#gamely‚ if not gaily‚ playing along

[telomeke]

10 (or So) BL Boys I Want Carnally (Plus a Couple of Girls Too)

I was tagged by @neuroticbookworm at this post here and @waitmyturtles at this post here. Thank you dearies! 🥰

Now here's the thing before I get on with the post: after a certain time I think sexual attraction is a phenomenon more intellectual than physical.

So the beautiful people I'm listing below are ones whom I think fit the list in my head as examples of those genetically blessed with sexual desirability. But it's not as though I'm really feeling a carnal stirring in the loins for them. No fantasied jumping of bones (or boners) here; I would probably run a mile in the opposite direction if any of them actually presented themselves naked and available to me, you get my drift?

Still, since the malls are open I do like to look (even if it's only window shopping through binoculars 🤣). So, in no particular order, with tongue firmly in cheek and more admiration in my head (for the obvious hard work at the gym) than lust in my heart (or anywhere else) – here goes: 😍

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1. Nonkul Chanon

I know Nong Non looked like a little ball of Koreanesque sunshine in I Feel You Linger in the Air (really channeling 2PM's Wooyoung for me), but Mistah Santinatornkul used to be beefier and apparently lost weight to look all sweet and wispy for the role of Jom in IFYLITA.

Dunno bout you, but I miss the beef. (And if you do too, I urge you to click on the YouTube link above. 😁) Also, Nonkul had four lead roles in 2023; I think his star is on the ascendant, so keep an eye out for this one (he seems to have an international presence that most other Thai stars don't, though it beams eastwards). 🤩

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2. Ohm Pawat

I prefer him hunkier and chunkier like he was during his Bad Buddy Pat Napat days (he's too shredded and gangly beanstalk now for me) but I've actually met Ohm in real life and (I've said this before) his smile is supernova dazzling. Like everything else in the room simply fades to a blank whiteness. (Or maybe it was just me feeling faint. 🤣) Supremely photogenic (I don't think he has any bad angles), this boy definitely has the X factor and after Bad Buddy I will always be a diehard fan.

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3. MaxTul

The original kings of BL who never shied away and just went for it when it counted. I rue the loss of Tul to business or real estate or whatever it is he's focusing on now, but this coupling will always be legendary so I'm putting them together as one on my list.

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4. Gap Jakarin

You may be noticing a trend here, but I do like a bit of meat with my two veg. 😜🍆🥩🥬🍴🤣 Anyway I'm all goo-goo eyed at lovable himbo Yai in The Sign, especially when we see how smitten he is with his beautiful girlfriend Sand (who's canon transgender in the show, as Yoshi Rinrada is in real life too 💖). And that's carried over to my appreciation of Gap Jakarin in all his meaty meathead glory offscreen as well.

Plus when he was in the bulking phase (or maybe it was for a role?) Gap was also carrying a fair bit of baby fat in the following photo on his Instagram, and somehow that just makes him even more teddybeardorable in my eyes: 🧸😍

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5. Neo Trai

Always the boy you remember in roles you'd rather forget. I've liked his look (neck up) for a long time now; in his current gym bunny phase the rest of Neo is looking more buff by the day and I approve, aesthetically speaking. More to love. 😘

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6. Force Jiratchapong

Nice to look at. Only just about makes up for his roles and acting though. I'm not hurrying to watch anything he's in, unless it's for a photoshoot like the one in the YouTube video above. 😮

7. Pavel Naret

It appears he's had a little surgical tweaking recently, but the doctors did a fine job and Pavel is always looking like he's some sort of walking sex buffet, dishing out sass and overflowing sex appeal at every turn. Still not enough to make me wanna watch Pit Babe though. 🤣

8. KaowOat Supasin

Apologies for the fuzziness of this screencap but I can almost feel non-existent ovaries swelling within me when I look at KaowOat's pensive buttcrack and delicately-placed fingers here. Almost makes me want to watch Playboyy The Series. Almost.

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9. Net Siraphop

I'm also on board with everybody's carnal favorite Net, even though I've not watched a single thing he's been in (Uea's kitty ears in Bed Friend did a good job warding me off, like garlic and crucifixes to a vampire so well done James Van Helsing). Nonetheless all the screenshots and GIFs were more than enough to leave me a little breathless at Net's honey-toned beauty. Those eyes telling of mysterious depths! That handsome jawline! That teasing glimpse of buttcheek with no tanline! When upon a time will we finally get Love Upon a Time? I'll be watching, if James can keep his furry ears out of frame.‌

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10. Kao Noppakao

Oh he of the excellent cheekbones and Cupid's Bow lips! Always looking so icy and unavailable, yet Kao utterly charmed his way into my heart in Lovely Writer (and then shattered it within the first few minutes of Until We Meet Again). Like Ohm he literally cannot take a bad photo; it's all Blue Steel and high fashion with this one.

BONUS 1 (because I am no respecter of limits):

Great Sapol is on here because he filled out his tight policeman's uniform so well in Manner of Death (and has me vibrating with pins and needles waiting for Wandee Goodday). And Taylor Zakhar Perez just because he was such a menace in Red, White & Royal Blue (that full frontal above is from Minx though). 😜 Plus TZP's name always gives me the giggles because zakar in a number of countries quite literally means what that eggplant is hiding. 🤣

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BONUS 2 (because these girls have made me feel something):

Zorzo Nathanan (formerly Zorzo Natharuetai)

Ever since she roared up and flicked those lovely long locks (and legs) on her motorcycle in Lovely Writer, I've been going weak at the knees for the ravishing confection that is Zorzo. Supposedly queer in real life too; just adds to the appeal. 🤩

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Namtan Tipnaree

Absolutely radiant and glowing in Last Twilight even though makeup and wardrobe have Namtan totally frumped out for the character of Porjai. If you can look this good with perpetual bedhead and a shapeless gray t-shirt, there's some kind of sexual sorcery going on and there's a part of me that wants whatever it is she's got. 💖

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I always tag too many people so I'm going to buck my brand and tag just one: @non-binarypal7. But consider yourself tagged if you've read this far and would like to play too – I just love reading other people's takes in tag games! 😍

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[letsplaydcttrpg]

Wheel of Destruction pt 10 - The Second Clue

Start this module here!

Previous part here!

Links to all posts for this module in the pinned post!

So the first night did not go...great...but time to rally! New night, new clue, new chance to stop things from going boom!

It's 7:30. For a moment the television screen goes blank, as the regular signal is blocked out. Then the sound comes on, followed by the flashing 'Wheel of Destruction' sign. "Yes," the announcer shouts, "ladies and gentlemen, once again it's time for that fabulous new game, Wheel of Destruction!" The camera pans out to the mechanical audience. This time, each one of them is wearing a gaily colored, paper party hat. Again they writhe recklessly, as the canned applause swells. "And here's your host, the Crown Prince of Crime, the Joker!" The applause becomes a roar, as the Joker strolls out from behind the curtain. "Ah, welcome to another opportunity to match wits. (Though how I can match wits with the witless is a real puzzle!)" "Is the commissioner ready?" the Joker yells, and another curtain parts to reveal the commissioner, gagged as before. "Well then, let's play the game!" A curtain rises revealing 18 blank spaces.

As before, we get 10 letters from Gordon guessing, and this time we get *click clack* 8 additional letters for 18 total!

"Now for a spin on the destruction wheel. Oh, but you don't see that. I've already given you too good a clue. And remember, payment of $1 million will save this famous landmark. So, until tomorrow, this is the Joker, hoping that all your little bat-wheels are spinning merrily along." The screen goes blank, except for a luminous, lingering afterimage of the Joker's face in reverse.

[pitgritted]

❝ You know, I hear you crossed the path of many other spirits in your journey so far, all offering ways for you to be 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐃, ❞ There is a playful lilt to her words, as if she could at any minute decide to make a game out of this, for no reason but pure mischief ( Or maybe she saw it as a game already? Who could tell but Ahri herself... ). ❝ But salvation is not something anyone else can give you. ❞

She would know — though no introduction is offered, it is her domain she speaks of.

Tails swish as @spirithunts plays with her floating orb, tossed from one hand to the other, thrown away only to return to her grasp. Her companion only has half of her attention. Even the 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄 may find it challenging to make the Gatekeeper take anything completely seriously — though neither are her words without wisdom. ❝ It won't be offered to you, ❞ She adds, and the airy tone belies the gravity behind the words. ❝ You have to 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑺𝑬 it ! ❞

                  〝   tell   me   something   i   haven’t   HEARD   ,   fox   .   have   you   come   to   state   the   obvious   ?   〞   sett   gruffly   replies   through   his   chewing   ,   a   curled   violet   tendril   scraping   along   the   line   of   his   juiced   maw   ,   his   tongue   lapping   up   the   sweetness   .   he   tosses   the   half   -   eaten   fruit   elsewhere   ,   his   bright   cherry   -   blossom   hues   following   the   four   legged   white   pelted   fox   .   he   observed   her   trot   atop   the   mossy   cobblestone   wall   before   fluidly   cast   her   more   APPROPRIATE   form   ;   a   slender   woman   with   gaily   ornately   patterned   garb   ,   tails   floundering   in   varying   directions   .   alluding   to   her   allure   &   mischief   . 

                  the   spirit   of   challenge   only   laden   the   gatekeeper   with   a   disinterest   glare   &   an   exasperated   sigh   .   callous   feet   ,   blackened   underfoot   by   the   dirt   he   treks   through   the   ravine   in   travel   ,   scraps   the   cobble   wall   as   he   reaches   to   hop   off   .   the   badger   spirits   easily   sticking   to   the   gaps   of   his   broad   shoulders   ,   their   muzzles   wrinkling   towards   the   base   of   their   brow   ,   beady   eyes   indicating   DISTRUST   . 

                  〝   unless   you’re   here   for   a   fight   ,   i   got   nothin’   for   ‘ya   .   &   i’ve   been   chasin’   —   it’s   only   a   matter   of   time   before   that   old   man   is   in   my   way   .   〞 

                  a   matter   of   time   .   might   as   well   be   lying   to   himself   .   it’s   been   quite   some   time   since   he’s   even   seen   his   mother’s   face   .   some   time   …   YEARS   really   . 

                  sett   flexes   his   biceps   ,   shirking   off   the   feeling   of   leaves   or   blade   of   grass   stick   to   tanned   mounds   of   chiseled   flesh   .   stickied   tendrils   crackling   to   life   as   he   tested   the   exhaustion   in   his   bones   .   still   had   enough   ENERGY   to   keep   walking   .   that’s   what   he   intended   to   do   . 

                  〝   i   don’t   got   time   for   games   ,   fox   .   i   suggest   you   find   another   soul   to   torment   with   ‘yer   games   .   〞he   tutted   through   the   grinding   of   his   canines   .

[sarahscribbles]

Dancing With The Devil || Part One

Summary: You've burned for him for centuries, but you know he sees you as nothing more than a prize to claim. Still, you play his game of teasing and innuendo, but never give in to how badly you crave him. That is until an innocent smell of a flower on Midsummer leaves you with no other choice.

Genre: Fluff, eventual smut in the next part, angst if you squint

Loki x f!reader

Word count: 4.3k

Part Two Loki Masterlist

AN: This is quickly becoming the length of a dissertation, so I'm splitting it into two parts to make it a little easier to read. This first part is the build-up and I will try my hardest to have the second part posted later this week! It doesn't follow canon but does mention Thor visiting Earth during Thor 1.

He was doing it on purpose. 

For over an hour you had been strolling aimlessly through the crowds in the royal gardens, the silk fan a constant in your hand to provide even a modicum of relief from the late morning sun. Yet, a full hour later, you still hadn’t caught sight of him. You would never admit to him, of course, that your furtive glances around the grounds had been in search of him - always your eyes searched for him - but his absence weighed on you like an anchor weighs a ship. Your parting words to him at the Ēostre celebrations had been a teasing declaration that he wouldn’t survive not seeing you again until Midsummer, words you were quickly coming to regret as the minutes continued ticking on and Loki remained absent. How badly you wished it was something you didn’t even notice. 

“The palace looks wonderful, doesn’t it, my lady?” Astrid’s sweet voice floated faintly to your ears over the chatter of the crowd. Ever loyal, she had followed along only half a step behind while you had wandered through the crowds, feeling decidedly like a predator that was stalking its prey. 

“Hmm?” you answered, half distracted by what had looked like a familiar flash of emerald green in the distance. It wasn’t him. “Oh. Yes, it does. I doubt anyone celebrates the summer solstice as brilliantly as Her Majesty,” you replied vaguely, continuing your aimless stroll through the gardens. 

In truth, you had noticed little of Frigga’s handiwork Since stepping through the palace gates your sole mission had been locating Loki. Not to run gaily through the crowd and leap into his arms, heavens no, but to pin him in the corner of your eye, to know exactly where he was as you both resumed your centuries old game of teasing, flirting and innuendo that had come to define your relationship. You wanted to continue making him want you without being able to have you. 

“And the smells, my lady!” Astrid continued at your side, taking a dramatic breath in. “I hope this is what Valhalla smells like.”

You smiled fondly at the girl. New to your service, it was her first time attending the Midsummer festival and her wonderment was close to infectious. It was impossible not to follow her lead and breathe in the summer air, perfumed with a heady mixture of honeysuckle and lavender; the Queen’s favourite flowers. 

“Wait until we reach the food stalls in the lower courtyard. Then you’ll really know what Valhalla smells like,” you told her, her wide excited face making you briefly pause in your search for Loki. 

On any other occasion he would have sought you out by now. Like two magnets, you always managed to find your way to each other no matter how big the crowds or how solemn the occasion. Briefly, you felt a firm pang of worry in your chest. Perhaps he had grown bored? Perhaps he had found some new young thing to occupy his time? It was Loki after all.

“It is good to see you here, my lady,” a voice greeted you from behind, one so comfortingly familiar it brought an easy smile to your face. 

“A pity that the same can’t be said about you,” you replied lightly, letting Thor close the distance between you both and envelop you in an embrace. 

Effortlessly, he swayed you both from side to side. “The warmest heart on Asgard, yet your words cut like the ice of Jotunhein.” He said, though not without a friendly squeeze of your upper body. 

Relinquishing your hold on him, you gazed kindly at Thor’s handsome face. “You know I love you dearly, even if you do disappear off-world for months without even a letter. Does our friendship mean nothing to you?” You teased him, taking his arm and allowing him to escort you through the crowds, Astrid faithfully at your heels. 

Thor’s face broke into a proper grin. “You heard about that?” 

A bark of laughter escaped you at how genuinely surprised he sound, as though Asgard had spoken of nothing else for the past few months. “I’m sure the entire Nine Realms heard about that!” 

He shrugged carelessly. “What is a Prince without a little adventure?” he offered, his blue eyes twinkling at you. 

Eagerly, you waited for more, waited for him to bring up what the entire realm was saying had happened on Midgard. Thor, though, offered you nothing more, content to simply stroll along in silence and take in the bustle of the fesitivaties around him. Soon, the manicured grass under your feet merged into ornate stone as he led you through the high archway into the lower courtyard. Behind you, you heard Astrid’s tiny gasp as she was presented with an array of food stalls spread out across the wide space. 

“Mother really has outdone herself this year,” Thor spoke almost to himself, his eyes turned up to the brilliant blue sky above him. Frigga had enchanted hundreds of flower buds to float just out of reach above the crowds, making the entire courtyard feel like the inside of a kaleidoscope. 

Impatiently, you clicked your tongue. “You’re really not even going to mention it?”

He turned his gaze to you, his face the picture of innocence. “Mention what?”

“What happened on Midgard? Your mortal?” you prompted him. “Did you really fall in love with a Midgardian?” 

Thor’s face instantly softened, his wide grin melting to a soft smile. It told you everything you needed to know. “I did,” he answered simply. 

“Aren’t they very…dull?” you asked before you could stop yourself. 

Thor laughed, a great booming sound that caused a few small children to look in your direction. “I once thought the same.” He admitted, slowly shaking his head. “But…not Jane. She’s clever and brave and fiery. Much like someone else I know.” 

You gave his arm a small squeeze. “And the Allfather? What does he have to say about it?” You turned your gaze to study him, seeing the small lift of his eyebrows and how his smile began to falter. 

“Father thinks as you would expect. He sees her as nothing more than a passing phase that I’ll soon forget about, but I’ve learned not to let his opinion define me any longer. I promised Jane I would return for her and I intend to keep that promise, no matter what Father says,” he replied, sounding more determined than in all the centuries you’d known him. 

Thor had steered you both towards the grand fountain in the centre of the courtyard and, gladly, you perched on its edge, the weak spray of cool water providing welcome relief. “You always were unfailingly honourable,” you said as he sat next to you. “Do you remember when we were children and you accidentally pushed me off the rocking horse in your nursery? Your nurse thought it was Loki but you refused to let her blame him. You could have stood by and let him take the heat but you didn’t.” 

He laughed fondly at the memory. “He got blamed for so much already that I couldn’t. He isn’t as indestructible as he’d like people to think he is.” 

“And how is he? Loki?” you asked, trying your best not to show how even saying his name had your heart speeding up. 

“His engagement was announced last week. Didn’t you hear?” 

Your heart plummeted to your stomach and the colour quickly drained from your face. “What!” Your voice was too loud, but you didn’t care. Cold fear washed over you, freezing the blood in your veins. This was why he had been avoiding you all day. 

Thor’s huge hand came down hard on your knee as he let out another boom of laughter. “I am teasing, my friend!’ 

Instantly, your whole body relaxed. “You are an ass, Thor Odinson,” you grumbled, pushing his hand off your knee to make your point. 

“You have my apologies,” he said kindly. “But, unless you both admit that you care for each other, one day I may not be teasing when I tell you that. You’ve loved each other for centuries. Aren’t you tired of pretending differently?”

You gave a small “tsk” in response. “I didn’t realise we had a new god of love? When did that happen?”

“You’d be wise not to let Freyja hear you say that, even in jest,” Thor replied seriously. “And do not try and deflect from the question.” 

“I’m not deflecting, only remarking upon the man who once went through women as I go through new gowns now advising me on love.” 

Instantly, you regretted your choice of words. “So it is love we’re talking about you’ll admit that?” Thor pressed, smiling at you again. 

“It is not,” you replied firmly, beginning to grow frustrated. 

“Do not lie!” Thor said through another rich laugh. “I saw you both at the Ēostre Ball. You couldn’t stay away from each other for longer than five minutes.” 

“Thor, it is a game! Nothing more,” you said, a little more sharply than intended. “A way to make a festival or feast a little more exciting. You know how Loki loves chasing things that he can’t have. It’s only a game,” you repeated. 

Beside you, Thor was silent, his gaze trained on a group of women gathered around a silk stall. For a moment, you thought he would let the conversation die, but luck had never been your friend. “From where I stand it looks like you are a great deal more to my brother than just another chase,” he said plainly. 

Snapping open your fan, you ignored him, focusing on the cool air hitting your burning cheeks. It would be foolish, and not to mention dangerous, to let yourself believe there was any truth to Thor’s words. “Would you mind bringing me some mead?” you asked, bringing the conversation to an end. “It’s…it’s very hot.” 

Thor considered you for the briefest of seconds, but you refused to turn to him, to give him any opportunity to mention Loki again. You had already said too much. “Of course, my lady.” He patted your knee affectionately. “I will be back.” 

You watched him weave easily through the crowd of people, his blonde head towering above everyone else. When you were sure he was definitely out of earshot, you turned to Astrid who had been sitting quietly by your side, looking longingly at the food stalls. 

“You don’t tell my parents about what I just discussed with Thor,” you told her firmly, perhaps a little too firmly when you watched her eyes widen and jaw go slack. 

She nodded quickly. “Of course not, my lady!” 

Reaching into the pockets of your gown, you pulled out a small handful of gold coins, pressing them into the girl’s hands. “Here, go and buy yourself something at one of the stalls. This is a day for you to enjoy as well,” you encouraged her kindly, needing to keep her on your side. 

If it were possible, her eyes grew wider. “My lady! You are too kind! Thank you!” Her face was alight with joy as she made her curtsey and hurried off. 

You could only hope that you had successfully bought her silence. Much like everyone else on Asgard, your parents had their own misguided opinions on Loki. They hadn’t expressly forbidden you from consorting with him, but your mother had warned you before your very first ball at the palace all those years ago that he was more trouble than he was worth. 

“There is something not quite right about him. He schemes constantly, always hungering for something. You’d do well to focus your attention elsewhere, sweet,” she had said. 

By “elsewhere” you knew she had meant Thor. A silent social climber, she had set her aspirations on her eldest daughter entrapping the Crown Prince and cementing her path to becoming the next Queen of Asgard. Her aspirations for you would never come to fruition, though. In spite of their distaste for him, or perhaps because of it, you had been drawn to Loki instead of Thor. It had been Loki who had led you in your first dance that night, who had taken you for air on the balcony when the Great Hall had become too stifling, and who had grinned wickedly at you when you refused to let him kiss you. 

“That’s something you’ll have to work for, my prince,” you had teased him, voice sickly sweet as you had leaned out of his reach. 

“Eventually, you will give in,” he had replied confidently and, kissing the back of your hand instead, had escorted you back to the festivities. 

That night had been the beginning of your game. You knew he didn’t want you, not really, he only wanted the chase, spurred on by how you always left him dangling at the very last second. His past conquests had all given themselves easily without a fight. You, though, had resisted, had played his game. It was going to be the death of you. 

“You’ll give yourself a hemorrhage if you keep thinking so hard,” his voice, smooth and rich as velvet, suddenly reached your ears. 

He stood to your right, towering over you and mercifully blocking out the sun's intense rays. “Something you don’t have to live in fear of then,” you replied, the dark mood that had been threatening to engulf you vanishing instantly with his appearance. 

Loki narrowed his eyes playfully at you. “My brother has deserted you?” He asked, turning his gaze in the direction that Thor had set off in. 

“Only for a moment. He’s gone to get some mead.” You answered, nodding vaguely in the direction of the stalls. 

“He’s been sidetracked then. I passed him talking with Fandral on the way over.” He turned back to you, extending his hand. “Please allow me to make up for my oaf of a brother’s unseemly lack of manners,” he said, his eyes sparkling. 

You pretended to think for the briefest of moments. “I suppose Midsummer is the appropriate time to perform acts of charity,” you teased, easily accepting his hand. 

“My thoughts exactly,” he said without skipping a beat. 

You made a face in response, tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow and allowing your fingers the small pleasure of caressing over his bicep through the rich material of his clothing. While holding Thor’s arm had done nothing to you, touching Loki felt electric, your fingers on his arm not being enough. You wanted to be swept up in him. You wanted him to overwhelm your every sense. You wanted him. 

“That gown is enchanting, my dear,” Loki spoke softly, guiding you both in the direction of the multitude of different stalls that filled the courtyard. 

Turning your head you found his gaze already on you, sweeping over you from head to toe. Vainly, you fought the heat that was beginning to rise to your cheeks. “It brings out my eyes, don’t you think?” You responded with an overenthusiastic flutter of your eyelashes. 

Loki’s gaze dropped a fraction. “Amongst other things.” 

Acting scandalised, you pretended to pull up the front of your gown. “Are you daring to insinuate something improper, my prince?”

Loki let out a snort of laughter, making you bite your cheek to stop from doing the same. “As though you of all people are concerned with appearing improper. Didn’t you once tell me that your first…ah…encounter happened between the Ancient Magic shelves in my mother’s library?”

Your jaw dropped at his audacity, a spluttered laugh quickly following suit. “And as though you of all people can make judgement when you were caught on two separate occasions in the stables with both the Ambassador’s daughters!’ 

“And weren’t you caught with one underneath the stairs in the upper courtyard during the Midwinter celebrations?” He shot back, quirking one perfect eyebrow at you. 

For a second you were struck dumb, unaware that anyone, least of all Loki, had heard of that little rendezvous. “Well, at least I made sure she was comfortable and not taken like some breeding mare,” you replied haughtily. “Where have you taken your latest conquests? To the pigsty in the servants’ quarters?” 

Rather than appear offended at your remarks, Loki only laughed, a deep warm sound that made your heart flutter. You wished you could always make him laugh so easily. “There haven’t been any,” he answered honestly, the barest hint of what you almost took as vulnerability glinting in his eyes. 

You didn’t let it deter you, though, raising your free hand to soothingly rub his arm. “Poor thing. Have we been dealing with a little impotency lately?” 

He didn’t falter. “Why don’t I take you behind one of these stalls and you can ascertain for yourself?” 

You looked away, feigning interest in the passing flower displays so he wouldn’t see the smile you could no longer fight. How many times when you had been backed against a wall had you imagined it was his waist your leg was wrapped around rather than some random footman's? How many times when you were being bent over or turned around had you pictured his face as opposed to whoever was hiking your skirts up around your waist? Too many to count. 

“That would be giving you what you want too easily, wouldn’t it?” you replied sweetly, gently squeezing his arm. 

“Or perhaps it would be finally giving in to what you’ve wanted for so long,” he teased. 

Laughter bubbled in your throat, making you throw your head back. “It’s good we’re outside, my prince. I fear the palace is becoming too small for your big head.” 

“Eventually, you’ll give in,” Loki replied as he always did, but sounding a lot more confident than you would like. 

You replied only with a breathy “mhmm,” humouring him while you stretched to inspect the collection of flowers displayed on the foreign plants stall, not missing the subtle clamping of his elbow to his side to prevent you from fully letting go. 

With one hand you fingered the pale pink petals of one flower, sure you knew what it was, but not entirely certain. “Is this echinacea?” you asked the old lady behind the stall. She nodded her confirmation. “Can you make me a few pouches, please?”

“Are you feeling unwell?” Loki asked as the old lady bustled around preparing your pouches. 

“No.” You answered, extracting your hand from his elbow to pull some more coins from your pocket. “My mother uses it in her healing remedies. It’s always beneficial to have too much than not enough.” 

“Your mother knows healing magic?” he asked while you perused the other flowers on offer. 

“She does. She’s been teaching me for a while. Nothing that can help with your big head, I’m afraid,” you added cheekily. Loki nudged you with his hip. “I don’t think there’s any other’s she’s in need of,” you muttered, more to yourself than Loki. “Chrysanthemum? No, she has that. Calendula? I don’t think so.” 

You moved around the stall with Loki following closely behind. “Will you be attending the ball tonight?” He asked, reaching around you to inspect a vibrant blue plant. 

“Of course. I have a long list of suitors to keep happy,” you replied, not giving him your attention. 

You heard him sigh. “Must you always tease?” 

“Must you always ask questions you already know the answer to?” You finally turned to him, bringing an orange flower to your nose. 

His frown quickly became a smirk. “There’s no need to ask, then, if you’ll save your first dance for me. Adoring me as you do the answer is quite obviously yes.” 

For a second you let your teasing subside, hearing in his voice the need to feel wanted no matter how hard he tried to disguise it. “You’ll always have my first dance, Loki. You know that.” 

Satisfied, and with a faint pink blush colouring his cheeks, he turned back to the sea of colour of the flower stall. You followed suit, your eyes drawn suddenly to a flower that loomed larger than the rest and sat protected under a glass dome. It was vibrant red, the colour of spilled blood, and, unless your eyes were deceiving you, it was pulsing. 

“I’ve definitely never seen this here before. It looks…menacing,” you said, not sure if Loki was even still listening. Your natural curiosity won out, though, and you reached out to lift the glass dome carefully from over the flower's petals. 

Almost instantly, you realised why it had been there. The second the red petals came into contact with the air, the stigma released a puff of red dust to your face. “Oh!” You closed your eyes on instinct. “That’s…potent.” The smell of the dust was overwhelming and like nothing you had ever come across before. It was sickly sweet, like the smell of some of your mother’s strongest remedies, and so overpowering it almost turned your stomach. 

A fit of coughing overtook you as the dust assaulted the back of your nose and throat and your eyes quickly began to tear. Almost in tandem, a raging heat swept through you, hotter than even the hottest day on Asgard, and leaving your body tingling in its wake. 

And just as quickly as it had come on, it left.

You felt Loki’s hand on your back and when you opened your eyes his face was hovering in front of you, concern etched in every line. “Are you alright?” he asked, his eyes scanning your face. 

You could only nod silently, too enraptured by his face so close to yours. Had his skin always looked so soft? “So soft,” you murmured, half the words lost in your throat. You had been attracted to him for centuries, but only now were you noticing the small flecks of brown in his green eyes and the faint freckle on the tip of his nose. He wasn’t just attractive. He was beautiful. 

A crease formed between his brow and his hands moved to clasp your shoulders. “Are you sure you’re alright? Do you need to sit down?” 

With ease, you pushed his hands from your shoulders, a tingle of electricity coursing through you at the contact with his bare skin. “I’m fine. Relax, you won’t have to dance with any broomsticks in my place tonight.” 

Loki rolled his eyes. “You’re fine.” 

“I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you.” You replied, retrieving the small pouches the old lady handed you and storing them in your gown. The initial brain fog that had come with the flower's release of dust had somewhat abated, but you still felt a little…off, likely from the sickening smell it had spurted over you. 

Taking Loki’s arm you rejoined the crowds milling around the courtyard, noticing just how firm the muscles in his arm were and picturing them rippling under your fingertips, how they would flex as he eased into you…

 “Will we be in the Great Hall tonight?” you asked quickly. Of course you would be in the Great Hall, but something had to distract you from mentally undressing him. You had so far succeeded in suppressing your want for him, knowing it would only ever end in your broken heart, but today was putting all your resolve to the test. 

“Must you ask questions you already know the answer to?” He threw your earlier comment back at you, turning to face you with a smug smirk. 

Lightly, you nipped his arm. “I only want to prepare myself for when you inevitably corner me on the balcony like some deranged wolf stalking its prey.” 

“Much like how you prowled the gardens earlier in search of me?” He shot back, leaning closer against you as you passed a gaggle of women, the action making a shiver course through you that he, thankfully, missed. 

“I was not…” you began, but quickly gave up at being unable to think of a plausible lie, or at least, one that the god of lies wouldn’t be able to see right through. “You’re insufferable,” you huffed. 

Loki leaned in closer to you, his forehead almost touching your temple. “Don’t fret, my dear. It will be our secret how much you burn for me,” he murmured in your ear, causing goosebumps to erupt on your skin. 

You knew he was teasing, knew he viewed you as nothing more than a prize he would one day claim, but his words, coupled with his enticing proximity, had a faint stirring start between your legs. The resolve you had steadily built up over the many centuries was somehow falling apart brick by brick and you were heading down a dangerous road that would only end in anguish. If you gave in, if you allowed Loki to claim you as his prize, he would only toss you aside once he had his fill. He had been such a constant in your life, a source of so much genuine happiness, you weren’t ready to let that go. 

Before you could offer any opposition, or even tease him again about his ever growing ego, one of Frigga’s many messengers was striding towards you both. “Your Highness.” He bowed to Loki. “The Queen requires your presence in the upper courtyard.” 

Loki glanced to you, as though seeking your permission to obey his mother’s summons. “I will find you later. Yes?” 

“I’ll likely be with one of my many other suitors, but I’ll try to clear a space for you.” You said, giving him a teasing smile. 

“I’m sure you’ll find some time for me.” He replied with a mischievous wink, taking your hand and pressing it to his lips. The faintest of whimpers spilled from you at the feel of his warm mouth on your skin, making a smile twitch on his face. “Enjoy the festivities, my dear.” He said mischievously, giving you a small bow. 

You watched him disappear into the crowds after Frigga’s messenger, idly rubbing your fingers over the spot on your hand he had just kissed, and feeling a fire begin to flicker inside you.

Tags: @cake-writes @sineads-art @mochie85 @gloriuspurposee @christineblood

[woodelf68]

Strength of Arms

Summary: Sif challenges Loki to an arm wrestling contest. A closer look at a mentioned scene from the pre-canon To Drive The Dark Away. For the @sifkiweek 2022 day one prompt "Battle". Sif and the princes are in the Asgardian equivalent of their teens here. Rated G.

Sif planted her elbow on the table and leaned forward, offering her slightly cupped hand to Loki. He straddled the chair opposite her and copied her pose, fitting their hands together and clasping his ridiculously long fingers around hers. He grinned at her. 

Thor covered their joined hands with his own, holding them still. "Ready?" he asked, and waited for their nods. "Set..." 

Sif tensed her arm muscles. Loki's eyes were a clear, soft blue as they met and held her gaze, that smile still playing about his lips. 

"Go!" Thor released their hands and stepped back quickly as Sif immediately tried to slam Loki's arm down to the table's surface, but he wasn't having any of it, the strength of his attempt cancelling out hers. Their clasped hands barely wavered as the youths of Asgard gathered around them began cheering them on. Sif tuned them out, as she tuned out the gaily-lit hall, the Yule decorations, the smell of the forest brought inside. She narrowed her focus to her opponent, and her desire to win, to prove her strength equal to the young males of Asgard, to prove she had the right to train and fight alongside of them. She was holding her own, but Loki's arm refused to budge more than a hair or two in the direction she was trying to push it before returning to its upright position. 

"I hope you weren't expecting an easy victory," he said, sounding all too pleased with himself. 

"Nothing about you is ever easy," Sif grumbled, which was an untruth. While at times he seemed to delight in being contrary, at other times the companionship between them was relaxed and easy. When they were alone together, she did not feel the need to brag and boast of her accomplishments and what she would do one day as a warrior of the realm. He had never questioned her worth, her right to follow the path of her choosing, and in return she felt like she could just be Sif, the girl, with him instead of always having to make sure she came across as Sif, the warrior. Her arm dipped slightly to the side as her attention lapsed, and she immediately stiffened it once more before he could press the advantage. 

"I like to think of it as staying interesting," said Loki cheerfully.

"What's interesting is..." She squinted. "There's something on your nose."

"That worked better that time we were camping and I could feel that insect crawling on my skin." It had driven him nearly mad trying to dislodge it while still maintaining the tension in his arm, until finally he had put that frustration into a desperate surge of strength and had flattened Sif's arm to the board, dropping her hand immediately to swat at his own nose while Thor had laughed his head off  nearby. He tried to conjure up that determination now, but managed to do no more than hold his own. Some of their audience began to drift away, seeking more immediate amusement. Thor dragged a chair over and did as Loki had done, turning it around and straddling it as he sat down. He folded his arms along the backrest.

"You do realise you're supposed to be arm wrestling and not just holding hands, don't you?" he asked helpfully. 

"Shut up, Thor," they chorused in perfect unison, and nearly choked on their laughter. 

"You look very pretty tonight, Sif." said Loki. 

"Thank you," said Sif, not thinking for a second that he was trying to do anything but distract her as she had done him, although truly, they both needed to up their game. "The dress looks well, does it not? It even has pockets." 

"I said you looked pretty, not the dress," corrected Loki, "Although it does as well, of course,."

Oh, Sif thought, that was more like it, although she was under no illusions about her appearance. She had strong, bold features, and she was far from being a troll, but she knew she was no great beauty, nor did she really care about such things, not the way she cared about being respected for her skill with a blade. But if Loki truly meant it, she had no objection to him thinking so. "You flatter me, my prince. You look quite handsome yourself tonight." Up close, his black lashes stood out against the porcelain of his skin, and the flickering firelight cast his cheekbones into deep shadow. She thought of the way he had moved gracefully through the pattern of the Yule dance. She had been surprised to see him and Thor rise to follow their parents into the ritual dance for the first time, but they had looked like they belonged there, moving with stately precision and flowing around the other dancers. She dragged her mind back to the present as she felt her arm wobble and forced it back upright. 

"Thank you. New tunic," he offered. 

"I noticed, but I did not compliment the tunic. Although it is of course very handsome too." 

Loki felt his cheeks flush slightly, although surely she was just returning his compliment to him. "I beg your pardon." His muscles were beginning to feel the extended strain on them, but Thor challenged him enough that he knew he could hold on for quite some time yet. And not just Thor, he thought of all the times his father had invited him to try his strength against him in a friendly match, and was glad now of it. Father was right, those matches honed his own strength and endurance in a way that pitting himself against  boys his own age couldn't. He forced Sif's arm an inch to the left, she forced his right back. He wondered if her father ever arm wrestled with her.

"Mind you," he said, continuing with the topic of clothing because he didn't have the attention to spare to think of another one right now, "Your dress would look even better in green." 

Sif was startled into laughing, and had to fight to gain back the distance as her concentration slipped and her arm tipped towards the side again. It was getting harder to return it to vertical this time, but she was far from giving in. "Would you have me be a copy of yourself?"

Loki shrugged one shoulder somewhat sheepishly. "You are currently a near copy of Thor." 

Sif tried to picture Thor's tunic in her mind's eye without turning her head to look at him. Usually he sported a brighter red, but the darker hue he wore tonight suited both the season and the solemnity of the dance he'd taken part in. "Close, but not the same," she admitted. "But it's not as if my mother knew what colour his new tunic would be when she started my dress over a month ago." At least she didn't think her mother had known; she supposed it was perfectly possible that she and Queen Frigga had discussed and compared their children's new Yule clothes as they made them. "And such has always been my colour." 

"Anyway," she continued. "Red and green are complementary to each other, we would look better standing together as we are than dressed more alike; why do you think your mother chose green for your colour in the first place?"

Loki was so distracted by the idea that Sif thought they looked good together that he stopped actively pushing against Si's hand for a moment and paid for it as Sif briefly overpowered him and he had to force his arm back upright with a spurt of panic-induced adrenaline. "So Thor and I would complement each other?" He had never thought about it before,  and he too fought off the urge to glance at Thor . 

Sif did her own one-shouldered shrug. "i think it likely. Ask her." 

"i might." He thought for a moment. "If not green, then what about gold with green trim? Would that be complementary enough for you?"

Now this was getting interesting, and Sif suddenly wished they were no longer arm wrestling so she could give this conversation her full attention. "It would," she admitted, picturing herself in something like Loki was suggesting. "But I hardly have the rank to wear gold." 

"It would suit you," said Loki, and for once Sif felt that he was giving her his honest opinion. 

"Perhaps one day, when I have won fame as a warrior of the realm." 

"I will look forward to that day."

Thor feigned a yawn, then looked up as servants began streaming into the hall once more. He straightened his posture, brightening. "Dessert is arriving," he informed his brother and Sif. 

Loki unconsciously wet his lips with his tongue. Sif's eyes tracked the motion. 

"Shall we call it a draw?" he suggested tentatively. "Equals in strength?"

"Am I no longer an upstart maiden?"

"Aye, you are, but fortunately for you I like upstart maidens." He gave her his best charmingly boyish grin, and Sif was not unaffected. And...the best treats would be snatched up quickly. They would fight together one day, and there was no dishonour in being of equal strength to one's own shield brother.

"A draw," Sif agreed, and let go of his hand as soon as Loki loosened his grip. She reached up to rub her upper arm as Loki shook his own tense muscles out

Thor immediately got to his feet. "A well-matched battle, well fought!" he proclaimed. "Now, let's eat!"

Loki rose and had to fight the instinct to offer her his arm, as he had been taught by his mother, either when they walked together or with certain visiting dignitaries that he was supposed to be polite to. Sif would not appreciate it, he knew; she had told him once that she did not need a man to lean on. He had never meant it thus, only a fool would think that Sif could not stand on her own two feet, but he had respected her wishes and never offered again. So now he merely waited for her to stand and walked beside her as they headed back towards the tables they had been seated at for the feast, where new and delicious-smelling dishes were being set out.

"I think I see what Sif meant about the colours," Thor observed thoughtfully on falling into step beside them and glancing back and forth between their outfits. "Sif and I blend into each other too much, but you and she -- or you and I -- stay distinct. The red and green set each other off well; you do look good together."

"Mine is maroon," said Sif.

Thor gestured vaguely. "It is a shade of red."

Loki looked back and forth between him and Sif, then him and Thor, and last of all, between Thor and Sif. "You're right." It sent a warm feeling through his chest, thinking that Sif looked better paired with him than with his brother, not to mention that his mother had apparently wished to make sure her youngest son did not merely blend into the shadow of her eldest. Suddenly emboldened, he held out his arm to her after all.

"I have been informed, Lady Sif, that we look well together. Shall we?"

The corners of Sif's lips twitched. Perhaps just this once, she thought. "Oh, well, if we look well together, far be it from me to deprive the citizenry of Asgard from admiring the way our colours complement each other." Thor snorted as she laid her hand on top of Loki's forearm. Sif thought of the way Queen Frigga carried herself when walking thus, back straight and head held high, and realised that she didn't look in the least like she was being supported by the man escorting her. She looked like she was granting him an honour. Oh, Sif thought, and glanced at Loki's face, seeing something in his expression that told her she was right. Still... "Just don't expect this to become a habit, Odinson."

"Perhaps just on special occasions?" suggested Loki hopefully, feeling a little giddy at having Sif on his arm.

"Yes," said Sif, "At something like a high feast, you may ask." She looked ahead as they neared her table and met her mother's eyes. She looked very pleased to see what she no doubt considered to be Sif walking like a proper lady on the arm of one of the princes. "Unless my mother starts going on about my future marriage prospects based on this," she added darkly.

Loki glanced from Lady Gná, who did have a certain gleam in her eyes. Loki nearly jerked his arm away, but Sif curled her fingers into his forearm and refused to let go.

"Oh no," she warned. "You wanted this. How do you think it would look if you snatched your arm away now?"

"Sorry. Just reflex. Tell her I acted only as a well-mannered gentleman ought if she presumes anything." He looked towards his own mother and saw that while she too was looking at them, the pleased fondness on her face did not cause him any concern. Sif let go of his arm as they reached her seat and Loki inclined his head towards her parents.

"Lady Gná, General Tyr, I hope you are enjoying the feast."

"Indeed we are." Lady Gná smiled at him in a motherly fashion. "It was good to see you and Prince Thor in the dance this year; your parents must have been very proud of you."

"We like to think so," broke in Thor, deliberately drawing her attention to him. "And speaking of dancing, Sif, you'll join Loki and I for some dancing later, won't you?"

"I'd love to -- If I'm not too full to move." Sif grinned at them as she placed a delicate marzipan swan on her plate, and then added a green-tinted frog to keep it company.

"I'm sure Bragi will be able to keep us all entertained with his tales until our food has settled," Loki said. The skald was a master of his craft, and Loki always enjoyed his performances. "No need to stint on dessert -- unless yours runs away." He sent a flick of seidr towards Sif's plate, and Sif started back as the frog stirred into life and hopped across her plate, the swan lifting and stretching its wings.

Lady Gná exclaimed in delight, echoed by her husband's chuckle, and Sif watched in fascination, trying to see the molded candy that she knew was still in the same place she had set them down and not the illusions, but she simply could not. "I am afraid I cannot allow Sir Froggie to escape my plate," said Sif, and tried to touch the illusion just before it hopped off, causing it to vanish in a shimmer of green magic. She smiled, watching as the swan turned its head to look at her. "It is charming, Loki; I almost hate to dispel it." But she did, reaching out with one finger as if to stroke the swan's feathers. There was another shimmer of seidr, and the swan was no more than a piece of candy again. She considered it for a moment. "How am I supposed to eat it now with the memory of it looking at me though?"

"I'll take it if you don't want it." Thor reached for the swan.

Sif smacked his hand away. "The feeling will pass. Go and eat your own animals."

"She's right, Thor. We'd better go before Father eats your dragon."

"He would not!" exclaimed Thor in a shocked voice. "He knows the dragon is mine."

"I expect he also hopes that you are old enough not to throw a temper tantrum again if he eats it one year."

"I did not throw a temper tentrum! I was just...upset. I had been looking forward to getting a marzipan dragon for weeks."

Thor still sounded woeful at the memory. Tantrum, mouthed Loki to Sif and her family, and Sif had to fight back a snicker.

"You had best go and claim your preferred pieces, then," said Tyr.

"We will," said Thor firmly. "Come, Loki."

Loki said a hasty goodbye as Thor half-pulled him off his feet in his hurry to get back to their own table, and Lady Gná smiled after him.

"Such a polite boy," she praised. "Frigga's raised him well." She looked at her daughter, beaming. "You two make a handsome couple, you know."

Sif rolled her eyes; here it comes, she thought. "So we have been told," she said in a voice that suggested this was a boring topic, move along please. Although... "Mother, do you know why Queen Frigga chose green as Loki's colour?"

Her mother looked blank for a moment at the apparent change of subject, then thoughtful. "Actually, I remember her dressing him in a quite a few blue things when he was just a baby, a darker shade then the ones she favours. The colour brought out his eyes nicely, but then she shifted to greens. I think she might have said something about it complementing Thor's red better."

Sif nearly choked on a bite of flaky pastry as she huffed out a laugh.

"Are you all right?" Gná asked in concern.

"Yes, fine. Just swallowed wrong." She looked towards the high table with a grin. She hoped Loki asked his mother, but if not, she could tell him. Although -- Sif tipped her head, considering. Loki did wear colours other than green, of course, it was just the predominant one in his wardrobe. She could think of a couple of blue shirts he'd had over the years, and her mother was right, they did make the blue of his eyes more noticeable. She tried to picture Loki in more blue -- a blue cloak, more blue tunics, blue accents on his leathers. It was unexpectedly hard, and she couldn't quite picture him in the darker shades her mother had mentioned. Lighter or more medium shades like his mother often wore would suit him better, she decided, perhaps something like steel blue. Perhaps the queen had discovered the same thing, and had switched to green for Loki instead to avoid looking too similar.

But yes, Sif decided judiciously, Loki would look good in blue too.

[pridewhatpride]

omg pls talk more about GX rival shipping once the transfer students come

Dear anon, I love you for asking this of me, but I have to wonder if you want everyone who follows me to start hating me.

Long post coming up? You know it. I apologise to all Johan fans, he's great and I loved him and his deck as a child. Now I'm just salty because he's too perfect. Warning because this is a mess of unrequited feelings and it's an all around bad time if you ship anything in gx. I did mention I do not practice self care in a previous post of mine. Enjoy your pain c:

So here are my bad takes of the day, under the very handy cut!

You see, gx rivalshipping becomes a lot more complicated and angsty when the transfer students arrive. The dynamic changes. If there is a dynamic at all. I mean, imagine yourself in Manjoume's shoes. You've lowkey had a crush on this dumb guy who kind of ruined your life (but actually improved it and freed you from the restraints your family imposed on you), just to watch a handsome scandinavian dude who is a lot more muscular than you are and maybe a little bit nicer, maybe just waltz in and completely captivate said dumb guy's attention. Just when you had managed to admit your own feelings to yourself.

Johan comes in and steals the room, everybody loves him, he's good looking, charismatic, kind and has a magical exclusive shiny sparkling deck at his disposal that he uses as if it was the most natural thing in the world, like he hadn't received approval Pegasus himself on top of the duel spirits. And Judai clearly can't get enough of it, because he's always seeking him out, ever since the duel they had in front of everyone, and Manjoume finds that he's really annoyed by it. He wishes he'd been chosen for the demonstration, deluding himself into believing that if he'd won, Judai would have never started caring so damn much about Johan. But a part of him knows he would have probably lost and that even if he hadn't, Judai would have not cared about the outcome at all. It's nice to think that winning a card game can solve all your problems, but, while Manjoume has only ever experienced how much losing one can mess with your life goals, he isn't stupid enough to think that winning would grant him happiness. Not anymore. No well-thought-out strategy can rid him of his bad temper and his worthless pride.

The thing is, he can't really hate Johan, because nobody can hate Johan. He's just the perfect picture of everything Manjoume isn't and, going by everyone's reaction, the fact that 'everyone is unique in their own way and worthy of love' is absolute bullshit. There clearly is an objective better one of the two and Manjoume is very aware that he isn't it. And he'd probably begrundgingly be cool with it, after all he'd accepted that Jaden was braver than him, that Asuka was emotionally stronger and more resolute, that Daichi was smarter, not to mention how much plain better than him his fomer upperclassmen were. Forget about pros like Edo, whom Judai had stood on equal grounds with. But Judai is clearly playing favourites, too, hell, he hardly even acknowledges Manjoume.

He finds himself forcibly removed from his already shaky position as rival, because now Johan is there to take it up, on top of the titles of 'best friend' and 'emotional support and crutch' and 'maybe something else I'd really rather not know'.

Manjoume just generally hates it all. He might have changed and improved himself, but there is no saving him from the fact that some people were just better. That doesn't stop him from trying. But again he finds himself pitted against Judai, the irony of his fate never giving him a moment to rest. Manipulated and turned into the enemy of those he cares about, again.

A part of him despises how good it feels to learn that Johan has gone missing, but Judai is screaming like his arms have been torn off and while he hates that it's all for Johan, he hates that Judai is in pain even more. Judai had saved him before and it's only right for him to return the favour. So he insists on helping him on his stupidly risky plan to save Johan. And it's all to get the old Judai back.

...The rest, from Manjoume's perspective is a mess. His feelings of anger stem from the hatred he harbours towards himself and the bond between Judai and Johan. He'd been trying to help, he had, he sincerely had, but everything just swirled together and the next thing he knows is that he is shouting at Judai because it suddenly made sense to guilt trip him over the fact that he'd abandoned his friends, he'd abandoned him as soon as someone better had come into the picture. And it was Judai's fault for letting them- him believe that he cared when he didn't, when he couldn't have cared less, because clearly he had one priority only and that was Johan. They had come to help and it still wasn't being appreciated.

Disappearing is a relief, for a moment, but then he finds himself in another hellish place and he can't help but think that it's retribution for being so upset over something that has nothing to do with him. That's right. It's his own fault for making Judai, his only real friend (aside from Fubuki, sorry for breaking the immersion, but I love Fubuki), carry the burden of the stupid hopes that came with his feelings. Judai has no fault. Johan has no fault. It's his own for desiring something that would always be out of reach.

As he is tortured by his own thoughts and regrets in the other dimension, Manjoume silently wishes his words meant nothing to Judai, that he'd be spared the pain of betrayal. He wishes Judai can achieve his goal.

When Shou appears to him, he knows there is no time to waste. If he is alive, the others are, too. Judai would want to know that they are safe. So he asks Shou to carry his message, along with his good luck wish. He hopes it's enough to make up for his mistakes.

Next thing he knows, they are back at DA, Judai is nowhere to be seen. Manjoume mourns the loss of his first and only friend and curses himself for tarnishing that memory. (Judai's return and season 4 would be too much to cover, this was only Manjoume's pov and I might as well just rewrite the entire show at this point.)

So what about Judai?

I personally want to believe that he genuinely does like Manjoume at some point. But as much as it pains me to admit it, season 3 just wrote Manjoume off from the list of main characters and relegated him to 'he's your funny comic relief, nobody really gives a shit about what he thinks or feels, so why should you, the spectator who has grown to love him, care at all? Also here's his sticker that confirms that Judai going after Johan makes him really angry for some reason, make of that what you will c:' (fuck the writing staff, I'm not even sorry).

Judai is so clearly smitten with Johan. It seems to me that his refusal to accept Manjoume's help that one time on the cliff shows that Judai doesn't really understand the way Jun operates. He probably labeled him as just someone else who counted on him to be saved. And sure, Manjoume is saved by Judai in multiple occasions, but he doesn't ever really... ask for it? Or more importantly expect it. He doesn't get himself into situations he can't handle because Judai can save him anyways, the trouble just kind of happens at him and more often than not he's only involved by accident, because he happens to be close to Judai.

The problem still stands, as season 3 starts, Judai is very much burdened by everyone's expectations and Johan is a breath of fresh air and the only one Judai actually considers a friend and an equal. It's heartbreaking that he felt that alone.

They get their gay 'have we met somewhere before moment', they duel gaily, they homoerotically tell eachother how admirable the other is, they shamelessly flirt and whoohoo Judai has an unofficial boyfriend and who can blame him for concentrating on him along with wanting to escape the pressure his former gang unknowingly laid on him.

But yeah, Judai in season 3 has a one track mind and it's hard not to see it as romantic. Does he know it is? Maybe? I honestly don't know. I feel like Johan is the one of the two who is aware of the implications of their interactions. Which also kind of brings me to say... does Johan think that all of Judai's friends are horrible people? Because he never once comments on how Judai distances himself from them once he arrives. He probably thinks they were never good friends in the first place.

Judai probably excuses his attentions towards Johan with the fact that they are alike because they can see spirits, but then he rememebers that so can Manjoume and maybe he feels guilty for a second, but Johan cracks a joke and Judai laughs and thinks to himself that Manjoume is probably happy to have the peace and quiet he so often claimed to want.

Like... I think a part of him would get that tightness in his chest because it's like he's betrayed someone, but he knows he hasn't, because there isn't any actual mutual agreement he's going against. So he lets himself fall deeper into the comfort of Johan's presence. Johan is, to Judai, the ideal person. He is exactly who Judai wants to become. Judai admires him very deeply and strives to be more like him, but he falls gradually into despair as he learns, once Johan is gone, that no, he can't be like him, because Johan is so much better than him, and if he doesn't get him back soon he might even forget what he was like in the first place. Johan can't be erased, can't be forgotten. And Judai feels like he's vanishing already, so he throws himself into a wild interdimensional manhunt to save his hopes for the future.

Turns out that wanting to do good doens't always result in a good outcome. That's what Judai learns when Manjoume lashes out at him just seconds before disappearing. Along with the others, too. Judai doesn't even have the brain power to compute that some people are still there, that he can still save someone, because he realised then that he had focused so much on Johan that he'd completely overlooked the fact that while his friends relied on him a little too much, they hadn't meant any harm. And if he'd just told them, maybe they would have been fine, they could've cooperated- but Manjoume had told him that he was a traitor, that he'd doomed them with his irrational behaviour.

Manjoume's last words to him had been spoken with hatred and Judai realised only then that he had misread him entirely. He lets despair and self hatred take over as he realises that if he had managed to hurt the ones he cared about so easily, discarding them for the new good thing, he could just keep doing that. And it would stop hurting, eventually.

I like to think that Manjoume really does have an impact on the awakening of the Supreme King. Yeah, I know he only turns once Johan's death is mentioned, I know. I just suffer from abandonment issues and can't stand that Manjoume dying in front of him is more impactful to Judai than a guy who literally can't be trusted saying "Joke's on you, the one you're looking for is in another castle already dead."

So yeah. That's the angsty overview.

TL;DR Johan is an Adonis, Judai is smitten and Manjoume is very very heartbroken. But actually so is Judai. Because while being with Johan feels right, there's someone whose absence feels wrong, but he doesn't allow himself to dwell on it and everything goes to shit. All around a bad time for everyone and they'll have a lot of talking to do once they properly reconcile after graduation.

[thetaoofzoe]

FIC: Strawberries In Bed 1/1

Title: Strawberries In Bed 

Pairing: Napoleon Solo x Wife Angela (OFC)

Challenge: 25 DAYS OF CAVILL by @emjayewrites

Summary: Napoleon absolutely loves spoiling his family on the Holidays. 

Word Count: 3000

Rating: Extreme Holiday fluff, oral sex (female receiving), some  intimate hand about the neck (female receiving), Napoleon is a boss and Angela loves it. Mature.

‘Bishop to knight 4,’ said Illya.

He looked up at his laptop camera, and smirked with satisfaction. The move was absolute perfection. There was no way he could lose now.

Sighing, Napoleon took a moment to recognise the move. Then, feeling resigned to losing yet again, he nudged Illya’s corresponding piece to the requested place on his own chess board. He studied how terribly boxed in he was and scowled. Illya was a genius chess player and Napoleon had learned a lot from him when they played on long, quiet missions. Unfortunately, their long quiet missions were long behind them, at least for a while and they had to resort to playing their games by correspondence.

How Illya could be more insufferable when they played their games through Skype, Napoleon just couldn’t understand.

If Illya was doing well, he would call for Gaby to come congratulate him and force Napoleon to watch her spindly-legged uncoordinated ‘Illya is beating Napoleon at chess. AGAIN!’ dance in the background.

‘Doesn’t look like you’re doing too well, Cowboy,’ Illya gloated and moved in close to the camera as if trying to peer through the screen and down at Napoleon’s board. ‘Make sure you move it to right square this time. Put camera down. I want to see.’

Rolling his eyes, Napoleon tilted his own laptop screen down and he could hear Illya laughing.

‘Good, Cowboy. Now, how to get out of this?’

Napoleon righted the laptop again and glowered at his friend’s very punchable face.

‘I’ll get out of it,’ he swore. ‘I just need a moment.’

Napoleon knew he wasn’t going to get out of it, but he wanted to make Illya believe that he had a trick up his sleeve. However, Illya didn’t buy it for a second.

‘Gaby!’ Illya called, turning to look over his shoulder and into the room behind him. ‘Napoleon will not get out of this. Get your dance ready.’

Not wanting to see the dreadful dance, yet again, Naopleon held up one finger, telling Illya to just wait one minute, when a piercing scream broke him out of his muse.

The smoke alarm!

Napoleon looked into Illya’s startled face. The noise must have have been loud enough to come across the computer’s microphone.

‘Convenient!’ Illya said. ‘When check is about to happen!’

‘Later!’ Napoleon snapped and shut the laptop.

There were more pressing matters to attend to now.

Napoleon opened the door of his den and stepped out to the smell of smoke in the air. Sniffing, trying to discern if it was house material burning or if it was food burning, he hurried down the hallway from the den, and into the broad tastefully decorated L-shaped living room. He glanced at the holiday pennants strung above the gas fire burning in the hearth and at the gaily decorated Christmas tree next to it. No fire there.

Turning the corner that led to the adjoining kitchen, he stopped short. From his vantage point he could see into the newly remodelled kitchen where his beautiful and capable wife stood looking helplessly at a spot on the floor beyond the long white marble topped island.

‘Angie, baby!’ Napoleon shouted above the roar of the exhaust fan and the bleating alarm. ‘What are you doing?’

The kitchen was a disaster and Angela gestured helplessly around her as if she couldn’t decide what fire needed to be put out first.

He extinguished the alarm, pulled open the sliding patio doors to let out the lingering smoke, and then went to attend to his wife.

Holding a bag of frozen peas against her palm, Angie stood over an overturned pan of burned sugar cookies on the floor.

‘I thought… I wasn’t expecting it to be so hot through the towel,’ she lamented and drew away the peas to examine the damage the edge of the cookie tin had done to her skin. ‘And then everything just went…’

She made another gesture around and Napoleon couldn’t fight down the sudden surge of adoration for her.

Tsking, Napoleon crouched to sweep the cookies onto the tray, which he then put on the counter.

‘Aw,’ he cooed, and she looked sharply at him, upon hearing the amusement in his voice.

‘It’s not funny,’ she warned him. ‘You’d better not laugh.’

Napoleon made a zipping and locking motion across his mouth, but didn’t suppress the smile that threatening to turn his night into a stint on the couch. He reached drew her close.

‘My poor baby.’

He cradled her hands between his and saw a glassy, angry red streak across her left palm. It didn’t look too bad, so he walked her to the sink and turned on the tap.

‘You’re still making fun of me,’ she groused, leaning her head against him as he held her hand beneath the cool flow.

‘Nonsense,’ he answered fondly and kissed her forehead.

Angie sighed and smiled as the throbbing pain in her hand finally subsided. She liked when Napoleon took control, whether it was of the situation or if it was of her directly. It made her feel loved and looked after. He was very good at taking control. And maybe, though she would not admit it to anyone but herself, it fostered a certain kind of helplessness in her, in order to facilitate Napoleon’s white knight tendencies.

Lifting her face, she nudged his cheek with the tip of her nose and she could see him smile. But, he stubbornly kept his attention on holding her hand beneath the water. She hummed softly and nudged him again.

‘Stop,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m concentrating.’

He wasn’t really concentrating. It was just one of the games they liked to play. Warm up the tiger before he pounces.

Angie reached into the water with her free hand and gathered her fingers into a line along the edge of her curled in thumb, threatening to flick the water from her dripping fingers and onto Napoleon.

That got his attention and with interest, one dark elegant brow flicked upwards.

‘This shirt costs nine hundred euros,’ he warned with a laugh. ‘Dry clean only.’

‘Then give me what I want,’ she replied easily, a teasing smile turning up the corners of her lush mouth.

Napoleon closed the taps and grabbing a tea towel, he gently and thoroughly dried her hands before leaning in to kiss her sweet lips. He backed her up against the edge of the counter and leaned his weight into her. Angie reached to slide her arms round his neck and made a small noise of protest when he grabbed her wrists and pressed her hands down on the countertop.

Trapped, she thought, and the warmth of pleasure suffused her skin.

Napoleon was an absolutely beautiful, high quality man. They’d met five years ago during a masked New Years Eve party and had kissed each other at the stroke of midnight before they had even exchanged names and they had been inseparable ever since.

But, they couldn’t make out like newlyweds in the kitchen when there was a holiday dinner party to prepare for.

She drew away just a little to catch his attention, to remind him that he had still had husbandly tasks to complete before the evening get-together, but he chased her, increasing the pressure of his kiss and slipping the tip of his tongue into her mouth. The heat and familiarity of that possession redirected her intentions and Angela’s thoughts scattered like rose petals on a soft spring wind.

Napoleon circled her waist and leaned back. It took a moment to register that he has moved at all and with a disappointed mewl, she opened her eyes. She looked up into his face, that face that promised that he would never hurt her, but that he would do everything he could to treat her like the queen she was.

The queen to his king.

‘C’mon baby. Up you go,’ he murmured lustily, crouching just a little to hoist her up onto the counter.

Angela reached for him, needy and wanting and slid her hands through his neat hair. Her fingers tightened and gripped him so that he had no choice but to look up at her. When their eyes met again, a silent agreement passed between them.

‘Be a good boy,’ she hissed and wetting his lips, he grinned.

‘Always, darling.’

Napoleon curled his fingers beneath the waist band of her velour tracksuit bottoms and as she lifted herself, he slowly worked then down along her strong, creamy thighs. Her hand tightened in his hair again when he leaned in to kiss her velvety inner thigh. He hummed quietly, relishing the sweetness of her skin, the silkiness of her, and the pulse of her heat that rapidly eroded his self control. He nudged her until she collapsed back on her elbows, and opened herself to his touch. Angela shifted and wriggled just enough, spreading her legs as far as the bottoms would allow. The thick elastic bit into her thighs but it was a punishment that she’d willingly withstand in order to quench the suffering craving she had for her man. She moaned quietly, carefully, still aware of the slow delicate breath that lingered in her chest. She was still aware of how she looked to him, alluring and picture perfect, teetering on the precipice of her awakening desire. She was so close to tipping over the edge.

And Angela kept the sound of pleasure that threatened to escape her lips, a wicked reaction to the slow deliberate stroke of Napoleon’s slippery, questing tongue along her slit.

She arched up high on her elbows and the trembling desire to be dominated by him drew the worst out of her, the part of her that would willingly degrade herself for him. Only him.

Napoleon dragged her to the edge of the counter and slid his hand up her belly, between her breasts to where he eased his fingers about her throat. Angela whined with anticipation of delicious pressure and pushed into his grip giving him permission to keep going. Those strong fingers remained cupped possessively but did not exert any additional force. Angela knew she would come apart at being denied, but she trusted him. She knew him. Napoleon was holding back. This was not the beast he could become, just a shadow of it for now, as there would be time enough for that later.

Napoleon knew exactly what he was doing and how to stoke the fire in her. He knew how to touch her and taste her and when he gently thrust one finger into her Angela cried out and swore indelicately.

The rumbling sensations of Naopleon’s smug laugh against her skin thrilled her and she clutched helplessly at his dark hair.

Napoleon turned his attention to her thigh again, that tender flesh, and bit her gently, but with full intention to leave a mark. Angela yelped, gasped and her orgasm took them both by surprise. Napoleon watched his wife shudder as she lost herself and he pushed in again to ensure that he would not miss a thing, not a taste not a drop. He lapped at her, sliding his tongue in deeper, his fingers spreading her wide open until she begged him to stop.

Too much, baby, too much please!

Napoleon did as she bade him and straightened, wiping up her wetness from his mouth and licking clean his fingers. Angela laughed breathlessly, reached for him and he helped her to sit up. She flopped bonelessly against him, and rested her head on his shoulder. She had no words to describe how light and content she felt in that moment, how lucky she felt to have him, so she remained silent and let him kiss her

Napoleon was about to say something but was interrupted by the front door chimes.

‘Probably the caterers,’ she said, finally getting herself in hand and pushing him aside.

With a smile, she hopped off of the counter.

‘I’m not finished with you yet,’ Napoleon promised, pointing a finger at her as he went to the door leaving her to clean up after them.

**

Angela and Napoleon were the consummate hosts and their annual Christmas party pulled friends and family and neighbours from all over for one night of excellent food and even better company.

Angela took pleasure in the perfect presentation of her house and pride that she had the means to accommodate those people who were dear to her. And because of that, the house was crowded, filled with awful Christmas music, sounds of laughter, joyous voices and a deep seated sense of love.

On her way through the kitchen for the fifth time to refill a platter of canapes, a loud voice stopped her.

‘Angie, darling!’ shouted a woman who grabbed her up and into a tight embrace.

A year or so ago, Angela had met Adiche and her husband Kofu on a trip to Florence. Napoleon had to travel to the city on business and ensured that his wife could accompany him and tour the country to her heart’s content. Adiche was an architectural graduate student who shared a 100 kilometre taxi trip from one city to another when the train system broke down, leaving she and Angela stranded in the middle of nowhere. On the journey they became fast friends.

‘Adiche!’ she cried hugging her tightly in return. ‘You… I didn’t see you come in. I’m so glad you could make it. You’re back from Dubai already?’

‘Yes! And Napoleon let us in,’ she assured her and held out the gift she’d brought. ‘I don’t know if you’re opening them now, or if they’re going under the tree.’

Angela smiled happily and took the heavy box.

‘Under the tree for now,’ she said. ‘And we’ll do the gifting in an hour or so.’

‘I’ll let you girls talk,’ interrupted Kofu who was standing at his wife’s shoulder. ‘But, where’s Leon keeping his special…’

With eyebrows raised, Kofu pinched his fingers together and made a drinking motion by his mouth.

‘You, sir,’ Angela laughed, shooing him away, ‘need to talk to Mr. Bad Influence himself. That’s his business.’

Grinning with anticipation, Kofu took the box from Angela and kissing his wife’s cheek he waded off through the crowd to find the good stuff.

‘That’s all he talked about on the way here,’ Adiche confided with a chuckle and pitched her voice deeper to imitate her husband. ‘Man, Leon’s got the best shite! Remember that bottle he sent to me for my birthday? Whooeee, I was sorry to see it go!’

The two women laughed and rubbing her hands together, Adiche returned to her normal voice.

‘I don’t ever want to hear about that magical bottle of booze any more! Now, what I want to know is if you’ve got the good shite.’

‘Come on girl,’ said Angie, taking her by the arm and leading her to the adjacent dining room where most of the women were camped out and having after dinner drinks and dessert. ‘I got you.’

As the evening waned and once everyone had their fill and all gifts were exchanged, Napoleon pulled Angela up with him so that they could both stand by the twinkling tree and make a joint toast to their friends and family. Afterwards, it was all new year wishes and hugs and kisses of farewell and soon after the caterers left, it was just the two of them once more. Finishing the last of her wine, Angela yawned and stretched feeling infinitely exhausted, but deeply content as she warmed herself by the fire. She had long ago kicked off her shoes and the white tiles before the hearth were warm and soothing against her tired soles.

Napoleon shrugged out of his dinner jacket and tossed it onto the back of one of the living room chairs. He walked to where she stood and pulled her into his arms.

‘I love you,’ Napoleon whispered, resting his lips against the back of her neck.

Angela sighed and leaned against him.

‘I love you,’ she answered, turning around to drape her arms over his shoulders.

Angela smiled up at her tired looking husband and stroked her thumbs across his cheeks.

‘Now,’ she murmured, rising up on her toes to kiss his lips. ‘What does Santa want for Christmas?’

Napoleon’s grin turned into a boyish laugh and he slipped his hands down from about her waist to cup her bottom. She felt so good in his arms that he didn’t know if his answer could illustrate the depths of his love and admiration for her.

‘I’ve already got what I want,’ he replied and kissed her again.

‘Then you don’t want what I’ve left for you under the tree?’ she teased and glanced back to the single unwrapped box that sat under the tree.

Napoleon followed her gaze and then looked back at her. He then bent a little and swept her off of her feet. With an amused chuckle, Angela settled easily went in his arms.

‘Later,’ he said, his blue eyes warm with mischief and carried her up to their bedroom. ‘I told you that I wasn’t finished with you. I want to make good on my promise.’

-the end

Merry Christmas and tagging some of my girls. I wish you a wonderful holiday and new year

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

tapestry 👑 XXX

Warnings: dark elements, dub/noncon (fingering)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The king has some fun.

Note: Hey, it’s me again. I wrote this chapter after work in the brief interlude between soul crushing shifts. Hope you enjoy.<3 

Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

masterlist

After Priskham, the progress continued to Lord Stark's lair at the Iron Tower and continued on to Lord Barnes's hold of Brooks's End. The castle had been abandoned for two centuries before him as its former family had been extinguished for their part in a plot against the Rogers' Dynasty in Western Uprisings. You suspected its history loomed in the mind of its current keeper.

The king was as diligent as ever but since your first night upon progress, you had done better to let him his desires. You didn't dare pretend at sleep again and when he made a request, you took it as an order. And Barnes, well you avoided him as you could, for his sake and yours. Not that he would look at or talk to you.

To mark the first full day in Brook’s End, Barnes arranged a feast. The wild boar, for which the locale was famous for, was served roasted with a medley of vegetables, and endless wine and ale. The king had a hand in the event; he bid that Barnes take a seat of honour upon the dais for his efforts. Steven sat in the middle and you were thankful to have him as a barrier.

You sat quietly as you ate. You didn’t have energy for much else. Travel, the king, the court; it all piled up. You listened instead as you awaited dessert, eager to retire for the night. There was to be no dancing as no band could be acquired but there was little outcry at the announcement.

“A final stop at Drissot and we can make for Shell’s Harth.” The king said gaily. “Asgard does seem most eager to have us and I’ve never the pleasure of visiting, even when that witch was alive.”

“King Thor did write of a tournament. Do you think it wise to partake?” Barnes asked dully as he rubbed his finger along the rim of his goblet. “It could be a scheme. A pointed lance could be easily disguised or a sword conveniently confused.” 

“Always so paranoid, my lord,” Steven teased. “Besides, it might have been a few years since my last, but when have I ever been felled at a tourney?”

“Never, your highness,” Barnes answered. “But that was among your own people.”

“I would be more concerned with a taster to guard my plate,” Steve countered. “And my queen’s.”

The king reached blindly to you and ran his hand over your skirts. He didn’t look away from Barnes as he gripped your leg through the fabric. You swallowed and looked down at his hand. He didn’t rescind it as he continued to talk.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Surely,” Barnes answered with a cough. “I was thinking… we might send an ambassador ahead of us. He shall need a party as well to see him safe. Perhaps a mole or two…” He paused and you felt the shift in your hem; the king’s fingers on your thigh as he gathered your skirt slowly. “To attain a preview of the Asgardian court?”

“Hmmm,” Steven said thoughtfully. He carried on tugging your skirt up, up, up, until it was past your knee. You tried to catch the hem and he yanked it sharply. A warning. “I suppose it wouldn’t be ridiculous.”

You stared at the king’s hand as it moved. You followed the brocade along his arm and tried to glance his expression as he kept his face to his companion. The tables below were unable to see past the long cloth hung over yours; the crest of the king beside that of Brook’s End. Steven slipped his hand past the satin and Barnes cleared his throat.

“And we should, uh…” Barnes’ voice was stunted and looked at each other. His gaze sent a thrill through you as his eyes rounded. He blinked and gulped and turned his attention to his goblet. “We should, um, keep an eye on his brother as well. Prince Loki is known for his spies; for having his ear… to the, uh… to the ground most anywhere he treads.”

“Oh, yes, I was not keen on the rodent.” Steven snarled. 

The king shoved his hand up until it met your vee. You squeezed your thighs around him and he pinched you sharply. You squeaked as he forced your legs back apart. He began to rub you with two fingers. You gritted your teeth and tried not to show your discomfort to the people.

Barnes was silent. He emptied his cup and placed it on the table with a hollow clunk. Steven did not relent. The nobleman sighed and shifted in his chair.

“Your highness,” He hissed. “I do not think this… appropriate.”

“Why, this is my feast, is it not? You did declare in my honour?” Steven taunted. “And I find myself rather bored without a band and so I must entertain myself.”

“Then do excuse me,” Barnes insisted as he made to rise.

“No, you shall stay. We are not done talking,” Steven purred as he swirled his fingers and you gasped. You grabbed the side of your chair and pressed yourself to the tall backrest. 

“Please, Steven, she is your queen. You would humiliate her in front of her own court.” Barnes remanded. “Is that the only reason you sought to wed her? To spite her for her denial?”

“Denial? She is mine,” Steven chuckled. “Look at her. She’s trembling, isn’t she? Always so receptive.”

“Don’t do this,” Barnes’ whispered. 

“Who can see but you?” Steven challenged. “I do wonder why it should disturb you so. You did not protest when it was Rose you brought to me. When you did see her to my chambers. Or the one before that… Was it Laura? Lana? Even when it was Eleanor, you did not flinch.”

Barnes’ nostrils flared and he gulped. He reached for his goblet again and found it empty. Then he grabbed the ewer and swore as he found it dry as well. He tossed it back on the table and sat back heavily. He crossed his arms and glared at the king.

“Don’t look at me, look at her,” The king ordered. “Look at that face. Do her lashes flutter? Her eyes roll back? She bites down and you can hear her breathing through her teeth. And she is wet. I can slip inside…” He paused as he pushed his fingers past your entrance and his palm against your clit. “So easily.”

“Steven…” You begged as you touched his wrist. “Please…”

“Do you think she begs me to stop or to cum?” Steven looked to you with a smirk. “Do you think it matters?” He turned back to Barnes. “She is my wife, my queen; mine to do with as I please.”

“Why are you doing this?” Barnes growled.

“Because I can.” The king sneered as his fingers worked faster inside of you. “Because, my lord, I want you to recall this whenever your eyes stray to her; whenever they linger on her as they are want to do; whenever you have those lewd little thoughts that do darken your eyes so.”

Your hands went to the table as you clutched the wood. You struggled not to cry out as you leaned forward into his hand without thinking. Your feet arched in your slippers and the crowd blurred in your vision; a streak of colours and voices. You shook your head as the ripples began to spread along your flesh. As the familiar prick started in your core.

“So watch, my lord, and remember who is king and who is subject,” Steven spat. “Who holds power over…” He paused as you spasmed. You sat back enough to cause the chair to wobble and held in a sob as you came. “Who.”

He slipped his fingers out of you as you tried to steady your breath. He lifted his hand to the light and admired the glisten before he licked them. Your head spun as your eyes found Barnes through the haze; he was livid and pale. His nails were sunk into the arms of his chair and his jaw was squared.

“I have never forgotten, your highness,” He said.

“Good,” Steven smirked and tugged your skirts back down over your legs until it fell upon its own weight. “See that you don’t.” He sat up and glanced around the chamber. “Shall I call for more wine?”

👑

You were to be at Brook’s End for a week. Three days in and you found the place unbearable. The king made it thus. He wouldn’t stop fucking you until you were screaming and he hadn’t grown any subtler in the presence of his host. Only half a week before you set out to the final stop upon your tour; until you would be on your way to your sister.

That day, you spent apart from the king. You and your ladies read from a poetry book, explored the east wing where portraits hung along the walls, and attended your prayers and meals together. For a time, you forgot the king and his favoured lord; although you wondered if his preference was very fervent anymore.

And then you were to return to your husband. You lingered with Marion in the corridors but knew you could forever. You clung to her as she bid you farewell and watched her go. Your guard was silent as you led him through the halls. You hated his thin, unmoving lips and his bushy brows. You missed Dolan. And Marion. Should you mourn them too?

You stood outside your doors for a moment. You looked over to the guard as he took his place opposite the king’s. They didn’t seem to notice you. As you stepped forward, they opened the doors for you and you stepped inside. The king was there, at his desk. He didn’t lift his head as you entered.

“My queen,” He said as he finished scratching his nib across the parchment. “I’ve been awaiting you.”

“My apologies, I did find myself prolonged by Lady Marion,” You lied. “How was your day, husband?”

“Fine enough,” He sat up and set his pen down. “And you, wife?”

“Fine, as well,” You neared the other side of his desk. “Though I do tire.”

“I should hope you aren’t very tired,” He stood and you fought not to wince as he rounded the desk. “I had it in mind that we might play a game.”

“A game?” You repeated. “What do you mean?”

“Cards? Do you know ‘Horses’, or prehaps ‘Lances’?” He asked and you blinked in surprise.

“Uh, yes, of course,” You smiled and for a moment he was silent. He looked down at you as he touched your cheek.

“Then you choose and we shall play,” He bent and pecked your lips. “First I should like a change of clothes.”

“I suppose I would too,” You said. “I like a challenge so I think Horses should do.” 

You followed him to the bed chamber. There was a flutter in your chest. True excitement alongside a sense of relief. You always played cards with your sister; you weren’t very competitive but you enjoyed the past time.

“Horses it is,” He agreed.

He loosened your laces for you and his hands did not wander. You were further surprised. You let the silk fall down your arms and undressed with a sigh. You pulled a robe over your shift and looked up at Steven. He pushed his hair back and stretched; his own robe hung open over a pair of shorts.

“I have set the cards out already,” He said. “You may deal as I pour the wine.”

“You know I do not drink very much wine,” You replied. “Is there water? Milk?”

“The wine is part of the game.” He led you to the table and waited for you to sit before he did. “For each round, the loser will drink.”

“Oh,” You took the deck of cards as he pulled the pair of goblets towards him and filled each with the dark wine. “Hm, well then I suppose I should want to win even more.”

“I wish you luck,” He slid a cup towards you. “So, let us begin.” You dealt six cards to each of you and set the deck in the middle. “Shall I draw first or you?”

“I should allow you the pleasure,” You sorted your cards by suit and waited for him to start.

It was promising at first. You each flicked your cards down one at a time and while you were not winning, you were not losing either. An even match until the last was laid down. The king cried out Horses and you shook your head. A sneaky move but not illegal.

“Drink,” He urged.

You exhaled and took your cup. “To your victory,” You raised it and drank. 

As you set it back down, he tutted. “You must finish.”

You lifted your brow but he did not waver. You lifted your goblet again and gulped deeply. You nearly choked as you emptied it and as you replaced it on the table, your vision swam just a little. He poured you another glass and shuffled the deck. He slid them to you and let you deal again.

And you lost. Again. You huffed and looked into your cup. It was quite a bit of wine. He laughed and gathered up the cards. “My dear, it is only your second cup.”

“I told you, wine does not agree with me.” You pleaded.

“You might still catch up,” He gloated. “Shall I deal this time?”

“As you wish,” You grumbled as you took your cup again. 

The wine was sweeter and easier to swallow but it had a more potent effect. He filled your cup again and you held in a belch. He doled out the cards and you swept up your hand and almost fumbled them. He let you draw first this time and you groaned. Not a good start. He flicked his first card down and you yours. You tossed each onto the pile in quick succession and you were ready to celebrate until that last card. The same trick.

“Lord!” You exclaimed as you threw up your hands. “You must cheat, my king.”

“I did change so that you would not suspect cards up my sleeves,” He held out his arms as his robe hung loosely from them. “And I haven’t anywhere else to conceal them.” He reached to nudge your goblet closer to you. “Do not be a sore loser.”

“I am not… sore.” You argued and grabbed the cup. “Next game.”

You drained the cup, a little dribbled down your chin, and slammed the cup back down. You felt bubbly and wobbly. You leaned on the table to steady yourself. The king dealt the cards and you took them clumsily. You had to win this time.

“How about this. For each card, I will ask you a question for each card and you may ask me one?”

“Ask you what?” You said through thick lips.

“Anything you wish. Shall I draw?”

“Go ahead.” You waved your fingers at him.

He drew and flopped the card down. “First question; I know you to be innocent before we wed, but did you ever kiss another before me?”

“What?” You scoffed. “N-no. Who would I kiss?”

“Is that your question?” He asked.

“No,” You laid down your card. “Why… did you choose cards for tonight?”

“Because they are simple and everything else is so complicated.” He answered. “And… I don’t know. You make me feel… young again.”

“You’re not old,” You chided. “Wait… are you?”

“Not your turn,” He warned and slapped his card down. “Did you ever fancy anyone before me?”

“Fancy? I… my king, why do you ask these things?”

“It is only a game,” He intoned. “I am curious. So answer me.”

“Not truly, I think,” You played with the corner of a card. “I suppose I did know which men were… handsome.”

“Oh, naughty,” He smirked. “Go on.”

You played your card. You licked your lips and thought of another question. “Do you cheat at Horses?”

“No, but I did not warn you of my skill,” He grinned and his card was added to the stack. “And did you list Lord Barnes among these handsome men?”

Your face was hot. Not just from the wine but from his question. Your mouth was acrid as you opened it. Your voice caught in your throat. You swallowed and found it at last. “My king…”

“Your honesty will not rile me,” He leaned an arm on the table, “But your dishonesty should.”

You stared at him. The edges of your vision were fuzzy and your eyelids were heavy. “He is not unattractive.” You answered.

You didn’t look at your cards as you placed the next. Your voice quavered. “Why the wine?”

“To soften you.” He admitted. “To weaken you.”

“And these questions?” You prodded.

“Not your turn.” He set down his card. The king. “When I did make you cum before him, did you imagine it was him touching you?”

You frowned. You reached to your goblet. He hadn’t refilled it yet. “I do not want to play this anymore.”

“It is too late to forfeit. Now, I did play my card.” He stared at you; his blue eyes unwavering. “I told you, your honesty cannot offend me.”

You pressed your lips together and touched your cheek. You nodded. “Only…” Your voice was brittle. “Only for a moment.”

He sat back and waited. You took your turn. You stared at the table in shame. “I have no question. You may ask yours…” You looked up slowly. “For I know this was a trick indeed.”

“I do not ask to entrap you, my queen,” He slipped a card onto the table. “Because I do trust you. I ask because I am curious. I ask because I know your character. And I know his.”

“And you distrust him?” You set your cards down and touched your temples as the wine seeped into your brain.

“I… don’t know,” He said flatly. “You are drunk, wife.”

“I am,” You grumbled as you slumped and held your head.

“Then let us finish our game,” He pointed to your cards upon the table. “And I will see you to bed.”

[prolestariwrites]

Jealousy

Fandom: Nanatsu no Taizai/Seven Deadly Sins Pairing: Gelda/Zeldris Characters: Gelda, Zeldris, Arthur, Estarossa Rated: Explicit Status: Oneshot

I had some down time at work so please enjoy this oneshot. It takes place after the fic Tales from Camelot on AO3. Based on an idea by @galfridus1.

Summary: Estarossa appears unexpectedly and stirs up some feelings Zeldris had thought he had outgrew long ago. Warning for explicit adult content.

The visit was going well, well enough anyway, Zeldris supposed. He sat and observed the small party that was being held for the King of Camelot’s visit to Aquitania, as much spectacle as the struggling nation could afford to woo the king’s favor. The kingdom was often besieged by invaders, and had come to Camelot to beg for help in exchange for a trade alliance.

Zeldris saw nothing of use from the nation, but Arthur had of course disagreed. He thought anyone who needed help should be served, but the decision over whether to assist the current rulers or the Visigoths who had their sight on taking power was hotly debated. In the end, the king agreed to visit for himself to get a sense of the country and its rulers, trusting that would inform his choice to intervene or not.

It seemed very foolish and against everything Zeldris had ever been taught to leave such an important decision to feelings, but even he had to admit Arthur was an excellent judge of character. During his tenure as king he had developed an almost uncanny ability to identify falsehoods, so with slightly less begrudging than usual Zeldris had accompanied the king along with several other of Camelot’s nobility to visit Aquitania.

Music began to play, and in his usual manner Arthur clapped his hands and headed for the floor. On his arm was Gelda, laughing sweetly as he pulled her behind, depositing her opposite in their quartet that was finished by the Crown Prince of Aquitania and his wife. On cue they bowed and began to dance the Pavane, the crowd giving small flutters of applause as they completed each set of turns. Zeldris smiled despite himself to watch them together. Arthur was every bit the golden king of Camelot, the sunny smile not at all dampening the dignity of his movements, the enjoyment of the dance far from weakening his position as the center of attention.

And Gelda… his heart skipped a beat as she turned to curtsey low to her partner, the grace and upbringing of the princess on full display. She was just as beautiful as she had been the first time he had laid eyes on her, and when her gaze flashed to him, it sent a shiver of pride and delight and desire.

These moments were rare for them, as Arthur usually had the queen on his arm in public. Yet she was nearly a month away from delivering her second child for the king, unable to travel. Gelda served as his escort in her place, and charmed everyone in attendance. For the first time since they had left Camelot, Zeldris began to relax.

“Look who it is,” a voice said as a figure slid into the chair next to his. Zeldris could only see a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, but the voice was unmistakable.

His mouth gaped open as he turned to the last person he had ever expected to be here. “Estarossa?” he hissed. “What in hell are you doing here?”

Estarossa snorted. “A pleasure to see you too. How are things?”

Zeldris gripped the arm of his chair tightly, leaning in to say through gritted teeth, “Get out of here before I—”

“Oh please, don’t start all that,” his brother sighed with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m a guest here just like you are.”

“Impossible. When Arthur hears of this—”

“Oh blah blah blah. Zeldris, you are so boring. Can you just relax?” He bristled as Estarossa shot him a grin. “Let’s just catch up and have a nice time. I’ve been staying here for a bit, lending some help to the king in his try to hold on to the throne.”

“What for?” Zeldris asked suspiciously.

Estarossa shrugged. “I have to be somewhere since that mage banished me from Britannia. She’s not here is she?” When Zeldris shook his head, the demon relaxed again. “Just as good a place as any. But it won’t last long. The Visigoths have more men. It’s a numbers game now.”

Zeldris pressed his lips together, keeping his own thoughts to himself. Arthur could certainly change that if he wished, but now that he knew they had taken up with Estarossa, Zeldris’ opinion of them had declined greatly. And if the king learned of it, surely the alliance would be finished.

“But don’t let me influence your opinion of them,” Estarossa said. He stretched his long legs out and crossed them as he sunk back in the chair. “They are a decent bit I suppose, as humans go. The princess is an absolutely delicious peach.”

“And there is is,” Zeldris grumbled, shaking his head. “Foolish to think you’d care of anything else.”

Estarossa laughed at that, but luckily the music had struck up again and kept many from looking over. “Oh Zeldris, never change,” he chuckled, giving him a pat on the shoulder before Zeldris shrugged him off. “Now I told you what I’m here for, your turn to spill. What’s Camelot interested in now?”

Refusing to answer, Zeldris turned back to the party with every intention of ignoring him until he went away. But after a moment, Estarossa groaned, “Oh don’t be like that. Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll just ask Gelda myself later.”

“Don’t go near her,” warned the demon.

“And not say hello to my sister-in-law? Don’t be silly. I haven’t offered you proper congratulations on your wedding. About time you two lovebirds made it official.” Zeldris rolled his eyes, but Estarossa continued on gaily, “And a boy now too? I hear he’s something special.”

Zeldris darted his eyes to the side. “What did you hear?” he demanded.

Shrugging, Estarossa said, “Just that he is powerful. Probably takes after his uncle.” He laughed and nudges Zeldris with his elbow. “Can I meet him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh come on. Meliodas let me see his son.”

Zeldris made a face as he finally turned to him. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie? Despite what you think of me, I’m not a liar.”

At that Zeldris laughed. “Like when you bedded the queen right under Arthur’s nose?”

Estarossa snorted. “I never lied about that. You never asked.”

Zeldris’ mood turned dark. “I shouldn’t have had to. You were a guest of the king and you slept with his wife. Multiple times! And were caught by Merlin, of all people. You’re an embarrassment.”

“Now don’t go throwing names around,” Estarossa shot back. “I’m not the only one who has shared a wife around here.”

His words hit Zeldris like a punch, the smirk on his face making the blood drain from his own. “You and the king still playing at cock-grabbing? I would have thought you’d grow out of it by now. And letting that lovely creature of yours in his bed was—”

“That’s enough.” Zeldris reached over and grabbed him by the collar of his coat. “What we have is nothing you could ever understand. Say another word and I don’t care whose kingdom we are in, I will have each of your hearts, do you hear me?” His eyes narrowed as his voice turned cruel. “You’d be turned out if I shared your secrets, or if Arthur caught whiff of you. One more enemy you’d have made for your insufferable life. And if you recall, you have no protection from our clan. So choose whether you want to speak, or you want to live.”

Estarossa shrugged him off, but kept a cold smile on his face. “Nice one, Zel. Glad to see marriage and family hasn’t turned you soft, like Meliodas.” He stood and spread his hand in a gesture of surrender. “Even if you despise me, I am glad to have seen you. I’ll make my exit early since you are in a foul mood. Not that I blame you. If I had to watch that every day—” and here he jerked his chin to the side, “—I would be foul too.”

He nodded his head and walked away, calling a goodbye over his shoulder. Zeldris watched him move through the room, thankfully staying clear of the dancing. Once he slipped out of the doors, the demon finally sighed in relief and leaned back in his chair.

Quickly he scanned for Gelda and Arthur. They were talking with the queen, no indication at all that they had witnessed Estarossa, or his own outburst.

Zeldris slumped in his chair, muttering curses under his breath. Even as children his brother knew how to press his buttons, and now that was exactly what he had done again. He kept his eyes trained on Gelda and Arthur, watching their easy companionship, waiting for his nerves to calm. Both had always done wonders to soothe his moods.

But then his gaze fell on Arthur’s hand, pressed against Gelda’s back. He watched as it slid down slightly, the king’s thumb sweeping over the small of her back. Gelda did not react, but the gesture was so unconscious, so natural, that Zeldris was shocked to feel a twinge in his chest.

This is all Estarossa’s fault, he thought. There was nothing wrong with Arthur pressing his palm on Gelda’s back; even if they weren’t lovers, it was an innocent enough gesture. And yet there was a pulsing under his skin, like a sudden burst of heat, and he remembered Edinburgh and the vampire clan and the surety he had that he would tear the throat from anyone who dared to touch his Gelda.

The bell for dinner rang, and the king announced to all to move to the next room to eat. Arthur held his arm out to Gelda, who demurred with a smile and turned to look around, her eyes landing on Zeldris. Gelda gazed at him expectantly, her brows raising slightly in question. Arthur continued on, walking towards the dining hall while in conversation with the king, and the rest of the audience moved in the same direction, walking around his princess.

His princess.

Quickly Zeldris stood and walked towards her. He took her offered hand and kissed her cheek as she laughed. “There you are,” she said, and then placed a palm against his cheek. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Come with me,” he said and pulled her towards the doors.

“Zeldris, dinner is this way…?”

Without a word of explanation he led her into the hallway. Two servants jumped to attention, startled at the noise of the door opening. “Do you need—?” one began.

“Lady Gelda is in need of a washroom,” he growled.

He felt her grip on his hand tighten but the servant raised a shaking finger. “That way, sir,” she squeaked, and moments later he turned a corner and pushed her inside of the empty washroom.

“Zeldris what has gotten into you?” Gelda scolded as he turned the lock.

He faced her, breathing heavily. This feeling was something he couldn’t describe: anger at Estarossa, jealousy at Arthur, frustration with himself, desire for Gelda. It had rolled into a volatile bit of fury that sat heavily on his shoulders as he stared at her staring back at him. They had shared more years both together and apart than possible lifetimes. They had survived wars, their clans and families clashing, finally coming together to forge this new life, marriage, their son.

Yet what he felt at that moment was as sharp and simple as the first time they stood alone together, just like this, and it made his mouth curl up into a smile.

Zeldris moved forward, wrapping his arms around her and pushing her back against the wall. He kissed her fiercely, eliciting a gasp that he swallowed greedily. Gelda’s arms went awkwardly around him, as if trying to pull him close but pull away at the same time. He felt her question against his lips, but he refused to let go, tilting his mouth to deepen the kiss as his hands slid teasingly over her backside.

Gelda yelped, and he laughed, giving her lip a little tug. “What has gotten into you?” she whispered, her eyes bright and her cheeks slightly flushed. He squeezed her again, making her stifle a giggle, but then he frowned. Arthur would do such aggressive gestures, and she would never laugh at him.

She blinked at him expectantly, making his mouth go dry. Her slightly disheveled appearance brought a wave of nostalgia for when they were younger, meeting in secret, stolen kisses in a closet, the looks and touches she only had for him. Zeldris felt his chest get a bit tight as he thought how long ago it all was. Then he frowned, his brows drawing in tightly. He refused to feel foolish about this; who cared if they were adults now, if they were parents, if they were visiting dignitaries representing their king and kingdom?

“I need to fuck you,” he growled, and hiked up her skirt.

“Zeldris!” squealed Gelda, but his mouth latched on to her neck that drew her voice into a moan. He reached for the fabric under her dress, hastily ripping it away with one quick flex of his arm.

Lifting her legs, he pushed his hips forward and began grinding against her. Gelda’s body was hot, her thighs light in his hands, and she ran her fingers into his hair as he continued to kiss along her throat. His hearts pounded loudly at her touch, his blood rushing with excitement. Her protests died when he tilted to rub his growing erection against her body, until the only sound was her panting and a rumble from inside his throat.

Zeldris let go of one leg to reach between her thighs. He found her sex slick and ready, easily pushing a finger inside of her. Gelda whimpered and pressed her lips to his temple, tugging sharply on his hair. “What… what made you…?”

“Do I need a reason?” he growled. Zeldris pressed his thumb against her hood and carefully rubbed circles that had her shuddering. “You’re mine. And I want to be inside you.”

He watched as her lashes fluttered a bit. Her lips parted with another small gasp, but Gelda did not protest. Was she thinking of them, the way it was all those years ago, when he would trap her like this against him, when he would touch her, first tentative, then with growing boldness? His own body was hard now, remembering what it felt like to do this and wait to be caught.

She wrapped one arm around his neck, holding on so she could move the other to his pants. Zeldris grinned when she pulled open the fastenings and reached inside. He tilted his pelvis up to meet her touch, and Gelda wrapped her fingers around his length. “Do you want me inside you, Gelda?” he murmured.

She nodded and began stroking him. Sparks of pleasure lit along his spine, and for several minutes they stayed like that, grinding together, touching one another. Zeldris left open mouthed kisses along her throat until their mouths sealed together again while Gelda guided his lips with a firm hand in his hair. Finally he could not take the anticipation or the softness of her hand and pulled on her wrist, pinning them both over her head as he rubbed his cock between her thighs. He was soon slick and throbbing, saliva pooling in his mouth as she arched her back and moved her hips against him.

“Say it,” he demanded, moving his mouth against her ear.

“Yes, please!” Her voice was needy and breathless, the way she was back when she was only the princess of Edinburgh, when he was just the third son of the demon king, when they had their entire lives ahead of them between moments just like this.

With one arm around her waist he lifted her easily, bracing her weight against his forearm; Gelda wrapped her legs around him and he pushed inside her body, rocking in and out until his cock was fully sheathed. Their moans intertwined as he began to move, taking her with long powerful strokes that had him shaking from the feeling. This was nothing like the playful or sweet lovemaking they normally shared, often with bodies and minds tired from a full day of court duties and parenthood, climbing into bed with Arthur to usually just sleep. Their lives now were different, their needs different, now that they were no longer hiding—now that they could be a family. But it felt good to take her like this, to remember the thrill and the passion, to be young and in love, and his fingers dug into her hip as his old self emerged inside his chest.

Estarossa’s teasing echoed in his mind. “You’re mine, Gelda,” he panted, punctuating each snap of his hips with his words “You’re mine. Mine. Mine.”

She yanked his head forward to crush her lips onto his. “Come inside me,” she whispered, letting one of her fangs prick his bottom lip. Zeldris groaned against her lips; this was something she would always say, back when they were first together. She licked the flesh as the scrape healed itself and he kissed her fiercely.

It took no time at all before they both hit release; Gelda went first with a gasping shudder, her folds tight and wet around him as Zeldris followed right after. Her breathing was shallow as he pumped into her body, filling her with his seed as his limbs shook with pleasure. Even his demon powers responded, the darkness flaring outwards to lift her legs and open her body so he could drill even deeper, pinning her to the wall as he took his pleasure. Gelda’s mouth hung open as she moaned, skin flushed and dress in shambles, her perfect hair pulled from its pins. Zeldris grinned as his hips rolled to a slow circle, laughing breathlessly as she gave little cries with the aftershocks.

The room fell into a heavy silence but for their breathing. Zeldris pulled back the darkness and gently set her on the floor, but Gelda clung to him for support. He smiled as he smoothed her gown back into place, just as he used to when they would have a frantic bout of sex like this.

“Don’t bother,” she laughed. “I can’t go back like this.”

“Then let’s go to our room,” he replied, his voice dark with promise. “I’m not finished yet.”

Gelda’s eyes flew open in surprise. “You? Ducking out of an important dinner, neglecting your duty to your king?” She tsked at him playfully. “How very bold of you.”

He blushed a bit and looked away, but she laughed and carded her fingers through his hair. “Does this have anything to do with Estarossa?”

Zeldris looked at her sharply but she smiled tiredly. “I saw you talking. Was he here to cause trouble?”

“He’s always around to cause trouble,” Zeldris muttered. “But I don’t care. All I care about is this.”

He pulled her against him and turned for the door. “You were serious?” she laughed. “What about Arthur?”

“He can handle things, and find his own fun later,” Zeldris answered. “For right now, you’re mine.” He turned the knob and stepped into the hallway, smirking at the very white faces of the two servants down the hall who had probably heard everything. Gelda bit back a sound but he spun deliberately, pulling her behind him towards the bedrooms.

[lovelytemptationsforyou-blog]

Premise: Based on this

Connection: Wife, ( can be either in this GOT setting or I can change it later on to a normal medieval setting, where Theo is marquis ) Age: No younger than 28 please! Theoren is currently 52.

Setting: He probably just only got home after a long day out or after weeks of sailing back and forth to the capital for some important matter. 

“Wait, isn’t that your--?” was all Theoren managed to get out before, staring a little in askance at his wife’s favourite handmaiden who had speeded out of the room he had just only entered, in great flurry, without so much as a friendly welcome greeting.  What had gotten into her today? He wondered for a few moments, before shaking his head lightly, dismissing his pondering thoughts and set to work at the task at hand. Theoren had always been a very humble and down-to-earth man, and more especially independent one who tried his best not to rely on servants or anyone else but more on his able hands and feet as well as intelligent brains. And being that he had left home at the age of 23 to go on long expeditions and seafaring adventures, forsaking his parents’ instructions as well as his claim to the be the next heir of House Manderly, he had long been accustomed to handling almost every task he did on his own, and he honestly enjoyed his independance and freedom. But now, eversince he had been forced back to his hometown to bear the weight of being Ruling Lord Manderly, eversince the murder of his cousin and fatal sickness of his brothers, he had to quickly grow accustomed again to the responsiblities, duties and especially propriety that had to be observed by a powerful noble lord. 

All in a bid to manage the reins of White Harbor, restore back a sense of peace and security and protect his home. It hadn’t been hard to get the people to warm up to him and welcome him back happily, as he had always been the people’s favourite Manderly son, his devastated family who had been torn apart by those tragedies also looked upon him as their remaining pillar of strength and support. What was harder and extremely complicated to deal with was investigating and solving the murder of his beloved cousin as well as to very slowly entertain the idea of having to marry  and have a family of his own one day. Most likely to be out of an obligation of duty not of love, not that Theoren was much of romantic soul to begin with anyway. 

But somehow despite all obstacles and dangerous challenges that were were thrown at him in his quests, he finally managed to succeed in all accomplishing all that he had set out to do,  within the next few years. And towards the ending of those years, he had somehow found himself wedded to a bride from another and more higher-ranking noble House. A female who was much younger than him, but fortunately possessed a maturity, integrity and sense of self that not many young highborn ladies of her age had. He had by that time, admired and cared for her as a friend to some degree, so it wasn’t really an unhappy prospect of having to marry her

It had now been four years since their wedding and to a bit of his surprise, it had not been a boring or tedious one that he had been dreading might happen, but rather, it had been an adventure in itself. She was now heavily pregnant with their 3rd child already and Theoren madly adored his children. The depth of his feelings for his wife was something that he was still navigating and analyzying within his heart, but he was sure that he had grown to care for her very tenderly...but was it enough to be called truly in love yet?..

His wandering thoughts stopped as he finally entered their bedchambers and she gaily greeted as well as thanked him for bringing up her meal. She looked a little different. Hmmm, she always glowed during her pregnancies, but there was a a very bright tint of rosy red, on her very flushed looking cheeks. And a certainly undeniable sparkle of mischief dancing in and out of her lovely eyes. very suspicious. Just what was his incorrigible wife up to right now? After having inquired as to her current condition and health, he was given an overly- cheerful and optimistic response, which only made him raised his eyebrows. There was definitely something strange going on. She hadn’t even thought to greet him with a welcome home.  “Alright then, is there anything else I can do for your ladyship?” he asked  teasingly with a hint of sarcasm,  but there was strong, apparent humour in his tone which indicated that he was playing along to whatever game she had going on right now.

[whereisvanderwood]

Interleave

At last, this is my full contribution for @saeranzine I had the honor in taking part in this year. The project had equal parts challenges and achievements, and the fun shared with every other writer, artist and mod during this time is an experience I’ll never forget as my first zine being part of. Thank you everyone who supported us!

Please enjoy the piece :) Happy holidays, everyone!

☆☆☆☆☆

You’d gotten the good ending, the normal one, too. All that was left was to break his heart five times for that one-hundred percent completion of his love story. It was a bittersweet feeling upon realizing that your journey was on the home-stretch. The more you thought about it, however, you couldn’t bring yourself to break his heart like that after all the brokenness he’d been subjected to before. Especially since you knew what the bad endings for the RFA members were -- Ray’s could only be tenfold more devastating. You wouldn’t do it. You couldn’t do it.

The familiar ping of the messenger popped your bubble of thought and enticed you to pick up your phone as it sat on the marble-finish coffee table. It was the 10:23am chatroom of Day Six. You knew what it meant for you if you opened it -- the kinds of answers you would have to choose to get a new outcome. You refused to play along, tapping onto Ray’s contact to give him a call instead.

One ring… Two rings… Three rings… No answer.

You rose from the table and carried yourself to the lancet windows. The morning was young and the garden flickered with quartz-like raindrops under the dawning of the day’s first light. You knew he wouldn’t pick up at this time on the sixth day, but your thumb wouldn’t desist in tapping his name again and again as though you were in a stupor.

A shrill of static noise ripped through the air, causing you to block your ears and drop your phone. As you frantically inspected the device for cracks, you noticed the screen displaying that you were in a phone call. You held the phone to your ear and timidly spoke.

“Ray...?”

“MC! Did something happen? I got worried something happened to you.”

“Oh, uh… no, I’m okay. Were you, um, working?”

“Saviour said I can’t speak with you until I finish improvements. I’m sorry I didn’t pick up the first time… Are you mad?”

“N-No, of course not! I just… I was wondering if you wanted to maybe… go out?”

“Go out? As in... leave?”

“Yeah! I mean, not like that, but with you!”

“I… I can’t, MC. Saviour would be upset if I did. There’s so much to be done.”

“We’ll come back by the end of the day -- just for a few hours. It’ll be good for you, too!”

He exhaled, the sound of his breath dragging past his lips. “MC, you don’t have to do this for me. I don’t deserve it. I’m weak, and an airhead--”

“You’re not to me. I want to spend time with you.”

“But what if something bad happens to you because of me? I… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“Ray, I swear nothing will happen to you, or me. I just want to… see you smile.”

He sighed a second time. “Meet me in the garden. Hide next to the geraniums where security won’t see you. I’ll be there in a few minutes... Please, don’t go anywhere.”

Once the call ended, you sat on the bed with a hand on your chest, your heart pounding with adrenaline every passing second. He’d answered the call when you could’ve sworn he wasn’t meant to, and that wasn’t an ordinary conversation. It was too ordinary to be ‘normal’ by the route’s standards.

You snuck out from your suite to meet him, going with the flow of the unexpected turn.

…

You gazed silently outside the moving car’s window as distance grew between you and Mint Eye. Maple leaves dusted the asphalt with their fiery hues of red and orange, adding colour to the seemingly grey road. Nothing could beat the beauty of mother nature and her sky-scraping pine trees high up in the mountains.

“We’re almost there…” Ray spoke quietly as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Thank you for lending me a Believer’s uniform.”

“I didn’t want you to get cold.. A-and I had to make sure we wouldn’t be seen leaving. I want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I know… I think it’s really brave of you to come out with me like this.”

It wasn’t long before the familiar bustling of people came into view around the last corner.  Ray parked the car a good distance away to avoid being spotted by the security cameras. It seemed much more vast than you’d last remembered. For a place that you could only enjoy in the prologue for a scarce moment, you wished you were granted more time for exploration.

Together, you walked along the brick road of the metropolis, the splashes of colours from cafes and clothing boutiques catching your eye wherever you looked. Finally free from your beautified prison after a number of repeated weeks, you couldn’t help but feel giddy.

Before long, you found yourself standing in front of the same cafe you were first picked up from. You felt your stomach grumble.

“I heard they have really good ice-cream here… Should we get some?”

“I-If you’d like,” Ray smiled.

Many people had queued in line to enjoy the mouth-watering delight on the cloudless morning. How long had it been since he’d taken gladness from this secret pleasure of his? It must’ve been an awful number of months.

“My treat,” you insisted as you pulled out a coin purse from the cloak’s pocket.

“Oh no, MC, I really don’t think--”

“You deserve it, Ray. I won’t let you think otherwise.” Without another word, you approached the counter, Ray following you closely behind.

With icy scoops of the sweet dessert in hand, you both ambled down the promenade and admired the sights of the gaily store fronts. Distant echoes of buskers danced to your ears and you found yourself swaying with the melodies in your steps. A few times you looked over to Ray, who looked like a kid in a candy store with his obvious intrigue.

Scattered flower-beds along the stone pavement caught his attention with their vibrant petals and he felt tantalized enough to brush his finger along the the petals of a white daisy. Mint Eye’s garden succeeded in elegance ten-fold when compared to this place, and yet they seemed much prettier here.

His eyes sparkled with wonder and curiosity the further you strolled, but he only really glowed when beyond all of the outlets was a wide open field, devoid of any other soul. It was just you and him -- the perfect scenario.

Florae of many kinds scattered across the green blades of grass like splashes of paint on a canvas. Entranced by their beauty, you took him by the hand and led him through the field, finding a perfect patch to sit in and bathe in sunlight surrounded by colours of grace. You felt content, the back-burner-nagging of your conscience telling you “you can’t do this” finally silenced. It didn’t matter what was to become of this -- what truly mattered to you was that you were able to do this for Ray outside of the game’s limitations.

After all, you’d probably never get to do this again.

“Hey…” you mumbled, “have you ever made a flower crown?”

“A crown? From flowers? I don’t think I have.”

You sprang at the opportunity as you swiftly picked as many flowers around you as you could. “I’ll show you! They’re really easy, just watch what I do.”

He observed from over your shoulder as you intertwined the delicate stems of each flower into one another. There was a moment of peaceful silence as you both created your flower circlets, until he broke the quiet.

“MC… why did you want to do this for me?”

“Do what?”

“Take me out. Eating ice-cream with me, making crowns from flowers, just doing nice things for me. I haven’t done anything that deserves your praise.”

“Not everything has to be a prize, Ray. Most things should be done for someone out of love, not as a reward for good behaviour.” You saw his weaving slow, knowing your words were reaching him. “You know what I’m talking about… right?”

“If it wasn’t for Saviour, I wouldn’t be who I am today.”

You paused. “I’m sorry if I shouldn’t be saying this, but… is who you are right now really who you want to be?”

He turned his head and gazed deeply into your eyes. The wind swayed your hair across your face, making you appear even more so as an angel sent for him with your words of wisdom and love. His face showed an expression that couldn’t be put so easily into words. You reciprocated as you felt the same way, but made yourself busy again.

“Here, this is for you,” you smiled as you gently placed your finished work onto his head. It was a treasure shaped from orchids and gypsophila, together meaning ‘beauty, strength and undying love’.

Tenderly, he placed his own crown of ‘lily of the valley’ on your head, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I shouldn’t be in love with you,” he muttered closely to your ear.

Every hair on your limbs were raised with anticipation as you felt his breath on your neck. He was so close, right there in front of you, alas he felt so far away no matter what you could say. The sweet, earthy perfume of the flowers surrounding you both filled your nostrils, bringing a new calmness to ease both your nerves.

His face hadn’t retreated from yours yet, and your heart was beating harder the more he lingered. Was this true affection? Or had the game somehow reprogrammed his character to act this way to compensate for the new turn of events? You eyed the shrinking space between your lips.

“Is this real?” the whispered words escaped your mouth.

At last, the gap was closed with a gentle kiss. His lips were chapped, but you didn’t mind. His cold hand found the side of your neck, soon cupping your cheek as you both grew passionate. All the uncertainty melted away with intimacy -- this was the realest thing you’d experienced with him, with any of them, and you didn’t want the moment to end.

…

Tip-toeing through the lantern-lit hallways, Ray led the way as he guided you back to your room while attempting to remain unseen. Once the door to your room was finally reached, he hurried you inside when he could hear footsteps approaching from a distance.

“You should go before someone sees you,” you urged him.

“I will… I’ll see you again soon, my Princess.” He smiled before swiftly planting one last kiss on your forehead, then closing the door.

You sighed in bliss, letting yourself twirl a few times before flopping onto your soft mattress. You knew that nothing could top what you had managed to do for Ray today, and the reward of euphoria from both parties was more than enough to satiate your desire to be with him. Having lost track of the time of day, you checked your phone for the first time in a number of hours.

Nothing could’ve made you sick to the stomach faster than what your screen displayed — a seemingly endless list of notifications full of missed texts, calls and chatrooms from the RFA. You quickly opened the app and saw the day had already reached the route’s first bridge. You didn’t need a mirror to know that your face had drained its colour. You covered your mouth.

“Crap… the participation target...”

You tried to be hopeful that the previous day’s progress would be enough to get you over, but you doubted it. You wished you could’ve said goodbye to Ray properly if you’d known this was going to happen. The guilt you’d worked to avoid came rushing back. Your throat closed up and your hands became clammy with anxiety. There was nothing more you could do. The damage was done.

You looked away from the screen as you unlocked the story mode, waiting for what was about to happen. Normally, you would leave your room and meet Mint Eye’s leader outside your door; the plot progressing forward.

So when a Believer entered your room unannounced, demanding your audience with the Saviour, you knew it was over.

☆

[zweiherzen]

✘ (Apex Verse) What are you hoping to accomplish here? *Why* are you here? In the games I mean.

—  ANONYMOUS USER  //  My muse has to tell the truth for 10 asks.

he hadn’t expected to be herded into  much sponsorship or promotional media. Or any media at all, for that matter, given his shaky popularity — if he has any to start with in the first place — among the Games’ various competitors. There are many things that Cardiac could be considered: cruelly disloyal; blatantly violent; plainly brutish. But he’s certainly not imperceptive, and it has not at all slipped his notice that he is no pleasantly received character among the public. Though he’ll admit that the spite towards his methods is not exactly the best kept secret.

It’s a good thing that the majority of his  ( very recognisable )  facial structure remains hidden in the arena — cheekbones and thin lips tucked away beneath the thick of his mask — and that those who openly detest him in the Games don’t seek out content other than what of the tournaments is publicly broadcasted. Some do make it their business to pursue that which they hate, however, and those few are hard pressed to keep quiet about their hatred. Cardiac would have praised the mindless courage it takes to approach in broad daylight, bringing fitful accusations to fling at his name and his sheer lack of morality …  well. He would, if it weren’t for the abundance of spiteful stares — and oftentimes more than just that — thrown his way once the bareness of his façade is stripped away. It’s not so difficult for a clever pair of eyes accustomed enough to the peculiarity of his upper face, or for a careful ear keen enough to latch onto familiar timbre and accent. It’s no wonder that Cardiac has found himself occasionally considering one of Bloodhound’s masks, hung on gaily display in most shops, when a trip down the block chases him off the streets with fairly unpleasant encounters.

The impossible does happen, however. 

He’d like his mask on, he’d told the agents. Luckily for him, they’d responded — with the slightest hint of coarse disapproval, barely perceptible when spooned into a healthy serving of incredibly corporate and businesslike  ( greedy )  enthusiasm — that his audience adored that consistent hint of mystery about him. Mystery adorned in no small amount of blood and gore and guts, of course …  but a lucrative and compelling brand of mystery nonetheless.

Questions and answers are the entertainment of the day, he’s readily informed. He is expected to deliver whatever he pleases, so long as it keeps viewers riveted to the stream. There’s little else expected of him except that, when enquiries are offered forth, he must in kind offer them something exciting. Something devious. Even something so detestably awful that it incites rage and disgust, if it so amuses him. Whatever he must, whether it be truth or anything but, to keep the little counter on the stream rising, or at the least constant.

Not an issue. He has always been exceedingly skilled at putting up a show.

Enquiries are drawn by chance from the submissions  ( of which there are none-too-few, despite the hatred that comes always with the utterance of his name ). Those entered alongside a generous donation return higher chances of having their morbid curiosities satisfied — or, in some unfortunate cases, laughed aside — by one of the Games’ most gruesome killers. A Legend Cardiac is not, many have agreed. But a killer ?  yes, and a most efficient one, at that.

As it turns out, for a demographic in attendance at the livestream of an acclaimed killer, the majority seem awfully interested only in the mundane. Questions of morning routine, favourite coffee roasts, family life, are drawn one after another. Most he entertains, though the more personal he chases aside with vagueness and chortles. The chat is still chastising him for dodging some cryptic request from an anonymous viewer to  ‘ hit the dab, ’  and they have just entangled themselves in the thick of proclaiming him a coward when the next question’s drawn and flashed on the screen before him.

> What are you hoping to accomplish here? > Why are you here? In the games I mean.

He stills, laughter faltering to a steady silence as he reads the question over once more. A more personal question than he’s expected to receive this evening, though it may seemingly pale in comparison to requests for his entire career and life history. Unadorned as it is, it has unknowingly tapped into a reservoir of something so much more than the simple and brutish show Cardiac puts on for the Games.

He considers a lie. Or a humorous quip. Both are just as likely to please the crowd and save him the trouble of baring the inside of his head, exposed for all to see. But perhaps, just this once, a hint of honesty might change up the game a bit.

“ Solace. A quiet bar. I was passing by in my travelling — occupying myself with drink for company. Nothing particularly exciting; I’ve circuited through many times. Whiskey, ”  he adds in response to the chat’s immediate enquiries. He remembers the taste of it well, the sting of alcohol on his tongue seared into his mind alongside that moment. He remembers, vividly: the uproar in the bar as something flickers across the few monitors mounted above the counter … something shocking enough that patrons surge forward in their seats to slam glass against tabletops, the bar hosting such a multitude of horrified moans that they seem to echo, multiplying, against one another. These are mixed in with the peppering of distant cheers, all promptly hushed once they are met by fellow patrons with further revulsion. 

The Gauntlet, perhaps? Another defying act of bravery as tragic as the case, flitting about here and there, of a boy who’s injured his legs all for the sake of a record? 

A crane of the neck was all it took to peer over at the counter from his seat. All it took to seize him, wholly and unequivocally, as he caught sight the monitor — of blood splattered across concrete. Of gaseous fumes curling at the feet of a man who moves with a brand of deliberation that Ludwig has never seen in any stride save for his own. It’s a sort of deliberation, terrifying and otherworldly, that can be rarely derived from the set of brows and from that fire which lives within the eyes of men haunted … men riveted by the prospects of something so much grander than themselves. It’s a fire that turns them into ghosts of godliness, stalking between realms of that mundane tedium which most of humanity content themselves with living within …  reaching, ever-hungry, for a knowledge most men only dream of scratching the surface of. It’s a fire that eats at those it possesses, driving them to create and to destroy, to seek the breaching of that ever thinning line between life and death.

He walked away from Solace’s bar that evening with the shadow of death still stalking behind his eyelids,and  with a name pried from a nearby patron who knows just enough about the Apex Games to provide the information that he needs.

Caustic. 

He’s babbling, live, without thinking about the words that come from his mouth. He hardly cares. His mind is occupied with the startlingly vivid memory of his retreat to his rented room that night, how the rest of the late evening and the hours of the days that followed were consumed in digging out buried footage from the Apex Games that he’d never before taken much interest in. The footage is poorly edited, mediocre in terms of entertainment at most. Quite clearly catered to the general public. A bloodsport is no novel concept, but whoever runs the Games now do the gruesome stories of the old tradition no justice. He tolerates the grating narration, sifting through the many, many clips only for a chance to spot the merciless force of a gloved fist caving in competitors’ unwitting skulls. A chance to watch the lethal deliberation of those eyes again as bright gases swallow prospective Legends in a cloud of death.

“ I’d never quite seen anything like it. I still haven’t seen anything like it. If I close my eyes now, ”  and he does so, with a slight lean back into the plush of his seat,  “ I can see it all still, in such vivid detail. The wonders of a sharp memory! You could say that I was — inspired. 

“ The Games were never so appealing until I knew that men like him chose them as grounds for their work. Glory and money are decent enough rewards, and I always appreciate the extra funding for my more fantastic projects. That, along with the wonderful abundance of living subjects that come pouring in for their chance at fame and fortune. All mingling in the arena, ready for their eventual contribution to my work. If they will die — and there is bound to be death in a bloodsport — at least they will do having played their part in something much more important than themselves…  oh, but I came to the Games for more than just that. ” 

Sullenness overcomes, breaching grinning visage and swallowing the giddy veneer of cheer into a drastic sobriety. He’s quiet as fingers curl across the damp surface of his glass, seeking anchorage: something tangible in this moment of overwhelming veneration. There is reverence quivering in hushed words when he next speaks, eyes watching some far point in the distance; the pad of his finger drags condensation across the shine of the table.

“ Nothing is quite so lonely as a bird without its flock, of course, ”  comes unbidden. They’re words he’d shared with another before: yet another mind far from keen, unfortunately, when it comes to grasping the importance of his ideals. He laughs, though there is a fresh bitterness to it.  “ I could care less for feeding the demand for brutish entertainment. I do enjoy it, but I had no interest in the Games for violence alone. There is more to life than the carnal desire, you know…  the physical body is of little worth when it makes no efforts to push the mind beyond its limits. ”  

( For man does not live on bread alone. )

“ Human beings are social creatures. They thrive among friends. Forging bonds is hardly an option, except for those few rarities. Adopting antisocial attitudes is more and more common in this day and age …  it’s becoming a trend, and a very unhealthy one, in my medical opinion. Humankind are evolved to seek out comfort in one another, and in the like-minded …  and I do admit that I have had a significant lack of like-minded colleagues in my work. I came to the Apex Games seeking peers. Those who wouldn’t mind sharing in my work. Perhaps even those who find themselves willing to collaborate. That, and. Well. I had hoped to meet the man who inspired my joining the Games. ”  There’s a pause.  “ But unlikely. We are both very, very busy men, of course. Though I have imagined it occasionally. ”

They are imaginings as mercurial as his temper. At times, in these imaginings, he is reluctant and skittish — like a young mare stumbling in the thicket over legs still brittle, but with passion enthused and fresh as Ludwig’s admiration. Just as often, however, these dreams are shrouded in blood, thick and coagulated for all the times Cardiac has dreamt of spilling the blood of the very man who inspired him. There is little more intimate than blood, after all. To kill the chemist by his own hands …  he could not think of anything else that would serve as such a testament to his unwavering respect. To have Caustic’s throat held fast beneath fingers stained red; to hold the chemist’s still-pulsing heart, hot and pungent with the stink of fresh blood, in the palm of his hand. Certainly nothing else would be as much an honour for the doctor. 

How Ludwig fears that, should they ever meet under different circumstances than those which his mind has drawn in vivid detail, he would confuse their meeting for nothing more than a most unusual dream.

He smiles, though it’s near invisible beneath the mask. Keen viewers will catch the spark of giddy frenzy in his eyes and the clever tilt of brows, however, as he leans forward towards the camera. There is something very nearly conspiratorial in his next words:  “ If you are watching — wonderful… !  I’m a fan. Keep up the good work, mein Freund. And perhaps, with luck, we’ll meet one day in the Ring. ”

The chat, in their confusion, take to filling their little box with a constant flow of bird emotes as the stream’s swiftly paused. The broadcasting crew have yet to inform Cardiac that an error has rendered the past four minutes of broadcast into complete static on viewers’ end, and that everything after “glory and money” has been lost to the void of technical issues.

[canalstreetbaker]

Sixth World Storytime

Sit back kids, and get comfortable.  I’m going to tell you about Dozer.

Shadowrun, as most of you are aware, is a cyberpunk hypercapitalist dystopia which we’re slouching to even today, with a bevy of guns, cars, sweet-ass cybernetic implants, corporations larger than any country today with yearly profits in the trillions, and absolutely everything being for sale.  Food is mostly soy and corn reconstituted into a myriad of things and treated with a flavor faucet.  Surveillance is omnipresent but the analysis systems are so bad that those without ID numbers just kind of slide through the spaces between.  Those without System Identification Numbers - without SIN - do not exist.  This is good, and bad.  

Shadowrun also has magic.  And fantasy races.  Specifically it has Orks.  This is important, because Dozer is an Ork in a Human’s world.

(Below the cut we get a little nasty.  Disclaimer for the admins when they eventually fall upon this depravity - this is a fictional event in a fictional world based upon a tabletop roleplaying game.  Back the fuck off.)

In the Underground of Seattle rests a community of Trolls, Orks, and Dwarves no that’s all.  Until recently in 6W canon, the Underground was not recognized as an official District of the Seattle Metroplex - and the Orks liked that just fine.  The Trolls didn’t care much, since they tended to hang with the Orks or their own kind, shared Hurlg (a hyper-IPA with plenty of nutmeg and a caustic that could burn an Elf’s stomach to pieces) and plenty of meatlike substances at bars and restaurants that catered to them.  In short, the Ork Underground was its own little city, with businesses, religion, medicine, and police.

Dozer, an Ork, was a member of the Underground’s police force - the Skraacha. An Or’zet term meaning ‘Scorcher’, the Skraacha handled neighborhood watch, ne’er-do-well training into ‘functional’ members of society.  They kept the peace, supported metahuman rights rallies, beat the fuck out of the local neo-Nazi human supremacists in town (Humanis) and in their off time ran protection rackets and smuggled wepaons.  They loved young, angry Orks with a bone to pick and a chip on their shoulder.  Dozer fit in perfectly.

An aside, this is 5th Edition Shadowrun.  Dozer was built as a cybered ‘street samurai’ specializing in close-encounters of the murderous kind.  His muscles were cybernetic, he had a blade the length of his forearm concealed in his forearm, and he’d somehow begged, borrowed, and stole enough nuyen to install a bespoke Synaptic Booster, which - coupled with an Adrenaline Surge to make sure he always went first - ensured anyone who crossed his fist had a very bad day.  

By the time he retired (a wonderful story in itself, but not the focus of today), Dozer had about 350 karma, 4 Street Cred (after faking his death, a story I’ll tell later), 4 Notoriety, and managed to stay out of the Public Eye until the very end when he stole a nuclear submarine.  Again, a story I’ll tell later.

Dozer had quit the Skraacha after a terrible fight between a lieutenant of the group (Eybyu) and another pipe-thumping patrolman which left both patrolman and lieutenant dead, and Dozer in critical condition with massive damage to his face.  Upon recovery, he promptly quit the force and went into business for himself - running a food truck he’d bought with the “insurance money” that he called C2T Solutions.

(Because you can solve any problem with a Cyberspur 2 the Throat.)

You see, Dozer had also installed a Suprathyroid Gland, which is pretty much what it says on the tin - it’s a carefully engineered runaway growth problem which confers increased strength, speed, and toughness.  It also makes one the terror of buffets everywhere, and after Dozer had been thrown out of the fourth one he decided he was going to start cooking.  And if he was going to cook, then by Dunkelzahn he was going to make enough for everyone.  

Plus nobody looked at the cook unless he had a ponytail and a storied Naval career, so he could use it for information gathering.  Only...things didn’t go that way.

Dozer’s first use of the food truck was when he and a team of pipehitters was hired to cross off a list of names - with bonuses for those made to look like accidents.  There were six names on the list:

* A Federated-Boeing executive

* A Stuffer Shack employee

* An IT goon in a corporate enclave

* A retiree on the state dole

* A city employee with the Parks Department

* A ten-year-old trustafarian in a ritzy enclave

Dozer drew the short straw (or stole them while the rest of the crew argued) and took the city employee, the Stuffer Shack employee, and in a move that disgusted the rest of the team, the ten-year old. How can an Ork just cruelly kill a ten-year old kid?

With cupcakes, Dozer reasoned.  Kids love cupcakes.

In a stunningly macabre display of chemistry and culinary science, Dozer whipped up a pair of dark chocolate cupcakes one would expect to find at a boutique patisserie, both frosted with chocolate buttercream icing. Special icing.

Because icing doesn’t burn off the alcohol content of spiced rum - and Chloral Hydrate (Shadowrun’s version of Rophynol) has double potency when mixed with said rum.

Add in a gaily-wrapped box from an actual boutique patisserie with an Augmented Reality tag noting they were offering gift boxes as a ‘thank you’ to the community they served, and Dozer had created the perfect lure to ensnare anyone with a sweet tooth.  

Ten-year old Trudy stepped out of the schoolyard gate, savoring the fine Bellevue weather as she walked along the road towards home.  She didn’t *need* to walk, but it had been a nice day at school and Trudy felt even better about the day as she could remember the highest points of it while getting that last bit of exercise before the afternoon homework session began.

The sun was shining, the roads were quiet save the occasional yellow bus or GridGuided car taking her classmates to *their* homes.  Allison had suggested Trudy come over to her house for a group study session, but the last time that had happened Allison’s homework looked suspiciously similar (okay, they were exactly the same) as hers.  

“Afternoon, Ms. Appleton!”

The voice caused Trudy to turn and wave with a bright smile, her DocWagon bracelet jangling against her pale wrist.  Two Knight Errant patrol officers leaned against their car, waving back before scanning the area for potential suspects to question and search.  

“Good afternoon Officer Cortez!” she yelled.  “Hi Sergeant Weber!”

The two officers were well known in the neighborhood, and Trudy’s parents had noted with pride the discount they had received on their insurance premiums by agreeing to the surcharge for having physical patrols in the area during and after school hours.  Really, they had said, it was leaving nuyen on the table if they hadn’t, and having security services available during their 12-hour workdays meant they could put in the extra hours at the office but still sleep easy at night.

As she walked past manicured lawns, a smelly groundskeeper trimming hedges, and Augmented Reality picket fence property indicators to her own modest home, Trudy’s day got even better as she spied a specialty cardboard container from her favorite bakery on the doorstep.  She’d never thought that Le Petite Sweet would send a delivery, but someone must have really been thinking of her today to send over such a treat!  Trudy picked up the box before sending the unlock code to the house’s front door via her bedazzled trode patch on her temple - right where her Datajack would be, she thought.

The cool air of the perfectly-adjusted central heating and cooling system brushed against her face as Trudy stepped inside, her commlink downloading personal messages from the corporate grid once her PAN interfaced with the wider house network.  There were two more messages from Allison, one of which was a repeated offer for Trudy to come visit today and do homework, and a second one that her Nixdorf Sekretar agent indicated was a phishing attempt via a picture of a cat playing a piano.  Trudy thought the picture was funny, but not funny enough to allow Allison access to copy her homework directly. Besides, there were much more important things to consider.

Trudy set the box on the dining room table and opened her prize, finding a pair of chocolate cupcakes with a dark chocolate icing.  They smelled freshly baked and sweet - not as sweet as she liked, and without the chocolate sprinkles she always wanted when she would get her weekly treat at Le Petite.  In fact, they didn’t even look quite like the bakery’s signature cupcake - but her stomach growled in anticipation anyway, so she took a bite while going through her homework questions for the day.  The rich flavor of the chocolate was slightly offset by the spiciness in the icing.  Trudy was confused for a moment, then took another bite.  

There was rum in the icing.  Trudy knew because she had stolen a drink from her father’s liquor cabinet, and the dark liquid in the bottle tasted just like this.  The icing, however, was much better than that terrible alcohol.

In no time at all, the first cupcake was gone, and Trudy yawned while sending a message to the fridge unit to pour her a glass of milk.  She felt oh-so tired all of a sudden.  Maybe the nice groundskeeper opening the back door could help her get her milk.

Shaking his head, Dozer gently took poor Trudy upstairs to the bathtub, ran the water, and laid her inside.  He took the box and the detritus from the cupcake, and let himself out the door he entered.

The payment hit his account fifteen minutes later, as medical services screamed towards the house where a drowning had occurred.

There are, of course, several other stories I have involving Dozer and his food truck, Dozer and his old patrolman buddy Stamp, Dozer being thrown off a ten-story building and hitting the pool with nothing more than a bruise, Dozer inventing the term ‘dumptrucking’ as it refers to lateral strategy, and finally Dozer stealing a nuclear submarine and becoming a pirate king with a mage and a decker he’d run with on that last score.

But for today, we’ll leave it with poor Trudy.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll talk about how Dozer changed the outcome of a re-enactment of the historic Battle of Helm’s Deep.

[bonbonswirl-blog]

Proud dad

NO ONE BELONG TO ME THEY ALL BELONG TO ONLY @brueklynn I OWN NOTHING.

anyway i was not satisfied with the last fanfic I worte at ALL, it was very bad and I wont blame you if you think that too im sorry it went like this. I decided to write this one since I got the idea. Mason is always a sweetheart btw guys! I just may have changed him a little by accident in this one. Bc im not too skilled, reminder none of this happened and not canon, all these just from my mind with some little "headcanons" from me thx.

It was just a normal day. The golden rays of sunshine caressing everyone faces, shining up the bright blue sky that gives a feeling of comfort and ease, faint chirping of birds can be heard near the trees. Mason was sitting on a bench in a park, with a little smile on his warm face, which is being tickled by the gentle gold beams. his eyes were slowly scanning the small letter in his hands, re-reading it once more after numerous of time, his fingers touched the writing of pen on the white piece of paper, as if checking if this is a true thing, And it is. His eyes drifted from the paper in his hands to the playground in front of him, The sounds of children playing echoed from the park, stomping, running and laughing. None of the worries of adults crossed their minds, only how to elude capture by their friends. The rhythmic creaking of swings went back and forth, and some kids tried to time their jumps from the swings to the rhythm. The colors of the playground equipment were still fresh and bright, despite the years of wear and the endless use. his eyes trying to search between this crowd of kids for a certain one of his own, a few years old one with messy brown hair wearing a flatcap similar to his own one, it was something he gave his child on his previous birthday, mason tried to consider it as a gift to his son as an attempt to bring some joy to his little heart, it was the only thing that was in his pocket right now. He hoped that in the next birthday he will find a better present to give for his little boy that can truly make him happy. Moments later mason had found him, merrily playing on a slide with the other kids, which made his dad smile get bigger. For a last time he looked at the letter, he was so happy that someone had finally toke notice of him and invited him for a job intrview tomorrow morning, he practiced a lot for hopes in getting that job, if he gets it, he will no longer be dependent on those small live making things that doesnt help a lot and will have enough money to provide a good life for him and his son. Looking at the sky, he noticed that the sun is going to set soon, and it will get late to walk for home, they dont live near this park. He smelled the letter as it was some fresh air then folded it to put it in his pocket, giving more five minutes for his son to play until he is going to pick him up to go home.

It was night. As the colors of the day rest the dark was covering every part of the sky. all the kids have already went to their home with their parents, the air was silent, maybe an owl or some cricket can be heard from here and there, the streets were empty, no one was walking on them, expect for a single man holding his little son hand, mason looked at his child and smiled "how was your day at the park wallaby? Did you enjoy it? " He asked wallaby, making sure his son had a good time playing and laughing with all the kids, that he was happy with where his dad brought him today. " Yes dad! I founda buncha fweinds today! We pwayed a game cawed tag your it! Ya pway it by runnin after someone and ya ne....." but mason didnt hear the rest of the talk of how wallaby is teaching him to play tag your it, because his mind was in another place, filled with thoughts of how the interview will go tomorrow, will he get the job? Will he fail? What will he do if he failed? He doesnt want that...What if he gets it? But it was harder than he expected? Will he leave it? Will he push himself to continue? Will he...

" Dad?!?!?DAd?!??! DAD?!? " His son voice distracted him of his deep thought. He guessed that he was inside his mind for too long that he couldnt hear his child. " Yes my dear? " "Ma legs huwt :<" mason smiled again and giggled at wallaby cute little pout, it could make anyone fall for him so fast, his dad knows that there is still a bit of a way for them to get to their home yet, and that wallaby had already walked long enough with his small foot, not to mention he must be tired from all the running today. " Do you want me to carry you for the rest of the way? " " YA YA YA! " Wallaby said excited at that suggestion, reaching both his short arms up in the air for mason hold him, which made mason laugh a little and lean down to hold his small baby in his arms. " Who is my little good boy? " "ME ME!! " " Yes You Are!! " Mason tickled wallaby a bit which made the small kid laugh childishly, his laugh fuel his dad heart with delight. He hugged his son gently while keeping to walk along the road. " Dad? " " Yes! my sunshine? " "I saw some of ma fweinds today tawk about who is better at studying in school! dad, what is school? " ....Mason smile went away and he was silent for a while.... he remembered that wallaby was already old enough for his age to start going to school...but he couldnt afford the money to give this child the chance to go the kindergarten like all the other kids...when will he give him the chance to start learning?... " School is a place where you go to get education dear! Kids go to there everyday to learn new things! " He tried to smile as an attempt to comfort himself and answer the child question softly. " Will I one day go to school dad?" Wallaby innocent smile wasnt enough to sweep away the little sadness that mason felt at that question, he wanted so much for wallaby to get education like all the other people, and he was ready to do whatever it costed to do so, but he know he cant... he cant find the chance. " Maybe one day you will do dear... " that even gave the dad a bigger ambition to pass the intreview tomorrow, he will work as hard as he can to give anything that is needed to his son. Wallaby was silent for a little time in his dad arms while mason just kept walking, the small one looked at his dad again to shot another question at him. " Dad im hungwy :< " that reminded mason that they both didnt really eat enough since the last two days, he is trying to save up for more important things. He wished he have the ability to give him something good to eat right now, he used a lot of energy playing today anyway. " I know my dear...how about I give you an apple when we come back home? " " But I always ate apples dad! How about some candy? " Mason laughed a little "aww my dear! You need to eat lots of vegetables and fruits to grow up! " "awwwww :< " wallaby pout never fail to make mason grin, wallaby didnt eat lots of sweets anyway...maybe in the near future he will have enough money to feed wallaby and him in a right way. They both went silent for another minutes, Out of topics to discuss. Wallaby was thinking about something, he looked at his dad once more to ask a new question, a lot More serious this time... " dad?.." " yes wallaby? " "I....today when we were leavin the pawk.....I saw lotta kids standing next to a....woman....evewy kid have their own woman! The women were holdin their childwen hands just wike ya do to me...and the kids all tawk about their day with them just like I do now...the women seems to be with them...evewyday and evewywhere...like they are with them evewy second!...dad do I....do I.....do I have a woman who take cawe of me wike all those kids do?....."

Mason stopped walking.

He felt his chest starting to ache.

He didnt expect that one day wallaby will wonder why he have no mother like the other kids.

That he will start missing her....

he have no idea what to tell his son now.....he cant just tell him that he doesnt have one....what is he going to do now.....how can he tell his son the cold bitter truth....he cant...he is even so young to know about it...what is he going to do...

" Dad?...." ...wallaby was scared about his dad sudden hush...did he make him mad? he started to get worried now.... "...wallaby........I......" mason was out of words....he moved his head to the side... avoiding eye contacts with his son, looking at the ground shamfully...his eyes no longer have any shine or bright when he hears the gladness in his son voice whenever he talks about about a joyful thing he tried, or when he achieved any small victory. Mason finally gave up, he couldnt ignore his son like this any longer, he need to say something to wallaby.... mason toke a deep sigh...returning his head to look at his little boy who is laying in his arms, wallaby didnt look cheerful as he was a minute ago...he was looking to his side, with a frown in his little mouth, the dirt blush on his cheeks wasnt as red as when he is talking gaily with his adorable puffy cheeks, but they werent puffy anymore...the boy flatcap was going to fall down from his head soon, funny how he can keep it still on his head while running and jumping everywhere all day, wallaby didnt feel really ok at this point...

Mason looked with a grievous look at him before beggining to speak..... "wallaby...listen to me... " his voice was heavy with shame, the same way his guilt wheighed down upon his shoulders, that made his son look at him in the face again, but the expressions still the same. " my little sunshine......you do....you do have a woman like them too...this woman is called...a mother...the mom is the person who brought the life to her children...toke care of them from childhood until adulthood, she is always there to share with her children the laughs, smiles and their happiest moments, always there to comfort them in the sorrow, fear and their hardest moments, she is always the shelter from every harm, the guardian from every enemy, the key for every solution, she will always support her kids no matter what happen in any time and any place....every mom love is always with her kids forever wallaby... all the moms are great! And you should know wallaby that...you have a mom...like them all...but you wont be lonely because im here with you..."

Mason voice was soft, almost fragile, as if it and his heart would break any minute. Perhaps his heart was already broken...broken to bits from the harsh cruel world....mason was never really good with coping with the loss... The sadness flowed through his veins like a flowing river, cold and unending, deadened his mind. It was a poison to his spirit, dulling him, killing off the other emotions he felt when talking to his precious son until it was the only one that remained. He learned that anyone can be a pareng...but not anyone can be a family...He wanted very badly to tell wallaby that lucy still loves him, she still love her family...love them...love them a lot to the point that she left them.....he have no idea where she is now after she dissapeared, its been a long time, but for some reason, he cant fully let her go, she left a hole in his heart that can not be fixed, wallaby is now the only thing that still bring some life in mason dead core, he promised from the day he was left alone with the kid, that he will do everything to make sure he is living safe and sound..

The small wallaby face began to draw a pure smile again, his flatcap back in place, his hued eyes are back to their bright, he got up a bit from his dad arms. "I knew it! I knew I had one too wike them! Dad? Will I eva meet her?!" "Maybe one day sunshine....maybe one day...." mason couldnt bring himself to say no to this one...he doesnt know if wallaby will ever meet her...he may not ever find her, He hugged wallaby more tightly and began taking faster steps, this chat already broke his heart enough and he wants to get home to rest for a busy day tomorrow...good thing wallaby slept on their way home.

The next morning came as usuall, the sun rised, sent its woven strands, free and united, to flow into the sky for revealing and solidifying a new day. Mason used to wake up late, but this time he was early, today is the day, his plan is simple, go the inreview, success, and go to the job. He wasnt very content, he felt nervous, looking after every way that this can go wrong with. Last night wasnt the best for him, it made him re-think about his life with wallaby and how he is going to raise him. he was standing at the door, preparing himself to bring his legs to work straight to the place of that job, but before he can move the handle, he heard a voice behind him

" Dad?.. "

He turned around to see that his son had already woke up, standing confused there with a large jacket around him, it was so large that the jacket ends were on the floor, wiping it wherever the boy go, he looked like a child who have jacket that should be wore by only adults wrapped around him, which is the truth, wallaby always wear it to bed, using it insted of a blanket. " wallaby...uh why are you up so early dear? " " Dad whewe are ya goin? we gonna go to work now? " Mason smiled and kneeled down to put his hands on wallaby shoulders " did you know I got an intrview today? Im going to try to get a job! If i got it! We gonna have enough money to eat properly and go to school to learn! " Wallaby was happy hearing this, it made him almost jump " reawy? Yaaaaay! Wait! But dad! Ya will need ma help! " Mason smiled and ruffled wallaby messy hair " aww my little one, when you grow up you will have your own job to take care of! " When mason turned around to open the door again, wallaby voice stopped him. " but dad! Ya cawt go! " Mason looked behind once more " but why dear? " "Becawse....im gonna be so lonely without ya! " Mason was surprised a bit, wallaby stayed home by himself a lot of times, why is he going to feel lonely staying today? " But sunshine...you always stay home alone by yourself, why are you going to feel lonely today?" " Becawse...I awways hewped ya in your work...this time I wont be there to hewp ya! Ya will awways go to work without me! ya will feel alone! and i will stay more time at home and feel alone! Ya cant leave me dad! Pwease stay here with me.. " after hearing this, mason felt sad, again. He didnt know that wallaby actually felt happy working with him and that he felt so lonely when he all alond without, but he cant do anything about it. "dear...im sorry...but...I cant do anything to help that...please im doing that for you...just stay here and you will find me soon at home..." " but dad! I cant let ya go! Pwease stay! Arent ya my mama? " Whenever someone mention the word 'mom' mason never feel so good. "what?.... " " arent ya my mama? Ya awways pway with me and take cawe of me like all the mamas do! " Mason didnt know his opinion about this kind of thought. " Uh, my little boy, im not your mother...im your father.. " " but ya stiw take care of me! Like any mama! I wont let ya go dad...why dont ya stay hewe and tell me more stories about my mama! " Mason now REALLY didnt feel so good about this one...reminding him of lucy by any chance can make him lose it all...worst idea to think about..." ....wallaby...I need...to go......maybe at night... " " but dad! Pwease! " " goodbye wallaby " "Stay with me! " " Im coming back at night " "dad come on!" Mason tried to get out the house but wallaby was still following him, he cant go anywhere, he stayed standing there, listening to his son conmplains, he already know he made him late enough, almost all of wallaby suggestions was to talk about lucy, lucy lucy and only lucy, that name bring a chill to him whenever he hears it, that made him re-think about last night. A bad memory for him... no. more, About the past, oh..why did she left them? He knows the reason, but was he already the full reason? Or....did wallaby have anything to do with this? Every thought made him dig deeper and deeper in the...unwanted memeories, he cant get himself to get out of his mind and go to the inreview, all he think about now was who fault it was.

" Wallaby...I think you really need to stop now!! "

And that was the first time that mason rised his voice a little at wallaby, and honsetly, wallaby was very surprised, his dad never rised his tone like that at him before, he always talk too soft and gentle with him, so excited yo hear about his day. But now he didnt look to be in the mood to do that.

" Dad.... " " wallaby you must stay here! " " But da- " "im already late for this i need to go! " "pwease da-" "bye. "and with that mason closed the door behind him completely. leaving the house, and leaving the young child to spend another day at his home on his own. Mason was on the streets running, he felt like a lot of pressure and stress on him have been realesed when he got angry, now there is no more complaining about lucy and her absence.....but...he didnt feel alright yet...he felt.....regret....it was so heavy...he felt his heart carrying a heavy weigh...or that there are rocks in his chest...that didnt make him feel well by any chance, he tried to ignore it but it was a lot not to feel something...he felt so alone...he started getting cold...a feeling he didnt sense long ago...cause his body and heart always felt warm whenever he used to be alongside his son..but now he feels like he left him...he did...he feel like he did a mistake..he didnt mean it...he didnt mean to do that at all....he was just pressured and sad to rememeber a doleful memory...he didnt meant to hurt anyone...he wished he could go back and change something of what just happened..but now he cant, all he can do now is pass this intreview.

The night had fallen upon the land, the sky left with only a matt black canvas with no stars to be looked upon. The darkness was thick, mason path was hardly lit, if a normal person cant see good in this dark then this only made mason sight worse.  The interview went..........fine..........it wasnt what he was really looking for...and that was dissatisfied....but all what mason could care about is returning to his home and check something, rather someone....Other than the darkness and himself all that seemed to exist was the chilly wind thats harsh bite could be felt through the man skin. He could feel the hairs on his arms rise and the bite of the wind had left its mark in the form of small bumps that were tingling on his arms, but its bite was more than flesh deep. His blood ran cold through his veins and his bones were chilled. but the heat of what he was wearing did not reach his skin at all, mason know why, after what he done today he knew that today will not be a pretty day at all. The cold wind could be felt that its his inner repent, after what felt like days he saw his home, he may not see a lot good but it he could recognize his house, he stayed in the chilly wind for a few minutes, what is he going to do and say when gef back home?....

He sighed and gently opened the door, waiting to see someone in front of him when he do, to his surprise, there wasnt anyone....the house felt so quiet.....

so empty....

" Wallaby? " He called for his son, waiting for a reply, but none came. "Wallaby? " He called again. began walking around the house, maybe his son just didnt hear him..but he began to sweat.. " wallaby...?... " he searched everywhere in the house, the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, he couldnt find him! There was only one place left...the bedroom, he ran to there, seriously hoping that wallaby is here insode the house. He entered the bedroom and turned on the lights panicking.........then sighed.......wallaby was there...sleeping on the bed that they both together share....wearing the same jacket he woke up with around him...mason smiled a little at the view. With the corner of his eyes he toke a glance of some small crayons and a drawing white paper on the ground, he went to that drawing and picked it up to see what did wallaby draw while he was out, he slowly looked into it.

It was drawn in a chidish way, with simple colors of crayons...if mason not wrong, one of the two people in it was him, having a smile on his face, next to him a smaller figure, he wasnt sure at first if thats wallaby, that figure had a colorfull hair, and a red dot to where seemed to be the nose, that figure short arms were stretched and some different colored dots where around him. Was that a clown? Why would wallaby draw his dad with a short clown next to him playing with some balls?! But suddenly it hit him..he remembered...

Wallaby previous birthday....at that day, mason only concern was to give his child a little happy party...but he couldnt even afford a cake...let alone a present...when he came back home that day all what he brought was just a red ballon, but he didnt want the birthday to just go by like that, he wanted to try and give wallaby any kind of gift, the only idea in his head was to dress as a clown and try to impress wallaby or make him laugh. He made wallaby sit on the ground and just got some random things to try and throw in the air and catch them again, which was a fail, wallaby didnt do anything, other than sitting there with a stare, when mason thought about giving up he slipped on something and fell down, that did hurt a bit, but wallaby laughed a lot! Which made mason not regret this at all and laughed with his kid "Hahahha! That was so funny dad! Why ya dressin like that? :D " " Haha...i was trying to be like a clown son! " "a clown? Oooh! So today is dressin as diffwent people day? " " Heh..I guess? " " Yaaay! Imma dress like ya dad! " Wallaby looked right and left to find something that can make him look like his dad, luckily he noticed his dad flatcap and grapped it to put it on his head " look dad! Im ya! I love my son a lot! We both get books and stare at them together! " Mason laughed because that was actually funny and true, they both cant read correctly which lead them to just stare at any book they try to read. Mason got up and put a hand on the flatcap that was on wallaby head " and this, my dear son...is my birthday gift to you...happy birthday! " Wallaby eyes looked like they were starry and he touched his dad flatcap with both his hands " wooooow!! Rewwy! Thanks dad!! " wallaby jumped on his dad giving him a tight hug, to which mason gladly gave back.

Mason now got what the drawing is talking about, in wallaby birthday party he tried to make him laugh so he can feel better...now..wallaby saw his dad was angry..and wanted him to laugh again...so he dressed as a clown and tried to make his dad smile again...just like he did to him...mason looked up the two figures to see a childish writing, its may not be written right but he tried as hard as he can to read it.

' Am srry dad u ar angre, i wont u 2 smail plz, i lov u '

Mason felt he is going to cry.

He learned it, nothing in this world can ever be above his only family. He put the drawing on a table, turned off the lights, and layed down next to wallaby, though his small son was sleeping to his side, mason hugged him from behing carefully and whispered softly.

" Im so sorry I neglected you today my precious sunshine...I wont do it again...the words wont describe how much I love you, I will be your mama and dada...and will take care of you for every moment...I am a proud dad to have you...no matter what wallaby....you will always make me proud. "

[anthonycarlos0-blog]

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[adacarisi]

Can you do something where Barba loves rough sex but the reader really doesn't but she doesn't say anything cause she loves Barba too much and then he finds out and super sweet smut ensues? 😊😊😊

Honesty about sexual preferences is very important, you don’t see that kind of open communication a lot in the media, but in real relationships it’s very important. That being said, enjoy.

You had never met anyone like him. He had a presence that dominated any conversation, and when you were in a room with him you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his fashionably clad body. Lucky for you he seemed to have the same predicament with you. Rafael Barba had asked you out the night you met, despite wanting to play the long game with you, as was his specialty. He had strode over as soon as he saw another handsome ADA begin chatting gaily with you and interrupted your conversation with his introduction. 

Rafael treated you in glorious fashion, as you continued to date he became more and more attentive despite his busy schedule. He adored you, it was all he could do to not tell you so every minute of the day. You never left his thoughts, he would find himself smirking at his legal pad in court, envisioning the next time he would see you.

You were gentle and kind, he was strong and firm. You matched and complimented each other so well. Except for one thing, Rafael was a bit rough in the bedroom, at first you assumed it was just pent up anticipation or anger from a trial, but he was consistent. Everything felt wonderful, and he never hurt you, you both even had a safe word, but you wanted everything to be softer, slower, closer. 

You hesitated to bring it up because you were terrified of shaming him, making it seem as if his sexual preference was out of the norm, or deviant. Especially with his line of work prosecuting sex crimes you feared that he would think the sex you had was non consensual. It wasn’t, you just wanted him, Rafael, you wanted the sweet man you had come to know so well in the last few months. 

You planned to tell him when he got home from court, you had exchanged house keys a few weeks back and would wait for him to come home at his apartment. You took it upon yourself to make him dinner, or at least pick something up seeing as he would never find the time. You cared for him deeply, you might have even loved him. So now you were waiting in your sweatpants and his Harvard Law t-shirt, laid on his couch watching his press brief from earlier in the day.  

His keys sounded loudly in the door as he jangled them about and your first worry was that he was drunk. It happened more often than you would like. Rafael could hold his liquor, but on his worst nights he would drink more than he could handle and stumble home, frustrated and drunk. He always apologized profusely as you helped him out of his suit and into bed. It was hard. But every time it happened you would forgive him with a kiss before tucking him in next to you. He would pull you hard against him like a doll and roughly nuzzle your head with his cheek before falling fast asleep. 

You sat up on the couch as he fell into the apartment, dusted in snow that had been falling all day. He paused and smiled at you before taking off his coat and dropping his briefcase with a thud. 

“You would not believe the day I’ve had…” He started as he approached you, kicking off his shoes in the small hallway off the living room. 

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked, already knowing most of it having watched his press brief a few times before he walked in the door. 

“Not right now…right now…all I want to do…is fuck you until neither of us can stand.” He pounced on you, growling as he bit at your neck and sucked along your jaw. 

“Raf…”

“What’s our word?” He asked gruffly, his hands slipping underneath his Harvard t that clung loosely to your body. 

“Raf…Raf…Rafael!” You pushed him off of you and stood, heart pounding and eyes filling quickly with tears you desperately did not want to fall. 

He sat up quickly with wide eyes, reaching a hand towards you as if trying to calm a skittish animal. 

“I don’t want…”

“Hey…hey, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” His voice trembled and he looked so shocked it broke your heart.

You started to cry, and Rafael didn’t know what to do. He wanted to pull you into his arms and comfort you but he was still confused at what had happened. Did you not like him anymore? Did you want to end your relationship? Had he done something? Said something?

You could almost hear the thoughts pounding away on the inside of his scull so you sat yourself in his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck as you cried softly. His hands were hesitant but they found their way to your thigh and back. He took a few sharp inhales, obviously trying to keep himself from crying too. You had to say something now, you had panicked him. 

“Raf…I…I really care about you, and I really like being with you, but…but sometimes…I just wish…you weren’t so…so rough.” You spoke slowly, worry and caution coating every word.

“Okay…I can do that…of course I can do that, cariño, why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Rafael took a deep breath to calm himself and rubbed a hand up and down your back in a soothing motion. 

“I…oh Raf…I…” You struggled for words, not knowing how to tell him why you had waited without revealing the depth of your emotions for your man.

“You’re not…afraid of me…are you?” He lightened his grip substantially as you broke away to face him. 

“No baby no…I just…I want you to be open with me, I don’t want you to think I don’t like what you like in bed, because I do, I just want you to be softer, more gentle.” 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, his voice low and eyes lost. 

“Sweetheart you didn’t know, baby all that matters is we’re talking about it now.” You reassured him with a light kiss on his brow. 

He looked devastated and it broke your heart in two. All Rafael could think was that he had hurt you, every time you had sex, he had hurt you.

“Are you okay…I mean…” He didn’t know the words to express how sorry he was, suddenly a montage of your sexual dalliances flickering before his eyes, wondering how he had missed your discomfort. 

“Raf you didn’t hurt me, I’m fine, I’m more than fine, I’m with you.” You ran a hand through his hair but he flinched slightly as if somehow trying to distance you from further harm.

“But now I’ve ruined it. I’ve ruined us.” His voice was dejected and his expression one of total despondence. 

“You have not! Rafael the last thing I want to do is have you blame yourself, or somehow think that I haven’t enjoyed our time together. Being with you is, god, so wonderful, please don’t think I’ve been hurt or…traumatized.”

He fell silent and the look on his face worried you, you could physically see the mask fall over his features as his eyes returned to yours in an expression of neutrality. 

“If you would like to…go. I understand.” His voice betrayed his emotions, as his arms left your body entirely.

“Rafael, I’m never going. Never. I love you. And I’m going to stay by your side for as long as you’ll let me.” This was the only thing you could have possibly said to heal him, to save him from himself. 

There are moments in life, terrible situations of loss or grief in which one is totally and utterly at a loss for words. One cannot know what another needs so desperately to hear, the many or few words that would soothe and suffice. But sometimes, sometimes those words are spoken into the heavy silence, by chance or by a bond so deep they seemed the only words that could be spoken, and they heal, salve and reconstruct. 

These were the words Rafael needed to hear. The words he had been waiting to hear for decades. Though he would have no one think so, he had felt horribly, terribly, miserably, desolate…for so many years. Left in the cold by one lover and then another, his trust fading until he no longer trusted anyone, unable to relinquish his guard he had constructed so flawlessly. 

But here you were, saying the only words that silenced the screaming congress in his head, the only words in the entirety of the English language that would allow him to forgive himself. 

“I’m never going. I love you.” You repeated and his mask fell, melting like a cascade of silk ribbons into your hands as you caressed his face, pulling him from deep within himself where he had retreated. 

“I’m so sorry.” He repeated once more as you stroked over his brow and nose, placing delicate kisses in a path as you went. 

You took one of his hands and placed it on your chest so he could feel the calm beat of your heart as it pulsed against your ribcage. That seemed to soothe him, his fingers flexed and pressed against the fabric of his t-shirt. 

“Rafael Barba, you have nothing to be sorry for.” His eyes flicked up to yours and you couldn’t help but gasp softly at the total lack of inhibition in them. 

He was relaxed and at peace, the weight of you on his lap and the beat of your heart under his fingertips. Rafael Barba surrendered himself to you, to your scent, to your voice, to your words. 

“I trust you.” He spoke, his voice light at this admission. 

You took his other hand and kissed each finger slowly, taking his middle finger into your mouth with a light suck and brush of your tongue. 

“I will never betray that trust.” You spoke after removing his finger from your mouth and pressing his palm to your cheek in a tender motion.

“Did you mean it?” His voice was small and so unlike him it gave you pause. 

“What baby?” 

“You love me?”

“I’m afraid so.” You smiled softly trying to return your usual humorous rapport to the moment.

He brushed his hand over your cheek, feeling the rise of the bones in your face as he moved over them. 

“If you’ll let me, I’ll show you how you can love me too.” You moved forward on his lap to convey the physicality of your intentions. 

He nodded and you rocked your hips over his a few times before standing and pulling him with you towards his bedroom. 

It was dark, you didn’t turn on the lights, you didn’t need them. Light from the city flickered in and out, street lamps below and headlights acted as candle light, soft and seemingly natural as you pulled him down beside you on the bed. 

He hooked one leg over yours and kissed you so lightly you wondered if your lips had made contact at all. You moved your hands along his suit clad body and helped him push off one layer at a time until his chest was bare. Rafael slipped you out of his t-shirt in one smooth motion, kissing at your upper arms as they were revealed to him. 

It felt as if everything were moving in slow motion, the kisses were long and languid, his touches even longer and softer. You moved his hands to your breasts and demonstrated on top of them how you liked to be squeezed and fondled. He observed carefully and repeated your motions exactly before he brought his mouth to your nipple. He rolled his tongue around the raised skin, sucking ever so softly before dragging his tongue wetly down the swell of your breast towards your ribcage. 

You moaned softly and he watched as you pressed your head into the pillow behind you, rolling onto your back from your previous position facing him on your side. 

He continued downward, kissing your stomach softly and then wetly, sucking along the plump area around your belly button. Rafael looked to you, not taking his eyes from your face as you watched him move even lower before waiting for your approval. 

He wrapped his arms under your thighs and anchored himself to you before kissing your center once, twice, three times with the upmost tenderness. You reached for his face and caressed where you could make contact as he licked you slowly, his tongue tasting your arousal more strongly than ever before. 

Rafael hummed and moaned as he moved agonizingly slow, working you with the tip of his tongue before lapping at you even more slowly. Just when you were almost over the edge he gave you a final kiss before moving his body over your own. 

You pressed against his chest with your hands until he landed on his back, your faces maintaining the same distance apart as you moved. You sucked on his jaw in the spot you knew he loved and listened as he moaned quietly. Ghosting a hand down his torso you let a finger fall and drag along his center, chest to pelvis before unbuckling his belt and removing his pants. 

He looked painfully hard when you eased his briefs down, so you rewarded him with a few kisses of your own before taking him into your mouth. He whimpered a few, “Oh God’s” before collapsing back onto the pillows with a hand on his forehead. 

You moved gently and carefully, extending every pleasure you gave him tenfold. Your tongue tasted him as he had tasted you, and it sent sparks through your stomach and spine. He fought to keep his hips in place as you took him further, nearly his entire length in your mouth and throat. You saw his hands clench his sheets and he cried out, meaning if you wanted him inside you you had to stop now. 

You laid on your back and he rolled on top of you, taking care not to press too hard against your body as he did. Now he was afraid, afraid of losing control and being too rough with you. You saw this written across his features and pulled his head towards you to kiss him, firmly and surely. 

“I love you.” You spoke tracing a finger down his cheek. 

Rafael lined himself up with you and pushed inside of you slowly. He watched every motion of your body as you took him in, observing for any hesitation or pain. You were in raptures as he bottomed out, throbbing inside of you as he stilled. 

He still hadn’t moved after a couple of moments so you placed your hands on his bare hips and urged him with the motion of your hands. You instructed him silently with your legs, moving along his back and thighs in tandem with his slow thrusts. Rafael cried and whimpered at the intimacy of the moment, you joined him delighted by the sounds he was making. You urged him a little faster with a nip on his ear and he obliged while moving a hand to your clit, his fingertips brushing along his cock as it slid in and out of you.

Rafael moaned your name, his eyebrows knit together in concentration, his jaw slacked and open at the pleasure he didn’t know was possible. The pleasure of intimacy, slow, undistracted intimacy. 

He rolled your clit softly and you kissed him hard before sobbing into his open mouth, that was his cue that you were seconds away from your climax. Rafael repeated the motions and you reached for his hands, pulling them up to rest in yours beside your head. He tented over you as he continued thrusting, the both of you whimpering and sighing, groaning and gasping at the strength of the sensations caused by such soft and tender ministrations. 

His eyes fell shut and he choked as his own climax began to eat away at his synapses. 

“Look at me baby…look at me.” You moaned, his grip on your hands even tighter as his body began to contract. 

The second his green eyes flashed open you came, focusing all your energy on keeping them open to maintain the bond of eye contact. He gasped loudly as you squeezed around him with the force of your climax. Rafael fell further onto you pressing your breasts into his chest as he came, every bone in his body melting away into an array of glitter that burned like fire. 

He couldn’t stop moaning as he recovered, only pulling out of you minutes later. As he struggled for his breath and words you laid your head gingerly on his chest and purred.

“I love you.” He managed, the words sliding from his tongue as if they had been on it’s tip for months. 

“I love you too. Thank you…for being so…gentle.”

“Was that…” He tried before taking a deep inhale.

“Very…I’d say the–” You almost finished before he stole the words from your lips.

“Best?” You could almost feel his smile as his arm wrapped around you and pulled you closer.

“Yes.” You chuckled softly, stroking his chest hair with the tips of your fingers.  

“You know…we can do the rough stuff sometimes, I don’t mind. Just not…all the time.” You spoke truly, genuinely wanting to indulge him every once in a while. 

“Whenever you want.” He closed his eyes and you knew he was about to fall asleep so you kissed him once more with a hand on his cheek. 

“Thank you…for understanding.”

“Of course…I love you.” The words made him feel warm, warm and safe. 

They had a similar effect on you as well. You whispered the same to him with a smile before drifting off into sleep, blissfully at peace in Rafael Barba’s strong arms knowing this was only the beginning of something truly wonderful.