#his no mans land writing was such garbage and this is just worse somehow. like. please. dixon look at me. and tell me where on earth in the | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sprooknooky · 3 years ago

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While the Alvarez Empire arc is definitely garbage, I’m probably the one person who doesn’t mind it too much. The unfortunate thing is, it feels more unfinished than anything. Like a rough outline that needs to be fleshed out and have five times the content. I’ve been reworking this arc in my head for around four years now, and I figured I should actually write something down at some point, so here goes.

God Serena is a character that has bothered me since his introduction. All of the Spriggans are bothersome because you’re expected to believe that these crazy strong scary people have just been chilling in a castle for years, but God Serena bothers me the most, though, because supposedly, he’s from Ishgar. Or at least has lived there long enough to be well known. However, there was no mention of him or the other emperors throughout the entire series, so there’s no real impact to hearing that Serena has joined the 12. Oh no, some guy we’ve never heard of, I’m so scared. And sure, that’s one of his flaws. But what makes him even worse is that he’s killed off so fast.

We see him completely wipe out the other emperors, and his power is wildly intense. I remember being so excited to see the power of four dragon slayers (apparently there are eight inside him but there’s only five dragon gods so...) inside one dude. It made his lack of background seem manageable because his powers were demonstrated to be terrifying! I was so hyped to see how Fairy Tail was going to ultimately defeat him.

And all of it was for nothing. He was one shot. He didn’t even go down with a fight. Talk about a disappointment.

I wanted desperately for Serena to still, somehow, be alive. But Neinhart summons his historia, confirming he’s dead. Bullshit. I want my money back.

Jumping forward a bit, another thing that disappointed me was the finale. That final fight against Acnologia was reduced to... a punch? A punch killed the so-called “strongest” character in the series. This is not One Punch Man. This is Fairy Tail. At least give me something.

So, to combine these two issues, I have devised a better fight. And while the details aren’t fully fleshed out, enjoy what floats around in my brain all day.

The fight starts out about the same way. Acnologia’s “spirit” (who I’ll just call Acnologia because it’s easier) pulls all the dragon slayers into the space between time to kill them all or something. I don’t remember the specifics and I’m not too interested in checking. They all break out of their crystal things and fight Acnologia, Wendy enhancing their strength and everyone engaging their dragon forces to be at max power. They fight for a while, but they don’t get many hits in, and Acnologia takes them down easily. The seven dragon slayers lay there in defeat, wishing they could get up and fight more, but the fights with Alvarez drained them, and they’re barely able to move, let alone fight. But then they notice there’s still a guy in a crystal that hasn’t been broken out. Acnologia too busy gloating to notice them, they manage to break Serena out of his crystal, and he staggers over to Acnologia.

The real fight begins.

Acnologia is shocked. He was positive he killed this guy 80 chapters ago, but here he is. Outraged, he exclaims, “How’re YOU here? I thought I killed you!”

God Serena laughs and says something cocky like, “It’ll take more than that to kill me. You merely caught me off guard!” And then he strikes a dumb pose or something.

They fight, and this time, it’s a close battle. After learning about the 100 Years Quest and the god dragons, I have a headcannon that Serena was raised by them and they acted as his parents or older siblings. He was raised by them, much like Natsu and the others, to eventually kill or “seal” them away. While fighting, Acnologia notices that Serena’s dragon slayer magic is different than he’s used to, and he asks him what exactly he is. Serena doesn’t do a good job of explaining, because, well, he’s Serena, and for 100YQ to exist there still needs to be mystery behind the god dragons. He does explain, though, that he is a god dragon slayer, and his dragon slayer magic is stronger than those raised by normal dragons. Then, just to flex on everybody, he shows off his six dragon forces, (yes, six, this man is practically a god himself and he needs to showcase it) one for each god dragon and their element, and then a final one combining all of his power. Acnologia doesn’t fall, but he takes a serious beating fighting back against Serena, and is severely injured. However, despite Serena’s power, Acnologia was able to land some serious blows on him as well. Serena eventually gets too cocky with his power and Acnologia takes advantage of this, dealing a harsh blow that will finally kill Serena.

While all of this is happening, the other dragon slayers are able to recover a little to continue the fight. They at first wonder who Serena is, before recognizing him as not only the strongest man on Ishgar, but as a member of the Alvarez Empire and therefore their enemy. When he finally falls, they ask him why he worked so hard to help them in the end. Serena explains that he never meant to betray Ishgar, far from it. He joined Alvarez for the opportunity to put an end to Acnologia, a threat to all dragons, and to grow stronger to finally defeat the dragon gods. He expresses regrets about how he would never see his family again, but then admits that he didn’t want to kill them in the first place, and entrusts the job to Natsu instead, hence why Natsu decides to go on the 100 years quest, because otherwise it seemed a little unprompted to me. Pledging to finish what Serena started, Natsu and the other dragon slayers stand up to put an end to Acnologia.

Acnologia continues to act cocky, but Serena hurt him more than he’d like to admit, and he struggles to even stand. Now, in my mind, finishing him off in a single shot makes sense, because there was actually a fight to weaken him. The slayers all send their energy to Natsu, he does a big punch, and Acnologia declares him king of the dragons before fading away.

I never watched the episodes on Acnologia’s backstory that they added to the anime because I’m always going to prefer the manga, so I don’t know if I screwed anything up there, but honestly, I don’t think Acnologia needed a backstory. He’s a threatening villain and I don’t think he necessarily needed a motive, especially right before he dies. Then it has no impact.

Hopefully this made sense... I don’t write any of my dumb fairy tail thoughts down that often, but this one made me actually like Serena a little because otherwise he’s very underdeveloped and wasted potential.

Thanks for reading until the end! I’m going to take a nap, now.

#fairy tail #spriggan 12 #fairy tail final season #god serena #acnologia #ignore my thoughts #this is so long

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internalsealpanic · 4 years ago

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Love Through the Ages (Tim Drake)

Summary: Love like baggage needs to be declared.

a/n: This is part two of a series that is a fic rec list disguised as a fic. For these fics, most of the characters will be speaking different languages, so unless specified otherwise assume that the characters are speaking in the first language I mention. They’re all vampires with centuries under their belt. Why wouldn’t I make them all polyglots. Also, thank you to the proof reading gang for putting up with my shenanigans. I will have links to the fics I recommend in the fic itself.

Warnings: Everyone is dramatic.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist.

You watch the rusty green of the warehouse wall disappear behind a spray of orange paint. There is nothing more satisfying than watching paint make old things new.

A whistle interrupts your reverie, making the can slip from your hand. You swear, the harsh syllables echoing in the empty air. The can bounces down the scaffold and lands in someone’s hands. Tim’s face gets sprayed with a mist of orange. He makes a noise and rubs at his face. You bark out a laugh and he grimaces at you. The begrudging fondness obvious on his face.

He waves at you, eyes still stinging from the paint. Giddiness flourishes in your chest. “I knew I’d find you here!” He shouts in a dialect of Mandarin that you hadn’t heard in ages.

It takes you a moment to understand him. You’re honestly extremely rusty. It takes you another moment to realize that it made no sense for him to find you. “How?” You shout back in Romanian.

Tim shakes his head, throwing his hand over his shoulder. “Open canvas.”

You snort, looking down at him. Tim’s breath catches as he stares up at you, your smile. You’re haloed by sunlight. You look like an angel descending from heaven.

Tim’s forced to pick up his jaw when he hears your voice again. You’re tapping your watch. The words are lost to him.

“What?!”

You shake your head, strands of hair coming loose from behind your ear. “I asked...” You shout in a coarse frawl. “... Isn’t it a bit early for you to be here?”

It was.

He was only 30 minutes early. No big deal.

He shrugs. “I just wanted to watch you paint.” He says, trailing off. Oh God, Tim thinks. Does he sound lovesick? Is Cassie right? He pushes the thoughts down, opting to look at the building instead. On the side of the building was an immaculate portrait of the Red Hood rendered like a saint, haloed in golden light and surrounded by your orange marigolds. It would look at home in any grand cathedral. Your talents never ceased to amaze him.

“Should I ask why you’re defacing a building?”

You turn back to the building picking up a can of yellow paint. You tilt your head. “It’s a massive improvement, yes?”

Tim looks around. The pavement is littered with wet trash mixed. The buildings were rusted. Everything else is covered in grime. “You’re rude… but not wrong.”

You preen, electing to ignore the first half. You turn back to your canvas before Tim can get another word in. He knows he’s lost you.

“So, why *the* Red Hood?”

You look away from the portrait, setting the can of yellow spray paint. It sprays your sweatshirt and Tim laughs. You stick your tongue out at his face flushing. You liked this sweatshirt. He gave it to you the last time you had meandered into Gotham. “Why not? We’re in the Bowery. He’s like a saint here.” You snip, switching to Russian. Ok, that made sense. You toss your sweatshirt into Tim’s face. The fabric is lousy with the smell of paint and of 5-hour energy drinks. It was an improvement over the pungent odor of garbage.

He tries to rub the orange paint on his face away before he tucks your sweatshirt beneath his arm. You’re still looking down at him, wry amusement on your face. “I’ll paint your beloved Red Robin when I get to China Town. Heard he was quite popular in those parts.”

Tim’s heart flutters. He stutters out his next question. “Why are you using spray paint for this type of illustration?”

“Kon said I couldn’t do it.”

Tim snickers, “As if Kon could tell the difference.”

You frown only realizing your mistake. You curse under your breath. Tim doesn’t stop laughing at you. “Shut up!” You snarl.

Tim dodges the next paint can you throw but the next one hits him square in the face. You grin triumphantly. Tim raises a middle finger at you and you giggle in response. You feel bad, seeing him wince in pain. You’d buy him apology tea later but for now, you clasp your hands and call out to him sweetly. “Sorry, Timmers!”

Tim, equally as mature and well aware that you’re only half sorry, blows out a breath, muttering something colorful before shouting back: “we should get going if we wanna eat out after looting the museum.”

At that, you launch yourself off the scaffolding, your body feeling weightless as it falls. Tim drops your sweatshirt as he holds his arms out to catch you. He catches you easily. You two spin as you wrap your arms around him.

“You are certifiably insane.” He laughs. His nose smooshed against yours.

“And so are you.” You snort, hugging him.

He hugs you back. You hum so softly into his hair that Tim wouldn’t be able to tell it from a breath if he were human. Tim holds you close, hugging your waist tightly. He doesn’t really want to let you go. You don’t either. You and Tim stand there for a bit when you hear his cell beep.

“Why does your phone sound like a pager?”

“Because Babs told me how to.”

“That literally explains nothing.”

“I’m not taking crap from the gremlin who had ‘Baby Shark’ as their ringtone for 12 months. WILLINGLY.”

You pout at him, your face so close to his. Tim’s only half paying attention to your defense. To be fair, it basically boiled down to ‘it isn’t that bad’ and ‘Bart’s ringtone is worse’.

After a short shopping trip and a cab ride later, you arrive at the museum in fresh clothes and less paint on his face for Tim.

“All the World’s a Stage. They botched it! The nerve! The barbarity of it all. It's just like when they botched ‘Words with Friends’ or ‘In Ice We Trust’ or even ‘Tomcat’. That last one was pretty much gift wrapped for them!” You say throwing up your hands nearly hitting Tim and whatever poor bastard was unlucky enough to be behind you.

“For someone who isn't invested in modern media, you're getting fired up.” Tim chuckles, eyes flickering behind you. You had managed to miss the people behind you but you do have a rather conspicuous space behind you.

“They had such good material to work with” you say, gesticulating wildly. “And- and they butchered it.”

“You need a 5 minute breather?” Tim asks, resting a hand on your back.

“Shut up,” you laugh.

Tim grins at you as if he had no idea what this ultimate betrayal feels like.

Determined to prove him wrong, you say : “C'mon, Timothy, you ranted like this when they botched the star thingy.”

“It’s Star Wars, you heathen.”

“Star. Thingy.” You repeat, crossing your arms.

Tim squints at you. You know he’s not gonna blow up at you but somehow that’s scarier.

“You can pay for your own cab later.” He grumbles.

“Star. Thing-Y.”

Tim turns to leave. This always worked. Always without fail, you grab at his hand, lacing your fingers with his. Tim tries not to smile.

“Fine.”

“Was that so hard?”

“It was excruciating actually.”

“You're being dramatic.” He says, showing the woman behind the ticket counter your passes.

“Excuse me, I left all my drama in the Renaissance.”

“Oh really?”

“Ok not really but admit that both Andromeda and Stars, Forgive Me have better writing.“ You bite out.

“I- That’s unfair,” he says. You raise your brow in response.

“...”

“Fine,” he sighs. “But admit that Andromeda should have been named ‘Space Whores’.”

You squint at him then smile. “Oh abso-posi-tute-ly.”

“Have you seen this dirty old hockey mask?” You ask, tapping the glass as if the hockey mask would react if you just agitate it enough.

“What is that?” Tim asks, looking over your shoulder. His brows crinkles when he sees the mask. “How is that romantic?”

You hum. “Ask the curator?” You suggest, looking around. He was usually out and about. He could never sit still even if he tried. You lean down narrowing your eyes at the plaque. “Says here some dude called Jason terrorized 3 kids over summer.”

“That’s very romantic for our Jay to do.” Tim says, crossing his arms and switching to Cantonese. It was a weird habit but you knew why. Apparently for all Jason’s skill in languages he somehow could not get a handle on Cantonese.

“Not that Jason.” You say, smirking.

“You sure?” Tim asks, leaning closer to you.

You snicker, “As in character as that would be...”

“True,” he says, edging closer and closer to you. You rock on your heels nervously at the proximity. “It’s a shame, I thought there would be a machete to match too…” You can feel Tim’s breath on your cheek.

“OH LOOK AT THIS.” You say twisting away and pointing to a black and white photo. Tim’s hands leave his sides to grab for you, to pin you to his chest, but he has enough self control not to. Instead, he follows you.

“It’s just a man and a woman in business suits. Yanno something you can see in any metropolitan city.”

“Yes but,” you say, tracing a nonsensical pattern into the air, “I’ve heard a story about this, they were both extremely rich and heads of their companies, went from enemies to lovers - my all time favourite.”

Tim looks closer at the photo of the man and woman with their backs to the camera just holding hands along the NYC sidewalk. It’s cute. “I thought your favorite was lovers to enemies.”

“Well of course, it is! The drama, the absolute tragedy. It’s better than any trope in existence. But I love that this is just black and white. You don’t need anything else to indicate they’re in love with each other.”

Tim is all too tempted to point out that that likely wasn’t intentional, that it was a limitation of the time, but the look in your eyes robbed him of his breath, so he swallowed his thoughts.

Your eyes rove over the room frantically in search of something.

“So is there any reason you wanted to go to this exhibit instead of watching lavalantula 10 in theaters?” Tim says, tapping another case.

You turn to look at him, shock etched into your features.“10? We've seen lavalantula 1 through 9 in theaters? Why did I agree to that?”

“Cus you love me?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Probably not.”

Tim gives you a hurt look.

You scowl at him. You have no idea why everyone thinks he’s the nice Wayne sibling. He is a manipulative little shit who plays you like a fiddle. And yet here you are falling for it. An absolute buffoon.

You grumble an apology under your breath before continuing. “This is more cultural Timmers and lord knows we need more culture.” You wave sarcastically.

“I think we've lived enough culture.”

“it cannot hurt to experience more Tim,” you snort. He rolls his eyes. You grab onto his arm and look up at him bright eyed. Two can play it at that game. “Please Tim....”

He scowls at you. “Fine-”

“Yes!”

“-but you owe me a movie marathon.”

“Fine. Fine,” you nod, “just don’t pick something dumb.”

“I just got the new star trek box collection.” He beams.

“You could just shove me into a grave.” You sigh dramatically.

Tim grins. “The Renaissance called-”

“Oh fuck you, Grackle.”

He snorts and you hate that you fall in love with him more every time he laughs.

You cross your arms giving him a hard look. “Fine but we have to have an intermission of my choice.” You say, offering a hand.

“Deal.” He says, shaking your outstretched hand.

“Great, you've just agreed to watch the Great British Baking Show with me.” You say smug.

Tim curses himself.

"Are you still looking for that one painting?"

You tip your body back to look at him, your eyes wide and startled. It takes no time at all for them to shift to their usual angry shape. "Yes," you say quietly. It's Tim’s turn to be startled. Your hands curl into a fist. "It wasn't done and those bastards took it."

Tim reaches out to put his hand on your shoulder.

You cast your hands up to the sky dramatically. "The barbarity of it all!"

Tim smiles, letting his hand fall to his side. You would be ok.

You two walk on as Tim rants about StarGate could have had a bigger fanbase if it hadn’t excluded so many people. You add StarGate to the list of things to not remember.

You stop.

Your heart presses a bruise in your throat.

Framed in wood laden in ivy and marigolds is a painting that was painfully familiar. Even unwashed, you can still see the bright reds of rose petals, the wild greens of the women’s skirts, the brilliant oranges of marigolds, and the blinding whites of cobble stones. The image was a practice in entropy made into perfection. The chaos of Valentine's day in a small town square reduced and captured in an infinitesimal moment.

Damian told you that people had started calling them Warsaw’s Faceless Sweethearts. You hated that. A part of you wants to scream. You want to tell them that this wasn’t for them. This painting was made for one person and one person only.

You’ve been staring at it too long. Tim looks at you. You’ve known him too long to not know that he’s worried. That he’s feeling that stupid surge of protectiveness he always does when you go quiet. It’s in the cautious way he reaches out to you, slow and steady the way you approach a spooked animal. You want to lash out at him but he’s your Tim. Besides, too much of your mind is trapped in the painting, in the white gazebo, in between the couple who’s stuck in the moment before a kiss.

Tim stands closer to you, his fingers lacing into yours with centuries worth or practice. He looks at the painting. “This painting looks familiar.” Tim says for the lack of anything better to say. It was yours. He knew that with only a few seconds of looking.

“I… I don’t think so,” you say clumsily, “that’s definitely not the painting I’ve been looking for. Yup that one looks completely finished. Yup definitely.” You tug at Tim’s arm.

He gives you a look, staying perfectly in place, before turning back to the painting. His gaze draws low. In a glass case sits scraps of paper lined with charcoal. It takes an embarrassingly long time for Tim to realize that they’re sketches the artist did. Tim recognized the baker, the blacksmith, the seamstress, and even the constable. Most glaring of all he recognizes your marigolds. His eyes drift to the sketches of the couple in the gazebo. They were numerous, haphazard and unsatisfied. You were clearly frustrated with the groom’s face. Tim wonders who the poor guy could be.

In the corner of the page in the center, he sees it. “Wait… is that me?”

“NO!”

“Is that you?” He asks, pointing to the figure next to his. In the sketch, your lips are brushing against his. Tim’s lip tingles trying to replicate the sensation.

You’re frozen stiff. You try to pull your hand away. You want to bury your face in them. Scratch that, you wanna be buried six feet under. Tim doesn’t let go of your hand.

“That’s the umbrella you lost back in London.”

“I lost a lot in London, Timmy.”

“Well...” Ok. Yeah, you did. Hence why he can’t get you to London even with the promise of letting you ‘improve’ Buckingham palace. But that isn’t the point. “(Y/n), this is gorgeous.” He says, turning to you. You look at him stunned and scared. He squeezes your hand.

You shake yourself out of his grip. Tim lets you. He knows when to back down.

You step forward leaning on the rope separating you from your work. “I told you it wasn't finished.” You say, glaring at the painting as if willing the colors to move.

“What happened?” He asks, bumping his shoulder against yours.

You bump your shoulder against his. “Warsaw.”

“I don’t follow.”

“That little town in Warsaw. It was kind of hard to finish the painting when soldiers were setting fires to houses. Ok, they didn’t do it directly but there was smoke.”

“Yeah kind of.” Tim agrees, smiling sadly. He looks back at the painting. “I want to keep it.”

“What?” You blink not quite following the shift in conversation.

“Darling, I think we should have it. It’s ours after all.” Tim says holding your hand in his. Your mind is bouncing between too many things. He called you darling. He’s holding your hand. He’s smiling so sweetly at you. You’re addicted to that look in his eyes, pure unadulterated adoration.

You cover your face with your free hand, feeling the smile on your face go uncomfortable wide. You feel something on your forehead, a kiss like a raindrop. It comes again and you feel like you’re going to collapse.

“It’s yours..” He trails off hesitantly. “..if..” You look up at Tim, waiting with bated breath. Tim squeezes your hands. “...if you’ll be mine. ”

@batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @bungunz, @birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red

#Tim Drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake imagines #vampire au

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idiopath-fic-smile · 4 years ago

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hey hi I've been trying to write something, anything, and what came out is like 3k of an extremely stupid supervillain/superhero story that I’d been kicking around in some form like over ten years ago. it doesn’t map onto any kind of an AU so I guess it’s original fiction? enjoy?

Cityton Chronicles, part 1

The problem with carrying out an evil scheme, thought Edmund, was the scheme part.

Anyone could nurse a sinister thought or two; it wasn't that hard to shake one's fist at the sky and murmur, “You'll pay for this. With God as my witness, oh, you will pay” and then maybe cackle a little. That much was child's play. (Literal child's play; he had witnessed more than a few dire pronouncements from his classmates at Hawthorne Grimmsbury's Academy for Ominous Boys, especially when recess was threatened.)

Actually going through with a plan was a whole different story. There were logistics to manage. There were people to manipulate, details to babysit, hypotheticals to anticipate. The nitty-gritty, as it were.

Edmund was not destined for the nitty-gritty.

Although, wasn't that what useless people always said? “I'm more of a big-picture person.” Maybe he was useless. Maybe that was the issue. Maybe Edmund Malarkey, heir to Malarkey Industries, was simply not cut out for masterminding.

Case in point, he had a terrible feeling he was about to make a complete hash of the Ritual.

The parameters were clear enough: full moon—check. Chalk for pentagrams—check. One hundred lit candles—check. (Some were scented; the store hadn't had enough plain tapers in stock, but the text of the Ritual had been written well before the notion of pumpkin spice was a cozy twinkle in some godless marketer's eye, and so Edmund figured this would probably not disqualify him.) Thirteen hooded figures, all in black...

This was where things got dicey.

The first sign of the trouble to come was when Carl showed up in navy fucking blue.

Edmund pinched at the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly, breath crystalline in the late November air. The invitations had been so specific.

“It looked pretty dark online,” Carl offered as the wind whipped at them atop the roof of the Cityton Natural History Museum.

“Pretty dark? Pretty dark? Did it look like the blackest black?” said Edmund. “Did it look like Anish Kapur's most haunting nightmare? Did it look like a raven's wing in shadow at the stroke of midnight, Carl?” Carl stuck out his chin. “It's almost black.”

“Yes, and bananas and humans share about sixty percent of their DNA, we're almost cousins,” Edmund told him, dangerously quiet, “but fortunately for you, I'm not going to peel you and eat you in a fruit salad, you buffoonish optimist.”

Edmund should never have relied upon his father's former henchpeople. They were loyal to his father; they looked upon him with bemused tolerance. He should've just gone ahead and recruited all of the necessary twelve people from Craigslist. He'd held off due to a suspicion that anyone he found on the internet would assume the Ritual was fundamentally a weird sex thing, but at least a bunch of kinksters would have probably taken the rules seriously.

He sighed. “Carl, there's a bodega down on the corner. Go buy two black trash bags and make yourself a garbage-robe.” Carl frowned. “Is there time?”

Edmund checked his phone. Eleven fifty-three. “Hurry. And save the receipt.”

Another gust of wind kicked up. Edmund shivered. He'd been smart enough to request a fabric swatch ahead of time from the Etsy store where he'd custom-ordered his own set of hooded black robes. He hadn't stopped to consider how warm—or not—a single layer of said fabric would feel well into autumn, completely unshielded by the elements. Theoretically, he could've crammed a coat under the robes, like a child wearing a Halloween costume in an unseasonably cold October, but no, he hadn't wanted to look bulky.

He checked the candles again, for want of anything better to do.

“Boss,” said a hesitant voice behind him.

“What is it, Stephanie,” said Edmund.

Stephanie had clearly repurposed her teenager's old Hermione costume as her robes, but she had bothered to remove the Hogwarts branding, which was something, at least. Beyond the fact that Edmund didn't feel like giving a repellent transphobe any extra attention, there might have been copyright issues.

“Is that thing about bananas really true?”

“Yeah,” said Edmund. He had read it many years ago, in a book titled 2002 MORE WACKY FACTS TO BLOW YOUR MIND AND AMAZE YOUR FRIENDS, which didn't seem especially pertinent. He did a quick headcount. Even without Carl, they only numbered eleven. “Where's Donna?”

“You should call her,” said Stephanie. “Donna never answers her texts.”

Edmund had been halfway through tapping out a text. Ugh, Boomers. Calling was for emergencies only; everyone knew that. Unfortunately, this qualified. He gritted his teeth and dialed.

Donna answered on the fourth ring. “What?” She sounded groggy.

“Did you,” said Edmund, still through gritted teeth, “forget what night the Ritual was?”

“Oh shit,” mumbled Donna. “Are you sure? I thought it was at noon tomorrow. Carl told me twelve o'clock.”

“At night,” said Edmund. “Twelve o'clock at night, this is a dark incantation to a primordial god, it does not overlap with daytime television.”

Just then, Edmund's phone beeped with another call. “Can you hold, Donna,” he hissed.

“Hey boss,” said Carl, “the bodega only has white or green trash bags, what's my next step?”

“HOLD,” Edmund shouted, switching calls again. “Donna, can you grab an extremely dark-colored robe and be here immediately?”

“Like a bathrobe?” said Donna, sounding lost.

Of course Carl had not bothered to relay the dress code. Of course he hadn't even managed to hand her the painstakingly crafted invitation. Edmund had used the nicest card stock available to him, not that it mattered.

“Uh, boss?” Leroy called over the roar of the wind. Edmund flexed his stiffening fingers.

“One second, Donna,” said Edmund.

“How much longer is this gonna be?” said Leroy. “Because I was gonna catch the late show tonight—”

“Watch it on YouTube the next day like a normal person!” Edmund snapped. “Donna—”

“I can be there by 12:40,” said Donna through the tinny phone speaker. “There's some errands I wanna run first.”

“It's the middle of the night, what errands!” said Edmund. “Donna, hold—” He switched back to Carl. “Listen, are you sure there aren't any black trash bags?”

“White or green only,” Carl affirmed. “Some of them are scented, do you think that would make a difference?”

“Boss,” said Frank from the other side of the roof, “we lost the chalk?”

“Hold on, Carl,” said Edmund. “What?”

“It was here a second ago!” “Did you secure the chalk against the wind?”

“What?” said Frank.

“The chalk, it's cylindrical!” Edmund managed to shout. “Did you do anything so it wouldn't just roll straight off the roof?”

Somewhere above the din of wind came the sound of a half dozen pieces of sidewalk chalk landing on the street five stories below and shattering.

Edmund buried his (cold) face in his (frozen) hands.

“Uh boss,” said Stephanie. “It's 12:01.”

Edmund sighed. The primordial god K'h'gg'ragel might have allowed for some creative interpretations on Ritual-adjacent matters, but everyone knew K'h'gg'ragel was a stickler for punctuality.

“Alright,” said Edmund, pitching his voice to carry. “Pack it in, we'll try again next full moon.”

“Phew,” said Leroy, who was wearing a thick downy jacket over his robes, and a hat with earflaps, and mittens. “It's cold out.”

“I FOUND A BLUE ONE!” Carl shouted from the speaker. “IS THAT ANY BETTER?”

Edmund turned his phone off.

Lighting and strategically placing one hundred candles had been something of an undertaking. Blowing them all out alone and stuffing them back into a series of duffel bags was somehow worse. Edmund was about half-done when he heard a distinct whirring buzz. He looked up.

It was Dragonfly. Of course it was Dragonfly, heading right for him.

Great. Edmund's first-ever showdown was going to be a one-on-one against a superhero armed with a jetpack, one hell of a punch, and electrified darts. Edmund was going to get flattened, and all before he even got the chance to point out that the darts and for that matter the punching didn't fit with the overall insect theme.

“Hey man,” said Dragonfly, dropping effortlessly down to the roof of the museum. “I saw the lights from the sky, thought I'd investigate.”

They weren't fighting yet. Why weren't they fighting? Edmund's whole body fizzed with adrenaline. Also, cold. Either way, he was shaking a little, and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“And what, strike another heroic blow against the terror that is a bunch of sweater-themed Yankee Candles?” said Edmund.

Dragonfly shrugged. His costume included a bottle-green moto jacket and gloves. It looked warm, in a way that made Edmund feel even colder. “Sweater candles? What, like burning wool?” he said.

Privately, Edmund had wondered about that too. This, he decided obscurely, was another strike against Dragonfly.

“Maybe burning wool smells phenomenal,” said Edmund instead, rocking forward. “There's no way you could possibly know, unless you're here to tell me you've lit a sheep on fire, which seems well outside your whole—” he waved his hands vaguely “—moral compass.”

“Word travels fast,” said Dragonfly gravely. “I am foursquare against sheep-burning. Always have been.”

Edmund squared his shoulders. “So, are we doing this, or what?”

From behind his signature oversized goggles, Dragonfly's brow seemed to furrow slightly. “Doing what?”

“Fighting,” said Edmund. He had to grind his teeth together to keep them from chattering.

“Ah,” said Dragonfly after a pause. “Oh. Um. Okay. Here's the thing?” He steepled his fingers. “You seem unarmed. You're not hurting anyone. You're also not committing any crimes.” Edmund opened his mouth to protest, and Dragonfly continued, “Or, okay, you're trespassing on the museum, I guess, technically, but it's not like you're even trying to sneak into an exhibit without paying.”

“I am here,” said Edmund firmly, “to perform a terrible and arcane Ritual which will summon—”

“Yeah?” said Dragonfly. “Where's your followers? Where's your summoning chalk? It's well past midnight and the only sign of any occult activity I can see is the candles, but for all I know, you were just up here trying to have a little me-time, which, like, on some level I get, you know?”

“So,” said Edmund blankly, “what now?” He had given up on trying to tense his jaw. His upper and lower teeth clacked rhythmically against each other.

“I give you a stern verbal warning about what's probably a minor fire hazard and recommend that you enjoy the museum from the inside, during business hours, with a ticket,” said Dragonfly. “I hear they have a great exhibit on prehistoric mammals. In the meantime, get somewhere warm, okay? Your lips are turning blue.” “Fuck off,” Edmund more or less managed to say through his shivers.

Dragonfly spread his hands, placating. “Fair enough.” He began to walk away. At the edge of the roof, he hesitated. “Uh, do you have a way down?”

“Obviously,” said Edmund.

“Yeah,” said Dragonfly. “Uh, okay.” They regarded each other. “What is it?” said Dragonfly after a few seconds.

Edmund froze. Or well, he was already half-frozen. Edmund stopped moving, was the point.

Apparently interpreting Edmund's silence as helplessness, Dragonfly offered dubiously, “I could carry you down?”

“How,” said Edmund, flat. It was the wrong thing to say, in that it wasn't 'No,' or 'Fuck off' again, something sensible like that, but damn it, he was freezing, and if he gave up the way he'd gotten everyone onto the roof, then this whole fucking evening was going to be a wash. He had tried so hard. It wasn't fair.

Dragonfly took a step closer. “Fireman or bridal?”

Edmund tried and failed to parse this three separate times in his cold-fuzzed brain. “Is that a meme?” he settled on finally.

“Do you,” said Dragonfly, “have a preference on how I carry you.”

“We haven't even established that you're going to,” Edmund said. Clackity clackity clack went his traitorous teeth.

Dragonfly sighed. “I can't leave you up here,” he said. “One, if I let you keep hanging out on the roof of the history museum, then technically I'm kinda aiding and abetting your whole trespassing situation. Two, it is really fucking chilly up here, and if you freeze to death, then that's on me. Which is also not, like, great for my conscience.”

“So I don't have a choice,” Edmund spat.

“You totally have a choice,” said Dragonfly. He tilted his head to the side. “Hell, you could do me a solid and just exit using whatever secret method you entered with, but I have a feeling mum's the word on that particular angle.”

This Dragonfly character was smarter than he looked. Of course, he was a grown man who fought crime dressed as a giant insect. The bar was not particularly high.

“Mum's the word?” Edmund echoed. “What are you, ninety?”

“I'm an old fucking soul, dude,” said Dragonfly. “Point being, you don't trust me not to watch you leave the roof. Which is hurtful, frankly. I'm not sure I trust you not to stay up here out of pure stubbornness. If I give you a quick boost down, then it's problem solved and we can both go about our nights. Crime-fighting for me, and for you hopefully a pile of blankets and whatever warm food rich people eat. Mashed potatoes? With...caviar?”

This clearly did not merit a response. Dragonfly knew who Edmund was, apparently. Most people did.

“What if you drop me?” said Edmund.

Dragonfly laughed. He had a nice laugh. It was yet another point against him, somehow. “Don't you think that might go against my whole—” he gestured with both hands “moral compass?”

Edmund recognized his own words being used against him. On the other hand, the thought of a hot meal and, moreover, central heating beckoned.

“I don't care,” Edmund said at last.

“What?” said Dragonfly.

“Bridal or fireman's carry,” said Edmund. “I don't care.”

Dragonfly nodded sagely. “Let's get this over with, then,” he said. “Hey, d’you want help with your candles?”

Did he? He didn't want to want help with his candles, but that was another question. On the other hand, if Edmund accepted Dragonfly's aid, it would shave off valuable minutes of this excruciating headache. The backs of Edmund's knees were cold. It was absurd.

“Fine,” said Edmund.

“Huh,” said Dragonfly several minutes later. “This one's rain-scented, and this one's Ocean Spray, and yet they smell nothing alike.”

Dragonfly had without fail commented on every single scented candle in the bunch. Edmund looked up from his umpteenth taper candle, momentarily distracted from the knifelike chill.

“Rain and ocean are two completely different things,” said Edmund. “The surrounding environment, the vibe, the salt content.”

“The vibe, I grant you,” said Dragonfly. “But salt, really? Have you ever smelled salt before?”

“The ocean has a smell,” Edmund insisted. His family had summered on the coast every year before—well. Before last year. He mostly remembered the sea as having a whiff of fish about it, which didn't sound promising for a candle, but it was the principle of the thing.

Dragonfly shrugged. “You've got me there,” he said. “Never been.” Cityton was only about an hour's drive from the beach. Edmund wasn't sure he knew anyone who had never visited at least once, for a long weekend at least. Of course, it wasn't like Edmund knew Dragonfly. He didn't even know what Dragonfly's eyes looked like.

Edmund blew out another few tapers.

“This one's just called Singing Carols,” Dragonfly announced. “Guess what it smells like, I dare you.”

And so on.

In the end, Dragonfly carried Edmund off the roof of the Natural History Museum scooped under the armpits, the way you might hold a cat if you were engaging in some light cat-related horseplay. The mechanical dragonfly wings were well-made, Edmund could admit that much; Dragonfly didn't seem to have any issue bearing Edmund's weight or the combined weight of the candles, and their feet gently touched the ground after only a few seconds. It was already slightly warmer—or at least slightly less freezing—on street-level.

Dragonfly let go and stepped back immediately. This close, Edmund could see that his lips were pretty badly chapped. It made sense that someone who donated all their time to—again—flitting around town trying to right every minuscule so-called wrong while dressed like a bug wouldn't be experienced enough with self-care to be acquainted with a good lip balm, but the thought made Edmund weirdly a little sad.

His sense of deeply ingrained politeness warred against the equally powerful urge to be a real bastard about the whole thing. In the end, politeness won out, by the very skin of its mannerly little teeth.

“Thank you for not dropping me to my almost certain death,” Edmund gritted out with extreme reluctance. He stared over Dragonfly's shoulder as he said it.

Nevertheless, for some awful reason, for just that moment, it felt a little like the end of a date.

“Right,” said Dragonfly. “Right. Well then. Happy trails.” He seemed to consider this. “Or you know, if doing crimes is what makes you happy, then for the sake of Cityton, let's say, mediocre trails. Do you wanna borrow my gloves?”

“Why,” said Edmund flatly.

Even though the goggles completely obscured much of the upper half of Dragonfly's face, Edmund had the distinct sense that a disbelieving stare was being leveled at him.

“For your hands? You know, the traditional office of gloves?”

As the scion of Malarkey Industries, Edmund was long accustomed to being hated for who he was. Hated, feared, not-too-secretly envied. And lately: mocked, dismissed, his family name transmuted into a juicy, low-hanging punchline for lazy late night writers.

He wasn't sure he'd ever been pitied before. It did not sit well.

“I'll warm my hands on the fires of hell while I plot your demise, you miserable fool,” growled Edmund.

“Yikes,” said Dragonfly easily. “Well, I'm off.” And with that, he took to the sky.

Edmund curled his fingers into the sleeves of his stupid, summer-weight summoner's robes and started back towards what remained of his home.

#original fiction #cityton chronicles #I'm sure that in some obscure way the fact that I'm thinking about this now is due to mainlining The Untamed #but this is definitely. not that.#warning for an extremely brief mention of transphobia that the main character condemns #also apparently there is a dragonfly-themed superhero in a 2008 superhero spoof movie?#let's say that movie exists in this world too and Dragonfly has taken a lot of shit for it #that sounds about right

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dovveling · 3 years ago

Note

Why must you keep giving me opportunities to spam your ask box 😔

❣️ When did your OC first realise they were in love? How did they react to the realisation?

💍 Which one of them would propose? How would it happen? (or write if you feel like it!)

💋 Who is the best kisser? (if you’d like write a short smooch scene!)

BESTIE THANK YOU FOR ENABLING ME I'VE BEEN WANTING TO WRITE A WEDDING SCENE--

❣️ When did your OC first realize they were in love? How did they react to the realization?

- Unfortunately, it was love at first sight-- Even if Iolas would rather drop dead than admit this. He probably saw the incredibly ostentatious portrait of Lucio in his wing and was taken aback by how attracted he was to this man who was supposedly dead. It only got worse after Lucio got attached to Iolas through the ghost binding within canon-- Iolas the whole time thinks Lucio's romantic advances are just for fun and doesn't expect Lucio to love him at all. All the While he's completely in love with Lucio. (even if he acts like a rude little shit to him 50% of the time) It isn't until Lucio asks him to go traveling in the upright ending that's when Iolas realizes that Lucio is serious about him and even if it scares the shit out of him he can't help but believe him. The events of everything come crashing onto him and he realizes that He's 100% in love and cannot escape it.

💍 Which one of them would propose? How would it happen? (or write if you feel like it!)

(THANK YOU-- I will put this under a read more because the next two answers will be LONg but look under if you wanna see two idiots fall in love)

The sun hung low in the sky as Lucio makes his way to the palace gardens. He has asked Iolas to meet him out by their favorite spot in the garden maze. the blonde smiles remembering how the two of them had found the hidden spot while goofing around and shoving each other into the hedges. It wasn't until one hard push sent Lucio through the hedge and where he expected to land on his ass but he found himself on the other side of a portal with Iolas calling for him from the other side. After Lucio had ushered the other man through the portal the two looked over a hidden meadow that seemed to be somewhere close to the center of the maze.

Lucio could picture it perfectly; the stark white gazebo in the center, the perfect sun rays that sprinkled the fluffy grass, and the willow tree with its small leaves that dripped and trickled. He loved when the wind would blow and the tendrils of the willow would tickle up the wooden beams of the gazebo and scare Iolas into laughter every time the leaves would brush against his lover.

As Lucio draws closer to the portal before he stops and stares at the ring he had spent hours picking out. He had never fussed so much over a gift for someone. He never had to worry about gift-giving, because anything he picked out was glamorous and simply perfect. this however wasn't just a gift. It was a question. It was a statement and soon as he would think he was close to picking he would look and see a flaw and wonder if Iolas could see it and if he did then he'd never get to hear the answer he so desperately wants to hear to the question He'd rather not be asking.

So many times Lucio doubled back on himself about the personal. Is this just too much? could he see himself getting married when his last marriage was such a failure? Then He would hear it. Iolas' laugh and the sunlight hitting his lover's coffee skin and every reservation burned away and was replaced with a deep desire to make this person his and only his.

Lucio steels himself as he pockets the ring, almost dropping the bottle of champagne he forgets he was holding. As he pushes through the portal the blonde's heart skips a little at the sight of his lover resting on the side of the white gazebo, wearing a white robe that Lucio had gotten commissioned to match his iconic white suit. His lover seems to be lost in thought, their crimson eyes gazing over the tree line until Lucio steps closer and knocks on the wood with a playful tune. His wolfish smile triggering a similar one on his lover's face.

"Hi, my Darling--" Iolas starts before pulling Lucio over by his collar to meet his lips. With a giggle, Iolas watches Lucio hop over the median of the gazebo instead of using the very close opening that's just a little be over to the side of them. Lucio tries to steady his face. He doesn't want to come off too excited or nervous. He needs to play it cool so Iolas doesn't suspect anything, but it's too late Iolas gives him a curious look. "What are you planning? I know that look."

Lucio however holds his hands up after he places the bottle of champagne down on the railing in front of them. "Why do I always have to be up to something huh? Can't a man just meet his lover in a secret hole in the woods for some late-night drinking and maybe some late-night macking?" the blonde throws the magician a wink, which is met with a playful smack that Lucio is too found of.

"Did you bring glasses, Oh Count of Macking?" Iolas teases with a click of his tongue and to that Lucio's face freezes for a second because he did not think about the glass part of drinking, but his shock lasts for a split second before he nudges his lover with an elbow and a cheeky grin. "Can't you just magic something up for us--" Before Lucio can even finish Iolas throws his head back, his whole body shakes with a genuine laugh, one that Lucio only sees when Iolas reacts to his particular stupidity. "Absolutely not. I cannot manifest glassware, but fret not Lulu I prepared for this." The silver-haired man stands on the railing of the gazebo and reaches up behind one of the posts and brings down two champagne glasses. Lucio helps the shorter man down before taking both glasses and leaning down to give his lover a short kiss on the head.

Snickering to himself Lucio places the glasses down and pops open the champagne. "See? Who needs magic when you have a lover who has the spirit of a squirrel. Why are those even up there?" Iolas can't seem to hold back his laugher and starts into a long dialogue about how the last party they hosted he was tasked with disposing of all the drinks Lucio downed after getting into a drinking match with Julian and at some point, he got too fed up hauling all the empty glass wear to and fro so he eventually gave up and used the portal which was much closer than the garbage. Soon as he finishes that story Lucio makes note that not only does he not remember this drinking contest at all, but he also notices that the whole upper layer of the Gazebo is littered with small drinking glasses of all shapes and sizes.

This brings the two of them to a comfortable speed of talking, to which Lucio adds more flavor by introducing the drinks. The sun finally settles and the garden lights are now on and thanks to all the glass wear in the gazebo there are small reflected lights scattered within their own space. Slowly the stories of their day dwindle and eventually, they huddle close to each other so they can look under the top of their gazebo and point out stars. Lucio watches the small warm lights bounce off his lover's face and his heart races. He can't chicken out now.

"Iolas." Lucio stops the silver-haired man mid-sentence as the other was just going on about his zodiac sign and how it will be visible in the sky until he hears his name.

Iolas pauses fully, not use to hearing his full name exit his lover's lips unless it was during a more intimate and scandalous situation. So he hides his hesitation with a smile and he answers the blonde with the same tone he just used but extracted with a deeper tone to lighten the mood. "Lucio." The count starts to fidget but just laughs when Iolas mocks his serious tone. "No really, uh... Listen for a second." Iolas' face now turns from curious to worried. " Uh oh. that's a real serious tone. What did you do?" Lucio brushes him off, biting his lip and rubs the back of his neck. He feels so lame doing this, but that's the point.

Lucio stands up straight taking Iolas' hands, looking directly into those red eyes. Something in him wants to run away, but the ring sits heavy in his pocket and he opens his mouth only to close it so he can bring Iolas' cold fingers to his lips. Iolas' however is completely taken aback. His lover has been romantic before but he was much more used to their back a forths of one-upping each other and superficial hyping each other up coupled with nightly flings where he ended up in the blonde's bed. So this sudden tenderness was jarring.

The magician could feel that dark feeling creep to his shoulders that say he shouldn't get his hopes up, that he's happy filling the count's time till he finds a real suitor. Even if Lucio was a temporary General at the palace was still a completely different status then Iolas and Royals don't have court magician as suitors. So he was happy to bid his time with Lucio because even with the teasing and snarky remarks that sometimes hurt Iolas' loved the other man's company, but love doesn't change status. Love doesn't guarantee a happy ending. He knew this from experience and learned his lesson the hard way.

So It was the last thing Iolas' expected when the taller man pulls out the biggest ring the magician has ever seen and gets down on one knee. Iolas' first thought is that he wants to shake his head so he can wake up. Then when air fills his lungs he realizes he is awake and this is happening. More than happening he's been silent for too long but all he can hear is the stinging sound of his fears buzzing in his head. The buzz is deafening and He can see that Lucio is speaking but he can't hear him.

You will just disappoint him. Iolas' thoughts curse. Better yet he'll disappoint you somehow. A shaky breath leaves him and all he can do is blink and look at Lucio with watery eyes. "I-- I'm sorry please can you say that again." Iolas stops and closes his eyes just so he doesn't have to look at the ring that's almost blinding with its meaning.

Lucio's normal wolfish grin falters but only returns once he hears Iolas speak. "I said. We should get hitched, ya know?" Lucio sputters, shit. "Look. Like I was saying we're surrounded by losers, Pet. Who else am I gonna get to match me other than you huh? come on, look at me. Then look at you! we're perfect for each other.. ya know?" Lucio now looks nervous as he speaks. Unable to keep eye contact. ...and.. I love your laugh."

This seems to pull Iolas' from his fears a little even enough to get him to let out a weak laugh. "What? what does that have to do with anything?" Lucio pouts and glares at his lover just a tiny bit. "I love your laugh! and I don't want anyone else to have it. I deserve it, I get you to do it most and I think you owe me. So like.." Lucio ushers Iolas' to the ring, his legs are starting to buckle. "I wouldn't admit this to anyone else but my knees aren't what they use to be so can we--" Iolas stops him with a curt turn, his shoulders shaking.

The blonde stands suddenly, his whole body rigid. This was it. the rejection he warned himself about. He's ruined everything, his heart screams to go back. Iolas is probably laughing at the proposal and Lucio's tacky way of offering himself. It isn't until the sound of a stuffy nose echo through the silent night that Lucio realizes his lover is crying and instantly he steps forward a different kind of fear gripping his heart. " W-wait-- wait, why are you crying? You never cry--" He falters and fidgets his hands around his lover unsure if he wants to be held or not.

Iolas turns finally, his red puffy eyes are turned down in a grimace as they glisten in the dim light. "Yeah, you idiot I never cry and look at what you made me do." His tone is harsh but it's followed by a sad shake that ruins any intention of anger. "Lucio I... I don't know how to do this." Lucio's heart slows but he's thrown for a loop and Iolas can sense his confusion and clears his throat as he wipes his leaking eyes. "No one has ever, wanted me like this before. I don't know if I can-- How do you know you want this? What if I disappoint you? What if you get tired of me and regret ever meeting me? At least if we keep things like before you can just get rid of me if I'm too much and I won't have to--" Lucio stops Iolas this time as he brings his lover close by pulling on his crossed arms.

"You won't have to worry about falling in love?" The blonde answers with his own sense of sadness, his eyes looking down at their feet before meeting with Iolas' who only nods in response. Lucio is a bit thankful that his lover didn't outright say no and is at least contemplating the idea of things. "No I had the same thoughts and honestly I don't know how I'm sure. I just... am." Lucio's normal bravado comes back now that he feels more secure in the conversation. "I know that I love seeing you every day. I know that I love sleeping with you every night. I know that I don't want anyone else to hold you the way I hold you and I know that you feel the same way about me." At that the blonde swallows hoping he isn't wrong. "But mostly I know I don't ever want you to leave. If you were to leave, do you know how fucking boring this place would be? I would set the parlor on fire within minutes of you being gone." The cheeky grin is back and Iolas snorts at the idea and manages a smile as he is now fully embraced by his lover.

Lucio rests his head on the shorter man's head and hums, kissing the top of it. Slowly he pulls Iolas back so he can look down at him. "But it's not just about what I want... you kinda need to want those things too." Now it's Iolas turn to nervously look away and slowly as the shorter man's courage builds he tights his grip in Lucio's jacket and more tears fall down his face as the realization comes crashing onto him that he'd do absolutely anything to be with the man in front of him forever. Before He can answer he shoves his face into Lucio's jacket rubbing his head back and forth on the soft fabric. "You moron-- Of course I want all that."

The blonde can't resist the urge to tease the other man however and laughs to himself. "I'm sorry, could you say that again I couldn't hear you from inside my jacket." Iolas hits the taller man's chest with a laugh before he goes to wipe his damp eyes yet again. "You know for a fact that I said YES-- urgh, gods look at what you did to my make searing the hell am I going to fix this now--" Iolas' whining is stopped short by his lover picking him up in a searing kiss that continues as the blonde twirls them both. With a firm grip on Iolas' was it Lucio Looks up at the magician with a smile that could blind the gods. "I wanna hear you say it." Iolas rolls his eyes, a large pout crosses the silver-haired man's lips as he kicks his legs from his newfound lifted position.

"I have zero ideas what you're talking about--" Iolas protests but Lucio shakes his head. "Say it or you are never leaving this gazebo." Iolas is about to rebuttal but the look in Lucio's eyes is that yes he is serious. Iolas' expression softens, even if it's despite himself. "Of course I'll marry you, LuLu." Lucio bounces in his spot and spins the both of them once again but this time continues to spin around the whole gazebo till Iolas can't help but laugh and struggle against the crazy man holding him. "Stop-- Lulu Stop we're gonna--" but it's too late. Lucio's legs trip over themselves and with zero grace they both tumble onto the hardwood floor.

Iolas rolls onto his back and groans, dizzy and sore his eyes dart over to the man beside him who is just as dazed. slowly Iolas entwines their hands with a smile and Lucio is about to kiss his lover's fingers before he remembers the ring. The blonde springs forward, getting up like the fall meant absolutely nothing but Iolas takes his time sitting up as his lover fumbles to find the ring he dropped.

Soon as it's found Lucio slides over, the scraping sound of the fabric of the taller man's pants on the hardwood makes the magician giggle. Iolas has to give the other man sheer points for his enthusiasm. Pompously Iolas sticks his left hand out, to which Lucio plays along and kisses the other man's ring finger dramatically before slipping the large ring onto Iolas' hand.

Carefully Iolas' holds his hand out to the light and observes the sheer size of the ring and can't help but grin. Lucio practically radiates waves of anticipation on his lover's thoughts "Was this the biggest ring they had?" Iolas wiggles his fingers, acting as if he's unimpressed. Lucio simply feeds back into him. "How dare you." Lucio sneers, pulling Iolas into his lap as he sits, unable to be on his knees any longer. "I had this one custom ordered. Not only is it the biggest ring in stores, but it's also the biggest wedding ring, period." He speaks into the shorter man's neck before he kisses it, The count's tone never faltering while he speaks. This sends Iolas into a giggle fit. He knows for a fact that this ring physically cannot be the biggest but another part of him can see Lucio putting up a fight with store owners about the pitful size of their rings to the point where he just orders them to make him a whole new size.

"Of course, I knew my Lulu would only get me the best. He not capable of anything less." Lucio preens in the praise and Iolas strokes the back of his fingers against his lover's face. For a moment they stay like that, both of them processing what exactly just happened and what this means for their future. Iolas is the first to break the silence with a soft hum as he presses against Lucio's chest. "Thank you... Lucio." the taller man responds by nuzzling his nose into the shorter man's hair with a confused hmm. "I never thought I could do this... but for the first time, I'm not scared." Lucio smiles at that. and squeezes his lover in his arms.

"Good. We can both be fearless together."

💋 Who is the best kisser? (if you’d like write a short smooch scene!)

(I WILL TRY MY BEST TO KEEP THIS SHORT SINCE I JUST WROTE YOU A WHOLE FIC ON ACCIDENT ON MY LAST ONE)

The sound of wood creaking fills the otherwise quiet room as Lucio pushes his lover against the doors of his chambers. Lucio places on hand on the hip of the man under him and huffs a breath through his nose that leads to a soft moan as their lips bump against each other awkwardly for a second. Iolas snickers within the brief pause and pulls Lucio down by his collar. Now controlling their embrace the shorter man pushes the blonde backward and with a searing bite, he slams the count onto the disgustingly huge bed placed in the middle of his room. Breathless Lucio stares up at Iolas his bottom lip red and puffy from the bite, which only makes Lucio's slurry grin look even more dangerously attractive.

Iolas steps in between his lover's spread legs and uses one of his hands to tip the taller man's head back with a grunt. Lucio's hands wander over the man before him, knowing his place he doesn't try to switch their positions. He loves when Iolas gets pushy he knew if anyone could match him in greediness it would be his lover. Iolas however preoccupies himself with tracing his thumb over Lucio's red bottom lip till his nail presses a little too hard and draws just a few drops of blood to the surface of his lover's pale skin.

At the sight of this Iolas captures The count's lips once against and shamelessly sucks on the blood he just conjured. the kiss devolves as Iolas holds Lucio's head still with the grip on his hair and once the magician pulls back Lucio's face flushes at the sight of his blood dripping from his lover's lips. Lucio's voice comes out breathy and needy as he pulls against Iolas' grip on his hair. "Do that again."

#love asks #ask box #please read this i think its sO CUTE i would love feed back--#I AM SO SORRY I WROTE A WHOLE ASS FIC FOR THIS HA #the arcana mc #oc apprentice #lucio x apprentice #lucio x mc #my writing

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djarinbarnes · 4 years ago

Text

Love Me To Pieces

Author: only Dina.

Word Count: 5874

Pairings: Model Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: little betta angst, smut, oral (female receiving), fluff

A/N: welp

His brown hair fluttered softly with the winds blowing from the giant fan in front of him. His eyes were fixated on something in the room, his gaze stiff and unmoving.

The blitz from the camera was almost blinding, as you watched the photographer command the handsome man around the small space. The model straightened himself as the photographer commanded an assistant to fetch a chair.

The brunet looked around the studio slowly, blue eyes landing on you. You sucked in a breath, the look in his eyes was almost overwhelming. You offered him a small smile, to which he rolled his eyes and plopped down on the chair now in front of him.

You were ripped out of your thoughts by the assistant manager, as she waved her hand in front of your eyes, almost yelling in your ear. You looked at her puzzledly, and she waved the note in front of your eyes.

Fuck.. The coffee. You grabbed the note and sighed, nodding in defeat. You heard the model laugh, and oh... The laughter was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard.

Your head snapped towards him, finding his eyes crinkled and full of... ridicule? You felt your cheeks heat up, and you suddenly felt like everyone in the room was staring at you. You turned on your heel and sauntered out of the studio, to fetch the coffee written down on the note.

A good forty minutes later you walked back in, stacks of coffees in your arm. You set the coffee down and started handing them out by calling the names.

You made it to "James?", only to find no one there to collect the coffee. You looked around, finding the photographer sipping his coffee, scrolling through the pictures on his computer, the assistant manager pouring a mildly intoxicating amount of sugar into her cup and stirring it, and the stylists were all taking their breaks by the giant window panes. James had to be the model then. But where was he?

You ventured back out into the hallway, coffee in hand, looking around. You stopped when you heard a low, agitated voice behind a slightly open door. You tiptoed closer, your curiosity getting the best of you.

"... so basically what you're saying is, you don't want to make this work? You're just trying to make this worse! I've done everything for you, for us! Honestly, you don't ever hear what I actually say!"

You sucked in a breath. You never imagined someone like James to have problems like these? "Fuck, don't talk down to me! I'll fucking talk to you when I get home. I'm not doing this right now. I'm at work. Bye."

You gasped as the door suddenly opened in your face, coming face to face with the beautiful blue eyes. His face was red and the vein on his forehead very prominent.

You stammered as the look in his eyes changed from anger to fear. "Your... your coffee.." you blushed and held up the coffee in his face, avoiding his eyes. He looked at the coffee and exhaled through his nose, grabbing the coffee from your hands, offering you yet another eye roll.

"I don't know how much you heard of that... and I'm sorry you had to hear any of it. It's... complicated. Forget you heard it." He said and left you standing there in the hallway. He wasn't even mad that you had been eavesdropping on his private, heated conversation?

You collected yourself for a minute before walking back to the studio, your eyes immediately falling on the beautiful model standing in front of the camera yet again. You plopped down on one of the couches, watching him intensely for the rest of the shoot. Your eyes would often find each others, and you would both quickly avoid each others gazes.

The manager called the ending of the shoot, the stylists packing up their kits and everything they brought along. James, some modeling agent and the photographer were seated in front of the computer, talking about the different approaches of the pictures.

This big modeling agency had reached out about a new model, and James was the perfect fit for some new posh billboard ad. They wrapped up and the photographer dismissed James for the night. You had to stay as long as the assistant manager, helping her out with everything.

You were writing on your notepad when you felt a poke to your shoulder, and you turned around to meet those blue eyes yet again. "Yes?" You smiled softly and felt the nervousness creep up in your cheeks yet again. You sensed his nervousness as well.

"I.." He was cut off by his phone ringing. His sighed and pulled it out, his eyebrows furrowing, eyes squeezing shut. "I gotta take this. I'm sorry. Please stay until I get back." He said as he accepted the call, walking away from you. "I told you we'd talk when I got home..." You were wondering who he was even talking to. A girlfriend? Boyfriend? Wife? Husband? And why the hell were they like this to him?

You were caught up in your thoughts, and as you snapped out of them, James was looking at you. "Earth to Y/N?" His hand waved in front of your eyes, and you let out a laugh.

"Hey, sorry, I was... thinking." you said with a small smile. "So?"

"I was wondering if I could.. no, nevermind. It was nice seeing you act like a lost puppy the whole day. Really made my day." His smile was definitely genuine.

"I guess you're welcome, James? I'm glad you enjoyed it. Seemed like you needed it." His face fell, and you immediately regretted bringing it up. His eyes fell to his feet with a heavy sigh.

"I wish I could stay here and hang out, I'd love to get to know you, but…" He shrugged, and you nodded, knowing what he meant. He had to get home and take care of...whatever was happening. You felt bad for him, because it was clear he deserved better.

The pain was evident in his icy blue eyes, and he seemed too sweet to be experiencing this hurt. He deserved someone who would keep his head level, but supported him enough for him to be happy.

Apparently, he wasn't getting that, and it pained you to see him that way, despite only knowing him for the past few hours. For all you knew, you'd never see him again.

A small smile graced your lips as he stared into you. "Goodnight, Mr. Barnes," you wished him.

"Goodnight, (y/n). It was great working with you today. And please, call me James." And with that, he walked off set, seemingly walking out of your life, too.

When James got home, he was faced with a distant partner. He was tired of the constant fighting, the unnecessary snarky remarks. This relationship used to be so much fun. They were in love, hands on each other all the time, and now… Now it was just cold.

James missed having a partner. Someone to mess around with and dote on. After all, there was only so much he could buy for himself. He wanted someone to buy flowers and coffee for, someone he could spoil. He used to do that with his current partner, but Noah didn’t like that anymore.

In fact, James wasn’t even sure Noah liked him anymore. James questioned with every fight they had whether he should ask Noah to move out, or break up with him, or something. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t.

He was scared of being lonely, he wagered. Being in a loveless relationship was better than not being in one at all. Either way, a part of him wished he had gotten your phone number today.

He wanted to keep talking to you. He felt something that he hadn’t felt in a long time. James couldn’t quite place his finger on it, but some piece of him lit up as he got a phone call from an unknown number.

Back at the photoshoot set, things were running smoothly. Tear-down was going as expected, and you were on track to actually leave at a halfway decent hour, only an hour after James had left.

But, in this business, there’s no such thing. Just as you were packing your things to leave, a frantic man in a suit hurried in the doors, demanding to see the photos James shot today.

The photographer brought up all the photos on his laptop, showing them to the blond man from what you assumed was the company James was advertising for. All the sudden, the big shot from the corporation was yelling.

“No, no, no! None of these pictures will work! They all look like garbage ! Get this piece of shit back here by 8 am tomorrow morning or his contract is getting canceled!”

The man from corporate landed his gaze on you before barking out orders.

"You! Call Barnes and tell him to be back tomorrow morning, 8 am sharp ! I don't care how pissed he is, he better not be late!"

You were taken aback at how demanding he was, but you had taken orders all day, so you were used to it. You got his phone number from his modeling agent, and called him immediately, just as you'd been instructed. However, you couldn't ignore how bad your hands were shaking as the ringing stopped.

"James Barnes, what do you want?" The familiar husky voice from this morning answered, though sounding slightly annoyed.

"Uh, hi, Mr. Barnes, this is (y/n), your assistant from this morning?" You could almost feel him exhale with relief, as if he'd wished you would call.

"Oh, hey, sweetheart, what can I do for you?" He softened immediately, becoming the man you'd encountered earlier, the one who apologized for you having to hear him fight with his lover.

"I hate to say this, but the company didn't like any of your photos. They want you back in to the studio tomorrow morning, 8 am," you informed him, going slowly so he'd process. You weren't sure how he'd react.

He chuckled lowly, sucking a breath in between his teeth. "Well, can't say this has ever happened before. Will you be there in the morning?"

"Yes, Mr. Barnes, I'll be here in the morning."

"That'll make the day bearable, then." He paused, considering his next words. "And I told you earlier, call me James, doll. I'll see you in the morning, alright? Goodnight."

You bid him goodnight once again, somehow looking forward to tomorrow for once. For once, you knew who you'd be working with, and he was handsome as hell. Perfect for-- no. You weren't going to let your thoughts go there. This was a professional relationship, he had a partner, and he was way out of your league.

However, the next morning as you got ready for work, you found yourself putting extra effort into your appearance. You used your good makeup, spent time carefully crafting an outfit, and did your hair in a way you usually only reserved for special occasions. As you saw it, this was a special occasion.

You drove to work, cursing traffic as usual, but soon arrived on the set a half hour early. Your manager gave you a list of tasks that already needed to be completed, and as you set to work on them, the handsome chap from yesterday came strolling through the doors.

His jaw was locked, and he didn't look very happy, but as his eyes found yours, he managed a small smile. You smiled back, wanting him to know that he was welcome here even if the company didn't like his shots.

As James went to get his hair and makeup done, the outfit stylist was going between him and the rack of clothes they had brought back from yesterday. No sooner than you had set up another light, the same blond man from corporate came strutting into the space.

Mr. Rogers, someone called him.

James looked at the man with death in his eyes, turning to an Arctic blue instead of the warm ocean turquoise they normally were. The hairdresser was fussing over James' hair as Mr. Rogers was yelling out, "Chop, chop! We don't have all day!"

His stylist worked on buttoning up a navy blue collared shirt, leaving the top three buttons undone and ruffling it up to make it look perfectly messy. He was ordered to sit against a white wall, the photographer looking through the camera lens and picking out angles.

You noticed that James refused to smile. You knew he could get angry, but he was the type to never let it show. That much was evident from yesterday.

A half hour in, and James was fed up.

"Stop! You've taken at least 100 pictures by now. I'm sure you can find something. I'm taking a break." For once, he was the one in command of the shoot, and it made him feel more powerful.

Between poses, he had been glancing at you, making sure your eyes were on him as he moved around the space. Your eyes followed him around, and you found it hard to hide the attraction you felt.

You were all but dumbfounded when James abruptly stood up from the stool they had him on, and paced his way to you. His eyes were dark, and you could tell there had been a switch flipped.

"Come with me," he growled as he walked past you. You obediently followed, scared of what might happen but secretly turned on. When you walked off the set, he grabbed your hand and led you to the closet he was talking to his partner in yesterday. The next thing you knew, the door was locked and the model was behind you, breathing heavily.

"I couldn't fucking take it anymore," he whispered. "So now, you're mine for the break."

Your cheek pushed up against the wall in front of you, his strong hand holding the back of your head as you panted out harshly. Both your hands rested on the wall in front of you, and James’ unoccupied hand slid down your front, unbuttoning your shirt as he went, pulling it off your shoulders roughly. You felt his hand popping the button of your jeans, then sliding both your pants and panties down your legs.

“Eager, are we?” you giggled as he bit your shoulder, pushing your head further against the wall. Your arousal slowly made its way past your folds, dripping down your thighs subtly.

“Be fucking quiet” He panted from behind you, as you heard the sound of a belt buckle coming loose, and jeans hitting the floor. “You’re such a fucking tease y/n” you felt the length of his girth slide into you without warning. You let out a deep moan and felt a hand clasp over your mouth harshly.

“You like that, hmmm? Giving into me like the little slut you are? I’ve been thinking about you naked the whole damn day. Next time think before you eye fuck me. God, you’re so fucking wet” Your eyes rolled back into your head as he set an awful slow pace, and you groaned against his hand.

“Be a good girl, and I might give you what you want.” You struggled against his hand in an attempt to say something, and he slung an arm around your abdomen, to keep you situated in front of him.

“You wanna say something, baby girl? Hmm? Well you gotta be real quiet, if they find us here, who knows what they’re going to do..” His thick cock slid in and out of your dripping heat at the slowest imaginable pace, as he lifted his hand off your mouth. “Go ahead love”

“Jesus Christ, just fuck me already” You moaned out quietly. His hips snapped harshly against your ass, a whimper emitting deep from your throat as his hand slapped back over your mouth.

His thrusts were animalistic, he was definitely focused on chasing his own release as quickly as possible. You bit down on his hand as his deep grunts ricocheted off the walls in the small closet. The hand not covering your mouth found your breast roughly, pulling the cup down and pinching your nipple harshly.

It was brutal. It was so hot, so filthy. The force of his thrusts and the angle made you see stars, you felt every vein prominently straining the skin of his cock as it slid in and out of you with ease.

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as you came violently around his length, your body convulsing and breath erratic. You felt him smile against your neck before he bit down, silencing himself as your muscles milked him of his release. Your head fell back on to his shoulder as you felt his hot cum spurt against your walls.

“Fuck doll, you drive me mad” he said as he lifted his hand off your mouth, finally letting you inhale deeply. He looked around the closet swiftly, grabbing a few paper towels as he went to pull out of you.

He slid the paper towels under your pulsing sex, letting gravity do what it does best. He wiped you off as you came down from your euphoric state, pulling your underwear and pants up your legs.

The rest of the day was a blur. Between getting lost in thought and lost looking at James, you were ordered around like a dog but still didn’t get much done. You never once after the incident in the closet caught James looking at you again, he was simply avoiding you.

When he was let go, the corporation finally satisfied with James’ pictures, he didn’t even spare you a glance. You felt your heart drop as he strode out the room, shutting the door after him.

As you were packing your things, getting ready to leave, you violently smashed and pushed your things into your bag, muttering curse words into nothing. You ground your teeth as you sighed loudly, leaving the manager and the photographer behind with protests coming from their mouths.

Days passed. You dragged yourself to work, desperately hoping for just some sign of life from James. He didn’t answer any of the simple texts you sent him, and you felt your blood boiling even more for every day that went by.

Friday came around, five days after your encounter in the closet. You gazed upon your phone screen once again, unlocking it and going through your one-sided conversation with James. Why the fuck did he do you like this?

You hated being treated like this. You knew in the back of your mind that you deserved so much more than this, but James kept pulling you back to him. He was like a damn magnet.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, no matter how hard you tried. You spent your free time on Tinder, trying to find someone who would compare to James, but there was no one. Plus, you knew it was wrong to be falling this hard for a taken man, estranged as his relationship may be.

Today was no different than the rest of the week. You barely got anything done, despite being ordered around all day. When today’s model left and you were allowed to leave, you went home and immediately dropped everything at the door, kicking off your immensely uncomfortable heels.

You went to the fridge, skipping the wine and going straight for your favorite rum. You weren’t in the mood to cook, so you placed an order for Chinese takeout. As you waited on your order, you changed into a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt.

Your main mission of the evening was to forget James, even if just for a few hours. You settled on letting your emotions out on canvas, painting an abstract piece as you drank and ate your lo mein noodles.

Eventually, you got tired of trying to fight off the brunet you’d attached yourself to, and attempted to sleep off the thought of him, to no avail. Your dreams were filled with him, of the ten minutes you spent in the closet together what seemed like forever ago.

Around 7am, you finally gave up on trying to sleep peacefully, and got up, grabbing your phone off the nightstand. To your surprise, you had five missed calls from James, spanning from 3am to just five minutes ago, as well as several texts.

You almost wanted to torture him, to leave him be, to ignore him like he ignored you, but that was impossible. Your phone was in your hand when he called again. You ignored his call against your will, emotions suddenly overcoming you in a tidal wave.

Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes as the screen went dark. You sighed and stared at your phone for what felt like the longest time, until the screen lit up. He had texted.

James Barnes (3:42 am)

looooooove i’m sorry i can’t

James Barnes (3:42 am)

i did nt mean to send that i’, sorry

James Barnes (3:44 am)

please i miss you n i can’t stop thinkking ab you

James Barnes (4:06 am)

i’m sorry. i was a douche and i can’t get you out of my head

James Barnes (4:10 am)

please love

James Barnes (5:24 am)

i know you’re probably sleeping and everything but i’m sorry for my previous messages...

James Barnes (5:25 am)

I’ve been trying to forget you for the past five days but i just can’t seem to rid you from my cells...

James Barnes (6:32 am)

I long for you, please… Just get back to me as soon as you see these…

James Barnes (6:32 am)

(ignore the first texts please)

James Barnes (7:02 am)

Doll, please answer me. Tell me you’re as restless as I am.

James Barnes (7:03 am)

Noah left two days ago. I’m not sure where he is but he’s not here, and probably not coming back for a while… Please let me apologize properly. I’ll fix dinner and everything. Let me make this right.

After reading the messages multiple times, you sorted out the details and begrudgingly accepting his invitation. It almost made your mood better. You were still hurt, but you couldn’t deny that you missed him.

You jumped into the shower, trying to wash off the self torturous ways you’d denied yourself any cleanup for the last few days, washing your hair and body thoroughly with your favorite shampoo and lotion - the one you had washed yourself with the morning before your little encounter in the closet.

You picked out your favorite set of comfortable lingerie, along with your trusted halter neck shirt which hugged your breasts all the right places, and your black denim pants with also accentuated your ass perfectly. You did your makeup swiftly and bit your lip as you admired yourself.

You grabbed your purse after slipping on your trusted trench coat, along with your wedge boots. He’d texted you his address, and it actually wasn’t far from where you lived.

You felt your heart beat faster the closer to his apartment you walked, your mind working over every possible outcome of this dinner.

Would it be awkward? Would you give into temptation as soon as he opened the door? Or would you just.. be there? You weren’t sure. Before you knew it, you were standing outside his door.

J. B. Barnes and N. H. Mitchell.

Maybe this was a bad idea. You sighed deeply before raising your fist to knock on the door. It swung open before you had the chance to knock, and there he was, in all his perfect human form.

James Barnes. His face lit up when he saw you there, smiling widely as he welcomed you. He hugged you after pulling you inside, his body relaxing visibly.

“I’m so happy you agreed to come. You look amazing.” He said as he helped you take off your coat and boots. You smiled and followed him around as he showed you his apartment.

There was no indication that he was living with someone, there were barely any picture frames or other things scattered on the walls. You ended up in the kitchen, where he offered you a glass of red wine.

You sipped your wine slowly, eyeing James as he strode around the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t need any help with the cooking?” He turned his head and smiled, shaking his head softly.

Everything was already cooking and smelling delicious. You felt your mouth water and realized you hadn’t actually eaten anything today.

“It’s alright, love. I got it” You nodded and took another sip of your wine. You certainly needed the alcohol, if you were going to survive being in the same room as the man you had been lusting for and thinking about for the past week. So far it was coming along okay.

He placed a plate of the most delicious looking food you’d ever seen. “You made this? From scratch?” You eyed the man in front of you as he sat down in front of you, before his own plate, offering you a smile.

“Well, a man’s gotta have some talents, right?” His lips curled up into a flirtatious smirk, winking at you before he took a large gulp of his own wine. You dug into your food, mewling over how amazing the beef melted on your tongue.

You eyed each other intensely over dinner, downing way more wine than you’d anticipated. As you finished up dinner, you had filled your glass for the third time, the tension in the room suddenly disappearing.

You wondered why he’d invited you over after ignoring you for a good week. You were hoping for some kind of clarification as to why he ghosted you and then contacted you. Had he changed his mind? Had he regretted it? Just fucking you in a closet and leaving you to your own misery?

“I’m sorry.” you looked at him with wide eyes, as if he’d told you someone died.

“Excuse me?” he moved to the chair beside yours and took your hand.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come on to you like that. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. I’ve felt like absolute shit for the past week. God, you must hate me. I was so nervous about texting you back, even though you texted me all week… And now I feel even worse because of what I might've put you through, what you might’ve felt…” he sighed and his eyes fell to the ground between both your legs.

You sat there in silence. You felt a slight caress on the back of your hand, and you looked up to divert the tears forming in your eyes.

“James, I-” your sentence was cut short as you felt his hands coming around to clasp your neck, his lips finding yours in a soft kiss, and you sighed contently.

“I’m sorry. Things have been really hard with my partner for the last couple of months and when I first saw you, I… I felt something. Something I haven't felt in a while. I felt your admiration and… It’s just been so long since I felt so attracted to someone so quickly before. I just knew I had to get you. Somehow. And I did that completely wrong.”

He let out a small laugh. You watched him intensely as he poured his heart out to you. "Y/N... I feel like I'm at war with myself. It feel unbearable at times. But you... You changed something. I don't know what but.."

“James, I don’t blame you. Yes it was like fucking shitty of you, and I’ve never felt so used but… I also enjoyed it. It made me feel things. I think I liked you from the first eyeroll you spared me that day.”

Last night, when James texted you, he was desperate. He was drinking to forget, his high end whiskey disappearing quicker than he’d like to admit. He wanted to text you back for the entire week, but he would overthink every time.

In a way, he was almost grateful for the whiskey for giving him the courage to text you. It turned out better than he’d hoped, because he was finally able to look at you again in person. He missed you. But he knew you were still hurt.

“Doll, I… I wanted to text you. I just couldn’t. I thought that maybe you wouldn’t like me after the way I treated you that day. I was rougher than I wanted to be, but God I was so frustrated, between the shoot and Noah… I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. It just feels like... like every beat of my heart is killing me slow.” He sighed, but his mood instantly perked up when you kissed him suddenly.

“We’re here now, right? I’m giving you a chance to fix it,” you told him. He looked at you and smiled slightly, kissing you again.

“Well, if I had my way, I’d make love to you all night. No interruptions.” You moved closer to him, ghosting your lips across his before kissing his jaw.

“Then have it your way, James.” you sighed against his jaw. He pulled you to your feet and grabbed your hips, signaling for you to jump. You wrapped your legs around his hips and he carried you through the apartment, not bothering to turn on the lights.

Your back landed on his bed gently, and his hands found your body in the dim light. His fingers found the hem of your shirt and he pushed it up lightly, leaving fluttered kisses on your stomach.

Your shirt and bra slowly made it off your body. James took his time in admiring and worshipping your body - something he hadn’t done the first time.

His lips grazed over your erected nipples, one at a time, and you sighed softly. He removed his own shirt, and you felt the warmth of his torso as he laid himself on top of you, his mouth once again finding yours in a searing kiss.

You rolled the both of you over, straddling his waist. You scooted down his thighs, your hands finding and unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants, before pulling them down his legs. You seated yourself directly over his hips, feeling the prominent erection in his boxers against your denim-clad core.

He grabbed you by the hips and rolled you both over yet again, him laying on top of you, stroking your sides as he made out your features in the dark. He gave you a kiss before sitting back on his knees in between your legs, unbuttoning your pants and pulling them down your legs slowly.

Your panties joined the pants on the floor, and you gasped when you felt him shift in between your legs, his lips ghosting their way down the inside of your thigh.

“James, please..” you breathed out as his tongue licked a flat stripe up your pussy. You gasped as his tongue moved around your clit in circular motions, his thumbs caressing the back of your thighs.

Your hands slid down into his hair, grasping the locks tightly. “That feels so good, please don’t stop” you moaned, your nails scraping over the crown of his head. You felt him smile against you, and you giggled softly.

“I told you not to stop!” you whined as you felt him retract his lips from your core. He let out a low chuckle as you felt the bed shift, your vision still not used to the darkness.

“I’ve got something better in mind for you than just my tongue, darling…” You heard him rustling around and wondered what he was up to. You giggled as you heard the sound of a foil packet being ripped open and a few seconds passing, before he was on top of you yet again.

“Oh so now you bother with protection?” You giggled as you remembered your encounter in the closet, where he didn’t even bother pulling out. He shushed you just as you felt him slide into you, and you both let out a simultaneous moan.

He was slow and forceful, his thrusts deep but loving. His lips found yours and he kissed you deeply, the implied feelings in the kiss taking you aback.

His hands roamed over your body as he kept his pace, and you were sure you’d never felt sex this way before. It was full of passion and love and you clung to him like it was a matter of life or death.

His hands came around you to grip your waist, pulling you unimaginably closer to him, and you moaned loudly at the fullness of him inside you. His pelvis ground against your clit in the best way possible, quickly bringing you close with both the love, the force and the pace he set.

You bit down on his shoulder slightly, muttering out incoherent things as he flipped the both of you over, settling you on his hips again. You ground your hips against him slowly, savoring everything - how he filled you, his length fitting into you like a perfect match, his hands holding your hips the most delicate way possible… In that moment, all you felt was love.

And you came hard, riding a wave of euphoria mixed with pure desire. You muttered out sweet curses as you clenched around him, his hands moving your hips as your movement halted.

His eyes made you out in the darkness, and he admired you as you came, bringing himself over the edge. His hands tightened around your hips and you felt him throbbing inside of you. You laid down on his chest, fully spent and he pulled out of you slowly.

He laid you on your side as he got up, chucking the used rubber into the bin by his bedroom door. He shuffled back to the bed, pulling you into his side as he laid back, and you moved over so your head was laid on his shoulder, and you wrapped your arm around his abdomen.

“I’m still kinda hurt that you ignored me like that, James. Even with your lovely apology,” you whispered into his shoulder, tracing mindless patterns onto his chest. His grip around you tightened, and he sighed.

“I know, love. It’s just, technically I’m cheating and I do kinda feel bad, because I used to love Noah. I haven’t loved them for a while now, but we’re still technically together…” He took a deep breath and you could feel his heartbeat fluctuating. You looked up at him and noticed he was trying to hold in tears. You propped yourself up on your elbows and stroked his cheek.

“James, hey, it’s okay. I can leave if you want me to.” His lip quivered, and his voice was shaky when he spoke.

“Please stay.”

#Bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes au #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #marvel smut #avengers smut #sebastian stan imagine

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storyunrelated · 4 years ago

Text

NaNo 2020 - Conclusions

So I didn’t finish this year. Whatever. Any time I have quote-unquote ‘finished’ it’s been a steaming pile of shit anyway, so did I really lose anything? Did I? Really?

No, the answer is no.

But did I learn anything?

No, the answer is no. Again.

What ideas bloomed this month though? Ideas that might charitably described as having sprung from NaNo in some way, shape or form?

Everywhere Be Dragons

The original idea that I abandoned. Schlock, standard sci-fi. Lasers and shit. A retired man and his electronic friend who is presently in the robotic body of a bird go off to try and find out who injured his nephew. Turns out its some guy from some podunk evil space empire with a sword that can some summon chrome space dragons that can fly through space or some shit. Whatever. Garbage garbage garbage

Here’s a bit. The first lines, in fact:

Alarmingly naked, David Bellamy strode up to the largest of his windows and flung back the curtains to let what he hoped was the glorious sunshine of another sedate, mellow day flow in and bathe his more personal regions.

Being a man of leisure now he had the time available to do this sort of thing.

Awful.

Anyway, next.

And now for something completely different

Some admin schlub who works for a nebulous evil organisation ala SPECTRE is tasked with sourcing twenty-five red, plastic wallets by next week. It should be easy. It is not easy.

This was a very threadbare idea based on something I actually had to do, leading rather naturally to the thought “Wouldn’t this mind-numbing task be funnier if it was happening in an evil organisation?”. High-concept stuff.

Here’s a bit:

“Why am I doing this? This isn’t anything to do with me?”

“It’s nothing to do with me, either, but they passed it to me and I’m passing it to you. I’m higher up than you so now it has something to do with you. It is, in fact, now your problem.”

“What happened to Bill anyway?”

“Dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yeah, him and a bunch of others. Whole chunk of procurement, in fact. Super agents, last month.”

“What had procurement ever done to them?”

“I don’t think they were aiming for there specifically, they just got in the way. Think they were trying to hit the weather control department - they’re underneath them.”

“Oh yeah, yeah. Poor bastards.”

“Yes, well, now you’re here to carry on their fine work. Next week. Red. Sort it out.”

“But-”

“You’re a resourceful man, I’m sure you can manage.”

That’s literally all I did before I got bored.

Next!

Bad Wizards

I was reading about The Sword of Truth and I was reading about how Confessors worked in The Sword of Truth and it was this super-weird combination of an absolutely terrifying sounding power being the implications of which were ignored in a super-weird way.

Basically a whole class of women can ENSLAVED ANYONE THEY TOUCH FOREVER and this ability isn’t something they use it’s something they have to concentrate NOT TO USE and the purpose of this class of women is to...

...basically go around and brainwash/murder anyone they deem isn’t being honest and good. Oh, and they decide who’s honest and good. And there’s no question that they’re honest and good.

Oh and there’s no men with this power. Why? Because any male infants born with this power are murdered by their brainwashed loveslaves ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS.

Very odd. Very very odd. But easy fodder for villains, so I just thought “What about people being charged with coming up with ways of trying to fix this or go against it?”.

Then I did a bit where two guys are visiting a dead guy in a dead city. I don’t know why.

Much to his displeasure Percival was once again accompanying First to the city of Erhart, home to the court of Baldric the Everliving. Percival did not like the court of Baldric the Everliving. He didn’t much like Erhart, either.

He did not like the silence, the utter and complete silence. He did not like that, despite all of the citizens having died, there were no bodies anywhere, nor even a hint of violence or struggle to mark their passing.

(Not that heaps of corpses would have made him feel better, obviously, but knowing that they had died it was eerie not seeing so much as an upset teacup to indicate that this might have been the case. It just didn’t seem fair to them, somehow. Like they’d passed on without a fuss, without so much as a whimper.)

He did not like the way the empty windows seemed to stare at him. He did not like the way the streets were so dusty. A dirty street he might have been able to understand, but to have such a layer of dust, lying as thick as snow, untouched by the elements, undisturbed by any living footfall other than their own periodic visits - it just made him uncomfortable.

Everything about Erhart made him uncomfortable, frankly, from the mere thought of it, up through the physical reality of it all the way to the ruler of it, who he was going to have to go and talk to. Again. Nothing about this day was good for Percival.

BORING! NEXT!

Worse wizards

Uh, another idea, less related to anything else I was reading - I think? - but more, uh, what if there was a horrific ruling class of magical people who were for all intents and purposes utterly untouchable.

Can kill you soon as look as you, mess around with your brain and your body just for kicks, come back from death easy as anything and only get more powerful as the years go on. One of them has a huge tower held up solely by their willpower, whatever. They’re a horrible, immovable fixed point in society.

Then one day mechanisms and techniques start showing up that can kill them and ignore their powers. Just out of nowhere. And these methods are super-simple to do and also start to spread.

What happens?

Lame lame lame lame lame.

“Did all of you miss what I told you at the start? The nature of what was used to kill Dennis?”

Blank looks. They had listened, but they had promptly forgot. It hadn’t seemed important.

That it was important and that this should have been obvious had passed them by. John gritted his teeth and straightened up, reaching around to a nearby trolley and - carefully - picked up a kidney-shaped dish resting on it and bringing it around so they could all see its contents. In the dish rattled several small, dark, sharp bits of what sounded to be metal. These the wizards peered at.

“He was killed by something that not only ignored his magical protections and ignored them completely, might I add, but which also then drained his body of even the merest trace of magic and severed whatever connection there might have been between his mortal shell here and anything beyond the material. Did you listen that time? Would you like me to say it again? Would you like me to go slower?”

More blank looks, though some were starting to get less blank. Some were getting confused. Some were getting worried. They’d actually paid attention this time.

What was I THINKING?!

Indulgence

This was me just doing a re-write of one of my secret, shameful pieces of fanfiction, with the fanfiction elements removed. Because why not?

[REDACTED]

Nope, not even a little bit.

Stupid! Next!

N/A

Some random thing in first person about following some rambling lady across some bridges and getting some weird book I don’t fucking know.

Where did all this water come from, anyway? And where did it go? I could see the vast lakes below us, of course, stretching off as they did towards wherever these caverns terminated, but did those lakes drain anywhere? The flow of water from above never ceased, and yet the levels below never rose. What maintained this equilibrium? Or was the scale involved simply so great that no change could ever or would ever be observed?

I do wonder why I wonder about these things sometimes. The answers to these questions wouldn’t benefit me in any way.

Yet still I wonder.

Who ccaaaaaarrreeeessss? Next!

Delicious Godmeat

A long, long time ago in some faraway land in another universe or whatever there was some vague, vaguely benevolent overgod. They had of children and they looked after all the normal people and blah blah all was well.

One day those children decided to devour their parent and split up their power between them, so they could care out their own little demenses and rule things the way they thought they should. So that happened.

However, the biggest, juicest bit of godly meat went missing somehow, much to their chagrin. They looked and looked but they never found it. Because it fell through time and space in a way that’ll never be explained, and ended up here. And now, by accident, some random young lady touched it.

Whoops! You’ve got a chunk of a dead god stuck inside you now! Better go free the land of those rapaciously evil children, absorb their power and try to bring some goodness back to this land! Whatever that means! Figure it out! You’re basically a demigod now!

Have fun battling the alien feelings of a dead deity and an ever-increasing level of godlike power!

“Sooner or later you’re going to have to make a choice knowing that whatever choice it is you end up making it is going to make a lot of people very, very upset with you.”

“Can I just do nothing?”

“Sadly, no. Someone in your position chooses not to decide, that’s still making a choice.”

“Gah! I can’t win!”

CONCLUSIONS

Awful. Awful awful awful awful. They’re all awful. They’re all terribly. Sweet Jesus what a waste of time, every last one of these is a stinking, rancid turd now fouling my Google Docs with their stench. Awful awful awful.

Know what’s missing in all of these? Well, lots of things, but you know what crucial element hobbles each and every one of them from right out of the gate?

No fucking characters! Just a half-baked idea shoved out and left to die in the sun! No-one involved I give even the merest whiff of a shit about! Not a one! And no situation I care about either! None of these do anything for me! They leave me cold! And everyone in them leaves me colder! Frozen!

A setting isn’t worth shit if you’ve got no-one to do anything with it! Settings just sit there, inert, characters make it happen! Characters make the story! AND YOU’VE GOT NO CHARACTERS YOU WORTHLESS SHITHEAD! YOU’VE GOT NOTHING! JUST THE SAME WORDY BASTARDS OVER AND OVER AGAIN! JUST A THOUSAND COPIES OF YOU! I HATE ME! THAT’S USELESS!

I’m dead inside now!

Well, deader than I was before!

Awful! Awful awful! Eurgh!

Oh well! Same time next year!

#NaNo 2020 #NaNoWriMo #Amwriting #Writblr #Writeblr #Writing

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dickbaggins · 4 years ago

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hey hey the amazing @gollyderek tagged me to share some of a wip and since it’s technically now wednesday, let’s call it wip wednesday! I’m working on two things, my low/urban fantasy series (and I do mean low, it’s set in jersey city) and a very impulsive frank/billy/deadpool that I started last night that everyone’s already sick of! So here’s some garbage!

so my main project for nano is a fantasy series about a very traumatized incubus (who doesn’t know he’s an incubus and who happens to look exactly like ben barnes) working as a private investigator in a supernaturally-populated jersey city. he’s really awkward, and here, his new sidekicks, an angel and an immortal warrior who may or may not be diarmuid and the mute from pilgrimage, help him get ready for a date:

“How have you never been on a date?” Tim says at the apartment door, blustering in with Laz following behind him. “You’re like, the dreamiest thing in the whole city. The whole eastern seaboard. There should be a line out this door for dates with you. How do you even fill your time if you’re not dating?”

And he goes on and on, walking straight ahead to Gem’s bedroom, to the closet and the dresser.

Gem shoots a nervous look at Laz, who smiles with his mouth closed and pats Gem on the back. It’s comforting even if there’s no words, but Gem’s stomach is still flipping.

“I’ve had bad experiences,” is all Gem says, sitting down heavily on the edge of his bed while Tim combs through his closet.

“Do you even know the place he wants to meet you at? That place is expensive as hell. It has a michelin star!”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Oh my god. Gemini. This might be a fake date but do not go into it thinking that.”

“What should I be thinking, then?”

“A companionable night with a new flame,” Tim rattles off with a bit of a lecherous grin. “Do you not have a suit? What forty year old man doesn’t have a suit?”

“Me, I guess. What would I need a suit for?”

“Men need suits, Gem,” Tim sighs, exasperated as he continues through the closet, setting out a few things still on hangers on top of the dresser. “Especially when they’re going to one of the most expensive restaurants in the city with one of the most eligible bachelors in the state!”

“Well...date’s not until tomorrow,” Gem points out, glancing from Laz in the doorway as ever, to Tim still pawing through his clothes. “That’s enough time for a suit, right?”

Tim turns around with his eyes narrowed, hands on his hips, puffing a sigh and shaking his head. “You’ve got a lot to learn about suits, Gemini Royle.”

and last night I started writing based on a slew of terrible deadpool fourth wall jokes about frank and billy and, well, I had a lot of fun writing it but I doubt it’s ever going to see the light of day after this post. Here’s all of it so far, because why the fuck not! It’s set in an alternate s2 where Frank saves Bill at the end and then has to figure out what the fuck to do with him.

It’s tense in here, in Frank’s shithole studio apartment. Seems too small for him to be standing here on his own, let alone with Billy Russo across from him. There’s absolutely nowhere to hide. And there's a lot of things Frank, for once, wants to hide from. Namely, the ruin of Billy’s face and the wan, pale tone of his skin, the sharp, watery glint of his eyes.

He’s almost died twice now, at Frank’s hands, and the only difference this time was Frank calling in favours. He still doesn’t know why he did it. So he can’t answer Billy’s sole question of why why why. He can just look. And wonder at his own foolish actions. Again.

They’re locked like that, staring at each other, wondering, waiting for who’s gonna be the first one up to incite violence. Judging from the flop sweat on Billy’s brow, it’s not likely to be him, this time. Frank doesn’t have any answers for him, doesn’t even have an impulse to finish the job. It’s gone beyond sad, at this point.

At this point, it’s just stupid.

There’s a tap on the window, rattling it in it’s delicate prewar frame and Frank’s stomach drops out.

Things are about to get even stupider, somehow.

The tap precedes the awkward scrabbling and the window opens to the cold city air rushing in for a few seconds until the lanky, red and black clad figure thumps inelegantly into the room, landing hard on his hip, immediately reaching up to slam the window back shut, one-handed.

This is just about the worst timing Frank can imagine. He winces, glancing at Billy but it’s too late; the other man’s already crossed the few steps towards the window, hauling the intruder up by his neck and pushing him up against the wall.

“Whoa, Frank, i didn’t know you had company, like, ever,” Wade Wilson starts, rapid-fire, his voice a little higher than usual for Billy’s long fingers squeezing at his neck. “Let alone a freaking Disney prince, holy hell. I mean, a very specific Disney prince, except it kinda looks like Aslan finally went rogue and did some damage. God, when will people learn? Wild animals cannot be tamed, even if they are Jesus or whatever.”

“Wilson, shut up,” Frank mutters, feeling a headache growing, slamming him like a dart right between the eyes.

“Friend of yours?” Billy hisses, his black eyes fixed wild on Wade Wilson, wide and dangerous.

“I could ask the same question,” Wade says, voice even tighter, his long body starting to slump a little, “But I'm starting to see all kindsa fun stars and black holes here, so I don’t think I’m gonna get it out. Hi, I’m Deadpool, I’m Frank’s new best friend and gosh, you’ve got big hands.”

Frank watches Billy’s hand tighten for a second before he finally lets go, and Wilson sinks to the floor with his legs outstretched.

“Frank?” Billy looks to him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. I know him.”

“He’s being modest,” Wade coughs, absently waving his hands around like they’re half-limp, half-useless, and Frank can never tell when he’s joking. “We’re embarking on a really juicy enemies-with-benefits-to-friends-with-benefits-to-lovers-with-guns arc. Fifteen chapters minimum, probably well over 500k words. Slow burn, I’m assuming, since we haven’t even kissed yet. Maybe tonight’s the night, huh, Frank?”

“I camped out on a rooftop with him once, a few months back,” Frank offers by way of easier to understand explanations. “Staking out the same warehouse. Wouldn’t shut up.”

“Is this...the red pajamas guy?” Billy starts slowly, squinting down at Wade.

“I don’t even wear pajamas to bed but oh my god, you’ve been talking about me? I’m blushing.”

“Yeah, from the papers,” Billy continues, “The devil of hell’s kitchen. Your buddy from a while back.”

“Ooooh, easy mistake. The main difference is the catholic repression. If you thought Frank was bad, you should see that guy! I bet those two had some real snoozer conversations, huh? Dithering over rosaries and the nuances of communion wafers. No, see, I’m Deadpool.”

“Right,” Billy huffs out of his nose, looking at Frank again. He looks lost; he looks, a little, like how Frank found him in that basement after Curtis called him, like things are moving too fast and even he can’t keep up. “Frankie? Everything cool?”

“Yeah, Bill. we’re good.”

“Bill! You’re that guy!” Wade says, scrambling to his feet, his boots squeaking on the floor. He rushes to tug his mask up out of his suit and off, presenting his mottled, scarred face with a big grin at Billy. “We’re like, face twins! Or we would be, if the producers had the balls to even try and make you look ugly. See, that’s a main facet of my personality, so they couldn’t skip over it with me. Same vibe, though!”

Frank’s seen it all, as far as injuries go; hell, he designed the lines and craters on Billy’s face with his own two hands, watched him gush blood over meat and bone. Maybe that was why, the first time Wilson took his mask off (with a warning of ‘hold on to your balls, baby’), Frank hadn’t done much more than survey the damage and nod once. He still can’t figure out if Wilson was offended or impressed, that night, although judging from the way he can’t shake the merc, he figures it’s the latter.

Billy has nearly the same reaction, a detached curiosity, a slight purse of his lips as he looks Wilson’s face over. “Didn’t think anyone could look worse than me.”

“Oh please, you’re still such a panty-drencher. And those big black eyes, gosh, I’m swooning,” Wilson says, clutching at his chest through his suit. “Oh, are you my romantic rival? For Frank’s affection? Cause I mean, from how he talks about you, it really sounds like there was some - “ he makes a circle with his thumb and the fingers of one hand, poking his other index finger through it multiple times, slow and then fast, and then there’s two fingers, and then three, and Frank’s just about to tell him to jump his ass back out the window when Billy actually laughs.

Frank hasn’t heard that noise in so long, not in any kind of genuine way, and there’s something about it that eases up the hard clutch of his chest, the ice in his guts. “Don’t encourage him,” Frank grumbles nonetheless, throwing himself into making coffee in the kitchen, the usual first activity he does when Wade’s just tumbled in through his window.

“I think I like this guy,” Billy says, and Frank hears the distinct muffled sound of Wilson clapping his gloved hands behind him.

“We should do a team-up! It’ll make the romantic tension even better, when Frank and I finally do start putting things in very tight places. Very tight, Frank. In case you’re wondering.”

“I’m not,” he shoots back over his shoulder, glad his back is turned for that particular phrase. It’s not like he’s been impervious to Wilson’s flirtations; it’s hard to be made of stone when he’s fawning after you, something so sweet and clingy in his affection.

“I guess we could do a whole-ass threeway relationship,” Wilson considers thoughtfully, and the thumping noise now is him sailing onto the loveseat; Frank’s been getting to know that one a little too well in recent weeks. “It’s been done before, more or less, by way better. And you’re supposed to be a bad guy, right? Frank saving you from the icy clutches of death really boned up your canon, huh? Someone’s blindly sentimental with a bullish villain boner and I don’t mean him. Come, sit, let’s chat.”

Wade’s the only person Frank’s ever met that talks as much as Bill, and having them on the same couch, let alone in the same room is something he’s never even considered. The chatter is nice though, in a way, filling up the space where there’s usually silence, where he’d been worried, actually, about this thing now, with Billy. Where he’s back to something like fighting fit and got nowhere else to go, so he’s crashing here before Curtis nuts up and calls the cops. Somehow, having Wade Wilson with the worst timing ever, has taken a good deal of pressure off the whole situation.

“And you’re both snipers! That’s really romantic. So much time in foxholes together, huh? All those long nights with nothing else to do but mutual handies and some high school style necking, gosh, it almost makes me nostalgic.”

Frank’s never heard Wilson talk about his own special forces record before, but he’s at least wrist-deep into it with Billy listening, perched on the arm of the couch. The apartment’s small enough that Frank can lean on the kitchen counter and still take part, although he doesn’t have much to add. He crosses his arms and waits for the water to boil, waits for either of them to run out of conversation but it’s not happening.

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damian-dreamz8442 · 5 years ago

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Missing in Action Part I

In case y’all haven’t noticed, I write batfam fics, Damian centric, whump or hurt/comfort. So guess what this is? If you guessed a hurt/comfort Batfam fic with the whole batfam going out of their minds trying to find Damian then you get a virtual gold star.

Now throw that out. There are no gold stars in the real world.

Anyways, just FYI I’ve only read some of the comics and watched the movies so my timeline is probably complete crap. This is set during Bruce’s ‘death’ when Dick was Batman, but I’m just going to assume that Tim, Jason, Stephanie and Cass were all still around somewhere, so yeah they’re in this story. I like the big family dynamic, ok?

IMPORTANT TO THE PLOT:

I know the Joker is either dead or not really a problem (in arkham? Insane?) in the timeline where Damian is Robin and Bruce is dead but we’re going to make this an AU for the Worry purposes.

It should’ve been a routine patrol, so why did Dick have reason to worry? He never should’ve let down his guard. Maybe if he hadn’t made a promise to Damian for ice cream after patrol, his little brother would’ve been on higher alert. Maybe then the clowns that jumped out of the shadows wouldn’t have been able to knock him out and make off with the littlest robin.

Dick Grayson was a man prone to worry. His heart raced, his brain hiccuped, he almost had to pull over to avoid throwing up in the Batmobile.

It was his and Dami’s night to patrol, finally, after Dick had been in bed with a broken wrist for days. Even Gotham seemed to notice the duo’s good mood and gave them a beautiful, peaceful night to enjoy. It was night’s like those when Dick didn’t mind the cowl as much - and even then, he couldn’t help but see Bruce in his own shadow.

“Hey, Robin,” Dick paused, dropping into a dark alley and turning to his partner, “what do you say we take a break after this?”

“Tt,” came Damian’s customary response, “isn’t that highly unprofessional, Batman?”

Dick gestured to the calm air and the sparkling stars, almost visible despite the thick canopy of smog. “I don’t think we’ll be missed.”

Of course, false hope for the bat family was karma’s calling card, and she reared her ugly head not a second later.

Dick noticed looming figures appear at the end of the alleyway just as Damian spun at the sound of footfalls behind them. They were hemmed in by six thugs at least. Large ones.

As the goons lumbered towards them, Batman and Robin armed themselves back to back. One of the figures stepped into the light - if you could call it that - and Damian bristled at his appearance. Thick clown makeup marred his face, sinister eyes leering at him.

Eight in total hemmed them in, with clubs and other blunt objects. That was almost worse than knives or guns; weapons made to kill. It was obvious these adversaries had other plans for them.

During the fight, Damian made a mistake. It almost never happened, but he let instincts and impatience takeover. He launched himself onto the shoulders of one of the goons, dispatching him. Damian didn’t even notice he had left Dick open to an attack from behind, without so much as a warning.

A club crashed down on Batman’s head, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. Damian heard the undignified thump and realized his error, yelling a string of curses in arabic.

Dick was harder to take down then he looked, but heavily concussed with two goons sitting on his back would do it. They took off his utility belt and tossed it aside, laughing as he sluggishly clawed at their weight.

Dick was forced to watch as the rest of the thugs that remained standing went after his baby brother. Four large men with short range blunt weaponry shouldn’t have been this difficult, Damian knew. However his mind was betraying him, racing with thoughts of his mistake and his brother’s well being.

A well placed two-by-four and a hard swing later, Damian crumpled to the cobblestones.

“No,” Dick groaned, reaching for his robin, “leave him alone!” He shoved again at the crushing weight on his back but he had no leverage, and could barely tell up from down.

One of the men picked up Damian and slung him over a shoulder. The other three sneered down at the fallen Batman, snarling at them like a wild animal.

“We don’t need this one,” A man sitting on Dick’s back said, “but we aren’t supposed to kill him.”

“I’d like to,” the one holding Damian laughed, “but my hands are full!” He made a point at jostling Damian. Dick’s heart wrenched at the sound of his littlest brother’s groan.

Following a round of laughter, they knocked Dick out.

Dick woke to a horrifying scene. Damian was gone, the goons were gone, it was over an hour later. Dick’s head was pounding, blood sticking to his neck, rushing in his ears. A jack-in-the-box sat on the sidewalk in front of him. Dick crawled towards it, fumbling to get it open, fingers numb. It popped right out of his grip, and he nearly flinched. A tinny laugh rang from the contraption as a clown face wobbled on the end of a spring. As if Dick didn’t know it was the Joker as soon as he saw the goons.

The Joker had Damian. Dick suddenly felt very, very cold.

Joker’s thugs really were imbeciles, Damian thought as he came too. First of all, he was being carried like a sack of flour, giving him full access to the large man’s vulnerable back. Second, his utility belt was still on his waist. Can’t get good help these days.

Damian felt warm and wet liquid in his hair, undoubtedly blood, but not enough to concern him.

Somehow the lugs had climbed a building on third street, only ten blocks from the scuffle. Damian let his head bounce to the side as the man walked to get a glimpse at the moon. He bit back a sigh as he realized he’d been out for almost half an hour. He was pathetic, letting a little hit to the head do him in so swiftly for so long. At least the overabundance of incompetence from Joker’s group made up for some of his clearly unacceptable failings.

A plan of action was slowly turning in Damian’s brain, and he cursed his own weakness - silently - as a headache began pounding a steady beat. His thoughts were sluggish, so he finally decided to just let the idiots take him back to their lair. It involved the least amount of work for him. He could turn on his tracker when he got there and maybe take down the Joker in the rescue attempt.

Damian counted another fifteen minutes had passed before their van came into view. It was then that Damian’s brain caught up with the situation. Sure, the thugs were feckless moron’s, but it was obvious their plan was well thought through. They had been waiting for Damian and Dick, meaning they’d probably been following them for a few blocks at least. Somehow they’d managed to go undetected. They worked together to accomplish their goal. Their getaway van was nowhere near the scene, in case Batman or Robin managed to get out a distress call.

Robin realized he was not dealing with common thugs, but men who worked for the Joker; a psychopath who was one of the few people to actually cause Batman difficulty. Even beat him. Even kill a robin.

Damian didn’t have time for subtlety. He grabbed a birdarang and sliced the man carrying him all the way up the back. Flipping off him, Damian landed in a spray of blood and shocked yells. Seven goons were suddenly running at him, but they were unarmed. Their blunt weapons had to be discarded to climb several buildings on their trip, and they hadn’t been valuable enough to keep on person anyways. Damian had been counting on their weapons just being conveniently found refuse.

Jumping to the side, Damian unsheathed the katana on his back, slashing a them non-lethally. His concussion made him slow, they were closing in. Damian jumped down the building, vaulting down the fire escape. They followed him, much slower, as he ran across the street.

Damian realized too late he’d ran down a dead end, with their van just across the street. They had picked up some weapons by now, though they were cut and bleeding, they were ever the more sinister.

The fire escape of the apartment building at least gave him the higher ground, which he used to slash at the goons and keep them at bay. He kicked at their heads, even resorting to hissing at them like a wild animal. They got in a few hits, which Damian attributed to his slowness from being concussed.

He felt a rib crack as he was caught in the side with a metal bat, too distracted trying to keep one from grabbing his ankles through the bars to notice another climbing the ladder.

One of them had gotten a butcher’s hook from somewhere - probably a garbage can, gross - and used it to slash at Damian’s calves and arms. A hand closed around his ankle as Damian tried to defend himself, yanking him onto his back. He heard a loud pop and yelled as his ankle was dislocated, maybe even broken.

A last burst of energy was all Damian had left, but he gave them hell. He was surprised to find the adrenaline clearing, leaving him in an alleyway with eight unconscious, bloody thugs.

Damian only managed to get a few buildings away before he collapsed on a roof, bleeding and sore. He pulled out his communicator and balked at the smashed metal. Broken. Useless. Not unlike him at the moment. Damian groaned, flopping on the roof.

Damian had no idea if Dick was where they’d left him, or if Dick was even alright. He had no way of contacting his older brother, the batcave, anyone. His grappling hook was nowhere to be found, his tracker was cleaved in half from the hit from the bat, and his phone was completely out of batteries.

So... he was walking home. On a dislocated - maybe broken - ankle. Damian let out a long suffering sigh and got to his feet.

Ten minutes before his minions were supposed to arrive back at base, the Joker got a call from one of them.

“Yes, Dave?”

“Oh, actually my name-”

“Speak!”

“Right, well... the kid got away.”

“The... the little kid. Robin. The itsy bitsy can’t-be-more-than-fourteen-years-old Robin.” Joker punched the nearest person as it was affirmed that, yes, his well-briefed goons had lost the punk. Weeks of planning, wasted.

“Get back here so I can disembowel you myself!” Joker growled. The kid getting away would definitely put a damper on the fun he had planned. But maybe it wasn’t a total loss.

Dick was looking for clues and searching nearby alleys, trying not to get too distracted by his all-encompassing worry. He’d already called Alfred and not only had their been no word from Damian but both his tracker and communicator were out of commission.

As Dick sprinted across the street for the fifth time, thinking he saw a glint in the trash, the phone booth rang. It was odd to even still have phone booths, let alone have them ring with no one around to answer. Dick picked up the receiver on the last ring.

“Batman, I hope?” A sickeningly familiar voice leered. Dick seethed, it had been a long time since he’d heard that voice, but he would never forget it. Joker took his silence for an answer.

“I have your Robin, in case you were wondering. I see you got another upgrade. A shiny new version. Adorable!” Dick let out a low growl, sounding more like Bruce than usual, “Don’t touch him.”

“Oh, did you want him back? Already?” Dick clenched his fist, trying not to break the phone before he heard whatever sick game Joker wanted to play.

“Good news for you, then! He’s waiting for you, in the place your little birdies go to die.” The Joker hung up, and Dick was panicking again. Where did robins go to die? The park? Was there some communal bird cemetery in Gotham? Was Joker planning to kill Damian? Dick needed to get answers, asap. He needed backup.

So since I did a lot of explaining already, I’m just going to end this with a friendly goodbye and a reminder that I understand this story does not follow the plot of the comics probably at all? It’s ok guys, I’m not writing for accuracy.

#Damian Wayne #Robin #Dick Grayson #Batman #Joker #Gotham #Batfam #Hurt/comfort #Whump #AU #not canon compliant #idc #big brother dick #dick as batman #damian is his robin #i'm just having fun with this

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shadowed-dancer · 5 years ago

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Queens of the Old Book (my versions)

Alright, I've been meaning to do this for a while and finally got around to it. I’ve designed my versions of the 26 queens who came before Skywynne! It’s a really long post, but I included pictures, poems, brief physical descriptions, and some backstory for each! I’m gonna draw my favourites again soon. Hope you enjoy.

Mo the First

The very first Queen of Mewni, A destiny foretold By the little man from beyond time, A wonder to behold

Hair: Light brown Eyes: Greek Cheekmark colour: Pink Aureole sign: Warnicorn

Mo was the first Queen and did a lot of things to set up a kingdom. She built the first castle out of wood from the stump that sheltered her and her family, and set out in pursuit of corn. She laid all the foundations for a prosperous kingdom.

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Cassandra the Overwhelmed

When the entirety of a legacy Is up to you to make, The pressure starts to multiply Which lead Cassandra to break

Hair: Black Eyes: Green Cheekmark colour: Yellow Aureole sign: Tadpole

Cassandra was freaked out by the prospect of running a kingdom and began breaking down after the birth of her child. She did nothing to better her kingdom, and let it fall into despair. It was during her reign that people fled her kingdom and established the Spiderbites, Johansens, and the minor kingdoms like Garbage Beach and the Dock of Unending Torment.

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Jasmine the Star Chaser

There was no star Within the sky That didn't catch Young Jasmine’s eye

Hair: Dark brown Eyes: Yellow Cheekmark colour: White Aureole sign: Silkworm

Jasmine was a star gazer and started the trend of sky named children. She created the Aureole signs and looked to the stars for answers, which somehow ended up helping her repair the kingdom from her mother’s reign.

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Andromeda the Shallow

The suitors flooded in the halls And spread throughout the land. Yet Andromeda the Shallow Picked the worst fit for her hand

Hair: Blonde Eyes: Pink Cheekmark colour: Light blue Aureole sign: Hydra

Andromeda had suitors from all sorts of kingdoms, yet she chose the worst political choice (a selfish vain man who just wanted power) just because he was handsome. It was because of his stupid desicions and insistence on growing their land that the animosity between mewman and monster started to grow.

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Calliope the Musician

The peasants of Mewni hear her call, The music echoing in the hall, And despite the love for her fine tune, Her show was cut off far too soon

Hair: Magenta Eyes: Teal Cheekmark colour: Yellow Aureole sign: Narwhal

Calliope was the first and only Queen to become a songstrel and began the tradition of song-day and the coronation song. Her idea was that the princesses after her would have a song written about them, then give back the sentiment by writing their own song to become queen. She died shortly after her daughter’s song day, leaving her 14 year old daughter to become the youngest queen in Mewni history.

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Cassiopeia the Indecisive

For Cassiopeia the Indecisive The choices mounted thick. To ease the issues in her mind She called upon Glossaryck

Hair: Pink Eyes: Blue Cheekmark colour: Green Aureole sign: Pixie

Being the youngest queen ever took its toll on Cassiopeia. She had a lot of choices to make as Queen and couldn't handle the pressure, so she called Glossaryck into existence as her advisor.

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Titania the Explorer

A world awaited beyond the shores And none would be quite bolder Than the girl who left to sail the seas Titania the Explorer

Hair: Black Eyes: Green Cheekmark colour: Pink Aureole sign: Lion Dragon

After getting married and having her daughter, Titania took to the seas and found many islands of Mewni (pie island being one of them). She made most of them part of the kingdom, and didn’t take her responsibilities as queen very seriously.

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Artemis the Wild

Running all throughout the kingdom, A completely untameable child As bright as the suns upon her cheeks Was Artemis the Wild

Hair: Red/Orange Eyes: Yellow Cheekmark colour: Yellow Aureole sign: Lion Dragon

Artemis was a crazy kid who refused to listen to reason. Since her mother left to explore the sea and her father was stuck ruling, Artemis was left to her own devices for most of her childhood. When she got older, she'd run into battle without a second glance and married the first random guy she came across. During her rule, she made a lot of spontaneous decisions, not always for the best.

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Terra the Wise

Always calm and always sure The kingdom could depend on her. An answer to every single plight, the Wise knew how to run things right

Hair: White Eyes: Purple Cheekmark colour: Light green Aureole sign: Deadhorse

Terra disliked her mother's way of ruling and took the time to think everything through. She had great reasoning skills and always weighed her options before making a decision. She was the wisest of the queens and never made a bad decision in all the history of her rule.

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Luna the Fearful

The monsters lurking in the night Filled poor Luna with dread. The swirl of fear and fantasy That must have filled her head

Hair: Lilac Eyes: Purple Cheekmark colour: Purple Aureole sign: Pony Head

Luna was born as the monsters began getting restless. She was terrified that they would attack, but there were no soldiers strong enough to fight for the kingdom. Her fear of monsters evolved into other things, like fear of losing her family, and it caused her to become paranoid.

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Neptuna the Beautiful

No man or woman on Mewni Could resist Neptuna’s beauty. A treasure of the earth, No gems to capture her worth

Hair: Dark blue Eyes: Light blue Cheekmark colour: Pink Aureole sign: Pixie

Neptuna was a beautiful queen who didn't really do much. Her greatest attempt was trying to charm the monsters into stopping their attacks, which didn’t actually work.

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Orion Queen of Peace

When beauty alone proved not enough To convince the monsters to cease A temporary solution came from Orion, Queen of Peace

Hair: Pastel green Eyes: Brown Cheekmark colour: Pink Aureole sign: Deadhorse

Orion saw that her mother was unable to keep the peace just through her looks, so she proposed a solution. If the monsters stopped attacking Mewmans and stayed in a certain part of land, the Mewmans would stop attacking them. This worked for a bit.

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Polaris the Unbalanced

When a system seemed to be in place The scales were tipped too far one way. And the later acts of Polaris Ensured it stayed this way

Hair: Ice blue Eyes: Teal Cheekmark colour: Purple Aureole sign: Hydra

Polaris didn't like her mother's idea of getting along with the monsters so she tried taking more land from them, which they obviously disliked. She doubled down though, making it impossible for anyone to talk her out of it, and started a war. Her ideas began spreading until the Mewni population believed they were the rightful owners of the land.

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Venus the Sympathetic

When too much fighting lead to blood And it all became too hectic The Queen just had to step away, Venus the Sympathetic

Hair: Orange Eyes: Teal Cheekmark colour: Yellow Aureole sign: Blowhole

Venus was naturally a sympathetic person and found the war took too much on her mental state. She couldn’t stand to see her people suffer, and as a result had to leave Mewni for a bit to travel the multiverse and clear her head.

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Astrid the Scholar

Every book in the multiverse Was gathered by Astrid’s hand. All the knowledge and wisdom To share within Mewni’s land

Hair: Blonde Eyes: Blue Cheekmark colour: Purple Aureole sign: Tadpole

Astrid loved to read and (just like her mother) traveled the multiverse to gather a copy of “every book in existence”. She wanted to have the most magnificent library ever, and succeeded. She claims to have read every book in her collection, and no one doubts it for a second.

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Pandora the Trickster

Good intentions, a bit of play, Too much magic, a dangerous day, A prank gone wrong with too much power, All that face it on will cower

Hair: Black Eyes: Blue Cheekmark colour: Red Aureole sign: Demon

The creator of Pandora’s box, Pandora loved to play pranks. Unfortunately, she greatly underestimated her powers and accidentally created the most dangerous box in the multiverse. She hid it in her closet, and it remained there far beyond her death until her great great something granddaughter found it in the ruins of the castle and tossed it in another dimension (probably for the better).

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Daphne the Overachiever

When doing good was not enough Daphne dreamed of things too grand. She did the absolute most of any Queen to rule the land

Hair: Purple Eyes: Pink Cheekmark colour: Lilac Aureole sign: Hydra

Daphne always wanted to do the best things for her kingdom and went above and beyond to prove herself a good queen. She never stopped at a solution, and would work hard even after the problems were solved.

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Soupina the Strange

A spell gone wrong is a tragic song Of potential forced to change. The wonders that she must have seen, Poor Soupina the Strange

Hair: Teal Eyes: Yellow Cheekmark colour: Pink Aureole sign: Pig-Goat

Soupina showed the signs of a great queen and a powerful magic wielder, but she got stuck with her mewberty eyes and went mad. She never reached her full potential, and caused a lot of problems for Mewni.

Potato the Comforting

Her heart would always lead her home, Her priorities were straight. So to care for her maddening mother, The kingdom had to wait

Hair: Light brown Eyes: Blue Cheekmark colour: Yellow Aureole sign: Warnicorn

Potato was the daughter of Soupina and was born after she went mad. She didn’t spend much time actually ruling, and instead spent most of her life trying to comfort her mother. During her reign, the mewman monster relation grew worse with no queen to guide them, causing a lot of citizens to act on their own.

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Galexia the Queen of Change

Perhaps Galexia saw more than the rest For she was certain she was doing her best. Her insistence to categorize creatures so strange Gained her the title, the Queen of Change

Hair: Black Eyes: Brown Cheekmark colour: Blue Aureole sign: Narwhal

Galexia began making huge changes after she claimed there was a difference between demons, monsters, mermaids, etc. It was hard to accept at first, but it caught on, and soon the Waterfolk and Lucitors were accepted as Kingdoms of Mewni. She did this so she could marry the Prince of the Waterfolk.

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Trinity the Rebel

When the lure of life beyond the wall Is too strong to ignore, The promises of fame and glory Called Trinity back to shore

Hair: Blue Eyes: Green Cheekmark colour: Teal Aureole sign: Demon

Trinity almost didn't become queen because she had run off to the waterfolk kingdom and had no desire to return. She came back a few years later though, ready to be Queen after learning all the perks of being famous. She never took ruling seriously though, and the kingdom fell into even rougher shape. She was also the first “half monster” princess.

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Serena the Popular

Sometimes the quickest way to peace Is to make yourself loved near and far And the one to break this secret Was Serena the Popular

Hair: Magenta Eyes: Blue Cheekmark colour: Red Aureole sign: Pixie

During Trinity’s time, the smaller kingdoms began to get angry with the Butterflies and started making demands for more power. Similar to her great something grannie Neptuna, she believed that being liked was the way to peace. Unlike “the beautiful”, Serena had to work hard to make herself loved. She befriended the royals of the minor kingdoms and created a sense of unity.

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Celestia the Mournful

No one knows the weight of loss Celestia the Mournful had to feel. With 3 sons lost and 4 daughters gone She was unsure of what remained real

Hair: Green Eyes: Green Cheekmark colour: Blue Aureole sign: Blowhole

Celestia suffered greatly and kept losing her children before they had even reached their first year, which drove her to question everything she knew. Only her youngest daughter, Gemina, survived and ended up living a long life. Celestia’s sons were named Taurus, Aries, and Sagitar. Her daughters were Caprica, Libra, Virga, and Aquaria. Taurus was the oldest boy and Caprica was the oldest girl.

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Gemina the Animal Lover

Some say the animals whisper In languages of their own. So Gemina kept them by her side And they guided her on the throne

Hair: Light brown/orange Eyes: Teal Cheekmark colour: Magenta Aureole sign: Narwhal

Gemina was the first (and only) Queen to go beyond speaking alligator and actually found ways of communicating with other animals. She claimed they were very wise, and trusted their council more than that of Glossaryck and the MHC. The only reason she wasn’t deemed mad was because she seemed to be right, and her decisions based on her animal friends often benefited the kingdom.

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Helia the Direct

Helia didn't have the time To leave the kingdom a wreck, So with a firm and steady hand Became Helia the Direct

Hair: Blonde Eyes: Purple Cheekmark colour: Pink Aureole sign: Deadhorse

Helia had let the kingdom fall into poverty during her early rule, and worked to fix it. She was extremely firm and never beat around the bush, causing many to think she was rather rude. Her blunt attitude was passed onto Lyric, her daughter.

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Lyric the Short-Sighted

A million futures can exist And for many, this will leave them vexed. But Lyric only sees the now, No need to worry about what's next

Hair: Ice blue Eyes: Ice blue Cheekmark colour: Pink Aureole sign: Pixie

Lyric made all her decisions based on what would benefit her immediately and never considered the consequences of her actions. The two most famous examples were choosing the book of fashion over the book of spells, and giving her daughter the throne at only 17. Throughout her rule too, she made many choices that ended up causing her more trouble in the long run. She let her daughter fix most of these.

#my art #svtfoe #svtfoe oc #queens of mewni #lyric butterfly #soupina the strange #soupina butterfly #svtfoe queen

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alj4890 · 5 years ago

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Love Prompt

(Liam x Addison) in a quick peek at their love as requested by @krsnlove

(Liam x Addison Sinclaire) in the AU where Riley chooses to be with Maxwell instead of our crown prince. A little Hollywood romance might be just what is needed. Just the fluff for these two.

A/N This is pure crack. It goes back to my need to see everyone have a happily ever after. If Riley picks one of the others to marry, then I need to see each one have a true love. After being done so dirty by PB and strung along through two books, Liam especially needs to find his true love. Then maybe the whole borrowing a Royal Heir might not happen, LOL.

Choices: The Royal Romance and Red Carpet Diaries Fan Fiction.

Masterlist

Song: Night and Day

I Think of You

Addison crumbled another piece of paper and tossed it into the garbage. She let her head fall on her desk, knocking some rolls of material off. A dramatic groan escaped.

"Is there a problem?" Thomas asked from the doorway.

"No." Addison mumbled without raising her head. "Everything's great."

"Clearly." He muttered. "I suppose this is practice for a future overly dramatic display."

She propped her head on her hands and looked up at him. "You've been in love before."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Is that a question?"

She rolled her eyes. "I could use some advice."

"Very well. My advice is this: tell him." Thomas bent down and picked up a crumbled piece of paper. Before Addison could stop him, he read what she had written. "Hmm."

"Hmm, what?" She asked.

"As much as I applaud your romantic bent to write out your feelings by hand, do you want to put yourself through the torture of waiting for it to be delivered to him and then not knowing if he even received it. Letters get lost in the mail all the time. Injured pride then refuses to allow you to even ask if he read it." Thomas crumbled it up and threw it in her garbage can. "You need to tell him in person."

"Oh, well that's easy." She replied. "I will simply climb into my private jet, fly across the ocean, and boldly enter the palace. Then I will walk past all the guards and servants and tell Liam that I am in love with him. I will confess that I pretty much have been since I met him. He will naturally marry me and make me his queen, because every costume designer is well versed in running a country." Addison finished in a bitter tone that took Thomas by surprise.

"Pack your bags." He ordered.

She groaned again and covered her face. "I'm not up for your humor today."

"When have I ever shown I have a sense of humor?" He folded his arms and glared at her. "Make certain to pack a suitable ball gown."

She dropped her hands and looked up at him. "You're serious?" His irritated frown at being questioned made her smile. "We're going back to Cordonia? Wait. Why?"

"In thanks for filming his country so well in The Last Duchess, the King sent an invitation to attend a ball he is hosting at the palace." He produced the invitation and handed it to her. "Now, do you wish to go or not?"

Addison jumped up and hugged him. "I do! Thanks Thomas! You're the greatest."

He awkwardly patted her back. "Yes. Well. Go pack."

"Yes, sir!" She ran off as her excitemen grew.

_________________

"Did you ask her to come?" Drake asked.

Liam's expression hardened. "You can say her name."

"Okay." Drake looked down and started pulling at his white t-shirt.

"What are you doing?" Liam asked.

"Looking for blood. I think your tone might have drawn some." Drake joked. "You can't sound like me." His signature smirk appeared. "You're too nice to pull it off."

Liam scoffed while a ghost of a grin appeared. "In answer to your question, I inadvertently invited her."

"How does one inadvertently invite someone?" Drake poured them both a drink and sat down across from him.

"I sent Thomas Hunt an invitation." Liam confessed.

"And what? You think he will tell her and bring her?" Drake asked.

"That is my hope. If nothing else, perhaps I can find out how she is." Liam stared down into his glass.

"Wow. You are worse than when Brooks told you she was in love with Maxwell." Drake met Liam's glare and shrugged. "It's true."

"Be that as it may, it changes nothing. Addison still returned to America." Liam mumbled setting his full tumbler down. He rubbed his hands over his face. "It was foolish of me to think she might uproot her life for a chance to see what we could have as a couple after such a short time together."

"As I recall, she asked you to give her time to think." Drake reminded him.

"We all know that was the polite way of saying I don't feel the same way you do." Liam shook his head. "She hasn't attempted to contact me. I am a fool for still hoping." He stood up and walked over to the window of his study. His bright blue eyes traveled over the well kept grounds around the palace, touching on the spots he had walked with Addison. He had fallen for the costume designer and her gentle, optimistic heart.

They had spent weeks together while Thomas filmed his movie in Cordonia. During a royal visit to the set, he had been instantly attracted to her upon introduction. The more he was around her the more he wanted to remain by her side. It was a different feeling than it had been with Riley. There was no nervous uncertainty. No fear that something could come along and ruin it. No suitors or conspiracies interfering during their dates. They were simply two people spending time alone and getting to know one another.

Their first date had been dinner at Applewood. It still made him smile at all the questions she asked. Everything from his favorite color to if he could control one element which would it be was talked over.

Their first kiss had been under the stars as he walked with her through Applewood's hedge maze. He had brushed her hair back when the wind blew it in her face and their eyes had met for a heated moment before their lips softly melded. He still remembered how she had kept her eyes closed for an extra minute, as if wanting to hold onto the moment for as long as she could.

He sighed. Liam wanted her. He wanted a life filled with her infectious laughter. He wanted her sweet embrace for his own when he had a difficult day. He wanted her beside him, holding his hand as he addressed his people. He wanted to see her walking towards him in a wedding gown of her own design. He wanted her to be the mother of his children. Queen Addison. He rather loved the sound of that.

"Earth to Liam." Drake said again.

"Sorry. Did you say something?" He asked Drake. He then noticed Bastien standing there waiting.

"Sir, some of the guests have begun to arrive." The guard repeated.

"Thank you, Bastien." Liam put his suit jacket on as he walked out.

____________

"I think I'm going to be sick." Addison gripped Thomas's arm.

"Get a hold of yourself!" Thomas whispered angrily. "You look lovely in that particular color of coral. Do you wish to ruin all the trouble you went through to look your best before greeting him? The man only sent me an invitation in the hopes you would accompany me."

"He did?" Her blue eyes grew in size at that revelation. "Did Liam tell you that?"

"Of course not!" He looked up at the ceiling in exasperation. "God save me from romance. If this is love I want no part of it." Thomas grumbled. "It is obvious why I was sent an invitation."

"Liam is incredibly sweet. He might have truly invited you for the reasons he stated." Addison countered.

"Fine. Choose to believe that nonsense if you wish." Thomas shrugged. "I suppose then you have no problem greeting him."

"I--no-- of course." Addison lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. "It is only polite to thank him."

Thomas mumbled something she didn't quite hear. She did manage to catch the words asinine, love, and riddance. To calm her nerves, she focused on the way her long skirt changed shades of coral with each step in the romantic lighting. The bodice of her dress sparkled and her long blonde hair shined, drawing many eyes toward her.

I can do this, she thought. No matter how Liam feels about me, he will be kind. He is the best person I have ever met. So easy to love. She audibly swallowed. They were next in line to meet him. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the man she had fallen head over heels for.

Liam was dressed in white. His royal regalia was on full display. It was as if he had stepped from the pages of her favorite fairy tale. The crisp white material had somehow made everything about him infinitely more attractive. His blue eyes, dark blonde hair, and tanned skin were made to be shown against such a stark canvas..

After bowing to the nobles he was talking to, he turned with a welcoming smile that froze when his eyes landed on her. A good fifteen seconds of silence hovered between them before Thomas cleared his throat and greeted the young king.

"Welcome back to Cordonia, Mr. Hunt. Ms. Sinclaire." Liam shook the director's hand and then took Addison's. He bowed and pressed his lips to her knuckles. "I hope your flight was pleasant."

"It was." She said softly. "Thank you." Their eyes remained locked on one another.

Thomas looked at them and then over to the orchestra preparing to begin the ball. He cleared his throat again and started to inch away. "If you both will excuse me, I am in need of something to drink." He gently pushed Addison closer to Liam. "Your majesty, if you wouldn't mind escorting Addison to where she should go..." He walked away with a slight smile.

"It would be my pleasure." Liam remarked, his eyes remaining on the vision before him. "You look beautiful, Lady Addison."

She blushed and thanked him. "I didn't believe you could become more handsome, but here you are." She smiled up at him. "How do you always find a way to improve upon perfection?"

His grip on her hand tightened. The first strains of a waltz began and he asked her to dance. She nodded and held her breath when he took her into his arms.

Addison looked up at him and tried to talk. "How have you been?"

Liam remained silent as he looked into her eyes. He opened his mouth and shook his head. Ignoring the stares and whispers, he took her hand and led her out the doors that led into the courtyard.

He took her deep into the shadows, stopping once they were well away from nobles milling about the grounds. "Forgive me, but I need some privacy if we are to talk."

"I'm so sorry, Liam. I didn't mean to make you feel," she waved in a flustered manner. "Whatever it is my question caused."

He took a deep breath. "Addison, I am miserable."

Her eyes widened. "You are?"

"I am merely going through the motions of my duties and life in general." He took a step closer to her. His warm hands engulfed hers and he closed his eyes before looking back at her. "My feelings for you have only become stronger. I..." He swallowed. "I'm in love with you."

"You are?" Addison grimaced at her inability to say anything more.

He raised one of her hands to his lips. His eyes held such hope. "I know I shouldn't ask, but..." He trailed off.

"But what?" Addison gave into that magnetic pull that happened whenever she was near Liam. She took a step closer, her skirt brushing against his pants.

"Do you..." He felt truly afraid to ask her. If she told him she didn't feel the same or could never return his love, how could he go on without that glimmer of hope?

Addison watched him struggle to speak. She gently placed her hands on either side of his face. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. His instant, passionate reaction stole every thought from her. Her hands moved into his hair as he pulled her body flush to his.

When his lips moved down her neck, she couldn't hold in her feelings any longer. "I love you so much, Liam."

He froze. She leaned back in his arms. "I've tried to think realistically about how you should be with someone who has studied politics and courtly ways, but all I can think of is being with you. I know you could find someone better suited as your queen, but I want to be with you."

His lips crashed down on hers. He lifted her off the ground and spun her until she broke away to laugh. His smile filled with happiness took her breath away. Liam took her hand and knelt down. "Addison, my Addison." He tenderly kissed her hand. "I love you with all my heart. You are what I want for the rest of my life." Her smile caused his own to grow brighter.

She looked around the courtyard and seemed to become more nervous. "I--I'm not sure-- what am I supposed to say to a king?"

He stood up and kissed her cheek. "Whatever you want, my love. After all," his smile held a hint of humor. "You will be the Queen of Cordonia."

She laughed and threw her arms around his neck. "Is it improper for the future queen to be so in love with the king?"

"Quite the opposite." His smile turned tender. "Besides, no one will notice."

"They won't? And how do you know that?" She asked, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"Because they will be too focused on how in love their king is with you."

#trr liam #liam x addison #trr x rcd #rcd addison #red carpet diaries #the royal romance #trr drake #rcd thomas hunt #addison sinclair

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calleo-bricriu · 5 years ago

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what's the de sade ripoff book like anyway?

It’s like listening to someone who thinks they’re a genius but who’s really sort of–slightly below average at everything ramble on and on and on for over 400 pages about how they’re a genius and everyone around them is making their life horrible because they don’t understand how much of a genius he is.

Also, alcohol isn’t a stimulant at all, let alone a strong one. I guess, to be entirely fair, if I found out my Mum had a sex dungeon in the house I’d probably need a drink as well.

A lot of drinks.

And an Obliviator.

Finding out your mum has a sex dungeon is a pretty reasonable excuse to drink a lot.

Anyway, this author is allegedly a doctor, he ought to know damn well alcohol isn’t a stimulant.

I really do just love how it’s the same exact story, only with worse writing and set in Dresden–then Hamburg–then…New York City.

Some guy named Newcomber completely flips out any time someone says a woman’s name around him in his own house. It’s never explained why. I feel like that should have been an important plot point? Maybe he’s assuming everyone’s already read the book he blatantly lifted from.

Men just need to not be allowed to describe women in their books if they’re going to do it like this: “Seated in a large leathern chair was a dainty piece of pink-cheeked, dark-haired, ebon-eyed femininity. Her sealskin jacket fitted snugly her lithe form, and a fascinating toque rounded off the saucy, childlike appearance of the young woman.”

That’s the sort of description that makes you feel like you need to run a Scourgify through your entire brain.

I’ve read, as I mentioned yesterday, de Sade; all of his uncensored garbage and the difference is, de Sade knew he was a shite writer.

He was just one of those obnoxious people that feels the need to be edgy for shock value; to get a reaction. He wasn’t ever trying to be good at it, he just wanted to get a reaction and have people pay attention to him, which he got–usually in the form of prison.But, the end result of that is that his writing aged in a way that makes it so completely off the wall ridiculous that it’s more funny and less shocking now.

Like–right, if you’ve never read 120 Days of Sodom you should, because all it is is this list of increasingly improbable to impossible scenarios, in actual list form, that are discussed by the characters like they’re going over a list of chores they need to do that afternoon.

One involved mice and cannons, actual cannons, that somehow didn’t result in death or injury to anyone (including the mice), another had to do with somehow arranging it so a woman would give birth to a goat, which would then become a sex slave–the goat, not the woman, I think he forgot there was a woman involved in that one by the time he got to the impossible goat baby–and when you read something like that, you know damn well the person writing it was writing what they were writing as bait to see how mad people would get about it.

This idiot, however, didn’t appear to get the joke and is taking his own…version of Justine very, very seriously which leaves you more with a really creeped out feeling than a, “HA! I can’t believe anyone fell for this, it’s so obviously written as over the top with intent to offend people too stupid to get the joke,” sort of thing.

So, moving on from the creepy description of childlike femininity–and who says woman like that anyway?

Ms. Femininity gets up and gives the, “Never Say A Woman’s Name In My House For Any Reason Ever” Newcomber a kiss and he just sort of shrugs it off, which makes her concerned but since he never bothered detailing whatever backstory these two have I guess I’m just supposed to make one up. Guessing that, because it was described as “armorous” they’re lovers but, it might have had more of an impact if he’d–mentioned that previously at some point?

This is only page sixteen, as an aside.

She was gossiping with his mom and mom let slip that he was leaving Dresden and she’s upset but again, no backstory given between these two so we don’t even know how or why she knows his mother. All we know about that relationship is that his mom grosses him out probably because of the sex dungeon thing, which is a fair reason to not want to visit your mother’s house.

So he’s pretty meh about the kiss hello, she loses her mind about it and says he’s being cruel then flings herself onto the sofa for a good cry about which he doesn’t even care.

His name is Leigh, apparently, which is a perfectly common German name, as is Newcomber..

And she’s–Tahitian (but upper class, he’s emphasised that, can’t have him screwing around with a commoner from Tahiti, obviously) and grew up in…Honolulu and got married to a US Navy officer two years before she met the guy in Dresden that she just kissed and is now crying over while the author scrambles for a backstory.

Great, got married at sixteen, is now referred to as a “child-wife” and somehow his deployment from Honolulu landed her in…Dresden.

He should have known not to leave her alone in Dresden because, since she’s Tahitian, that means she’s just going to start cheating on him the second his back is turned (which appears to be what’s happening here).

An entire page later, we find out her name is Obera, and the guy whose mom has a sex dungeon who straight up ignores her is apparently the love of her life despite the fact that all we’ve seen so far is that he’s straight up not the least bit interested in her.

That finally ended and we’re back to her crying on the sofa and he tells her to knock it off because it makes him feel mean–when he was just mean to her not even two full pages ago. Leigh’s got a terrible memory, I guess.

“Finely-molded limbs”. Stop it.

A few paragraphs of Obera going on about how Leigh’s sister, Mizpra, is a complete and utter bitch and Leigh agreeing with her that Mizpra is, in fact, a complete and utter bitch. I might be too if my name were Mizpra.

At this point, in the middle of Obera trying to explain some theological lecture she attended, the author butts in to tell us that the lectures are FACTS then references some article in Popular Science Monthly from May 1989 called, “Witchcraft in Bavaria” right after Leigh starts talking about how Dresden has lousy weather and they’re going to the Rhine because the climate is that much different–five hours barely South and mostly West of Dresden, though it might be closer depending on where along the Rhine they’re going; its a river, and it’s not exactly a short one.

It also apparently has a climate similar to Honolulu which tells me he’s never been to either place but, it’s fiction, so why the hell not?

I’m only on page 22 now, as an aside.

Suffer with me, this is awful.

So he’s already planned this whole thing, someone named Frau Leidmann will lie to everyone and tell them that Obera is traveling with some old woman, he’s sending a telegram from…New York asking her to meet some made up person in Hamburg which, incidentally, is five hours North of Dresden and if you’re trying to aim for a warmer, closer to Honolulu climate here, you don’t want to be going North but okay, fine, we’re going to Hamburg.

Author really ought to have consulted a map before writing this.

“Was it right that he should take her with him and wreck her life?” Um–if you have to ask…

Wonderful, well, at least by now she’s 18 because she got married two years previously at 16.

By page 23 he’s essentially admitted he doesn’t like her much at all but she’s hot and young so he’s going with that. Not creepy at all.

“He would throw her aside as he would any other obstacle. Was this love?” …no. We established that two paragraphs ago when his thought was straight up that he didn’t love her.

Can’t take her back to the US with him but–he’s–that part was never mentioned at any point, as far as we’ve known until page 24 is that the guy lives in Dresden, his sister is a bitch, and his mom has a sex dungeon.

Nothing dignified about his appearance, likes his laboratory, doesn’t have a real job, nobody understands him, I’m starting to think it’s less that his sister is a bitch and more that he’s just kind of a whiny creep.

So, that’s the end of chapter 1.

Chapter two starts with him explaining why he named one of his dogs Bridget and why he’s mad that Obera could not possibly care less. I couldn’t possibly care less either but he explains it anyway in the weirdest possible way, “They do not associate the name with the beautiful, refined, and historically interesting woman who gave it such prominence. How can you associate a noisy, china-breaking, red-headed, befuzzled, opinionated ruler of the kitchen with Bridget the Goddess of Poetry, the Gaelic Muse, the sentimental, impulsive Sappho of ancient Ireland?”

Man, don’t talk about your dog that way, just don’t. I don’t like where you’re going with it.

Dagda gets a much shorter, “he was the all-king, almost the Zeus of ancient Ireland.”

Ah, and Obera is, of course, a princess. A Tahitian princess.

From Honolulu.

Which is famously in Tahiti and not a six hour flight–a thing that didn’t exactly exist in 1901 so I’m assuming it would have taken a hell of a lot longer by boat–North on an entirely different set of islands.

Okay.

You know, at least de Sade knew where physical locations of places were.

Do you know how bad something as to be that, not even 35 full pages in, you can not only recognise it as a direct derivative work of the Marquis de Sade but also have it be abundantly clear that it’s, like, a version of it so poorly done that the only reason you’re still reading it is because you kind of now want to see just how much more idiotic the story can get?

That’s what this book is like.

“He arose and went to her, took her on his lap, and talked to her as though she were a child.” No. No, stop that right now.

Four pages of him explaining that the reason why he ordered, ordered, her to read a childrens book was to prove to her how all folk tales are all the same and nothing is original and something about random Greek philosophers, then Why Catholics Are Right.

I might have been as bored reading that as Obera probably was having to listen to it.

HA! SHE FELL ASLEEP WHILE HE WAS TALKING!

She has a nap, wakes up later, and has somehow…uh…received a letter from that guy she married in Honolulu basically saying, “We both made a mistake. Divorce time.” and is somehow upset by this despite it being established in the last chapter that she wasn’t super interested in him anyway as the first thing she did when he ended up deployed was start fucking this idiot of a pseudo-intellectual.

…and this is somehow Mizpra’s fault, so I’m assuming she tattled, then he straight up jumps from, “Yeah I don’t love her, she’s just hot I guess” to “I LOVE YOU LET’S GET MARRIED DEFINITELY NOT TO SPITE MY SISTER!”

That’s not sarcasm. That’s exactly what it was. Right after he does the, “I love you! I’ll marry you!” (twice in a row at that, nobody talks like that) he moves right onto “the bitch can’t laugh at you getting busted cheating if we get married” which is not entirely sound logic but that’s where we’re going.

Robert Mesney hopefully got out of this stupid plot by realising what was going on and filing for divorce.

Actually, he doesn’t even ask her to marry him he tells her that he’s going to marry her and doesn’t give her the option to object which I guess is just fine because at some point during his rant about his sister being a tattling bitch Obera fainted and he just…didn’t notice until he let her go and she fell over because of the being unconscious thing. Even then he didn’t really care, he just sort of went, “Oh.” and dropped her back on the bed.

Now she’s talking about his “aged countenance” which might be a little more fair if it hadn’t been mentioned that he’s 25. It’s not exactly old enough to count as “aged countenance”.

Apparently he’s also an alcoholic, which they keep referring to as dipsomania. Good idea, marry the 25 year old alcoholic who the plot has established doesn’t even love you (nor has he shown it at any point in their interactions apart from shouting it at her after finding out his sister told her soon-to-be-ex-husband that Obera was cheating on him), that’ll go well for everyone involved. I don’t see what could possibly go wrong here.

The servant at this place in Hamburg has been going on for five and a half pages about how Leigh is a drunk and how it’s his mother’s fault or something then just rambling on about his own family tree for no actual reason and how he’s somehow related to Leigh but also is looking forward to the time when the last Newcomber dies.

That’s chapter 2.

Chapter 3 starts with the fact that Leigh said he’d be back by lunch and it’s been three days and he’s still not back; I guess, to be fair, he didn’t say by lunch on which day.

He’s just out binge drinking in Hamburg.

Shows up four days later at four in the morning and immediately starts drinking again and none of this is a red flag for her.

Now they’re–he’s going to Paris, she’s going back to…the US from Havre, and he’s somehow decided it’s a better idea for him to not also go to the US via Havre but to instead go to Liverpool and leave from there. Okay.

This is only page 44 out of 408.

Mizpra wants to control their mother to snag most of her estate out from under Leigh, it appears as though she’s just his stepsister anyway, Mrs. Kassel is apparently a nice lady because the author hammers that point away for a good two solid pages and she’s going to New York with Obera because she apparently owns a house on Fifth Avenue.

All right.

She just randomly tells Obera that crooked noses and mental illness (sorry, “bad psychic quality”) runs in the family. Still no red flags for Obera.

Skips right to the wedding which has…no detail at all. Literally the only mention it gets after all of that build up is, “The wedding took place at Mrs. Kassel’s, who attended to every detail,” then moves right on to Leigh getting a flat in uptown and a job at a hospital and to mention that his mother’s letters were “curt, unresponsive, and insulting” for which he blames Mizpra.

Couldn’t be the fact that he ran off to the US with a still married 18 year old without telling anyone, why would that bother someone’s mother?

He either gets fired or quits at the hospital, it was never mentioned either way, and has irregular work so now they’re behind on bills and Obera’s “condition” requires quiet and rest and…Mrs. Kassel to take her on a vacation I guess. Time skip from spring to autumn and, to nobody’s surprise, Obera comes back with a baby and her idiot of a husband is still unemployed and also didn’t seem to notice or care that she was gone (because that’s never mentioned) for almost a year.

By this point, Leigh straight up hates his mom and Mizpra is a “moral criminal” but it’s not explained how, just that she is.

Mom, Mizpra, and a whole bunch of their maids suddenly turn up at an uptown hotel and he just–takes off to go and see them despite having spent the last few pages going on about how he can’t stand either of them.

Sister’s got masculine handwriting which is somehow important to know.

Oh, let’s see, what else are we learning about Mizpra: Large jaws, muscled neck, small hips, uncomely waist, large hands, bold frame, coarse features, a “masculine larynx” and she–author keeps refering to Mizpra as she so that’s what I’m going with here–tells him to fuck off and that she’ll call the police if he tries to see mother.

So, instead of trying to reason with her (also why did they come over from Desden if they didn’t want to see him?) he just tells her she looks like a man.

“Mother doesn’t want to see you.”

“YEAH, WELL YOU LOOK LIKE A MAN! CHECKMATE! I AM SUCH AN INTELLECTUAL!”

Great display of the long winded nonsense the author gave everyone about what an intelligent intellectual this idiot is; best he can come up with is to tell his sister she looks like a man.

He still doesn’t have a job.

It’s been almost an entire year, how have they not been evicted from that flat yet?

Oh, but he has money to go out and get trashed again, though.

And he’s rambling to the bartender about people staring at “crippled children” for some fucking reason while the bartender pretty much pretends to listen.

He drinks because he’s a genius. That’s it. That’s the reason. He’s a genius and nobody gets him so he drinks.

58 pages in and I can kind of see why this guy’s sister doesn’t particularly care for him. I don’t particularly care for him either and, so far, am kind of on Mizpra’s side on this one.

Random name dropping list of famous people who had epilepsy or who were alcoholics or drug addicts. For an entire five pages. Nothing else, just a list, until he gets to Edgar Allan Poe who apparently had a psychic incubus problem instead.

One long paragraph held together by semicolons that says nothing at all.

Five pages about how his drinking problem is literally just like lycanthropy only, instead of turning into a wolf, he just goes to a pub and does so more often than once every full moon.

Same thing though. Exactly like lycanthropy which we all know is caused by thinking you’re a genius then being mad that nobody else agrees with that self-assessment.

More internal dialogue about how everybody is an idiot except him, because he’s a genius that nobody understands.

Somehow.

A few more pages of comparing himself to Nero which is not strictly the best comparison someone could make unless he’s planning to burn New York City down.

Couple of pages of internal dialogue about how he shouldn’t have to get a job because he’s a genius and people should just pay him to grace them with his presence.

End of Chapter 4 and I can’t keep reading this anymore today. This might be the worst thing I’ve ever read and not at all for the reasons the author was intending; it’s not shocking unless you’re shocked by how badly it’s written.

It’s so bad it’s almost exhausting.

#painfully bad literature #books #I actually wish I could go back in time just to beat this guy to death with his own 400 page manifesto #about this genius that isn't even remotely close to being one #and also kind of for the whole Edgar Allan Poe was killed by a psychic incubus thing #The terrible medical advice I can kind of overlook because most of it was like that #hp rp #long post

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thewayofthetrashcompactor · 6 years ago

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chapter one on ao3

Rating: T (M later) Words: 1950 / 40k Tags: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Finn, Rose Tico, Unkar Plutt, Leia Organa, Snoke, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Fairy Tale Elements, Moon, Scavenger Rey, Reylo Fanfiction Anthology, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change

Summary: Rey has a busy schedule: between her part time jobs, trying to get a degree, and breaking into certain people's homes to steal items she can pawn off to Unkar Plutt, she doesn't have time for anything mysterious or unusual. And she's not exactly in the habit of returning lost property.

However, something gets her to make an exception. Which somehow mixes her up with Ben Solo, and that turns out to be a hard bond to break.

Notes: I’m so excited to share my fic for this year’s @reylofanfictionanthology! Thank you so, so much to everyone involved in this. To all our writers, you are amazing and make this project as incredible as it is. To my fellow mods, you are lovely people who have put so much work into this. I never cease to be impressed. And thank you to everyone reading this! This project has been about six months in the making, and we are all so excited to be able to present this collection!

Thank you also to @shelikespretties and @shmisolo for going through this, and @persimonne for taking the time to read this when I was about to give up and convincing me it was worth finishing. You are wonderful <3

Rey disabled the alarm on the back window through the crack between the frames, pulled it up, and slipped inside. The plush carpet made no sound as she landed, and she closed the window behind her. The full moon shone through the window, casting a silver glow on the luxurious furnishings. A buzzing excitement rolled over her as she took stock of the room she found herself in.

She’d heard the new wave of crime that people were supposed to worry about wasn't the stereotypical burglar in a catsuit breaking into the house in the middle of the night or any of those old-fashioned criminals that made their living with soft steps and quick fingers. Now it was all maintenance workers in disguise and online scams, the kind of things that could get much better rewards with less effort than painstakingly picking open locks. She, however, preferred the classics.

(cont. under the cut)

The room was almost exactly what she'd expected from a sleazebag like Snoke. Thick dark carpet, walls draped in fabric, and a bed that looked like it was covered in the same material as the man's infamous golden suit. She nearly gagged. Oozing wealth, but no taste. Not that she'd know anything about that. Still, she didn't feel too bad about dipping into the man's bloated riches to help keep herself afloat. He was out at one of his monthly meetings that night, something she’d watched him leave for regularly for a few months now, likely rubbing elbows with other criminals as disgusting as he was.

She started at the dresser, a heavy thing made of dark wood inlaid with gold and pearl and with various boxes and jewelry scattered carelessly across the top. Her gloved hands picked through the offerings, taking small pieces here and there, rings or chains that looked less worn or that sat at the bottom of a pile, things he likely wouldn't miss. Scrunching her face in disgust, she quickly rummaged through his sock and underwear drawers, but didn't turn up anything interesting. She retrieved a watch and a couple jeweled tie pins from another drawer, then faced the room again.

The closet was worth a brief look, but she could save that for last. The bed first then. She pulled up the skirt to look underneath, but the frame went all the way to the floor, and knocking around it didn’t turn up any hiding places. She turned to the chest at the foot of the bed, an older piece with engravings of oceans in the light wood. It looked incongruous in the rest of the room, like someone had actually put care into its creation. A lock secured the front, but it was easy enough to pick that. She pushed back the lid, hoping to find a safe or something equally as worthwhile. Instead, a heap of dark fur sat alone inside.

She picked it up, frowning. The fur slid soft and silky under her hands as she stood and shook it out. It turned out to be a coat, slightly too large for her, but not at all shaped for Snoke's gaunt and towering frame either. It looked strangely inviting, and all she wanted to do was to take it with her and wrap it around herself, snuggling into it.

The thought was a completely ridiculous one. The coat would suit her as well as anything else from Snoke's indulgent garbage. It looked luxurious and definitely expensive, but not worth trying to bundle it back out of the house with her. Still, it was an odd thing for Snoke to keep locked up and so close at hand.

Rey sighed, letting it slip through her fingers and fall back into the chest. As it landed, she heard the crinkle of paper and quickly bent over to find what it was. She dug through the pockets until her hand reached a scrap of stationery, which she pulled out and spread on the edge of the chest. The paper looked old and slightly the worse for wear, but the words printed on it were easily legible:

Ben Solo

415-623-1000

Rey's heart skipped a beat. The handwriting was clearly a child's, clumsy and unpracticed, with lines pressed deep in the paper where he must have been concentrating. The ‘S’ could nearly be an eight and the zeroes ran into each other. But the name and number were understandable, and the intention was obvious. She'd done something similar for her prized possessions as a child, such as they were: a faded ‘R’ scrawled in marker on the foot of the doll she'd made from scraps, and when she was older, ‘Rey Niima’ written carefully on her beat-up copy of ‘The Little Princess’ she'd stolen from her classroom. She hadn’t wanted to commit to the phone number of her latest home, so she’d settled from writing under it: “If found, please return”. Her hands clenched on the paper, wrinkling it. She didn't know who ‘Ben Solo’ was, but she'd be willing to bet he didn't belong within a thousand feet of Snoke at any time.

She tried to set the coat back. Even if something was wrong here, which it very likely was, she couldn't do anything about it. Having the coat would just get her in trouble, one way or another. She was here to get herself through another month, not involve herself in any of Snoke’s notoriously sketchy dealings. Yet, even with all of that logic, she couldn't close the lid and let it go.

With a growl, she gathered the coat up and pulled it out of the chest, then closed the lid and locked it again before she could reconsider. Scowling the whole time, she bundled the fur into her bag and tied it to her back. As she eased herself back out the window, she couldn't help but feel like she was going to regret this.

(read the rest on ao3!)

#reylo #reylo fanfiction anthology #rffa writers #benrey #rey x kylo ren #reylo writing den #between belief #my fic

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mlcibers · 6 years ago

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AVAN JOGIA —— Well, if it isn’t CASSIUS MULCIBER, the SLYTHERIN superstar. For those of you who don’t know HIM, you can spot them sitting with the other SEVENTH years. Most people think that they’re UNDERSTATED and ADAPTIVE, but they can also seem pretty LISTLESS and DISSATISFIED. Sometimes people call them the HOLLOWED. Sure, they’re a PUREBLOOD, but that doesn’t define them.

your boi cassius has a pinterest board and a stats page!!

cassius was raised from a young age to believe in the power of his name, if nothing else. it was a poor belief system for a child, but he’d say he came out alright. not great; but then he’d longed forged a private belief that people weren’t capable of being great. sometimes he wondered if they were even all that capable of being good.

his father, lysander mulciber, wasn’t an altogether awful man. he was a politician, as known for his corruption as he was for his re-elections. if people came to him for favors, he’d hear them out, pull a few strings; it came at a price, but the people who knew enough to ask figured him fair in his pricing. he never asked for more than someone could give --- because he’d learned in his own childhood that there was more to be bargained for than money. trust, faith, loyalty, those were far more powerful things. he traded in those even more often than he traded in shady dealings.

he saved his cruelties for the closed-door happenings at the ministry, passing laws that hurt people, or made it easier too. but he presented a good, if slightly crooked, face for the mulciber name, and made sure his son could do the same.

he tried to be there for his son, but cassius could always tell that his father wasn’t the type of man cut out to be a father. he never let his inclination for cruelties bleed out on his son, but when cassius was a child he was raised by a string of nannies until his father came home for dinners marked by their stilted attempts at conversation.

cassius wondered, sometimes, if lysander blamed his son for his wife dying in childbirth. if that was why the two were never close, despite trying on and off throughout the years to force that connection. it didn’t matter; lysander remarried, another young, pretty pureblood with a dead spouse and a child, and the two of them had a kid all their own, and while cassius was never his father’s best friend, he never felt like an outsider in their family.

besides. not being beloved didn’t mean much when cassius knew that no matter what, he’d always be his father’s pride and joy. he expected cassius to be a good man --- a good mulciber. he trusted his son, had faith in his son’s loyalty. those three things that mattered more than love in the mulciber household.

cassius had nothing against his father. nothing tangible. but he’d always wonder if the things wrong in his wiring were to blame on those first loveless years of his life. if maybe his father had been the kind of man who could be a father, if he’d be capable of being a half decent person. his half siblings and his step-mother’s child all seem better at being people than he is; even if none of them are quite as good at being mulcibers. for the most part, cassius would guess he’s fine with it. let his hands be bloodied, if they’re not good for much else.

he thinks they’re good for plenty more, of course, but it’s never been his place to speak up. he likes writing, and figures he’d go mad if he didn’t spend time before sleeping each night emptying his head into the pages of a notebook. he guards that thing with his life, and sometimes thinks he’d be more willing to die for that ritual than anything his father told him to. but no matter how much he loves it, he can’t afford to.

every single one of his actions was done through diligence. lysander wouldn’t have had it any other way, and somehow managed to drill that into cassius’ head when he was a child.

the thing was that cassius was smart, and had his talents, but he wished he didn’t. he’d always, always wished he didn’t. life would be easier if he were an idiot, or useless. if all he was good at was his dumb shit, his writing and his charm, he’d get passed over in a line-up. if he were dull or clumsy, his father’s ‘cause’ wouldn’t want him, and he’d be better off for it. and logically, he knows his father doesn’t love him any better for having those skills --- what would he have to lose? only everything he’s ever known.

he never wanted to call negative attention to himself, but he resented the positive attention he received anyway. it was hard for him to dumb himself down, so he didn’t, but resented what that brought him. he resented a lot of things, to be fair.

lysander couldn’t bother bloodying his hands, and he cared for his wife too much to ask it of her children --- but cassius, he was lysander’s pride, his trust and belief and loyalty. he could ask anything of cassius, would ask anything of cassius, and never once think that his son would turn down his requests. when darker forces started brewing, he asked his son to take up some extracurricular studying. when bad things started happening, he asked his son to investigate the root cause ... always, always with the express implication that cassius would know to join, so long as he was smart about it.

cassius hated being smart about it, but he could never turn his brain off. he hated how good he was at dark things, hated that he didn’t care enough about the pain he caused to stop.

for all his resentments, he never directed them towards his dad. instead, he focused all that anguish on the true darkness in him. because if he were to be honest, he didn’t loathe every horrible act his father asked of him, didn’t feel sick at the thought of what awaited him outside of hogwarts. there was something to be said for the power of it, the seductive energy in what he was a part of --- something to be said for being seen as an asset by people other than his father.

that he didn’t find anything too abhorrent in his dangerous deeds made him guiltier than his actions did. that the guilt wasn’t enough to stop was even worse, sometimes. it itched under his skin in the moments he was alone with nothing but aimless guilt. so it was a good thing that cassius was good enough at keeping company around, too. he ever had to grapple with his demons if he never let them speak.

he knew that enough of his peers felt sickened at what was being done to people, what was being talked about being done. that he never fought too hard against the mantle he was born into was cassius’ choice, for the most part, and he’d made his peace with that. for the most part.

cassius isn’t really happy with his lot in life, but he’s not unhappy enough to leave. he doesn’t care enough about the politics behind the brewing war to let that make up his mind, and he’s too good at being bad for him to ever wonder if he could be something else. a small part of him wants to want to be something else; that same part that wonders if his dad only pushes him into the war because he doesn’t love him.

some might say that he was just choosing the easiest lane, and, hey, maybe that was the truth. but he raised himself. he did what he could to keep his siblings out of his father’s machinations, no matter how right lysander thought he was. he ensured that he left no trace of having done wrong ( hell, he barely left a trace of being alive ), and ensured that no one had any reason to lodge a complaint against him. maybe he did the easy thing, made the simple hard choices. but he did with all of himself. he couldn’t afford anything else.

MORE STUFF

he’s mostly a quiet guy in classes and stuff. he’s always been pretty smart and good at picking up skills quickly, and picking them up well. he could’ve been a ravenclaw, he thinks, but that hat didn’t take that much time to realize that with the way he’d been raised he had to be slytherin.

has a step sibling and some half siblings that i’m?? leaving open for anyone who wants to i guess!! it’d be an interesting connection given that he’s not at all close to his father but is pretty chill with his step mom

despite being pretty quiet and not speaking out a lot in his classes, he has a fair amount of friends, i’m thinking? he’s pretty ambivalent about the actual politics and morality debates behind the war and the death eaters, and mostly considers himself his father’s hired weapon. so he doesn’t tend to do anything malicious of his own will, and has no problem being friends with whoever’s around when they’re around.

writes a lot, like a fucking nerd. takes really good notes, and doesn’t mind sharing them with people even though he’s a shit tutor

probably really good with animals because he likes that they have no expectations

tbh i thought about making his label ‘THAT GUY’ because he probably is just that guy that everyone knows. not to be even a little bit confused with that guy that everyone likes --- even though he’s always really pleasantly surprised to be liked. it’s a pleasant surprise because i’m sure a fair number of people are put off by him and his empty charm and overall quiet demeanor.

he’s eerily silent when he walks. if he were an animagus he’d be some kind of cat.

being liked is absolutely the reason he’s chill with his dad grooming him for the death eaters. he gets more affection from the adult evils than he does from his father and it’s intoxicating for him.

also let’s be real, cassius has never called his dad by anything but his first name.

let’s be realer, he doesn’t even know to hate his dad for what he’d been made into.

any attacks he’s been a part of on hogwarts grounds (or anywhere else, really) and any attacks he may come to commit were probably 100% his father’s idea. he’s still garbage though because he’s more put off about the fact that he’s good at torturing people than he is about like, the actual pain torturing causes them. even if he decides not to become a death eater in this magic au land it’s still not easy for him to be a good person?

being a good person is just more work, and it’s never gotten him anything. if his dad admired volunteering and helping people, cassius would quietly do those. he doesn’t much give a shit what he’s doing so long as people like him for it, and rn all he knows is his dad and the other adult death eaters liking that he’s good at hurting people.

if it helps though he sometimes wishes he were capable of feeling normal guilt. he doesn’t and it bothers him, because he doesn’t actively want to be fucked up

he still is, though. still is

#novum:intro #this is???? probably my longest intro #idk

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