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tokoyamisstuff · 3 years ago

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Scandal Ch. 5 - Loki x Reader

Summary: Loki returns to claim what is his - willing to kill everyone in his way.

Warnings: Angst.

Words: ~1800

I Story Masterlist I General Masterlist I

Taglist: @catlover092402152, @hi-there-x, @haloangel391, @misssilencewritewell, @babayaga67, @accioremuslupinn, @mochimommy2002, @just-someone-who-likes-to-write, @damalseer, @bethanystan, @loser-alert, @star017, @nina1800, @queenariesofnarnia, @n1fangirlsblog, @vengefulsokovian, @lunamoonbby, @freyagallileaevans, @emmojoy, @literate-lamb, @aninnai, @justsomerandompersonintheworld

A/N: Sweet little Feedback Anon, I took your suggestion. You know which one I mean if you see it. (:

Btw guys I have like 60+ Drafts I need to finish so pls be patient with me.

Word sure spreads fast among the folk of Asgard, about Odin’s shame and your innocence.

Since his lies had weakened the favor among his subjects, the Allfather was desperate to clean his name and reputation, ultimatively inviting you to come back.

But you declined, stating that this wasn’t your homeland anymore ever since they betrayed you to fullfill their selfish ambitions.

However, Asgard’s hypocrisy wasn’t the only reason you chose to stay on Midgard - you just knew that it would break your heart every day you’d spend on a place with so many memories connected to your deceased husband.

Earthlings, the people of S.H.I.E.L.D and especially Thor’s friends Jane and Erik Selvic had basically become like family to you. Even though they could never fill the void Loki had left in your heart, things being like this was more than you could wish for.

“Lady Y/N!” a familiar voice greeted you, yet his worried tone startled you. Thor was already standing in your room, practically kicking in your door as he was visibly upset.

Immediately, you put Liam into his crib and rushed to his side. “What’s the matter?!”

A strange mix of horror and excitement was stretched across his face, making your heart sink to your stomach.

Actually, you didn’t want to involve yourself with the Asgardians any further. All you ever wanted was for your child to be healthy and happy, no matter where this was possible.

But Thor was still your cherished brother-in-law, as well as a wonderful uncle, never ceasing to provide for you and Liam, even when everyone else had forsaken you.

Yet what he was about to tell you let your blood run cold:

“Loki is back.”

Immediately, all the walls you had built up over those past months were crumbling as you collapsed to the floor, crying out of anger and relief.

“H-How? How is this even possible?! He’s dead! Loki died!”

“Pull yourself together, Lady Y/N!” Thor has always been a rather touchy-feely kind of person, in opposite to his raw and bulky appearance.

But right now, he wouldn’t dare to hug or console you, like he’d usually do. Instead, he was offering you a hand to help you get back up - which you wouldn’t be able to take just yet. “There’s no use in overthinking this! We need to hurry!”

“What do you even want me to do?” you wondered, because if your husband was really alive, you’d doubt him wanting to see you. “He’s changed...killed a lot of people before he disappeared. And still, I don’t wanna fight him. How can I be of any help at all?!?”

“We know he’s probably after you and the child” the God of Thunder stated coldly. “So you need to be transferred to a safe location.”

What can be more safe than a base of S.H.I.E.L.D? If only you knew he had already demolished a whole, giant outpost of them with ease...

“I’ll explain everything to you on the way.” “Let me quickly get the baby.”

“What, did you forget the name of your nephew already?” you chuckled awkwardly, but seeming to have struck a nerve.

Thor was only slowly approaching the crib in which your lovely baby was resting, staring at it with awe while his trembling hand caressed Liam’s cheek.

“Incredible...” he whispered mainly to himself, as if this wasn’t the thousandth time he would lay eyes upon him. “He’s just like I remember him.”

Something was off.

Of course Thor had a spare key to your flat, but you had never heared him unlock it - he had just kind of appeared in the middle of the room. Could as well be that you had been to invested with something, or buried in thought to notice him, and yet...

“Wait” you stated, making him flinch away from the child and turn around. “My knees are still weak. Help me up first.”

With heavy steps, Thor would force himself away from the crib and towards you again, lending you another hand and easily pulling you up - just for you to point a sharp dagger to his throat.

“Lady Y/N, when did you summo-”

“Shut up!” you hissed, and the god held his hands into the air to assure his goodwill. "Drop the disguse. Now!”

The man let out an amused huff, a taint of green covering his body to revert it back to normal - revealing your husband.

His hair had become longer, and dark rings showed how devastating those past months went by for him. Yet still, he was unmistakingly your husband.

Yet a faint, mad spark in his eyes was what worried you the most.

Now he was holding a knife as well, both circling around the crib with a knife at each other’s throat, as if to dance with each other.

“So it’s really you, Loki?”

“The one and only” he declared, chest swelling with pride at his performance and completely ignoring your hostile undertone. “I missed you painfully, my sweetling.”

He looked to the side where your son was still sleeping soundly, regret clearly visible on his face. “Wha- what name did you give our child?”

“Liam it is.”

The smallest of smiles tugged on his lips, swallowing harshly to surpress the sobs wanting to break free. “Beautiful name. Very well chosen.”

Pain was stretching across your features, desperately trying for the dam of emotions to not break. The dagger in your hand vanished, rather choosing to reluctantly caress his cheek - to make sure this was really him, and not one of his illusions.

And it was really him, leaning into your touch with a content purr. “Yes, my love, just like tha-”

A loud noise drang to his ear, effectively cutting him off. He needed a second to understand that it was in fact you slapping him what caused the interruption.

“Dear, wait, I-” Another hit, this time it was your knee digging into his groin, making him gasp in pain.

With his current power, it would be a piece of cake to block you - yet he knew that after everything that had happened to you, and everything he had done...

...it was what he deserved. So he would allow you to let off some steam.

Yet much to his surprise, you were done already - now grabbing desperately on his cloak and pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

He immediately reciprocated, dropping his weapon as well to embrace you fully, lips mingling with each other over and over again.

Oh, how long had both of you craved for each other?

“Sorry” you panted as your lips finally parted, “Just needed to get that off my chest.”

“Do not apologize, my love” Loki declared, chin resting atop of your head, still no intention to let go off of you. “I deserve far worse than that.”

You looked up to him, the kiss having made something surface in his eyes: So solemn, and incredibly fragile, it made your heart ache.

“Wha- what happened to you? Where have you been all this time?”

Loki’s face contorted at the question, as if the thoughts in his mind were physically painful. But his mind was clouded, unable to make his proper memory resurfacing. “Places far beyond your imagination, dear. And I have learned many things.”

“I-I thought I had lost you...” you ultimatively began to sob, face dug into his chest.

“No” the god whispered softly, his gaze still unwavering. “You always have me. I promise.”

“What now?” you sniveled as he gently pet your head, just as back in good old times. “Where do we go?”

“What do you mean?” Loki’s features creased into a slight frown, “We stay here. There’s no need to leave or flee.”

“Bu-” you hesistantly took a few steps back, to take in his full reaction. “But you’re a wanted criminal, Loki! On Asgard as well as Midgard!”

His manner became more defensive again, glee radiating off of him. “Oh, my sweet, innocent Y/N...still the idealist, I see.”

“And you are still insufferable” you scoffed back, crossing your arms. “What do you mean?”

Actually, you dreaded the answer.

The man seemed to be thinking about many things at once, eyes narrowing before he finally took a hold of your hand, squeezing it ever so slightly when he saw that you were still wearing his ring - even after everything that had happened.

“Y/N, my love, those deaths were a necessary evil.” He tried to peck a quick kiss on your hand, but you pulled away at those words. “The only crime I feel guilty for is having left the love of my life. But don’t you worry, I’ll make up for it.”

He summoned a staff, glowing in the same blue as the tesseract - and much to your terror, his eyes started to adapt to them as well.

“I will create my own kingdom, Y/N! Here on Midgard, with you as my queen! This is what you deserve, my love! You and our child will have everything you desire and more!”

“This is madness, Loki!” It wasn’t the first time he had heared that.

People always treated him wrongly, afterwards wondering why he was trying to create felicity on his own. “Is it?” he croaked, “Is it madness for a person born to rule two kingdoms to create a home he never had?”

His plan did not merit awe or any such feelings he hoped you to have - the only person in the world he thought would understand him.

“Loki, what your parents have done to you is inexcusable, yet-”

“They’re not my parents!” he screamed enraged, eyes then widened in shock that he had raised his voice at you. “My apologies, I...”

“They have kept the truth from you so that you’d never feel different. You know you’re their son, and the Asgardians are your family. You must know that!”

“You speak like mother” he spat, and still Frigga’s words he could not shake off as easily as Odin’s. “There is no going back to that place, and Jotunheim I never had a connection with. You most likely heared that I tried to kill Laufey, yes?”

Nodding in silence, you nervously bit your lip. “Please...” Wrapping your arms around him and placing one ear at his sternum, you could clearly hear how his heart was fighting a war, struggling to decide.

“You can still stop whatever you were gonna do. We can start anew somewhere, lead a peaceful life with Liam. I don’t need wealth or power, and you clearly know any of this wouldn’t give you the satisfaction you’re searching for!”

“As always, you’re right” he grumbled deeply, already regretting what he was about to do. “But it’s not that easy, my naive little dove.”

“No~” With his hand on the back of your neck, he infused a powerful magic inside your body, slowly shutting down your nervous system completely. As careful as possible, he cradled you in his arms and slowly led you to the floor, then proceeding to take his heir.

“The only thing I need for myself is our little family - and I will avenge you by murdering anyone that did you wrong, or tries to separate us again.”

#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki x Y/N #Loki Laufeyson #Loki / Reader #Loki / You #Marvel #Disney #God of Mischief #Writing #Self Insert #Fanfiction

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yourfavouritetragedy · 2 years ago

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Song and Ashes

kinda don’t like this one -- it’s not very fleshed out and it a bit more. experimental. but I present it to you anyways because it’s probably the last writing thing I’ll do for the week! (I think I’ll sketch something for Pride, and, yes, Ballroom is mostly done at this point! yay!)

cwilbur is Soot, he/they/she pronouns, Western phoenix cquackity is Q or Qua, he/him, fenghuang, AKA “Chinese phoenix”, which I know NOTHING about — all lore comes from search results lol. (I am Chinese btw.)

The bird with the most beautiful voice in the whole world is dead. They had been a phoenix, orange and gold, burning until they burnt out. As phoenixes do, he will live again soon.

But for now he is ash.

He had been loved in life, if that is any consolation. By others, however; not themself. They could only see the mistakes their siren’s voice had pulled people towards. Stories are lies, inspiring people towards rash and foolish decisions. (Something in his brain had been — perhaps not broken, but wrong. It would not let them be happy.)

As he died, he had hoped the next life would be different. Better. She hoped she could love herself in a future body, future life.

Sparks floated away on a breeze.

Within a formless dream, she remembered the other “phoenix”, nothing like herself. They sent up a prayer with the smoke that they would meet again. They were attracted to the fenghaung in a way beyond words, a fire-bright pull in their breast.

What had been his name?

A baby bird blinks, surrounded by ash. His feathers are brown, glinting orange in the sun. He dusts off his feathers. She stretches. He opens his mouth, and he sings his name: Soot.

He croons as he rises from the ashes, a beautiful song of survival. It seems as though the world is centered upon this moment, a gorgeous creature of untouchable nature singing a wordless melody.

There is nobody around to witness the spectacle.

Q was born so long ago that he cannot remember. Fenghuang do not die, so they are never reborn. They simply live forever.

He has not changed much since his full plumage came in, but things have happened to him, dividing his life into eras.

For a while, a cruel man had kept him in a cage, flaunting the legend he had captured. This lasted a long time and he cannot remember much that came before it. Q eventually escaped in body, but he was not truly free until the man died. It is his regret that he did not kill him himself.

(He was not meant to be this violent. He does not understand why he is this way, against his true nature. But the nature of being is to be a contradiction, and maybe the fact of the matter is that myths cannot be what people have dreamed of.)

After this, he met two other birds, one burning, one bright, and loved them for a while. But they were mortal, and so it was doomed to tragedy: the colorful one lost his memory with age and it tore apart Qua and the firebird.

There is another burning bird in his life now. He has lost track of him, but he knows they will meet again. The world is only so small and their lives are eternal.

(He is a phoenix. Q was always told to never touch a phoenix, in case they burn you along with them. They are so passionate, it is said, they will hurt you without realizing it.)

Soot was her name. Is her name. He wants to find them.

Q flies across the moon, hoping his colorful feathers will catch the eye of the bird he’s looking for.

Soot performs across the world, scanning every crowd for the rainbow feathers of a fellow immortal. Their voice sings songs of love and life, longing and lust. Everywhere he goes, people fall in love.

He does not fall in love back. He has never been in love. But she believes that she can be, one day, hopefully soon.

If only he could find that bird that won’t leave his thoughts. They had danced together many moons ago, from dusk till dawn.

He asks after fenghuang wherever he goes, but on the rare chance one has been seen, they are always feminine.

He sings and sings. He is certain that the other bird will remember his voice. It is an unforgettable call.

It is a long time before Q finds the phoenix again. He hears the voice first, wrapping around the trees of the wood. He flirts down from the stars, following the sound.

In a clearing, there is a splash of warmth and the source. Soot. They are still beautiful like nothing else to Qua.

I know you, she says.

My name is Q, he replies, landing beside them and showing off his feathers.

It’s you, he simply says, and his eyes light up.

May I have this dance? And so their courtship begins.

On clear nights, you may be able to see the phoenix lovers, fire-red feathers whirling against those of a peacock on the backdrop of the black night sky. They say the orange one sometimes dies, and the fenghuang always waits. These kinds of creatures live forever, they say, and so they have the power to love forever. Nobody knows if it’s true, but everybody knows that they are trying. Beneath their wings is the petty, unimportant world. Above, there are only stars.

#the quality just goes downhill lol #tntduo pride week 2022 #tntduo #I said this #tnt duo #c!quackbur #tntduo au #tntduo fanfic #my writing #wilbur dream smp #c!quackity #i am just trusting that the gaps for POV changes will stay in #i feel like you can tell something about my state from this but idk what #maybe htat i need to stop going to bed past midnight!!!!

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artxyra · 4 years ago

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I have another request. Mari and Damian go to the same school. Suddenly a gas enters the school. Girls become a cat for 3 days. Boys are tasked with taking care of the cats and Damian gets Mari. 1st day they bond. (He calls her Angel) 2nd day she makes a robin costume (her logo has angel wings) and secretly goes with Robin on patrol. He gets attacked, she saves him, they love her. 3rd day when fam is out she makes Damian a cake. She turns to normal they become really close. Btw I love your work!

Note: I literally had nothing planned going into this, but once I started writing the story took in the direction that I never had intended but I do like.

Damian Wayne was already on edge that day. He came to the school with an aura that was dark than the usual don’t mess with me. One dared to go near him, though a series of classmates wanted the school’s sunshine to ease the mess, she was nowhere in sight. In fact, the school is pretty sure they will never meet seeing as she’s been here for over a couple of months and never once had she met a person named Damian.

For Damian, he was on edge because of the night before. Batman and Robin had a run-in with this mysterious new villain and that has everyone on edge. There was no record of this villain and at first, they thought it was Selina, but she was out of the states and no one has heard from her in a while. The only clue they have is that the villain was also enthralled by cats.

So, when a mysterious yellow gas, Damian’s mood went beyond anyone could imagine. The gas spreads through the windows and into the classroom. Panic rose as the gas begins to cover only the females of the school. One-by-one they all shrink to an unbelievable size. Cat’s meow echoes from the gas and as the males swipe away the lingering gas remnants, they are faced with an unbelievable sight.

In the placements of every female in the room are cats wearing the school’s infamous uniform that apparently also shrinks to fit the cat’s bodies. A series of meows to hissing breaks the shock faces of the males.

Immediately, the school heads started to investigate. Using the cats as a base they found out that the girls could stay in this form for at least three days, if not more. After contacting the proper guardians/parents, it came down to those who couldn’t be able to return home due to strict reasons, such as living alone, or strict landlord rules about pets. Those that couldn’t go to their families were immediately assigned a caretaker regardless of status.

Damian at first was conflicted. Yes, he loves animals, but at the same time, there was a risk, his family’s secret. What happens if whoever he gets remembers their time as a cat? Was it that big of a risk? The appropriate answer is yes, but the animal lover in him said no.

“Here you, Marinette, meet your temporary caretaker.” The attendance persons say to the cat dressed in a pink vet with blue trim and the school’s logo on the pouch. He hands the cat version of Marinette to Damian, who was unsure of how to hold her. It’s not this cat is a normal cat, like Alfred.

Marinette squirms in Damian’s arms, he quickly readjusts her before opting to set her down. She flicks her tail across his legs and nods her head. Damian sighs, but not before the attendance person gives him a reassuring smile.

‘C’mon Marionette.” He grumbles walking towards the entrance of the school. Examining his peers, he can tell that some are way too happy about this predicament while others are completely nervous. Marinette, once again, meows gaining Damian’s attention. He looks down to see her playing with his pant legs. Unsure what she means, he picks her up and cradles her to his chest.

“Young Master,” He hears Alfred greets to him. Turning to give the family’s butler attention he tightens his hold on Marinette, who hisses in response. “The school has informed us of our newest visitor, I take it that you have a plan against your brothers.” The look on Damian’s usually stoic face says it all.

Upon entering the Wayne manor, Damian is grateful that his older brothers, aside from Tim, live outside of the manor. He knows that he couldn’t handle the constant amount of teasing that would ensure once word got out.

“Alfred tells me we have a visitor.” Damian sets Marinette down so that he could face his father. Bruce eyes the dark-haired cat before turning his attention back to his son. “Are you sure that is a good idea?”

Damian huffs, absently petting Marinette’s fur. “Of course, it is father. Why wouldn’t I bring her home? She needed a place to stay and after a long hard thought I decided that this was the best fit.”

Bruce curtly nods. “Just keep her away from the family’s hangout.” Damian acceptingly nods.

“C’mon Marionette, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying at. Be warned, that you are not the only cat here. Alfred can be very territorial.” Damian gestures for Marinette to follow. She meows and tots over to Damian.

They walk in silence. Damian was unsure what to say to a person he barely knows, and Marinette just eyes her surroundings.

That night, Damian went out as Robin once he triples checked that Marinette was sleep, but when he came back, he was greeted with Marinette yowling at him to go to sleep. He glares at the female cat as he swears, he heard Alfred the cat laughing at her commands.

The first day with cat Marinette was eventful. Damian was woken up by the lack of air as Alfred the cat was resting on his head. Once he had pried the black and white cat off of him, he is then greeted by Marinette’s sass. She flicks her tail and pries open the door before disappearing down the halls. Damian calls out to her, but it fades with the meowing from Alfred.

Once he made it downstairs, he sees Marinette sitting outside of the kitchen, she is eyeing the sleep-deprived nature of Timothy Drake. Tim was only seconds away from passing out with the steaming cup of coffee in hand.

Marinette jumps onto the table before anyone could scold her and push against Tim’s hand. He absently pets her thinking that it was probably Alfred annoying him. Marinette takes this moment to use her paws to push the coffee mug away from Tim. She looks around the room before jumping off the table and trots over to a cabinet.

Alfred, the human, appears behind Damian humming, he is intrigued. “It seems that Miss Marinette is on a mission. What would you like for breakfast young master?”

Damian murmurs his answer before he is quick at awe with how Marinette was mixing ingredients into a cup. With her nose, she nudges the cup over to Alfred, who picks up but not without petting her head. Handing the newly tainted cup to Tim, they wait patiently with baited breaths. Tim takes a long sip. Light snores then escape his lips as his head fits the table.

Damian stares at Marinette amazed. She lets out a meow and walks over to Damian, who picks her up and exits the kitchen area. Taking a seat on the couch, he begins to play with Marinette. Tapping her paws as she swats at him. Alfred, the human, quickly snags a couple of photos before proceeding with breakfast.

“How did you do that? Getting Drake to sleep?” Damian mentally slaps himself the moment the words left his lips. Marinette meows in response and snuggles closer to Wayne heir. “Maybe you’re not so bad as they say, Marionette.”

Marinette hisses at the male, her eyes becoming slits as she playful claws at him. Damian winces upon the nails attaching to his skin.

“Sorry, Angel.” He freezes in his spot. Never once had a nickname came out so capturing. Sure, he had called people by their last names, rarely their first, but nothing as meaningful as Angel.

He didn’t know how long he kept Marinette in his arms reading a book; however, what he does know it lasted enough time for Alfred to finish breakfast and call everybody down. Marinette’s purrs quickly turn into yowl as she felt her body move from its comfortable state.

Damian pats her head before entering the kitchen.

“Damian!” Bruce shouted upon exiting the dining room. In front of him is Marinette chasing Alfred the cat at high speed. She was jumping and dodging as Alfred was sliding and jumping past the future. Damian had to hold in his laugh when he saw the two cats running amuck. He could hear Marinette’s hissing, which made him wonder what Alfred did to upset the poor cat girl.

“An—Marionette,” He calls out ignoring his father’s Bruce Wayne version of the bat glare. Marinette meows, coming to a stop before jumping into Damian’s arms. She purrs as he slides his hand down her fur.

“Damian, please keep your friends under control.” Bruce then disappears down the hall probably to one of the many secret entrances to the cave. Damian doesn’t speak until he knows he is alone.

“Angel, what did Alfred do to you?” He asks the cat in his arms. Marinette looks to him and meows. “You want to do outside?” Unsure what she wanted, but the head gesture towards the window stated otherwise.

Marinette purrs in delight the moment her paws touch the ground outside the manor. Damian stares at her, curious as to what she’ll do. This was supposed to be the sunshine of their school anyway. Marinette trots off over to a bed of flowers. She sniffs them before letting out a sneeze. Damian holds in his breath, hoping that it would keep him from smiling or awing over the adorable sneeze. Maybe it was the fact that she’s a cat that making him feel this way?

Together they stay outside the manor until it was near lunchtime. Marinette teases him with her tail every chance she got meanwhile Damian was holding in the urge to yell or awe at her. It was becoming a dance of emotions.

“Young Master, your father is in need of your help.” Alfred calls out to him. Damian knowing what that meant, hands Marinette over to Alfred] before dashing off to become Robin. “He’ll be back Miss Dupain-Cheng would you like something to eat?” Marinette nods as Alfred hums his way to the kitchen.

Still sleeping in the same chair as earlier was Tim and right beside him with claws out is Alfred, the cat with a devious look in his eyes. Marinette squirms in Alfred’s, the human, arms. Tim moves just enough to avoid the incoming claw. Marinette hisses at the black and white cat, waking up Tim in the process.

“Uh, how long was I out for?” Tim looks around, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Uh, who’s the cat?”

“Master Timothy, you’ve been asleep all morning, now would you like anything to eat or join your father and brother?” Alfred asks hoping the third oldest male would choose food over crime-fighting. Tim’s stomach growls in response sealing his fate.

When Damian had returned that night after hours of crime-fighting, he was greeted with the sight of Marinette sleeping on his bed with Alfred, the cat, on the opposite side. Little did he know was that Marinette had wondered around the manor as Alfred, the human, began cleaning.

That night Damian swears he heard voices as he slept.

“Alfred, no~” It was feminine something that the unusual in the manor unless his sister or Selina came by. What follows quickly afterward is a series of meows.

Slightly awoken by the noise he darts upward; a daze looks in his eyes. In front of him are a pair of dark cat ears and long dark hair. Thinking that it was Marinette, he goes back to sleep for the night.

At the start of the second day, Damian was woken up by Marinette purring rather than Alfred smothering him.

“Morning Angel.” He greets the smaller of the two dark-haired cats. Marinette meows sliding her tail against his arm. It was then that he had noticed the change in the outfit the female cat was wearing. No longer was it her school uniform but an updated version of it with a pink ruffle skirt around her waist. Confused, Damian wasn’t sure whether he should question the new information or integrate the cat. Choosing to ignore the outfit change, he begins to get ready for the day.

Marinette sneaks out of the bedroom and down the halls.

When Damian sees Marinette later that morning, all he could do was groan at the sight before him. It had to be Dick that had entered the manor for the day. Didn’t the oldest Wayne had a job?

“Grayson, what are you doing here?” He asks glaring at the fact that Dick had Marinette in his arms.

“Baby bird, why didn’t you tell me that you had gotten a new pet. I’m sure B wasn’t too happy.” Marinette meows loudly in his arms.

“Tt, she’s a guest, for the time being, Grayson, now put An-her down. She doesn’t like to be held by strangers.” Damian was quick to catch himself saying her nickname. Dick pouts and reluctantly puts the cat down.

“She’s already better than Alfred, the cat. Which reminds me, Alfred the butler says that breakfast is done if you want any. Timmy already ate and ended up disappearing.” Dick’s reply instantly causes Marinette to run in the direction of the kitchen. Damian narrows his eyes feeling a slight sense of betrayal.

Dick turns to Damian and wraps his arm around the younger’s shoulder and laughs, “C’mon, baby bird.”

That night as Damian was getting ready for patrol, he doesn’t realize the makeshift smaller version of the Robin uniform being pulled out by the teeth of Marinette’s mouth. She tugs against the uniform and slowly puts it on. Trotting over to the mirror, she checks herself out and sneakily follows Damian to the Bat cave.

For a cave full the world’s greatest detective, them not noticing a small cat wearing a cape that has the Robin emblem with addition to having angel wings was the most face-palming feat they have ever done.

Marinette snuggles her way into a hidden compartment on Robin’s motorbike. She waits until she could feel was rumbling of the engine. The engine soon cuts off, popping her head out of the hidden compartment, she looks around. Nothing felt out of place for her. Though she could feel the pulsating effects of the magic with her.

She could still hear Damian checking out the buildings. There is nothing to report on, something she knows the feeling all to well with her time being Ladybug. Late-night patrols were her worst nightmare.

Staying put, Marinette knew she couldn’t move, not just yet. There needs to be the ultimate reason for her to reveal herself. That lasted until the growing sounds of someone grunting and punching filled her sensitive ears.

“Oh, how the little birdy is struggling against someone like little old me.” A voice says off in distance.

Turning her head, she finally sees Robin in the midst of what looks like hand-to-hand combat with this new cat-obsessed villain. She could also see that Damian was struggling to maintain the upper power over the villain.

The villain places Robin and locking hold.

Marinette jumps out of the hidden spot instantly transferring into the catgirl form. Her ears perk at the sound of grunts, she moves quickly to the fighting scene. Incepting the hold, she frees Robin who falls backward.

“It seems my magic has evolved or you’re just a magical being.” The villain murmurs but she was able to pick up.

“It was you that turned the school into cats.” Marinette accuses as she felt her emotions go into over-drive. With heighten senses she engaged in combat with the villain.

The villain taunts her as Robin struggles to readjust himself. The paralyzing effects of whatever the villain holds over him fading away. He could barely hear the sounds of his family over the earpiece as he watches in shock seeing the Angel, he had been taking care of fighting the villain that turned females into cats.

She could feel the magic he was wielding pushing against her own, telling her to revert into her cat form. Pushing against the call, Marinette holds herself firm against the incoming blows.

“Augh, I got no time for this.” The villain waves his device. Marinette hisses feeling the shrinking feeling taking over again.

With a mighty blow narrowly defeats the villain just as the magic turns her back into a cat. Licking her paw, she trots over to Robin and brush against his legs. He is too in shock to do anything.

The next thing the pair knew, Red Robin was cuffing the cat villain as Nightwing and Batman make their way over to Robin, trying to get him to speak. Robin was unsure how to answer any of the questions, he simply just gestured to Marinette.

Marinette’s eyes twinkle as Nightwing takes her into his arms gushing about how great of a cat she is; however, the same couldn’t be said for Batman.

“She saved me, father if it wasn’t for her who would have known what the Cat-caller would have done to me.” Damian finally speaks placing his foot down against his father’s better judgment. Batman tried to up the fact that she knows their family secret, but even he couldn’t deny the possibilities.

Finally patting her fur, everyone knew that she had won over the famous Batman and Bruce Wayne’s appreciation.

When Damian and Marinette had returned to the manor, he couldn’t help but be at odds with her. He didn’t know what to say, to ask even. This cat had saved him, knows his family's biggest secret, and could fight. This was not something he normally deals with within a single day. He watches her as she slept in her little area, wondering what to say to her when she becomes human once again.

Damian falls asleep never noticing the sincere look one eye open of Marinette.

Today was supposed to be the last day for all the females in their school to be human. The girls were excused from the classes however the males were not. It was Tim that left the manor first, then it was Damian and Bruce followed not long after. Alfred, the human, needed to run some errands living the animals alone in the manor.

Marinette could feel the magic effects of the gas waning off. She chased Alfred, the cat, around the manor because he ended disrupting her relaxing time only to be followed by Titus soon after. She had barely spent any time with the other animals over the course of the two days.

Waking up after a quick catnap, Marinette began to realize that she was no longer in her cat form, but in her catgirl form instead. Her ears perk up with an idea. Maybe she should Damian a thank you cake for everything he has done for her. Yup, that is exactly what she is going to do.

Calling for the animals to follow her, she makes her way into the kitchen. Quickly locating the ingredients, she immediately got to work but not before believing she is on a cooking show giving instructions to her audience, the animals.

They all watch Marinette, intrigued by what she’ll make. Titus had nudged her hand a few times reminding her that Damian was a vegetarian allowing her to make the changes quickly before mixing them together.

As the cake baked in the oven, she began mixing a vanilla vegan frosting, a recipe she remembers her parents making when the customer was strictly a vegan. The buttercream came out nice and silky. It wasn’t long before the cake was done and put in the chiller for cooling. Marinette knew that she only made hours before anyone would return to the manor. Hopefully, by then she would have fully reverted to a human.

The cake was done and fully decorated before Alfred had returned with Damian behind him. Marinette, now fully human, smiles at the two with a joy that could defeat all darkness.

“I made you a cake as thanks for handling me as a cat. You didn’t have to, but you did.” Marinette place a quick peck on the youngest Wayne’s cheek before cutting him a slice.

“Uh...” Damian was speechless. Little did he know was that Alfred was filming the encounter with a knowing smirk. Maybe this would be the person that thaw out the ice prince’s cold heart.

“Don’t it’s vegetarian safe, you can thank Titus for reminding me and thank Alfred, the cat, for not attempting to sabotage it while I was baking,” Marinette adds when she saw the look in Damian’s eyes and the way his body language spoke upon being handed the slice of cake.

Together, against all odds, they sat in silence eating their own slice of cake. Alfred even takes one and appraises the young woman about her craftwork. She then explains that her parents owned a bakery growing up and that she’s been baking ever since she could remember.

Properly meet the rest was of the Wayne family was at dinner, when Damian begged her to stay the night to which she turned down on the basis that she needed a change of clothes and that she should go, check out her dorm apartment and make sure everything was okay.

In the weeks that follow, everyone at their school was in shock seeing the ice prince and sunshine incarnated hanging out with one another. No was surprised when the two began dating a couple of months after the cat situation. They were a match made in heaven.

Tag List: *View my Tagging System guidelines for how to to be properly tagged or removed.

#daminette #maribat #damimari #cat marinette #ml x dc #mlb x dc #marinette x damian

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yoon-kooks · 4 years ago

Text

The Devil Writes Romance | myg

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, college!AU, fuckboy!AU, fanficwriter!Yoongi

Summary: When you’re assigned to work with Min Yoongi on a final project for your Writing Fiction course, you stumble upon the fuck boy’s secret identity as a sappy fanfic writer. With the heart and soul of an aspiring editor, you’re somehow convinced by the boy himself to help make his fictional romance more realistic and heartfelt. Before you know it, you’ve made a not-so-innocent pinky promise with the devil.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mentions of sex :-)

A/N: this is basically a pilot that sets up a lot of plot for a potential series so lmk if you like the idea and would continue reading it as a series! also special shoutout to @chewymoustachio for the love & support 💖

As spring semester comes to a close, your only goal is to make it through finals week unscathed. Like many of your fellow English majors, most of your finals are extensive papers rather than traditional exams. Normally this would not stress you out, but your Writing Fiction course has thrown a curveball your way: half of your grade is dependent on your partner, Min Yoongi.

Personally, you’ve never been a fan of partner or group projects because you always somehow end up with incompetent teammates who either do a half-assed job or ghost you until the day before it’s due. Either way, you’ve learned and become accustomed to relying only on yourself.

However, as your Writing Fiction class has taught you, a writer’s world is not built upon independence. Rather, it’s built upon the opposite. Writers depend on others for support, feedback, and revision. That’s where your final project comes on.

For your final project, everyone in your class signed up for the role of either a writer or editor, and you’ve been randomly paired up with someone who chose the opposite. It’s no secret to anyone that you dream of becoming an editor in the industry. You love the idea of reviewing other writers’ works and providing them with as much feedback and constructive criticism as possible. Naturally, you signed up to be an editor.

As fate would have it, you find yourself paired with the boy who’s pretty much slept with the entire class, including the TA, and allegedly the professor. The only person left unchecked on his list is you. Somehow, you’ve heard more gossip about his sex life than his skills as a writer, which is why you believe you’re fucked for this final.

“Hey, Partner,” Yoongi catches up with you in the hall after class. His signature cedarwood cologne is too heavy to ignore as he strides beside you. “Are you free tonight?”

“To brainstorm some story ideas?” You tilt your head and add an innocent tone to mask the skepticism. Truthfully, you know what he really wants. It’s not your first rodeo.

“I actually already have a story in mind,” he says. “But I was thinking you and I could-”

“What’s the story about?” Because you’d much rather hear about that than one of Yoongi’s many excuses to get in your pants.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he shrugs as the two of you walk out of the building and into the beaming afternoon sun. You lift an arm to block the light out of your face, only to realize the boy’s shadow blocks it for you. Apparently, there are perks to walking with a buddy after class. “I’ll send you the draft tonight.”

“The professor literally just assigned the project and it’s not due for another week,” you raise an eyebrow. Weird, you’ve never seen a college kid so proactive and eager to get a head start on their final project. Something tells you the boy is just spouting bullshit and telling you what you want to hear. “You don’t have to rush and write all ten thousand words in a single night…”

“Well I don’t have any other plans tonight,” he says. “Unless you want to-”

“Nice try, Yoongi.” You start walking further ahead of the boy. You’re forced to squint as to not be blinded by the sun. “I guess you can have fun writing your story, then.”

“You really know how to play hard to get, Y/N…” Yoongi whines in that raspy voice of his, eliciting the tiniest smirk on your face. You might not approve of his fuck boy tendencies, but you’re also not opposed to teasing him a bit.

“If you really want to impress me, keep your word and send the draft tonight.” You spin around and wave farewell as you battle the sun. “Your editor will be waiting.”

As soon as you arrive home, you realize Yoongi isn’t the only one without any Friday night plans. With nothing to do, a large part of you hopes your partner keeps his promise so you can at least try to be productive over the weekend. But ten thousand words is a lot to write in one night. It’s more than likely that he won’t be able to pull it off.

In an attempt to wind down, you scroll through the blog feeds of your favorite writers. Many of them, such as @suga-fix and @jk-seagull, are college students like you, so you can appreciate all the time and effort they put into their craft on top of their school work. While the fan in you loves to shower them with sweet and supportive messages, the editor in you hopes to one day be able to also provide feedback on a professional level.

At the very top of your feed is a short post from @suga-fix, a romance fanfic writer whom you recently found while scouring the #jiminscenarios tag for something free of smut.

“Does anyone else struggle to ask their crush out or is it just me? Asking for a friend.”

You giggle at the innocent question. In addition to writing the sappiest Jimin fanfics, Suga is known to post snippets of his own nonexistent love life on his blog. From what you understand, he’s a boy who’s never experienced true love firsthand. Recently, however, he’s been gushing over his pretty classmate. You’re waiting for the day when he builds up enough courage and finally lands a date.

Until then, you’re satisfied with reading his ongoing fictional love story featuring the popular idol, Park Jimin, as a struggling romance novelist who finds inspiration in a skeptical wedding photographer. You absolutely adore the story, the characters, and the underlying narrative, but the editor in you can point out an area for improvement: his romance game.

You notice the two main characters lack a certain level of chemistry to get the readers quaking and itching for more. Most of the time, the intimate scenes end with poor Jimin getting friendzoned, which certainly has its charm and humor. But truthfully, you expect a little more love from a romance fic.

You suspect that, to some extent, this is intentional as the characters are the type to dance around intimacy and have pessimistic views on romance overall. However, you also wouldn’t be surprised if Suga’s own personal inexperience with romantic scenarios is what holds him back the most.

After catching up on your socials, eating dinner, and hopping out of the shower, you sit in the darkness of your room and check one more thing before calling it a night. No email, no text, no draft from your partner. Not that you were actually expecting anything, but it would’ve been nice for the fuck boy to prove you wrong.

To be fair, you know how long and painful ten thousand words can be. If Yoongi is in fact sprinting through those ten thousand words and gets them to you by the time you wake up, you’ll consider him a man of his word.

[4:56AM] Yoongi💋 “I emailed you the thing”

[7:24AM] Y/N “Ooh, I’ll take a look 👁👁”

[7:25AM] Y/N “Btw I don’t appreciate you adding an emoji to your contact info on my phone”

After changing Yoongi’s contact name to something more appropriate, you go into your email and find the story draft that the boy had sent at exactly 4:55AM. The word count on the document says 10,382. Not too shabby, Min Yoongi.

You grab your morning caffeine and crack open your laptop to read your partner’s story on the big screen. Right away, you notice the document is titled “Untitled1” which is never a great sign, but you’re willing to forgive him if its content is stellar.

The first thing that puts a smile on your face is the main character, Jimothy. His name reminds you of your favorite idol, Jimin, with a playful touch. He’s the romance novelist who attends his friend’s wedding where he has a chance encounter with a pretty wedding photographer-

Wait. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard this story before. In fact, you know exactly where it came from. You pull up Suga’s Jimin fic and put it side-by-side against Yoongi’s version. While it’s not exactly a copy-and-paste situation, the romance novelist x wedding photographer premise is too similar for it to be a mere coincidence.

At first glance, you find it funny that Yoongi took the time to reword everything to not be caught by the plagiarism police. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he did a quick search of Jimin fanfiction and picked one that was moderately popular but not viral enough for anyone to notice. Jimin fanfic just so happens to be your guilty pleasure, so there’s absolutely no way you’d let a plagiarist slip one past you.

But upon further review, after digesting the entirety of the fic, you find that Yoongi’s flow and choice of words are eerily similar to Suga’s style without recycling a single line. Likewise, you notice the same lack of chemistry in both versions of the story. You suppose this can only mean one thing, and you need to confront him about it in person. Because the last thing you want is for him to ghost you like everyone else you’ve ever worked with.

[8:42AM] Y/N “I just finished looking it over”

[8:43AM] Y/N “Wanna get coffee & discuss? ☕️📖”

[8:45AM] Yoongi🐍 “Oh? I thought you weren’t interested in a date with me 🥺”

[8:46AM] Y/N “Let’s meet in about an hour at the coffeehouse on campus?”

[8:46AM] Yoongi🐍 “See ya there, my editor”

As you stir the oat milk into your second dose of caffeine for the morning, you wonder how you can bring up your suspicions in an appropriate and professional way. Should you confront him about it immediately, gently coax him in that direction, or take a more passive approach to see if he’ll mention it on his own? Because if you’re going to be this boy’s editor, you want to do it right.

“Thoughts?” Yoongi enters the chat with slightly damp hair and an iced Americano in hand. Your only thought in that moment is about how fucking good he smells, even in the presence of the rich aromas of your favorite roasted coffee beans. But you’ll leave those thoughts to yourself.

“My first thought was that you sent me a document titled Untitled1,” you say.

“I have a working title,” he assures you. “But I’m curious to hear what clever titles my editor has come up with after reading through the whole thing.”

“Pink Cheek Syndrome sounds appropriate.” Because that’s the title of Suga’s original fic. It’s also the term coined by Jimothy to describe couples who aren’t as in love as they’d like to believe. It’s a facade to fool everyone, including themselves.

“Great minds think alike after all.” Yoongi leans in to give you a high-five, but you just throw a balled up napkin at his palm. Confess. Just confess already.

“Can I ask what inspired the concept?” You bite your lip. “You don’t strike me as the romantic type.”

“Don’t you ever feel like people get into relationships just for the sake of being in a relationship?”

“Yeah.” All the time, in fact.

“It’s pretty shallow if you ask me,” he says with a nonchalant chuckle, as if he’s not the shallowest person on campus when it comes to established relationships. “PCS is just a commentary on people like that vs people like you and me.”

You and him? You’re not sure you have anything in common with someone who breaks hearts and sleeps around so casually.

“Sounds like something a fanfic writer would come up with.” Because it is.

“Sounds like something a fanfic reader would say,” he throws back at you.

“In fact, there’s a Jimin fanfic I read once called Pink Cheek Syndrome,” you say. The dose of coffee moving up Yoongi’s straw suddenly freezes. “You’re the original writer, right?”

He swallows hard and raises an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“The writing style matches even though you didn’t copy and paste,” you scroll back through Yoongi’s version for reference. “And besides, scrambling to write ten thousand words in one night is typical fanfic writer behavior. A true plagiarist doesn’t know what it means to put those hours in.”

“Nothing gets past your sharp eyes, huh, Y/N…” Yoongi sighs, failing to hide behind his Americano. “I’m equally impressed as I am scared.”

“Wait, so you’re really Suga?” Your eyes widen. Suddenly you’re overcome by a wave of emotions. Excited, nervous, star-struck. But most of all? Confused. “How?”

“Just don’t tell anyone.” He picks up his phone and starts typing away at something.

“I won’t,” you say, also pulling out your phone to check up on the @suga-fix blog. Sure enough, there’s a stream of several new posts from a few seconds ago.

“fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK”

“I feel so exposed 😔”

“Quick, everyone act like this isn’t a fanfic blog.”

“We can pretend to be like a porn blog or smth”

“I can read everything you’re posting, you know.” You show your blog feed to Yoongi, who’s still busy keysmashing. When he finally glances up from his screen to yours, the look on his face is both flattered and distressed.

“You follow me, too?” The boy takes a long sip of his Americano, shifting his beady little eyes and plotting his next move. “What’s your URL?”

“You’re totally going to block me,” you frown. “I already told you, I’m not going to tell anyone…”

As you continue to scroll through Yoongi’s blog, you notice his post is gone from the day before. Perhaps that’s what the boy is desperately trying to hide.

“By the way, is it true that Min Yoongi, resident fuck boy, has a crush on someone?” You get excited because that’s not something you hear everyday. In regards to Yoongi, it’s always been sex, sex, and more sex. He’s notorious around campus for having one-night stands and breaking hearts the morning after. You’d never imagine a boy like him having an innocent crush on anyone.

“Where’d you hear that?” The boy across from you gradually sinks deeper and deeper into his seat every time you open your mouth to expose him further.

“You made a post yesterday about not being able to talk to your crush properly,” you giggle. “It was kind of cute.”

“I was talking about my friend.”

“You can’t fool me, Yoongi. I’m not that oblivious.” You take a sassy sip of your coffee and lean forward. “So who’s your crush? Is it someone in our class?”

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N,” he shoos you away and slides a hard copy of his draft in your direction. “Let’s not get distracted from why we’re really here.”

“Hold it, I’m not just being nosy for the gossip, you know,” you say. “From an editor’s perspective, I think the romance in your story could benefit from you interacting more with your crush.”

For a moment, Yoongi just gives you a look. You can see the wheels spinning in his head. “Well, that person doesn’t seem very interested in me, so…”

“Unrequited love?” you gasp. The plot thickens.

“Yeah,” he chuckles at your enthusiasm. “But you did give me an idea just now.”

You examine his handsome face for a hint of what’s to come. His signature Fuck Boy Smirk tells you he’s up to no good again. “I’m listening.”

“You’re my editor, right?” he asks. You nod. “And your main critique is that I should up my romance game, right?”

You nod again.

“What if you help me make the romance scenes more believable and realistic?” The boy watches as you blink your wide eyes, stunned at his suggestion. You know he doesn’t just mean that from an editorial standpoint. Surely there’s an ulterior motive here. “And before you jump to any conclusions, no, this does not include sex.”

Oh.

You’re reminded that Yoongi doesn’t write smut, despite how much of a fuck boy he is in real life. Because you’re sure he has the capability and personal experience to write some steamy and wild sex scenes. And yet, he chooses to focus on hardcore romance instead, something he himself is much less familiar with. It’s mind-blowing to think that a boy as experienced in bed as Yoongi could be so inexperienced elsewhere.

Why does he write the opposite of how he lives?

“I don’t think that’s how editors work,” you finally respond to Yoongi’s proposal, flipping through his draft and writing in the margins. You have to admit, the boy has a gift. His stories would no doubt skyrocket in popularity if the lovey-dovey scenes could draw out true, raw emotions as though you were there living in those moments. As a reader, you want him to pull at your heartstrings, smash your heart into a million pieces, and slowly put it back together. All of that can be achieved if the writer gets some hands-on experience in the love department. “But I get what you’re saying.”

“So is that a yes or a no?” He sips down the rest of his Americano as you continue to think your decision through.

Given what you know about Yoongi’s track record as a fuck boy, you’re hesitant. But at the same time, the ambitious editor in you knows what you want.

“It’s a yes,” you sigh. “But only if you promise me a few things.”

“Go on.”

“One, you’ll come to me if you’re struggling and need suggestions, advice, or someone to talk to.”

“Easy. You can be my editor-in-chief.”

“Two, if anyone asks, we aren’t dating.”

“Got it.”

“Three, help me study and prepare for the rest of my finals.”

“We can have study dates.”

“And lastly, please don’t sleep with anyone else while we’re doing this thing. Because that would be awkward.”

“Oh? I didn’t realize you were the possessive type, Y/N,” he smirks.

“Not trying to be That Controlling Bitch who forbids you from sleeping around, but I think it would defeat the purpose of what we’re trying to accomplish.”

“But what if this goes on for a while?” Yoongi strokes his imaginary Santa beard. “You expect me to practice abstinence forever?”

“It won’t go on forever, Yoongi,” you giggle at the boy’s silly remark. “Because eventually, you’ll find someone who can bring out those romantic feelings better than our faux intimacy ever will.”

“But you’ll still be my editor-in-chief?”

“If everything works out, then I don’t see why not.” You want to be optimistic about a long-term deal, but you can’t seem to rid yourself of the doubt stuck in the back of your mind. Because humans, not just fuck boys like Yoongi, seem to have a hard time keeping their promises. “I only ask that you don’t break my trust.”

Before responding, the boy meets his eyes with yours. You suppose tender eye contact is a skill he acquired from his flirty lifestyle. You, on the other hand, blink away. Eye contact longer than a glance has always made you feel vulnerable.

“I won’t, Y/N,” he says, coating his raspy voice with a layer of honey. It’s almost as intoxicating as his cedarwood cologne, but that’s another thought you’ll keep to yourself.

You watch as he slides his pinky into view, over the draft and coffees to make it official. After cracking a smile at his childish gesture, you wrap your pinky around his, thus marking the beginning of your deal with the devil.

#bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts imagines #yoongi x reader #btsboulangerie #bts fluff #bts angst #bts x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts college au #bts #bangtan #yoongi #suga #suga x reader #suga fanfic #the devil writes romance

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years ago

Note

How do you think Jon and Sansa's storyline will play out individually in TWOW ? How do you think their dynamic will be in TWOW ? Will there be sprouting of a forbidden romance utilising the incest angst trope or will it be completely platonic ? Will Sansa arrive at the Wall when Jon is dead ? 😅 I know I shouldn't have asked so many questions but I am just curious about what your views might be regarding the above . ❤️ your metas btw.

Hello, and thank you!! :)

I think that - given the idea by the other anon that Shireen’s sacrifice will be the weather-changing event that allows Sansa to travel North - Sansa will begin travelling northwards fairly early in the book, after yet unspecified shennanigans in the Vale. The moutain clans are likely to feature in some way and they have seen her in KL and they had good relations with Tyrion and I kind of want them to help her travel. They are literally the mountain clans, who can traverse the Vale in less than ideal conditions if not they?

Jon... yeah, not certain at all. I imagine a spirit quest involving Ghost warging and possibly contact with Bran, but... who knows? It’s hard to predict. I think he might actually be dismissed from the Watch upon getting better like Selmy, and make his own quasi-political moves in the North with Stannis? I don’ t think they will meet at the Wall, really. I think they will move toward each other and meet on the road. He will be resurrected alone and he will be Very Sad and Grumpy and Sansa will help with that a lot, while he will finally be someone who genuinely cares about her and protects her.

I definitely picture a rescue-in-the-woods situation with Sansa, and Ghost, and I think the way their relationship plays out will be an understated but deeply romantic connection underneath their political cooperation and mutual learning. As in, GRRM will stick to his style and we’ll get maybe a deeply touching line or three, but he won’t suddenly throw around dramatic inner monologues to the tune of Arys Okaheart. But the imagery will be off the charts long before he gets more obvious.

GRRM didn’t give the story of Aemon and Naerys such prominence to have it not affect how Jon and Sansa perceive their feelings for each other. There’s a path through that mess and it’s “chaste and courtly love”. Lady and Knight. I think they would unspokenly gravitate toward that scenario. Angst, yes, some shame, yes, but also a certain “I know this story” kind of resignation. I don’t see them convulsing in self-hatred so much as in a bittersweet melancholy.

Alongside that and gaining in prominence: Florian and Jonquil.

They’ll obviously cooperate to retake Winterfell and there will be succession drama. If GRRM is kind, Rickon will be a part of that. They will obviously clash on some fronts, but I think in general we will see them shine together, combining their strengths. Sansa triumphing in her first chapter when she correctly identifies the three strangers near the queen and impressing everyone present? We’ll see that a lot. Jon getting over his grumpy self and turning a ragtag bunch of misfits into decent fighters for a common cause? We’ll see that a lot.

So, they will both be in Winterfell, in uber-Stark mode, pining, and preparing for how they think they need to face the ice threat. Enter the Dance of Dragons to the South, and the impending arrival of Arya and Bran, and whatever drama the Lannisters might still exact, and whatever happens to Rickon. I think that will be TWOW. Also, the marriage to Tyrion will be a thing. The annullment will, I think, be part of what motivates Jon to seek contact.

Come ADOS, I do NOT think we’ll see Jon running away from Winterfell or sleeping with Dany specifically to escape the danger of incest. That would be irresponsible (running away), and stupid (she’s a foreign invader, a fellow monarch and super dangerous) and it would demand a narrative punishment far beyond “accidental incest” because it would be a betrayal of Jon’s feelings for Sansa and a callous use of another person, which would specifically also hurt Sansa and would preclude a reward at the end. Whatever Jon does, it will be “professional” and in service of House Stark or Westeros. Jon WILL be rewarded at the end. It’s not the romantics punishing hours, it’s a song.

I also think that Aegon will have a significant role in Jon’s ADOS arc, be that potential ally or heartbreakingly resentful enemy. They are half-brothers, and Aegon would follow Aemon as an example of a decent Targ. At whichever point RLJ comes into play, Jon will need that example to counter Dany’s, along with Arya pounding a frying pan over his head, screaming “The woman is important, too!” about Lyanna.

The threat of the Others and its resolution is hard for me to connect to Jon and Sansa since I see it as so deeply connected to Bran, and mostly in the mirror of Lady Stoneheart. I have far too little Norse mythology background to begin parsing that. But I see the ending of Disney’s “Moana” as a good example of what it will be, rather than anything the show did. The contrast to that harmonious ending will be the political fire chaos in the South.

Or, you know, I may change my opinion again in a week. But this is the general scenario I am working with now. In my head.

#asoiaf #asoiaf speculation #jonsa #twow #jon snow #sansa stark #aemon and naerys #florian and jonquil #RLJ

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danddymaro · 4 years ago

Text

Addiction | Old Snake x Reader

An Ending to MGS4 that ends in happiness for our good boi Snake

Fixed/Edited

BTW: Let’s shift the events around and pretend he went to go talk to Big Boss Before Meryl's wedding.

Thoughts are italics in quotations = 'Example'

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Word Count: 2225

Addiction

From betwixt the snug place of his lips, the smoke in which he took pleasure from was snatched, aggressively pulled out in a single motion,

"Snake," A familiar male's voice said in a harsh whisper, sounding frustrated and disappointed all together, "Just what in the world do you think you're doing!?" Otocon added with the same tone of exasperation.

Silently, Snake's blue eyes drifted right to see the bespeckled brunette male giving him a half-hearted glare, his entire expression full of annoyance as he glared onto the man that seemed many years older than what he truly was.

"You know you shouldn't be smoking," Hal said while shaking his head in the same disapproval, making sure to exaggerate a low dragged out sigh, "Honestly...Snake, you'd think that at least today you'd make an exception." He added.

'Today...' David started, 'Today is a special day... for not just me, but for her too,' He thought while grunting, knowing just what the other man meant, feeling guilt weigh down over his shoulders as he recognized his selfishness.

With a dull gaze as a response, Snake returned the look back to his long-time friend, 'I know this already...don't think I don't,' He silently told the man while pressing his lips together tightly.

Tearing his eyes from the hardened dark chocolate orbs, David then trailed his oculars down to the discarded nicotine as it now lay on the floor, a small, thin line of smoke still rising from its end, a gentle flicker of a red spark still visible as well.

He could pick it back up. After all, it was salvageable, but even so, his reaction remained prolonged.

He stared at it for a few moments before he closed his eyes to rid himself of the tempting image.

"You will end up smelling like burnt ash and tobacco. I don't think she'd like that," Otacon continued to speak, convincing him to make the right choice.

Dropping his shoulders, Snake nodded in defeated agreeance, knowing it to be true.

After a few silent minutes passed, he then gave a frustrated sigh and stepped on it, crushing it under his shoe and making sure it was put out by the stomp.

"yeah yeah," David grumbled, because he was well aware of the fact and had already mentally kicked himself for it.

"I know you're nervous," Hal then said with a soft, understanding smile rising, "it's understandable," he said while placing his hand on his friend's shoulder, "But you should do it for her. " He added, truthfully, also being concerned for Snake's health.

"Now come on, " Emmerich said with brightened brown orbs, "It's about to begin," he reminded the other male, his index finger tapping the little face on his watch as an exited grin overtook him.

Having spent almost his entire life in battle, it wasn't like he could fit into the normal world with ease. He couldn't just chuck himself into an easy everyday life as simple as that, no matter what anyone tried to tell him.

He'd been told to live his life, to enjoy what bits he had left and to salvage it the best he could, but he hadn't the least bit of an idea as to how to do so,

'how? ' He wondered helplessly, uncertain as to just how he could go on so simply.

What could a man that's known nothing but battle do in the normal world?

He couldn't go back to his family as other soldiers would often do, because he had none. He had no mother, father, brothers, or sisters, to fall back to.

Heck, he didn't even have a damn dog to go back to and run toward at the end of the day.

All in all, he had nothing. So, he couldn't just join into the masses of civilians and blend in, because it just hadn't been in his plans.

He'd never thought that far along, and for a long time, he'd thought there was nothing there for him.

But of course, life had its crazy, little surprises, especially one he'd never anticipated...

"Marry me!" She said out loud, her voice rising with plea, the sudden proposal stopping his movements entirely.

His steps came to a complete halt, and the foot that had almost touched the ground stayed suspended for a moment, hovering over the placement by just a centimeter.

He then took two slow breaths before he placed it down to the Earth, turning to the woman with confusion, his brows knotted together to show a visibly painted look of dumbfoundedness,

"wh..what?" He breathed, almost inaudibly as he tried to comprehend what he'd heard.

He was certain that it was just his old age playing with him.

He just knew it was the only explanation as to why he heard her say the words because it was just unfathomable to him,

'I must be hearing things,' He thought to himself, deflated at the sudden realization that dawned upon him.

Dementia; he probably had dementia.

He'd thought he had just a bit more time before then, but it seemed that he wasn't lucky enough, and surely the old age he presented himself with had finally fully beaten him,

"What...what did you say?" He asked slowly, staring at her with furrowed brows.

She took a step forward, inching herself closer to him with anxiousness, seeming uncertain on coming near,

"Did...did you not hear me?" She squeaked, face turning beet red, seeming mortified at the fact that she had to once again repeat herself.

" Perhaps... but I could have been mistaken." He grumbled, watching her continue to move closer to him.

Slowly, and tentatively she stepped forward, soon standing three feet from him, staring up at him with a harsh swallow, a small lump gliding down her throat before she spoke yet again,

"I...I...I said ...I ... I said ... will you marry me..." she repeated with strain, sounding much smaller the second time around, losing all the sense of confidence she'd previously fueled herself with.

"Marry you..?" He repeated, still at a loss.

At her side, he noticed she held the white bouquet full of flowers tightly bound within her hold, and it was the same bunch that Meryl had thrown up in the air not a few moments ago.

When she realized just what he had been staring at, she held it up with a rather quirky smile, " I think this kind of means I'm next, and I don't see anyone better around," she said while raising both her brows to dance up and down until he turned away from her, not in the mood for the show of playfulness,

"Huh?!

- What! Please don't go!" she cried out, rushing after him, soon managing to stand before him, her arms widespread to stop him from moving past her,

"I'm being serious!" She declared, looking up at him with frantic (e/c) colored eyes, "You have to believe me!" she added, continuing on with her story.

She reminded him of the fact that they'd met before. It had been a while back, an event that had embedded itself deep within her heart, even if he'd forgotten,

"Because..." She started, " Because I've thought of you every day after that," she confessed. "And then I spoke to Hal, and he brought me here, he told me that now...Now was my chance to tell you. " She confessed to him.

She'd waited years, pinning for the man through each and every one of them, waiting for the day she'd one day stand before him again.

And it all began to make sense by then, why Otocon seemed so insistent on him joining the ceremony, despite his own refusal to show because he'd had other plans in mind, all of which didn't include infecting everyone with his miserable air.

"I'm not exactly meant for romanticism, " he told her. " And even if I were..." He trailed off, keeping his eyes drawn away from her, his words dying out as he let her fill in the blanks.

Even if he had been willing to take the risk, to suddenly go off and get hitched to some strange woman he just vaguely remembered,

his life was draining, and all in all, he had nothing to offer her.

"You're better off with someone else... " he said lowly, " someone who has the time," he added with the same dejection, moving to leave her behind before she stopped him again,

"Wait," She said with a stilled breath.

Her two hands both grasped his, stopping him and effectively holding him back. The soft, warm palms of her two hands enveloped his own hand which was much rougher and less dainty, " Let's at least try?" she said with hope,

"I already know," She told him, " I've already known about your condition...but still..." She went on, daring to step closer, " Still... Even then, it doesn't change the way I feel, and, in fact, It just fuels me to want to be with you even more, " She admitted.

"It's sudden, I understand, but at the very least, give me the opportunity to come closer to you." She tried to compromise,

"If you begin to feel the same way I do...then... then we can make something of it. " She told him, slowly convincing him with the lovely stare of her pleading, (e/c) colored eyes.

He reflects back to her proposal far more than he cares to mention because it had been the moment his life took a complete turn, going from muted grey and black to cheerful, colorful vibrancy in every step that she accompanied him in.

And it all lead him to where he was now, standing before her, dressed properly and prim, left awestruck at her beauty, moreso than he typically was, reminding him that perhaps his luck wasn't so bad if it had somehow aligned their lives together.

she held his hand in hers as she slid the silver band onto his finger, the smile she wore on her red painted lips never faltering, not once losing its lovely show of fulfilled happiness, because she couldn't be any more joy-filled, something everyone commented on.

- There wasn't a happier bride in the planet.

Her cheek was then pressed to his chest, her nose scrunching up as she let out a soft sigh, not sounding angry, but he knew she wasn't all too pleased either,

"You were smoking..." she said softly, closing her eyes slowly as she let her body be led by his slow movements.

He wasn't a dancer, and she wasn't either, but nonetheless, they rocked together, bodies pressed close as their friends watched the couple's first dance together.

"I can smell it on you," she added with a small sound of exhaled air produced from her nostrils.

She hated loving the scent, the smell of smoke making her think just of him and nothing more.

"I was nervous," he said in defense, his response making her giggle softly,

"Don't tell me you want out already?" she asked him, drawing back slightly to look up at him, saying it in a joking manner, but even then he could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

"Because I think it's a little too late for that," She reminded him.

"...Do you?" he asked her back, and he watched her shake her head in denial,

"Of course not silly," She said earnestly.

And he loved what followed, what always came after she looked up at him,

"I never would," She breathed, her gleaming eyes soon straying down to her wedding band, lovingly eyeing the silver piece, " David, I loved you then..." she started sweetly, her gloved hands sliding up from his chest to his cheeks, " and I love you now..." she reminded him, rising up on her already heeled feet.

His paled blue eyes closed, his mouth melted onto hers before she brought him the tender heat of their plumped goodness.

His two hands then fell over her hips but didn't stop to land on them, instead, they slid around her, his arms taking complete hold of her during their loving connection in an embrace that spoke more than words ever could.

"I'll love you always," she managed to murmur between their mashed mouths.

A squeal of enjoyment left her as he squeezed her tightly within his arms, loving all the attention he fed her.

She lived for it; Blossoming beneath his rays of affection.

"David..." she said again, drawing back, her eyes brightened with a type of light he knew existed only when he stared at her, because the woman adored him, something he'd always found to be unbelievable, yet a bliss.

He'd gone days without the death stick, days which later turned into months, and finally years.

He'd gone the rest of his breathing days without so much a thinking of them, but not a single one of those passing dates did he resist her, always caving in to her, even in their darkest days.

By then he'd found out that there was something far more addicting than nicotine, and it was the sweet flavor of her lovely lips, the warmth of their tender press, and much more the dedication behind each one that she let graze him.

All in all, she became his one fixation, the one thing he couldn't ever dream of living without.

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elysicndrcvm · 4 years ago

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━♡ guess the 23 YEAR OLD FEBRUARY baby just arrived to dallyeog! it makes sense, because CHU EUNHA is just as BEDAZZLING as the month of FEBRUARY. wait, why do they remind me of JACOB BAE? beyond that, they seemed JOYOUS and SAVVY upon first glance. i heard someone say they’re sort of DELICATE and QUIXOTIC though. i hope they get acquainted here in COMPLEX 1 / APARTMENT 0215 / FLOOR 3 ; HE seem(s) to have a lot going on with HIS job as a PATISSERIE OWNER/NUTRITIONAL SCIENCE STUDENT. ( ez, 21, she/they, gmt. )

well hey there !! im ez but you fellow dallyeogers can call me ezzy, i have been in dallyeog before so some may remember me as having someone v different to my new bb i bring u now, i joined before with miss tam carmen !! anygays i return with this lil angel who i am all ‘ i say that’s my baby and i’m proud ’ over already even tho i literally came up with him like two days ago. you can find his pinboard here ( which btw i fuckeN love like he’s so aesthetic to me u go king ) and i made him a lil playlist which u can vibe to here. you can learn more about him under the cut but he’s a super soft-hearted gentle dove of a muse and quite...simple for me ?? sdhdh that’s not the right wording but U GET IT djjflg he isn’t super full of angst or trauma he’s just kinda viBIN livin his best life so that’s fun !! but ye without further ado:

so as u kno from his app he owns a patisserie, it’s his lil babey and he is very dedicated to his craft and makin sure all his ideas for the place and the baked goods he sells are like rlly quirky and avant-garde. like he is so passionate about it u dont even KNOW, he tries to make sure most of the stuff on his menu is something like fun and new u wouldn’t get at just any old patisserie or cafe and that it’s super varied and also kinda aesthetic af? the place is very like trendy. it’s called patisserie d’elysian cause ya know he’s an extra biTCHH and proud.

he has three pupperino’s. all as adorable as each other, snickerdoodle is his golden lab and often ppl shorten it down to snickers, butterscotch is his dapple daschund pup, shortens the name to scotchie often. toulouse is his fancy toy poodle boi, shortens the name down as toto. if u are on the shortened name basis with his pups then u can consider urself one of his close pals.

he’s actually adopted by his aunt but she raised him like she was his mother so that is what he considers her, she’s on his mother’s side but they are half-siblings. in terms of first name reasoning as well she just liked eunha as a name and didn’t even think about how it is traditionally for a female, she liked that it meant gift from heaven so it stuck. his father is still around, he’s just quite elderly so it felt like a better living situation for him to be raised primarily by his auntie. unfortunately his mother has passed on but no tragic story, she just went peacefully in old age.

he dyes his hair quite often, it’s currently like a really pastel blue with black streaks consistently throughout like lil ones so it looks super cool. but he’s also had it be a more electric blue, lilac, and a duck egg kinda faded silvery blue. it’s naturally dark brunette. has brown eyes kind of a hazel hue.

his style is kinda androgynous ig?? he just lives for soft retro fashion, lots of color in his wardrobe but also lots of tapered short and t-shirt fits frequented, sweater vests, rolled up jeans, high skater boi socks, soft jumpers with shirts, shirts in bright colours or satiny texture worn over plain white t-shirts, cardigans, pastel denim jackets, jeans with printed patterns on like clouds, flowers etc, favors yellow and blues. sometimes does eye makeup, occasionally wears heels bc he’s a baddie or super heeled boots/chunky shoes.

obsessed with music, can play violin and guitar. he’s a big mitski and rina sawayama fanatic, likes anything that sounds peaceful or calming or has like a good fun vibe to it. also likes the trademark gay icons like carly rae jepsen, lorde, etc. he’s not ashamed. obsessed with mamma mia movies. but also likes rap which is rlly funny cause its like the bad bitch female rappers only and like he’ll listen to it while arranging his sock drawer or making his bed or something ajdjdj it’s like hype anthems for being a baddie and a hoe and he’s just doing his night sleepy routine adkfkf.

showers, blankets, music, baked goods especially bagels are his happy places.

very much a sensitive lil romanticist, falls in ‘love’ like five times a day, he just likes to giggle and smile around pretty people and admire the artwork hnghdh, he’s like yeARNS though ya know?? like he’s all i will flirt by making prolonged eye contact, i made you a playlist, this song makes me think of you etc. it’s either memes as flirting with him or elaborate love letters u never know what ur gonna get akdkd.

awful sense of humour, loves his friends more than anything on earth except his pups, would fully live in a huge house of just like his pups and all his closest buds for all eternity. likes fruits way too much, enjoys puns about fruits way too much. milkshakes, sushi, orange hues and bus rides are some of his absolute favorite simple pleasures of life. clouds, flowers, salt lamps, the sunrise over the sea, skateboarding, fresh soda, teddy bears, busy street markets, parasols, fish tanks with exotic fish, sorbet, bike riding, polaroids, record players, rain at night against floor to ceiling windows with a fresh steaming pot of tea on the desk beside it and warm fresh sheets from the laundry on his bed, ponds, skateboarding. all little joys in life that give him like the biggest pleasure dopamine hit in the world.

his cousin actually owns a florists so he has flowers just littering his apartment like a lot and it just looks like he has ten million suitors from the late eighteenth century attempting to court him but no all these flowers are from him to him or worse from his aunt djfjg she sends him some for valentines every valentines, pls help him, pls send him flowers.

studies nutritional science and he fucken hates it. do not ask him shit cause he doesn’t KNOW OKAY? he doesn’t understand it either. he took it because he needed something to go alongside the passion for baking that was a real ‘qualification’/job so that is the only reason he’s doing it. no point doing a baking degree after all when he’s already a baker with a business, he’s super young still he gotta keep his prospects open. so YAH. he’d rather be doing culinary arts but eh. nutritional science sounded better and more logic based. the real miracle is he still gets top grades all the time even tho he spends his life like wtf am i even doing is this even legit akdkdk. school is the worst thing in the world for him watch his mood instantly deflate the second its brought up.

despite being a quixotic, he’s a lil afraid of intimacy. like oh god does he love it, those small touches and acts of affection u kno? the subtle things that normally go unnoticed, eye contact, brushing of hands, linking of little fingers, rubbing a thumb, kissing eyelids or foreheads or palms or shoulders in little gentle pecks, back massages and rubs or finger tracing patterns absent-minded, shoulder massages, laying your head on someone’s shoulder or on their lap, knocking knees together, exchanging a small glance only the two of you get before bursting into laughter, smiling into kisses, napping together, having blankets placed over you warm and fresh, or towels put ready like it, someone making you something they know you like a lot. that’s his sHIT. but like he’s terrified still, someone skimming their fingers on his skin makes his breath hitch like he’s a scandalized and alarmingly aroused victorian woman sjdjd. he’s literally still a virgin, he hasn’t even had his first kiss okay my baby is delicate be gentle with him akdkd but he still LIKES PASSION AIGHT kfkf.

real soft spoken, honey tinted voice like i shit u not this boy talks like he’s an angel sent from heavens above to guide you to the paradisaical garden of eden or some shit akdkd. ur gonna fall in love with eunha’s voice before u even fall in love with any other part of him like his adorable beaming smile or stunning eyes akdkf.

has dance parties around his room when getting ready in the morning, listens to bella’s lullaby unironically yes from twilight yes u heard right, bit of a himbo streak sometimes in his obliviousness djfjf. quite silently subtly funny actually much like jacob himself.

he is gay, afraid of driving, cannot do math, blanks out often and he is valid for all of those things. has a collection of cartoon and disney animal movie dvds. has a dream notebook. always has blue painted nails in some kinda shade.

does not enjoy turning in assignments bc he is scared he’ll fail, avoids looking at his grades for weeks after they’re released and hates knowing that they’re out.

cannot dance, dances often. collects vintage stuff esp clothes and mostly sweaters. likes midnight trips to corner stores and fields where he can just lay and look at the stars. makes friends rlly easily but has super bad performance anxiety. cannot ever have a messy room like even the tiniest bit messy. even like clothes being stacked on a chair instead of away.

bakes peanut butter, banana and choc chip muffins (they r called monkey bites normally) whenever he’s super stressed. if u want to cheer him up when he’s anxious or stressed then u should give him french lavender honey, chia seeds and caramelized pear on toast/bagel. it is his comfort food. he fancii when he needs a pick me up. treat urself and all that.

#dallyeog:intro #i'm literally in love with him he's the softest most goodest boi muse i have ever made and i just #im that meme of the samari sword guy with the cat in his arms akfkfk #IVE ONLY HAD EUNHA FOR TWO DAYS BUT IF ANYONE HURTS HIM I WILL KILL THEM AND THEN MYSELF AKKDK

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roominthecastle · 4 years ago

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If you could go back in time and pick any writer(s)/producer(s) to take on TBL (let’s say post 3x10), who would you go with and why? And, on a semi-related note, how do you wish the mid to latter seasons had played out? (this is just for fun, obv. feel free to ignore 😅)

I’ve been thinking about this since you sent it to me, anon, and I keep circling back to the same basic conclusion: I could pick any showrunner/writers room of any of my favorite shows (w/ the exception of GoT which was a similarly ugly disaster but that’s over at least), and while there is no such thing as a “perfect writers room” or pleasing everybody or making the right decision all the time, I’m confident that those ppl would do a better job in every area, most importantly character & story development, and maintaining some level of consistency in both in a way that it yields decent return on audience investment.

And believe me, it’s not about ‘shipping. It’s the total lack of storytelling integrity that I can’t get past. What is the point of this show anymore, really, story-wise, I mean? Why are they telling this story? what is even the story? what point are they making other than “put us in charge of your next show if you want its decent original idea senselessly butchered and the remains smothered in award-proof mediocrity”? Every time I hear their go-to excuse of “once we answer the core questions, it is over”, I roll my eyes. If you cannot address the fundamental elements of your narrative bc the second you touch upon them it crumbles to dust, so you have to lead the story away from it into dead ends, then you have a big problem. And they do have that problem, they have been dancing around it w/ decreasing success. The show’s been going off the rails, the characters have been doing the same old shit, the same 3 ideas are being recycled endlessly, and it’s all been kept afloat by the sheer stupidity and incompetency of the female protagonist. Not even James has had anything substantially new to do recently and it’s a total waste of his talents.

and Liz is not a character, she is a prop at best w/o a sliver of substance or meaningful goal of her own, and it’s fucking repelling. not to mention the lack of imagination that goes into the general construction of the show at large. and their painful inability to develop/write adult relationships in a way that’s a bit more complex and more interesting than a drunk fratboy’s anemic ideas of romance and friendship. and forget twisted psychological issues, controversial topics or grey morality in general, all of which they are absolutely not equipped to handle in a constructive manner despite choosing to couch their show in them. oh and all the blatant retcons they do whenever somebody has a half-assed idea and they wanna force it into whatever’s left of the original narrative that obviously resists it at every turn, so the showrunners give ridiculous interviews and abuse the word “organic” beyond recognition to “explain” how it all really fits (sure, if you ignore the previous seasons). they are terrible liars and it shows in their writing, too. what good character stuff they manage to earn, they regularly throw out. what they didn’t earn at all, they regularly force it in and pretend it was there all along. they peddle to the most simplistic and pedestrian slice of their audience and while it may be the most lucrative business model, it’s also always the death of good storytelling.

and this is officially a rant now, I’m so sorry, anon, but I doubt I will be able to offer anything else when asked about this trash fire. but these issues are all the basic whys of needing solid writing on any show and it is missing on TBL in a way I haven’t quite experienced w/ other shows. I mean, it’s like they purposefully go for the most bland or shittiest path every time they stumble on a semi-promising crossroads. But if I had to pick just one writers room to see how they would tackle all this, I think the “Person of Interest” team would be my top choice bc they navigated all the issues above really well on their own show, imo.

And how do I wish the post-S3A era had played out? In any other way, essentially. Liz and Red locked in an antagonistic-obsessive push-and-pull where both can meaningfully fulfill their own set of goals & desires amidst reasonable compromises? cool. Closing ranks against a 3rd party and choosing to work together to meaningfully fulfill their own set of goals and desires amidst reasonable compromises? cool. the meaningless flip-flopping btw the two that undercuts both characters and plunges the story into a mire of manufactured angst in retcon land? not cool but apparently that’s all they can offer.

#anonymous #rants #it felt good to let it out tho thank you

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glamrockmonarch · 6 years ago

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Goddess Series: Vesta (PresentDay!Roger Taylor Fluff)

Warnings: we all want some smut, I know...but because this is Vesta-based I kinda couldn’t bring myself to do it! Although, fear not for I will also be doing an alternate version with Roger for Discordia.

A/N: Someone requested for Bri proposing and I thought it would be unfair not to have one for Roger. Also, y'all are thirsty for bang bang boy. BTW this is unrelated to other pieces.

The afternoon sun hit your window as it did every day at six. The warmth of the orange sun falling and hiding behind a hill before setting for the night to fall upon the city made you aware of the time passed since you first sat down at your small desk in the room contiguous to yours and Roger’s room.

The house, which now was a lot more than a simple place to live in and felt warm in your bones and on those of anyone who stepped inside, was a beauty bought by the two of you in a shared effort at keeping the expenses divided and in order for you to claim as much independence from your wealthy boyfriend as it was possible to do.

Without a doubt, it had been your feminine touch and modern style what made of the one-story home that extended far across the property, your room leading to a garden you religiously tended to in the mornings before leaving for work, enjoying the smell and sight of the flowers growing outside your french doors.

Stretching in your seat, you saved your work and turned the computer off before standing from your chair and checking your wristwatch.

The clock red exactly 6:05 so you left the small office and walked out into the hallways to seek for your boyfriend. Finding him, you giggled at the sight of the man you loved so much standing in front of the oven with a kitchen apron.

“What’cha cookin’?” You asked him with a humorous tint on your voice.

Roger looked back at you for a second and his brow furrowed as he found you staring. He pointed at the table behind you and you gasped when you realised he had set it all up for a small dinner.

“Would you look at that!” You clapped your hands and wrapped your arms around your waist. “Rog, what’s going on? I know it is not our anniversary and you don’t cook at all…”

Of course, you were suspicious of your boyfriend. The reason why you met in the first place was because you were a young talented chef working on a famous restaurant in London, you had been lucky enough to work on a place where the pay was not too bad and the clients always included celebrities who had a taste for more than food but also for knowing who the hell was behind their delicious meals. One night you unknowingly served a delicious Paris-Brest to a tv producer and he liked it so much he had you come over to his table and invited you to cook on a morning tv show. Taking the chance meant you met celebrities from time to time, and with it being so well known that Roger Taylor was an awful cook, when his turn to come on the show came, the hosts made the most of it and invited him over to your little cooking segment where you had a great laugh trying to teach the man how to make something easy and delicious: Banana-Walnut Coffee Cake Muffin Tops. The chemistry had been undeniable between the two of you and soon you found yourself getting down to more than dining together…

“You cannot blame a man for trying…” Roger pointed out.

With a smile on your face, you saw the cooking book laying on top of the counter and pursed your lips.

Roger was following one of your recipes from the very first book you published. Brian had insisted you had to do it and seeing as you did have many dishes in mind outside of only pastries you thought it was a great idea. Roger had been sitting beside you during half of the writing sessions for the book, he remained quiet and wrapped his arm around you while you half sat and half laid on his lap with your laptop on your own lap. Roger would read something while you let your creative juices flow; always after a cooking session to test the recipe. And always including some backstory and afterthought to each recipe. Perfect for a light brunch date, comfort food, great for a new cook! Although challenging - rewarding and tasty. There never failed to be a small note at the bottom of the page.

However, Roger owned a copy of each one of your cooking books, your boyfriend never touched your recipes unless it was as a sous chef.

“Please,” Roger took you out of your daydream and you smiled at him once he dropped the apron on the kitchen island and grabbed your hand. “come on, dinner is ready!”

“But what’s on the oven?” You looked over your shoulder with the concern of a burned meal.

Roger shrugged and led you to a seat. “Don’t worry.”

After a second you realised he had taken the time to prepare some sort of dessert for tonight’s dinner, this peaked your curiosity but you remained quiet about it watching how your boyfriend brought the Avocado Sushi “Biscotti” to the table for the appetizer.

Chuckling, you closed your eyes and gave a pouty smile.

“Oh God, Roger…” You shook your head in disbelief, it smelled quite well and looked as good as it had looked on the book.

He even had a bottle of pinot grigio to pair it with.

“Is everything okay?” You looked up at him in concern.

Roger smiled at you with a joy so pure he resembled a child for a moment. It was nothing bad what he wanted to do that evening. He was aware of the stress you were under preparing for the opening of your own pastry shop, creating new recipes and talking to the designers about the look of the shop, you had to be on it and although you seemed to have it all under control, Roger could tell you needed a break and perhaps some space to breathe - it showed by the way you had been going out for dinner more regularly lately when you loved to put your music on and dance around the kitchen to present Roger with a meal delicious and homemade.

Then of course, was the heavy velvet box burning Roger’s pocket for weeks now. He could not think of a way to pop the question and he felt quite stupid going down on his knee, so he thought of a better way to do it. A way you that would surprise you and make you feel especial. Your boyfriend planned something that he knew you would love more than a fancy restaurant.

“Yes, of course!” He opened the bottle and you ate the appetizers together.

This was a wonderful little taste - no pun intended, of what the meal ahead would be like with Roger cooking.

The fish was delicious, the side of veggies was beautifully cut and how could you ask for anything else when Roger was in a fine mood, popping jokes and reminiscing of old pranks from his time on the road with his bandmates. You laughed and told him stories from your university years, which to him were as crazy and weird sounding as his stories were to you. It just happened that you two lived very different lives in very different times.

At some point, Roger stood from the table and went to get his dessert out of the oven. The smell overwhelmed you as you recognized that bitter smell of coffee. Your head turned to watch, the glass of wine still on your hand as you were about to take another sip, when the memory struck you.

“Are those…” You sniffed around the air, stretching out your neck to catch a whiff of banana and cinnamon. “you did not!” You accused him with your eyes wide open.

Roger laughed as he set the tray down, the muffin tops had been ready for a while but Roger hid them in the oven and kept the temperature as low as possible so they would stay warm but not burn.

“Well, seems like I did!” He bragged and served a couple of the Banana-Walnut Coffee Cake Muffin Tops on a plate.

You watched him come over to the table with it. Once he set them down you covered your face with your hands and giggled.

With your mascara a little smudged from the time spent in front of the computer you felt a couple of tears prickle your eyes as you smelled the delicious pastries laid in front of you. Roger watched with his hand rubbing his chin, a smirk playing with his features.

“You do have to try them, I don’t know if they are good.” He motioned towards the plate and you sighed.

Why would he do this? This was the very same dish that brought you together - as to say.

“And while you’re at it, love…” Roger rummaged through the pocket of his jacket and revealed to you a small box of soft black velvet. “I cannot promise to cook every night...but I will eat whatever you make. If you marry me, of course.”

You laughed and took in a deep breath, taking in the sight in front of you. Roger looking at you with a confident look on his face; knowing well that he had somehow pulled off a great dinner and surprised you, he was sure you would never give him a negative answer, so overcoming the temptation of playing with his emotions, you nodded your head and reached out to put your hand on top of his tattooed one.

“I will marry you but you try the muffin tops first.” You replied, aware of the fact that Roger sometimes misjudged the amount of sugar needed for desserts.

In a heartbeat, Roger grabbed one of the muffin tops and gave it a bite. He started eating it and shrugged in content as he tasted nothing bad on his own cooking.

“It’s a perfect recipe, what can I say?” He complimented you.

Wiping his hands carefully, he opened the box and held out his hand for yours and pulled the ring out of its little cushioned bed. He slid the golden ring on your finger and stared at it in amazement for a moment.

“I might cry Rog.” You warned him in a whisper, already feeling too overcome with joy.

Roger huffed and turned away, he really hated to see you cry even if it was just because you were laughing too hard for too long. Roger hated it!

“Oh, stop that!” He said.

Your boyfriend stood from his chair and went to your side to offer his hand so you grabbed it. He pulled you to your feet and as you were level with him you wrapped your arms around his neck, an honest and childish smile spreading through your eyes, cheeks and lips mimicked his.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #2019!roger taylor #2019!roger taylor x reader #present day roger #present day roger x young reader #present day roger x reader #goddess series #roger taylor fluff

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whoa-royal-chaos · 5 years ago

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Sealed With a Kiss (short story)

Takes place ~2055. MAJOR spoilers for what I have planned for Mai and Niklas down the road. Full story under the cut

has not been retconned after @melanin-monster and I figured out deets between rustavya/liang/mikawa, btw

𝕊𝕪𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕤:

𝘈𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬. 𝘈 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘴. 𝘈 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘷𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘈𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘺. 𝘈 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴.

♔𝐼𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓃𝓈 (https://urstyle.com/styles/489695)

♔𝐼𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝒶 𝓁𝒶𝒹𝓎'𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓎 𝒾𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑜𝓇-𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓅𝑜𝓃 (https://urstyle.com/styles/489697)

♔𝐼𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 (https://urstyle.com/styles/489699)

♔𝐼𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝒶 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓉𝒽 (https://urstyle.com/styles/489701)

♔𝐼𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓂𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝓂𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇, 𝓉𝑜𝑜 (https://urstyle.com/styles/489703)

♔𝐼𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝒸𝒾𝓇𝒸𝓁𝑒 (https://urstyle.com/styles/489705)

♔𝐼𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒸𝓁𝓊𝒹𝑒 (https://urstyle.com/styles/489707)

The lipstick was ready. But was she?

*****

Queen Mai König of Königreich der Welten, formerly Princess Mai Mei of Liang, remembered when she first discovered that her husband had killed her cousin. She’d learned it from diminutive Liviana Viriatus, a Lusitanian princess who was the size of a child. Liviana had overheard Queen Fareeha Amari of Mamlakat Alssahra (who was only a princess at the time) discussing Zhou’s disappearance with a military officer. Fareeha always loved her military friends, remembered Mai. Them, and her snakes and hyenas.

Mai remembered how she’d felt. She’d wanted to rake the blades of her lace hand fan across his face, to stab his eyes out with the heels of her designer stilettos, to tear out his throat with her perfectly manicured French nails.

But of course, that had never come to pass. Her uncle, Emperor Ming Mei of Liang, had granted Prince Niklas König of Königreich der Welten her hand in marriage and access to Liang’s plentiful natural resources since Niklas’s father had given him the military assistance he needed to reclaim the throne after civil war and Jarippan invaders tore Liang apart.

The reign of Emperor Jing-shi Mei, Mai’s father, had collapsed as fighting erupted in between the nationalist and socialist factions that formed during the weak Mei Dynasty. Mai grew up in seclusion with her uncle in the valleys of the impenetrable Black Mountains. Her childhood was hiding and donning disguises as easily as she changed clothes and impromptu etiquette lessons and martial arts. By the time Ming’s armies defeated the last of the socialists, Mai could incapacitate an adversary in a dozen different ways without mussing her hair or smudging her lipstick. And when the imperial court of Liang was re-established, Mai found these skills invaluable as she navigated the treacherous sea of cunning, cutthroat politicians who sought to wrestle power away from Emperor Ming Mei.

Cutthroat politicians, indeed-it was common knowledge that one would have to be a fool to walk through the ancient Liangii palace without at least a dagger concealed somewhere on their person.

*****

Princess Mai had gone to Aciras, because the Aciran royalty had invited the betrothed princes and princesses of the world to an extravagant party before they were wed. There, she met Niklas for the first time, as well as Liviana, who would become a lifelong friend, and Fareeha, who would become a lifelong rival.

Mai recognized that she and Fareeha were nothing alike, yet exactly the same. Both of them would have done anything for their respective nations. The only difference was in their methodology; Mai liked bladed fans and hairpin daggers and believed in the art of invisible strength and the art of winged eyeliner. Fareeha liked missile launchers and machine guns and believed in the art of flaunting one’s strength and the art of sweat-stained tank tops.

*****

Mai remembered the ball that the king and queen of Aciras had hosted the week before her wedding. Soft violin music swirled through the opulent ballroom. Paintings of idyllic landscapes encased in gilt frames decorated the walls, and crystal chandeliers and delicate champagne flutes sparkled prettily in the light.

Mai was dancing with Niklas. He was a handsome man, and charming, too. His dark hair was slicked back neatly and there was an amiable smile playing at his lips. He was refreshingly funny and charismatic to boot; he was the type of person that you could not help but to be attracted to.

Niklas’s touch made her uneasy.

I should know better than to fall for a handsome face and a nice smile, Mai had thought scornfully to herself. Is that not what I count on others doing? I coat my face in layers of cosmetics and don expensive dresses and spend hours styling my hair all to keep people from realizing that my hairpins can be used as daggers and that there is a knife concealed in my bodice. I pretend that all I am is another pretty face to traitorous Liangii nobles while I plan their downfalls.

Yes: knights had their chainmail and breastplates and steel gauntlets, and Mai Mei had her red lipstick and high heels.

Liu, one of her uncle’s advisers, had informed Mai before the ball that they’d confirmed Prince Niklas’s role in Zhou’s disappearance. But of course, there was nothing that could be done. Königreich der Welten’s military was widely recognized as the most advanced in the world, rivaled only by that of Mamlakat Alssahra and the Britannian Empire, and the betrothal had been finalized years ago. Mai’s marriage would not be cancelled under any circumstances whatsoever. Not even for the assassination of Emperor Ming’s heir.

*****

Mai remembered her wedding night.

The air was cool against Mai’s bare flesh. A waterfall of sleek, ink-black hair cascaded down her exposed back.

Mai sat on the edge of the bed. It was obvious from Niklas’s awkward manner that it was his first time. However, contrary to what she would have others think, it was not Mai’s.

She had been thirteen or fourteen, and posing as the daughter of a poor farmer. The man’s name was Jiang-li Zhang. He had been a nationalist leader with whom her uncle forged an alliance with, seeing as both men wanted to defeat the socialists. General Zhang approached Mai every night during the lengthy negotiation process, and she let him have his way with her. The fate of Liang was hanging in balance. It went without saying that Mai would have done anything for her homeland.

For Liang, Mai thought to herself as she gently kissed her husband-her husband, the same man who had Zhou killed. Zhou, whom she’d loved as if he were her brother. Mischievous, boyish Zhou. Ridiculous, outrageous, wonderfully vexing Zhou-dead, by the hand of the man whose lips were pressed against hers. Revulsion clawed up her throat. Mai violently pushed it down. I will do this. I will do this, for Liang.

*****

Mai remembered the birth of their first son, and how he brought much joy to her life. Niklas insisted that they name him after his father, though he allowed Mai to choose the middle name.

Mai had looked Niklas straight in the eye and smiled. “Zhou,” she’d told him, holding their baby close. “I want his middle name to be Zhou.”

Their son grew up to be a dutiful soldier-prince, just like Niklas. But Mai could see the playful mischief in his eyes, and her heart ached whenever she glimpsed his wicked smile or his cheerful face. He got it from Zhou, she was certain of it.

Mai and Niklas named their daughter after Liviana Viriatus of Lusitania: the tiny princess who both of them had befriended in Aciras, and the tiny princess who told Mai that Niklas was behind Zhou’s disappearance. Then came another son, who Mai named after Ming. And then came another daughter, who Niklas named after his mother. Mai loved their children dearly, and through their children, she learned to love Niklas.

*****

And so the years passed. Mai was forced to give up her bladed fans and hairpin daggers upon entering Königreich der Welten, where she became Niklas’s wife and queen. Mai knew from a the start what would be expected from her in marriage, and she played her part well. She outwardly supported Niklas in everything he did, from his plans to expand west to the military bases that he built in Liangii cities, but Mai had never been one to forgive and forget. How could she, when Niklas-dear, sweet Niklas, who treated her as if she were the only queen he’d ever known-had killed her cousin? How could she, when her very own husband, the father of her beloved children, was sending his troops into her homeland, to “keep the peace”? Troops from Königreich der Welten stationed in lovely, lovely Liang, a country torn apart by decades of turmoil and strife; a country torn apart by brutal Jarippan invaders who’d sought to take advantage of Liang’s inner conflict. The last thing that Liang needed was another foreign military presence.

Every once in awhile, memories from Mai’s childhood flooded her mind, unbidden. There was Mei’an, the silk capital of the world, reduced to nothing but ash...the lush, tranquil plains of Mengu littered with corpses and crows…Jarippan soldiers setting innocent men and women on fire along the banks of the Qingshui River…

It soon became obvious to Mai that Niklas intended to annex Liang when Emperor Ming Mei died. Ming did not have an heir. His heir had been Zhou.

*****

Mai stared at the deceivingly harmless tube of lipstick. She’d always loved lipstick and the color red. Red was the color of Liang. It was the color of blood and fire and roses. Red was Mai’s color.

The lipstick was ready. It had been ready for quite some time now, ever since she’d received the poison smuggled in from Mamlakat Alssahra.

Mai summoned the cold, deadly fury that she’d left buried deep inside her for two decades. Her fingers itched to clutch at a bladed fan. She steeled her resolve. They might have taken her knives and daggers, but she still had her high heels and red lipstick. And that would be all she needed.

*****

Mai remembered seeing Fareeha Amari of Mamlakat Alssahra for the first time in twenty years.

Mamlakat Alssahran soldiers had attacked a transport convoy from Königreich der Welten, presumably due to territory dispute. After the attack, Niklas arranged to meet with Fareeha to negotiate.

Commander and Queen Fareeha Amari was still the bold, confident woman that Mai met in Aciras. Her black hair was cut short, and her bronze-colored skin was tanner. Mai thought that she had more scars, but she could not be certain.

Fareeha looked Mai up and down, starting from Mai’s soft, smoky eyeshadow, through her dark lipstick and one-shoulder crimson gown, and down to her black stilettos. “Mai Mei,” she said, her teeth flashing as she smiled and tilted her head to the side, narrowing her dark eyes. “I see that time has not changed you one bit-you are still a snake. Similarly, I still know how to handle them.”

Mai resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “And as I told you all those years ago, Commander Amari,” Mai began softly, “I am afraid that you are mistaken. According to the Liangii zodiac, I am a rat.”

Fareeha threw back her head and laughed loudly. “Ah, yes, Mai Mei. You are a rat. Did you know,” she said, leaning in closer, her eyes twinkling in amusement, “that snakes eat rats?”

Niklas frowned and opened his mouth to interject, as did one of Fareeha’s advisors, but Mai held up a gloved hand and stopped them. “Is this how you make peace, Queen Fareeha? By threatening people?” Mai’s voice was pleasant enough, though there was a sharp edge to it.

Fareeha shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s not like you to be this direct, Mai. What are you trying to say?”

“I am saying that perhaps our esteemed peers in Aciras and Lusitania and the Britannian Empire would not be very appreciative of your diction,” answered Mai, an idea forming in her mind. Oh yes, Fareeha-I am both a snake and a rat. I am both predator and prey. I’ll leave you to puzzle that out for yourself once your plan falls apart. Mai was frightened by her idea, but she gritted her teeth and shoved the fear away. This is for Zhou. This is for Liang.

*****

Mai’s first son, the one that she called Zhou, was there to greet her when she and Niklas returned to Königreich der Welten. “Did you get anything accomplished?” he asked.

Mai shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she answered. “Though Queen Fareeha’s advisor did give me a new tube of lipstick. Mamlakat Alssahran cosmetics are truly divine.” She showed her son the sleek black tube, and smiled. “We’ve already had it tested for anything dangerous, of course. I cannot wait to try it on.”

Her son nodded politely. “Well, I have some good news. Many of our allies, including Aciras, have condemned Mamlakat Alssahra’s actions.”

Mai’s smile grew wider. “Excellent.” Her expression softened as she looked up at her son. “You’ll make a wonderful king,” she said, stroking his face. I’m sorry, Mai added silently. I am truly sorry for what must happen next. I’m killing two birds with one stone, really. Vengeance for your namesake, and fuel for the fire against Mamlakat Alssahra.

*****

The poisoned lipstick was ready. The question was whether or not Mai was ready. She took a deep breath, Zhou’s cheeky grin floating in front of her eyes. Mai saw Liang. Lovely, lovely Liang, with its towering Black Mountains and ancient temples and lush grasslands and mighty rivers. And Liang’s people, who had seen enough fighting and violence to last an eternity. They didn’t need more soldiers in their homes or on their streets.

Liang wouldn’t stand a chance against the armies of Königreich der Welten. Once her uncle died, Niklas would mobilize his troops, and Liang would be his.

Mai had always planned to repay the debt she owed Zhou. But with her uncle nearing the end of his life, time was growing short. Liang’s independence depended on her.

So yes, Mai was ready. She would have preferred to live, but it would have been much too suspicious if Niklas died from the poisoned lipstick and Mai did not. It would mean war in between Königreich der Welten and Liang. No, this way was better. When they discovered King Niklas and Queen Mai dead in their bedchamber as a result of Mamlakat Alssahran lipstick, well...the world would be outraged. Despite all the talks of peace, Mai knew that Fareeha would not stop until she got what she wanted. Her son would have Aciras and Lusitania and the like at his back when he confronted the commander-queen.

Mai carefully applied a thin protective layer of lip gloss to delay the effects of the poison for a couple minutes. Then, she put on a thick layer of the lipstick from Mamlakat Alssahra, the one she’d added smuggled poison to. Niklas walked into their bedchamber, and Mai finished with the poisoned lipstick, leaving the sleek black tube on the table in front of the mirror.

Mai would finally give Zhou his justice. It had been twenty years, but she would do it. Besides, wasn’t revenge a dish best served cold?

“How is everything?” Mai Mei of Liang asked quietly, gliding over to King Niklas König of Königreich der Welten. She gazed into his eyes one last time-eyes that she had fallen in love with, despite everything-and wavered, then hardened her resolve. It had to be done. His fate had been sealed since the moment he gave the order to eliminate Zhou.

Mai placed her hands on either side of Niklas’s face. Niklas gave her a small smile. He opened his mouth to speak.

Mai silenced him with a kiss.

#liang #mai #konigreich der welten #niklas #writing

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writingsoftheunderworld · 6 years ago

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Footnotes of Life

Well here we are, first post. Hopefully ppl will like this.

Short reminder if you’re curious about Dana go check out her bio here - desktop only or here - mobile users . For more world building check it out here - desktop only or here - mobile users.

BTW, I take requests! Check out the RULES here - desktop only or here - mobile users before asking for stuff.

Now this story is gonna be a roller-coaster of emotions with DamonXDana, hope you enjoy.

THE BEGINNING

Mystic Falls was such an interesting place in that Dana hates everything about it. She knows a lot about it too, is the problem and the reason the old bats that make up the Elder’s council sent her here. The past three times she’s been here. And now again. If she never heard of this town after this assignment it would be too soon.

Thankfully she had leverage, built upon since the 1800s when she’d first arrived here looking for one Katherine Pierce who’d caused problems for the Clan. Now she’d been sent back following the rumours of a new doppelganger having popped up. Elena Gilbert, 17 years old. Pretty tragic back story for someone that young, even in Dana’s experience. But it did give her a bit of an idea as to what she should do. The Founder’s Ball was coming up and she had extensive training in dancing. Plus blackmail. Pretty persuasive blackmail. It would all work out.

Seeing the Lockwood estate through the taxi’s windows she drew in a deep breath and took out some cash to pay the driver. Here she went again. Not like she had better stuff to do at home. A month old little girl, a sad, closed off ex husband, the nicest asshole she ever met for a best friend and co-parent. Yes, her life was free, the council knew best after all. A broken heart to nurse and a surprise pregnancy notwithstanding.

She rounded the car, popping open the trunk and lifting her luggage. She set it down next to her and waited until the taxi took off. And where the shit was she supposed to be living in this hell-hole? She sighed for the millionth time since having heard about this mission and jumped when her phone dinged. Reo again. His hair was longer than when he’d been a teen, back when they first started really talking, styled to the side, same weird hairstyle choices as ever. He was holding their daughter in his arm, smiling down at her as the baby blew a bubble, the picture having been taken at just the right moment. Why was she here? When she could be there, with her daughter and her best friend?

Grumbling under her breath Dana turned and pulled at the handle of the luggage, heading for the house. The big anti-vamp meeting was about to begin she knew.

“What the FUCK, dude?!” the luggage had fallen, Dana on top of it, her back on its edge. Great, not her back hurt too, not just her head. She turned toward the cause of her fall, a man – brunet, ice blue eyes, not very tall – smirked mockingly down at her.

“You should watch where you’re going, lady!” he said, tone scanting, eyes colder than their color. Dana recognized Damon Salvatore immediately. And hated his guts just as fast.

“You arrogant little shit!” She yelled, pushing up on her feet, trying to ignore the protest her knees sent her way, picking up her phone and luggage. Thankfully nothing was broken, except her patience.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you” he smirked at her. It was threatening, the tone, the look. But he was messing with the wrong person.

“Oh really, douchebag?” she got up right in his face, green eyes filled with rage. She could deal with the council if she killed him slowly, she thought as she saw him smile as if amused. The man was so conceited that it actually hurt her brain.

“Dana! Damon! So good that you’ve met each other!” Saved by Carol Lockwood. Well played Mystic Falls, well played.

“You know her, Mrs. Lockwood?” Damon was all charm, but underneath Dana felt the murderous rage. Good, she’s have fun winding him up and seeing him pop a blood vessel or two – like his heart.

“Yes! Come, the meeting just began. I’ll explain everything there.” Carol sent Dana a look that begged her not to kill Damon. Well, Carol at least knew who she was talking with, or what. Too bad Damon was never gonna find out, not even after Dana was done staking his little girlfriend in the ass.

MOVING IN TOGETHER

“You know you could just let me do that right?” she cocked an eyebrow and smiled sweetly, too sweet. Damon scowled back and just shifted the weight of the boxes in his grip.

“Oh I’m sorry madam spider, I didn’t know you’d arrived!”

Dana laughed, yelped and then leaned the tiny mountain of bags against the side of the building. She took two seconds to just breathe, work up her courage to go up the flights of stairs. She watched as Damon sped up to the main hallway and almost dropped her bags a second time laughing when he had to stumble to a stop because his boxes were falling over.

“Maybe you should tie them down?”

“Maybe I should tie you down instead?” he quipped, not even trying to look at her. Once he had them back in his grip, he resumed his trek down the hallway to the main staircase, all the while cursing the fact that the electricity hadn’t been patched up yet. He definitely would kill for an elevator right about now. Dana watched him go, mourning her arms already. Going up three flights of stairs had her panting, more so than if she had sped through the island from one end to the other and she was happy to see Damon must have felt the same way as he had just dropped the boxes onto the loveseat and then collapsed onto the bed. His feet were hanging out, one leg swaying to some imaginary rhythm in his head. She smiled and stepped inside, kicking the door behind her to squeeze through the bags, but not enough to close it. She lay them gently at the foot of the loveseat and then turned back. She stepped between Damon’s legs and waited for him to either look at her or say something. Luckily he didn’t disappoint.

“I refuse to do anything, but sit here, no matter how seductive you look at me, babe.” The soft look she’d had on gave way to a tiny amused snort before she bent a leg onto the bed and swung herself onto Damon’s other side. She only scooted a little bit so she could touch the side of her face to his hair.

“Trust me, anyone calls for me right now and they’ll meet a short and painful death.” she said, paused then seemed to think better as she amended. “If I get up at all.” Closing her eyes, she missed Damon nodding his head in emphatic agreement, but she did sneak her hand around his, lacing their fingers. “Think we can just sleep?” she added, voice already slurring in exhaustion.

“Probably. It is our island.” he mumbled back, hooking his heel to the bed frame and lifting himself up a bit more comfortably. Dana whined at the disturbance, glared, then immediately resettled, her head now rested on his ribs. She sighed, content to just fall asleep when Damon’s pocket began buzzing and ringing. With an over exaggerated groan she lay back on her back, staring at their newly painted ceiling and questioning how she’d gotten here, a 26 hour awake, just got out alive person while her boyfriend was confirming that, yes we did in fact forget to bring any sheets for the bed Bon. Dana smiled to herself. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t change anything about it even if she had the chance.

“Come on, tell Bonnie to go out dancing and let’s sleep forever!”

“Bye, Bonster! Go and get some and let me sleep.” Damon’s hand had fallen, the phone no longer in his grasp, just sitting face up, shining with a picture of Bonnie in a Santa hat glaring playfully. Bonnie for her part didn’t wait for anything more, aware better than anyone just how exhausted both vampire were and Dana couldn’t help but wonder how Bonnie herself wasn’t just a tired version of a zombie like she felt and Damon looked just about now. She shrugged at her own question, her shoulder jostling Damon who’d already snoozed off. He turned bleary eyes to her, questioning.

“Phone.” was all that needed saying. In seconds Damon was asleep again, his phone still between them. Dana questioned if she should just be the bigger man here and actually put the phone on a table or something, if maybe she should take either of their shoes off, but ultimately lost the fight with awareness about halfway through the first question.

A DAY IN THE FAMILY LIFE

A loud bang resonated throughout the house, startling Dana and causing baby Seth to fuss in her arms where the two of them had been reading. Dana had decided to spend some time with her babies today, finally having found a moment of respite after long months of fighting and worry and heartache. She and Damon were slowly getting back to the ease with which they’d gotten used to those first six months of being together, after the year-long separation, and both were grateful for the short peace that had enveloped their livelihood.

“Damon!? What was that?” she slowly got up, cradling her nearly one year old baby in her arms, gazing softly at her baby girl asleep in her crib. She lowered Seth beside his sister, raising the railing separating the two in order for their sleep to go without a hitch and turned on the baby monitor both in the room and that she always carried with her and left. She rounded a corner, a long stretch of hallway before her, nothing out of the ordinary about it, except for how empty and quiet it was – everyone had been so sweet to give them these few weeks to get reacquainted – and called out for her husband again.

“D? Baby? You there?” she felt her anger rising, hating it when he didn’t answer like this – when anyone didn’t deign it to answer when someone was calling out – and walked outside. The sight of the large pool greeted her, the vaguely messy dance area looking abandoned in the wake of this exodus that was their friends going to their own houses for once. She closed her eyes and listened a bit, trying to remember where the loud noise had come from; and maybe see if she could hear any other indication of what it could have possibly been.

Another loud bang echoed through the quiet.

“Goddamnit Damon, I swear to fuck if you broke something I will –“ she cuts herself off, mouth hanging open, no words peaking through, a snort of laughter lodged in her throat. Her chest and belly give a few stuttering motions as she struggled not to collapse on the floor laughing with tears streaming down her round cheeks.

“Do not” began Damon, on his ass, his formally grey shirt peppered with streaks of various colours and materials, his hair a bird’s nest – quite literally as Dana saw branches sticking out alongside some feather that she had no idea how they came to exist in their house. “laugh.” he finished with a half cough half chock, the dust around him combining with the smell of all that paint creating a caustic gas that he could not utter a words through. Dana gulped back another guffaw, tears gathering at the corner of her eyes as she fought the instinct to laugh and nodded as seriously as she could. She watched as Damon slowly unrolled his bent knees, stretching out long legs before him and then slowly struggled to get up only to slip backward in a flurry of rainbow and chicken feathers on some pink paint, bringing down the last remaining industrial shelf that supply room had had. The pure shock on his face and oddly shaped drawing on his shirt – which to Dana resembled a very unfortunate looking whale – were what broke her already thin control and she laughed as loud as she could, bending down at the waist, hand covering her face. It was only much later, after Damon had fully gotten up and washed up and Dana cleaned the supply room, after the kids had woken up and cried for food, after Damon re-enacted the Battle of Hogwarts with an old doll of Caroline’s standing in for Voldemort and a stick figure made by Dana’s nephew as Harry that he told her what exactly led to the disaster.

He’d wanted to get the dollar he’d dropped two days prior to buy Dana the kitsch-y, devil-lookalike little sticky wall hanger for their bathroom. Dana wasn’t sure whether she laughed more at that explanation or the aftermath in the end, only that she’d gotten her family day after all, as odd as it had been.

COMFORT

“Damon?”

She was sitting on a lounge chair, the water of the pool reflecting the soft light of the night time. Her feet were tucked underneath her thighs, cross legged, a blanket around her shoulder. Her hand peeked through the soft material, wiggling her fingers and smiling a tremble of a smile. Her eyes were glassy, the straps of her bright orange nightgown had fallen down her shoulders, as seen through the tiny gap.

“Hey, Dana.”

He approached her perch, sitting on the end of the lounge chair and putting a hand on her left knee, massaging it. She winced, her smile fading slowly as he continued the motion. He knew she always got sharp jabs of pain whenever thoughts of her past invaded her waking moments. She let her cold fingers grip his wrist, feeling for his pulse underneath the skin, the thrum of his blood reminding her she still had people in her life that loved her.

“I’m not okay, Day.”

She whimpered and Damon’s heart broke. She didn’t cry, not yet, just let her head fall onto the headrest and unfurled her legs into his lap, pulling the blanket around her torso tighter, as if doing so would hide the ugly scar splitting open her sternum. It didn’t, not to her, who could feel the pulsating pain of his fingers digging into her flesh, even now after so many centuries. Dana squeezed her eyes tight, breathed in a deep, shaky breath and looked back at Damon. His blue eyes sparkled in the light of reflected by the ripples of water around them, never moving from her.

He nodded, both to himself, but also as a way of reassuring her, and shifted, crawling over her and then gently easing himself to the side, sliding under her body, curling an arm around her shoulders. She shuddered, turning her face towards him, large green eyes gazing up at him, so vulnerable and pained and he let his legs entangle with hers, felt her arms bury themselves into the back of his Henley as she embraced him. He kissed the top of her head, breathed in her scent.

“I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe.”

He felt her borough her face into his chest, hyperventilating and shaking her head. She tightened her fingers into the material of the shirt, a trembling mess against him. He felt the tears soak his chest, felt her empty, chocked out sobs resonating with the beat of his heart, watched her legs curl further into the space between them as she curled up into a ball against him. He rubbed calloused fingers down her arms and carefully cupped her cheek. He thought she might fight him when he tried to lift her gaze to his, but she went pliant, leaning into the touch, planting a watery kiss to his palm. Dana smiled, a broken, twisted little smile and opened her eyes again.

“I’m sorry. I know I should be ove-“

“Shh, I’ve got you. I’m right here. Just sleep.”

She blinked back her tears, rose on her elbows and pressed a soft kiss to his temple, lingering there and breathing him in. He pulled her up further, cradled her into him, cocooning her in his arms. She sighed, still shaky, but gentle and relaxing against him. Nodding sluggishly, her breath evened out. She was still awake, her eyelashes tickling the side of his face, but calmer. Dana, snuggled up, nuzzling his skin, sniffling softly and shaking whenever she closed her eyes for too long.

“I’m right here. I’ll protect you, baby. You can let go now.”

He whispered, feeling her exhale and seeing her melt further into the warmth of his body, lean into the softness of his caress. Wrapped into him as she was, so close she could feel his every move, from the twitch of his thigh when he rearranged, to the rise of his skin when a cold breeze washed over them, she let the tension coiled inside her go, gave all she had left to him and sighed.

“I know.”

VALENTINE’S DAY

Damon was concerned. His wife was acting odd. Well, worse than she usually did nevertheless and for the life of him, he couldn’t stop the worry from mounting as he saw her bouncing in place again and giggling uncontrollably. Honestly, he worried for her mental health on a normal day, today he worried for his own too.

See, when Damon heard that Dana wanted to plan a nice non-Valentine’s Day Valentine’s Day, he was excited. He might not have celebrated a lot of holidays, but he liked to think that this one in particular he’d be pretty good at. So when last year Dana asked, gently and apologetically, if perhaps they could just not do anything for Valentine’s he’d been a tiny bit... disappointed. Which he didn’t mention, yet somehow his wife had heard or realized and took it upon herself to rectify the situation this year. In her own style. By celebrating on the 13th instead. A non-Valentine’s Day... Valentine’s Day

“So, what exactly are you planning here, D?” he had to ask, if only for his own peace of mind at this point.

“Not telling!” she sang in his ear, pecking him on the cheek and waltzing away. He turned to look after her, but found he’d been intercepted by his brother instead, no doubt tasked by Dana to distract him. Hours later, Stefan drunk and swaying against the wall thinking he’s dancing on the bar, Damon finally get the text calling him back home. He rushed over, half slumped Stefan dragged after him and dumped on a chair by the poolside, already asleep before he even gets to sit his brother properly, and stopped in their hallway. Soft music sounded from the bed room, and he strained a bit to recognize the song. “I choose you”. His heart stuttered. That was her song to him, blasting from the speakers in their bedroom, her voice mumbling the words. He walked down the corridor, the smell of deep rich chocolate and lulling rhythm of her voice drawing him in.

“Dana? What-“ the words were stuck in his throat. The room was much the same, except there were white Christmas lights decorating every corner, casting the area in deep shadows and soft edges, the quality of a dream. Dana was dressed in a dark red blouse, a plunging neckline and hem stopping at her thighs and making it clear she wore only a pair of black lace panties underneath. She was swaying to the rhythm.

“Damon! Wait! No! Go back, go back.” she rushed to him, her high heels clicking on the wooden floor of the hallway as she pushed him back around the corner. “When I tell you, you come in, ok babe?” with a grin she ran back inside. He heard her shuffling around, turning off the song. When she called him back inside, he was bemused and not sure what to expect, except for his heart to stop beating a salsa beat in his chest. The song was turned on. Her voice rose, sure and harmonious this time. She strutted toward him slowly, gazing from half lidded eyes and led him to sit on the edge of the bed. She settled her knees on either side of his hips and held his face in her hands, caressing his cheeks.

She smiled and winked at every “I choose you” she sang, circling her hips to the soft tempo, her eyes mapping his face and her hands following the road left behind. She let out a breathy “you” when he bit the pad of her thumb and he leaned into her when she let the digit trace his lower lip. The song was ending soon.

Damon snaked sure, wide palms up her legs, pulling her thighs straight up, pressing them into his chest as he nosed at her cleavage and licked up her neck, the line she was singing breaking as she moaned. Pushing at him softly, he eased up, blue eyes hazed as the song beat into his chest, into his heart. Warmth spread through him as she gently pushed him onto his back, leaning over him, letting her weight settle into his bones, her warmth into the chill his clothes had brought with them from outside.

“I love you, Damon” she whispered as one last “I choose you” echoed from the stereo. Dana’s lips met his, soft and innocent and oh so loving and he felt a tear slid down his face, disappearing into the bed sheets below, leaving her none the wiser about it. He flipped them over, licking her neck with short burst that had a riotous laughter bursting from deep in her belly.

“I know, Dana.” he grinned down at her, saw her huff and pout and bend down to kiss her again, tracing her upper lip and letting out a sigh when her tongue met his. “Te voglio bene assai.” he crooned in her ear once Caruso swarmed around them, his song this time. Her eyes reflected the love back at him, so much love he could barely breathe and knew she saw the same in return as water gathered in her eyes and tears fell through her wide grin as she mouthed along to the song.

For non-Valentine’s day Valentine’s Day, it ended up pretty syrupy, especially after Dana showed him where she’d put the melted caramel. They ended up eating more than making love, but who could blame them really.

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

Damon took a step forward onto the sandy beach, letting the summer sun bathe his face. He was home, finally, after dealing with nearly a month of shit in Mystic Falls. He took out the sunglasses from his jeans pocket and put them on, pulling onto the lapel of his leather jacket. The sand crunched beneath his heavy boots, the sun warmed the leather, attracted to the black colour of it, sweat gathering at the small of his back and sides, but he ignored it. He had an entrance to make and it would be good. Damon looked up at the large building, the size of a tropical getaway hotel, the house he and his wife of three years had built together. Heading east, toward where their apartment was situated, he ran at vampire speed toward where he knew the entryway stood, hurrying up the stairs and slowing to a relaxed walk when he reached the hallway near the kids’ room. He had a plan for him and Dana reuniting, but she could wait a bit, he had two little demons to greet and shower with attention.

It was about two hours later that he left the two to their own devices, together with their older half sister, having been thrown out on ground of “being too old, Daddy!”. He couldn’t really argue with that and he also wasn’t able to be away from Dana much longer. Being back home like this, seeing her presence in every crevice of their house, intermingled with his, seeing Seth soft cheeks and Izzie’s green eyes, so much like their mother sometimes, had him thinking about her even more.

He followed the sound of loud music to the poolside, where he knew she would be at this hour, night having fallen. He heard her before he saw her, spinning around in circles around her best friend and sending mischievous glances at Stefan, no doubt wanting to torture him by dragging him out to the dance floor, singing loudly with the current song. Damon swallowed down his laughter as he didn’t want her to know he was there yet. He waited at the outskirts, leaning against a palm tree, eyes twinkling as she shimmied and swayed her hips absent minded to the beat of the next song, talking with Tony. She let her head fall back in a loud burst of laughter at something the other man said, then in a flurry of movements, she salsa’d her way toward the bar.

He loved moments like these, calm and happy, peaceful and insane. He loved her. His eyes traced her curves, the swell of her hips falling into the slope of her spine leading toward her rounded ass, the soft swell of her breasts. He saw her short hair ruffling in the breeze, her glasses glinting in the light of the lampposts. She was wearing her mismatched pyjama again, the flowing nightgown, cotton and white, worn out barely doing anything to hide the bright pink underwear she wore. She had purple socks on and nothing else. He shook his head in disbelief, the absolute disaster of her outfit out staged only by the confidence with which she wore it. He thought she never looked more beautiful than in that moment, balancing two drinks in her hands, each step toward where she’d left Tony and Stefan waiting a half skip to the beat of the music. She truly was ridiculous.

He chose the moment when she turned to look at the stage, jumping up and down, drinking from her glass and cheering on whoever had deigned to sing tonight from their friends. It was a Bon Jovi song, he thought as he made his way toward her, finger of his lips to signal to the other not to say anything to alert her of his presence. Sliding his hands around her waist, he felt her relax in his hold, no doubt recognizing him. She leaned into him, letting her weight fall on him, head falling onto his shoulder, a gentle smile on her lips as she mouthed the words to the song. He nosed at the sweaty skin of her neck, enjoying watching her squirm and yelp at the tickling feeling. When she turned around in his arms, she blinked her half-lidded green eyes and grinned wide.

“Hey, D!” she switched her hold on him, one hand going to his shoulder, the other gripping his hand and they began swaying in place. It was nice. It was home. Another song followed, and another, and another, then suddenly it was Black Velvet. Dana had taken a break from dancing and Damon himself had gone off into the large mob of people, but the throngs of the song drew his eyes back to hers and as she rose from her place, he returned to her. The song might not have been about sex, but the way she began moving and mouthing the words was. Damon was entranced as he followed her lead now, like a sailor toward a siren, ready to drown in her.

“Let’s ditch them, babe.” she whispered, grinding her ass into him, breathy voice and closed eyes. He grinned, bent and picked her up bridal style as she yelped and hit his chest in retaliation. But didn’t struggle much when she realised he was taking them to the bedroom. He put her down on the soft carpet and stripped of his outfit, deciding to match her look, worn pyjama pants with a guitar patter and fuzzy chequered socks. He decided to forgo the t-shirt, expecting it would be a bit redundant if they decided to go ahead with what had brought them here in the first place. Dana smiled sensually at him, one eyebrow raising suggestively and turned on her phone, the slow notes of a guitar filling the bedroom.

“I had an idea a few days ago and had no one to try it out with.” she began, taking him by the hand and pushing him down onto the bed. Damon lay sprawled out, rising on his elbows to look her, legs open, dangling over the edge, relaxed. He was intrigued. He wondered if he was about to get the rare lap dance from her, and from the way she began circling her hips, her hands caressing her body, it seemed that way. She played with her breasts, twisting the nipple, kneading the flesh through the nightgown, sucking two fingers into her mouth and trailing them down between her breasts, winking. He smirked and shifted on the bed, settling down, for now willing to ignore the growing erecting tenting his pants. She pulled off her gown, throwing it haphazardly behind her, landing onto the lamp and gangling there, leaving her with a large comfortable pair of pink panties and those ridiculous socks. She turned and bend down quickly, back arched and hips jutting out, making a show of taking off her socks, tripping and readjusting with a laugh, cheeks red from exertion and arousal.

Damon followed her lead, taking of his socks as well, palming his hardened cock through his pants, biting his lower lip to stifle a moan, failing as a snort of laughter bursts through anyway when Dana twists too hard and bumps her shin on the corner of the night stand, cursing loudly. The mood doesn’t break though, if anything, the laughter only fans the flames, leaving Damon speechless when suddenly it’s gone and Dana is on her hands and knees, inching her way to him. She pushes her hands up his legs, kneading his thighs just this side of too painful as her knuckles graze him. his head halls back with a loud groan and he feels her answering, pleased smile against the stuttering skin of his belly. Her tongue traces around, mapping the ridges of his abs and dipping below the waistband for but a split second. Her thumbs flick his nipples and her teeth graze his side as she slowly nips and licks and sucks downward. She pulls his pyjama pants off with her teeth, low enough to free his cock from within its confines. She rises to her feet and stretches above him, knees bracketing his hips, hands on either side of his head, a wide grin on her flushed face, an answering one on his.

“Hi.” she whispered softly, blinking down at him. “I missed you, babe.”

“Me too.” He wound his arms around her, caressing down her spine and feeling as goose bumps rose in the wake of his touch. One hand tangled in her hair and pulled her to him, stopping just before they could fully kiss, breaths intermingling, green to blue staring at each other. Her grin softened and she closed the distance, opening her mouth at his probing tongue and matching the pace he set. It was a gentle kiss, a welcome home kiss. It fit the still strumming guitar in the background.

“I want to fuck you to the rhythm of this song.” she mumbled against his lips, separating them, drawing back and waiting to see what he thought, a challenge in her darkened gaze, feet beating the melody out of bed, suspended there.

Damon closed his eyes and listened to the music, feeling the beat in his chest. Dana had a lot of wacky ideas when it came to ... anything really, so this didn’t surprise him in the slightest, what did surprise him was how fitting the song was. He hadn’t even realized they’d basically moved with it this whole time. Even now they were following its melody, her body moving back and forth on top of him, hips grinding to the notes almost unconsciously.

“Sure, go for it.” he grinned and grabbed her wrists, in a swift movement having pinned her beneath him instead, grounding into her with sure moves. Her head dug into the bed spread, hair a mess, mouth open in a silent gasp. He let his face morph, veins rising underneath his eyes, fangs elongating. She opened her eyes and moaned at the sights, her panties growing wetter, by now soaked through. She hooked one leg around his upper thigh and pulled him closer, rising her hips into him, the tip of his cock massaging her clit. She grinned defiant, not one to give up the fight so easily. He grazed the swell of her right breast with his fangs, nipping and breaking the skin. With a hiss of pain, she grinded harder into him, one hand clutching at his hair, the other digging nails into his biceps. He sucked at the small puncture wound.

“Day-“ the gasp is forced from between her lips when he snaked a hand into her underwear, adjusted the angle so that the only thing separating them was her panties and his pants, circling her clit too fast. Her head thrashed from side to side, biting her lower lip, scratching his arms, fingers finding purchase into the sheets beneath them. “Oh fuuuck!” Her back arched into his touch, so close to an orgasm, when he suddenly pulled away, a shit eating smirk on his lips and she growled, tears of frustration gathering in her eyes.

“I have a few ideas too, baby.” He pulled off the last article of clothing and watched as she almost ripped hers off as well, then she smiled, sweet. Too sweet.

He was pinned, arms locked at his sides by her shins digging into them, her wet heat inches from his face. She was bent over him, her warm breath making his erection twitch, as if maybe the right angle would catch the softness of her lips. He couldn’t move his head at the angle she held him, he could reach and swipe his tongue inside her. But she could so she did, gentle little kitten licks down the underside of his dick, harsh sucks to the head, quick rapid fire bobs up and down his length. His head was swimming, Dana was in heaven, his moans and growls and the gentle bucking of his hips under her hands and mouth everything she’d ever wanted.

When Damon was close, she stopped, hovering just out of reach, her lips still close enough to lightly graze of oversensitive tip, precum gathering and rolling down onto the bed sheets. “You’re right, babe. This was a great idea.” She purred and he felt the vibrations in his whole body. He shuddered and bucked up harder. Her left knee gave pain filled twinge then and he took the advantage, sinking one finger then two into her, caressing and twisting and curling at just the right angle that she screamed out his name. The song picked up tempo. They didn’t even hear it.

“Damon, if you don’t –“ Dana was going crazy and sick of his teasing when he took out his fingers, licked them clean, making an obscene amount of nose as he did so and slowly sunk into her. Her legs tightened around him in reflex, her back arched and her mouth opened in a silent scream. They were both too strung up at this point to mess around anymore, so Damon set a punishing pace, the long month of separation echoing in the desperation of his thrusts. Dana matched his rhythm, rising her hips in time with him, licked his neck, bit at the space behind his right ear that had his hips stuttering and his breath catch. He caressed y inside of her knee and she moaned, kissing him frantically, teeth and spit and lips mashing together.

“Come on, comeoncomeon-“ she mumbled under her breath into his ear, he swore against her hair. He pulled at her, slipping out and turning onto his back, guiding her to sit back onto him. She sat down in one quick motion that had her feeling him deep in her belly. Damon let her set the pace now, the guitar faster and louder in the background, matching their own rhythm. She rose slowly and thrust down hard.

“Oh fuck, Dana” Damon groaned, fingers digging into her hips, no doubt leaving bruises. She repeated the motion, uuuup and down, uup and down, up and down!, again and again and again.

“So close, Damon” she moaned his name, breath stuttering in her lungs. He nodded along, helping her, moving her bodily over him when her thighs began trembling and her belly quivered and his arms shook.

They were both so close, so unbelievably near to the edge, all it took was two well angled thrust, one hard push into her. And then the song ended. Her movements lost momentum, his hips twisted the wrong way and the cresting pleasure was lost.

“Fuuck. No!” she cried out, collapsing onto his chest, eyes wet, body still too sensitive to be touching his so much. Damon growled in frustration and punched the sheets. They lay like that for a few seconds, with Damon still buried deep inside her until a hysterical laughter gripped her. Her whole body trembled above him as she laughed, startling shivers of pleasure from both due to the movement. “Typical.” he murmured, kissing her sweaty forehead and chuckling as well as she rose on shaky hands and kissed him deeply.

“Love you, babe.” she whispered and lay back down, nuzzling his neck. “Gimme two minutes. Fuck the song” she added with a deep breath.

“Love you too. But next time, loop the goddamn song.” he caressed her sides as he spoke. Goose bumps rising on her skin and he knew she didn’t need two minutes anymore.

“Next time, huh?” she swivelled her hips and saw him chock on a moan, tired, happy smile on her lips.

“God, I missed you.” he spoke as he thrust up into her once more, heat curling in his belly again, felling her shudder at the motions.

“Fucking guitar riff!” she cried out in retaliation, stuttering laughter in her belly as he resumed a slower pace than before. They fell asleep sated, curled around one another, in a silent room.

LIFE HAPPENS

“So how about that dinner you owed me?” Dana bats her eyelashes up at Damon. He’s leans further back against the desk in their bedroom, quirking an eyebrow, blue eyes shining in amusement.

“Owed, is it?” She laughs, long and loud. Nods. Yelps when he rushes to her and jumps out of the way, giggling when he snorts into the pillows as he lands. “That was unfair.” He grumbles, turning onto his back and looking up at the plain beige ceiling. Dana settles back down, curling around him, head on his shoulder, nuzzled against his neck, hand on his heart. He sighs. Shifts his weight. Clears his throat. Plays with the hem of her t-shirt.

“Do you really have to go again?” it comes out as a whine, but there is something more hidden below the surface as the woman further boroughs her head into the crook of his shoulder. They lay like that, in silence for a few seconds, neither willing to disrupt the calm and quiet. Dana’s mind a whirlpool of thoughts, from worry about how volatile Stefan is being recently, since the almost murder of their mother, to joy at being able to hold onto Damon a few minutes more. When Damon’d come back with a ridiculous reindeer beer mug, she’d figured the worst had passed, yet now here he was about to leave again.

“I’ll be back tonight, you know that, babe.”

“True” grumbling under her breath, she springs from where she was laying, all manic energy and crazy smiles. “Alright! You go do ... whatever you do in that hell-hole and I’ll go see who’s around here.” She kissed him on the lips, tugging a bit on his lower one as she pulled back, winked, turned, and skipped out of the room. Bemused, Damon set about to change out of his current sleep wear, boxers and an old shirt of Dana’s that had fit him last night well enough.

Mystic Falls was as per usual a cesspool worth of horrible things on the verge of happening. He wasn’t sure whether the memories of the Phoenix stone were still that fresh in his mind, or perhaps simply no longer being used to being there, but Damon was anxious. Anxious, like when you see the dark storm front approaching, anxious like feeling the air drop in a room following an argument, anxious like struggling to smuggle your younger brother outside of father’s study so neither of you are met with a too sharp tongue and even shaper whip. He stays though, long after nightfall, helping Wannabe Deputy Dumbass clean up the newest mess created by whoever had decided to come to their little cursed town that day. He was looking forward to home more so than any other time since maybe actually being rescued from the Phoenix stone.

It’s quiet when he arrives back.

Well, perhaps quiet is too much, there’s still a too loud poolside with too many people drinking and dancing and talking, there’s still a full house greeting him, lights blaring from the windows and shining from the small shopping district they’d made out of boredom, but there is something wrong lingering in the air. He can almost taste it he thinks, as he descends the stairs and heads to the main area. Dana isn’t there tonight. Not particularly surprising, seeing that she does tend to hole herself in their bedroom and binge watch things online often enough, but it is that anxious feeling swirling in the pit of his stomach that sets his teeth on edge.

She’s in bed when he arrives, sleeping.

He joins her, quickly returning to the earlier outfit he’d worn before he left, not yet having been picked up by anyone. She turns in her sleep, groans, scrunches up her face and pushes closer to the edge of the bed. She dips a hand over, dangling it there for a few seconds more, then quickly switches onto her other side, pummelling the pillow with her face, arranging it. Damon lays down at her back, pushing her towards the wall. She’s a warm, reassuring presence against his chest, content as a cat on a radiator.

Damon falls asleep, legs tangled with Dana’s.

Dana wakes up in a cold sweat, breathing harsh and heart racing out of her chest, the last vestiges of her nightmare clinging to her awareness still. She closes her eyes tightly, forces her breath to even out and not turn into a full blown panic attack tonight. She’s still shaking, cold from where the blanket had fallen off of her.

Damon sobs in her ear. She freezes.

Dana plops back on her back, feeling the overheated skin of his forearm rubbing her too clammy one. As another gargled sound rips its way out of his lungs, she pushes up onto her elbow and softly caresses his cheeks, his arms, his chest. His breathing is heavier, his eyelids moving brusquely. She tries waking him, mumbles out his name, tells him to get up. She doesn’t want to yell out tonight, her vocal chords already abused enough due to her own nightmare.

Damon stirs, eyes fluttering open, hand twitching his hers.

Dana lets him calm down, tries to wait for him to be fully conscious before she can say anything. The room is dark and shadows play at the corner of her sight, sending shivers down her spine at cold blue eyes surrounded by snow. Damon pulls her to his chest, arms tightly wound around her, plastering his sweaty hair to her cheek. She waits, spying demons in the night, dancing just out of her periphery, closing in faster than she can control her lungs. Damon’s the first to speak.

“Nightmare.”

It is both a question and an answer in equal measure. He knows she has them every so often, sometimes she remembers them in the morning when she wakes up, mostly she just never know she’s had one to begin with. It is rare to find her awake this deep into the darkness. She nods. The demons are getting closer in the night it feels and despite the heat of Damon’s embrace, she’s cold.

“Was it Lily?”

Her voice is clear, deep with sleep and fear. She talks when she’s nervous, she barely utters a word when she’s terrified. He tells her everything he can recall, if only to fill the void of night. His mother, Lily, yes, but his father as well. He was a child again. He still could feel the bruises from his father heavy hand and his mother’s ignorance. He makes a joke out of it, despite the ache in his eyes that tells him nothing is funny right now.

The anxious feeling lingers well into the morning.

When he wakes up, he’s covered in blood. Dana is in the shower, struggling not to let the cries echo as the deep gashes her nails had inflicted on her chest still haven’t stopped bleeding. They are silent when she returns to bed. Him ignoring the bandage taped to her chest, her not mentioning how red and puffy his eyes are. The darkness retreats from the bedroom, the feeling fades. Now all that is left is piecing each other back together again, as they must always after something like this.

Pieces have gone missing again.

“You owe me dinner, babe.” she whispers into his hair, barely controlled emotions masked by however little energy she can muster, the smile a dead carcass on her lips.

“I can work with that.” he wiggles his eyebrows, licks his lips, but there is nothing seductive about it yet, just a facsimile of what their banter should be.

They try to soak up the warmth. The demons howl. The anxiety chocks.

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