chaotic upbringing, fragments of monika are broken beyond repair—lost to the depths of her mind. yet deep down inside, the faintest sliver of that optimistic little girl remains. where she is now is precisely where monika wants to be and perhaps this is the exact path she needs to take in order to fully emerge from the ashes of her haunting past. from her teenage years, she easily fell under the bracket of an adventurous, charming, ‘party girl’ which hasn't altered much over the years. honestly, monika is content with playing this ‘role’ of a carefree, curious, typical blonde as she finds it helps with her work. after all, how unsuspecting does the pretty blonde dancer seem? not many people look at her and realise just how deadly she is underneath.

all in all, monika gets from one day to the other by dancing her worries away or drinking her problems out of her head. she rarely lets herself get attached to anybody and builds the highest walls around herself to ensure nobody wants to put the effort into trying to break them down. it's that little voice that's rattled around inside her head from childhood that has her this way—still telling her she isn't worth it. and she believes it. she believes that if she ever slowed down and stopped adopting her reckless lifestyle that the emptiness and loneliness would creep in and hold her prisoner. and if there's one thing that monika adler swears she'll never be, that's a slave to her mind or to anybody else.

some tidbits.

nicknames: monnie, moni, mon, nik, barbie, blondie ( if u wanna lose ur eyes ) … spawn of satan >:-)

scared of goats. thinks they’re satanic creatures. those eyes are hella creepy, don’t even try and tell her otherwise.

her signature scent is chanel N°5.

she’s fearless af. throwback to her upbringing, most likely.

she’s all sweet smiles and charming words until her expression turns sharp and deadly. it’s her tactic to entice then pounce, if you will.

she loves to surprise people. most assume she’s a pretty blonde but oh, she loves the look of shock on their faces when she waves a knife at them.

in a way, her words are like her weaponry but really, monika would much prefer to point a gun in a person’s face. plus, it’s more efficient, she thinks.

an angel of vengeance in a pair of designer sunglasses tbh.

much prefers to be called a murderess / demoness as she believes it has a nicer ring to it rather than murderer / demon. she’s dramatique like that.

owns waaay too many pairs of heels.

her signature look is her blood-red lips.

often wears suits and totally rocks them.

she’s … experimental. she’s experimented with just about everything: hairstyles, clothing, drink, drugs, people …

quite power hungry tbh.

she does have a shot at redemption but she doesn’t want it lmao. she’s already been to hell so why bother trying to right her wrongs?

and boy, are her wrongs a century long list shkjsh.

doesn’t believe she’s capable of loving anyone.

when it comes to whether or not she is morally decent or an extremely bad person, she is somewhere in the middle of that spectrum—she isn’t heartless but she isn’t compassionate either.

she’s v ambitious, v morally ambiguous, v self-serving and v self-involved.

extremely skilled with knives and blades. always her weapon of choice when on a job. always carries one on her person at all times.

although she wears a lot of red, black is actually her favourite colour. she feels her most powerful in an all-black outfit.

her most prized possession is her brushed chrome zippo. it has her initials engraved on it and where she got it or from who is something she’ll never tell.

always seen with a cigarette in hand. she seriously chain smokes. always says she needs to quit but never does and probably never will either.

when she was a little girl she’d always dreamed of having kids of her own one day and told herself she would love them unconditionally and never abandon them as her birth parents had but unfortunately, she is infertile and the likelihood of having her own kids one day is extremely slim. this is something that devastates her every day but you’d never tell. she has never told anybody about this.

drives way too fast but loves the thrill of it.

she can be pretty deadly if you piss her off enough.

thrives on chaos.

a tad theatrical.

is truly an independent woman who don't need no man.

plot ideas.

ok so pls excuse me and my last two remaining brain cells—we try real hard but it's tough skjhjks but gimme all of the connections from friends, frenemies, enemies, hookups, exes, rivals and everything else in between. added bonus if there’s angst or drama. if you have anything in mind feel free to throw it at me, i’m open to the majority of things and have zero triggers so come at me bro! below you can find some connections i’d love for my deadly bby.

the faust member who brought her into the fold. open.

her adoptive brothers. open and open. ( their names are listed as jacob and noah, but this can be changed if ya ain’t feeling those names! )

you’re a bad idea, but i like bad ideas. so, this could be somebody that monika knows through her dancing at genesis. maybe this gentleman pays for private dances and tips extremely well? i have an idea in my head that this man would trust monika and confide in her. in a way, she’d kind of act as a therapist for him and his paying for her private time would be more about talking than anything else. maybe over time, she would tell him things about her past or about the things she has done. maybe he could be somebody who, when he/if he realises she works for the fausts, asked her to take out a target for him. there are endless possibilities for this one! of course, added angst if he’s affiliated with a different gang. OPEN.

when friends become enemies. maybe this person and monika were friends from new york that she hung around with and got involved in reckless behaviour with. or maybe this person was someone monika befriended during her university years. or they could be someone that monika met when she moved to chicago. under whichever circumstance they met, one fact remains: the two are no longer on friendly terms. they were once close and trusted each other with anything but now, there is obvious hostility. perhaps there was a betrayal, blackmail, a breach of trust, lack of communication, a simple misunderstanding. whatever it was that cracked this relationship is set in stone and is unlikely to ever go back to how it once was. some things are just too broken to be mended. OPEN.

you’re in my veins, you fuck. monika has always had bad habits. has always gravitated to toxicity like a moth to a flame. thus, it would be safe to assume that 90% of her relationships have also been bad for her. the broken element inside her always found itself magnetised to the darkness in people. more especially, attracted to people she knew were no good for her. though, in the end, monika would always manage to break free and leave these people behind. however, there was always this one person she couldn’t seem to stay away from. she met them when she moved to chicago and instantly she knew they would break her heart yet it didn’t deter her from continuing to crawl back to them. these two have what can only be described as a toxic relationship. neither is good for the other yet neither can seem to walk away. OPEN.

if you don’t have enemies, you don’t have character. of course, it goes without saying that monika is the kind of woman who could make enemies for herself very easily. due to her sarcastic and distant nature, it would be safe to assume she has quite a few enemies and rivals. though this particular person would be the enemy of all enemies. somebody that she cannot abide and someone who cannot abide her either. they can’t stand the sight of each other and refuse to share the same space unless absolutely necessary. otherwise, there’s a massive chance of a fight outbreaking between them. there could be a history between them that has brought about their hostile nature toward each other. or they could simply dislike each other for no real known reason other than a sense they get from the other. bonus points if they’re walsh affiliated! OPEN.

a gal gang / her ride or dies. taken by amara ricci, & genevieve bisset.

a chance encounter / one night stand. taken by oliver faust.

#this is my second kid mon.#she's a sassy fiery badass.#crimson.intro

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distantcowboysounds · 5 years ago

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Selfish Wishes

Warning: Contains semi-heavy topic (murder,death)

–

The midday sun shone through the stained glass windows, casting a colorful array of light down the long hallway. Soft footsteps sounded as Estlina walked with a purpose, her back straightened, head held high and decorated with her finest Altmer silks and jewels. Long white and copper hair was pulled into an immaculate tight bun decorated with thin braids and pearls. Estlina was dressed to meet the emperor and as she approached a large painted wooden door she felt the same anxiety one would before meeting someone of such importance. With a slight shake in her hand, she reached for the handle, taking one final deep breath to collect herself before she pushed the door open.

The room was an elegant tearoom decorated with beautiful tapestry and engravings running up the wooden pillars. Across the room from the door was a large window that stretched to the high ceiling. At the window stood a tall dunmer woman, the Nerevarine. The breath caught in Estlina’s throat as the woman turned to look at her, a smile dancing across her lips as she moved away from the window.

“Estlina, my sister, it has been far too long!” Her bewitching voice sounded the same as when Estlina had heard it years ago, as if time had found it perfect and left it as is.

Forcing a smile, Estlina moved into the room and embraced her younger sister. “Nivinor, I’ve missed you. It has been so long since you’ve been home.” Estlina gently pulled away from her sister. A warm expression played on Nivinor’s face as she looked down at Estlina, who mirrored the taller’s warmth.

Looking over her sister, Estlina noticed how much she has changed. Nivinor stood with elegance and strength she had never had before. Muscles in her arms had become more defined. Estlina even noticed several scars across her shoulder just barely showing underneath the sleeve of her gown. Although Nivinor now stood with the strength and confidence one would expect from a hero, her crimson eyes spoke of a different tale. There was an eternal sadness and exhaustion behind her smile. One that, like the muscles, she had never worn before. A flux of bliss coursed through Estlina as she made mental notes about her sister’s imperfections.

“Why don’t we sit? There’s already tea waiting, and I’m aching to hear how you’ve been these past years.” The words were coated in honey as Estlina spoke, hoping to ensnare her sister with them.

Nivinor gave a nod and moved to sit, gesturing to the exquisite tea set that sat waiting for them. “I brought the tea you like, the one with Tum'ja leaves from Elsweyr. I know how hard it is to get shipped to the Isles, but I also know how much you enjoy it.” The smile she wore was sweet, while Estlina’s was sour.

“That’s so kind of you to think of me, sister.” Estlina’s mind ran with annoyance; Nivinor thought she was something special, being able to travel around all of Tamriel and indulge in the luxuries of life. What made her so special? A couple of birthmarks? Some stupid false Dunmeri gods?

She seethed with hate for her younger sister as she drank the tea. All the while Nivinor sat with a smile on her face while her hands fiddled with the several rings that she wore. “How have you been Estlina? I’ve barely heard a word from you since I-” She paused with an awkward laugh. “Well since I was arrested.”

Estlina let her smile show, masking it with care for her sister. “Quite well my sister. I’ve been involved with some of the court goings-on and I was married just last month to a renowned Thalmor member. You may have heard of him? Vollas Alkinuseus.” There was no shame as Estlina bragged about her husband, nor was there any love in her words.

Nivinor only gently shook her head in response. “I can’t say I have, no. I suppose I’ve just been so caught up with Morrowind and House Telvanni. I’m so happy that you found someone. I just truly wish I could’ve come to the wedding. It would have been lovely for our new families to meet.”

Bitterness rose up in Estlina that she forced down with more of the sweet tea. “Is that so? Well, what about this new family of yours? Have you found yourself a husband?” She watched as her sister’s ears tinged red and she softly cleared her throat.

“Well, yes.” She paused for a moment, letting out a soft breath. “And a wife. They both are so lovely. I wish you could meet them but Batraza isn’t fond of,” she paused and gestured to the lavish room they occupied. “…all this, and Lazarron wanted to visit the mages market.” A gentle look overcame Nivinor as she spoke of her partners. Estlina had to hold back a grimace as she questioned how she was related to her.

“A man and a woman?” Nivinir nodded softly. “Did you say the one was named Batraza? That sounds orcish…. You married an orc?”

Nivinor let out a small chuckle. “Yes, we met some years ago. I was visiting His Highness Uriel Septim in Cyrodiil and she was my assigned bodyguard.” Estlina held back a gag as she watched her sisters pointed ears twitch excitedly as she spoke. She was supposed to be the Nerevarine and here she was twitching her ears like some child as she talked about an orc! Estlina wanted to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Nivinor continued with a soft smile. “She asked to be my personal guard, and we got married a month after. Then we met Lazarron and he was just so sweet; told me he wanted to learn magic from me. I said yes and well, now I have two spouses.” She gestured to a silver ring she wore, a sweet expression playing on her face as she looked at the piece of metal.

“That… is interesting, my sister.” Estlina flexed her hands on the table, letting her own assortment of rings shine in the light. “I’m sure the elders would be so very approving of you marrying a female orc…”

Nivinor gave a soft shrug. “We married in Morrowind; mother’s family gave us the blessing. Things are different over there Estlina, other Dunmer don’t care who you marry or what they are as much as people do here. Either way, I want to hear about what you’ve been doing these past years.”

A true smile spread across Estlina’s lips before jumping into a surge of bragging about her life. All the while Nivinor sat across from her, smiling affectionately at her sister. Estlina talked for nearly an hour before she finally ran out of things to say. Orange rays of light now shone through the window, casting a fiery glow across the room. The tea had long emptied and Estlina noticed that Nivinor seemed to be playing with her rings more and more.

“I’m so happy that you’ve been doing so well, Estlina! You deserve the best, and I’m happy to see you receiving it.” Estlina felt her ego swell at the words. “I want to share something with you as well, something that I admittingly have wanted to say since you walked in.” Estlina hummed, feigning interest in what her sister had to share. “As I mentioned earlier, my new family, well-” A harsh knock at the door drew the sisters’ attentions.

A guttural voice called from behind the door. “Madam Estlina, I’m here on your earlier request.” Estlina felt a rush of adrenaline whirl through her chest as she called out her response.

“Ah yes, please do come in.” As soon as the words left her lips the door opened and in snuck a tall figure, shrouded in a dark cloak. Estlina watched from the corner of her eye as Nivinor shifted uncomfortably in her seat, obviously sensing the wrongness of the situation.

Their new guest closed the door behind them and as the door softly clicked shut, Estlina pounced. The table clattered to the ground, shattering the expensive porcelain tea sets, but that didn’t bother her. Nivinor’s chair hit the ground as Estlina’s fingers danced with magic. A strangled gasp came out of Nivinor’s mouth as she sent a bolt of electricity towards Estlina before desperately scrambling to the side. Estlina turned just before she was hit with the brunt force of the bolt, letting out a snarl as her head whipped back to her sister. Small waves of electricity flowed through her body.

“Estlina! B’vehk what are you doing?!” Nivinor’s voice sounded like glass as shock spread across her face.

Rage sparked inside of Estlina as flames licked across her fingers. “What I should have done long ago, you damn rat!” Poison dripped from her words as she shot a bolt of fire towards her sister. Nivinor rolled out of the way, right to the feet of the cloaked stranger. They took the opportunity to pounce and pin the woman down; Nivinor let out a strangled scream as she struggled against the stranger.

Magic sparked along the stranger’s hands and they held onto Nivinor’s wrists tightly, draining her magicka as the Dunmer struggled. “Hold her down! I want to be the one to do it.” A wicked grin worked its way onto Estlina’s face, her once immaculate hair now falling from its tight hold.

The stranger snapped their head towards the elven woman. “That is not the way of the Dark Brotherhood. You contracted us to kill her-”

Estlina snarled as her golden eyes shimmered with rage. “Xarxes’ backside! You don’t think I know that?! I want to do it; whatever amount of coin you want I’ll give you. But you are going to let me spill her blood.” A strangled cry came from Nivinor as she tried desperately to pull her hands free of the draining touch. Estlina laughed, mocking the Nerevarine’s struggles. “Not so all high and mighty are you? Finally, I can be free of you and your damned shadow!”

Confusion, fear, and shock. Estlina drank in the look Nivinor wore as tears began falling from the younger’s face. “Estlina, my sister wh-” The words were cut off by a shrill screech. Estlina smiled at the sound as she let zaps of electricity flow from her fingers and into Nivinor’s slender body. The woman let out a choked sob as she desperately tried to curl in on herself. “Please stop, you’re going to-” A harsh kick to her face stopped the sentence midway.

“I’m going to what? Kill you? Are you a fucking imbecile?! That’s exactly what I want to do!” Estlina glared into Nivinor’s crimson eyes; enjoying the sight of the mighty Nerevarine crumpled into a ball as tears and snot ran down her face. She was a far cry from the mighty women that stood before her just hours ago. Searching her eyes, Estlina was overjoyed to find that look of hurt in her eyes. She laughed as she looked towards the Brotherhood member. “Get off of her but do not stop holding her down, and make sure to keep draining her magicka.” They huffed in response as they moved from straddling the woman, allowing Estlina to stand over her.

She watched as Nivinor tried desperately to curl herself into the fetal position, letting out incoherent mumbles and sobs. Estlina laughed wildly as she kicked the woman’s legs away from her stomach and pulled a long dagger from the wrapping around her waist. She looked at the glinting blade, then looking over Nivinor’s pathetic form, her body shaking with adrenaline while she mentally prepared herself for what she was going to do.

Estlina bent down, sitting on her sister’s stomach and letting her magicka spill into the blade. Something murmured in the back of her mind as her magicka flowed, a soft thump. She shook it off, the blade in her hand now dancing with electricity. “Turn her head, I want her to look at me when I do it.” Estlina’s voice was dark. The Brotherhood member complied, now pinning the Dunmer women’s hands with their knees. Nivinor let out a whimper as she was forced by harsh hands to look at the woman she once called sister. Another thump. It startled Estlina, but her mind was set on one thing as she raised the blade above her head. Nivinor softly muttered her cries and pleas to deaf ears. Thump. Thump. Again, that thumping rang out in Estlina’s mind. Confusion washed over her face as she mentally searched for the source.

She looked at Nivinor, who sobbed softly as the tips of her fingers began to blacken from the extensive magicka draining. Thump. Thump. The beating was now rhythmic, like a heartbeat. Estlina’s eyes looked at Nivinor’s chest as it raised and shrunk rapidly, it couldn’t have been hers but the beat resonated from Nivinor.

Estlina’s eyes widen as the realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. She quickly pushed herself from the woman’s stomach as her shaking hands let the electrified blade drop to the ground with a harsh clatter. Her body shook as she gently sat her hands onto Nivinor’s stomach, using her magicka to feel the soft beat. A heartbeat. She looked at the other women with a mix of fear and regret. “You… you’re pregnant…” The words slipped from Estlina’s lips. Nivinor shook in fear, softly mouthing her response. Yes.

All at once, Estlina felt her senses return to her at once as she stood. She felt sick as her mind ran as she realized what she was trying to do, how her bitterness had blinded her. Her hands shook violently while she looked at her sister, her sister who had come all this way to see her, who had written to her for years, the sister who has looked up to her all her life. The sister she just tried to murder.

“I see there’s a change of plans. I’m still obligated to finish this contract you know.” The Brotherhood member spoke flatly as they produced a dagger and held it to Nivinor’s throat.

“NO!” Estlina screamed harshly, instinctively letting her magicka flow; sending a spike of ice through the assassin. They let out a wet gurgling sound as blood pooled from their mouth, before falling to the side and releasing Nivinor from their draining grip.

Estlina rushed to her sister’s aid, hands fluttering around her before landing on her arm. Nivinor pulled away harshly, the fear on her face replaced with hurt and anger. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” Her crimson eyes burned with pain as she spoke through gritted teeth. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me. You contracted the fucking Dark Brotherhood to kill me! WHY?! Because you were jealous of me? Estlina I looked up to you; I wanted you to be proud of me. I never wanted to be better than you.” Tears flowed freely from Nivinors eyes as she shook with anger, reaching to hold her head in her hands, fingers raking through her white hair. “I thought it was over, I thought I was done with Nerevar’s life.” Her voice shook as she choked back a sob. “YOU ARE NO DIFFERENT THAN THE TRIBUNAL!”

Estlina backed away from her sister, her mind raced with words but nothing would come out. She watched silently as Nivinor sobbed and slowly rose to her feet, gently holding her stomach. She walked to the door and stopped, her hand on the knob.

“Nivinor, I’m sor-”

“Enough.” Nivinor’s voice had lost the kindness it once held for Estlina. She turned to look at her, rage and anguish written clearly on her face. “You have not a fucking clue what you have done. The Dark Brotherhood won’t stop until I’m dead. You have single-handedly endangered the rest of my damn life, sorry doesn’t fix what you’ve done. If you ever try to contact me for my family, I won’t falter to end you. I’m not your sister anymore and I will never treat you as such for the rest of my life.” She gripped the knob tightly, looking away. “Goodbye, Estlina.” And with that, Nivinor opened the door and left. Estlina sat on the floor for a moment, letting the words sink in before she let the first tear fall from her face. She had gotten her wish: she had killed her sister, and would never get her back.

#morrowind #nerevarine #tes #tes3 #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls #dark elf #dunmer #writers #oc writing #writing #oc: nivinor taharondre

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chordstrvck-blog · 5 years ago

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sharp gray eyes size up their unwanted companion through a lung-staled waft of smoke. “ ‘ey. ” a tip of the chin. cigarette ash darts to pavement. crunch. eddie grinds that shit in, real good. nothin’ like a pair of trusty docs to do the trick. “ what the fuck’s your damage ? ”

or alternatively : yo, yo, whassgood ? the name’s liana ( she/her/hers ) and i am so friggin’ hyped to bring you my spoopy lil’ music man, eddie williams !! below the cut you’ll find a big hodge-podged mess of facts, potential connects, and other delicious chips of info. his favorites are hoppin’ jalapeno crunch tators, thanks for fuckin’ askin’. ( imagine how heartbroken he’ll be when frito lay discontinues them in the 90′s... rest in spaghetti never forgetti. )

— ❝ wait is that THOMAS HAYES ? or is that KEITH EDISON “EDDIE” WILLIAMS who arrived in las vegas TWENTY-THREE years ago? HE is TWENTY-THREE years old. last time i checked they were a GUITARIST IN CRIMSON & CLOVER / ARTIST AT ATOMIC TATTOOS . rumour has it they’re very BEGUILING and very HARUM-SCARUM. the CISMALE reminds me of SAY WHAT YOU WILL BY FASTWAY.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: DEATH, DOMESTIC ABUSE, VIOLENCE, DRUG USE/ABUSE, MENTIONS OF ADDICTION.

eddie is the lovely ivy williams [ @poiseonxivy ] ’s older brother ! they grew up in a contentious household here in vegas, with an abusive alcoholic for a father and a complacent/despondent mother. fed up with the abuse and chaos, their mother walked out on them when eddie was 13. he and ivy caught her in the act, and this savage kid called her out for being a coward and opened the fuckin’ door for her. “ die in a ditch, ” is the last thing he ever said to that sorry waste of a woman.

naturally, things with their father only got worse. he was quick to provoke and impossible to please. the williams siblings had to step up to upkeep their home, make sure bills got paid, etc., all while receiving the worst of it from their father. ivy, as the youngest, was blamed for the family’s downfall. eddie got berated and slurred at for his tendency to peruse his sister’s things, paint his middle fingers interesting colors, ask her to do his makeup on halloween. his father was the first person to ever look eddie in the eye and call him a faggot, and, well... that shit dug deep.

it’s not that he’s overly concerned about it. hell, labels are fuckin’ dumb, alright? he’d sooner be gagged with a spoon than told he has to live his life all boxed up. he doesn’t care that the lady at the bar’s stunning and so is the guy pourin’ her drink, alright? what he does care about is... what if he is that thing his dad said? what if he... what if he is the man his dipshit dad saw in him ?

guitarist in el’s band, crimson & clover ! the band formed several years ago and has been playing gigs ever since. it’s definitely made him grow as a guitarist : you can frequently find eddie chilling on fire escapes experimenting with new riffs and the like. he’s absolutely got that band aesthetic –– distressed tees, tight pants, leather, leather, leather. doc martens. beat up sneaks. jaw-length hair, wavy. usually teased on stage and left to its own devices off-stage. music has always been an escape for him, especially from the hellscape that was his childhood home. catch him chillin in el’s record shop, cig in hand, blissed out to the latest rock releases blasting in his headphones.

jake wheeler’s next-door neighbor / best friend ! we have yet to plot about this, but that’s a wc eddie fills & we could do something with that, too!

tw: drugs, abusive tendencies, mild violence. eddie’s genetics do predispose him to addiction. and, unfortunately, this bitch way more than dabbles in a haphazard lifestyle. he’s BIG into psychedelics, stimulants. alcohol. acid. he’ll pulverize the occasional bar asshole’s face. make fights out of nothing. but s’not a problem, alright ? he’s cool. he’s cool. ( this guy’s a sinkin’ ship in heavy ass denial. )

art. tattooing. art has also played a pivotal role in eddie’s life. from a very young age, he created edgy doodles: skeletons in their sunday best, ghost cartoons carrying guns. the late 60′s/early 70′s saw his school notebooks filling with vietnam-inspired strips, doodles, and sketches. he used to draw “tattoos” on his fellow delinquents during detention in sharpie ink. gave himself his first poke tattoo on his ankle ( a scrawled so what ? ) in eighth grade. now, he works as a tattooist at atomic tattoos. always flirts with the clientele. and they always leave happy.

tw: death. wears a dharma wheel pendant at all times, tucked beneath his shirt or, if he’s shirtless, just out in the open. he’ll say he found it in the street, but it actually belonged to a guy he started seeing his senior year of high school, in secret. glenn farley. he was older, around 27, but he offered up the first safe place eddie’d ever known. dude disappeared close to eddie’s graduation. eddie stayed angry for a long time, until his photo turned up in the obits : glenn was killed in a hit-and-run outside a dive bar.

on the topic of sexuality & gender expression : eddie honestly couldn’t give a flyin’ shit. he’s of the belief that existence shouldn’t be coded or explained. so, yeah, he’s male. and yeah, he’ll be attracted to whomever he pleases. but in a time where that shit’s not too common? not too accepted? he does feel like he’s playing hide-and-seek. it’s exhausting. and... there’s still something that nags him, at the back of his mind, when he decides to hook up with a guy. it’s all tied up with his family history ( see the stuff about his dad above ) .

eddie is very outspoken & unfiltered. he won’t mince his words; he’ll speak bullets without considering the exit wound.

he’d much rather have coffee and cigarettes than a meal. but if he’s gotta have food? and you’re forcing him? cinnamon waffles with ten gallons of syrup. delicious.

wears rings because hell, if he’s gonna punch you, he wants that shit to hurt.

smells like tobacco and amber and fresh-fallen rain.

likes makeup. tends to get away with some eyeliner/eyeshadow on stage, but typically doesn’t wear any day-to-day. maybe some eyeliner on his waterline, but... he’s learned how to get by.

cross his sister and he’ll eat your face for breakfast.

default greeting: blinking at you like you’re offending him by taking in the same air.

honestly he’s never thought to leave vegas. he likes it here. his crew? they’re good people. as in reckless. fun.

has almost a full sleeve on his left arm, and two bands curling around his right bicep. one ear pierced, but doesn’t always wear an earring there.

can he offer you a winter green lifesaver in this trying time ??

goes by eddie or williams. call him keith and he can’t be held responsible for what happens to you. the only person who’s got keith privileges is his kid sister.

thomas hayes has brown eyes but eddie’s are a staggeringly light blue-gray. they look like ice. he’s 6′1 and that type of lanky that tends to look sleek, enticing, and mildly emaciated. he does have muscle to him, but the guy doesn’t eat very often and he’s on a steady diet of destructive habits, so... he’s got that matty healy circa 2012 vibe going on

potential connects.

chaos crew. they hit the clubs. they try their hand at scheming and tricking the best poker leagues. chug beers, crush the cans, and toss ‘em in front of cars. experiment with drug cocktails and haunt the town. all laughs and dilated pupils and forgetting, forgetting, forgetting the cracks in their ribs, the scabs on their knuckles. nothin’ hurts when your blood pumps this quick.

diner pal. eddie rolls up to his favorite diner in the wee hours of the morning. 2am, 3am. when he can’t sleep or he’s comin’ down from a heckish night, he’s there, whole pitcher of coffee and a stack of waffles. mussed hair. an entire encyclopedia of wild stories. one night, he stumbled into this person’s booth high as all shit, and they’ve been inviting themselves to one another’s tables ever since. could be a romantic connection. could be platonic.

ex on bad terms. kid’s got commitment issues. i’d love to give them a source.

fuckbuddies. they could just be friends who get fucked and do the deed. maybe there’s feelings. maybe it’s a you service me, i’ll service you situation. either way, they’re indulgent. they’re reckless. and they’ve got no regard for any damage they’ll cause.

people he’s tattooed.

sworn enemies. acerbic words, gnashing teeth, icy glares. they’ll cross the fuckin’ street just to avoid being within a ten-foot radius of one another.

caretaker. a friend ( or even stranger ) who’s taken it on themselves to monitor this maelstrom. all i can say is... good friggin’ luck, kid.

obviously there are so many more but this is just a list to get some juices flowing !

if you want to plot, please feel free to message me !! i’m headed to the gym now but after that i’ll hit up the starter tags !! so flipping excited to write with you goons !!

#eightyintro #❖ – if i don't think i'll blow my mind ! psyche.#death tw #drugs tw

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avenger-concerto · 6 years ago

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Operation Knight Song (RFSS2018)

Heya @invaderpig I’m your Secret Santa for 2018. I want to extend my deepest apologies for posting this so late. The Holidays got hectic as hell for me back in December along with other priorities coupled with post-Holiday slump. I managed to finish this ficlet though. I had a blast working on this one. I’ve never done Doug x Frey in any fan RF4 work so I hope I captured their dynamic finely.

Wishing you a late Happy Holidays and a Happy new Year! Once more, I would like to thank @runefactorysecretsanta for hosting this event. This is my third time in a row participating and I love how it brings the RF community together.

Title: Operation Knight Song

Genre(s): Slice of life, romance, fluff, comedy, some drama

Pairings / ships: Doug x Frey and Margaret / Meg x Forte

Rating: T (13 and up) - mild profanity, some innuendos / suggestive jokes but nothing extreme.

Summary: During the Night of Holies in Selphia, Doug and Frey help Forte confess to the love of her life in a group outing.

Word count: 3813 words.

It was the snowy and star-lit evening of Winter the 24th in the independent town of Selphia. More specifically, it was the eve which preceded Christmas day: the Night of Holies.

Usually, it was tradition for the natives of Norad and by extension Selphia to celebrate the evening in peaceful solace and tranquility. In addition, it was known as a night perfect for romantic rendezvous and evening dates. It was all the more true for the Night of Holies this particular year.

Within the grand halls of Selphia Castle, the princess and her first man hurriedly prepared for what the former codenamed as “Operation Knight Song”.

“Doug, we’re going to be late. C’mon you’re taking too long! They might have arrived at the plaza already…”

“Hold on, dear. Ngh, this jacket’s too huge! I have no idea what size Volkanon picked out but it’s taking me longer than usual to…”

“Ok, less complaining, more moving or we’re gonna be late. We don’t want to keep them waiting, right?”

“Wait dear, I’m finished!!”

In a frenzied but enthusiastic rush, Princess Frey’s husband: Doug, descended from the 2nd floor of their living area with a pair of black pants, brown snowboots and a crimson colored jacket. Despite his previous complaints, it turns out the jacket was just about the right size as shown through his satisfied grin.

“Well, how do I look?” the red-head dwarf asked between gasping breaths.

“You look fantastic!” Frey chirped with a smiled as she clapped her hands together. “What do you think of mine now? Dolce and Clorica helped pick this out for me the other day. We had it custom tailored and ordered from Norad’s capital.”

Doug took another look at his wife’s snow-friendly attire which consisted of a beautiful black coat accompanied by an emerald coloured Wooly fur snow cap with both pieces complimented by an illustrious snow white scarf. For the evening, Frey had also undid her twin-tails, letting her long and beautiful emerald hair down.

“Stunning, I dunno what else to say.” Doug widened his eyes while his lips formed what could easily be described as a dreamy yet flustered smile.

“Hoooooh? Flirting this early on in the Night of Holies?” Frey snickered as she motion towards her husband, clinging onto his arm playfully. “I guess you are desperate for a spot within Santa’s Naughty List.”

“Gahhh, cut it out!” Doug yelped, his objections contradicting his now reddened cheeks. “N-not that I mind but not this early either, h-haha…”

“This blockhead,” Frey whimsically thought, “Wonder how we’re gonna have kids at this rate?”

Doug spoke, “So uh, what about Ventuswill?”

“She’s fast asleep.” she informed her husband, “I had Clorica and Vishnal prepare her a cup of hot milk and a serving of pancakes. Venti wanted to go to bed early so she wouldn’t wake up late and miss the Christmas festivities.”

“Alright! Now that’s all settled…Let’s head out then, shall we?” Doug smiled coolly, extending his hand out.

Frey giggled slightly as she took her husband by the hand. “Of course. As the high princess of Selphia, Operation Knight Song will not fail!”

For the sake of some yuletide context in this given Night of Holies and by extension “Operation Knight Song”, it is commonly well known in Selphia that there were two individuals who helped push the princess together with the hotheaded dwarf shopkeep of the general store. The honour went to none other than Margaret or by her nickname: Meg, the gentle elf musician of Porcoline’s Kitchen and Forte, the dashing and valiant head knight of the town.

Meg acted as a wingwoman of sorts to her close friend Frey and it was Forte who was always there to convince Doug to get his act together when it mattered the most. They’ve both remained strong family friends to Selphia’s royal couple ever since.

Of course, there is much more to this story and Frey herself knew it very well. Throughout this all Meg and Forte remained close friends. Relegating the overall feeling to “friendship” was a massive underestimation, so to speak. In reality…

“Forte, Meg! We’re here!” Frey excitingly called out as she and her husband approached the two figures waiting outside on the snowy centre of Selphia plaza.

“Good evening you two!” Margaret waved her hand and approached the couple, giving Frey an affectionate hug afterwards. “Ohmigosh, you both look so adorable!”

“Awwwww, thank you!” Frey squeed in delight. “You’re looking stylish too Meg. Same goes to you, Forte!”

“N-no, I’m not in need for any compliment whatsoever…” the blonde and tall knight mumbled. “I just put on a new cape that Kiel bought me. If anything, Meg looks so much better.”

Margaret wore her usual outfit but this time adorned with an azure mantle cloak, a kind of fashion that was common in the Nation of Elves as well as a checkered scarf which Forte had given her as a birthday present earlier in the year.

Forte had her usual armour equipped with additional protection from the winter evening including the aforementioned new cape which her younger brother had given her as a present. Outing or not, a knight had to remain prepared for anything. Whether it would be against monsters, immediate threats…or confessing to the love of her life.

“Great, then we’re all gearing to go.” Frey raised her fist into the air. “Onward to the observatory!”

“Hey, be careful or you’re going to trip!” Doug called out as his energetic spouse went on ahead. “Honestly, some things never change…”

“You seem rather excited yourself.” Forte commented with a half-smile on her face. “Not as enthusiastic as Frey but still.”

“Yeah, yeah yeah…So, you’re ready for this?” the dwarf gazed at the knight whose cheeks became flushed with pink not soon after. “I mean, you can do it any other time of the year but if you want to leave a lasting impression, it’s now or never.”

“Um, I know that!” Forte answered with a determined voice.

“What do you know exactly, Forte?” Meg curiously tapped her on the shoulders, resulting in a brief but alarmed shriek.

“M-MEG?! UHHH NOTHING!! WE WERE TALKING ABOUT ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! Just about how we should enjoy the Night of Holies b-because it only comes once a year. Yeah, it’s like that.”

“Well, best we get a move on. The snow might stop at any moment and I want to bask in this blissful scenery as much as possible. I saw Frey rush past your house already.” Meg stated while pointing to the western-most exit of the plaza.

“R-right…” Forte nodded as she followed Margaret down the steps leading to the town’s western residential district.

Doug was left alone in his thoughts for the time being. “Man, I know Frey wants to thank them for everything they’ve done for both of us but…this is something out of a romcom novel that Granny Blossom keeps inside her old shelves.”

Frey’s eccentrically named plan, “Operation Knight Song” had one and only one singular goal: successfully get Forte to ask Meg out. This wasn’t anything platonic or familial either.

Another piece of information that was common to most of the town’s inner circle was that Forte being madly in love for Selphia’s star musician, Margaret.

As a knight, romance or intimacy was not within her scope of immediate prioritization. Those never crossed her mind as much as it did for the other girls in town especially during their seasonal sleep over gatherings.

Yet Margaret came into Forte’s life and ever since then her existence alone did just about everything to question the knight’s supposed heterosexuality.

There are numerous reasons as to how the elven musician had stolen the knight’s heart but even then she couldn’t list all of them properly without breaking down into an awkward, stuttering and anxious mess. Meg was resourceful, hardworking, beautiful, compassionate, charismatic, somewhat of a dorky odd-ball, both shared some latent fear of phantoms (Pico was the prime exception) and Forte’s mental list could go on and on.

Forte was content simply just remaining close friends with the musician but as the months and years went by it became clear that she couldn’t deny her own feelings any further.

It started out with simpler things such as her regular compliments towards Meg becoming more frequent in nature. It was followed with other small instances such as their hands brushing against each other by accident on several occasions or noticing the aromatic scent of her hair on a more regular basis. Afterwards, it all escalated to much greater physical contact such as sitting awkwardly as Meg fell asleep next to her on the bench during one late afternoon after work.

It reached an apex when the musician casually kiss the knight on the cheek during her birthday. All Frey and Doug could recall was that Forte was reduced to a stuttering, flustered mess that same day.

A few weeks later, the knight confided with the royal couple that she could no longer deny the feelings she’s harboured for Meg and declared her resolved intention to confess.

Needless to say, Frey 100% supported the proposition alongside her husband, even if the latter wasn’t too enthusiastic about lowkey stalking their Night of Holies date in the guise of a group outing.

Doug sighed and hurried to catch up with the rest of the group. Even if he wanted to, it was too late to turn back now.

Within the top floor of the windmill observatory’s interior, Doug had finally caught up as his wife handed out the hot beverages and snacks she had prepared for them all prior to leaving.

“I brought along some hot cocoa and choco cookies.” Frey pulled out four heated thermos containers and a plate of chocolate chip-cookies from her picnic basket. “I have a few bottles of Prelude to Love in here too that I brewed up during these past few days if you’d like some later tonight Meg.”

“That would be lovely, thanks!” Meg cheerfully replied.

“Doug and I are gonna go head down now.” Frey announced suddenly, “Oops, you see…uhhh…turns out I forgot a few extra cloaks and blankets, incase for when it gets colder tonight…Y-yeah.”

“Wait, we just got up here!” Doug stuttered in an alarmed fashion. “Also, I brought us some blankets and cloaks in my bag…AGH.”

Frey interrupted her husband’s objections by playfully pinching him on his bottom. He played along as a result. “Uhhh, I mean yeah. I totally forgot them. H-haha, oops.”

“We’ll be right back in a jiffy, ok? I left the hot drinks and cookies near the benches next to the outer entry. Help yourselves!” Frey playfully declared as she and Doug descended down the stairs.

Forte sighed. She knew very well that the entire thing was a copout ruse to make sure she and Meg were alone. She appreciated the sentiment but wished as well that the couple didn’t have to sacrifice a part of their romantic evening to help her confess the feelings she’s held for so long towards the beautiful elven musician who stood nearby.

“Ahem. Ummm, mind if we step outside? I want to take a good look at view right now.” Forte somewhat nervously proposed.

“Hmm? Sure thing. The snowy evening view probably goes great with the hot cocoa.”

“So easily. What about your fear of heights, Meg?”

Meg giggled lightly and responded, “Why would I be worried about that? Especially when I have you by my side?”

Forte couldn’t help but melt internally and smile at the sentiment. She extended her arm out towards Meg, offering her hand. “Well then, shall we?”

“Wowwww!!” Meg gasped in delight. As they walked into the exterior viewing balcony of the observatory, the sight of a tranquil snowy evening glittered with the night sky’s stars awaited them both. “I’ve been to this observatory countless of times but the view’s always amazing…”

“And to think you were afraid of coming here, let alone of setting foot into the observatory’s top floor because of your fear of heights…” Forte teased slightly and continued. “…I’m glad you’re enjoying the view these days.”

“Uh huh…” Meg nodded enthusiastically while she opened up her drink. Taking a light sip, she sighed happily. “Ahhh, this is heaven. I’m not big of a chocolate lover as much as Dolce but this alongside he winter evening is pure utter bliss…”

“Indeed,” Forte agreed, taking small sips of her hot cocoa while her gaze was transfixed between both the view and at Meg herself. “This reminds me of my childhood…Our parents always used to make us hot cocoa on winter evenings. My mother was practically a master at the craft and it was one of the many things that warmed our father up after his snowy evening patrols…”

“Forte…”

“They’re both gone now. However, what isn’t are the memories they left behind for Kiel and I. For that reason…I want to keep living on, protecting those I hold dear and…well, continue to make even happier memories with the people I care for.” Forte uttered the last part out with a faint blush.

“Awwwww, that’s so sweet…” Margaret softly said, hugging the knight from the side. The surprise was almost enough to let her drop the hot cocoa she had been handling finely.

“EEEEEK!! M-meg…please.” Forte staggered, “I could have spilled something hot on either of us… be more careful…”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it,” she laughed gingerly, breaking the hug. “I really am happy though…to be here. Happy to be with you all…that’s all.”

“Hmmm? Is something the matter?”

“Well, just that…When I first came to Selphia, truth to be told: I was afraid. Porcoline had recently taken me under his wing at the time…I knew nobody in town. I wasn’t sure if I could open my heart up so easily. Especially somewhere so far away from home…Then I met you, Lumie, Venti, Dylas, Arthur, Frey and everyone…I fell in love with this town soon afterwards. It’s far from my birthplace but…Selphia’s my home. I wouldn’t have it any other way and…I’m just so thankful to be here with you all.”

“Meg…”

Meg sighed trying to shake away what was a bittersweet smile on her lips just moments ago, “…Sorry, I got over sentimental again. Winter evenings like this remind me of my homeland a bit, I couldn’t help it. Anyways, why don’t I play us a song?”

Now was the time, Forte realized.

“Uhhh Meg…look…I…there’s something I need to…uh, well…”

“Huh? You want me to play a Christmas song? Ok, I’ll think…Silent Night or Jingle Bells…I want to see how it works on my harp…”

“No, that’s not it, I wanted to say that…um…”

“Wait, neither of those songs? Well, I’ll just play us Joy to the World and…”

Forte bit her lip in frustration. Her thoughts raced insanely as her heartbeat rose sharply. “Forte, it’s now or never.”

“I got it! I’ll go play us Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, that was a classic my old teacher taught me…”

“Meg, please listen to me: I love you.”

“...Huh?”

As the knight uttered those very words from her lips, it’s almost as if time itself had stopped in its tracks that winter-clad evening. Meg’s expression went from that of her usually cheerful eccentric one to that of pure speechlessness.

“I don’t mean as a friend or as a sister. Meg…look, I love you as a woman. Romantically. You’re caring, knowledgable, talented, compassionate, empowering, warm and just pleasant to be around everyday. My chest has been racing as of lately just being next to you…I don’t know what else to say…”

“Forte…is this true?” Meg blinked while a tint of red began slowly surfacing from her own cheeks.

“Yes, it’s all true. I was scared prior to this…We’re both girls and I have no idea how your culture does it…hell, I’m not even sure how my parents would react if they could see this but I don’t care! As a knight of Ventuswill and all of Selphia, I’m not going to hold my feelings back in front of the woman I love, damn it!”

Once more, Forte was met with a silent and blank response from the musician. Fearing it amounted to nothing but a potential awkward rejection, she steeled herself for what was next. She walked into this knowing that heartbreak might be a viable outcome but she would rather have professed her feelings than hold her silence forever.

“I’m sorry…who was I kidding. Just pretend I said nothing, please…Regardless, I want us to remain friends and…”

“You idiot…” Meg gritted her teeth, glaring with tears in her eyes.

Forte wasn’t given much room to react as Meg tightly embraced her as if it would be their last.

“M-meg…?!”

“Honestly…you blockhead…” she sniffled, keeping her arms wrapped around the knight tightly. “Took you long enough…! I’m so happy…I’m so glad you feel the same way…”

“Feel the same way…y-you…you mean…?”

“Yes…but…I’m afraid too. Not because we’re both girls. I don’t care about that at all…it’s because I’m an elf. You’re human.”

“What if you are an elf? I care nothing about that. I know there are places in Norad that ostracize your people but I’m not…”

“It’s not that!” Meg cried out as she continued to cling onto Forte. She blinked through her tears and continued, “It’s much more complicated. You know that elves live longer than humans do. What if you go before me…? You’re a knight…You’ve already pledged your life to the sword. Your line of work makes it so that you’re ready for death at any given moment. If you die before me and I have to live out the remainder of my existence in this world without you…I…”

“Meg…” Forte whispered, “You’re not wrong. I’ve devoted my life to the path of the sword. The sword is nothing more than an extension to my real devotion: those who I care for. You included most of all. You’re right…maybe I could fall in battle or I might succumb to illness, who knows what the future has in store but…I’d rather face those dangers while protecting and loving you…”

“Forte…”

“I know we have to go slow of course…I-if you say yes, that is!” Forte stammered but regained her verbal composure right after. “Going moderately is the key but my feelings for you are genuine…Meg…I want to be your knight and dedicate my sword to you. B-by that…I want to be your girlfriend. W-well…?”

It wasn’t too long after that the musician’s anxious tears were immediately replaced with tearful giggles as she broke her embrace. “Honestly, do all knights have to confess like this? I don’t even want to know what the marriage proposal would be like…!”

“H-hey, I was being serious…”

“I know, Forte. I know very well…Therefore, my answer is: I accept!” Meg spoke out the last part with a cheerful grin as she wiped the last of her tears away.

“Huh?! Meg, are you sure about this?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Not going to lie: I’m still anxious…I have no idea what awaits us but…with my brave and dashing girlfriend by my side, I have nothing to fear.”

“Meg…ugh…I…” Forte attempted to choke back a sob as tears welled up her own eyes. She stepped forward and gave her beloved a firm embrace. She sobbed softly between sniffles and hiccups, “Ngh…I’m so happy…I was afraid that…ugh…Meg…I love you! I love you so much!”

Reciprocating the embrace, Meg giggled softly as she comforted the sobbing knight. “You big dork…I love you too…don’t panic. Even if I said no, I wasn’t going to leave you behind either…You’re precious to me no matter what…”

“Sorry…I shouldn’t have lost my composure like that. It was unknightly of me, so to speak.” Forte calmed down as Meg wiped her tears away.

“I dunno, I have absolutely no problems seeing this side of you either.” Meg playfully teased.

“Hey!! Ugh…you’ve always been unpredictable at times, you know that?”

“Maybe. Maybe not…I wanna do something else unpredictable, of course.”

Forte swallowed a lump as her heart raced once more. “Well, what would that be?”

Kiss.

Eyes still widened, Forte stared blankly as Meg’s lips parted from hers in a quick but blissful instant. “Merry Christmas Forte. I love you.”

“Ah.” Forte said aloud and continued. “Ah. Ah. Ahhhhh.”

Thud.

“Oh my gosh, Forte!!” Meg cried out in horror as she witnessed her newly confessed girlfriend dropping to her knees. She immediately knelt down herself cradled the flustered knight around her arms. “Are you okay?! Do you have a fever?! Are you tired?!”

Meg was all the more puzzled as she witnessed Forte’s unconscious but dreamy eyed and flustered expression. It was as if she had gone to heaven and ascended into a higher plane of goddesshood.

“Honestly…I need to get us both inside ASAP. Can’t have my girlfriend fainting outside here.”

Unbeknownst to either of them, the royal couple stood quietly in wait within the observatory’s interior in a floor below.

“Fufufufu…looks like Operation Knight Song was a grand success.” Frey sheepishly giggled. “Mission accomplished!”

“Uhhhhh…We did absolutely nothing besides eavesdrop.” Doug informed in a deadpan tone.

“C’mon, dear. We promised to be backup for Forte incase she froze up but looks like she didn’t need our help. That’s my Forte, haha…”

“Well, I’m happy for them both. That much I’ll say. I think we need to go up there before Forte freaks out any further.” Doug proposed but his intentions were interrupted by the mischievous princess holding up a mistletoe over both their heads.

“Oh hell no. Dear, please. Not now…w-wait until home at least!!” the fiery red-head dwarf took a step back, panicking.

“Awwwww, don’t be like that.” Frey licked her lips. “It’s almost midnight. Besides, I want to give Forte and Meg some time to themselves while I have my own little fun…”

Doug swallowed hard, laughing nervously. He had no intention of denying his playful wife’s advances but he braced himself for what came next. This of course consisted of Frey pouncing on her husband and showering him with cuddles and a flurry of kisses over his face and neck.

Overall, it was just another snowy, heated, chaotic but romantic Night of Holies in Selphia.

#rfss2018 #rune factory 4 #rf4 #rf4 frey #rf4 doug #rf4 margaret #rf4 forte #frey x doug #meg x forte #yuri #femslash #avenger concerto writing

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delicatesendingonlineflower-blog · 6 years ago

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secretlygrantaire · 7 years ago

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Everybody’s Replaceable Kylo Ren X Female Reader Soulmate AU Epilogue.

Synopsis: The reader was taken away from her family as a child to work on a First Order base as a weapons tester with other children. After managing to escape the First Order when she is older the reader lives by herself and begin to feel her connection and sensitivity to the force. It is discovered that she has similar abilities to Kylo Ren who is ordered to take her in as an apprentice and show her the ways of the force. I’m not going to give anything else away I’ll just say that they are soulmates but don’t know it yet, chaos ensues.

Warnings: THE LAST JEDI SPOILERS!!! Angst, the reader gets injured, fluff.

All research for fact-checking is done on Wookieepedia.com or Starwars.wikia.com

Previous Chapters:

One: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/169673830791/everybody-is-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Two: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/169719813901/everybody-is-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Three: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/169749517901/everybody-is-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Four: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/169755457691/everybody-is-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Five: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/169794929001/everybody-is-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Six: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/169832585346/everybodys-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Seven: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/169871891231/everybodys-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Eight: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/169943975116/everybodys-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Nine: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/169983978246/everybodys-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Ten: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/170137105096/everybodys-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Eleven: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/170284339596/everybodys-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Twelve: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/170367170766/everybodys-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Thirteen: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/170481560541/everybodys-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Fourteen: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/170547420321/everybodys-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Y/N= Your name

Y/F/N= Your Full name

Y/H/C= Your hair color

Y/E/C= Your eye color

The reader goes by her middle name once she becomes Ren’s apprentice, in this story, her name will be Alia, pronounces Ah-Lee-Uh

EPILOGUE

THREE YEARS LATER:

One thousand and ninety-five days, it had been one thousand and ninety-five days since Y/N left Hays Minor to train under Kylo Ren as his apprentice. One thousand and ninety-five days since she had finally met her soulmate, one thousand and ninety-five days since her life began to make sense, and it had been the most extraordinary one thousand and ninety-five days of her entire life. After the battle of Crait and the disastrous mission on Hays Minor both Y/N and Kylo began to heal, physically, mentally and emotionally with the support of each other. Now being able to be open about their bond the two slowly but surely began to become more comfortable to be close in public. It started by briefly brushing the other’s hand to assure them that they were there and lead to walking arm in arm, leaning their head on the other’s shoulder, sweet and short forehead kisses before they left. They found comfort in each other that they had not felt in anyone else, and they began to heal after years of being molded to fit the form society wants them to fit, Kylo with Snoke and Y/N with the officers of Hays Minor. Kylo took his role as Supreme Leader with strides, asking Y/N to lead with her by his side. Y/N agreed and her first order of business was to release the workers on Hays Minor and all other weapon’s testing bases and to put an end to the child labor the First Order had abused for many years. Kylo started a new training program to make the weapon’s builders and testers an official job one must apply for and be trained in, new safety precautions were implemented, wages were raised, violent and abusive managers and officers were fired and a new managerial training system was put in place. It was almost too good to be true, despite the strides that Kylo was taking, he still believed it was time to let old things die and he still continued his search for the rebels, to end the war before it started and to create a new first-order across the galaxy, and Y/N stood by his side. The two continued to train, working in tandem instead of apart, they became familiar with the other’ s energy and were able to support the other in battle in new and exciting ways. Y/N had never felt stronger than when she was beside her soulmate. Y/N and Kylo moved into the same quarters, sharing every free moment together. Although Y/N was still stubborn and headstrong Kylo relished in the moments he got to take care of her, the little things like washing her hair in the shower, carrying her off to bed or having her fall asleep in his arms as he reads. Their bond grew with each passing day and they became something stronger than before, their souls were one, completing each other, balancing each other out, more beautiful than the stars that created them, more powerful than death.

One night Y/N and Kylo were sitting by the window, leaning into each other, reading,, neither of them spoke, their presence was enough. Kylo looked up from his book and over to Y/N, he watched as her eyes flicked from word to word, a loose strand of Y/H/C hair laying on her cheek. He reached over and tucked the hair behind her ear, Y/N looking up at Kylo with a soft, sleepy smile. “Ready for bed?” She asked. Kylo placed his book down and pulled the girl into his lap, burying his face into the crook of her neck, she laughed and leaned back into his strong arms. “Y/N?” Kylo whispered. “Yes?” Y/N turned back to face the blushing man, “What is it, my love?” Kylo’s heart melted at those words, “Can I ask you something?” He said. “Of course,” Y/N replied. “Anything.” Kylo looked into her eyes, “Marry me?” He whispered. Y/N paused her heart skipping a beat. “What?” She questioned. Kylo reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring, it was simple, a braided silver band with a small row of tiny opals, glistening like the galaxies above. “ Marry me?” He asked again. Y/N gasped and before she knew it tears were cascading down her face, “Kylo,” She began, looking up at the man, “...yes.” She said, a smile spreading across her face. “Yes, yes, of course, yes!” Kylo beamed, the two kissed. Kylo held Y/N’s shaking hand and gently placed the ring on her finger, it fit perfectly, Y/N knew Kylo had crafted it for her. Y/N and Kylo leaned their foreheads together, laughing and crying, filled with so much raw joy, truly blissful.

MONTHS LATER:

Neither Y/N nor Kylo knew how to plan a wedding, but they weren’t worried, they knew that no matter what happened the day would be perfect. As far as the location went both Y/N and Kylo agreed they didn’t want to be wed on the dreadnought, after weeks of indecisiveness they agreed to hold a small ceremony on the planet of Naboo. They choose Naboo for its beautiful natural landscapes and rich history. As far as the ceremony goes, they decided to keep everything simple and to keep it a secret, they had everything they needed.

The day finally arrived, the couple took a ship secretly to the planet, Y/N had made her dress herself and kept it hidden from Kylo until the moment came. They decided to hold the ceremony at the Varykino lake retreat in Naboo’s Lake County, an area Y/N had not yet seen as Kylo insisted on adorning the location himself. As soon as they landed Y/N slipped away to get changed for the evening, there was a small lodge beside the retreat where the couple would be spending the night, it was a humble abode that had two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen and living area. Y/N slipped into one of the bedrooms and hid herself away until it was time for the ceremony. They had arranged for an officiant to meet them, a member of the brotherhood of cognizance who agreed to keep the wedding secret. Y/N stood by the window of her lodge, her wedding dress draped around her, she stared out into the night sky, mesmerized by the stars. She was brought out of her thoughts by a light tapping on the door, it was the Pontifex. “Madame,” He said, “It’s time.”

Kylo stood by the stone ledge on the side of the lake, the pontifex behind him, eagerly awaiting Y/N’s arrival. The entire balcony was lined with candles creating a soft glow, tiny lanterns hung in the trees above them like stars. Beside Kylo was a small table on the table were three candles but only the one in the center was lit. Y/N turned the corner and came into view, sending a chill down Kylo’s spine, she was truly beautiful. Her hair was elegantly tied up into an intricately braided bun except for two curly strands that framed her face. Y/N refused to wear a veil, not wanting to hide her face or her scar, instead, she downed a crown created out of brilliant crimson flowers, matching the color of her and Kylo’s lightsabers. Her dress was black, the bodice and sleeves created out of an elegant lace that fit her like a glove, accentuating each curve. The skirt fanned out into a beautiful train that followed her like a shadow. She carried one flower, the same as the ones in her hair. Kylo watched as she walked down the aisle, not breaking eye contact with the man. Kylo himself wore a sophisticated tuxedo, all black except the lining of his vest which was red. His vest was also embroidered with intricate designs. Y/N stopped across from Kylo, she reached over and clipped the flower to his jacket with shaking hands. The two stared at each other, the luminaries illuminating their faces, now wet with tears. The Pontifex came forward and began the ceremony.

Kylo and Y/N decided they wanted to recite vows they wrote to each other and so they took turns. Kylo went first, reaching forwards and taking hold of Y/N’s hands he looked into her eyes and said:

“Y/N, from the moment I met you I knew you were much more than you seemed to be, from the moment we touched hands I knew you were my soulmate. And it scared me, it scared me how someone I knew nothing about could suddenly mean so much to me. You came into my life like a crashing wave, quickly and without direction but with a purpose, a purpose neither of us understood at the time, but a purpose I understand now. I tried to hide my feelings from you, tried to cover up the truth because I was worried you’d be my weakness, I know now that you are my strength, you are the part of me I didn’t know I was missing until you showed me the truth. You are my guiding light, the calm after the storm, you are the millions of stars in the galaxy that all say the same thing, you and I were meant to be together. And I vow that I will never leave your side, I will stand by you, come what may I will stand by you. I will support your beautiful dreams, lift your spirits and carry you when you cannot carry yourself. I will love you until the end of time and beyond. Nothing in the entire galaxy can tear us apart, you are the other half of my heart, the other half of my soul and with this ring, I ask you to be mine.” He took the gold band from his pocket and slipped it onto her finger next to her engagement ring. With tears in her eyes, Y/N took a breath trying to calm herself before saying:

“Kylo, before I met you my life had no meaning, it was like a bad dream that played over and over again, but the day you came to me, a veil was lifted. That day we met, the day you stole me away you also stole my heart and my soul and I knew from the moment we met that I loved you. It was a secret part of me I tried to keep hidden away, but like a flower, it grew with each passing moment, with each spoken word or stolen glace, with each brush and bump, with each dream,” She paused, taking in the moment. “With each dream we shared, my love for you grew, and I knew that I would do anything for you. You were the first person to show me love, and you are the person that I love most of all. You are my kindred spirit, you are the anchor that keeps me grounded and the wings that lift me up, you are the light at the end of the tunnel that was my life and now, I am basking in your glow. I will love you until the end of time and beyond because our bond is stronger than hatred, violence or even death and with this ring, I ask you to be mine.” She pulled out a golden band, their initials carved into the metal, and slipped it onto Kylo’s finger.

The Pontifex lifted the two candles and handed them to the couple, “The love we make is like a fire, alone it burns brightly,” He signaled for the two to light their candles from the flame of the luminary in the center. “But with others, it’s blaze grows into something truly magnificent.” Y/N and Kylo set down their candles, the flames glowing in the night air. The Pontifex turned towards Y/N, “Y/N, do you promise to take this man as your husband, to honor and cherish him, to support and protect him, through all of life’s adversities?”

“I do,” Y/N replied. “And do you, Kylo Ren, promise to take this woman as your wife, to honor and cherish her, to support and protect her, through all of life’s adversities?”

“I do,” Kylo answered.

“Then by the power vested in me by the Brotherhood of Cognizance, I pronounce you, man and wife.”

Kylo and Y/N leaned forward, sealing the ceremony with a kiss. Kylo wrapped his arms around Y/N, both of them taking in the moment of pure bliss. They parted and looked into each other’s eyes, glowing in the candlelight. Kylo placed a kiss on Y/N’s forehead and took her hand in his, before walking down the aisle back towards the lodge. The couple barely made it halfway down the aisle when a loud rumbling sounded from below, turning back towards the ledge the two were blinded by a sudden bright light illuminating from a ship, the wind extinguishing each candle. The ship landed on the platform before the hatch lowered and a group of men ran out each dressed in dark red robes, with red masks that covered their faces. Kylo instinctively reached for his lightsaber only to remember it wasn’t there. The men raced towards the couple, each armed with a stunning blaster, two armed with lethals. The man armed with a lethal weapon shot the pontifex, killing him instantly. Kylo extended his arm, sending some of the men flying backward, Y/N did the same. The couple now stood back to back, unsure of what to do next. Quickly Y/N kicked off her heels and grabbed Kylo’s hand, “Run!” She shouted, the two began to race back towards the lodge when suddenly Y/N was pulled backwards through the air. “Y/N!” Kylo yelled. The girl landed roughly on the concrete, her dress breaking her fall. She tried to stand but was held down by a great force, “Kylo!” She shouted, “I-I can’t move!” “Of course you can’t,” A mysterious voice sounded, Y/N tilted her head to see a man dressed in black exit the ship, his arm reached out towards Y/N, he was the one holding her down. “Another force user?” Y/N gasped, Kylo raced towards the man who merely stuck out his second arm and shot Kylo back to the other side of the balcony. “Stun him.” The man ordered, Kylo stood up and lunged towards the man furiously before two guards shot him simultaneously, sending him crumpling to the ground. “KYLO!” Y/N cried, watching her husband fall to the floor in pain. She tried desperately to move but her abilities were useless against this man’s raw strength, she eventually was able to lift her arm, reaching for the man she clenched her grasp around his throat, catching him off guard and causing him to release her, she stood and bolted for Kylo only to be stunned moments later by the same guards. Having only been shot once she was still conscious, but paralyzed, she looked over at Kylo, blood dripping down his temple, she wanted so desperately to help him. Suddenly she felt her body lift off the ground, the man had picked her up. She couldn’t see his face but watched as he carried her onto the ship. The man placed her gently onto a bench before heading to the bridge, a tear trickled down her cheek as she felt the ship take off still unsure of what was going on or why it was happening...

TO BE CONTINUED.....

So, here’s the thing. I love this story so much I am going to make a sequel!! I’m adding on to this storyline, the new story will be released soon and I will continue it in the same format I’ve written this story. I am so excited! The first chapter won’t be released for a few days because I am still working out plot points, but it is coming soon!! I’m so glad you all enjoyed this story it was truly the most fun thing to write and I am quite proud. I hope you enjoy the sequel, let me know if you want a tag list and I’ll start one.

Thank you!!!

#Star Wars #star wars fanfiction #Star Wars imagine #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren #ben solo #ben solo x reader #ben solo imagine #wedding #soulmate au

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crimsonrevolt · 7 years ago

Photo

Congratulations Amos you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Gideon Prewett!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

First of all, I have to address that there’s a wonderful irony in accepting someone with the same name as my character in the rp. But honestly, your app was a delight to read -- the depth of exploration in your personification of Gideon absolutely beautiful. You left us with such a clear picture of the character, both in his backstory and in the potential future effects of the war, all while bringing through Gideon’s humor as well. We’re so thrilled to welcome you into the rp and can’t wait to see you explore all of the dimensions to Gideon that you presented in your app! *your FC change to Eddie Redmayne has been accepted!

application beneath the cut

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Amos, 20, he/him, GMT

ACTIVITY

I won’t lie, I can get extremely busy, I am currently training at drama school in technical theatre, and some weeks it is manic, that being said, I have missed writing so much, and I have missed being part of an rp group even more, I am committed to making it part of my daily routine again. My uni work should calm down for the next couple of months and I really want to write as much as I can in that spare time. 5/10

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

I searched for HP RP in tumblr and your ad was one of the most recent posts, I had a click around your blog and really liked the look of you!

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

I am a Neville Longbottom through and through. I could be painfully awkward,self conscious, under confident, clumsy, making goofy mistakes, but in the last couple of years I think I’ve really come a long way. I’ve found my voice, and my confidence, I am happy with who I am as a person, and am no longer striving to be someone I’m not, I have recently decided to stop being so embarrassed all the effing time and just accept that sometimes I do silly things and it’s better just to laugh about it than worry over it for the next week. It has honestly enhanced my life. I’m still waiting on the magic physical transformation into a greek God though.

ANYTHING ELSE?

If there is anything in my app that doesn’t fit with your current Fabian’s headcanons and such, then I will be most happy to adapt if I got in and had a chance to speak with them!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Gideon Prewett

FACE CLAIM

I would be happy to keep Ryan Gosling, although in Fabian’s bio it says the twins look exactly the same, so I would also be quite happy to take on Eddie Redmayne. I would quite like them to be identical, unless of course Beth would prefer them to be unidentical.

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

I have been in love with the Prewett twins for a good couple of years now. I wrote Fabian in another rp for a long time and got very attached to him, although I have played both Fabian and Gideon at various different points. When I first started I thought every rps interpretation of the twins would be very different because there is so little on them in the books, but it turns out everyone has very similar ideas. I love that, I love that their character shines through those small details and through the legacy of their family in the books and through the reputation of the Order and through what we imagine the first wizarding war must have been like.

I love that they are essentially broken people trying so hard to make everyone else around them safe and happy, and I love that they are the kind of people who rebel against growing up. I do think it’s very important to see them as individuals, but I think their relationship with each other is one of their most essential qualities. I think it is what makes them unique characters to write. Even if you were writing other twins, I don’t think you’d have the same kind of experience. I think it’s that relationship that keeps drawing me back to them. Their personalities and their backstories, occupation, hair colour whatever, can change from rp to rp, and I love exploring each slightly new character, but most of all I love finding out how they interact with their twin, and what their priorities are during the war, and what lengths they are willing to go for their family.

I think my interpretation of Gid in this rp, is someone who is not necessarily hiding their negative emotions by putting on a brave face and cracking jokes, but instead, he is separating the good from the bad. He doesn’t mind when people see he’s having a bad day, or if people can tell he’s angry, or stressed, he won’t do much to hide it whilst the situation is still having that negative affect on him. But as soon as he gets to the party or the pub, or he’s having a laugh with a friend, he lets go of whatever is bothering him and enjoys the moment. And think it is people who generally make him happiest, like, he can find enjoyment in food and sunsets and such, but it’s interacting with people that really brightens his mood.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

No Preferred ships as yet. Bisexual but with a higher preference for men that he’s not quite willing to admit yet. Male, he/him.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

Gideon works in the Department of Magical Transportation. It’s not his dream job, or something he’s particularly enthused about, but it keeps him busy and it pays the rent. He got a job in a low level position a couple of years after graduating Hogwarts, thinking it would simply be a filler until he found what he was really supposed to be doing. However a summer temp job turned into 7 years of small talk, paperwork and rank climbing. The truth is he never really figured out what he wanted to do, apart from boyhood dreams of being a quidditch player, he never found a career that grabbed his entire attention. Now with the war, he has higher priorities than finding his true calling. It is a stable job and it gives him a good position in the Ministry, which is helpful for Order work. Despite what all this may point too, Gideon is a very intelligent individual, perhaps not academically outstanding, but his brain is always ticking along, even when it is being numbed by repetitive form filling and box ticking.

Gideon is very interested in the arts. He always liked music, but after graduating from Hogwarts and moving to London he fell in love with muggle artist like Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin. It started with him curiously walking into a muggle record shop and buying a few singles, now he is hooked on Ginsberg’s poetry, and Robert Mapplethorpe’s photography. Particularly Mapplethorpe. Gid really likes that they don’t move, like a one way mirror, he can take as much as he likes from the photo but it doesn’t take anything back, it almost feels like a secret, and being a twin, he doesn’t get too many of those. A couple of years back he picked up a guitar, and now he can play a few chords or pick a few tunes. He also likes to scribble down ideas whenever he gets a chance, half finished lines of poetry or prose litter his apartment collecting coffee stains and dust.. Sometimes he thinks maybe he was meant to be an artist, but he brushes those thoughts quickly away.

Gideon isn’t great at relationships anymore. A couple of years ago he had a fling with a guy at the ministry called Anthony. Gid fell head over heals, he felt it was a lot more than a fling, but Anthony insisted that it was just a bit of fun. He didn’t allow Gid to tell anyone, explaining that his family wouldn’t be very understanding if they found out, and at first he was fine with that. At first everything was spectacular. But eventually Gid ended up giving a lot more into the relationship than he was getting back. Gid was essentially at his boyfriend’s beck and call, but if Gid ever had a bad day, Anthony always had some excuse for why he couldn’t come over. It went as far as Gid being guilt tripped into missing the birth of one of his nephews because his boyfriend had a cold and needed looking after. Anthony often asked to borrow money from Gideon and although Gideon barely had anything to give, he would give it freely, to the point where the boyfriend spent money Gid needed for food on a new pair of shoes. Anthony would near constantly flirt with people infront of Gid, but if Gid so much as looked at someone else the wrong way, Anthony would fly into a jealous rage. In short Gid was miserable, but he was living in those moment of blissful hope where Anthony would make him feel like the only person in the entire world who was worth a damn. Unfortunately, those moment became few and far between. Eventually someone (probably Fabian, let’s be honest) got worried about how far Gid had declined from his old chipper self, and intervened. Gid had to break up with Anthony, and after a tumultuous on again off again period Gid finally broke ties completely. On the outside it appeared like Gid soon bounced back to his old self, but underneath he still carries the scars of the relationship. He finds it hard to commit, or trust people’s affection, the insecurity that probably lead to the relationship getting so out of hand in the first place, even more pronounced now. He never thought he would be sucked into abuse like that, always the first to speak up about other people’s injustices, but he quickly found out it was much different when he was submerged in the situation himself.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it: Right, I was thinking about this the other day, and I think it would be really very useful to have a spell that let me see round corners. Because, the other day, I was in the arse end of London, at a pub, a muggle pub I should add, those places are crazy! But anyway, I needed the toilet quite badly, I stumbled in, there are just two stalls, neither of them have door so I storm into one, and there’s two people furious shagging on the loo, now, if I’d been able to see round that corner, I would have made a strategic retreat before getting anyway close to that cubicle. Although, I suppose, being in muggle London, I couldn’t have used magic anyway. And really, if I hadn’t been so drunk I might have taken the loud moaning and groaning as a cue too. But, you get my point! It would be a handy thing to have up your sleeve!

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you: Fabian, of course, in this purely hypothetical situation that we have never done before because it is completely FORBIDDEN and not allowed at all. But I’d probably bring a packet of smokes, maybe something a little stronger, Fabian could bring a wireless because I’m cheating and assuming he’s getting one item too. Then we could find a nice little clearing somewhere and relax far away from the troubles of the world, closer to the very real troubles of getting speared by an angry centaur. Again, like I said, a purely hypothetical situation.

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make? It takes me forever to decide what to eat at restaurants, everything sounds so good, the whole place smells amazing, the guy across from me has something on his plate that looks delicious, but it’s all so expensive! Maybe I’ll just have a salad. Oh no, but you’re ordering a steak and my mouth will water the whole meal, Screw it! Bring out three pheasants, oysters and a bucket of champagne!

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you? That I don’t care about something I definitely do care about. I don’t care if someone says I don’t care enough about signing Stacy’s leaving card, because honestly I spoke to Stacy once and I really don’t care about signing her leaving card. But if someone dared say I didn’t care about my family, they were have a hex coming their way. I know sometimes I can come off a little nonchalant because I like to have a good time, but that does not mean I don’t care. I care way too much for it to be discarded by an offhand comment from someone who has no idea what they’re talking about.

WRITING SAMPLE

It was the hottest day of the year so far. Gid could feel the sweat making his shirt stick to his back, his school tie and cloak had long since abandoned. Nearly everybody was down by the lake. Couples were sitting on the grass enjoying the last light of the sun giving their significant other’s acne clad faces a golden glow. Groups of friends pretended to do their homework whilst exchanging the latest gossip and daring each other to throw things at the squid. And then there was Gideon and Fabian. They stood apart from the rest, purveying over the scene in front of them. Gideon was relatively satisfied by the turnout, of course, the poor fools didn’t yet realise they had turned out for anything.

“You definitely set the timer up right?” Gideon asked Fab as they waited.

“Yes, definitely. Any second now.”

“Really? Because that’s what you said last time. Remember how disappointing that was. Just a good job we didn’t advertise this time.” Gideon smiled despite himself and Fabian gave an amused huff.

“Any second n-”

Fabian was cut off by the abrupt explosion from across the lake. Reds and greens and purples burst into the twilight sky. Flowers and streamers of light illuminating the faces of the Hogwarts populations as they looked on in avid fascination. Gideon very nearly fist bumped the air. The fireworks were an incredible success. People were gasping and laughing and screaming.

People were screaming.

Gideon came too. He was on his knees, sweat slick hair stuck to his face and his head hung uselessly on his chest. His hand clenched around his wand feebly at first, then stronger. People were screaming. They were running. They were terrified. Someone booted his leg as they ran past and stumbled over his inanimate body. He barely felt it.

His eyes were open, but he couldn’t see anything. Just dust, the thickest cloud of dust, he couldn’t even make out the ground in front of him. He struggled to remember where he was.

He had lit a fuse. He had been told to light a fuse. He had thought it would be a good idea. He had thought it would make a difference. Now people were screaming. There was a baby crying somewhere. The dust and chaos cleared fractionally and Gideon could make out the wreckage of the blast.

What had he done? He tried to get to his feet, but his legs wouldn’t work. He dragged himself over to a wall, he couldn’t breath. Every time he drew in a breath, he sucked in the dust and began to cough. He would die here. He couldn’t breath. He had killed people here. Innocent people. The baby had stopped crying. He had to get out.

#Accepted App

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sheikah · 7 years ago

Text

Distraction

My entry for the @jonerysnetwork @jonerysfics Fic Contest [Smut] [AO3]

On their second day in the Red Keep, Jon makes an interesting discovery.

In his new rooms, the sun coming through the vista windows warms his back and the smell of cooking food beckons him outside. It is all very distracting, being in a new place, and he finds it difficult to focus on menial tasks like unpacking his things. Every few minutes he glances out at the Blackwater to confirm that this is real—they finally sacked King’s Landing. He doubts he will ever get used to it.

His new quarters aren’t a good fit, more sumptuous than he needs or wants. They are royal quarters, possibly the former rooms of princes or princesses, and truthfully they don’t suit Jon’s taste. But the large windows give him a wide vantage point from which to observe the city below, and he can see far out over the bay. It is breathtaking, a different kind of beautiful than the snowy haven of Winterfell.

The chamber’s interior is equally impressive. The ceilings are high with ornate moldings all around, the walls a rich crimson. The large bed is fitted with luxurious linens, hung on all sides with cloth-of-gold curtains. Jon supposes he should be grateful that the queen insisted he take up residence in such a place, but it feels altogether wrong, nothing like the cozy simplicity of his room back at The Wall. But he keeps his doubts to himself. This is his home for now, where he most needs to be. A defensible position from which to plan the assault on the Army of the Dead. And besides, he would follow Dany anywhere.

Just now Jon is supposed to follow her to the small council chambers and meet with the gathered lords to discuss their next move. But first he means to change out of the armor he wore about the city into something a little lighter. Even in Winter, King’s Landing is still far warmer than what Jon is used to, and the muggy coastal air has his clothes sticking to his skin. Strolling over to the trunk in the corner, he unfastens the latch and flips the top open with a creak of the hinges.

A moment’s look is enough to tell him that something is wrong. Instead of dark surcoats and sturdy wools, the trunk is filled with brightly colored silks and carefully wrapped pieces of jewelry. It doesn’t take long for Jon to recognize it as Dany’s trunk, not his. He has never seen her in these clothes himself, but many of them have clasps and embellishments ornately carved into dragons and “DT” is embroidered in the plush satin lining of the trunk’s lid.

His first instinct is to close the trunk and leave it be. They aren’t his things to disturb. But there is still so much Jon doesn’t know about Dany even though he has been with her for the better part of a year. So curiosity gets the better of him and he begins rifling through the vibrant contents of the chest.

He is clueless when it comes to fashion and truthfully, he doesn’t much care about it. But the thought of his pretty queen in bright, summer silks, colors that would complement her lilac eyes and smooth, silver hair is more than a little intriguing, so very different from dark, regal winter garb she has worn for as long as Jon has known her. He loves the thought of her strolling through gardens half a world away, her arms bare and dappled in sunlight.

Rummaging through the trunk, he removes long, flowy gowns of ocean blue, striking and intricately designed tunics of purest white, and even an odd, painted leather vest. At the bottom of the trunk, one dress stands out from all the others.

The fabric is strange, silky like those that were stored on top of it, but richer, thinner, and more delicate. The color is pale lavender, almost white, and it is impossibly smooth beneath his fingertips. Jon lifts it out of the chest carefully to find that there are no sleeves—something unthinkable to his Northern sensibilities—just slender trips of fabric that hold it together at the shoulders, clasped with silver pins carved into the three-headed dragon of the Targaryen sigil.

When the dress is clear of the trunk, the afternoon sun hits it—doesn’t just hit it, but shines straight through it, the glare hitting Jon in the eyes. He is confused. What kind of silly, pointless garment is this? It is almost entirely translucent in the light, so it certainly can’t be a dress, must be part of some bigger ensemble. But the more Jon looks at it the more he realizes that it has to be a dress. It seems too small and form-fitting to be a cover or cloak of some kind, and it is far too decorated to serve as an undergarment.

But if it is a dress all its own, it is entirely impractical. Even more, it is daring, indecent. If Dany wore this, well . . . her smalls would be on full display for anyone interested enough to look. And who could resist such a sight?

Jon feels an unexpected stab of jealousy at the thought. They may not be married, may not be sharing their secrets with their many and varied companions and allies, but Dany is his, just as he is hers. So why is he so disturbed at the thought of her parading around in this obscene dress?

He doesn’t fancy himself an envious man, even when he can see how other men look at his lady, their eyes lingering a moment too long. Even though he notices the way a room quiets when she enters it, how everyone seems to gravitate toward her like the sun. No, Jon has never been jealous. Because what he has with Dany is not a clandestine attraction. She spent weeks patiently assuring Jon that to her, he is more than some nameless bastard, not just a King in the North to support her bid for the throne—and Jon finally accepted that her love for him burned as brightly as his for her.

Yet for all his faith and surety, seeing this peculiar, brazen dress still makes his blood run hot, sends a jolt of possessive longing through him that makes him almost lightheaded. He imagines Dany walking about in a dress that might as well be made of air—tantalizing everyone she passes by. It is almost unbearable; but it is also . . . strangely exciting.

Shaking his head to clear it Jon decides to go and see Dany, to get an explanation for the singular dress and more importantly, see her in it for himself.

He just has to get through a small council meeting first.

Inside the council chambers Jon sits opposite Dany, Tyrion and Davos on his left, Lord Varys and Tormund at his right. It is stifling in the close, dimly lit room, and Jon struggles to ignore his restlessness and boredom, to focus on the conversation.

“We need to make official appointments to essential positions,” Tyrion announces, turning to Dany. “We aren’t planning a coronation with a war on, but while we’re here we need stability. And just like a queen in peace time you’ll need capable people at your side.”

“Who do you recommend?” Dany asks, perusing a list of names.

Jon looks up at the sound of her voice. She is all business today, hair braided tight, the long rope of it draped over her left shoulder. Her elegant black dress is high-collared, and she sits up straight and serene, her hands folded on the table before her. She looks every bit the queen, even without a crown on her lovely head.

“For Master of Ships,” Varys begins, “Perhaps a Greyjoy?”

“The obvious choice,” Davos chimes in, his thick accent drawing Dany’s attention. “But I also have experience in this area, Your Grace.”

Jon watches Dany’s face as she considers the suggestion, serious as ever, her expression unreadable to the untrained eye. But he knows her well, can see that she is tired, in no mood to make these decisions just now. Jon can’t say he blames her. He can think of about a thousand things he would rather be doing at the moment, most of them involving her.

That train of thought takes his mind to places it really shouldn’t go in mixed company, takes him back to the last time they slept together. Suddenly Jon is swept up in memories of Dany rising over him, naked as her name day, rolling her hips into him roughly, the blissful friction, the squeeze of her body. He sits up to give her perfect breasts the attention they deserve, and then—

Beside him Tormund clears his throat and elbows Jon hard in the ribs, looking pointedly from Jon to Dany across the table.

“Do you agree?” she asks him, and Jon can tell from the edge in her voice that it isn’t the first time she has addressed him. He has no idea how much of the conversation he missed, no context for Dany’s question.

Jon sits up a little straighter in his chair. “Um. Yes, I agree,” he offers cautiously.

“So it’s settled then,” Tyrion proclaims. “We will have a Master of War, but only as a temporary position, since Her Grace believes it might send the message that we expect war. And Jon, you will name one of your own men to fill the position.”

Jon sighs. Another responsibility. He should be paying better attention to the discussion.

“There are some potential men you might appoint on this list.” Dany indicates the parchment before her. “Come have a look,” she says, waving Jon over.

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, suddenly painfully aware of the physical consequences of his daydreaming, a very conspicuous and very poorly-timed tightening in his pants. Damnit.

“Pass it over.” Jon holds his hand out, trying to act casual, trying to ignore the straining between his legs, and the puzzled look on Dany’s face at his refusal to move beside her. Wordlessly she hands the list to Tormund who gives it to Jon with a curious glance into his lap.

"Now then,” Tyrion continues. “We need to talk about some of the fighting we’ve already done. It is important that we answer for the damage we've caused," he argues, looking at each of them in turn. "Right now we can get the people on our side with only a small acts of goodwill. After my dear sister’s stunt at the sept I can assure you they followed her out of fear, not love. That is no way to rule."

"I agree," Dany nods. "So what must we do?"

"Send aid," Tyrion replies. "Gold, supplies, possibly a few men if we can spare them. To help rebuild."

"And you will gain more than just favor for assisting Highgarden, Your Grace," Varys adds smoothly. "They are the largest producer of food in all the seven kingdoms. We need them as much as they need us."

“Aye, that’s all very well,” Davos interjects gruffly. “But what of the North? The Others are going to hit them first. If anyone’s getting more of our men it ought to be the Northerners.”

Jon senses the oncoming argument and finds himself tuning them out once again, preoccupied. It is important, of course. Highgarden was absolutely decimated in the battle with the Lannister army, a battle they caused. The destruction would not have been nearly so pronounced if Dany’s dragons hadn’t been in play, and Jon supports the idea of taking responsibility and helping the people. He also worries for Winterfell and for his friends at The Wall.

But he knows that the deliberations are all but pointless, that there will never be a unanimous agreement on the best course of action. There never is. And try as he might, Jon can’t gather his thoughts into a coherent argument of his own, can’t pry his mind away from Dany.

His mind wanders again, picturing her in that gown he found, carefree and heedless of how the men all stare. Jon can almost see her strolling through the bright, dusty streets of Meereen, shining with perspiration and smiling at something Missandei said, happy and younger, blissfully unaware of what horrors await her across the sea.

Jon wants her like that. Joyful and gorgeous and real. Not the queen but the woman. And he is flustered and fidgeting at the thought of her in that dress because he knows all too well what waits for him beneath the silk. He knows the weight of her breasts in his hands, the taste of her flesh on his tongue, the sound of her sighs at his ear. And he knows, too, just how to make her sigh like that, knows the heat between her thighs, the—

“Jon?”

He jerks in his seat, his cheeks burning at the realization that they are all watching him, Dany most of all, her eyes hard, lips pressed into a thin line of irritation.

“Jon,” she repeats. “I asked for your input.”

Jon swallows, his fist clenching irritably on the table before him. His eyes dart from face to face, looking for a lifeline, stopping at Tyrion. “I agree with Lord Tyrion,” he ventures.

For a moment everyone is silent, the quiet broken when Tyrion clears his throat to speak. “Well, I thank you,” he says, bowing his head at Jon with a smirk. “Smart choice, as I am always right. But I haven’t actually said anything just now.”

Davos shakes his head and Tormund can’t suppress a snort of amusement. Dany’s sigh is loud and exasperated. “I apologize for Jon,” she says, her eyes flashing. “Clearly, he’s thinking of something more important than the war.”

“Maybe I am,” Jon fires back, frustrated. He has given all of himself to duty for so long. Even gave his life for it once. Are even his thoughts forfeit to this war? Looking at Dany he is overwhelmed with the urge to whisk her away, just for an afternoon. To kiss the worry from her brow and leave his own stress behind in this horrible little room. They have so little precious time together and Jon is tired of watching it slip away in arduous meetings.

Taken aback at Jon’s uncharacteristically forceful reply, Dany’s expression is somewhere between outrage and confusion as she fumbles for words. Sensing the tension in the room, Tyrion mercifully steps in. “Your Grace, I think we are all a little tired from this move. Let’s adjourn for today, shall we? I’ll concede to His Grace’s wise companions,” he says, waving a hand at Davos. “We’ll send aid to the North first. With your approval of course?”

Dany ponders for a moment and then nods in agreement.

“Excellent. My lords.” Tyrion nods at them all in dismissal. There is a noisy scraping of chairs on the stone floor as everyone rises to leave, but Dany remains, gathering of pile of letters into a neat stack and glaring coldly at Jon over the table.

On his way out Tyrion pauses to say something to her but Jon has had about enough of listening to others talk for one afternoon. He has better things in mind for his queen, things that can only be done within the privacy of his chambers.

When Jon moves to Dany’s side he is drawn in by the spice of her bath oils on the air, the dulcet tones of her voice as she speaks with Tyrion. Jon knows only he can break through her mask of regality to the passion that hides underneath, yearns to have her to himself. She won’t sound so calm and bored when he is through with her. . .

But when Dany looks up at his approach, her eyes are narrowed angrily, her arms crossed over her chest. Jon hates it when she is cross with him but he has more than a few ideas of how to cheer her up this afternoon.

“Your Grace,” he greets her, nodding curtly, his hand moving to her waist to draw her in. “I need to speak with you.”

“Your Grace,” Tyrion addresses Jon, his eyes falling on Jon’s hand at Dany’s side. “I was just telling the queen that—”

Jon ignores him, moving his other hand to Dany’s arm and leaning in close where only she can hear. “Now,” he adds, trying to control the urgency in his voice.

Predictably she hardens at his commands, stepping back as far as his arm around her will allow. “Jon, as you can clearly see I’m having a discussion with Tyrion and—”

Jon stares Dany hard in the eyes, lowering his hand until it rests on her butt, a faint smirk playing across his lips to convey his intentions. Understanding slowly dawns on her and for a fraction of a second Jon can see her fight back an answering grin. But then she wrenches herself away and stands up a little straighter, clearing her throat and turning to Tyrion with an apology in her eyes.

“I have some private business to see to with Jon but we will continue this over dinner.”

Tyrion nods slowly before bowing and taking his leave. Jon is sure the Hand of the Queen knows exactly what their “business” is. He doesn’t care.

The moment they’re alone Dany wheels on him, her hands flying to her hips. “What was that?!” she demands. “These meetings are important, Jon. They’re about our future. You don’t get to just—”

“Why don’t you come with me and I’ll make it up to you.” Jon takes her by the hand and begins backing out of the room, wheedling her along with him until Dany finally relents. She sighs, looking up at the mischievous glint in his eyes, and follows him out the door, her stack of correspondence forgotten on the table.

Lacing their fingers together Jon leads her through the keep, still unfamiliar with its winding halls and dark corridors. But he finds the shadowy alcoves particularly convenient today and every few steps he presses Dany’s back into a corner and silences her exhilarated giggles with his mouth on hers.

“What. Has gotten. Into you today?” she asks breathlessly, her question punctuated by hungry kisses from Jon and her own laughter.

He doesn’t answer, instead trekking on through the castle until they arrive at his room at last. Inside, the retreating afternoon sun casts everything in a brilliant gold. Dany most of all is stunning to his eyes, a little out of breath from their hurry, a pink blush creeping up her neck and cheeks.

She turns to face him when they’re inside, moving her hands to his shoulders. “Tell me what you brought me here for.”

For a moment the pull to touch her is so strong Jon forgets the dress entirely, couldn’t care less what it looks like or why she has it.

But then Dany’s eyes leave his, settling on something behind him. “That’s mine,” she says suddenly, startling him to attention, pointing to her open chest on the floor. “Jon, why . . . do you have this?”

“Our trunks got mixed up,” he explains dismissively, moving over to the enormous leather chair near the window and gesturing to the dress draped over the back. “What is this?”

Dany comes over to examine it for herself, smiling faintly when she recognizes it. “Viserys gave it to me in Pentos. It’s one of my favorites.”

“It’s why I brought you here. Put it on,” Jon instructs, his voice husky. “For me.”

Dany lifts the gauzy dress from the chair back and shakes her head. “This is not what I expected. You . . . want me to try on a gown for you?” she asks, raising a brow at Jon incredulously.

“Aye. I’ve been picturing you in it all day. What you’ll look like in it. What I’ll see through it.”

He steps in closer, speaking at her ear. “What I won’t be able to see until I take it off you. What you’ll sound like . . . ” He lays a hand on her waist, dragging it across her ribs and around to her chest, his knuckles grazing the underside of her breasts. “When I put my hands on you.” On a whim he dips his head and nibbles lightly on her ear. “And my mouth.”

Dany’s shoulders quiver at the contact. “Alright,” she assents, barely finding her voice, looking at Jon with wonder. “Turn around.”

He complies, turning his back to her while she changes. In front of him the window shows the city bustling with activity below but none of it can hold his attention, not while Dany’s intricate royal garb falls to the floor behind him with the clink of buckles and the swish of fabric.

“I’m ready,” she announces after a moment, and he faces her again.

Jon holds his breath when he sees her. She is a vision, everything he conjured in his fantasies and more. Her hair hangs loose now, and the sun through the window bathes her in a bright, warm light that turns it from silver to honey. The thin, silky gown hangs over her luscious curves with a tailored fit, but most alluring of all—the dress is the only thing she is wearing. No smalls, no silly corset to constrict her lovely figure. The gown apparently is meant to be worn this way, and Jon is struck dumb at the sight. Through it he can see the creamy glow of her pale skin, the pink bloom of her nipples pressing against the sheer gossamer. She spins slowly before him, removing any doubt that the view from behind is equally enticing. When she faces forward again, Jon steps closer, his eyes roving hungrily, pausing at the joining of her thighs. It is all he can do not to close the distance between them and fall to his knees before her, to push the dress up and get an unobstructed view of the delights beneath.

“I feel like a girl again,” Dany says wistfully, looking down at the dress, clearly unaware of Jon’s frantic anticipation. “I was so nervous the last time I wore this. But it did its job well. Drogo was impressed.” She glances at Jon, flashes him that scintillating smile. “Seems that you like it, too. How do I look?”

“You look like sin,” Jon growls, striding to her in two long steps. He winds one of his hands in the thick curtain of her hair and splays the other across her butt, pulling her roughly against him.

“Oh!” Dany has time to exclaim before he crushes his lips to hers. The kiss is desperate, a mess of teeth and tongues and the scrape of his stubble on her hot mouth. Usually Jon is slow and tender with her, as if his lips and hands could somehow show her the contents of his heart. But now he unleashes the whole day of pent-up, frustrated longing, claiming her, caging her in his embrace.

Dany is a willing prisoner, her surprise quickly overtaken by her own desire as she grabs at the sides of his face, kissing him back in earnest. Jon’s body is wound as taut as a bowstring, his muscles tense with expectation, but Dany is soft under his touch, so soft and inviting. She may be hard and cold in front of the rest of them at court, but he knows better, knows she isn’t cold at all. She is warm, sweet and lovely and he is melting into the kiss, her lips parting under his and his under hers with a probing flick of her tongue.

“Can’t. Get close enough,” Jon rasps against her lips, lifting her off the floor and clutching her to him.

Dany wraps her legs around his waist, knotting her fingers forcefully in his hair, and the dull pain coupled with the pressure of her thighs is electric, almost too much. Even through his jerkin the drag of her breasts against his chest drives him mad and Jon kisses her deeper. His mouth muffles the quiet, needful sounds from her throat but they’re enough to make him ache for her. He shifts her impatiently in his arms, his hard cock straining his leathers. Her full bottom lip slips between his own and he catches it between his teeth in a possessive bite.

Dany gives a little yelp of surprise, loosening her legs at his waist and dropping to her feet. Jon looks down at her, her breathing ragged, hair mussed, lips red and swollen. She meets his gaze with indignation and lust mingling behind her violet eyes and then shoves back into him, pushing him a step. Jon just smirks at her fervor, digging his fingers into the curve of her hips to pull her close again.

When Dany leans into another kiss, her lips parted wide to suck at his tongue, it takes all the force of his will not rip the pale silk of her gown away. Gods but he wants her, wants to reach under the blasted dress and find her wet and waiting for him, wants to lick circles around her tightening nipples. He wants to slide a hand down her chest and over the smoothness of her belly, to press his fingers inside of her and feel the hot clench of her body. He wants to bend her over his ironwood desk and fuck her until she begs him for release. He wants . . .

Jon breaks away with a quavering gasp, tangling his hand in the cascade of her silver waves. He forces her head back, exposing the elegant line of her white throat. Dany sighs, falling trustingly under his sway, giving herself over to him as if she isn’t a prize far beyond his deserving. And something in him ignites at the sight of her so willing, eyes closed, biting her lip between her small, even teeth. He drags open-mouthed kisses down her neck, pausing to suck at the sensitive spot under her ear he knows she loves.

“Jon,” she whispers, grinding her hips, her cunt against him. It tests his resolve, having to refrain from taking her right then, from bearing her down on the rushes and rutting into her like an animal.

“How do you do this to me?” he demands, his breath puffing at her throat. He moves his mouth to her naked shoulder, applying his teeth to the give of her flesh, and she trembles in his arms.

“What,” Dany gasps dazedly, “do you mean?”

Make me lose myself, Jon thinks. Completely. No control, and gods damn the consequences. With Dany he becomes someone else, a man who takes what he wants, who acts on his impulses. It is as dangerous as it is thrilling.

Jon lifts his head to look over her shoulder and then pushes her backward toward the cushioned bench at the foot of his bed. Dany follows his lead but lets her hands roam to his waist where she works at the buckles on his belt with deft fingers. Knowing she wants him as much as he wants her gives Jon a rush of masculine pride, but he has other plans for her this evening. He has had all day to think about it thanks to the bloody meetings and his untimely discovery of that damnable dress, and he has thought of nothing else except what he plans to do to her now.

His hands find hers and he moves them down by her sides as they take the last few steps to the bench, the back of Dany’s knees grazing the edge. Jon takes her by the shoulders and shoves her onto her back on the velvet cushions.

For a moment he can see the familiar flash of defiance in her eyes. Dany likes being in control and ordinarily, she is. But Jon is having none of that this evening, and he can see her curiosity winning out over her anger as she settles back with her elbows on the bed behind her, stretching lithely out before him. From this angle he can see every line of her body, the swell of her breasts against the too-thin fabric, the dip where it pools between her legs, and Jon wants nothing so much as to kiss her, stroke her, suck her there; but not yet.

He locks his eyes on hers, and unfastens his sword belt, letting it fall to the floor with a clunk before kneeling in front of her. The porcelain skin of her thighs is close enough to kiss and his eyes rake over her, lingering at the hem of her gown that has ridden up to her knees. Dany is coy under Jon’s scrutiny, as she gathers the skirt of her dress in her hands, beginning to pull it up with agonizing slowness. Inch by inch her pale, flawless skin is revealed to him, and Jon leans in, watching enraptured as the silky smooth fabric rises away slowly, so bloody slowly, whispering along her legs as it goes.

Dany’s grin is equal parts devilish and demure, and Jon swallows, fighting to keep still and wait. But he wants her so much, craves her like a starving man craves a meal, and he is achingly hard for her in is too-tight leathers. He needs to touch her.

Able to resist no longer, he grasps her roughly by the hips, yanking her toward him so she is balanced on the edge of the bench, her legs hanging off. Jon’s palms brush up the smooth expanse of her flesh, stopping at the hem of the dress where it rests just below the meeting of her thighs. It is insolent and cruel, her teasing him like this, but it is perfect, delicious torture. She trembles under his hands and Jon longs to press his advantage, to part the burning core of her with his fingers so he can lick his way inside.

As if sensing his thoughts, Dany pulls the hem to her hips. Without any smallclothes she is revealed to him fully, and Jon blows out a breath. He can see Dany squirm with anticipation at the sound, her knees parting to invite him in.

He dips his head, fenced on either side by her soft thighs. Her head falls back, the long waves of her hair trailing on the bed, her back arching; and fuck, it is so tempting. Jon spreads her legs, almost dizzy at the sight of her glistening with arousal. “Fiendish woman,” he scolds, his voice rough and low. “For making me wait. I can see how much you want me, too.”

Dany doesn’t respond, just lifts her hips up to meet him, giving Jon room to slide his hands under her, to let her rest her weight in the strength of his arms. But still he takes his time, forcing himself to make it a tease of its own, watching as her breath hitches, her skin flushing all over. It would be so easy to tear away his own irksome clothing and barrel into her welcoming tightness. Instead he drops his head to trace his tongue along the delicate skin of her inner thigh.

Dany whimpers at the touch of Jon’s mouth. The rough stubble of his cheek scrapes against her sensitive flesh as he turns to kiss her other leg and she wriggles in the firmness of his grasp.

“Tell me what you want,” he orders, watching her, eyes pinched shut, nails digging into the cushions.

“You,” she pants. “You.”

She is so wet he can smell the heady scent of her on the air, can almost taste it, needs to taste her. So finally, finally he puts his mouth on her and Dany jerks at the first press of his tongue, sucking in a breath.

The carnal, familiar taste of her is its own reward and Jon sighs against her flesh. “You have,” he purrs, lifting her closer as she crosses her legs around his neck, “the sweetest cunt.”

“You’re filthy,” she says breathlessly, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling it loose from its tie at the nape of his neck. Jon hardly notices, fixated only on her pleasure, dragging his tongue up through the slick folds of her. He rides out the sharp buck of her hips, holding her fast and stroking his tongue up to swirl across the sweetest spot, teasing it with the very tip before laving down on her again, again.

Jon frees a hand, the roughness of his scarred fingers sliding along her thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. He slips his hand between her thighs, his fingertips grazing her teasingly before he dips two finger inside. Dany lets out a breath at the fullness, clenching around him, warm and snug.

“Jon,” she moans, long and low, and the sound of his name on her lips shatters the last of his restraint to draw it out any longer. He pumps his fingers roughly into her, greedy for the desperate little sounds she makes when she is near the height of her pleasure. His lips close over her in a sucking kiss, and Dany rocks shamelessly against him, begging unintelligibly.

He glances up to see her shining hair plastered to her face with sweat, droplets of it glistening on her skin, the dress clinging to her with a lover’s caress. She is never more lovely than in these raw moments.

“I want you so much,” Jon murmurs, crooking his fingers inside as he speaks and eliciting a plaintive cry from Dany. “Always wanted you, from the beginning. So beautiful.” His lips seal the words against her flesh and she arches and shudders, coming with his name in her throat. And it is everything to him, knowing he is the one to make her feel this way, to make her thrash and cry out and beg, him to leave her pleased and sated and breathless.

“Jon,” she manages after a moment, catching her breath. She reaches to rest a hand against his cheek. Her eyes are tender with affection when they find his, and her smile is soft and lazy. “Thank you.”

Jon chuckles. “You don’t need to thank me. I like it,” he explains, urging her back down. He pushes his boots off with his feet and climbs over her until his face hangs above hers. “Because you enjoy it,” he goes on, and she giggles.

“Yes. I certainly do.”

“Because I enjoy it. Feeling you, tasting you, seeing you like this.” Even now, his chin damp with her, her legs still splayed wide, Dany glances bashfully away at his words. “And because you’re mine. Because I’m yours.” He takes her hand from his cheek, placing a soft kiss to her wrist. “Because I love you.”

And he does, desperately. Dany is everything he never knew he needed: a partner, a confidant, a friend, an equal, and of course, a lover. When he met Daenerys Targaryen it suddenly made perfect sense why he had to die, to leave the Watch, why he was brought back. To find this woman, his pillar of strength, this person who needs him as much as he needs her. The Mother of Dragons, the greatest queen the realm would ever know. A savior.

But not today. Today she is all human, sighing contentedly as he takes her by the hips and scoots her up the bed, depositing her over the pillows before lying down beside her.

“This was unexpected,” Dany remarks, rising up on an elbow. She looks down at her dress, now almost entirely translucent, sweat adhering it to her skin. “I suppose I should wear it more often. Maybe you’ll pay better attention at council meetings.”

Jon laughs, squeezing her hand. “No! Absolutely not. I’d ever get anything done. And your lords! They wouldn’t be able to take their eyes off you.”

“Jon! Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

“No,” he answers, a bit indignant. “Of course not.”

“Good. There’s no need. There will never be anyone else.”

Jon grins. “Is that so?”

“Because you’re the only one who can keep up.” Dany winks, grabbing him by the front of his jerkin and pulling him in for a kiss. “And I believe it’s your turn now.”

Sorry this is so long . . . and so explicit lol. Trying a more assertive Jon POV for fun :P Thanks for reading!

#jonerys #jonerysfics #jonerysnetwork #jonerys fics fest #jonerysonline #smut #jon x dany #fanfiction #my writing #myjd

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