#and splendor never felt right to her

[herearedragons]

I'm a simple oc maker. I think about Selene wearing plain black clothes for too long, I go !!!!!!!!!!!!

[millieisawriter]

Workin' girl

arthur morgan x reader

summary: the one where arthur pulls a john — falling in love with a working girl. it was never supposed to happen, yet it did, and now arthur is left with two choices. either he, again, walks away from a woman that loves him, or tries to fight for her.

wc: 2k

all pics taken from pinterest

♡this wasn't requested, but if you wish to request something you're more than welcome♡

a/n: i see this happening in blackwater in case i decide to write a 2nd part, but when i started writing i imagined saint denis, didn't see any town/city names mentioned as i was proof-reading, lmk if you see something i missed <3

Life has never treated you kindly so eventually, as soon as you could leave your family home, you turned to the oldest profession in the world. Even if that kind of life was better, it still wasn't ideal, but it was the best you could do. Eventually, you started to like it because even with its issues and dark sides it wasn't that terrible. Some would even dare saying it was 'easy money', which you actually knew wasn't true.

Luckily for you, you ended up in one of the more expensive brothels. Maybe it was the 'splendor' of the place, the luxurious interior, that made you feel somewhat safe. Safer than you would feel in some cheap saloon where the patrons consisted of drifters with a questionable past.

You had your regular patrons, ones that you got along with well — one of the reasons why they were your regulars. These were the men that could stay a bit longer after the service itself was done without making it awkward. Ones that you could have a conversation with, ones that saw you as another human being, not just an item to relieve their frustration.

It was a normal evening, the building was neither empty nor full. You didn't have that much on your hands, you and a fellow working girl were entertaining a group of men. They sat by a table, a drink in one hand, a cigar in the other, and two of these men had a companion in their lap — you and your friend. Ending the evening in the bedroom wasn't certain, for now you were just trying to make them spend as much money as possible on the drinks.

Then, Arthur walked in. One of your regulars, one you were particularly fond of. The chemistry between the two of you was so strong sometimes you wanted to tell him he didn't have to pay.

His eyes immediately found you, and he would be lying if he said he didn't feel jealous seeing you in the man's lap. But you, as if on command, turned to look at Arthur and as you noticed your favorite patron, you excused yourself from the table.

"Mister Callahan," you beamed, approaching the man, "so good to see you again."

He tipped his hat to you, his lips curling into a soft smile. "Evenin' darlin', thought I'd stop by again. You been keepin' busy?"

The way he always called you darling, every time, made you feel so warm and bubbly. Of course, he wasn't the first man to do that, but when it came from him, it felt almost sincere.

"Busy enough," you replied, glancing over your shoulder at the table of men you just left, "but I'll always make time for you, mister."

"Well, reckon I'll take you up on that. How bout we find a quiet spot?"

"Your wish is my command." Giggling, you took Arthur by the hand to lead him upstairs where your room was. Even if he already knew the way well enough.

Your room was just like any other room in that brothel — furnished with the most luxurious-looking furniture, tastefully decorated with expensive ornaments, every little detail taken care of.

As the door to your room clicked shut behind you, the world outside seemed to fade miles away. In that moment right there it were just the two of you, bathed in the dim light by the fireplace's glow.

Arthur's hat found its usual place on the small table by the door and he turned to face you, "I can never stay away for too long." Shortly, his hands landed on your waist, resting on the corset of your dress.

"Then maybe you should visit more often..." You suggested, your own hands finding their way to the man's shoulders.

"I'm afraid it ain't a good idea, darlin'. I always look forward to seein' you. But sayin' goodbye..."

"I get what you mean," you chuckled, "so what's it gonna be today? Just the regular service, or you want something extra? It'll be on the house."

Every time Arthur visited you, it was both blissfull and painful for him. You were so good at what you were doing it felt like a religious experience, but the attachment he held for you left a hole in his heart each time he had to say goodbye.

He had always wished he could just ask you to leave this life, and join the gang, but which woman would agree for this? Your current life, your current job, as oppressing as it was, couldn't be worse than living on the run. In Arthur's eyes at least.

In the brothel you had your own room, a wardrobe with many dresses. You had a somehow stable income, it didn't seem as if money were any issue to you. All this, compared to what you could have in the camp, was much worse. And you didn't even know his real last name, there was no reason for you to leave this life you had for a criminal.

Why did Arthur even fall for a working girl? The exact same thing happened to John, which Arthur would often make fun of him for. Maybe life just decided to pull a joke on Arthur now. But he just couldn't control himself, from the first time he saw you, you were different. With other women it didn't take long to notice they're just playing a role, but you... from the first time you even smiled at Arthur, he was drawn to how genuine it looked. And now, you had become not just a pretty face to entertain him, but someone he felt at ease with.

This time, as many times before, Arthur didn't hurry to get dressed and leave the room, return back to camp after getting what he wanted. Instead, he stayed under the covers in your bed, smoking a cigarette as you kept going on about something that happened a few days ago.

He didn't mind, he could let you yap his ears off, your voice was such a calming sound. It was almost hard to believe you weren't just a hallucination he made up. How could such an ethereal being just lay there, next to him, head propped on your palm as you lay on your stomach, talking about whatever nonsense? How could this happen to a man like Arthur Morgan?

"...so then," you paused to take the cigarette from Arthur, take one puff and hand it right back, "you'd think a man like him would have some sense, right? Well, no, he was so damn thick in the head, she just told the guard to throw him out!"

Arthur chuckled, exhaling a stream of smoke. "Bet he didn't see that comin'. I'm glad I ain't made it onto your list of thick-headed fools yet."

"Yet!" You playfully reminded him. "You seem to have more sense than others, although I can't say I'm some weak little girl. I don't even need a guard, but the madam insists it's for safety."

A thought lingered in the back of Arthur's mind. It was weird, in a sense, to know there's a guard right outside your door whenever you had a man up there. Even right then.

"I don't doubt you could handle yourself, darlin'," Arthur smirked, taking one last drag from his cigarette, "but it don't hurt havin' someone lookin' out for you."

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. "Guess you're right, mister."

Arthur stubbed out the ciragette into the ashtray that stood on the bedside table, knowing what it meant. His time was up, he extended the time of his visit as long as he could. Now that his usual cigarette was finished, it was the time for him to go.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed to stand up. You watched as he reached for his clothes that had been thrown onto the floor, and for the first time a single tear started to burn the corner of your eye.

With his jeans already on, and his shirt for now unbuttoned, he reached to the pocket, retrieving the usual payment. You wiped the tear away as it escaped your eye. It was always the same routine, but it didn't make it any easier to watch him go.

"Here it is." He said almost robotically, placing the money next to the ashtray, throwing in a little tip.

You looked at the money with sadness in your gaze, then your eyes shifted to look at the man. "You know, you shouldn't have to pay, because you don't make it feel like work."

There they were, the words Arthur was so afraid to hear. Him having a more romantic kind of attachment to you was one thing. However, knowing that you reciprocated the feeling, made it more difficult.

"Good," he nodded, "cause you don't make me feel like the bastard I am," as he buttoned up his shirt.

You sat up on the bed, pulling the sheets harder around you, since you were still naked. "Arthur..." You sighed, the rest of the sentence dying in your throat.

The fact that for the first time you had used his actual name instead of calling him mister as always, made it only more difficult.

"No, darlin', don't."

"You know you don't have to leave, right?"

Oh, he had to leave. If he overstayed his welcome too much, the guard at your door would become highly suspicious. And that would only cause issues for you.

"I have to, don't wanna make it harder." Arthur replied.

"Harder for who? I know a man's nature well enough, and I can tell there's something more in the— the way you fuck me, Arthur."

He thought maybe playing dumb would help him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that if you were to ask me to... to abandon this life for you... I would."

Arthur gulped. It was just what he wished for, but what he couldn't allow to happen. "I've got nothin' to give you. I live on the run, it ain't somethin' you wanna be a part of, trust me."

"You think I'd rather keep fucking strangers to survive, than travel the world with a man I lo—"

"You don't." Arthur interrupted you. "You don't know what you're talkin' bout." Love was a word of huge weight, there was no way it was what you felt for him.

You insisted. "I know what I feel, and I know what you feel, I see it in your eyes, I feel it when you're in my bed, Arthur. I wanna leave this life for you."

"It ain't gonna be no escape, though, just another kind of trap. You deserve better than fuckin' strangers to get by, but you also deserve better than runnin' and not knowin' which day will be your last."

"I don't want better!" At that point you didn't care if the guard outside will hear. "I want you, Arthur!"

"I want you too, darlin'," he admitted, his voice breaking slightly, "but... you're safer here. I can't sentence you to a life of eternal wanderin'."

His words had a final tone, but as well as you could read his eyes, you could tell he regrets saying what he had just said. You could have had a roof over your head, and locks in your door, but it wasn't safety. It was survival.

You stepped closer, reaching out to grab Arthur's hand. You knew he didn't want to leave, you were sure he wants you just like you wanted him. "Arthur..."

His heart ached when he saw the way your beautiful eyes looked at him, but still he decided to kiss you. It only made it worse, making another cut in Arthur's already damaged heart.

"I gotta go." He stated, freeing his hand from yours.

"No." You refused as if you had any say in that matter. You could demand he takes you with him now, wherever he's headed, but what would it do?

"I can't make promises," he continued, putting his boots and jacket on, then his hat, "but I'll figure somethin' out."

You stayed silent, watching him leave the room, not knowing if he's going to keep his word. All you had now was the money, that you didn't even want from him, and the promise that could have been empty.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Baby Mine - Part 2

I Don’t Dance

Azriel x Step-Daughter/Daughter, Azriel x Reader (his mate) - fluff and parenting - family dynamics

This can be read as a stand-alone if you imagine a situation where Azriel and Rhys are in a healthy co-parenting relationship. Rhysand is the biological father but Azriel is mated to the mother and, with her, raises their daughter as his own. I highly suggest reading Baby, Mine for their story though.

Baby, Mine - Part 1

I'll never settle down, that’s what I always thought

Black hair, hazel eyes, a smile that turned his heart to mush. Entering the room, her little hand gripped her mothers. Her eyes shone brightly, taking in the splendor of the grand room. Sure, she’d been in the House of Wind countless times but Starfall was always spectacular.

His daughter. Not by blood, but by heart and soul. Six years old and the most precious thing he’d ever beheld. Equally tied with the babe nestled in his arms at the moment, little wings tucked in tightly as he snoozed.

They’d thought this one would be a girl. Six-year old Azure (Azzie, for short) was certain that she would have a little sister but was completely enamored with her little brother from the first moment she lay her eyes on him. She’d almost forgotten about her wish to have a little sister, that is until the slight swell of her mother’s stomach recently appeared and she found she was going to have another little sibling to dote on.

Gods, Azriel was a lucky male. His mate, his children, the love and joy they brought into his world would never be lost on him.

“Daddy!” Azzie shrieked, barreling for him. Her little legs bounding through the room as quickly as they could carry her. She looked lovely, wearing a cobalt blue tulle dress that flared at the waist and shimmered throughout the skirts. And his mate, her dress was the cobalt blue equivalent, except it hugged her body all the way to the floor with a slight flare as it met her knees, the peek-a-boo fabric forming a deep “V” at her chest. At one point, the cleavage would have had his cheeks warming into a blush, but now they reddened as it pointed right to where their newest little love was growing.

“You look beautiful, little star.” Azriel crooned, kneeling down as his daughter flung herself into an extended arm, careful to keep the sleeping babe tucked in tight to his other. Her scent so familiar to him that sometimes he forgot that it was a combination of Rhysand and his mate’s and not his own.

It never bothered him though. While the dynamic was peculiar, it worked. He loved Rhys, Feyre, and Nyx as his own family. Rhys always respected Azriel’s decisions when it came to Azzie, while still loving her unconditionally.

Azriel looked to find Y/N’s eyes twinkling as she took in the three of them, love flowing freely into him through the bond. Her hand settled on the swell of her abdomen. He couldn’t believe they were fortunate enough to have gotten pregnant again so soon, though it was perhaps less of luck and more of his lovely wife’s nymph heritage. But to him - it felt pretty damn lucky.

It was then that the babe started to fuss.

“My sweet little Illyrian baby.” Y/N cooed, extending her arms, as Azriel carefully handed their son over. The babe instantly snuggled into his mother’s warmth, his cherub face turning toward her fabric covered breast, rooting for milk. With a soft smile and a playful roll of her eyes, she excused herself and the baby, heading down a quiet corridor where she could nurse him in peace.

I don’t dance but here I am, spinning you around and around in circles.

Azriel looked down to find Azure looking up at him in question. A familiar tempo filled his ears, the soft melody reminding him of days past. He looked down at his daughter, marveling over how much she’d grown over these years. He’d spent over five-hundred years in this world, lost but finding solace in his found family and then Rhys brought home Y/N from under the mountain, turning fifty years of peril into the most bittersweet blessing of his immortal lifespan.

There she had been, his mate, carrying his brother’s child - and he didn’t give a damn about blood. Azure and Y/N were his to cherish and love. And the added element of Rhys? It only solidified that his found family, was his true family.

It’s not my style but I don’t care, I’d do anything with you anywhere.

Y/N sat in a quiet room at the house of wind, the babe was almost asleep, he’d just needed her warmth and comfort to soothe him. She relished this moment, because though her breast was an instant pacifier, Azriel was typically the one to settle the children. The hum of his shadows and his presence, somehow iron-strong and yet, warm and safe, a beacon of comfort.

Tonight, she was the one to comfort the baby and she made certain to relish the moment, these days were fleeting, passing far too quickly for her liking. She needed to wean him, was in the process of it, but she had to admit that it felt nice to be needed.

Seated on a plush ottoman, she leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes as visions of Azriel, of their family danced through her mind. Azriel, her best friend, her strength, her sword, her shield, her everything. The protector of peace and love in their family. She hoped he knew how much he meant to them. She needed to remind him. She would tonight. He’d been her rock through everything. Not everyone would have taken to their mate carrying the child of another with such acceptance and devotion, yet her Shadowsinger had taken it all in stride. He’d never been jealous of her friendship with Rhys, he’d never belittled her for her past, he loved her through and through. He was the glue that held them together.

When Azzie was born Rhys came by the house with gifts and sweet praises, but it was Azriel who had held Y/N’s hand through each hour of grueling labor, through each painstaking contraction, each bitter curse through the pain.

When Azzie broke her arm at the park in Velaris, it was Rhys who took her for ice cream to lift her spirits. It was Azriel who had gently washed off the dirt and the tears from her eyes, spirited her to Madja’s without a second thought, and it was Azriel who rocked her until she fell asleep, spending the night on her floor in case the pain woke her up.

When a kindergarten bully made fun of her wings, Rhys reminded her how beautiful and strong she was. It was Azriel who decided then to stop holding back on teaching her to fly. They spent all weekend working on wing extensions and proper maneuvers for lifting off the ground.

And his girl? She was a natural. Azure quickly realized that her wings were a gift, she’d heard the song of the wind and how it called for her. She hadn’t viewed any snide comments as a slight since.

Y/N’s heart swelled at the thought of her mate and the life they’d built together.

You took my two left feet and danced away with my heart.

Azure looked up to Azriel. “Daddy, it’s my favorite song.” A smile curved his lips. A heartwarming memory of humming the same melody to her when she was the same age as her baby brother came to mind. He’d held her to his chest, allowing Y/N the much needed rest she deserved after weeks of colic-ridden nights. Poor Azzie had struggled so much, and Y/N had been so overtired, she’d tried so hard. In the end it was his shadows, the same shadows that soothed him during the hardest nights of his childhood, that began to hum the melody. He hummed along with them and Azure was out in moments.

That was his first dance with his daughter.

I don’t dance but here I am.

He’d never been one for dancing. He’d of course learned what he needed to for courtly affairs, it’d taken Mor 400 years to get him to go out to Ritas, he’d danced with Nesta once in the Hewn City to save Cassian’s ass after an impulsive move. He’d danced with Y/N in front of the fire in their living room on several occasions, and every Starfall since. Until his girls, he’d never felt the need to dance before an audience, but he’d do anything for them. Hell, he may have been a bastard for it but he even took an infinitesimal amount of pride in the world seeing that the stone-cold Shadowsinger was more than just a weapon, he was more than capable of love and, after much patience and understanding from Y/N, knew he was worthy of being loved in return.

So, Azriel took Azzie’s hand and let her lead him to the dance floor. He got lost in the music, the feel of her small hands holding onto his much larger, scarred one. She didn’t see the blood they’d elicited, the internal scars that haunted him, she saw the loving hands of her father that held hers when she needed comfort. She saw the gentle male at his core, the same gentle male that her mother had fallen in love with, that he’d found a life of bliss with.

I’d do anything with you anywhere.

“Dad?” A female’s voice stirred Azriel from his sleep. He opened his eyes to find a strong, confident raven-haired angel before him. His daughter. How fast life had gone.

“It didn’t take THAT long to curl my hair.” She snickered.

“Cut me some slack, Azzie, I’m six-hundred years old and your mother was up fretting over today’s details all night.”

A soft smile curled her rosy lips. It was so similar to Rhys’ but those hazel eyes of hers, gods, they still shone just as brightly as they did the day she was born. His eyes. A gift Y/N swore was granted from the mother herself, Azriel was inclined to agree.

Azure stepped forward, brushing an out of place lock from his forehead. “You ready?”

Azriel huffed a sound that fell somewhere in the range of chuckle and exasperation. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Striding arm and arm out the door, they walked in companionable silence down the hall of the temple. His little girl had grown so fast and today he’d hand her over to her own mate. The moments blurred as they met up with Rhys at the doors to the main hall of the temple, his violet eyes misty, much like Azriel’s.

You’ve got me in the palm of your hand.

The males escorted her down the aisle, reveled in the vibrant smile she flashed to her mate, the words of love and adoration they shared. Azriel only grieved how quickly time passed but he’d found joy that today they officially welcomed a new member to their family. Not that her mate hadn’t already been accepted by the entire inner circle, but today it was official.

The moments flew by and before Azriel knew it, the small audience of friends and family were gathered to witness the father-daughter dance. A mortal tradition that some fae had adopted. Azriel’s heart swelled as he and Azure stepped onto the dance floor, drifting into fluid graceful movements. She’d reserved this moment just for them. There was no bitterness from Rhys as he watched proudly from Feyre’s side as the father who raised Azzie handed her off from their dance, to her mate.

And then, Azriel sauntered to his own beautiful mate. The one who taught him that hope can be found even in the darkest of places, the one who showed him what unconditional love could do for a soul, the one who he’d built a family with. Extending a scarred hand that he no longer was ashamed of, he took her hand and swept her into his arms, dancing the rest of the night away with his mate, his home.

I don’t dance.

—————————————————

I hope you all enjoyed this follow up and that the timeline jumps made sense. Thank you for reading, I adore you all!

Tags

ACOTAR General: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139

Thanks to whomever submitted this request for inspiring me to write a follow up 🥰

[writingforatwistedworld]

Self-aware au

Written before the English release!

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, Jp-version spoiler(!!!), death, description of war, unhealthy mindset, religion, obsessive themes, unhealthy family dynamics

General! Lilia Vanrouge/(Platonic) Maleanor Draconia/(Platonic) Knight of Dawn-Yandere headcanons

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce? Lilia Vanrouge 1.0. The more cold, hard and ready to behead the next human version of the usual Lilia (also known as the Lilia Vanrouge 2.0 model)

Lilia back then was “rough” and I am being nice calling him that

Back then, Lilia was surrounded by loss and a lot of Faes getting everything they ever owned ripped away from them

Of course this impacts him (I mean he is strolling through battlefield after battlefield so of course it does)

Lilia wasn't always such a devoted follower

Yes, he did believe in the Overseer, aka you, but only after witnessing the brutality that came with him being a general did he turn into a follower with such drastic views

After all, if there was no higher meaning to all this violence, to all this loss and despair, what was even the point of it all?

You became his moral, mental and also a bit of a physical crutch for him

Whenever he felt like he was this close to just giving up, he thought about you and that this was part of your greater plan (totally not part of some valley church propaganda)

After witnessing that human hiding behind the Knight of Dawn in all his haughtiness and cruelty, he finally set out on his quest not only to make the humans leave his beloved home but also to make them into loyal believers of the Overseer

But sadly, everything was for nought and Lilia had to go into hiding

The only thing keeping him going was his believe in you having a greater plan

A few hundred years later and Lilia finally found out what that supposed plan of yours was

Laying in that cold, lonely crib was the child of his old, now deceased enemy

Taking the child, now called Silver, in he learned the joy of a family, the boy giving him more joy than anything ever before in his life

Finally, he had found peace. Of course he did. This was your plan all along, right? You must have ordered those three fairies to make his beloved son survive until now, right?

You were, after all, a kind deity. There was no way this was all just a war happening because of greed. Because if this truly was just events happening after events then...

Lilia never finished that thought

The great ruler of the night fae, mighty and powerful sorceress who could fell an entire nation in one swoop if she wanted to was despite her cruel and aloof outside appearance a pretty devoted follower since the beginning

Despite being a Fae, she was feared just like her unborn son due to her powers (and being more or less being on the same level as a nuclear bomb but hey, I doubt that anyone of us would stand next to one of those, right?)

So it is no surprise that she turned to something, someone, to feel less alone

Especially after her husband disappeared did she wish for some sort of sign that she was not alone

And oh boy, did religious propaganda from the high church take that loneliness away

When her beloved son, although in an egg, was born, she visited your altar daily, thanking you for her child being healthy

(This could also be the reason why Malleus is the way he is but I am just a writer and not some all-knowing God so idk, just a theory)

She definitely has "taken care" *cough*totallynotproblematicforarulertobeinfluencedbyreligion*cough* of Fae that were non-believers

How dare their sinful ways dirty your holy image?

See? Totally not problematic

At first she only tried to protect her subjects after the humans attacked and took over parts of her kingdom

But after a while she started to have another goal

What if she shared your splendor with those little useless invaders?

Humans were most definitely vile but you were able to unite so many different kinds of Fae in your name under the Draconia name

So why not also unite those humans in your name in a peace treaty?

Such a kind God you were! Allowing for peace in your name!

And, well, if violence and destruction was needed to make those beings understand and surrender, then that shall be what they get

Besides, she was only honoring her husbands wish to get closer to the humans so who was she to selfishly aim for another goal?

The Knight of Dawn (long name, I know) did not always believe in you

Heck, the poor guy probably never heard of you until he fought the Fae

But if the humans from back then didn't really know about you, then how did he find out about and why did he start to see you as his God?

On this part, I would say, he and Lilia were eerily similair

Both were pushed into a war neither liked, so of course he was also in a very unstable situation which made him, like Lilia, search for something to hold on to

The three Fairies had mentioned before when he was still training to become as strong as he was now, mentioning a kind deity who accepted all, who loved unconditionally

Back then he only thought of you as one of the many deities that were prayed to back then

But once the war started and he saw your churches and cathedrals for the first time, his opinion slowly started to shift until he saw you as the highest being possible

I mean, all of us would if we lost all stability over night, having only destroyed buildings and a half-standing church in front of us

He hated the plundering of your sacred placed even before he became a believer, having the opinion that it was just a cultural difference between the two kinds

This led to him kneeling at the cracked altars of many of your churches, asking for forgiveness, hoping that you would understand that he didn't have another choice

What he would do to witness one of your sermons…

And when he was lonely enough, he imagined you watching down on him from up above

Just like a... a parent

You see where I am going with this?

So when he was facing the Queen he only hoped for your forgiveness, hoping that his loving family member would forgive his gravest sin, him killing a mother

And he found salvation, in letting that child and the retainer escape

Perhaps you could forgive him now

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (6)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part summary: she is taken aback as the student becomes the master. wc: 4,3k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content (this part includes masturbation, forced orgasm, a little squirting, female and male oral), graphic details of murder

a/n: SMUT ALERT! If you like sexy stuff then you can just read this, but reading previous parts is better for context :)

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

SPENCER HAD WITNESSED MANY THINGS THAT LEFT HIM IN A STATE OF WONDER. Certain books or poetry. Certain buildings, art, or places. Specific moments that left him in an overwhelming sense of awe. But no amount of experience could prepare him for the view right at this moment. It felt as if he wasn't worthy enough to marvel this splendor sight of a woman.

Was comparing her to a masterpiece of fine art too excessive? Although he couldn't help it, with the way she was sprawled along the couch with knees spread apart, she seemed to be all source of beauty and perfection. His eyes trailed across her glorious body; adorning every curve, every line, and every inch of her skin.

His body ached to touch her, to feel her hot skin underneath his fingertips, yet he wouldn’t dare himself to reach out. This was her moment, he realized. She was laid out in front of him on her own accord, wearing nothing but a coy smile and a certain spark in her eye. Who was he to interrupt a woman basking in her sensuality?

"So, is this some kind of a lesson?" He slowly asked after a moment, his tone provocative and full of meaning as he paused and licked his lips. "If you must know, I'm a very fast learner."

Her eyes were focused on his mouth, those plump lips now glistening slightly from where his tongue had just wet them. "A lesson, a show... you can think of it as anything you want." Then a taunting smile played on her lips. "I only need you to pay attention."

His gaze swept over her wet flesh, flushed and swollen, the slickness glistening from her core made every part of him swell. "You've had my full attention ever since I saw you that night. You're all I think about."

She felt herself crumbling at his confession. Her heart hammered against her chest, the charge behind his words spreading warmth throughout her body that had nothing to do with her arousal. "Don't say things like that, Dr. Reid."

"Why?"

Because I think I could fall for you.

She swallowed the thought away and focused her attention on this moment. Sex. That was what she should be thinking of, not the way her mind was going into a spiral of admiration that had nothing to do with physical attraction. Nothing else should matter when the man sitting a few feet away from her was looking at her as if she was his favorite meal.

"On second thought," she decided to say, her fingers slowly moving across her thigh. "Words are good."

When he didn't respond, she continued, her hand slipping between her legs. "Words can be an additional sense to stimulate the brain that goes beyond—" Her fingers softly pressed onto her clit. "—touch."

"That... is true," he softly agreed, his breathing more shallow as he watched her fingers moving in a circle motion. "The brain is the most receptive erogenous zones in the human body."

"Exactly. Now tell me what you're thinking."

There wasn't a moment of hesitation as he answered, "How beautiful you are."

She couldn't help the genuine smile forming in her mouth. "What else?”

She really was a sight. Chemicals suddenly flood his system, making his head pound and chest restrict, his blood entirely redirecting south. He gulped as she quickened the pace on her clit. "How I want to be the one touching you right now."

"Yeah?" She readjusted her position to spread her legs wider, wanting to give him a better look at her glistening flesh. "Tell me how you would touch me."

He could feel his body tightening with arousal. "With my hand."

She bit on her bottom lip, trying to hold her amused laughter. "I think that's already a given." Then she gently sped up the motion of her fingers, her voice coming out breathless as she whispered, "You can do better than that, Spencer."

There was an intense warmth that spread along his body. Hearing her call out his name as she pleasured herself gave him a certain control of the situation. It honestly felt exhilarating to be the reason of her arousal. He was the one she wanted. He was the one to have the privilege to behold her whimpering in desperation.

He then leaned forward, a new sense of power in his voice. "I want to run my hands all over you. I want to taste you." She hummed a response, eyes locking with his. "I want to see you writhing as I map your body with my tongue."

He noticed how receptive she became to his words, her body squirming as her fingers pressed onto her clit harder. He took it as an encouragement and kept on going.

"I want to put my head between your thighs. I want to be the one sucking on all that wetness." His tongue swiped along his bottom lip as his gaze traveled down the slickness dripping between her legs. "Look at how soaking wet you are, taking pleasure in my voice as you desperately play with yourself."

Y/n believed Spencer was a smart man. She also believed it when he said he was a fast learner, yet actually hearing his erotic suggestion while he watched her so earnestly drove her over the edge. Her other hand slid across her breast, pinching her aroused nipple as she continued the erratic movement of her fingers. Her eyelids dropped at the sensation traveling through her body.

"I want to make you feel good until you can't breathe," she heard him say, his voice growing more strained. "Until you can't see, until you can't think of anything else but the overwhelming pleasure I will give to you."

She whimpered out a desperate sigh. The snarl of pleasure that tore itself from his throat at her desperation was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. This glorious feeling of knowing she craved him, that she needed him as badly as he did was indescribable it gave him more power.

"I want to ruin you in the best way possible."

She inhaled sharply, time standing still for a moment. Her eyes then snapped open, landing on him splaying his hands over his knees. Her insides wrenched. Her chest was heaving as her fingers slowed down while she tried to register the refined yet filthy words coming out of his mouth. "Well, aren't you quite the poet."

She saw him shrug his shoulders with a bashful smile curling on his lips. "I read a lot."

A breathless laugh escaped her mouth. "Of course you do."

Then her eyes skimmed across his face, noticing the way his eyes glazed over her. His gaze was a slow pull, a gentle tug at the edge of her consciousness. It was evident in the way her body responded, her core alight with the fire he had been patiently building, throwing more fuel over it with each second that passed.

"You're so pretty," he gently spoke, raking his eyes along the span of her exposed body. Then he couldn't help himself as the next words slipped out of his mouth without much thought, "Put a finger inside yourself."

She tensed for a slight moment before she relaxed. "Giving me orders now?"

"I want to see how tight you are."

Her breath hitched at his words. There was a moment of silence as she slipped a finger into her entrance, her body quivering at the pressure. She moved it slowly, feeling the slickness of her walls clenching around her finger that she let out a moan.

"Add another finger. I know you can take it," he ordered, almost drooling at the sight in front of him. His gaze roamed her flesh, drinking in her naked body, the line of her neck, the peak of her breasts, the flare of her hips, the way she writhed with the pressure of her fingers, and her moan—god, the noises she made. It grew louder as he told her to go faster, her body quivering when he remarked that she was not fast enough.

"You can do better than that, Y/n."

She let out a loud gasp at the sound of her name, her back arching away from the couch, her eyes instantly locking with his. She felt so light-headed, so hot, so unbelievably wet. She started to come aware of everything. The feeling of her fingers digging into her soft flesh, continuously swirling against her heat, and the way his eyes soaked in her every movement. She could feel the weight of his stare and it was enough to throw her over the edge, her fingers moving at a quicker pace.

"Are you close?"

"Yes," she confirmed, her legs beginning to burn as she felt herself getting closer to the steady rhythm she had created with herself. Small whimpers slipped through her lips as she felt the familiar sensation tightening in the pit of her stomach, her mind already losing focus of her surroundings.

"Stop touching yourself."

His sudden voice pulled her back to reality, eyes narrowing in his direction. Somehow she managed to halt her movement as she watched him slowly rise from his seat, striding across the room with leisured yet determined steps. Then he positioned himself right in front of her, standing above her so that she had to tilt her head upward to see his face.

"I'm a man of my word." He slowly lowered himself, dropping down to his knees. A slow, sinful smile snuck its way along his lips as his hand grazed the satin span of her thigh. "I do want to ruin you."

She made a little noise, halfway between a sigh and a moan as a long finger brushed featherlight over her sex. Her fingers slowly slipped away as her eyes trained on him, watching the way he carefully slid a finger between her wetness, feeling his callused pad swipe along her slick folds. And when she thought she couldn't get more aroused than this, he proved her wrong by closing the distance, his mouth wrapped around her throbbing clit.

He grunted in delight as her slickness dampened his jaw.

"You taste so sweet," he murmured, and she felt the warm gust of his exhale into her heat. It made her walls flex just as his tongue dived inside her. She leaned back and writhed as he eagerly licked between her slit, wrapping his arms around her thighs, holding her in place as he devoured her hot flesh. She faintly looked down at him and found his eyes boring into hers, watching her intently as he wrapped his lips around her sweet spot and sucked every inch of her like a man starved.

She closed her eyes, her fingers tangling in his thick, untamed hair as she felt another wave of pleasure hit her. His tongue was pressed flat up against her, lapping at her eagerly before moving to twirl around her clit deliciously. She could feel her high approaching, thighs already trembling and he found that to be the perfect time to pull her in closer by the thighs, wrapping his arms securely around them to bring her core closer to his face.

Feeling her body shake, he wasted no time, tongue furiously licking against her and sliding the muscle in and out easily. His growl rumbled against her wetness as she spasmed, her face a mess of sweat and tears as he lapped up her folds, his tongue sliding into her and pressing on the walls. It didn't take long for her to moan out his name as the sensation struck her body, his hands firmly supported her convulsing body over his tongue to help ride out her high.

She pulled onto his hair with both of her hands, moving her hips against his face as he continued to groan and lick her through her climax. Utterly dazed and covered in a sheen of sweat with a pleasant tingling sensation traveling throughout her body, she watched as he slowly straightened himself, grabbing onto her arm and pulling her into a sitting position.

Then he didn't wait anymore longer as he buried his face in her chest, mouth circling onto her hard nipple. Shoulders tensing, she grabbed a handful of his hair. His tongue was lapping eagerly while his hands roamed her breasts greedily, trying to grab as much of her as he possibly could.

She was dizzy with feverish need, pulling him closer to her chest, getting herself drunk on the caresses against her skin. It wasn't until she felt fingers sliding into her pulsing, sensitive heat that she let out a desperate moan, louder than she intended to.

"Spencer," she whimpered, her body starting to shake again. "What are you doing?"

"Giving you pleasure," he murmured against her skin. Then he proceeded to prove his words by thrusting his fingers steadily into her while his thumb rubbed onto her clit. Her hips buckled while her hand fumbled everywhere in search of something to hold before gripping it along his wrist, a familiar yet stronger sensation pushing through her body for the second time.

This high was fast. It was consuming her so much that she could already feel the coil in her stomach, her mind going blank. She arched her back, instinctively shoving away a bit from him, but he moved closer, rocking his fingers in and out of her body at a more rapid pace, almost violently.

"That's it, I got you," he growled in a rich, rounded tone, slamming his fingers into her. "You can take it."

The pleasure suddenly exploded inside of her, sending her over the edge as she cried louder than before, the sensation sweeping her up into orgasmic bliss and leaving her panting heavily. The feeling was all-consuming, overwhelming in all the best ways. She let out a sob as he eased her through it, kissing her breasts while her thighs shook around his arm.

Her breathing slowed as she came back down to reality and she reached out her hand for him. There was a coy smile on his lips as he sat beside her, pulling her body into his arms as he gently hooked a hand under one of her legs, placing it on top of his thighs.

She might not be as smart as he was, but she could tell exactly what he had in mind.

"Spencer," she hissed, throwing him a pointed look. But her protest trembled as he gently kissed the corner of her lips, traveling along her jawline before he buried his head in the crook of her neck.

"I think you can give me another one."

A hiss of pleasure instantly flew out of her mouth as she felt him thrusting two fingers inside her swollen flesh. There was no mercy in his sudden movement this time, curling his digits inside her vigorously, the sensation had her legs shaking all over again. She could hear how drenched she was, the slick sound of him driving into her echoed around the room, followed by a harsh, loud sob ripping through her throat.

The heel of his palm pressed against her clit as he continued to curl his fingers inside her. Her thighs tightened around his hand, trying desperately to push him away from the overwhelming sensation. Her body was already shaking from the sheer number of times of pleasure, unsure that she could take much more.

"I-I can't—" She begged him, her fingers wrapping around his wrist, trying to pull his hand away but instead the vibrations began to ripple throughout her body. Her eyes rolled back as her mouth dropped open, no longer able to speak as a loud squeal left her lips, the sound distorted by the pleasure surging through her body. “P-Please. I can’t.”

"One more—just one last time."

She cried out and huffed breaths in her nose as his fingers curled and started to rock almost violently forward, swinging hard against a spot deep inside her. Her eyes went wide, feeling something entirely new, like nothing she had ever experienced before. "I-I can't, it's too much—fuck."

"That's it. Such a good girl." He growled, panting with exertion, using the strength of his whole arm to push in and out at a blistering speed. "You look so pretty like this."

"I-I'm going to make a mess—" A panic cry left her mouth, her whole body tensing. Her grip tightened around his forearm, reveling in the flex of his tendons as he rocked his fingers inside her violently.

"Then make a mess." He kissed the side of her neck. "Come on, make a mess for me."

He was forcing out filthy, squelching noises from her body and all she could do was lean into him, wordlessly panting needy noises. Then his thumb circled around her clit, pushing it up into her body so harshly she was gripping onto his arm for dear life. She couldn't take it anymore, her body shaking as the intensity rippled along her core.

And then it suddenly came to her—so intense, so violent, sweeping her away as she almost blacked out at the force of pleasure. She could hear his distinctive voice, triumphant, then turning into lavish praise as she screamed, focusing on a sudden pressure in her gut before a strong gush of liquid surged from her body. He watched her tremble and held her close to him as she screamed out his name, his fingers continuously circling her clit roughly.

Y/n had never felt a pleasure so intense until now. Her body was spasming, her legs were shaking, and her eyes were closed shut. She held onto him desperately and felt his heart beating under her palm as he kissed the side of her head, gently muttering praises as he helped her ride out the tide of pleasure convulsing in her blood. And when every drip of liquid escaped her body, she finally let out a sigh, her head falling against his shoulder.

The silence was calm after the wave, but his voice slowly filled her head with a hint of triumph. "So, did I do well?"

She was tired; utterly, delightfully tired. But she wasn't in the place to hear him gloat. Her eyes slightly trained on him, and hating the smug look on his face, she slowly turned her body towards him. She bit her bottom lip to stop herself from smiling as she pressed her lips on his cheek, softly, barely even touching it, before she trailed her lips down his jawline, stopping on the crook of his neck.

"I.." He breathed out, his voice sounding strangled as she felt his grip on her hip. "What are you doing?"

"Just reciprocating your words." She then opened her mouth, her tongue slightly tasting his skin. "I want to ruin you too."

Her parted lips were hot against his skin, his eyes fluttering close as she softly sucked on the spot below his ear. He let out a soft whimper, melting into her touch. What was it about neck kisses that made them feel so good? Was it the tingles that ran down his spine through to the soles of his feet with every kiss? Was it the feeling of intimacy clouding his thoughts?

Y/n wasn't even fully recovered from the pleasure still strumming in her system but she found herself reaching over, sinking onto her knees in front of him. His eyes went wide momentarily. Realization hit him as he understood what she wanted, what she wanted to do to him, his eyes studying the determined look on her face.

"A-Are you sure?" He asked carefully, sliding a hand into her hair. "Because if you change your mind, I'm more than fine."

She dragged her eyes up to his body, lingering for a few seconds on the vest he was still clad in and caressing the blush dipping along his neck before settling on his face. "I think it's only fair. Besides," she muttered, giving him a sly smile, looking into the passion brimming in his eyes. "I really want to suck you."

He grunted at her words, leaning onto the couch as he watched her. She wanted to bask in the warmth of his gaze, the utter devotion in his eyes as she settled between his thighs. She leaned closer, raking her nails over the contours of his legs, the material of his pants rippling under her fingers.

Biting her lip, she slid one hand over his bulge. He let out a sharp breath, desperately whispering her name as she unbuttoned the belt around his waist. Her movements were slow, lingering the anticipation in his tensed muscles. And after fumbling with his belt, he finally helped her, pulling himself out of the confinement of his pants.

She sighed in satisfaction. God, he was beautiful. He was thick and solid, warm and long with a slight curve. Veins dance along his length and she traced a finger up to the flared head, before dipping her head, her lips following. The droplet of wetness on the tip looked too nice to be ignored and her head completely emptied as she leaned in and licked it up.

He grunted weakly, out of amusement or desire, she didn't know—maybe both. Humming, she wrapped one hand around him and stroked him slowly. A pause settled between them before she finally took him fully in her mouth. He was all salt-tinged mixed with something undeniably him, his taste bursting on her tongue. She kept swallowing him down, her jaw stretching wide as she struggled to get every inch of him inside her, wrapping her hand around what was left.

"Y/n," he groaned between ragged breaths as her mouth wrapped around the girth of his thickness. He had his hand buried deep in her hair, holding it up in his grip when she tightened her hold on him, squeezing him gently. The added stimulation made his eyes roll back, a masculine sound of pleasure resounding in his throat. "You're unbelievable."

The compliment and the urgency in his voice made her wonder how much she was able to make him lose control. She swirled her tongue around him, swallowing him back down as she give him a rough, firm pump. She hollowed her cheeks and greedily inhaled him. His smooth, warm length slid across her tongue and he hit the back of her throat. The vibrations traveled down, shooting through his veins and he almost came apart right there.

"Shit," he rasped out, tugging on her hair as his hips jerked up, and she gagged, rearing back off with a cough, eyes watering. "You're taking me so well."

She couldn't stop the proud smile forming on her face. She was the one who made him lose control—the one who could awaken the dumbstruck look in his eyes. Her mouth enclosed around him again and she repeated the movement, trailing down his cock with her tongue, hands twisting back and forth, lips sliding back down until she had every inch of him in her mouth. He took her head in a tender hold and slammed her face down, his hips flexing to meet her.

The low wet sounds of her gagging meld with his gravelly broken moans were so erotic. She glanced up at him, brow-raising mischievously as she moved her head in a rapid motion. He panted another hoarse sigh out, his chest heaving as he inhaled a lung full of desperately needed air, hips jolting upward.

"I can't hold any longer," he whispered hoarsely.

He was on the edge of his release, she could feel him pulsing in her mouth. The mixture of intimacy and pleasure overwhelmed his body, and instead of pulling away, she only grew more aggressive in her attempt, sucking harder and tongue pressing firmer. Her efforts were rewarded by the hot ropes of liquid hitting her throat. His head was starting to spin, stars danced behind his eyes as he felt her swallow everything he had to give, save for the small dribble past her lips as she unraveled her mouth around his shaft.

She smiled up at him, enjoying the way he was leaning back after his bliss, and despite how heavy his body felt, he used a thumb to wipe away the line of liquid on her mouth. "I think we both are very much ruined."

She let him pull her up, settling himself on top of his thighs. His wide hands engulfed her face before he brought her down to him, capturing her lips in a soft, searing kiss. He kissed her with every ounce of power he had. Kissed her as he had daydreamed about so many times. He kissed her as he had never kissed anyone before, and it was messy and rough and probably looked horrific from a different point of view, but it felt right.

Then he pulled away, yet kept his hold on her. She carefully resigned herself, feeling completely in the moment with him, her eyes lost in his lingering gaze as she scanned over his features. His eyes appeared darker in this light of the room and angle, but she could still see the softness of them.

He suddenly reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The unexpected action had her freeze above him. It awfully felt too intimate, but on the other hand, it felt... somewhat peaceful. Calming. Serene.

And at that moment, she suddenly became aware of their surroundings, of what had took place. The way she was naked and perched on his lap. The way he was mostly fully clothed. The way they were trying to catch their breath.

Then her knee grazed against the deadly weapon still attached to his hip and she jerked, becoming aware of who he was, who she was supposed to be. This unexpected turn of events was already a slight curve in the dynamic between an authority and somebody who was involved in a case.

An unsettling feeling suddenly weighed in her gut as she studied his face, pushing and pulling her consciousness as if she was stepping into a pit of regret… into something that was unforeseeable—into something that wasn't going to end well.

>> NEXT PART

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[l0serloki]

First Kisses!

(Chamber, Phoenix, Reyna, Iso)

You get your first kiss with some of the Val agents!

masterlist

Chamber :

Chamber was shocked. You two had been flirting for quite a while but when he had never expected you to tell him you had never had a kiss. 

“You want me to believe someone as gorgeous as you has never been kissed?” He laughs it off at first, taking in your blushed splendor.

“Never.” You confirm with a little laugh. His hand makes its way across your cheek.

“May I fix that for you darling?” His voice is suave and his eyes shine through his glasses. Always so calculating. 

You could feel your heart beat out of your chest. It took everything in you to even mumble out a quick ‘yes’.

“I’m honored I am your first.” Chamber whispers in your ear before he leans in, his lips meeting yours. It was everything you had ever expected it to be. His lips were soft and moved gently as you learned the pace. By the time he had pulled away you were left breathless.

"You are a fast learner." He smiles as his thumb rubs at your cheek.

"And you are a good teacher."

Phoenix :

Phoenix and you were talking about random things from your guys childhood when the topic came up.

“I had my first kiss when I was thirteen.” He laughs and your eyes widen. You knew you were in the minority of people who hadn’t been kissed but.. thirteen?! That seemed so young!

“What? When was your first kiss?” He poked at you and you could feel the tension start to rise.

“Uh…” You sigh and a wicked grin appears on his face.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a kiss.” His smug look turns into one of shock when you slowly nod your head no.

“Right.. Well I think we gotta fix that.” He huffs as he reaches his hand out for your waist. “May I?” He wiggles his eyebrows and you can’t help but chuckle.

“Go on then.” You roll your eyes but you can’t help but feel pleased. If you wanted to have your first kiss with anyone it would be Phoenix. You trusted him and knew he wouldn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable.

His lips pressed against yours as his warm hand rubbed lightly at your waist. As soon as it started it left, leaving you almost.. disappointed?

“Want another?” Phoenix grins at your look and cocks his head. Sly bastard.

Reyna :

“Let me give you a little kiss.” Reyna teased as her hand wiped at the crumbs on your lips. You could feel yourself grow nervous at the implication. You liked Reyna a lot. But you had never crossed that line with her. Frankly, you had never crossed that line with anyone.

“Y-you don’t have to.” You stutter out and she only coos at your embarrassment. 

“Do you not want one?” She asks and you don’t know how to respond. You do but if you tell her this is your first will she think you were childish?

“I do I just..” You stop yourself as you grow even more nervous.

“This is your first?” She grabs your hand and rubs it soothingly. You only nod as her smile grows.

“Then let me teach you how to kiss. You’ll like it, don't worry.” She breathes out as her lips meet yours. It’s a feeling like none other. You feel your body light up as she cradles you softly. 

“Just a few more, hmm?” She muses as she moves back in.

Iso :

You were listening to music together on his bed after a long mission. He had never played this music before and it almost felt like he had curated the playlist for you. You stared up at the ceiling with him as the melody continued to play. You could feel his gaze on you and you turned.

His eyes bore holes into your head and you suddenly felt nervous. It felt like he could see everything.

“Y/N, I don’t want to ruin our friendship but I really like you.” He says confidently and your eyes widen. You had liked him for a while but never dared to say anything.

“I like you too.” You choke out and a smile appears on the mans face. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks and you could feel yourself squirm. If you thought too much into it you would back out.

“Do it.”

He takes your word and pulls you closer to him, his lips melting against yours. You close your eyes as you let yourself relax at the new sensation. You had finally had your first kiss. And with Iso for that matter.

You two finally broke the kiss to come up from air. His hand stayed against your arm as he just smirked.

“You’re a good kisser.” He whispers out and you feel pride fill your body.

“Thanks, it's my first time.” You grin and his jaw drops to the floor.

“What?!”

[ollypopwrites]

The Privilege of Worship

Emmerich Volkarin x Cis!Fem Rook [note: references to the fact Rook is Curvy but there’s little to no description of her appearance.] Summary: He had pieced together everything she hadn’t actually said out loud. Rook had been a bit smitten since he had first moved into the Lighthouse, and she hadn’t been very subtle about it either. It was a very clear conclusion: he didn’t believe that she would put herself first and he was going to have to do it for her. Rating: M (18+ MDNI) CW: canon dialogue divergence, height difference, self-doubt, enthusiastic consent, check ins, communication, breast play, fingering, semi-public sex, body worship, squirting, masturbation reference, after care, very slight d/s negotiation if you squint, Emmrich is almost too gentlemanly for his own good, Rook talks too much when she’s nervous, scaring the hoes (each other), grown ups being grown up about relationships. Word count: 6.7k Notes: I just wanted to have Rook fingerbanged in a graveyard and then feelings happened ok. EDITED: Thank you to @flightlessangelwings for the moral support and assistance with this fic I'm so happy to be yelling about porn with you once more.

Read on A03

“So, Emmrich I wanted to tell you something,” Rook started. “I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing with…all of this. I’ve never been with anyone. Romantically, I mean.”

Rook began to panick at the look on Emmrich’s face. She probably should have worded it better, but she had just said the first thing that came to her mind before she lost the nerve to say it. The night had been going so well, and she thought she was watching it fall apart right before her eyes. 

“Not the first everything! I’m not a virgin,” she quickly went to correct herself. The blunt way she said it didn’t seem to soothe the shocked expression he wore. “I’ve had one or two flings over the years.”

“One or two?” Emmrich repeated slowly, as if trying to process it. 

“What I mean is,” Rook kept on, “it’s all just a bit… new.”

The pause in conversation was enough to make her wince, as she awaited his response. What Rook had considered more than the difference in years between them was the difference in experience in this particular area. Weeks living with the team had meant stories had been told, and with every polite mention of a past suitor or relationship Rook had felt her stomach tie into a knot.

It had hit her in the middle of the same night that the only thing more terrifying than saying it out loud to him was for him to figure it out while they were in the middle of being intimate.  

“We can move slowly.” he assured her with a smile, the same one that always seemed to put her at ease. 

“Hopefully not too slow.” Rook couldn’t help herself. 

Emmrich chuckled, “as you wish, my dear.” Then he added, “I’m… glad you chose me.”

“It’s been good so far,” she breathed, shifting in her seat a little. 

“Oh!” He seemed so pleased with himself. “Excellent.”

“Anyway…” She looked around. “Should we enjoy the garden?”

“Certainly.”

The heat of embarrassment had long left her face, she was still warm, but it had dulled to a low simmer of excitement and contentment. With her arm tucked in his, they walked the gardens without any purpose. No rites or gathered flowers, just enjoying the general splendor as wisps danced to and fro, and meandering spirits appeared and disappeared in the periphery. 

When Rook saw the looming Love in Life and Death monument she gently pulled him toward it. Her thoughts lingered on that first kiss, the gentility and sweetness of it, much as the rest after had been. The slightest hint of becoming more had been either interrupted back at the Lighthouse or by some wandering Mourn Watcher there in the gardens. 

It was not that Rook was rushing it, but it was hard to ignore the press of impatience. 

“I think this is my favorite spot in the gardens,” Rook said as they neared it. 

“And why is that dearest?” 

He knew why, she was certain by the slight glint of mischief in his eye. It made her stomach flutter, and she pushed past the nerves of feeling put on the spot. 

“Just the general atmosphere,” she shrugged, but she was grinning like an idiot, she knew.

Emmrich hummed a response, taking her hand and unlooping her arm from his. She let him spin her so her back was to the monument, a recreation of the very evening that brought them to this moment. Rook felt the stone at her back as he led her, and immediately lifted herself onto her toes, looking up and ready to accept a kiss she was sure was coming.

Emmrich held her in suspense for a few moments. His hand gently cupped the curve of her jaw, the coolness of his rings against her warmed cheeks an intoxicating contrast. He tilted her head back further, eyes roving over her face and settling on her lips. The other hand very gently landed at her waist, not overbearing by any means, and Rook carelessly curled her fists around his pressed shirt as the anticipation began to become too much. Finally, he looked her in the eyes. 

“This is where I ought to say something devastatingly debonair,” he said gently. 

Rook laughed a little, “I am on the edge of my seat.”

“I sorely hate to disappoint, my dear,” his thumb gently rubbed the skin over her cheek bone, “but I find myself too enchanted with the idea of putting my lips to other uses to come up with anything.”

Rook’s breath hitched, she felt her smile falter in pure shock at the intense zap of desire that shot through her. “That — that’s you not knowing what to say?” She replied. “Maker, Emmrich.”

He laughed a little, unguarded and like he was a bit surprised himself. “May I?”

“Please.”

Emmrich kissed her. Similar to most of their previous kisses, it was sweet, a bit chaste except for the way he lingered in each one. The stone at her back kept her steady as his hand flexed its grip on her waist, the other sliding down her face to dip just below the collar of her shirt at the juncture where her shoulder met her neck. His long fingers splayed and tilted her head, his thumb just over the pulse point of her throat. He had to feel her heart hammering. 

But he kept a reasonable distance between their bodies, just close enough that they were touching without him pressing into her at all. Each pass of their lips over each other was a test of her patience, as she surged and retreated, trying not to push the heat of them too far when he met her with the same controlled gentility. Her fingers loosened in the grip she had of his shirt, trying her best to follow his lead despite the urge in her to pull him tight against her and nip at his lower lip until he gave her an opening to slip her tongue in. 

“You don’t have to hold back on my account,” he murmured against her lips. 

“You’re the one holding back,” she teased. 

He kissed her a little firmer then, but just as quickly as the flame had spiked he pulled himself back again. Frustration started to rear its head in her, her impatience reaching its boiling point. She could push through, she could barrel headfirst and approach this the way she had with her previous partners. 

Faking it until she made it, acting confident and assertive and figuring it out as she went was not just her leadership style. It was how she had approached anything she felt uncertain about. But this was different, he was different. 

So she pulled away and asked, “is it because of what I told you earlier?”

Her voice was a bit smaller than she would have liked, the self-consciousness so plainly obvious she felt that heat of embarrassment start to take over again. The slight tang of panic overtaking the excitement she felt before. 

Emmrich pulled back a little to look at her. The desire in his eyes was somewhat clouded by a flicker of doubt. He was considering what to say; how to say it kindly, how to make sure it couldn’t be misunderstood. Rook almost didn’t want him to say anything at all. Maybe she should just grab him by that impossibly stiff collar and kiss him breathless so he couldn’t think about how much she hadn’t experienced in comparison to him. 

“There is a bit of concern, I will admit,” he finally said. “The last thing I want is you to feel as if anything intimate is expected of you, Rook.” His expression tightened, “your eagerness is infectious, and I am enjoying it thoroughly.” His smile was tilted to one side, still tense in his self-deprecation, “almost too thoroughly, if I am being honest. But your comfort must come before all else.”

Oh, he was too good to be true. Rook had to blink a couple times, take a moment to process what she was hearing. What it felt like to be cared for. It was just a little foreign, and for a split moment she wished she was in her armor, not the soft and thin casual clothes that left her unprotected. The vulnerability was stark and a bit scary; like he had pieced together everything she hadn’t actually said out loud. Rook had been a bit smitten since he had first moved into the Lighthouse, and she hadn’t been very subtle about it either. It was a very clear conclusion: he didn’t believe that she would put herself first and he was going to have to do it for her. 

And he was probably right. 

It was a crossroads moment, one that was so obvious it couldn’t have been more clear if it was narrated by some unseen omniscient presence. Rook could choose in that moment to fall back into old ways, to make their connection a fleeting and desperate grab for intimacy in the face of the apocalypse. To let it be something that she would inevitably feel the need to run from when things got too uncomfortable. 

Her past entanglements hadn’t been bad, but they had not been anything more than frisky fun. They were shallow and lasted no longer than a few months: both parties knowing they weren’t staying in the long run so they took and took from each other until there was nothing else either person was willing to give. 

Rook could easily let this be the same. She could act crass and brave; all she had to do was pull Emmrich’s mouth back down to her own and whisper something filthy enough to make him believe she wasn’t afraid. 

Or she could accept this offer of care and hand it back in kind. She could embrace the vulnerability of the fact that he wanted very much to be good to her. He had been so careful, ensuring that without a doubt she was interested in him before he even considered acting on his attraction. He had made every step very deliberately, so that even in this stage of exploration of what this  could maybe become his intentions were always clear. 

“I trust you, Emmrich. Do you trust me?” Rook asked. 

“Of course,” he didn’t hesitate.

Rook touched his cheek, the scratch of five o’clock shadow beginning to sprout there was a tangible and grounding sensation against her palm. She didn’t miss the way he leaned ever so slightly into the touch either, bolstering her and making her certain of her decision. 

 “I promise I will let you know if I need things to slow down,” she assured him, “if you promise to believe me when I say I’m alright.”

“And you will tell me?” 

There it was, that sliver of doubt. 

“Yes. I will.”

Emmrich grabbed her hand from his face, a soft squeeze and the smallest of circles traced on the back of it as he smiled at her. With a gentle tug he placed her hand over her shoulder and leaned in again, lips pressing close and his body crowding her back against the stone. Another chaste kiss, but this time his hands sprawled over curves, grabbing through thin cloth and she lifted herself on her toes to meet him. 

With each press of their lips, he seemed to let go of another bit of reservation. Rook felt herself matching each one, the tension building up again, her prior discomfort from the vulnerability dissolving the moment he groaned so quietly against her lips. He shifted slightly, turning his head and trailing his kiss to the corner of her lips. He was pulling away and suddenly nothing seemed like a worse idea. 

Rook felt a noise slip past her throat, something between desperate and frustrated. Her hand tangled into his hair and pulled him back to her lips properly, giving the tiniest nip over his bottom lip before her tongue pressed in her teeth’s wake. Emmrich’s mouth opened in a gasp, before he teased his tongue against hers. 

Like most things she was finding with Emmrich, even making out in the gardens flowed and ebbed in a well-balanced way that kept her on her toes. Were their prior conversations not so serious, she may have teased the good professor for snogging in the Memorial Gardens like some hormonal apprentice. The difference in height between them kept him from pressing his hips to hers, even as she lifted herself and he leant down to meet her. But her heart leapt at the idea of him grinding against her while they kissed and kissed and kissed. 

Very slowly his hands slid over the curve of her waist past the swell of her hips and onto her backside. With a whine she kissed him harder if possible, and then he squeezed. The gasp she let out had her faltering in their kiss, and then with ease she was not quite expecting him to display he lifted her. 

It was only the short distance to place her in a sitting position on the lowest stone tier of the monument behind her. The second supported her back as her feet dangled and she immediately opened her legs to allow him closer. At this height it was a bit more comfortable, he slotted directly against her, just about the same height as him standing and leaning over her.

Suddenly his fingers were undoing the buttons of her blouse, all the while he ducked his head to kiss at her pulse point. Rook tilted her head back, giving him all the access he could ever need, each press of his lips, teeth and tongue giving her full body goosebumps and pulling a moan from her throat. 

Her shirt was open just wide enough for him to pull it down over one shoulder, his mouth painting the curve of it. A swell of cleavage had been revealed, a nimble hand spanned one of her breasts. He kneaded softly, pressing just enough to create the slightest friction of his palm against a hardened nipple and make her gasp suddenly. 

Rook felt the point of no return creeping up. The sudden recognition that they were in the middle of the garden making her open her eyes to scan around them. There was an atmospheric fog that seemed to settle around the gravestones at all times, but it wasn’t enough to offer real cover. 

“Emmrich,” She whispered, it sounded less like she was trying to get his attention and more like a plead given that his thumb began to circle her nipple through the cloth of her smallclothes. 

For a moment she had forgotten she was trying to get his attention, the lull of the sparks it ignited in her was such a delicious temptation. He offered her a reprieve by simply squeezing her breast, allowing a logical thought to pierce the haze of arousal. 

“What would your fellow Mourn Watchers say — ah,” she faltered as his teeth dug gently into the skin of her neck and he sucked, “—if they found Professor Volkarin necking in the gardens?”

“They’d say I was the most fortunate man alive or dead, certainly,” he murmured, lips not quite losing contact with the skin of her throat. “But only if they were somehow not rendered speechless by the sight of you, my dear.”

Focus, Rook.

Beating a pair of blighted Gods seemed an easier task, but she managed to find her mind. 

“Emmrich,” she insisted. 

Instantly, his hands and mouth stilled. But there was a moment of tense silence as he stayed where he was, his breaths coming in small pants, fingers still twitching to touch and grab. Surprisingly, he said nothing, just gathered himself for a moment. She didn’t want him to fall back into propriety, but she had to ask. 

“What if someone sees us?”

“Would you like to stop?” He tilted his head, still angled so he was below and looking up at her. 

“That’s not what I asked,” she challenged. “As much as I want you to ravish me right here, we don’t need to be on the Mourn Watch’s bad side for desecrating the Memorial Gardens.” 

There was the slightest change in his eyes, a momentary narrowing before he came back to himself. Something going on in his mind she couldn’t quite figure out. 

“I assure you,” he lifted himself to kiss her lips, “no one will be coming to disturb us.”

“How do you know?” 

“I am a senior necromancer,” Emmrich told her with the slightest lilt of haughtiness, “there are privileges that come along with the position.”

“I see what you’re getting at,” she smiled. “Reanimated royal cooks and a private night in the garden,” she moved to undo the chain on his collar, the first step to undressing him, “you really are trying to impress.”

“My dear, this is only the beginning,” he delicately grabbed her hand so she had to stop fussing with his chain, and kissed each knuckle. “But if you truly are uncomfortable continuing on —“

“No,” she insisted. “No, I’m fine,” she nodded her head, “not the first time I’ve been a bit risky, and if you say no one will stumble upon us...” she leaned in to kiss him again.  

Emmrich arched a brow at her. “One of your two dalliances? In public, really?”

She couldn’t tell if he was being jealous or judgemental. The only response she could find was, “come on, with the life I lead? You think no one’s ever fucked me behind a bar before?” 

The unmoving look he gave her was full of as much patience as the unknown other emotion she couldn’t place. She was doing it again. Another attempt at making herself feel less self-conscious,

leaning on bravado that was her only saving grace in moments of uncertainty. 

“I see.”

“I was more worried about your delicate sensibilities.”

Emmrich gave a short laugh. 

“I feel like I keep saying wrong things,” she admitted, “can we get back to the kissing bit?”

He acquiesced, but this time the kisses didn’t start slow and gentle. Emmrich picked up exactly where he left off, overwhelming her with heavy draws of his tongue into her mouth. She was glad for it, reaching back for that fire that was stoking in her, and determined not to let anything douse it again. 

Despite the fervor in his kisses, his hands were more soft. Teasing touches over her breasts again through fabric, still keeping some distance between them even as he was slotted between her thighs. Impatiently she grabbed for him, pulling him close so she could kiss above his collar. He smelled of some kind of cologne or maybe aftershave, lavender and sage and myrrh, she took a deep breath at the pleasantness of it before she nipped at the skin. 

He let out a sigh, thumb grazing over her nipple through fabric again, and she was spurred on. She felt exposed with her top half open, while he was perfectly well kempt except for where she had wrinkled his shirt with grabbing hands. Boldness crested in her as she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him flush against her. 

There was the telltale hardness of him, blocked by all the layers of his clothing and hers, but unmistakable. He grunted, a deep low sound that gave her chills, and immediately she felt the firm grind of him against her. There was far too much clothing between them for her to truly get off from it, but his mouth had dropped to the swell of her cleavage, hot tongue running across the skin and in combination it was enough to make her moan. 

Emmrich stopped moving immediately, and she threw her head back with a disappointed noise. His fingers toyed with the edge of her underclothes, just barely reaching under, grazing the bare underside of her breasts. Rook sucked a sharp breath in, eyes flying open to find his lingering there where his fingers were. They flicked back to hers, and she nodded her head, running her hand up over his cheek and through his hair. 

He kissed her first, sweetly this time, a soft and heart wrenching sincerity to it that she didn’t have time to process before his hand slipped completely underneath her bandeau. He sighed into her lips, squeezing the flesh in his hand. When his thumb traced over her nipple without the fabric as a barrier she moaned, louder than before and her fingers tightened in his hair. 

He did it again, seeming to feed off the reaction. “You make the loveliest sounds, dearest.”

She chuckled a little, not really having the mind to find something to say back. He groped and kissed, and she rocked her hips into his seeking any kind of friction she could get. Emmrich pressed harder into her, and she heard him choke back a groan as she rolled her hips, and he shifted just slightly to pull his hips away. 

A truly petulant groan left her as she grabbed at him again. “You're still holding back, Emmrich.”

“I am,” he admitted plainly.

“Don’t,” she urged. “I’m fine.”

“Trust me, my dear, I know,” he simply said, pulling his hands carefully from underneath her bandeau. “My plans for this evening are going just as I had hoped.”

Rook felt her stomach drop, “but —“

“Give me your hand, please,” he held his out and she didn’t hesitate to press her palm to his. 

She expected him to be a gentleman and help her down from the ledge he had put her on. She preemptively felt the disappointment of desire unsatisfied, her stomach turning at the idea of finishing a walk around the garden so unsated with her underclothes sticking wetly to her cunt, a constant reminder of what almost was. Emmrich took her hand and she felt the slide of metal against her skin, he placed three of his gold bands on her ring finger and one on the middle finger. All six bracelets he normally wore on his right wrist were also slipped onto hers. 

Rook inspected them with a tilted head, not a perfect fit but not too tight or loose enough she worried about them slipping off. The gold bangles jingled against each other as she examined the unfamiliar weight of them. She was confused, and his arm looked so bare without them, it felt incredibly intimate. 

“What are you doing?” She asked him. 

His hands rested on her thighs, sliding up to the belts around her waist, “if you’ll allow it, I’d like to remove these,” he ran his ringer over one of those buckles. 

“Of course I’ll allow it,” Rook frowned. 

“Wonderful,” he started unbuckling. 

She just watched him, before her unadorned hand reached for the fabric tied at his waist. “Can I?”

“No, you may not,” he smiled, with a shake of his head still tilted down to where he was undoing her trousers. His eyes lifted to hers, amused, at the huff of annoyance she gave when she let go of the fabric. 

“How are you planning on fucking me with out undressing at all?”

Emmrich had gotten the buckles undone, untucking her shirt from the trousers and began unlacing. He was quick with it, not faltering over any knots or clasps. “It seems your previous partners have made some egregious errors in their courting of you,” he told her gently, “forgive my language, but I am not going to ‘fuck you’ at all.”

The curse sounded so out of place on his tongue she almost had no idea what to say besides an inarticulate grunt of, “what?”

He untied his own sash around his waist, unfolding it and draping it across her lap. He reached underneath it, grabbing at the trousers that hung open on her and started to tug them down. Rook lifted her hips to let him, watched in confusion as he undid her boots, set them aside and sliding both underclothes and pants all the way off of her so her bare bum sat against the stone. 

As he folded her trousers very neatly to set them aside, she finally found her wits again, “Emmrich? You’re sending a lot of mixed messages right now.”

He kissed her lips, stepping back between her legs. “I’m not going to take you carelessly,” he told her. 

“Maybe I haven’t been clear,” she smiled, “I’d very much like it if you had your way with me, threw me over a gravestone or something.”

“The idea is incredibly tempting, my dear,” he assured her. “Do not mistake me, having you at my mercy is quite often on my mind.”

“Well you can’t say it like that and not follow through,” Rook reached for his shirt again. 

“Rook,” he breathed a laugh, grabbing her hands to place them on the edge of the stone. “That privilege is something that must be earned. I will not even allow myself to look upon you in all your naked glory before I have done so.”

Rook tilted her head, “but you have -“

“Please, humor me, darling,” he kissed her. “Let me do this the right way.”

This was a dance she had no idea the steps to, but she nodded her head, ready to let him show her. It was strange, to be treated like something precious. It left her feeling off kilter, unsure how to show the same care back — but if he minded he hadn’t said so. She was so full of want for him, she hadn’t been secretive about it, but maybe he liked that. It certainly seemed like he did, given the strain in his trousers. 

As Emmrich kissed her his hand slipped to the outside of her covered thighs, roaming down until he finally made contact with the skin of her calf, all the way down to her ankles, across the top of her foot. He followed a trail back up the same way, this time his hand sliding under the cummerbund draped over her lap. 

In her wildest fantasies she had taken care to imagine the drag of metal across her skin from his grave gold, but she felt the weight of it on her own hand. It was somehow even more intimate to be wearing them herself, while his hand was bare as he squeezed the generous flesh of her thigh. 

He began massaging lightly, the press of his fingers never moving into painful, and she groaned a little at the soothing feeling. His head tilted down for her neck again, and she was finding his favorite spot to kiss was right were he could feel her pulse beating. The tickle of his moustache painting a complex mix of sensations while he so gently sucked on the skin there. 

“I fear your skin may become an insurmountable vice of mine,” he said gently. 

His right hand slid down to her knee and back up the inside of her thigh. His other was tracing the curve of her torso, over her side before resting with his hand just underneath her bandeau not quite touching her breast pressing enough to feel her ribs. The anticipation was going to kill her, she was alight, nerves on fire as she wanted more — of this almost touching where she wanted him and for him to just touch her — she wasn’t sure what she would have preferred. 

His right hand had avoided the apex between her thighs, coming up to trial a line over the curve of her stomach. From her belly button and down to where the thatch of hair began, his fingers scratched gently through them before detouring to her thigh again. When he finally traced his fingers over the slick inside of her thigh, her arousal smeared there, he gasped slightly. 

“Maker, preserve me,” his voice was light as he spoke more to himself than her. 

Rook whined, biting her tongue against a string of desperate begging. 

Gentle fingers traced over her outer lips, rubbing and making her choke on the breath in her lungs. A tortuous slow exploration of her, Emmrich’s breath coming a little faster as he seemed to keep forgetting he was showering her neck with kisses — stopping with every dip into a new depth even before he reached where she was wettest for him. A gentle circle of her clit had her head thrown back with a moan that was so loud, she was almost embarrassed as he rubbed against the seam of her. 

When his fingers trailed down to her entrance, he hesitated where he found how wet she was, and then groaned. “Forgive me, I —“

He dipped a single finger slowly inside of her and then pulled his hand from her. Any protest she had died when he lifted the finger to his mouth, sucking on the bare digit, and moaning at the taste of her. 

“Emmrich,” Rook gasped. 

But he just kissed her. The hint of her own arousal on his mouth making her feel more lewd than she had ever before, and the heat of his kiss taking any logical thought away from her. His hand slipped under the fabric again, his hand angled so he could slip a finger in her a grind his palm against her clit gently. Even when Rook gasped, unable to kiss back, his mouth was on hers, tongue flicking and teeth grabbing. 

Another finger slipped into her, her arousal making the stretch easy but no less exhilarating. His bracelets around her wrist jangled against each other as she gripped at his shoulder, trying to find something to ground her, trying to touch any part of him she could. The stone at her back held her upright, and she threw her head back at a shock of pleasure when his hand finally took hold of her breast beneath her smallclothes, mouth dipping to skirt the edge of the cloth and take another pert nipple through it. 

An orgasm was approaching almost embarrassingly quickly. She spoke his name again, a desperate plea that he responded to with only a moan of his own. Her cunt clenched around his fingers, hips jolting forward, and her fingers nearly aching with the grip she had on him.

“Yes,” he murmured, pulling away to watch her. “There you are, I have you.”

Rook crumbled, panting and moaning, each roll of her hips gracefully matched by his hand. He pinched her nipple, and her legs drifted further open, back sliding down the stone a bit so she was at an almost uncomfortable angle. His hand never stopped, palm grinding against her clit, fingers pumping at just the right angle with the slightest crook of them upwards dragging against something truly sinful within her. It curled her toes and made her back arch against her will, all the while she kept fluttering her eyes open to watch him watch her. 

His mouth was parted, just slightly smiling, he may have looked cocky, too pleased with himself, except for the raw focus in his eyes. It was like the world had fallen away entirely, and she was the only one who existed to him. Hungry, pleading and slightly awestruck. He was beautiful. 

The waves of pleasure in her died down, and she opened her mouth to say something to him — but the train of thought flew away when he slipped his fingers out of her and used them to start rubbing a slow pattern over her clit. Testing the sensitivity, and watching for every micro expression. 

Need flared brightly in her again. So soon after, she felt insatiable, like she had to keep that feeling of release going forever. And he was happy to oblige her. 

“Again?” He asked.

“Yeah — yeah, again,” Rook gasped. “Please!”

Emmrich faltered at the begging, something flashing over his face that spelled out nights of wrung out pleasure and his firm hand correcting her when she slipped up. His pace quickened, his body pressing as close as he could to her without impeding his task. 

“This is what you deserve, Rook,” he told her between kisses. “To be undone, at the hands of someone who knows how to piece you back after.” He pressed his forehead to hers, “I can hardly believe you chose me.” When she tangled her fingers into his now completely ruffled hair and tugged slightly, he groaned, “I am beyond fortunate you did.”

It was hard to fully process what he was saying. “Wanted you — from the beginning,” was all she could manage. 

Emmrich stuttered a laugh, rewarding her with a pinch of her nipple again. “Insatiable minx.”

Her second orgasm came with a similar speed, but this time carried on so long she could hardly form words. Perhaps pleasure made time roll on slower than she could tell, his unrelenting pace making her eyes roll back into her head and all words cease. An internal chant of begging for more rang in her own ears but she couldn’t quite make her lips form the words. 

It was entirely overwhelming, the feeling of wanting to be splayed out for him. To let him have her whatever way he wanted. She wanted to beg him to never ever stop until she was crying and mindless.

“Good. Give me another,” Emmrich said, more a demand than a question as his other hand slipped out of her bandeau and beneath the cummerbund lain over her legs. All while one hand still played with different pressures and ministrations on her clit, the other pressed two fingers to her again. 

He caught himself, “is that alright?”

All Rook knew was that she wanted more, had to have more. She was all desire, all greedy lust, ready to do whatever he asked as long as he didn’t stop. It was terrifying, it was liberating, but it felt safe. 

“Yes,” she gasped. Finding a shred of her mind through the haze to laugh, “if you think you can manage it.”

His fingers plunged into her at the challenge, wrenching a gasp from her. “Challenging me in this area is not your best idea, Rook.”

“Are you sure?” Rook grinned, drunk on pleasure, “I’m getting exactly what I want out of it.”

“You’re much too capable of speech, darling,” Emmrich grinned back. “I shall have to rectify that.”

He was still fully clothed, and no intimate part of her was exposed to him, but it was perhaps the filthiest thing she had ever done. He had said it was just the beginning, and she believed him wholeheartedly. Even with the slick sounds of his fingers pumping in her, the way she had abandoned any kind of self-preservation to moan, and his mouth latched onto her nipple through the fabric. There was so much more on the horizon, and she was already on the verge of begging him to abandon his vow to ‘properly’ court her. 

Something was happening that she was unsure of, a stirring in her cunt that was not entirely unfamiliar. A brand new pressure, something that had teased itself in her before but never was allowed to fully bloom. In a slight panic, Rook opened her eyes, shock and awe written in the way her lips opened to pant through the sensation. 

He cooed at her, gentle encouragement and praises that made her want to please him so badly it was concerning. “Lovely, my dear,” she caught him saying, “you fall apart so beautifully for me.”

“Emmrich, I —“

 A sigh, “my name on your lips is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s — I’m going to —“ she felt like she had to warn him. 

“Yes, please,” he murmured, sounding just as desperate as her, “you’re so good to me.”

Rook fell apart again. Emmrich pulled his fingers from her as he felt her tighten around him, and to her own shock, she felt a dam break in her, a burst of wetness painting his fingers and the stone beneath her. 

Emmrich let out a whine that made her ravenous, it was needy and raw . Urgently, he kept rubbing over her clit, and it happened again. The sound wet and messy and altogether filthy. She felt tears stinging her eyes, her legs shaking and wave after wave of pleasure rolling through her body. Everything felt more vibrant, colors, sounds, every physical sensation magnified. 

 “Magnificent, Rook,” his voice lowered again. “Absolutely perfect.”

The praise hit her hard and she sobbed when he repeated the same ministrations once more. When he went to do it again she gasped, feeling like she might actually die. She was too sensitive, the stone at her back was beginning to bite and she was honestly a little scared at how her body wanted to have more still. 

“Wait,” she gasped. “Wait — it’s too much — I —“

Emmrich immediately stopped, pulling his hands away to rest on her thighs. “It seems I got carried away.”

“No, no,” Rook shook her head frantically, trying to put words together in a rush to console him. “No, it was perfect.”

“Breathe,” he reminded her, rubbing soothingly on the skin. 

Rook took in a heavy breath. He was watching her closely, but he leaned in to kiss her brow. While she caught her breath, leaning boneless against the stone, he started to clean her up, using the fabric still draped over her. Gently he wiped the mess away between her legs, and on his fingers.  

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, still getting her breath back. “I made a mess I didn’t even know I could make.”

Emmrich faltered for a moment, swallowing audibly. “The last thing you need to do is apologize, Rook, I’m glad I could enlighten you.”

He was being strange. For a moment he didn’t touch her at all, his hands firmly on the stone on either side of her, hips leaned back and taking deep breaths.

“Are you alright?” Concern made her sit up straighter, his bangles clacking against each other on her wrist when she reached out to touch his face. 

Emmrich’s eyes were glued to the jewelry on her skin for a moment. “I’m fine, dearest.” 

He flicked his eyes to hers, another wry smile on his lips that didn’t fit the bliss she was feeling at the moment. The pupils of his eyes were blown out so wide the green of his eyes were barely visible. Still he patiently watched while she caught her breath, leaning boneless against the stone. He was still straining against his trousers. Each breath he took was measured, and intentional. 

“Let me get use of my legs back,” she said suddenly, “and I’ll take care of you.”

“No need, darling,” he assured her. 

“But you just  —“

“Pardon me, Rook, but I know perfectly well what I did,” he cut her off. “It was what I intended to do, I just seemed to have… miscalculated my ability to keep my composure.”

“You don’t have to keep your composure with me,” she insisted. 

“I truly appreciate that,” he said with eyes closed as he straightened up, tall and proud, despite sporting quite an obvious erection. “But tonight was about you.”

“It can be about us.”

“It is,” he said gently, then continuing to clean up. “But you said you’d let me do this properly. You deserve to be courted selflessly.”

Rook leveled him with a look, half exasperated at this surprising new stubbornness and increasingly fond of his commitment to making her feel special. He laughed a little. 

“Put that look away, Rook,” he said, “it’s an erection, it’s hardly going to kill me.”

“But I want to make you feel good.”

Emmrich gathered up his cummerbund in his hands, licked his lips slightly and looked at her. “You’ve given me a great gift,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “the evidence of your pleasure will be more than enough to satisfy me.”

Rook was spent, or should have been anyway, but the flare in her body was instantaneous. He helped redress her while she imagined him alone in the laboratory back at the Lighthouse, holding the fabric to his nose while he stroked himself. Would he wrap it around himself, stroke himself through it? And what had she been missing out on her entire life when his special brand of seduction and devotion was already driving her quickly towards madness? 

“Emmrich,” she said, looking down at him where he was on one knee as he started putting her boots back on her feet. “Thank you.”

“It’s quite literally my pleasure, darling.”

She believed him. 

Thank you for reading!

[twistofstory]

Counting stars by OneRepublic

Illustration with young Stargazer, plus origins of her name~ Once again a long piece of text under the cut! It dwels into Stargazer's doubts about the future and her determination to live as a dragon she always wanted to be

There was a young nightwing dragoness, fleeing from her old life in the dead of night. She didn't really knew, where exactly she was going, but she most certainly didn't wanted to blow her chance for a better future. Family will do just fine without their rebellious “son”, who is not interested in the future they prepared for “him,” but friends... Big changes don't come without sacrifice, even if you have to leave behind the only dragons who believed in you and saw you for who you really was. She dreamed about this day most of her life, she couldn't have possibly made a mistake, throwing everything away... right? Oh no. ...What was she even thinking? She couldn't become a healer on her own. Where would she even learn? Is there any good healers in other kingdoms? She was fortunate enough to hatch into the smartest tribe of all, how she could possibly get a fine knowledge without them? She had a decent enough life with a foreseeable future, even if she hated it, and now she was, a disgrace, all alone somewhere on the continent - no friends, no stability and even no name! Well, last one wasn't that regrettable. She thought about changing it for a long time, it was stupid anyway and didn't fit her at all. Besides, new name would complicate the search, when her absence will eventually be noticed. She raised her head slowly, uncertain about her next steps, when she suddenly froze. Stars. Countless lights framed the dark sky, shining brighter than the silver scales under the wings of the most beautiful nightwing. During the long flight, she was too focused on her thoughts and the landscape below to notice the splendor spread out above, and now dragoness stood, soaking up the moonlight and the cool night air with every inch of her body. Somehow, she felt a sense of calm, as her doubts started to fade just a little bit. She would never saw the real stars if she stayed. What else awaits her beyond the ash-covered island? Besides, now she knows, how she wants to be called. 

Some backstory for the grumpy healer) Stargazer was a very ambitious dreamer in her youth, and even now, despite her feigned cynicism, deep down she remains the same, espetially sinse she became very confident and comfortable in her skin over the years. She hasn't visited either her family or her home island since leaving and does not plan to do so in the future, but she occasionally remembers her old friends, although she does not believe that she will ever meet them again - after all, several decades have passed.

Stargazer transitioned only socialy; I also had an idea that she was most likely training to sound more feminine (she experimented herself and learned from other transgender dragons/entertainers - before joining the Scavengers, she traveled a lot).

[especiallythewomenandthechildren]

The Tragedy of What Was (pt. 1)

Summary: The world was not kind. Not to you, your brother Erik, or many other mutants. So why did you have to be kind to Sebastian Shaw? A decades long mission, spearheaded by Erik was interrupted by the encounter with one Charles Xavier. You had always flirted with the idea of a changed world, not in Erik's image, but one of human - mutant peace. The battle of philosophy and morals is the only one more stifling than the one between the two battling groups. Who will come on top, be left behind, and survive? (yall i am not good at summaries pls just gimme a chance)!

A/N: uhm yeah. so this is my brainchild, enjoy:) also quick warning: VERY descriptive details about death and the Holocaust so please be prepared if you choose to read!

♟️masterlist♟️

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..✭・.✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..

The footsteps were as soft as the traipsing water droplets from the fountain. An array of hues transformed into more and more mesmerizing shades in the sky above. Trees of the purest emerald coloring adorned the edges of the scene. And in the middle of the ethereal splendor stood Charles Xavier. The youthful, handsome, and charming man was wholly swallowed with transfixion.

Back turned to him and facing the serene flowing fountain, you found peace. Your hair was styled just how Charles remembered it when you first met him. Chaos somehow peacing itself into an enhancement of your beauty. His feet carried his unbelieving being right beside you. The place he swore to always remain.

Your eyes were closed but Charles always knew you never needed vision to feel his presence. Neither him for you. Never because of your mutations but rather the wonder of your hearts’ senses. Somehow, the butterflies in the pit of your stomachs always could sense out the others matching pair.

“This is cruel, Raven.”

He practically spit it out, voice still dumbfounded by your appearance. Your face has danced behind his eyes everyday of his life since your first encounter but in all that time, never has your image felt so real. Your eyes remained closed as a soft smile formed on your lips. The same one a mother would dawn as she gently corrected her child.

“Oh Charles, we both know Raven has been dead for years.”

As soon as you uttered those words, Charles felt the tingling sensation in his legs overgrow his nerves. His knees buckled and he was ready to feel the nothingness of his lower body once more except the feeling went away with the breeze. Whatever this was, Charles wished to escape as soon as possible.

“What are you?”

The smile framing your lips dropped in an instant. “You always said you saw me beyond a label. Beyond my powers.”

Your voice started out firm but was grappled with hurt as it cracked at the end. As powerful a telepath he was, Charles was well aware that his mind was being puppeteered. Yet the question of who was powerful enough to even enter the mind of Professor X stumped him.

“What is it that you wish? What information do you need so badly that vile deception is used?”

The mind was never a stable place as he well knew and that was Charles' explanation for your sudden chorus of bubbly giggles. Your smooth hands rubbed down your face as you attempted to stop your laughter. After a long winded session, you let out an amused breath that warned Charles that whatever was to be said next was not going to be pleasant.

“My schatz. You were always the mastermind of deception.”

He wanted to protest but his vocal cords failed him. Silence was his only choice as you began circling the mid-sized fountain.

“A man of your power, you could have built the world in your image by force. Yet, you made us all build it for you through your sweet words.”

Charles had a feeling of where this was going and that tingling began crawling up his veins. You continued on, nearing the opposite side of the water.

“Charles Xavier: judge, jury, but damn the world if he was seen as executioner. No, you are a mere guiding voice,”

The setting sun illuminated your dark figure behind the asserting height of the spouting water. He saw your features sparkle even in their shadowed form.

“A voice that dictated all. Who was Saint. Who was innocent. Who was worthy.”

With each word, your voice became more and more intense. A friction and malice he had nearly forgotten you were capable of. It was that last accusation that brought Charles down. Heart, head, and legs. He crumpled to the floor as numbness silenced any nerve communication. He tried to call out from pain. For you. But the strangle of his voice only righted around his neck as a weight began overtaking his lungs.

You finally rounded the circular fountain back to Charles as he laid on the floor, twisting this way and that and an arm outstretched to you. His finger framed your face from his lower point of view as they slightly curled. They danced across the very picture of perfection in Charles' eyes. But it was your own that caused the warning bells to screech to the man.

Clean,pristine eyes met his own electric blue orbs. The clarity of your sclera juxtaposed the haze of Charles' sense of reality. You crouched to meet his level and bent your neck to the side in confusion at his horror.

“Schatz, what's wrong? Aren't I pretty this way?”

You traced your fingernails lightly across his dashing face, upwards from the cheeks and into his luscious hair. He tried to jerk away but he was held in place by an invisible force, panting as a shiver of unease rippled through him.

“You know I always thought you the most beautiful.”

Your mouth dipped into a pondering frown as you mockingly assessed the man in front of you.

“Even with all my blood?”

Charles expected your eyes to transform to their original state, the ones he never got enough of. The captivating mosaic he memorized and treasured twice as hard for when you tried to hide them away in shame from him. Instead, he was met with the appearance of yours he has tried to erase so desperately but only ended up with a more obliterated consciousness.

Slow drops of blood slithered downwards from your mouth as if mocking Charles's now matching tears. Your smooth arms transformed into a canvas of cuts and bruises as they stretched unnaturally behind you. Finally, your once pristine clothing became an ocean of crimson copper blood. In every direction, a masterpiece of Charles's worst tragedy was painted through the rouge substance.

A puddle of blood formed beneath your misfigured being but not a single drop landed on Charles. Everytime a thin river of deep red snaked its way to his legs, a sprinkle of the crystal fountain water eliminated the warm liquid.

“Here I am Charles, in all my beauty, isn't that right?”

“Y/N-”

“Or am I not worthy of it anymore? A poor excuse of whatever lowly being I am hunted as?”

The brown haired man could only speak in wheezes at this point. He would use every last breath to stop your train of thought and conviction on his perspective of you.

“You were the most worthy of us all! Better than the best of us! You were the unimaginable.”

Your breath shallowed like his but Charles's was from force. Yours was from drainage. Even in your positioning, back arched, arms stretched behind you, and neck bent upwards, your eyes filtered to the shade of blue that quickly became your favorite.

“Was I so unimaginable that you refused my reality?”

There it was. As if a dam broke, all your blood began drowning Charles. The sick joke of it all was that the harsh force pounding down on his lungs freed him the second he began inhaling nothing but copper. Just to satisfy all possible suffering.

“It felt like this. Slow. Suffocating. I know you are trying to call out to me but your powers are failing you,”

You whispered in a contrastingly soothing manner. “They are failing you like they failed me. I called for you and made yourself deaf.”

And in went the blood into his ears. Charles could feel it flow its way through the complex tunnels and deafen the mumbles of your voice. In every possible part of his body, Charles was drowned in the inside and outside in your blood. The natural reaction to close one's eyes was stripped from him as his once vibrant blues were forced to be wide open to be covered in layers of the sticky substance.

Death was surely knocking on his door. That the differing voices from your own must have been what laid ahead for Charles. Odd that they, even with the disillusion of the blood, sounded oddly familiar.

You, realizing this, let out a sly smirk, even as you were thrashing in pain and letting out your last gasps of air.

“It seems like our time has ended once more, Professor.”

With one final breath, you smile upwards.

“Send him my love.”

The violent jerk of the Professor brought even further alarm to Storm and Logan who have been trying to bring him back for the past few minutes from whatever trance he entered. Storm checked his pulse and head for any fever while Logan stood to the side in confusion and buried worry for his long time mentor.

“Something going on, Charles?”

Logan's gruff voice was perfectly audible for the elder man who clenched to his wheelchair to the point his already pale knuckles were the shade of snow. However, Charles completely ignored him as his wrinkled eyes focused on the person right in front of him. Your murderer.

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..✭・.✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..

1944

The screams were never ending. Of birth, death, and what surrounded all, pain. Maybe it was because of the tight packaging of the cattle cart that made it feel like the screams were louder than they were. They had no space to travel so they just ricocheted off the tens of bodies crushing the others in your end of the cattle transportation. 

The echo off of the dirty and malnourished folks gave the screams an echoed chorus to the sound of birth. A fragile woman with pretty features was splayed across the dirty floor, legs covered with men's jackets and women's shawls. While the clothing covered her decency, nothing could be done for her dignity as she was surrounded by cattle manure. There was nowhere else in the cart that had the less than necessary space the manure covered section provided. From what you've gathered of the man holding her hand throughout, her name is Lotte and beside her was her brother, Heinrich. Lotte's husband has been missing for the past six months. 

You have been trying to tell time through the crack between the two rusty sliding doors of the cart. It has been light thrice and dark twice. Everytime the curtain of darkness is overtaken by sunlight, the small glimpse of the outside world becomes increasingly muddled. Green trees became ashy corpses. Sapphire skies transforming into a sickeningly gray. 

In your time on this unknown journey, you had rarely uttered a word. You were only six years of age yet you had known that your existence was a question of debated worth so asking any of your own would only bring misery. You never asked why all three of your cardigans had a yellow star of David patched on. All that was known to you is that it was required, as your mother fearfully related to you everytime you complained why you had to dawn it but none of the other girls you saw did. Although, none of them were in your school or neighborhood as that was yet another forced move. 

You found the forced adornment quite ugly. Especially with all the stains it dawned from your constant use of it as a napkin. Your youthful innocence summarized that if you were to be forced to wear the symbol that was to deem your value, it might as well be useful to you.

Chipped nails of yours picked at the fray threads from the patch as you shuddered away from yet another round of the birthing woman's screams. You buried your face into the neck of your older brother, who only wrapped his arms tighter around your small frame. It was his turn to carry you on his lap, a shift that was interchanged between him, your praying mother, and solemn father. 

“Push more, I see the head!”

There were a handful of other grime ridded women who were surrounding the pretty soon to be mother. None were nurses but their experience was enough: they were mothers. From your vantage point, you could see the pool of blood growing beneath the sheets of cover. It was making you nauseous but you couldn't tear your eyes away. 

“Final one!” The eldest of the women announced and you prayed for her to be right. You were unsure how much more screaming you could take. To you, it was the worst sound to be stifled in. With one final welp of excursion, a new voice replaced the now official mother. A prune like being covered in blood was somehow the cleanest in the entire filth infested cart. The rest of you were flea littered as the rats crawled over all the crowds in the overpacked area. 

You still held tightly onto your brother but turned to your now weeping mother. People cry tears of joy at a new baby, even if you've never personally seen it, but you didn't think you were seeing it then. In the past years, your mother's face was constantly strewn with tears, no matter how much you tried to cheer her up in your own childlike ways. So you knew how tears of misery looked like and they couldn't be stopped as the avalanches their way down her cheek. 

“Mama?” Your small confused voice broke her out of her trance on the small baby and his first moment with his mother. She reached out and petted your hair gently with a loving yet shaky smile. However, the moment could only last so long. 

In the moments after his sister had done the most tremendous feat of her life, Heinrich knew what had to be done. Lotte turned to him to ask him to utter the prayer to be said when the birth of a child but the prayer uttered was a very different one. Instead of the blessings of life, Heinrich uttered the words of death. Lotte's delicate eyes squinted in confusion and offense but were in an instant, horror. Heinrich ripped the wailing baby boy from his mother's comforting arms and grasped the handle of the large rusted door. He was peeling as much as he could with only one arm and fighting off the other men and women trying to stop him. 

Your mother threw her arms around the two of her children seated besides her, as if the man would do the same to you. The door's crack was opening more and more, letting in the now setting sun. It was the first time in what you can only assume days any sunlight had reached the cart's populace and looking around, it was clear to see. The ghastly paleness and bones peaking out beneath raggdy clothes. This was not the effect of capture in a cattle cart but rather years of imprisonment in open air prisons you were forced to call home. 

“Heinrich!” 

Lotte wailed as she tried to get up, but the weakness of labor tied her down to the disgusting floor. You would have thought Heinrich to commit his act ashamed. To not have the ability to look Lotte, or anyone, in the eyes anymore. Maybe even throw himself with the boy. Yet instead, he met Lottes hazed eyes with no remorse.

“What life do you believe he will live? This death is a mercy. Let him go without suffering or in the hands of those monsters! What kind of mother wishes suffering only second to Hell on her child?!”

And with that, the baby boy was gone. The healthy baby boy. No defects or injuries. Now in the wind to die.

You were wrong. Silence was the worst sound to be stifled in. 

Looking up, you met the horrified blue eyes of your brother. 

“Erik?”

His only response was to fully huddle you in his arms as if he could protect you from the truth. Protect you from your  inevitable fate.

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..✭・.✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..

Surely, this was not Earth. Rain didn’t matter; your eyes could not comprehend the desolation weaving between the desolate crowds. They were not human. Not even ghosts could compare to the ghastliness of those who might very well have been your neighbors. Sunken eyes, protruding bones, and the heavy stench of fatality. Huddled between Erik and your mama, you were shoved forward into an impending fate. Your hands clung to Erik's pants as you tried to hide from the barking officers. The three of you—and your father, standing guard as much as he could behind—were shoved and pulled in every direction. There was never a moment of peace since stepping off the cart.

As you neared the macabre gate, you were ripped from safety. A crude giant of a man yanked you from your hiding spot, away from your family. The same fate seemed to befall Erik as the four of you were being ushered in three different directions.

“ERIK!”

Your voice pierced the grating metal, now beginning to be pulled toward the boy you called for. An odd force physically pierced the gate as well as the guard hauling you away. He dropped you from his lifted arms and began crouching, as if an invisible weight was crushing him to the puddled ground. You didn’t waste any time and ran toward where Erik was being dragged. The soldiers seemed to be pulled strangely forward toward the pointed gate as well. You focused on his outstretched arm, even as your vision blurred from tears and soon darkness. As you ran to your brother, other guards tried to grab you but struggled to reach you. Anyone who got close enough seemed to trudge through invisible layers, barely grazing you. However, one lanky boy, no older than 18, managed to tackle you to the ground, easing the odd pressure on the guards.

“Y/N!”

Erik had been solely focused on reaching Mama. It wasn’t until he saw your small body on the muddy ground, unconscious and being dragged away, that he realized you had been left completely alone to fight off the brutes. Metal fragments began chipping from the gate and helmets of the men holding him back. Although, whatever destruction was to happen was avoided as Erik was knocked unconscious, unaware of the Lehnsherr fate. A grim thought to anyone but the prowling man in his tower. 

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..✭・.✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..

Time was lost to you as you wandered through the nice halls of the building. You had woken up in a room that barely passed as one. Beds and bodies as far as you could see. All dull, enhancing the dread of it all. As soon as you regained consciousness, the intimidating beings that somehow passed as men wrenched you away from wherever you had been sent. Time must have passed, as the rain had stopped. A cruel contrast to the gloom awaiting inside the brick building. Guards led you to a menacingly simple, deep-brown door. One sharp knock and you were tossed into the abyss, which turned out to be a tidy office. Your eyes met a pair hidden behind lowered glasses. He gave you a smile that provided no comfort. To your left stood Erik. Without hesitation, you ran to the brother you feared you might never see again. You were still lost in the world around you but knew one thing: you were not letting go. Latched around his hips, you quizzically eyed the smiling man. He took in the image of you two, his grin only growing.

“Understand this, Erik and Y/N—these Nazis, I'm not like them.”

The fact that he knew your names sent a shiver of discomfort down your aching spine. You stayed silent as he began unwrapping what seemed to be, of all things, a chocolate bar.

“Genes are the key, yes! But their goals? Blue eyes? Blond hair? Pathetic.”

Your eyes tracked his movements, not out of envy but out of unease. A man in this place was bitter, not sweet.

“Mmm! Eat the chocolate. It’s good.”

Still nameless, he pushed the bar closer to both of you, especially trying to coax you. Naturally, you wished for just a bite—as any six-year-old would—but Erik’s silence was enough to stifle that desire. You still did not know what had happened to your beloved parents, which sent a strange prickling sensation through your entire body. A mismatched sense of internal chemical stability. The man watched as you shivered, even in the moderately warm room.

“I want to see my mama.”

Erik broke the silence in his rather blunt way. You knew he was scared. He had been ever since your family was forced to evacuate the home generations of your family had been born in for a squalid apartment, ever since the Nazis decided the value—or lack thereof—of your people's lives.

“Genes are the key that unlocks the door to a new age.” It shouldn't have been surprising that he was ignored. The man in the chair was important, and what really mattered was that he was a Nazi affiliate. If there were any guards or officials in the room, they would have expected you both to show gratitude for the chance to speak with such a superior being.

“A new future for mankind. Evolution. You know what I'm talking about?” 

He continued but you could barely grasp the meaning of his words. You looked to Erik for any signal of how you should react but the only emotion painted on his pale face was apprehension. Your attention was drawn back to the mustached man as he laid down a coin. The loud and proud symbol of the Nazi regime gleaned beneath the light. A light that had emerged from the laboratory you just realized to your right. Two tables enclosed by white walls adorned with various knives, blades, and other instruments you could only gasp at their purpose. 

“It’s a simple thing I ask of you. A little coin is nothing compared to a big gate,” he said, turning to you. “Or the human body?”

He analyzed you, as you were a wild card in his eyes. The nameless man couldn’t interpret what you had accomplished, but that only exhilarated him further. With a simple gesture, Erik was instructed to go first. Concentration painted his face, and desperation motivated his hand. Stillness hung in the air.

“I tried, Herr Doktor. I can't... I don't... it's impossible.”

The doctor turned to you, prepared to ask you to try, but instead, he simply contemplated you. Thoughts spewed in his questionable mind before he took a deep breath.

“The one thing I can say for the Nazis is that their methods seem to produce results.”

His hands reached for a bell and rang it so casually before returning back to his luxurious leather seat, adjusting himself too comfortably. 

“I'm sorry.”

Suddenly, the door opened, and two guards entered. That prickling feeling returned more intensely this time, but it was alleviated by the sight of your mother's beautiful face.

“Mama!”

Both you and Erik sprinted into her comforting embrace. You tried all you could to forcefully connect yourself to her. Like a parasite; if she were to disconnect from you, survival was no longer in your future. 

“My darlings! How are you?”

Before any words could be uttered, she was ripped away. You clawed at the guard stopping you to get back to your personal safe haven. Your mama always knew what was best so her soft whispers to listen were the only reason you settled down. She would softly scold you in that way of hers that you did not listen to her once you got out of here anyways. You did not wish for mama's displeasure.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to count to three, and you’re going to move the coin.”

The doctor made sure to emphasize the task to the both of you, not just Erik. You saw your brother readying himself for the argument of his inability when the light caught yet another imposition of metal. A caliber gun.

“You don’t move the coin, I pull the trigger. Understand?”

Prickling began feeling like it was burning inside of you. Your mouth dried as panic began setting in. You looked over your shoulder and could see that mama would not be of help this time: terror painted her graying skin as corpsely white.

“One.”

The countdown began, and you had no choice but to mimic Erik’s outstretched hands. How were you supposed to move it? You needed Mama's help.

“Mama!”

You were bawling as trepidation clawed its way through your throat. Even staring down the barrel of death, mama kept her voice steady for the light of her lives. 

“You can do it.” Soft loving words of encouragement.

“Two.”

Time was moving too fast. Prickling to burn electricity. Yoru nerves were being set alight as you began screaming in fright. The coin wasn't moving. Why wasn't it moving? You look at Erik and he was nearly at the same level of breaking down as you but he needed to stay focused for the three of you. 

“MAMA!”

Your arms were sore, twitching with the stinging sensation flowing up and down. All you wanted was to hug your mother and let her sing you to sleep, like she always did.

“Everything is alright, darling. All is well.”

 No worry, just compassion. Just a mothers unbreaking love. 

“Three.”

It moved.

The bullet moved.

It hit its target.

The stinging stopped.

Tears that slipped off your lashes halted their freefall. Stinging was no longer your problem as an unbearable pressure coursed through your veins. In and around, pain hurled its way through every crevice of your tiny, malnourished body. Your eyes focused on the coin as even the vomit you were going to hurl paused its journey upwards. Something was happening to you so distracting that you could not realize the destruction Erik was raging around you. The guards' metal helmets began piercing their skulls, drawing out their brains. The bell was caved in. All the medical instruments in the laboratory next door began trembling. Though, you did not need ears nor eyes for that. You could feel it. The pull of gravity towards Erik. Gravity that made its way to your eyes. 

“Mama,” you whispered.

Sterling silver gleamed, the vision of the coin was coated in blood. Each of the miniscule blood vessels in your eyes began popping. 

Pop.

Pop.

Pop

It wasn’t prickling. It wasn’t burning. It wasn’t electricity. It was stabbing. Each cell in your eyes was being stabbed until only numbness remained. When you opened your eyes again after the pain, you could feel the blood unsticking from itself. The substance coated your iris. Your world was blinded by red.

“Outstanding!”

The sick man that was  the doctor, was not horrified but pleased. Proud.

“So we unlock your gift with anger, Erik.”

You could not see him well, but you felt his steps gaining on you.

“And you, darling, grief.”

With his hands on you and Erik’s shoulders, he laughed as he led you all toward the laboratory that would become your personal purgatory.

“You and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”

.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..✭・.✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。..

a/n: please let me know what you thought!! i love hearing people's thoughts (it means so much!) also comments often inspire me for future chapters (in like huge ways, so if you want to see something in the story let me know!)

[mirai-e-jump]

Animage April 2024 Issue ft. Ohsama Sentai King-Ohger Main Cast Member Interviews (translations below)

Publication: March 8, 2024 (after broadcast end)

The kings have become immortal

The Uchu King Dagded Dujardin is the most powerful and very worst, having destroyed many planets in the universe. After a fierce battle, the Royal Sentai finally defeated and destroyed Dagded, ending his 2,000 year long history.

The victory over Dagded would've never been achieved by the power of the kings alone. There were the retainers, who continued to support the king from behind the scenes and were highly trusted by them. The former living, who watched over from the Kingdom of Death, Hakabaka, offered their lives and thoughts to the current kings. And, the key to the descent of the Super Fury Ultimate Complete King-Ohger, was the people of the six kingdoms, who created an "endless chain of small lives." In other words, this was achieved only because the entirety of life on Chikyu sided with the kings and rebelled against Dagded.

At the end of an endless chain, lives are forever connected…These words spoken by Reiniol are surely not only about Chikyu. We, who have witnessed the story of Ohsama Sentai King-Ohger, are also entrusted with the task of weaving an eternal story by connecting our lives together. _

Gira Husty: The evil king. He understands the feelings of the Shugod's and settles the battle against Dagded. He was smiling even as the proposal to unite the six kingdoms fell through.

Yanma Gast: The king of wisdom. Using the power of the King's Proof, he created a plan to counter Dagded. He promises Gira that he'll restore the rest of the scattered Shugod parts.

Hymeno Ran: The queen of splendor. She asked her parents, who emerged from Hakabaka, to treat the injured. While thinking of a name for the new country, she proposes "Great Ishabana."

Rita Kaniska: The immovable king. They're rescued by their former king, Karras, who had been revived from Hakabaka. Although they declared the founding of the new country, they were frustrated because no one could come to an agreement.

Kaguragi Dybowski: The lord of abundance. He received assistance from the former lord, Iroki, who emerged from Hakabaka. When deciding on the name of the new country, he tried to get the middle part.

Jeramie Brasieri: The king of inbetween. He's saved by his mother Nephila, who rushed to him from Hakabaka. As a storyteller, he recorded and left a message for the future people of Chikyu. _

Rushing through daily commotion

-Thoughts on the final three episodes that wrapped up the past year-

Murakami: I felt that it was a performance where everyone's teamwork shined through in their cool and united efforts to face the enemy.

Sakai: When I read the script, I thought that the sense of unity of the citizens joining together to fight against Dagded would be the major highlight.

Watanabe: I thought it was really great to see the development of having the people we've been protecting help us in the end.

Kaku: It was amazing that even all the characters from the movie appeared on TV as well.

Sakai: Nakamura Shido-san also made an appearance through his voice.

Murakami: It was truly extravagant. It makes me want to do another movie (laughs).

Watanabe: It was great to see all the people who have appeared so far at the end, including the guests featured in the movie. Over the past year, everyone was passing the baton, but in the end, we all reached the goal together.

Ikeda: Regarding Jeramie, it was very emotional to start out as the storyteller from the first episode, to then end up passing down the story to future generations.

Kaku: The fact that they tried to create a new country free of national borders, but couldn't come together in the end gave off the charm of the Royal Sentai, huh?

Hirakawa: Right, right. Everyone seems to be looking in different directions, but in reality, they're all looking in the same direction. I felt that the way it ended was really good, giving off that typical Royal Sentai feeling.

Sakai: I was moved by the ending, with the main idea seeming to be based on accepting other countries and races.

-The most surprising development after reading the script?-

Murakami: When Rita……(she notices Ikeda-san raising his hand), please go ahead.

Ikeda: Is it okay if we raise our hands?

All: (laughs).

Ikeda: Then, I'll start. What surprised me would have to be the episode where Racules betrays Dagded (episode 41). The developments from episode 41 were memorable because Racules was portrayed in a charming way.

Murakami: I'm next! I would've never expected the development of Kaguragi using his King's Proof to burn Rita as they seal off Minongan in a blizzard (episode 45).

Kaku: That's for sure. I never imagined Kaguragi and Rita would team up.

Murakami: I also like the fact that activating the King's Proof created a new technique, and the way it was used was abit interesting.

Hirakawa: That position.

Kaku: This (he spreads both of his hands out together with Hirakawa-san)

Hirakawa: (while imitating Kaguragi) "Good night~!"

Ikeda: I wasn't able to watch the filming, so I'm looking forward to watching the broadcast (this was pre broadcast at the time of this interview).

Hirakawa: Kaku-san mistakenly said, "Please go home" (laughs).

Kaku: Yeah. The staff said, "Okay then, we're going home~" and left.

All: (laughs).

Hirakawa: That scene was really cool though (laughs).

Murakami: For the dialogue, "Taselles Mirullia Da'pago" was actually supposed to be said in episode 5. They weren't able to include it due to the length of the episode, but it appeared later in episode 30. I was happy to see that many of the things that we couldn't do for various reasons were picked up in the later half.

Watanabe: Anyone else surprised that time skipped forward two years midway through?

Kaku: Yeah! That was really exciting.

Watanabe: As someone who loves shonen manga, it was hot.

Hirakawa: The visuals changed completely.

Sakai: It was also good in terms of motivation for filming.

Watanabe: The change in costumes made it feel fresh.

Kaku: Right, right. It didn't feel boring.

Ikeda: Another surprising thing was idol Rita, no? (episode 38).

Hirakawa: Even now, I'm still really surprised.

Watanabe: I was surprised at the amount of staff during filming.

Sakai: The number of cameras was just incredible.

Watanabe: Seriously. I think they put the most effort into it out of everything in King-Ohger (laughs).

Kaku: The cameras for behind the scenes use were also rolling, right?

Hirakawa: This was the episode where the staff gave their all with blood, sweat and tears (laughs). It was the first time that there were four cameras rolling.

Murakami: It was movie level. It was like "Oshi no Ko."

Ikeda: We even went to watch the filming in order to drag the perfect smile out of them.

Hirakawa: Thank you for coming at that time, really.

Kaku: The body swap (episode 28), Taisei and the others, those three became babies (episode 45), we got to do alot of things that you can't do in a normal drama……It was alot of fun.

Murakami: It was~. Also, getting turned into a pill bug (episode 15).

Sakai: That's right (laughs). Early on, Gira had alot of episodes with disguises.

Murakami: Things like the "playing dead" strategies (episode 11). In terms of surprises, Hymeno gave Kaguragi an anesthetic in episode 8, right? I was surprised by the scene in episode 42, where it was revealed that Racules had been using it.

Kaku: I also thought that I had killed the carp with poison, so I was relieved and thought, "Thank goodness, Kakuragi didn't kill it." I can say this now, but when I asked Director Yamaguchi Kyohei if Kaguragi had poisoned it at that time, he was hesitant to answer.

Murakami: Maybe the Director didn't know about developments either?

Kaku: Maybe. I was told, "Please make a face that can be taken either way."

Hirakawa: When you think about it, it's incredibly difficult to act out Kaguragi.

Sakai: It felt like Kaguragi had the most scenes where his performance had those kind of hidden meanings.

Murakami: And Racules too. Everyone in the 30s group was like that.

Kaku: There were definitely alot of us.

-Describe this team with a single saying?-

Kaku: Charisma Sentai Superstar.

Ikeda: Yes.

Hirakawa: Then it's settled!

All: (laughs).

Sakai: But, surely that's the only way to go. Everyone's got their own charm.

Watanabe: And they're kings.

Sakai: Higuchi Kohei-kun of Donbrothers also once said, "Everyone has their own charm."

Hirakawa: Heh~!

Kaku: That makes me happy.

Murakami: Not just the characters, but all the actors are also unique, and their differences are interesting.

Kaku: That's for sure. We all had different directions, but there were no fights. The six of us came together with a good balance.

Hirakawa: Everyone was so kind.

Sakai: No one ever got too emotionally involved. Even if there was something on my mind, they wouldn't meddle unnecessarily.

Hirakawa: I feel like we didn't interfere with each other too much.

Sakai: I'd say we were a balanced, calm team.

Ikeda: Would you call it calm charisma?

Sakai: Super Charisma Calm Sentai?

All: (laughs).

Hirakawa: That's too confusing (laughs).

-A message from the kings to the people-

Murakami: Throughout the episodes over the past year, I think there were various messages and words of support that the Royal Sentai were aiming to convey, and I'd be glad if they resonated with you. It would make me happy if this production acts as a hint towards taking your own path in life, and that all of our fans will be able to live in a beautiful world.

All: (applauding).

Kaku: The words you said just now, I'll take it those are the words everyone else was going to use, huh?

All: (laughs).

Hirakawa: Marie just said what we all wanted to say!

Murakami: Is there anything I didn't say?

Ikeda: Something like, "I was very happy to meet you all" or, "Thank you very much for your support."

Kaku: I don't think children understand the content of the story in depth right now. So, I hope that when they grow up, they'll watch it again and see that the kings they admired back then were such great characters.

Watanabe: I have one last thing to say.

Hirakawa: What?

Watanabe: I know this is goodbye for TV, but when you suddenly remember us, I'd be happy if you could come and visit Chikyu to play.

All: Oooh~!! (applauding).

Hirakawa: That's perfect!

Kaku: And with that, finally, our leader!

Sakai: Right……I'd be happy if you'd continue to love this show even after it's over. Thank you very much!

Ikeda: "…..or so it goes."

[mousyatlas]

prompt from: @rabbitbites: modern au where feyd and paul are fwb, feyd wants to be more, but Paul is still trying to get over the loss of his father and breaking things off with chani and they have an angsty make out sesh about it [note: mature.]

The campus courtyard was a busy place. Off-world students enjoyed the splendor of Caladan. Those who grew up on the ocean planet continued to bask in the dreary rain and lush, green surface of the farming district. Paul Atreides had been born and bred on Caladan, sequestered to an estate near the sea where his father once oversaw the political wellness of its citizens. Leto’s death still turned Paul’s stomach. Eight months since the accident, still a wound too raw and festering to ignore.

Rain fell in drizzly sheets across the university and Paul walked through it without bothering to pop open his umbrella. Water beaded on his forehead and streaked his face, but he didn’t mind. He walked past one of the square lecture halls and cut across the lawn in front of the library and then made his way through the iron gates, stepping up onto a damp sidewalk. His phone buzzed in his pocket.

[feyd] you want a beer

Paul typed out whatever you’re having and hit send.

This quarter was almost over which meant Paul would have to start preparing the syllabus for next quarter. There was always an influx of students in the spring, cramming to get seats in prized classes with experienced professors. Paul Atreides, well, Professor Atreides taught a history class specializing in sietch formation on Arrakis, home of spice. And home of Chani Kynes, who would soon return to the desert planet, called back to her upbringing by golden dunes and Shai Hulud. By an unflinching duty to her people. Things hadn’t been the same between them since his father had died. They weren’t technically together anymore, they weren’t officially apart either. She had a key to his loft; he knew the code to her garage. She cooked him delicacies from Arrakis sometimes; he brought her boba and sushi sometimes. They slept together because it felt right. Because they didn’t have much time left and she knew his body, and he knew hers. Because for the last two years, Paul had loved her, and she had loved him.

Losing Leto changed everything though.

It started small, the grief binge, chasing adrenaline. Paul drank a six-pack one night, then a fifth of liquor the next. He went out with one his students after that, railing spice cut with something from Kaitain at a nightclub in the city. That same night, he met someone. Handsome, trouble. In his right mind, Paul would’ve walked away. But Feyd-Rautha, dressed in a fitted black long-sleeve, leather belt cinched around dark denim, had looked at Paul from across the dancefloor. They became fast friends, laughing under bright neon. Paul left with him, found something greasy at a food truck, agreed to meet again another night. Post-work drinks, like the one he was about to have, turned into time spent at Paul’s loft, watching a filmbook or cooking together, talking about the band Feyd-Rautha was in, one he couldn’t seem to get off the ground, or meeting at Feyd-Rautha’s apartment to play a boardgame or catch up. They commiserated about lost family. Feyd let Paul listen to unreleased music and Paul waxed poetic about the Known Universe. The first time Paul kissed Feyd-Rautha on the mouth at a nightclub, his mind had been glittering with spice, bloodstream tainted with whisky. They’d fucked in the bathroom like clumsy teenagers, Feyd’s palm rucked up Paul’s shirt, Paul’s pants pushed to his thighs, Feyd trapping him against the stall, chewing at his throat, and Paul spending at the first breath Feyd sent coasting along his earlobe. In the morning, they vowed to never do it again. Two days later, Paul showed up at Feyd’s apartment, sober but lonely, and Feyd didn’t turn him away.

Since then, for a handful of months, Paul Atreides and Feyd-Rautha met to talk, drink, fuck, read together, kiss lazily on the couch, share meals, fall asleep. Feyd was Paul’s friend, in a way.

Paul shouldered through the door at a small dive bar near Feyd’s apartment and took off his coat, draping it over his arm as he approached a dingy booth across from a dartboard. Feyd sat with his eyes on his phone, flicking through social media. His fair skin was warming as winter gave way to spring, but nothing could completely chase the milky glow from his complexion. He wore a leather jacket, one Paul had seen many times, and glanced at him as he fell into the booth opposite him.

“Got you a red,” Feyd said, knuckling a frosty glass toward him.

Paul nodded. “Appreciate it.”

“You go to therapy today?”

He took a long drink. “Can we not — "

“So, no,” Feyd grumbled.

“I don’t need grief therapy, I’m fine.”

“If a therapist opened a textbook right now and pointed to potential grief therapy client, your face would be on the page.”

Paul shifted his jaw. “I’m figuring it out on my own.”

Feyd-Rautha furrowed his naked brow and gave a single nod. “You following Chani to Arrakis?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Yet.”

“Feyd…” Paul heaved a sigh and took long pull from his beer. They’d talked about it before. The idea of them. Usually drunk, usually in bed or tucked away in the dark. But they had talked about it. And Paul knew, despite Feyd-Rautha’s stoic demeanor and cold exterior, that he wanted more than what they had. More than friendship pushed to the brink of catastrophe.

The longer Paul used Feyd like a coping mechanism, the more entangled they’d become. Paul knew that already. He’d known that since the start. 

“Look, I can’t…” Feyd paused to breathe. His jaw slackened and he talked with his hands, knuckles flexed, long fingers bent oddly to match his mood. Frantic, anxious. Angry. “I won’t keep doing this, okay? It’s not good for me, it’s definitely not good for you.”

“Yeah, and what’s good for me?”

“Sobriety, probably,” Feyd deadpanned, gesturing to the almost empty beer. “Stability. Therapy. Enough sleep.”

“And what if I don’t want you to be good for me?”

Feyd snapped. “You think I don’t know how we got here? C’mon, Paul. I’m not exactly your type.”

Paul felt the comment before it came out, barbed and hot. “You’re not, no.”

“Okay,” Feyd heaved a sigh, defeated, and stood. He threw a few bills onto the table and walked away.

Paul listened to the hard pound of his boots on the floor. A part of him, the stubborn part, fully intended to stay seated and let him go. But the part of Paul Atreides who loved how Feyd laughed and curled close to him at night and ate popcorn with him at the theater and panted in his lap was stronger than the grief-stricken young man left in Leto’s shadow. Paul finished his beer and darted after him, catching Feyd by the elbow outside the bar.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, squeezing Feyd’s arm hard. “I’m sorry, you know I’m sorry.”

“I don’t, actually,” Feyd said, yanking away. He turned down an alley, trudging into the dark. Rain fell a little harder, splattering his leather jacket. He angled his mouth over his shoulder. “What’re you sorry for?”

Paul stomped after him, pawing at his shoulder. “We’re here because I’m a mess,” he confessed, halting Feyd in his tracks. “Because I met you and I liked you and — ”

Feyd whirled on him. His strong hand landed at the base of his throat. He pushed him backward, sealing him against the concrete, and seized his neck, angling his face upward. “And?”

 “And you make it easy. This, us, it’s easy,” he said, sighing. “Don’t take it from me yet. Please,” he whispered, craning against Feyd’s hold. “Let me keep you a little longer.”

Feyd-Rautha kissed a fire into him. Paul hardly had time to register he was being kissed at all until Feyd was prying at his mouth, licking between his lips, breathing hard. The cold rain kept falling, and Paul reached for Feyd’s face, cupping his cheek, then palmed his nape, hauling him closer. Feyd’s teeth slipped across his bottom lip. Paul nipped at his mouth, chasing the sensation.

“I might not be your type, but you’re mine, you hear me?” Feyd rasped, biting tenderly on the slope of Paul’s jaw. “You’re mine.”

“I’m a liar,” Paul said, gulping in air before he ducked down, searching for Feyd’s plump mouth. “You’re exactly my type, exactly.”

[lum13]

In the moment.

Your first kiss with Wednesday Addams was under the rain. How romantic.

Wednesday Addams x fem! Reader

-

The mellow sound of the soft raindrops drumming against the umbrella tickled your ears, engulfing you into a trance-like state. 

Crystalline beads of the droplets teased at your hair, sliding down until there was nothing left to linger on. 

You let your eyes trace the raven haired girl’s features. Just a step away was the girl, who held onto the black umbrella in between the gap of the pair’s shoulders— which sometimes brushed against— sending electricity under your skin.

Her pigtails, too, had water drops that were yet to fall— and it shined like crystals under the moonlight. 

The beams of silvery spotlight kissed her stardust-covered cheeks. Your lips parted from such splendor.

Her long eyelashes batted down, before fluttering open again. Only this time, the deep, dark pupil found yours. You breathed in the humid air, thrown into a spiral by her delicate stare.

The lock of your gaze onto hers only left a luscious taste on your tongue— making you lick your lips forlornly, eager for more. 

Your eyes trailed down to her plush lips. Slowly and steadily, the sounds of the raindrops contrasting against the ground deafened at your ears.

The plum hue of her lips lured you into your racing thoughts once again— making you wonder, just how easy it was to lean in and claim her lips yours.

You could see the way her slender fingers gripped her umbrella. You felt the tip of your shoulders grow damp from it being an inch over the borderline of the shield that protected you both from the rain, but never dared to step farther in. It would result in Wednesday having to step out for you, dampening her shoulders.

So as the wet cloth clung onto your skin, you turned your head towards her, stealing a glance of her once again. 

You halted when you realized that she had been watching you, too. With the whip of your head, her eyes met yours.

It left you breathless— let it be the scenery, or the way her gaze fell tender onto yours. 

But it was beautiful, that moment. It only lasted a millisecond, but lingered on your mind for much longer— like a polaroid that was taken at just the right timing.

“Can I kiss you?” You whispered. It was barely  audible, and was marvel how she managed to catch that with the raindrops showering around you. 

She didn’t say anything back, as her lips stayed shut. But you knew better than throwing yourself in a pit of despair. 

Because you saw how her gaze turned impossibly soft by your words. How her body angled to you— welcoming you into her shy embrace. Tilting her umbrella back, she led you towards her, signaling you to continue.

So without a doubt, you chased after the shelter, pressing up against her, catching her lips in yours. Her lips were sweet on yours, sweeter than you’ve ever imagined.

Addicting. The taste of her lips was so addicting.

You felt a sudden drop of rain on your cheeks. Then another, then another. You didn’t have to look to acknowledge what had happened.

Wednesday’s hands reaching for your waist, she let the umbrella fall back, not caring about the way the rain fell on you both. It didn’t matter. Not when her lips were on yours.

You didn’t break away until you were gasping for air. Then you kissed her again, again and again.

Until the rain had enveloped you, swallowing you up in that moment. 

-

I love rain and I love Wednesday. Perfect combo.

This is not proofread bc of my stupid headache :) I need some sleep.

[sylphrene]

Katya was never good with heights. Grovyle had said they were crossing the sea of time, but... well, she doubted that if she fell off of Lapras now, there'd be any sea below to catch her. So through the sky they swam, Katya clinging to Grovyle, Loki clinging to Katya. It felt like it'd be an eternity before they touched town, golden clouds soaring past the four pokémon.

When the clouds finally parted, Grovyle, Katya, and Loki all took in a quiet gasp. The hidden land lied before them, in all its lush splendor. For Katya, though, something about it felt... familiar? She knew the way that the path turned into the forest, knew the shape the mountains cut into the sky. But that was impossible, right? How would she be able to know a place that existed outside of regular time and space, even if she hadn't lost her memories?

Almost subconsciously, she found herself speaking. "I'll take the lead, once we get into the dungeon."

Grovyle nodded, but Loki looked a little confused. "Katya, I know you usually take the lead, but I feel like Grovyle probably knows a little more about this place than we do. He should probably take the lead."

Grovyle shook his head. "No, I think Katya should take the head. The Hidden Land... it's where Katya is from."

...what? Where she was from? That... doesn't sound right, does it?

Before Katya could put her thoughts together well enough to even begin to form a response, Loki spoke up. "How could Katya be from here? The only way to get to and from here is to..." they peeked over the edge of Lapras' back, then gestured to the open sky below, which they had started to descend through.

Grovyle sighed. "I don't exactly know how it happened, but when time stopped, the Hidden Land stopped being... hidden. I guess you can't hide something in time if there's no time to hide it in. The reason doesn't matter right now, though. What's important is that there's a human village here, and when time stopped, one of those humans happened to venture away from home, and happened to find me. One thing led to another, and now here we are." Lapras was nearing the ground now- it was almost time to get to work.

Grovyle examined Katya, who had a bewildered expression on her face, and hesitantly reached up to her, gently placing his hand on the side of her snout. "So yes, you should take the lead. We can do this."

The affection in Grovyle's eyes... it's something that his words would never dare betray. He had a mission to carry out. A world to save. But those eyes... it was a look Katya couldn't return. She could hardly even meet his eyes. A thousand emotions swam in them as he took that last peaceful moment to look at her, but she could only return it with a sad, understanding smile.

@heropartnerweek - day 4, hidden land

[thebadgerclan]

Burn the World

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: He will burn the world to get your back...

One second you were standing just outside the ballroom on the terrace, needing a bit of fresh air.  The next, there was a cloth being held over your mouth and nose, a pair of arms lifting you off your feet.  You tried not to breathe, tried to fight off your attackers, but a lack of oxygen won out, and you sucked in a breath.  Whatever substance the cloth was drenched in was potent, because in an instant, you were unconscious and limp in your attacker’s arms.

***

“Have you seen Y/N?” Aleksander asked, taking a drink from a passing servant.  Fedyor shook his head.  “I haven’t, sir.  Last I saw her she was going onto the terrace.”  Your husband nodded.  “Crowds can be a bit much for her.  She’ll be inside soon.”  Fedyor nodded, and Aleksander turned his attention back to the party, completely unaware of the struggle taking place mere feet from him.

***

The world was swaying.  No, that wasn’t right, you were swaying.  And Saints, it smelled awful.  Your eyelids felt like lead, but you forced them open, forced yourself to listen despite the ringing in your ears and the pounding in your head.  You were in a cart, lying on a bed of hay.  There was a burlap sack covering you, obscuring you from sight.  You tried to move, but your hands and ankles were tied together, and you were so tired.  You heard someone speaking, was it your attacker?  And….was he speaking Fjerdan?

***

“What do you mean you can’t find her?”  When you hadn’t returned to the party, Aleksander was suspicious.  He’d sent his oprichniki to search the grounds, and they found nothing.  Not a trace of you.  “Y/N is not on the grounds, moi soverennyi.  We cannot find her.”  Your husband grit his teeth, willing his shadows into submission.  “You are my most experienced, highest trained, most trusted guards.  You mean to tell me that finding my wife is beyond your skills?”

The oprichnik balked, clearly fearful.  “I’m sorry, sir.  We’ve combed every inch of the grounds twice over, there–”  “Sir!”  Fedyor entered the War Room, out of breath.  “What?  Have you found her?”  The Heartrender shook his head.  “No, sir, but…this was on the terrace, where Y/N was last seen.”  Fedyor extended his hand, and sitting in his palm was a pin in the shape of a wolf’s head.  The symbol of the drüskelle.

***

How long you’d been traveling, you didn’t know, and whatever your captors had drugged you with was strong.  When the cart jerked to a stop, you tried to sit up, but to no avail.  For the first time, you got a good look at your captors: two drüskelle, initiates, based on their uniforms.  They spoke to each other in Fjerdan, and you were too out of it to understand.  But when they pulled you to your feet and dragged you from the cart and you saw where you were, pure fear filled your body.  Saints receive me

***

Aleksander gathered his strongest, most powerful, most trusted Grisha, and set off.  There was no time to waste, not when his precious wife’s life was on the line.  He rode hard for the northern border, seldom checking that his soldiers were following him.  Nothing else mattered but getting you back, making sure you were safe.  The Grisha with him had never seen their General so vengeful, so angry, and they wisely stayed out of his way.

One night, when they made camp, Fedyor found Aleksander pouring over a map.  The Ice Court was depicted in all its splendor, but all of the General’s markings laid east of the stronghold.  “Sir, are we not going to the Ice Court?” he asked, and Aleksander shook his head.  “No, that would be too easy,” he said.  “That’s where they want me to think she is.  They want me to go there and waste precious time searching for her.  No, Y/N is here.  In one of their underground holding cells.”

***

Your cells had no windows, no clocks, nothing to denote what time it was or how long you’d been gone.  Any food you were given was delivered sporadically, taking your one remaining way of keeping time.  It might have been days, it might have been weeks.  Your captors didn’t visit you regularly, but when they did, they came bearing questions and threats.  Questions you didn’t answer and threats you tried your best not to believe.  When you refused to give them information, they beat you, whipped you, withheld your meals, drugged you.

Saints receive me, you thought.  Aleksander, find me

***

At Fedyor’s insistence, Aleksander sent four of his Grisha to the Ice Court to search for you.  But the majority of his party continued east, searching each and every one of the underground holding cells that the drüskelle held.  That was where they put prisoners they wanted the world to forget about, the ones deemed too important or too dangerous to be kept at the Ice Court.  They’d searched nearly twenty cells with no results, and Aleksander was becoming restless.  But then he saw it, a piece of black fabric shot through with Y/G/C embroidery.  A scrap of your kefta fluttering in the breeze like a victory flag.  “There!”

***

You were shivering.  Your captors had chosen a new method of torture: submerging your head in a bucket of frigid water.  You were so, so cold, if only you had your kefta.  They’d taken it from you when you were brought here…wherever “here” was.  When you were pulled from the cart and saw that you were seemingly in the middle of nowhere, your heart had sunk.  Aleksander would never find you now, you would die here.

***

Aleksander leapt from his horse’s back, charging towards the underground holding cell.  You were here, he could feel it, he knew you were here.  At the sound of his approach, two drüskelle initiates emerged from the trees, weapons drawn.  “Sten!  Desjenet!”  Stop!  Stand down!  Aleksander laughed coldly, calling his shadows to his side, letting them pool like water in his palms.  Just before their guts were sliced open and their heads were severed from their bodies, before they could ask Djel to spare their souls, they each screamed one final word: Vronche!

***

“Vronche!”  Darkling!  The word drew you from your stupor, and for the barest moment, you let yourself hope.  “Search the area!” Aleksander called, Aleksander!  You tried to pull yourself to your feet, but you were too weak.  “A-Aleksander,” you croaked, voice weak from screaming.  “Aleksander!  Sasha!  I’m here!”  He would find you, he would.  He was here, your husband was here, he would find you.

***

“Quiet!”  Aleksander sent a skein of darkness slithering, catching his Grisha’s attention.  “Everyone, quiet!  I thought I heard…”  “Aleksander!”  It was quiet, faint, but it was there.  “Y/N?”  “Aleksander!  Sasha!  I’m here!”  “Y/N!”  Aleksander had a renewed fervor, and he ran to the place where the drüskelle had emerged from.  Sure enough, there was a door there, camouflaged by moss and leaves.  He allowed himself one steadying breath before he kicked in the door.

***

You curled in on yourself as the door flew open, dirt and twigs pelting your body.  “Y/N?  Oh Saints, Y/N!”  Hands were touching you, turning you, trying to make you look at– “No!”  Aleksander had tears in his eyes, and he gently coaxed your chin from your chest.  “Y/N, it’s me.  It’s Aleksander, I’m here.”  You lifted your head, looking at him with wild eyes.  “A-Aleksander?”  “Yes, my love, it’s me.  I’m here, your Sasha’s here.”

It took you a moment to process this, to realize that it was your husband here, that he was really here.  “Aleksander…”  You shattered, sobs shaking your body, tormented wails leaving your mouth.  Your husband gathered you into his arms, clutching you to his chest, rocking you gently.  “I’m here, Y/N, I’m here.  Saints, I’m so sorry, so, so sorry.  You’re safe now, my love, we’re going home.”

Fedyor and Ivan entered, gasping at the sight that met them.  “Moi soverennyi,” Ivan said gently.  “Ivan,” Aleksander replied.  “I want you to examine Y/N, make sure she’s able to travel.  We’re leaving as soon as we can.”  The Heartrender nodded, crouching at your side.  He folded his hands, healing the bruises, gashes, and broken bones.  “She can travel,” he announced.  “What damage remains is psychological.”

Aleksander nodded, getting to his feet while keeping you in his arms.  “Good.  I want this place torched, am I understood?”  “Sir, the Fjerdans will–”  “They will know we were here, yes.  I want them to know what happens when you try to hurt my wife.”  Ivan nodded.  “Yes, sir.”  Your husband carried you outside, where he set you on the ground for the barest second.  “No, Aleksander, no…”

“It’s alright, my love,” he said, unfastening his cloak and draping it over your shoulders, lifting you up again.  “I’m here, you’re safe.”  He mounted his horse, watching as the Infreni he’d brought set the underground cell ablaze, the late autumn leaves making excellent kindling.  When his Grisha were atop their own mounts, he set off, keeping a slower pace so as not to jostle you.

“You came,” you said, words slurred.  You finally felt safe, and exhaustion had caught up quick.  “Of course I came,” Aleksander replied, kissing your forehead.  “I would burn the world for you, Y/N.  I love you.”  “I love you too, Sasha.  Thank you.”  “You never need to thank me,” your husband said.  “There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe, to get you back.  I’m sorry, my love, I am so very sorry that this happened.  I should have–”  “Aleksander, no.”  You lifted your hand to rest on his cheek, and he leaned into your touch.  “This was… Saints, I don’t know.  But this wasn’t your fault.”

“But I could have–”  “Shhh, don’t.  Please, Aleksander.  You found me, you saved me.  Nothing else matters.”  A lot else mattered, but Aleksander wasn’t going to argue, not when he’d just gotten you back and you were so exhausted.  “How long was I gone?”  Aleksander breathed deeply.  “Almost two weeks.  We searched half of the Eastern plains, the Fjerdans have underground cells there.”

“How did you know that’s where I’d be?  Not the Ice Court?”  Aleksander was silent for a moment, the only sounds the crunching of leaves beneath his horse’s hooves.  “I don’t know,” he replied.  “I just knew.”  You hummed, nuzzling into his chest.  “Sleep, my darling.  I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you.”  “‘Mkay.  Love you, Sasha.”  “And I love you, my sweetling.  My Y/N.”  You soon nodded off in his arms, and Aleksander knew he would burn the entire world if it meant keeping you safe.

[goodqueenaly]

Hello Good Queen Alysanne, I have a few questions about Gerold Lannister. Why do you think he and Rohanne Weber eventually got married, given that the latter didn't initially consider him as a suitable suitor?

Do you think Gerold had a hand in the death of his niece Cerelle?

Is there any textual evidence that suggests he had an influence on Tywin, given that both of them appear to be politically astute?

Long, more under the cut:

With respect to why Rohanne married Gerold after Eustace’s death, I think it’s important to keep in mind that Rohanne was already attracted to Gerold during the time of “The Sworn Sword”:

[“]Were I given to wagering, I should place my gold on Gerold Lannister. He has yet to put in an appearance, but they say he is golden-haired and quick of wit, and more than six feet tall … [sic]” "… [sic] and Lady Webber is much taken with his letters." The lady in question stood in the doorway, beside a homely young maester with a great hooked nose. "You would lose your wager, good-brother. Gerold will never willingly forsake the pleasures of Lannisport and the splendor of Casterly Rock for some little lordship. He has more influence as Lord Tybolt's brother and adviser than he could ever hope for as my husband.["]

Now, during the events of “The Sworn Sword”, I could see where Rohanne might have thought Gerold was not ideally suited to be her husband, especially given what she needed on a politico-dynastic level at that moment. Rohanne’s primary concern was not simply to marry, but to marry a husband who would help her maintain the delicate political position she occupied. As both a ruler in her own right and the heiress of her father’s very specific will, Rohanne needed a husband who would be both willing to serve as consort to her as lady regnant of Coldmoat and available as a spouse when the second anniversary of Lord Wyman’s death passed. Gerold might have inherited all the Lannister wit and good looks, and might have written Lady Webber some charming letters, but as Rohanne wryly noted to the septon, Gerold seemed to have little incentive to leave Casterly Rock to become her lord husband, especially in the short time she had left at that moment to remarry. If Rohanne believed that she could not lure Gerold Lannister away from the Rock, much less in a very timely fashion, then I think she concluded that Gerold was not a good choice to be the next Mr. Webber, so to speak, no matter how much Rohanne might have personally liked him.

However, after Ser Eustace’s death, Rohanne may have felt quite differently about her position and her nuptial future. The terms of her father’s will dictated that Rohanne be wed by the second anniversary of Lord Wyman's death, and by strict definition, Rohanne had done just that: with the second anniversary of her father's passing occurring within “the next new moon” of the septon’s conversation with Dunk, Rohanne had definitively become a married woman by the deadline of the will. If Ser Eustace had then died sometime thereafter, there may not have been much cousin Wendell or Lord Rowan could have done to assert the will’s provisions in their favor; after all, nothing in the will, so far as we know, said Rohanne’s husband on the day of that anniversary had to stay alive for a set amount of time after that date. Rohanne was now (seemingly) unquestionably, (seemingly) irrevocably, Lady of Coldmoat for the rest of her mortal span - still subject, of course, to all the sexist and patriarchal prejudices of Westerosi society, but free to marry without the shadow of the will hanging over her.

In that sense, a romance with Gerold - and I do tend to think it was a romance, Septon Sefton seemed to catch onto a real and mutual sense of personal attraction there - might have appealed to Rohanne at that place in her life. She who had been married five times, never apparently (or certainly primarily) for love, now could think first of herself, as a person, when it came to the question of a future marriage, secure as she was (or ever would be) in the question of her ancestral holding. If one of the richest and most powerful lords of the realm still wanted to marry her after Eustace’s death (and Gerold was probably Lord of Casterly Rock himself by that time, given that his niece Cerelle died in 213 AC, within two years of Rohanne's marriage to the aged Eustace), perhaps Rohanne believed he must have been truly in love with her, rather than just her title and castle. No longer as anxious, perhaps, about keeping a firm grip on Coldmoat lest it be wrenched away from her, Rohanne may have felt more free to consider a marriage that would inevitably take her away for significant periods of time from the Reach (and may have felt consoled by the fact that Gerold as a lord husband would be a pretty intimidating figure for her ostensible Rowan overlords). Already having been attracted to Gerold for some time, finally free to marry as she chose, secure in her holding (or, again, as much as she could be as a woman ruling in her own right) and perhaps believing that Gerold loved her for herself, Rohanne I think was ready after the death of Eustace Osgrey to marry Gerold in a way she hadn’t been when the events of “The Sworn Sword” occurred. 

As far as Cerelle goes, I tend to think no, Gerold did not murder her. Unlike, say, Viserys II, who I definitely believe murdered nephew Baelor (in what GRRM may portray as an internal character conflict for Viserys), I don’t see the motivation for Gerold to do the same to his niece. As regent for a toddler lady regnant, Gerold already held all the power in the Westerlands, and would do so for at least the next decade, if not considerably longer. Where Prince Viserys was, perhaps, constrained, and frustrated, by the will of an adult, male, very much self-assured kingly nephew, Gerold had a free hand as Lady Cerelle’s regent for every legal, military, and diplomatic decision made in the Westerlands, and would for the long foreseeable future (and indeed, there would be aspects to Cerelle’s rule as Lady of the Rock, that Gerold, as her nearest male relation, would likely always have (until and unless she had a husband or son), like the position of Warden of the West). Rather, I think we are supposed to see Gerold and Rohanne as parallels here: just as Rohanne was wrongly suspected for the deaths of some of her husbands and her children (although two of those deaths were very naturally explained by Rohanne herself), so Gerold was, I think, wrongly suspected of the deaths of his brother and niece for what may have been (especially in the case of his niece) the simple bad luck of a physically perilous pseudo-medieval world like Westeros. I certainly could see that shared unhappy experience drawing Gerold and Rohanne together; conversely, I cannot see Rohanne, who fought so hard to assert herself as Lady of Coldmoat in her own right, falling in love with a man she might have reasonably suspected murdered his liege lady-niece to become a lord himself. 

As far as Tywin goes, it’s important to note that Tywin never knew his grandfather in the latter’s own lifetime: while baby Tywin supposedly bit grandfather Gerold’s finger upon their first meeting, Gerold died when Tywin was only two. Consequently, Gerold was probably more known to Tywin by his reputation, and perhaps increasingly by his legend. As the rule, or misrule, of Tytos Lannister continued, and Lannister authority in the Westerlands imploded, perhaps Tywin looked back nostalgically to the days of “Gerold the Golden”, the intelligent, shrewd, able lord who “greatly increas[ed] the wealth of House Lannister, the power of Casterly Rock, and the trade at Lannisport” (much as, say, I think various generations of Targaryens have looked back to Jaehaerys I as a sort of ideal king presiding over a golden age for the dynasty). This, so Tywin may have thought, was the sort of lord the Westerlands needed - not his, Tywin’s, weak, genial, overly generous father, but his strong, confident, capable grandfather. Too, with young Tywin serving as a page and cupbearer at the court of King Aegon V - a king who had ascended the throne in no small part thanks to the arguments, and the gold, of Gerold Lannister - I could see where Tywin might have seen his grandfather embodying a much better relationship between House Lannister and the crown than his father did: while in the west Lord Tytos was bungling the rule of his domain so badly that King Aegon V had to send in his own knights multiple times to keep order, at court Tywin might have been hearing courtiers’ nostalgic stories of the great Lord Gerold who had not only kept peace in the west but whose generosity with word and coin had given the king his crown. While we don’t know much about the specifics of Gerold’s rule, and so don’t know what he did in particular that Tywin may have sought to echo or recreate, I can certainly believe that Tywin wanted to model himself, to some extent, on his grandfather for his, Tywin’s, rule as the future Lord of Casterly Rock.

[let-me-be-an-egg-toast]

reposting this because...why the fuck not

Original idea from @the-patchwork-girl-of-oz!

(im using my version of the characters (specifically their designs) so they may be described very differently from their canon counterparts!!)

Dorothy has succumbed to gentle slumber once again, snoring softly in the corner of the room. Toto lay against her rising and falling chest, the little canine also sleeping under her arm.

That's one of the few things that separate them from the Tin Woodman and his dear friend, the Scarecrow, the former supposes. He ponders idle thoughts while gazing upon the soft blue paint of the wall, while his friend laid on the ground, peacefully motionless. There was lots of this blue in this land, for it was Munchkinland, and the citizens' favorite was simply just blue.

If he were any other regular being, the Tin Woodman supposes he would be sick of seeing all this blue, but he wasn't, and he just stared at its splendor on the wall. It reminded him of many things - the far-away sky, the haunting rain, his little friend's checker dress....and one specific pair of eyes that he found he just can't tear his own away from recently.

"What are you thinking about?" The ever so keen Scarecrow asks, watching him with those oh-so blue button eyes. They were not of the same size, with the left one being slightly bigger and only having two holes, but the Tin Woodman supposes that was part of its simple beauty. They were given to his dear friend by a kind Munchkin girl after he had been brutally torn to bits by those horrible winged primates. That very moment forcefully hit the Tin Woodman straight into his core with the reality of just how vulnerable the Scarecrow can be, yet still be persistent and determined all the same.

"Nick?"

He snaps out of his thoughts to look at his companion, only to be slightly horrified he has been looking at the Scarecrow all this time.

"I am alright, dear Scarecrow. I was just thinking about how this wall matches your eyes."

"....I never realized that."

The Tin Woodman lets out a little chuckle. The Scarecrow raises himself a little to get a closer look at the blue wall.

"Huh. I suppose it does."

"It is Munchkinland after all."

The Scarecrow nods in agreement. "It is."

He lays back down.

"Do you like the color?"

"What?" The Tin Woodman turns to his dear friend, a little surprised.

"You like to stare at my eyes often. Now you're staring at the wall."

If he still had a flesh-made heart that pumped blood through veins that once existed, he sword he would've flushed. His gears did start to turn more, and warmth was starting to build up.

"...how long have you been noticing?"

"Well..." The Scarecrow tilted slightly to the side. "Ever since you started doing it."

Now he really was overheating. He felt the hot air push and escape through his pipes, which certainly did not go unnoticed by his companion, who simply laughed.

"I'm not sure if it's entirely the color," he finally admitted. "I'm still figuring it out."

The Scarecrow hummed in contemplation.

"Lay with me."

"What?"

"Lay with me," the Scarecrow repeated. "You'll get to have a close look at my eyes, and you'll figure out if it's just the color - or something else entirely."

The Tin Woodman then became stiff, almost as if he was rusted again, and he slowly lowered himself on the ground, right against his dear friend, who scooted a bit closer to him.

And so they stared at each other for a long time.

"Have you figured it out yet?" The Scarecrow suddenly asked, not impatiently.

"Not yet." The Tin Woodman turned to his side, now truly facing his lovely companion. "Maybe I'm just going to need more time."

The Scarecrow laughed softly, and the Tin Woodman wrapped an arm around him, and they gazed into each other's eyes for a long, long time.

(Finally posted it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61137988)