#i need to do more of these anguished men in pretty party dresses the voices call me to it

[ganem-ouchie]

HELLO CHAT MY LOVELY CHAT sorry for the art inactivity I'm tweaking over artfight,, Anyway here have private eyes in more or less accurate 30-40s dresses because i think about them everyday all day forever

[laurore-stormwitch]

Here is 2219 words of plotless angst and yearning and emotional pain because I’m freaking out over row coming out in eleven days and I’m terrified. I used the quote which came out the other day  “Sweet words and grand declarations were for other people, other lives.” Shoutout to the amazing @claudiarya and @not-just-human for the support.

for other people, for other lives - ao3

Sweet words and grand declarations were for other people, other lives.

Not for the one she was living now. Not for her, certainly. Those words were only meant to wither in her memories, now. This life had been a succession of wrong choices when it came to men she found herself to believe in. An absent and unaffectionate father, a manipulator and mass murderer. And now, of all the men she could let herself feel for, she chose the damn king of Ravka. Zoya did not regret believing in Nikolai, fighting for him, trusting him. He had never let her down. But caring like this for him? The epitome of bad choices. She felt the urge to rip her thrumming heart out of her chest. Her hands went to press on her temples: even the muffled sounds coming from the ballroom were unnerving her. The hope for fresh air drove her to the balcony, along with a pressing need for quiet and solitude. She was sick of everything that was going on; the party, the music, the false and hollow laughter of ambassadors and dignitaries throwing themselves at the king’s feet like their country was not on a brink of destruction. Nikolai’s charm sticking like sap on the people, a pretence of confidence and normality, with his hand on Ehri’s arm while his look stayed trained on Zoya’s sapphire eyes. It was all way too much to handle on a clear and sober mind. The voices increased as the door opened, to be swallowed again when she heard the lock. The steps that echoed on the marble floor could only be of one person who had enough of a suicidal strike to follow her when she had clearly wanted an escape.

“Get back inside, Nikolai.”

She exhaled without even bother to look back at him. Nikolai chuckled and came to stop at her side.

“You’re really attentive.”

“You’re really not subtle. I ought to teach you how to properly sneak up on people.”

He shrugged, letting her have the last line, and dangled a glass filled with a liquid the colour of amber. As close as they were standing now, their shoulders brushing, she could feel his scent meddled with a spiking note of alcohol. Nikolai was not one to indulge in drunkenness in such a delicate night, but it still had to appear like a party, and he clearly looked like someone who had needed a couple of drinks to survive the evening. She could not blame him, as a matter of fact. Still, his ruffled state only added to the treachery of being together like this. Last time they were alone, it did not exactly go down well, a moment that haunted her every waking hour since it happened.

“Weren’t you having fun inside?”

“Not particularly. It was tedious and sickening. “

“Why, my dear general, I even saw you dance with a handsome sergeant.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, scowling at him. He was grinning, but he had an edge to his voice only Zoya could sense. Do you really believe it means anything, she wanted to ask? It was true, the boy was handsome, and at any other moment she wouldn’t have thought twice on getting herself some hard-earned distraction. She had felt Nikolai’s eyes studying her the whole time, as the soldier’s hand slipped on her lower back and he spun her around. Zoya knew it was not about jealousy, or rather not the kind of possessive sentiment people would assume of. She knew because she felt it too with Ehri; what bothered her was not the affection they could share, but the way they could be together in public, how easy it was for them. The absence of barriers, propriety, and obstacles. Everything her and Nikolai could not afford to have, that simplicity. Everything he must have envied too about that common man holding Zoya’s waist.

“Genya asked me to pretend I don’t loath everything about this. But believe me, I do.”

It was as close to a reassurance she could manage to give him, without betraying herself too much. The king lifted the glass towards her in an offering gesture.

“I’m on duty.” The raven-haired general glared at his smug expression. “You know, trying to avoid people running a blade through your chest.”

Nikolai shrugged his shoulders, downing with little ceremony the content she had refused.

“I’m starting to think that being alive may be thoroughly over-rated.”

“What exactly is over-rated about a king’s existence?”

“It comes with heavy responsibilities and too many boring dinners.” His eyes looked like they were taking her vision in, intensely scanning her features. They lingered a moment too much on her lips, before darting back up to lock on her blue glowing irises.  “And it forces me to give up on a lot of things I’d like to be free to pursue.”

She shifted, uneasy, a shiver running through her spine. The wind rose slightly at her nervousness and tugged at the hem of her silk embroidered kefta, lifting it off the ground. Zoya smoothed it, grateful for the decision of keeping her uniform tonight. It made her feel a bit more like herself, a bit more in control. The frustration and anger building inside her put venom in her voice, though the exhaustion and defeat creeping through were clear enough to catch.

“What are you doing here? And cut to the chase, please.”

“I saw you leave. You looked – “ He stopped, exhaling a long breath. “Weary. Upset. I wanted to check on you.”

Without yielding away from her eyes, he took a tentative step toward her; the ghost of their almost kiss, or rather barely avoided disaster, flooded the back of her mind, along with the ushered and frantic words he had spoken to her. She clenched her jaw, tension running through her veins like a fire scorching a barren ground.

“We’re facing battle on countless fronts and still wasting time on worthless charades like this” She gestured to the closed doors and the lights beyond them, the whirl of dresses and laughter. “Of course I’m weary and upset.”

“Nothing else?” Was he really coming back to this? To being hopeful and stubborn?

“No, Nikolai. Doesn’t it seem enough to you? Besides that, I’m perfectly fine.” Clipped words and pretty lies. “I don’t need anyone to check on me.”

“What do you need, then?”

You. And it terrifies me in a way you cannot fathom. How quick was her mind to betray her. Take the dreadful truth and smash it into a proper deceit.

“I need a break, and to be left alone for some godforsaken time.”

He cocked his head to one side, considering her. One of his hand ran through his golden flocks, messing them up even more. Zoya had rarely seen him so deprived of his usual bright endeavour, so taken on by fatigue. He still managed to flash a smile in her direction, one that did not reach his eyes but died on the curve of his mouth.

“They were asking for you. They always are, the nobles, ambassadors, all of them. They want to gaze at the gorgeous squaller, the ruthless grisha who serves as the king’s right hand. They talk of you, and me, how the king has secured himself the most beautiful mistress in the palace.”

Nikolai was almost speaking to himself, his posture hardened, the despise he had for these people clear enough in his voice. Even though she couldn’t care less about the court’s hypocrisy and judgement and she had never asked Nikolai to defend her, he had always felt he needed to it somehow. Sarcasm tainted his speech, Zoya trying to assess where he was heading with this.

“They dare ask me sometime, even. How is it that I conquered you, assuming that I did, like you are some kind of prize to be taken. I told them you are nobody’s property. That you’re a general and they should hold you to that position without insulting you with their petty gossips.”

Her vindictive heart wanted to punish him for making her legs buckle with wanting, for making her heart race up in front of the rumbling rage he had for the people who did not respect her enough. He released his clenched posture, straightening. His eyes caught back their focus on her, turning soft and growing dark with desire.

“What I didn’t tell them tough, is that while it’s not true that I have you, you do hold the king’s heart in your dangerous hands.”

Zoya stilled. The hate she felt grew inside her like a tide. Hate for how much she wanted him, for how simple it was for him to speak these truths she was refusing to accept and ignore the grave reality they were living in. How natural and right it looked, coming from his mouth. How hard he kept making for her to drive the knife in him, again and again. Zoya used that familiar emotion to fuel her resolve.

“You shouldn’t talk like this. We can’t afford it.”

“What if I don’t care? What if I can’t keep on pretending anymore, if I can’t do this anymore?”

What if? What if, in another life, she would have been brave enough to tell him?

Stay. Stay with me.

Take the truth and twist it. Again.

“You should go.”

“Zoya -”

Pure anguish coursed in her at the sound of him pleading her name. Zoya felt like she was already mourning him; he was a couple of feet from her and still miles away, a distant memory blurring away with time. Nikolai turned silent and lifted a hand to her cheek, brushing the line of her jaw, floating against her neck, trailing her arm, and coming to rest on her wrist. He circled it with his fingers, tightening his grip.

Hold me. Again.

“Let me go.”

She hissed, a cold resolve in her voice. An order. He glanced at her under his lashes, pondering himself for a second, then left the hold on her wrist, his look unreadable under the night sky. Zoya turned away from him.

“I can’t do this anymore either, Your Highness.”

To her shame, her voice came out cracked with unshed tears. Would she be able to cry again, some day? She could not remember the last time she fought back the urge and her eyes just went dry. She could feel the prickle now, the pain, but the water stayed still in the endless well she dug inside herself. They were sparring, Nikolai trying to win this round and drag her to acceptance, Zoya holding her fortress. Zoya kept her eyes trained on the midnight sky beyond Os Alta, but she felt felt him move behind her, his body barely an inch from hers, his hand grazing the kefta over her hips. Nikolai leaned towards her, tilting his head and hovering with his lips near the shell of her ear. His breathing was ragged, warm against her neck, sending tremors in her body. She shut her eyes, thinking of how easy it would be to let her back rest on him, to turn and catch his mouth and tangle her fingers in his hair, to let herself be redeemed by his affection.

“Where does your heart lie, Zoya?”

It lies in the thought of your lips on mine. The wrenching need I despise of losing myself in your arms. The buried desire of a life where I could find comfort and peace, the need to give a voice to whatever this warmth and searing longing I have inside is. How your hand feels in mine, how your touch sets my skin on fire. The light in your eyes when the sun catches them, the endless nights spilling away like seconds when I’m with you.

The words came with the fury of a thunderstorm and drowned in her throat, scraping it.

You need someone different. You need someone loving, full of light like you are. He would only have found heartbreak and misery in her, a kind of affection too stiff and cutting on the edges for a soul as bright as his. Zoya pulled herself away from his hold and turned to face him, the closeness almost intolerable; Nikolai’s eyes were on her, bursting with the same yearning and despair she could feel in herself. It was gutting to see her feelings mirrored in someone else. She trailed at his side, breaking their connection; her hand brushed on his lightly as she got past him, the touch so soft and swift it could almost look unintentional to an innocent bystander.

“Some truths are better off unspoken, Nikolai.”

Zoya whispered under her breath, taking another step to get back inside. Sweet words and grand declarations were meant for other people, for other lives. Zoya was a soldier, and that was the choice she made every morning, day after day, until it would not be a choice anymore and the course of her life was set. She could not help the things she dreamed of, but not even the things she was made of; she was meant for waging wars and havoc, and she would rest in the secured loneliness and gilded cage she had built for herself.

[intoanothermind]

Stark - Peter Parker

Word Count: 1.5k words

- Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Synipsis: You prefer to work in the lab while your father is throwing a party, but when it comes to a end and is now just the Avengers, your boyfriend comes down to ask you to join then

Masterlist

“Y/N, honey, won't you come up?” Peter's voice tore me from my projects.

“Hm?” I asked, half stunned, looking away from the chip I was working with F.R.I.D.A.Y.

Peter sighed and I realized he was dressed formally. He moved closer and I set the tool aside as he reached me from behind, hugging me and resting his chin on the top of my head.

“What are you working on so hard?” He murmured against my hair after placing a kiss there.

“In nothing.” I answered quickly. “Why aren't you at dad's party?”

“Because it's already over.” Peter replied, lightly massaging my shoulders over the coat. “Mr. Stark asked me to come call you now that we are just the Avengers."

“You really need to stop calling my father Mr. Stark.” I commented, getting up and hanging the coat on the hook next to the door. “That gets weird even for me.”

Peter just laughed, not really responding to my comment. I followed him to the glass elevator.

“Where do you want to go?” FRIDAY asked for the speakers.

“Take us to Mr. Stark, please.” He replied, making me roll my eyes as he wrapped one arm around my waist.

Seconds later and I was surrounded by the greatest heroes on the planet and out of it. All of the Avengers were gathered in the Tower after a big party my father had organized at the end of the year. I used to argue with him, mainly because even though I was a Stark, I didn't like parties very much. But after all the confusion generated by the Sokovia agreements and the team splitting up, everyone deserved a break. And we had new acquisitions and they still didn't know how crazy my dad's parties were.

So even though I spent pretty much all the party hidden in the lab a few floors down, I was with my dad, Steve, Natasha, Clint, Wanda, Vision, Bruce, Sam, Rhodes, and those called to the last-minute battle in Germany, Scott and Peter. Even Thor had come from Asgard, so I didn't have to be the only one left out. Even though I had nothing to compare with them, my father and boyfriend still made sure I was among them.

Especially when they were all behaving like idiots.

“You won't be able to lift it.” I warned, seeing the men in the room commenting on Mjölnir that was on the coffee table.

“It’s not like they won't try.” Said Wanda, who was sitting next to me.

“He who has the power will lift it up.” Clint sneered, sitting at Natasha's feet on the couch beside him. “This is a trick!”

“Can we?” Sam asked Thor, who was in front of me.

“Feel free.” He offered, mentioning the hammer.

“Are they always like this?” Peter asked from my other side, whispering in my ear.

I tried to ignore the shiver it caused me before answering it.

“Worse than you think.”

“Your week has been hard, no one will mock you if you can't lift it.” I said to Sam, making fun of him.

Sam tried to lift with one hand, but Mjölnir didn't move even an inch. He even moaned trying to lift the hammer.

“Do you smell the joke?” Dad asked as Clint tried his luck, shuffling the cards he was playing with Steve and Rhodes.

“Stark, please do the honours.” He challenged.

Dad stood up adjusting his jacket.

“I never ran away from a fair challenge.” He bragged as he approached the hammer.

Everyone around grunted, used to his inflated ego.

“Are you sure he's your father?” Asked Scott, sitting at my feet.

“I wonder the same thing several times a day.”

Dad, who had overheard our quick conversation, soon intruded.

“Your IQ never lies your DNA, dear.” He bragged once more. “This is pure physics. Can I rule Asgard if I raise the hammer?”

“Oh, of course.” The god answered, not giving a damn about the comments. He knew it wouldn't work.

“My laws will be so funny.” Dad continued, putting one foot on the coffee table and failing miserably as he tried to lift Mjölnir.

My laugh must have been the loudest in the room.

“I'll be right back.” He insisted, as if he hadn’t just humiliated himself.

Even with the hand of Iron Man's armour, the hammer didn't give way and it became even more funny. Even Rhodes's help with the Combat Machine's hand didn't change an inch of the hammer. Almost everyone tried. Bruce tried, Steve tried, Scott tried, Thor let even Peter try, even with Daddy saying that if he couldn't, it wouldn't be as if the kid could. Of course Vision was forbidden to try - everyone already knew he could do it. Dad and Steve were still trying to come up with a theory of why he was the only one besides the owner to raise it. Wanda and Nat refused to humiliate themselves like that, but Daddy said so much in my ear that I decided to give him a taste that I couldn't.

“You know I won't make it.” I said, reaching out to get ready to take Mjölnir's handle.

After a few seconds of nearly having my arm ripped out, I thought I heard a slight clatter of metal being dragged. But I was sure it was my imagination when nothing else happened. Listening to the teasing of men who had done nothing either, I gave up. When Clint tried to go again, I decided to escape. I knew I couldn't make it. I didn't have the strength of Steve or Bruce, no machine that made me a hero like Daddy, Sam, Scott and Rhodes, no weird powers like Peter, Wanda and Vision and no amazing skills like Clint and Natasha. I loved to spend time with them, but every second I thought how much I was nothing like them.

At times like these, I'd just go back to the lab, trying to build a armour like dad’s. Simply because I wanted to make a difference like him. I wanted to use my intelligence to help others as he had done for years now. And that's exactly what I did. I went back to the lab Peter had taken me from and went back to working on the chip that was to connect F.R.I.D.A.Y. to the costume I'd still build.

“Y/N, what are you doing here? Why are you crying?”

Hearing Peter's worried voice brought me back to reality and realized that I was really crying. I tried to hide my face from him, but within seconds he was already ahead of me, wiping my face from tears and analysing me with those brown and worried orbs.

“Y/N, talk to me.”

“I just wanted to be like you.” I muttered, and felt as if a weight had off my shoulders. “I just wanted to do something, be a hero like you.”

“Y/N...” Peter said so fondly as he caressed my cheek that he was almost able to melt my anguish. “You don’t need that. You are smarter than all of us together. You are almost smarter than your own father.”

“I find that hard to believe. And I don't want to be smart, I want to be strong.” I muttered.

“You don’t need that.” He kept saying, his tone as soft as before. “Your intelligence, everything you do, is everything that makes you who you are. I wouldn’t change a thing about you. Y/N Stark, you are perfect just the way you are. And you almost got to lift Thor's hammer. He realized that, I realized that. You was closest to do that and that means something. Y/N, you're already something.”

I smiled through my tears, finally able to let this desire of mine pass. Peter smiled too, kissing my lips and not caring that the kiss was salty from tears. He kissed me with love and passion and I felt much lighter.

“Baby girl?” My father's voice rang in my ears and we broke the kiss. “I didn't know you thought that way.” He approached and Peter walked away a little, but didn’t leave the lab.

“I started thinking like that when there was the fight at the airport and you didn't let me go.” I said, lowering my head.

“Even if you were in armour or had powers, I wouldn't let you go.” I frowned at his words. “You're my little girl, I couldn't let you get into something so dangerous.”

“Peter is my age and you recruited him anyway.”

“Peter is not my little girl, you are.”

I laughed, hearing Peter shouting a “ hey!” in the background as I hugged my dad as tightly as possible. I looked over his shoulder at my boyfriend, who winked at me as I sent him a kiss.

And I couldn't stop smiling.

[bygosscarmine]

A PERILOUS ENGAGEMENT

Man from UNCLE - Wife or Knife AU

5/12

If Gabrielle tried to answer, it merely made the note of her cries more anguished. Maria ran to her bedchamber and fetched down smelling salts, which she thrust under Gabrielle's nose. Forced to gasp, her weeping was interrupted by the assault on her nostrils.

"You are worrying me," Maria said in a chiding tone, knowing that when someone got so overwrought it was no use to be sympathetic.

It was much better to divert their attention. "Whatever can you be crying over so? Surely a wedding is not something to make you so very full of grief."

For a moment she feared speaking the question would restart Gabrielle's tears, but instead the girl seemed to get angry.

"No, of course I have no cause for grief. I am trapped in a country village with no prospects and an inheritance I can only enjoy once I'm married, and an uncle who would never recommend me to marry anyone. Why would a wedding make me at all grieved?"

Maria had her failings, but her perceptiveness about people was keen. Gabrielle could not possibly be so upset she was hysterical about her dim marital future unless…

"Darling, is there a man you like? Is it--" she hesitated with some foreboding. "Is it Mr. Solo?"

Gabrielle's laugh at that was a little bitter, but Maria was relieved. "No, I don't care for Mr. Solo. Goodness, if I did he might be persuadable, and your father might even think it a good match. No, I do not intend to poach him."

"I am not attached to Mr. Solo in any way," said Maria with dignity. Then, with a bit of a cunning tone to her voice, "So who is it who is unpersuadable? I shouldn't think you'd have seen his friend above three times, and never to speak to."

Gabrielle's hesitation told her enough.

"Oh, you wicked child! Have you been sneaking out to talk with him? Please say I have not failed so greatly as a chaperone."

"Would it be so desperate a case if I had been spending time with him?" Gabrielle retorted, quickly this time. "And do you really think he would be so improper as to spend time with a young woman unchaperoned?"

Maria looked at her blankly. There was clearly something else, but…

"You have been sneaking out," she reflected, "I could swear to that. But no one has seen you, so you must have been disguised. And no, I don't think the starched Carrick would have spent time even with a servant girl alone, he is too nice for that." Then she gasped, "Gabrielle! Jerry's old trunk!"

The girl turned her face away, but this was practically an admission.

"You have been meeting, but he thinks you are a young man?"

"A boy," she admitted. "He called me lad."

Maria flung her hands up in despair.

"Well, your secret is safe with me, or else I'll be removed to my father's house to live with my new sister-in-law. But you should not have!"

"I know," said Gabrielle grimly. "It was an accident. At first."

Maria softened. "And now your heart is broken. Poor thing."

There was silence a moment.

Gabrielle bathed her eyes with a cool damp cloth that one of the maids had brought in. Maria had ordered her provisions for weeping as she'd come in through the door, voice wobbling but not yet overcome. She did feel a little better for crying.

"You know," said Maria slowly, "I can't see Father objecting to your Mr. Carrick. So the only thing that is left is to see if he is persuadable."

"Maria, he leaves in just a few days, and he thinks I am a boy!"

"Well, then all we have to do is prove you are not one."

"And then he shall think well of me," Gabrielle commented.

"You know," Maria reflected, "I have found that while society cares very much about propriety, and men care about how society sees them, the finer details of propriety don't always matter to them the same when it comes to a pretty girl."

Gabrielle snorted. "This is a hopeful minister we are talking about. He is quite serious about it, and I cannot see him marrying anyone he thought unfit for his parsonage."

"But things are a little in doubt about him having a parsonage, are they not? And we do not need him to become engaged to you, merely to stay long enough to become attached to you."

Gabrielle was astonished.

"Maria, why would you help me? This is a consequence of my bad behavior."

"I have never heard you cry like that before, and my conscience is stricken. I think even your minister will understand, once you can explain. That is, about your dressing…in cognito. One must not tell a gentleman too soon about forming a tendre. Now, we do not have much time, so we shall have to be bold…."

Gabrielle was dubious, but ready to hear a solution.

Though wedding festivities were at an end, some of the guests had yet to leave the neighborhood, so on Monday there was a much quieter cards-and-dinner party. Maria had inveigled her mother to invite the young men staying with her father's man of business as a way to break up the somewhat stiff family party. Her mother was harassed deeply with trying to obtain enough eggs to continue to feed her guests when the local hens were being contrary, but had agreed absently so Maria had sent round cards. She had also sent a rather more informal note to her friend there.

He came briefly for a visit at her summons, though he entered looking apprehensive. She laughed. "Oh dear, Mr. Solo. You seem alarmed by my sending for you!"

"Before now you have seemed contented to wait upon chance meetings. I could not help worrying something was troubling you," he said, relieved that clearly whatever he had been summoned for was not some awkward declaration.

"Isn't it such a strange coincidence that I was always at my father's house at around the same time you were to come and discuss with the provisions of my late husband's will?" she teased. "Perhaps you were right to worry, for I am in a bit of a snarl. See, I have a bit of a wager on with a friend. Oh, you will be a gentleman about this, won't you?"

"Are you questioning my honor?" Solo said, mock-angry.

"Just, it seems sometimes men do not take the confidences of ladies quite as seriously as they do other gentlemen's."

"Then they are dogs, ma'am. While I may be a flirt and even the son of a tradesman, I am no dog."

Thus reassured, Maria carried on with her somewhat falsified account, and ended in the question, "So is Mr. Carrick unattached? And remember, this is a matter of hair-splitting as any lawyer must be familiar with, since it involves money. He must be completely unattached, not just a matter of an engagement or a tacit understanding."

"Carrick would be mortified if he knew I was answering so," said Solo, grinning, "but the man is like the driven snow when it comes to women, and hasn't shown any inclination toward a lady since we were fresh out of Oxford. And that attachment is long over, since the lady in question turned out to be a little vulgar and is now married. You can collect your money with impunity."

"It is a matter of pride, not money," said Maria loftily. "But do, do keep this a secret."

"It should be easy to do so, since I will be leaving the neighborhood in a week."

If this was a bid for some sort of fond reply, Solo's shot went wide of the mark.

"What a relief that will be to you!" As if in afterthought, she added, "We will miss having the fresh faces about the place."

Solo soon took his leave, and thought very little more about the questions she had asked, and a little more than he liked about her casual dismissal of his absence.

Carrick was annoyed that he was going to a party the night before his departure, but Solo told him it was necessary to make his proper thanks and farewells to the Squire's family.

"Besides you've had your things mostly packed for days now. What else would you do but mope about all night?”

It was as tame of an affair as promised, so it was not even ten o’clock when they rose to leave. Lady Hettisham also rose, declaring fatigue, and offered them a place in her carriage home, since she would pass through the village. The walk was pleasant by day but happily disposed of by night, so they agreed.

At the door of the carriage, Lady Hettisham exclaimed with frustration, “Oh, my wandering wits! Mr. Solo, help me back to the door, I quite forgot my shawl. No, Mr. Carrick, get in and wait on us.”

He did so, not particularly convinced of her urgency for a shawl but imagining some private comment between her and Solo was wanted.

Carrick had vaguely noted that the carriage was occupied by another figure but not been alarmed by this, until this person rapped hard on the door so the wheels began to move.

-

Link to all posted chapters here.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Ash/Athena AU: The Branding

Continuing my Daniel Michaelson / Honor Bound AU collab with @whump-tr0pes - Corrine brings Isaac, newly claimed by Danny, back to the Michaelson family’s compound to be prepared for Danny’s birthday party. Can be read on AO3 here.

CW: Threats of torture and a frank discussion of noncon and torture. Branding. Nonconsensual touching (not sexual). Dehumanization.

By the time they arrived at the vast, palatial mansion set on a hill that comprised the Michaelson family's main estate, Corrine was relieved to see that Isaac had stopped being a bawling little limp noodle and walked on his own between a pair of armed escorts.

Those pretty eyes were still terrified, but she could sense as his heart finally began to slow and understood it for what it was - he was slipping into numbness.

For now.

It wouldn't last.

"Welcome to my home," Corrine said, somewhat carelessly, gesturing ahead as Isaac was led towards the huge wooden front door.

Corrine and Patrick had built the house piece by piece long before they were Syndicate, back before the takeover. They had different names, then. It wasn’t overly designed like so many of the younger Syndicate homes, and was instead a sprawling series of new floors or wings added as Corrine decided she needed or wanted them.

“Wh-where-... uh, will I…" Daniel’s gorgeous new plaything licked his lips, clearing his throat. The tears were still in his voice, but the car ride from the summer home to here seemed to have given him time to cry them all out while he was locked in the trunk.

Now, he looked beautifully resigned, more than anything. Which suited Corrine Michaelson’s purposes just fine.

“Yes? You may speak.”

Isaac flushed and his eyes jerked back to the ground, wincing.

Ah, so that hit on a sore spot, did it?

Corrine wondered if this little broken toy had been forced to ask permission to speak before. She'd had one like that, once. Learned to press the side of his face against her with big, pretty doe eyes…

Corrine paused. She rather missed that man, now that she remembered him.

"Where w-will I… is this…." His voice seemed to fail him and Isaac was silent again as they stepped into the grand foyer. A spiral double staircase wound up to the second floor, and the first floor was obviously designed for entertaining. Large rooms full of ample seating, fireplaces for winter, and hooks littered throughout the house in ceilings and walls - unobtrusive. Daniel's little toy  probably wouldn't notice.

He would learn about those later.

"Will you be living here?" Corrine suggested, and the toy nodded, crossing his arms in front of himself uncertainly. "No. As much as my husband and myself could make lovely use of your body-"

The man shuddered, unable to stop a sound like a whine as he exhaled all at once.

"-you do not belong to me. My son chooses to live elsewhere. You will stay with him."

There might have been a hint of relief, in the man’s face - replaced just as quickly with a whole new flush of shame as he realized he was relieved by such small mercies. She crooked her fingers and the escorts on either side of Isaac pushed him forward. He stumbled at first, nearly falling onto his hands and knees, and Corrine fought back a laugh.

Lovely.

They dragged him back to his feet, towards the staircase, Corrine walking ahead of them with a slight click of her heels.

His breathing began to change again as they headed up the stairs and he was further and further from the door. "You need to understand," Corrine said flatly. "I have no use for tears. I have no use for you. You live because you have precisely one use for Daniel and none for those who left you behind."

A broken sob, behind her. Corrine did not look back - but she smiled, nonetheless.

"You will live with my son. You will attend his needs, however he chooses to use you. You will keep yourself in good physical condition for him - physically fit, hair cut to his liking. You will dress in what you are provided and if you are provided nothing, that is what you will wear."

"Oh, fuck," Isaac whispered. "I… I won't."

Corrine, generous to a fault, decided to ignore that. It hardly counted as defiance.

“My son has… quirks, after what he has survived. You will no doubt find him the best option available to you. You should strive to please him in every way, if you want to stay out of my basement."

"Y-your-"

One of the guards shoved Isaac again, and Corrine listened to him fall and catch himself hard on his elbows halfway up the stairs. She paused - minutely - and then continued walking as the guards picked him up by his arms to keep him moving.

"My basement. I trust Nate's assessment but - as they say - trust and verify. I believe him, that you have no useful Intel. I will verify that, if my son finds you inadequate. You have been in basements before, I imagine. Or rooms that served the same purpose my basement serves for me."

A long silence. The sound of another thump. Then, shaking, the man's voice again, the sounds of his attempts to move faster, to stay ahead of the guards shoving him. "Y-yes," Isaac said hoarsely.

"Good. If you please my son-" She honestly only said it that way just to hear the little despairing noise he made, that time. "-then you have nothing to fear. So I suggest you put your only value to good use."

She walked back across the landing, knowing he would follow - he had no choice and there was nowhere to run. He walked like a man on his way to a gallows - a heavy step, only as fast as he was forced to go.

"My son's twenty-eighth birthday is tomorrow. We are throwing a rather… massive party, in which members of my Syndicate will be introduced to you. You will be polite. You will be courteous."

He was silent, now, as they walked down a hallway. Dark wood floors and deep, warmly painted red walls. Frames hung at regular intervals, a mix of artwork and photos.

"This is my family home," Corrine said, her voice softening slightly. "My boys both grew up here. Well, Daniel was five when we brought him home - his mother was…" Her voice trailed away. "Well. Not, perhaps, as protected from harm as she should have been. I should have noticed sooner. Here." She stopped before a spot on the wall that held a gallery of smaller photographs, carefully arranged. "Guards. My son's property will look."

Isaac was shoved up next to her, his face red, but he made no argument. His eyes ran, anguished and half-empty, over the photos as Corrine gestured and narrated each one.

"This is Danny's first day-" She pointed to a photo of a redheaded little boy with a backpack nearly as large as he was. Wide blue eyes were immediately recognizable, as were the freckles that seemed to cover every inch of skin.

"Here, you have them when they were tutored - we brought in the best private teachers." Danny and Ryan, arms around each other, sitting at a table with books and papers strewn in front. They both had the awkward, gangly, elbows-and-knees look of very young men.

"Here, Daniel on his first assignment with Patrick-" Daniel, clearly an adult but a younger one, rolling his eyes in the picture. He wore the gun at his hip naturally, and held another in his left hand. "This was shortly before he was taken."

Then, she paused. "And here is a few months ago."

The final photo was of Danny sitting at a table, talking to someone out of frame. The scars seem redder, deeper than they look now. There was a yawning emptiness, a darkness in his eyes, all too plainly visible. Nate sat beside him, a hand on his back. Nate's face was cold.

Isaac made a soft sound, next to her, and Corrine turned to look at him. He was staring at the final photo - Daniel recounting some details from one of the parties he had been forced to attend, so that Nate and the others could locate the hosts and deal with them directly.

Isaac's eyes were locked on the vulnerability - the hint of old fear and the deep wounds - so freely written across her eldest son's face. She felt Isaac's heart rate change, a shift through the blood that rushed under the surface.

A man being shown a funhouse mirror and seeing his own face covered in blood.

"My boy has made great strides in recovery. You are one of those strides. He should have wanted someone like you for himself long ago."

Isaac's head dropped and his shoulders shook, hands curling into fists. Rush of adrenaline, no doubt a small one as he'd been cycling through fight or freeze responses since he walked in through the door with Daniel.

She watched with curiosity, wondering if he really would do something that stupid.

He didn't.

He only nodded, tense as a bowstring about to snap, and kept his eyes on the floor. Corrine had expected more fight, but it was more clear than ever that this pretty toy had already been played with before, and broken by careless hands. That he was so… docile… suggested he not only knew the odds were against him, but had once been held long enough to be grateful simply to walk unrestrained.

Escorted, but unrestrained.

"You will sleep here, tonight," Corrine said, opening a door to show a spacious bedroom with a lovely queen-sized bed, side tables, tasteful decor… and barred windows.

Isaac swallowed, staring inside. "Why do you-"

"You are not the first plaything to belong to a Michaelson. You won't be the last. Go."

He was shoved and stumbled forwards into the room, and she watched him take in details he had missed, at first.

The four-poster bed had hooks installed at the top and rings around each wooden corner. There were other hooks in different places, at varying heights, along the wall. The chaise lounge that nestled against the footboard of the bed was set slightly low and was built to be wide enough to lay comfortably on one's back.

Corrine watched the blood rush to his face, as he took it all in, and felt her mouth begin to water. She rather wanted a steak, suddenly. Rare, bloody enough that it was one step from mooing.

"My husband normally makes use of this room," She said, letting that sink in, as well. "But it's only for one night, hm? You'll be fine."

"I-I… is, will D-Danny-" The plaything's voice was shaking, and she saw fresh tears welling up in his pretty eyes. "B-be here-"

"No, you'll be alone tonight. You’re not quite ready, I don’t think, to show appropriate gratitude." Corrine smiled.

She snapped her fingers and one of the guards stepped forward, taking Isaac by the arm to lead him over to the chaise lounge. He stumbled over there, flinching away from the guard's touch. When the guard pointed down, Isaac sat - less like sitting and more like simply collapsing backwards until he hit the soft fabric, clenching his fingers into it, digging fingernails into the soft red cushion.

"Wait. If, if I'm-" He swallowed down revulsion - written plain as day across his face, as the tears began once more to fall. "If, I'm D-Danny's p-... his, if I'm…" He gasped in breath, curling over himself.

“Take your time,” Corrine said, impatient voice giving the lie to her words. She slipped the heavy ring off her finger and handed it to one of the guards, who nodded and stepped aside, pulling his cigarette lighter out. Isaac was still staring at the rug under his feet.

“W-Will I be… will he… will he put-”

“A collar on you?”

Isaac nodded, closing his eyes, miserably. Corrine sighed, flicking her eyes over at the guard, currently holding the heavy relief of her family’s crest over his lit lighter, heating it up. Unwilling to wait the amount of time it would actually take, Corrine concentrated, pulling the threads of the world around her a bit closer. Bouncing molecules off of each other, creating friction and increasing the heat around the flame. The guard hissed, softly, as the gentle warmth he had been able to feel on his fingers was suddenly uncomfortably hot.

“No, plaything. He won’t. Daniel wore a collar for a very long time - and before they gave him the collar, they cut his neck again and again with barbed wire until he might as well. Understand that people like you are who hurt my son.”

Isaac gasped, raising his eyes to look at her again. “What? I, I would never-”

“Anti-Syndicate fools,” Corrine said evenly. “Who piss off the people who hold rightful power and then turn on our children. People like you abducted my son. People like your merry band tied him down and cut him apart. They beat him. They kept him starving and scared. They held him in dark rooms and they sold him to the highest bidder. Because he was Syndicate.”

“We would never do that,” Isaac insisted, some flicker of defiance again. “We would never-”

“Did you ever hear rumors, Isaac Moore?” Corrine asked softly, too softly. A snake’s hiss before a strike, slithering through the grass. “Did you ever hear about the parties, where you could take it out on some Syndicate son who met a bad end? Couple hundred dollars for an hour alone, and the only rule is that he has to survive it?”

“No!” Isaac all but yelled, and then went quiet. “I, I mean… no, I don’t think…” His voice trailed, uncertain. He slowly looked back down at the floor. “If I had, had heard about something like that, I wouldn’t have-”

“You wouldn’t have attended, maybe. You’re soft. Sweet. Inherently good, and it’s goddamn sickening. But you’d have ignored it, set yourself to forget you ever heard, and left my son to suffer. Nothing you can do, after all. No way out for the poor little bastard, huh? Might as well resign himself to being the party favor, passed around like a whore, like-... well. Like you.”

She felt her eyes burn, and closed them, taking a deep breath to calm herself down.

“You would have done nothing, just like everyone else.”

“I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t leave anyone to suffer like that,” Isaac said, but she could see him wracking his brain, trying desperately to remember if maybe he had heard rumors about parties, and had simply dismissed them out of hand. She had met enough anti-Syndicate groups, since, who had. Who hadn’t believed anyone would hold someone like that, for that purpose, on their side.

As though there weren’t enough viciousness, in mortal men, to wrap around the world a hundred times.

“No,” Isaac said softly. “I never… I never heard anything like that. I know I didn’t… I wouldn’t have just, just…”

“Hm. Maybe not. My son was a pinata, he was burned and cut and whipped and raped in effigy. Again and again and again. Until he burst open, until he broke, until nothing was left. Until we brought him home a man who answered to a dog’s name. Until we brought home a man with their initials carved on the back of his neck, who can’t hold a gun or even touch one.”

“H-He touched the gun you h-had, in the house-”

“To stop me from killing you.” The plaything had a point, though. Corrine hadn’t considered that. Daniel had not hesitated when he put his hand on the barrel of the gun and pushed it away from Isaac’s head. “I suppose he must truly like you.”

Isaac let out a sound somewhere between a cynical laugh and a broken sob.

“Oh, don’t be so put out. You won’t do any better in life than this. Did you enjoy it, Isaac, fucking my son and his partner?”

Isaac turned bright red, closing his eyes so tightly she could see every muscle in his face tense. He swallowed, hard, and slowly nodded.

At least he didn’t bother trying to ignore the questions, and didn’t seem inclined to lie. That at least was something.

“Good. Daniel will no doubt be careful and kind to you. More than you deserve. Although… you are not responsible for what happened to my son. I understand that, I do.” The guard was ready, and nodded at her as the color of her ring began to change, the metal shifting to a deep reddish color that Corrine had always loved to see. She signaled to the other guard, who stepped forwards with half a smile already on his face. He grabbed Isaac off the chaise and shoved him to his knees on the floor, crouching behind him to wrap an arm across his shoulders, forcing his arms down by his sides.

“W-wait, wait! Wait, wh-what’s-...” Isaac struggled, but weakly - Corrine could still see that he was fighting some deep internal conditioning that told him to simply give up and let it, whatever it was, happen to him. “Wait! I never hurt him! I w-wouldn’t, I wouldn’t-”

“No, you won’t. Ever.” The guard wrenched Isaac’s head to the side, exposing his lovely neck, the veins standing out as he began to pant in fear, his hands going up to grip at the man’s arm and try to pull himself free. “Because you will live the rest of your life as docile domestic property. Don’t fight, Isaac.”

“Pl-please,” Isaac said, his voice cracking, thrashing with panic in the arms of a man who held him almost entirely still, fingers twisted hard into his hair to keep his head forced to the side, the whites showing around his eyes. “Please no, please, wh-whatever, whatever you’re going to d-d-do, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be-... I’ll be good for Danny, I’ll be-”

“I know you will.” Corrine didn’t bother to pitch her voice soothing. She simply took the ring from the guard with the lighter, leaned down, and forced the red-hot metal with her family crest on it against Isaac’s neck, just below his ear.

The sound he made, and the picture he painted with every muscle taut, back arched, eyes wide and bulging, was one of excruciating beauty.

A wild shriek of pain and panic, fear and agony, that came not so much from his lungs as from the core of him, and Corrine pressed harder and harder while the guard held him so perfectly still she didn’t worry about the lines being blurred at all.

His screaming was wordless, and it rang on and on and on through the room, seemingly endless, stretched out in time.

Finally Corrine pulled back and away, and Isaac went limp, hands dropping to his sides, only still on his knees because of the guard holding him up. She tilted her head, looking - M, surrounded by vines, perfectly legible. Essentially permanent.

“There we go,” She said softly. “Can you hear me, Isaac?”

Tears rolled down his face and he managed a nod, then winced and groaned as even that much hurt the brand she had seared into him.

“Good. If you try to leave, that brand will mark you. Anyone in our territory who sees you will bring you home to Daniel, to me. Please trust that you do not want to run and be brought back to me.” She reached up to run a hand back through his sweaty hair, and Isaac shuddered and whined in his throat, like an animal. Like a dog.

People like Isaac - or not like him, but who acted against the interests of the Syndicate and were therefore close enough - had once forced her son to sound like that, with a muzzle whose markings still remained on him.

“You are Michaelson property now. You live as long as my son wishes for you to live. You will fuck him until he is done with you, and you had best be very good at it. That is your life, it has narrowed to this. The sooner you accept that, the more content you will be in your new existence.” She stood back up. “There is a toothbrush in the attached bath for you, and toothpaste. There is a cup to drink water from.” She flicked her eyes up at the guards. “Strip him.”

“N-no-... please, let me keep, at least, let me-” But he was too weak from pain, and she watched as the guards manhandled him like a sick child, yanking his shirt off over his head and his pants off of him, shoes and socks, until he was curled up on the floor with his back to the chaise, shuddering, trying to guard his vulnerability, his nakedness.

“Your clothing will be destroyed, you don’t need it any longer. I will come for you when it’s time to prepare for the party. You will be fed, before then. You will not leave this room until it’s time to dress.” The guards stepped away, but her son’s new toy did not uncurl from his spot, didn’t even try. He just cried, and Corrine sighed at the beauty of the tears.

Daniel would not appreciate them, but that was fine. This wasn’t about teaching him appreciation, only to take the first few steps into who he had been meant to be.

“I love my son, Isaac,” Corrine said, almost gently. “I love him very much. He suffered immensely because we adopted him. He suffered for his name, the name we gave him when he was so young… he couldn’t have known this would happen. None of us knew. And I… I will never let it happen again, not to my child, to my-... I love Daniel, he is as much my baby as Ryan, even if he didn’t begin that way… and he wants you. So spend the night considering how you can best show your gratitude when he unwraps you tomorrow.”

Corrine turned and walked away, the guards falling into step behind her. She stepped outside, and swallowed against the core of warmth that suffused her, her deep love for both her children. The door closed and locked, the crying man still on the floor, curled up and naked, one hand up as though he would cover the brand but not daring to so much as brush the angry red skin.

“I failed my son once,” Corrine said softly, to herself. The guards pretended they could not hear her. “I will not fail him again.” She stood there, stilled for a moment, lost in her memories of the shy, nervous five year old she’d brought into her home as a way to distract the anti-Syndicate fools from sweet Ryan… and the grown man who had fulfilled that role all too well.

Broken and beaten, raped and destroyed, brainwashed and bashed in and held in dark room after dark room. Only dragged out into the light so they could call him by other Syndicate names as they hurt him.

She closed one hand slowly into a fist, and just as slowly - consciously - relaxed it.

Daniel, used by the kind of people who fought the Syndicates, their pretty effigy to burn. She had failed to value him until it was too late, failed to keep him safe. She would not make that mistake ever again. Isaac had of course not been one of those who hurt him. But Daniel taking him as a plaything, using him the way Daniel had been used, might be a way to turn that effigy around, and make someone else stand in for those who had hurt him.

She couldn’t imagine any other reason, really, that Daniel would want the pretty thing so badly.

“What Daniel wants, he will have. Have a tux altered to the exact specifications I will give you. My baby is going to receive a perfectly obedient gift at his party tomorrow night, and I know exactly what to do to ensure Isaac is sufficiently appreciative of my son’s attention.”

The guards nodded.

God, she needed that steak. The smell of burning skin had lit a fire in her veins that could not be put out without blood.

Corrine headed for the kitchen.

[littledemondani]

everything changes | duncan shepherd x fem!reader | part two

warnings: College Fuckboy!Duncan, semi-public smut, drinking, clubbing, reader being an all-around savage bitch, unprotected sex, unhealthy coping mechanisms. 

words: 2.2K

summary: You and your friends go clubbing to celebrate the start of the new semester, but what happens when Duncan ends up going to the same club as you?

a/n: Hey babes! This is the second part of my College Fuckboy!Duncan headcanons. This is also my first time writing smut. Also, big thank you to @wroteclassicaly for helping me with ideas for this. :D I really hope you all enjoy this, and I love y’all <3

part one

Thank you @ms-mead for this lovely moodboard <3 ily!

“Uhh, my name is Y/N actually.” You chuckled, trying desperately to keep your rage anxiety at bay. A million thoughts raced through your head at once that you didn’t even hear a thing Annette was saying to you. She excused herself and left to go do god knows what (you didn’t care, you just wanted to get the fuck out of there).

You got your phone from your clutch and send for an Uber. The last thing you want is to be stuck with Duncan for longer than you need to be. He hasn’t said a word to you. Nor has he so much as looked at you. Adding more fuel to the pent up rage you’re feeling. You decided to go outside and wait, knowing if you stay inside with him that you’re just going to lose your shit in front of everyone.

Once you reach the doorway you look behind you at Duncan one last time. He didn’t follow you, his utter shock keeping him from moving. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest as if at any moment it would burst out of him. He knew he had fucked up, severely fucked up. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to follow you out and explain everything. 

He lifted his gaze from the floor to the doorway, locking in on your eyes. The look of betrayal and anguish on your face shattered him more than he’d like to admit. But as quickly as your eyes met, he turned away and walked off to go greet some acquaintances of his mother.

You felt your heart sink but knew what had to be done. This was it for you. No more putting up with Duncan and his bullshit. You opened the door and walked out of Duncan’s life, for good.

-

Summer vacation has come and gone - the beginning was spent crying over Duncan. For two weeks you waited for a call or text from him, heart jumping each time your phone rang. But nothing ever came. 

You can’t say you were surprised, especially not after the way he acted at the party. “Duncan Shepherd doesn’t chase after girls” had been a rumor you heard one day while waiting for class to start. It was true though: he didn’t chase after girls - they chased after him.

‘Not me,’ you thought to yourself. You were done with trying to figure Duncan out, done with crying yourself to sleep, done with wondering what the fuck you did wrong (which was nothing, of course). So you sought out to rid Duncan of your mind, and it worked.

The late summer nights were filled with drinking until you couldn’t feel anymore, getting lost in the embrace of another person, and waking up with a pounding headache that lasted all day. 

Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest way - but it got the job done. You soon forgot all about Duncan Shepherd and his fuckboy ways. Until it was time to head back to D.C. for a new semester. Then the memory of that handsome face asshole hit you like a ton of bricks.

Now here you are, back in D.C., and getting ready to go out to a club with your roommates to celebrate the end of your first week back. Anxiety flooded your veins at the thought of Duncan possibly being there with his frat brothers. But with the help of your roomies, and about 5 shots of tequila, that fear dissipated.

You were wearing a short form-fitting black dress, black Louboutin heels (yes..the ones Duncan got you), and a dainty necklace. After straightening your hair you put on your makeup. You looked over yourself one last time in the mirror, making sure every hair was in place and your makeup was perfect.

-

The club was filled with a bunch of sweaty college students, some drunk, some high, some both. You were on your 4th vodka cranberry, the drink making you feel fuzzy and carefree.

Your roommate invited her boyfriend and his friends, one of them being a guy you had taken some interest in as the night progressed. He was tall, but not too tall, with short brown hair, lean muscle, and pretty green eyes. 

Maybe it was your carefree attitude since leaving Duncan or your inebriated state of mind (let’s go with that one) that had you pulling whatshisname to some semi-secluded area near the restrooms. He was just looking too good and had been whispering dirty things in your ear as you danced with him, causing arousal to pool in your panties.

You pulled him in for a kiss, full of need with your tongues fighting for dominance. He walked you until your back hit the wall, running his hands down over your ass - squeezing - then stopping at the back of your thighs. Your hand snaking down to palm at his semi-hard cock, eliciting a small groan from him. 

“Jump,” he orders, lifting you with ease. You wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him in for another kiss.

“You’re not afraid of someone seeing us?” he asks while unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock.

“Just shut up and fuck me already.” 

Without hesitation, he pulls your lacy thong to the side and slowly eases himself into your tight, wet cunt. You let out a breathy moan, his girth stretching you deliciously. 

He rocked into you until he bottomed out completely, allowing you a moment to adjust to him. You grabbed the nape of his hair and tugged harshly, “I said, fuck me already.” a hint of venom laced in your voice.

You didn’t want him to be nice to you, you wanted him to use you. To fuck you like you meant nothing to him because he meant nothing to you. He was just a distraction, another person in your fucked up way of coping with the loss of Duncan.

He chuckled, “If that’s what you want-” he snapped his hips into you with brutal force, “then that’s what you’ll get.”

The pace he set was harsh and unrelenting. You loved every second of it, the way the head of his cock hit your most sensitive spot, the way your back was being pushed into the hard tile wall, the way your legs burned from clinging to him like your life depended on it, his bruising grip on your ass.

Your head was thrown back against the wall, hips snapping to meet his harsh thrusts, eyes closed in total bliss. You could feel the pressure building in the pit of your stomach, that familiar warmth spreading throughout your body.

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, finally opening your eyes - when you saw him. Standing by the doorway of the men’s room, and watching you like a hawk, was Duncan Shepherd. You let out a loud, broken whine that came out more like a moan. 

“What the fuck?!” your train of thought actually leaving your mouth. This can’t be happening. You closed your eyes, thinking if you open them he’ll be gone, he’s just a figment of your drunk imagination. 

You open your eyes again, but no, he’s still standing there. Looking every bit the same as the last time you saw him. His hair perfectly styled, wearing his signature black leather jacket, dark jeans, and a black shirt. You let out another broken moan, pussy involuntarily clenching at the sight of him.

“Mmm, you gonna cum for me, doll? Cum all over my cock?” you ignored whatshisname, the only thing mattering to you at this moment was Duncan standing not very far from you, still watching you.

If he’s just going to stand there and watch, then you were definitely going to give him a show. You finally lock eyes with him, seeing the look of hurt (?) deep in his eyes...even better. 

You grab onto the back of whatshisname's hair, using it as leverage to help you bounce harder on his length. You moaned extra loud, wanting Duncan to hear you rather than just see you.

Each buck of your hips, every moan leaving your pretty mouth, was a knife twist in Duncan’s stomach. He couldn’t believe what the fuck was happening. How had he not noticed you before he went into the restroom? And are those the heels he bought you? 

It takes everything inside of him not to walk over to you and punch that guy in the face. But what would that do? Make you hate him even more than you already do? He knew there was nothing he could say or do at this moment, and it fucking killed him. 

It killed him to see you with another guy, much less fucking another guy - having someone else draw out those sexy moans and whimpers he loved hearing. Having another guy feel the way your cunt clenches and flutters when you're about to cum, it was all too much for him. 

Yet he couldn’t look away.

The way Duncan’s eyes bore into yours, like daggers, sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. This entire ordeal was something you found to be... exhilarating. You weren’t one to actively seek revenge - but this sure did feel fucking good, and you were getting off on it.

You weren’t going to last long, your orgasm fastly approaching. You turned your head slightly so your lips were near whatshisname’s ear, eyes never leaving Duncan’s, and whispering, “I’m g-gonna cum. I want you to cum inside me.” It was like your words flipped a switch in him, sending him into a frenzy.

His already bruising grip on your ass became even harder, thrusting up into you with such force you knew you wouldn’t be able to sit, much less walk after. Your moans turned into screams and legs shaking around him as your violent orgasm ripped through you.

A few more thrusts and his cum painted your walls. You stayed connected to each other for a bit, both trying to regulate your breathing. He moved to set you down, making sure you were okay to stand. You adjusted your thong and dress - looking up to find that Duncan had left from where he had been standing.

A tiny pang of disappointment (?) hit you. You had hoped that maybe Duncan would still be there, that you’d be able to rub it in his face even more that you were doing fine without him. Your thoughts were interrupted by whatshisname taking your hand in his and pulling you back towards your friends.

-

Several drinks later you found yourself back on the dancefloor with whatshisname. Your hips swaying to the beat of the song and his hands roaming all over your body. You turned around to have your back against his chest, your ass rolling against him.

And - for the second time that night, you caught sight of Duncan Shepherd. He was sitting in the VIP section of the club (of course) laughing with his frat brothers and some girls. One of them practically sitting in his lap.

Bitch.

Duncan was trying to have a good time. Trying to force the image of you fucking another guy to the back of his mind. Tried to let the girl practically throwing herself at him distract him from the clusterfuck of emotions running through him. Tried to drown his thoughts in alcohol in hopes that they would stop screaming at him. 

“Hey Dunc, isn’t that Y/N?” one of his frat brothers called out, pointing you out on the dancefloor. He turned his gaze to where his friend was looking, seeing you dancing seductively with your date. Without thinking he stood up and marched his way over to you. Ignoring the others telling him to stop and it was a bad idea. 

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do once he got to you. Wasn’t sure what he should say, or if he should say anything at all. He contemplated turning back but decided against it. He needed you to know how he felt, how he truly felt.

No more hiding.

Once he got to where you were, he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you off the dancefloor. With the anger evident on his face you couldn’t help but start laughing. Was he actually serious? After everything, he put you through, and now he’s the one who’s angry? It was hilarious to you - even in your drunken state of mind.

Your laughter only made Duncan angrier. Pushing you up against a wall and trapping you by placing both hands on the side of your head. “You think this is funny, Y/N?” his voice seething. Nostrils flaring from how pissed off he was. 

You couldn’t help but think he was still fucking hot, even when he was mad. You also couldn’t help the arousal it sent through your body. Or the shiver it sent down your spine.

“Yeah, I do actually. Now if you don’t mind-” you move so you could leave, but Duncan pushed you back into the wall. “I’m not done talking to you. I don’t know what you see in that guy. He can’t fuck you like I can, make you cum like I can. He probably didn’t even make you cum at all.” he taunts while playing with a strand of your hair.

If you weren’t pissed off before - you were fucking pissed now. “He did make me cum. I can feel it between my thighs, wanna see?” you say with a smile. Duncan’s face dropped, which didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Didn’t think so, now get the fuck out of my way, Duncan.” you give him the nastiest glare you can muster up and push him off of you, walking back towards your date and your friends.

And Duncan stood there, head hanging low. Cursing himself for talking to you the way he did, for letting his anger get in the way of what he was really trying to do. But there was nothing he could do about it now. No way for him to come back from that. At least not right at that moment. 

For the last time - Duncan Shepherd lets you walk away from him.

-

Tags: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @fckinsupreme @lovelylangdonx @wroteclassicaly @svjourn @hecohansen31 @ms-mead @your-daddy-langdon @delgrey

[thenoblehouseofdayne]

Daughter Dearest 2 {Robb Stark x Bolton!Reader}

warnings: brief use of strong language

{As I was sifting through the mountain of requests that remain, I realized I’d hit a string of Robbs, so apologies if my blog seems a little Robb-centric as I finish up some older requests. The sequel to this has been long requested, so here it is!}

Part One Here!

The indifference between the King and Queen of the North was palatable, and uncomfortable for all other parties involved in their extended lover’s spat. He treated you as a token of your father’s loyalty, one that even his tender heart exploited. You publicly questioned his decisions and ability as a leader, which was equally as damaging to his reputation. 

The most recent example of this proverbial winter was a meeting of banner-men, during which, you were asked to leave, a first since your union months ago. 

You lifted a brow and glanced briefly towards the men watching your reaction, including your father, and back to Robb. “What are you doing?”

He barely looked up from his maps, his posture stiff and unflinching. “I asked you to leave, Y/N. You have no business in our military proceedings.”

You saw through his tough exterior in a moment. “You want me to wait with the other women outside the tent, do you? Want to flex your authority and treat me as a whore that you can order to your bidding?” You could feel your father wincing at your lack of etiquette as your voice rose in volume and the other conversations in the room halted suddenly. 

Robb took a breath, and steeled his resolve, attempting to weather through another of what he perceived to be tantrums. 

“Enjoy their respect, my King.” You turned on your heel and left the tent in an furious flourish, ignoring the sinking feeling of your boots in the half-frozen mud, finding the large tent that you shared with Robb and drawing a bath, asking one of the handmaidens to draw closed the flaps of the tent, and asking one of your father’s men to stand guard at the door, before submerging yourself into the near painfully hot water, watching ripples of steam rise into the chilly winter air.

Your muscles relaxed, and you eventually drew yourself back from a fever-pitch, pulling your knees to your chest and thinking on the time you’d spent here. You were miserable. Robb was miserable. Would it not be better for the North if you returned home, or even ran away? Robb could marry one of those pretty northern girls you’d seen him eyeing, and you could...

Your lip quivered, and you drew a shaking breath, before allowing the silent tears to spill down your cheeks, dripping down into the bath water as you allowed your pent up emotion to overcome you in one burst of anguish, homesickness, and jealousy. You wanted to go home.

You heard your father’s voice, snapping at the soldier to abandon his post, before he entered the tent, clearly upset. He took a look at you and sighed, pulling the flaps closed behind him again, and lowering his voice. “Gods sake, girl, control your tears, this isn’t the time to show weakness.”

It was the closest thing to affection he’d shown you in recent weeks, and slowly, you sniffled and wiped away your tears. “What did he say?”

“Nothing about you or your spectacle in there, did I raise a fool?”

“You didn’t raise me.” You snapped back, rebuilding the tough exterior you’d cultivated as Roose Bolton’s daughter.

He lifted a hand to silence you and continued. “It is in our interest to remain in the Starks favor, which will wither with each of your jabs. Can you not learn to love him?”

Your silence was indignant.

He reached down to grip your chin and hold it firmly, meeting your eyes with his own calculating and cold ones, allowing you to wriggle in discomfort for a second before he spoke. “Learn to, or learn to pretend.”

He was gone just as quickly, leaving you in a once comfortable bath that had long since run cold. You decided. If you could not conjure love on your own, you’d be better off pretending, if only to preserve your standing in his life. 

Robb did not return for two hours more, still wading through his duties and nursing his pride, dragging his feet on the way back. But, he entered your chambers none the less, finding you brushing through your long dark hair, dressed in nightclothes. “It’s the middle of the day.”

“I was feeling ill. As you have little need of me, I figured I’d be better off spending the day in bed and waiting for you to return.”

He sighed, leaning in the doorway to give you a long hard stare. “How long will you torment me? Can we not be civil?”

You glanced over your shoulder. “Why didn’t you want me in the Small Council meeting this morning? Have I not proven useful enough to sit by your side?” You allowed vulnerability to slip into your tone, as facetious as it was.

His expression broke as he thought that he’d finally made a grand discovery in your behavior. “I was tired of the fighting, was all. I needed a morning where you commended my decisions, not questioned them. I didn’t realize you-”

You stood, moving to approach him with the tentative grace of a doe, trying to make the changes in your demeanor profound. “I’ve been being unfair.”

He smiled with relief, moving to embrace you. “Yes, thank you for coming to me and sorting this out. It was certainly challenging to fight a war, and my wife.”

The mention of their vows rose a lump in your throat, but you swallowed it and buried your head in his shoulder. “Can I have you to myself for a few hours?”

And Robb, the sweet summer child who’d maintained hope in the found cause of the Bolton girl, believed you, hook, line, and sinker. “For as long as you want me.” 

{Possible part 3 to wrap things up? Drop me an ask and tell me what you think? Hope you enjoyed the sequel!}

[riddlebot]

dremis, all 100 oc questions

you MONSTER

1. How do they present themselves to others? He presents himself as a confident and sexy.2. Do they like animals? He loves animals!! Mostly small woodland creatures tho.3. How do they dress? Nipples: covered. Belly button: out. Clothing? Skin tight.4. How many languages do they know? He knows 4 languages.5. How big is their family? Pretty small at first, but it’ll get pretty big in his future. His found family is huge.6. What is their purpose in the story? Comedic relief at this point I swear7. Do they know how to fight? Yes! 8. What is their back story? [redacted]9. Why is their name, their name? His first name was the one I liked the best from a fantasy name generator, and the rest are nicknames and stuff added in the typical gnome naming convention. 10. Do they have any nick names? All his names are nicknames basically. So yeah, a whole lot.11. Do they have a romantic interest? Not currently but he will.12. How do they cope with struggles? It depends on what the struggle is. If it’s something big it’ll effect his mood drastically but if it’s small he’ll try and hide it to deal with on his own.13. Do they have anyone they can lean on? His giant found family.14. How do they react to someone dying? If it’s someone he cares about, then he’d be very upset and inconsolable. 15. Can you name 5 personality traits they have? Funny, charming, perceptive, excitable, caring.16. How did they become a character? I made a DnD character just for fun and he was a complete joke of a character and then you made me flesh him out.17. Do they get along with others? Yes! He’s a very friendly boy.18. What flaws do they have? Emotions can get the better of him easily, he’s really invested in his career, and he is not quick to get on the front lines to fight with his friends.19. How do they influence the story? I’m not sure, the same way any PC influences the story I guess.20. What do they look like? A tiny little blonde menace. 21. What are their hobbies? He likes to collect little knick knacks, and play pranks.22. What are their ticks? I have never thought about it... Probably something to do with touching his hair, like tucking it behind his ear and then untucking it over and over again.23. Do they like children? He loves children.24. How do they react to being around wild animals? If it’s a small animal he tries to talk to it immediately, if it’s big he is wary but won’t do anything unless it attacks him first.25. If they were given the task to prank someone, who would it be, what would they do, and would the prank work? He does so many little pranks, so it would probably be really elaborate and ridiculous, I’m not good at pranks though so I can’t think of anything.26. Do they have any survival skills? Not on his character sheet, but in my heart he does.27. Are they more book smart or street smart? Can you be both? He’s both.28. How do they get out of a difficult situation? He will talk or fuck his way out of any situation.29. Do they use their body, mind, personality or force to get what they want? Body and personality.30. What music do they enjoy? Tavern music.31. How do they overcome obstacles? With help from his friends.32. When faced with a difficult decision do they get stronger or break? Break, if it’s really difficult. 33. Do they have any special powers? I think technically gnomes are supposed to be able to turn invisible at will but I don’t have that on his character sheet so who knows. 34. How do they change throughout the story? He becomes more serious and adult like, and more trusting I think.35. Do they have any friends? If so, are they close knit? He has a ton of friends, and he think’s he’s close knit with them but they might disagree.36. How is their family life? [redacted]37. Are they likable? I think so, I certainly made him to be.38. Are they the hero, or anti-hero? Hero.39. Do they make questionable choices? I think to some people some of his choices in life are questionable. 40. How do they become who they are? Some good old fashion trauma.41. How was their childhood? Pretty average.42. Are they close with anyone who is going to screw them over? I don’t know, but I’m sure you know as the DM.43.How do they adapt to different situations? Do they adapt at all? He is very good at adapting.44. How do they speak? Examples - Are they soft spoken, hot heated, vulgar. Hm... It depends on who he is speaking to. He’s got a loud clear voice and he speaks in a very friendly and polite way to strangers, but is more casual to his friends.45. Are they opposed to violence? Not a ton like he would rather talk things through but he knows the world they live in works a certain way so usually problems are solved with fights.46. When is their birthday? Fuck if I know.47. Are they quick to judge? No I don’t think so.48. Do they have anything they are trying to hide from others? Not actively but his backstory is not known by a lot of the party members.49. Do they act different around different people? Yes, but doesn’t everyone.50. Do they enjoy the arts? Yeah he’s a gnome that’s like their life.51. Do they like science? This is funny because I actually decided he was a flat Earther, but instead of Earth its whatever place our DnD world is.52. Are they more emotional or logical? Emotional.53. How do they deal with their emotions? Their emotions just come out and are big and loud and a lot.54. How do they cope with sadness? He holes up in his room and cries and doesn’t talk to anyone until someone breaks into his room to get him and console him because he’s a big baby.55. What is something they care about? His job, his friends, his guild.56. Would they die for anyone/anything? He would die to protect his friends absolutely.57. What do they do when they are happy? His ears stand up and he grins and he bounces around and chatters quickly. He’s a dog.58. How would they come across to other characters? Examples- messy, lazy, childish, caring ect. It depends on the character. He could come off as suave and sexual, or dorky and silly.59. Do they have a phrase they use over and over? Praising the Gnomish god in a “oh my god” fashion, probably.60. In a crowed room are they in the corners, sides, or in the middle? Depends, if it’s just a party he’s dead center, if it’s a mission he’s a good distraction to have in the middle but he’s also tiny and can slip into shadows so he could also be on the sides, watching.61. Are they comfortable being in a crowed room? Yes.62. How do they relax? Reading in a garden.63. Have they ever harmed anyone and regretted it? Verbally or physically? I can’t think of a time.64. Do they like to dance? Yes.65. How do they get around their environment? Examples - horses, bike, vehicle? He walks and they probably use horses but he’s tiny so he’d need a pony.66. What is their pet peeve(s)? When people don’t laugh at his jokes.67. Do they have a disability? No.68. How do they react to getting flowers? He would smile and flush a little.69. Would they ever wear a flower crown? Yes I’ve drawn him in several.70. Do they like themselves? It’s complicated but I’ll say for the most part yes.71. Who do they dislike? Rich people. Human men.72. What is their motto? my brain immediately said “eat the rich”73. Do they have any markings on their body? Yes, a scar on his hip.74. Have they ever been abused? Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm yes.75. What is their biggest fear? [solas voice] dying alone76. What are their goals? Right now, fucking the dragonborn in our party. He’s not doing great.77. How do they go about achieving their goals? Rolling a die after every mission we go on to get a 19 or 20.78. Do they have a fight or flight response? Flight lmao.79. Is there someone in their life that they care about more than themselves? There are a lot.80. How would they fair in zombie apocalypse? Pretty good I think, he’d be freaked the fuck out by zombies but he’s a sniper and tiny and good at hiding.81. Do they have any tattoos? If so, are they significant? I jokingly gave him a tramp stamp but I haven’t drawn it since.82. Are they good at mental math? No.83. Do they get along with others? Yes.84 Are they lazy? Not usually.85. Are they self motivated? Yes.86. How do they cope with anger? His anger is scary, he lashes out.87. Have they ever been in a situation where they were helpless? Yes.88. Are they organized or messy? Organized chaos. He has a lot of things packed into a small space like a mouse.89. Can they remember a lot of information at once? Yes.90. What is their occupation? He’s a sex worker. And also a rogue.91. Do other characters respect your OC, if so, is it out of fear? Or do they respect your OC because they like them? I actually feel like most of our party doesn’t take him seriously, aside from his best friend. But people who know a lot about him respect him because of knowing what he’s gone through and how he’s come out of it.92. If they were given minutes to live, what would they do? Who would they want to see and say? I honestly think he’d just panic because he has so much he still needs to do.93. How do they deal with stress? Full on hair pulling laying on ground anguished scream.94. Do they have a more submissive or dominate personality type? Dominate. He is good at getting and holding a room’s attention.95. Do they have a pet? I had him have a squirrel but I think I scrapped that idea.96. Do they have a stash of weapons? In his room probably yes.97. Where do they live? Who do they live with? He lives in Sanctuary in a guild.98. How do they calm themselves down? Breathing exercises. 99. Are they co-dependent? No.100. Are they a day, or night person? Night.

[televinita]

Zoo, 3.03 (super late)

Once upon a time I posted one short Feeling Explosion in the middle of this episode, then forced myself to stop and deal with a work-nado, and before I could claw my way back I heard "Welcome to the O.C., bitch," and that's the last thing I remember before waking up from my coma 6 weeks later. That's my story and I’m sticking to it. Claims that I may have woken up briefly to comment on bits of episodes 4 and 8 are unsubstantiated because officially, until last night I had not yet finished episode 3. (and that is the actual truth. I technically got to the end and a bit beyond, but only because I tore both apart for Mitch/Jamie content just like I feared I would and left the rest to spoil. Guilt may have played a part in my inability to come out of the coma.)

As I am Very Stubborn about not watching the next episode of anything until I have thoroughly spun the last one around in my head, dissected my feelings about it and processed them into text product, and I struggled with what to say, I got stuck in Zoo purgatory. But after an hour of freewriting, I think I have enough babble to feel content. This is mostly for me, but perhaps you’ll enjoy following my journey.

Originally Planned Opening Statement: Hey, remember when this show was was about weird mutant animals and not bizarre government conspiracies to abduct and experiment on children? Because I do. This is not the show I signed up for and it makes my soul feel gross.

(more evidence for the “why I had trouble moving forward” file, I think) Television Parents Council So we're three episodes in and I am really feeling like dramatic anguish is not Alyssa Diaz's strong suit in the acting department. It all feels kind of strained and forced? But hang on, I gotta go be way more outraged about her character's choices, as seen in this live reaction note: "WHAT IN THE FRICKITING FRACK DARIELA WTF. Is this* why you got divorced last time, 'cause I'm gonna have to assume it is seeing's as we literally never got any other reasoning for that random-ass info drop last year and I keep waiting for an explanation." *cheating on her husband

(and oh man, for the first time I am so glad it's these two who got the kid and not Mitch and Jamie, because can you imagine if I had to hear Jamie had cheated on Mitch with Logan and wrecked their relationship that bad? I would perform brain surgery on everyone with a power drill.) (nobody talk at me about the almost as distasteful thing that happened with them)

To be fair to Dariela, she and Abe mostly bonded over having a kid right after they met; I can't really say it feels like she betrayed an epic soulmate bond. I can muster up some sympathy for her feeling lonely and abandoned.)

Except that's not even her last horrible reveal of the episode*. What are you trying to do, run this character I miraculously chose to accept into the ground??

*possibly selling out Clementine to rescue her own kid from a sketchy situation. I will make a lot of allowances for putting yourself and your family's comfort and safety over the needs of strangers, but this does not fall under that header.

But, um, other than that, Papa Lion Abe is intense and amazing and I thought the whole desperate chase-after-the-military-convoy aspect was really well done.

----

Television Parents Council Pt. II Live Reaction Note: "Mitch is a testy bitch in this episode and I love him." (I remember this being debated, but part of the reason I love his Testy Bitch self is what you see at the end of the episode. If he doesn't wrap himself in defensive anger, cling to it like a buoy, the pain of confronting everything he lost and missed will win.) I really love Mitch's two seconds of happiness when he thinks Jamie raised Clem in her fancy penthouse and they ended up thick as thieves. I am less fond of the reality that Max took her away when she turned 14, so the only solace I can take away, before I spiral into that "who TF invited Logan to this party" post we started with is "SWEET HALLELUJAH AT LEAST JAMIE GOT OVER THREE YEARS TO BOND WITH HER." Also, Jamie is so the adult who gives the kids beer to supervise them. I still think it's hilarious that Mitch assumed any adult gave her a beer at 14, because don't most teenagers just have friends who come up with it? I mean, I couldn't even find alcohol on my college campus so I am not the authority on this by any means, but that is the impression I get from books. My point being, I like to think that even in the happy world where 2x12 is the series finale and they had a life together after, this would still have happened and he and Jamie would have had more than one clash regarding her blurring the line between parental authority and friend, and it would have sounded exactly like this, so...thanks Zoo, for accidentally fulfilling my Domestic AU interests in the weirdest possible way! Awww @ Mitch's impatient little "hey" when Clem casts doubt on Jamie's ability to perform brain surgery with a power drill, and then uses that particular tone of voice to tell her it's going to be fine. Awww @ Clem sticking up for Jamie's parenting skills. You know what, just assume that I loved any and everything else that happened when these three were on screen. And I maintain that Jamie, while willing to stop him if he gets too far out of line, also remembers very well what it's like to wake up with missing time where everything's changed and gone wrong, and that means he gets the time and space he needs, within reason, to lash out and come to terms with it while she waits for the worst of the storm to pass. She does point out when Clem's upset, and she checks him with "she turned out okay," but never once do I get the sense that she takes any criticism he lobs at her personally.

(I might have said this before. I tagged wrong and can’t find it.)

--------------------

JKras and Emily Blunt's Alt Reality Doppelgangers (shhh just go with it)

Guess what I started shipping exactly two seconds before we went with the "slapping men across the face isn't domestic violence" trope on top of the "this one piece of information that is not about how you assaulted or killed someone in cold blood invalidates absolutely everything I love about you" trope. It's a two-fer of ship torpedoing. (How do you say no to that face! Look how tragic and sad it is on top of its normal rugged handsomeness and love for helping people! Also, guess who is probably gonna quit shippin' it and throw the lady right back out the door if/when she returns and eliminates Jackson's need to talk to the people I care about. That's just how I unfairly do. The Chloe-shaped hole in my heart won't heal, it's weird.) --------------- I LOVE YOU, MAN

And then this episode ends with Jackson's face lighting up at the sight of Alive!Mitch and glomping on him in a bear hug, and everything is right with the world now that my two faves are together again. ---------------

Yet More Thoughts

-Live reaction note: “I am glad to see that Mitch has shaved the beard and subsequently restored his powers of snark to full glory. They must have been suffocating under that thing.” -I loved Clem's montage of practicing how to tell her dad she's pregnant. These are useful sound bites for alternate takes.

-”Everything went wrong. The world went wrong.” This is somehow the most poetic thing I have ever heard on Zoo? Between the writing and her specific cadence, it sounds like something you'd hear in an award-winning speech, dressed up in voiceovers for trailers; IDK, I just really love it.

-Who even are you Abigail; your name and your hair make me want to get to know you but everything else (including my fandom girl-bros reacting to you with all the love they had for Logan last year and essentially forming a rousing chorus of "Don't need another You Part 2"), very much makes me want to not. -LOOK AT THESE GIANT UGLY WORM TUNNELING DINO-VULTURES, I LOVE THEM. -Mitch's JAMIE WHAT THE FUCK reaction to her stabbing her prisoner through the hand was pretty amazing. -In case you were wondering how appropriate for polite company my reaction to Jackson hotly threatening "I am gonna find you, and I am gonna stop you" is, the answer is "not very." -Quick question: how did Mitch's sacrifice save the world, exactly? I'm fuzzy on this. I wasn't tracking plot very well after Mitch "died" last year, but I thought it was a very personal sacrifice meant to save Clem alone.

-Well. That ending sounds like a fun little sophie's choice of "death vs. memory loss." Looking forward to seeing what episode 12 or 13 does with that. (If you kill him again, all the protection of "reality" in the world won't save you from the worm dino vulture pack I will summon to come after you.)

[nyf-archive]

💀 / thrand - surprise me or double angst

send 💀 for my muse to die in your arms.

your wish is my command >:D

finduilas

The Emprise was unforgiving in not only it’s temperatures, but with the terrain and the fact that they were almost surrounded by Red Templars. There are even still some rogue Templars around here that the scouts were pretty sure had joined up with those of Corypheus’ forces once they heard of the heretic of a leader that the elf was. Well, even more so enticed about the fact she kept other ‘apostates’ in her party. They could be rounded up by the handfuls, if that was the case.

But, they were careful. Well…as careful as one could be. Seeing as though they guarded one of the largest rifts in the area, Finduilas had to go in order to seal it. If not, more and more demons could pour out and into the area and possibly harm her companions. It was decided, though, that she would be the only magic user to infiltrate the area, if that was the case. But Thranduil had argued otherwise. “I’ll not be from your side.” He had said.

Through much deliberation, Finduilas agreed, reluctantly, to allow him to go, seeing as though he’d probably follow along anyways. The only condition was that he would stay far from the battle as long as possible. If things got difficult, then he could join.

“Be careful...” He had told her. She of course smiled at him and leaned against her staff, verdant green eyes searching his icy blue as she nodded her head.

“I’m always careful. It’ll be alright. Besides, I’ll have you as back up.” Finduilas was always bright and cheery, despite all the things that had happened to her since the beginning of this war they were fighting. She pulled him close with her curved staff and leaned up, pressing a very gentle kiss to his lips, to which she was happy to find he reciprocated, hand carding gently through the trusses at the back of her head.

And then they began their fight to take back to Lion. It was going well at first...but the deeper they went into this encampment, they had definitely been overwhelmed by the sheer amount of men that were there, normal and corrupt alike. Finduilas hadn’t felt panic like this in a long time…but they had to push on. They had to. These were the last of Corypheus’ strongholds and it had be taken care of. Her eyes flickered between her companions and those of their enemies.

A Templar charged at her, and she went to use her magic, but no element, no force came from the focus of her staff. Her magic had been cut off. Fenhedis! The woman did her best to block the attack, her staff met steel and tried to fend the warrior off, but it wasn’t until a split second, did she hear another flanking her.

And that’s when she felt a splitting pain break through her chest. Everything felt like slow motion as her lashes fluttered over her eyes. Her hands lost their grasp on her staff and instead grasped hold of a blade that now protruded from her chest. Before she could grab a hold of it, though, it was given a harsh twist, causing further trauma.

A cry echoed through the air, but the voice was not her own. She was too shocked, too lost in her own mind to have a sound like that break from her. No...Finduilas knew who exactly that had come from.

The elvhen was stunned, fell to her knees heavily. There was a sickening feeling of breaking and slicing as the metal was removed from her chest, the blade removed from the gaping wound it had just given her. This time...it was raised over her head as to give the killing blow, execution style. But it never came. Her eyes were fixated on the snow below her that was quickly stained red, her hands shaking slightly as she tried to brace herself in the cold substance just below her knees.

It was getting too hard to focus, her sight was dulling as her heart pounded in her ears. When the strike didn’t come, the elvhen began to sway, consciousness fading from her. She felt herself falling backwards, expecting to feel the chill of winter all around her. But that also never came.

Instead, she could feel heat just at her back before a pair of arms wrapped around her and pulled her close, cradling her tightly into a form. No longer could the elvhen hear the battle raging around her, and while she could think about it, her hand raised and a few sparks emitted, a beam of green traveled from her and to the rift, and with the clench of her fingers, did it burst and disappear.

Those emerald eyes found piercing blue and a somber look came to her features. “…vhenan…” her voice cracked, and as she tried to suck in a breath, did she find it even harder to breathe. A warmth found her as he did his best to pour his healing magic into her, but she was already cold, already too weak.

“I...I thought I told you to be careful...” His voice broke as his hand came and pressed against her cheek, blood smearing against her pale skin as he tried to take in her features. “Come on...hep me heal you....you can do it...” Thranduil did his best to encourage the mage to help her heal herself, but she gave him no reaction, just continued to look up at him, blood staining those perfectly pink lips as her own blood began to rise up her throat.

“His hands are strong...healing, hoping, hanging onto what is already slipping from his grasp. I can’t leave him...no, not yet. He can’t lose me, can’t lose another person. Those eyes shine line stars that speckle the night skies and I am afraid to be without them; my guiding light. Hold me just one last time...agony, affliction, aching...I’m dying...this is my final death.” Cole’s voice seeps into her senses, the only thing, other than Thranduil, that makes sense right now.

“No...no you’re going to be alright...Finduilas!” He searched her over, frantic now, as he poured more and more of his magic into her in hopes that he could save her. He had to be able to. “Someone get me a potion!” He cried out, looking down to the gaping wound that he had barely been able to heal. But no one had any...they had used them all up. Tears began to spill from his eyes as he watched her searching his gaze, knowing that this was it. He didn’t want it to be over. Not yet....

Her head fell against his shoulder, nuzzling into him as best she could as the cold took over whatever warmth she had felt previously. She could see the reflection of red in the metal of his armor, a bit of grief coming over her as she struggled for air. “I-Ir a..belas…ar lath m-ma….”  a soft smile found her features as she felt his head press against hers. She closed her eyes and grasped hold of his arm before she felt herself slipping into the darkness.

The fade was calling her like a sweet lullaby. He held her close, one hand entangled in the those long, platinum trusses, his other arm holding her round her waist, he couldn���t let her go...not yet...

One last shaky breath left her lungs, and soon, all that Thranduil held was a lifeless shell and an anchor. Inquisitor Lavellan was no more. An anguished scream echoed through the snow laden valley; a lament to be heard for miles.

wesley

Camping was definitely something he enjoyed. Especially when it was just himself and a few others; this time, it included Thranduil, his son, Cassandra, Varric, and a few others of his personal companions. As the others were putting up the camp and getting everything ready for the night they would be spending out there, Wesley, Thranduil, and Legolas left to go forage for some food and even try their hand at fishing and hunting.

Legolas had been the one to catch the most, surprising, showing up the archer at his skills with both hunting and fishing. When he was asked if he was letting the young one win, Wesley of course said he was, but in all reality, he was being bested by a child. He and Thranduil, though, definitely spent their time just being beside one another as the smaller elvhen boy ran around in hopes of finding more things. Wes was even able to steal a kiss or more while the boy was distracted.

But they were both startled out of it when there was a shrill cry from the direction Legolas had run off in. Both men sprinted in that direction, only to find a behemoth Templar monster trying to reach legolas who was in between a cave only big enough for himself to fit in. It screamed and shouted at the boy, it’s drive to kill far higher than anything Wesley had ever encountered.

They were definitely not dressed or ready for this. But, he cursed under his breath and pulled his bow from over his shoulders, drawing back an arrow and releasing it quickly near the neck of this creature. It seemed unfazed by the arrow pain wise, but it drew his attention. That head turned towards them, and soon he started to charge. An ice wall was built around the beast as they ran around it to try and get to Legolas.

“Sahlin!” Wesley called out to the child who then, in turn, sprinted from the small cave and towards him. The man picked him up and held onto him tightly before looking over to Thranduil who was busy making the wall higher. He repeated the phrase, watching as his love turned his head towards him. He nodded and sprinted towards him as fast as he could, and as he got close, did Wes transfer Legolas over to his father as they kept running. That was, until the sound of ice cracking could be heard.

Wesley came to an abrupt halt as he grabbed his bow and readied another arrow.

“What are you doing?!” He could hear the blonde man behind him practically shouting at him now.

“Run! Get back to camp! Get him to safety and then bring the others! Now!” Wesley instructed as he watched the ice wall come crumbling down around the behemoth. He took in a deep breathe and pulled back the knocked arrow and aimed true. Thranduil didn’t have time to argue as he watched the charging creature. No...he knew he was right...he needed to get Legolas to safety.

Wesley listened to the feet as they took off in the distance, the rumbling of heavier feet charging towards him was what he focused on next. He hoped his arrow would hit something vital, but it never even pierced the lyrium encrusted beast. It then became a game of cat and mouse...but it didn’t last long. He felt a splitting pain in his leg; it was locked up and wouldn’t move, so the archer ended up falling a few feet. As he looked down at his leg, did he see a shard of red lyrium sticking through his flesh. Fuck. This wasn’t good. He ripped the red substance from his thigh before doing his best to get up and run, but he was cut off by a Red Templar Horror. That must have been what got him.

He grit his teeth and backed away a bit, his sword the only thing he had left to defend himself. The behemoth came close and lashed out with his claw, and as Wesley parried off the mangled hand, did a heavy force of it’s large, lyrium hammer hit him, sending him flying a few feet back. He lost his breath, lost almost all control to function, and just as he looked up to find an escape, did he see the behemoth above him, it’s hammer of a hand now spiked. The archer let out a shaky breath. There was no escaping this.

The hammer came down hard on his chest, spikes piercing wherever they landed. His head fell back and against the ground, eyes finding the sky just through the billowing tree tops. His eyes watched as the hammer was raised over the behemoth’s head once more, about to strike again, but he heard a grunt mixed with a screech as magic hit it and sent it backwards. That’s when the rest of his forces charged the creature. All except one who called out for him, panicked and full of fear.

He could see the hesitation in the blonde man as he looked over the punctures, sorrow filling those beautiful blue hues as he looked down to him. Wesley gave a softer smile as he tried his best to raise his arm. Thranduil leaned down and helped him, even pulled him into his arms as he tried to assess what to do. But the spikes...the lyrium...it had done so much damage. Not only that...but he had practically been crushed. There wasn’t much that his magic could help with this tainted material pierced through his lover.

Wesley smiled softly as the elvhen man leaned down and pressed his forehead against his, his battle worn and bloodied hand came to rest at the crook of Thranduil’s neck, holding him close as their noses brushed together. He was struggling to breathe; between his broken ribs and the punctured lungs, he was becoming hypoxic...he couldn’t even move his lower half anymore.

“Th-Thran...” He brushed their noses together as he kept him close, the agonal breathing already setting in. The elf just shook his head and held him tighter.

“No...don’t speak...you need to save your energy...you need to-” He was cut off by a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. Wesley could feel the warm tears falling against his cheek. This spurred his own to fall from his eyes. They broke apart, though; Thranduil kept him close, though, as the others continued their battle behind them.

Wesley did his best...he protected those he loved until the very last minute. And Thranduil was there with him through every last second of his agony. He held him close until he felt the large body become lax in his arms, as his head fell back heavily against his bicep. Those emerald and blue hues never to open again...

Thranduil sat with him in his arms, not wanting to let him go. But Bull promised to carry him as gently as possible back to the camp...there, they would clean him up, wrap him up delicately, and take him back to Skyhold for a proper good bye.

But they had already shared their goodbye. With kisses and soft exchanging of words, with lingering touches and the promise to see one another soon. So, the man let his vhenan be taken from him, and watched for one last time, as his men followed him one last time.

[emesispo]

Chapter 10

The tiniest rays of sunlight are peaking through the trees as your eyes open the next morning. Immediately you curse your wretched bladder, it’s already making you squirm with discomfort. But, you really want to stay exactly where you are. Pedros arm is sling over your ribs, holding you close and you’re not quite sure where your legs begin and his end. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, he’s still sleeping. Your bladder screams and you can pretend no longer that you can ignore its cries. Thank goodness for yoga as you disentangle yourself from Pedros heavy limbs as carefully as you can, celebrating silently when you successfully emerge from the bed without waking him.

Tiptoeing down the hall, you hear soft voices in the kitchen, a young family already starting their day. Brushing your teeth you hear a muffled crash and an anguished cry. Quickly drying off your hands you leave the bathroom to investigate the source of the commotion. In the kitchen you find Elvira doing her best to clean up a broken coffee cup, the evidence of the spill all over her front. The couples youngest son, Mads, sits propped in a high chair, watching his mother with wide eyes. Children’s music plays in the background as you move forward, asking “how can I help?” As you stoop to pick up a shattered piece of coffee cup from the kitchen floor. “Shit, did I wake you?” Elvira asks.

“Nah, my bladder doesn’t allow me to sleep in much” you counter, seeing the relief on her face. Being closer you see the coffee dripping from Elviras hair and see droplets doing their best to dry on her face. “Go get yourself cleaned up” you offer “I got this”.

“Ok?” She questions with a glance at the baby. Smiling, you say “we’ll be good, won’t we Mads?” The toddler looks at you and grins, exposing a single tooth. “Thank you, thank you!” Elvira gushes, relief flooding her face as she hurried off to get cleaned up. Making goofy faces at the baby, you set your focus on cleaning up the splattered coffee. While wiping up the last bit of stray droplets, a soft patter of feet can be heard entering the kitchen. “Mama?” A soft voice calls.

“No, just me little man. Hi, you must be Eugene. I’m Meaghan, your tío Pedros friend. Your mama spilled coffee all over, so she went to get cleaned up” you told him, bending down to meet his eye. At the mention of Pedros name, the birthday boy began feverishly looking for him.

“Oh he’s still sleeping bud” you tell the boy, his face visibly falls and he reaches his arms up toward you. Happily you oblige his request and lift him onto to your hip, turning toward the younger brother to coo at him. The coffee cleaned up, you can focus on the two little ones. So you start to dance around the kitchen, holding Eugene who is immediately all about the dance party as he begins to grin wildly and laugh as you spin around the room to the upbeat Disney tune.

“Uhlesssa tuhrn it up!” little Eugene says to the air. Surprisingly, the AI understands toddler and the volume of the music increases just as the song changes. Now, you’re pretty versed at kid-stuff, having your fair share of “nieces and nephews”, so you’re pleasantly surprised when a song you secretly love to dance to pipes through the speaker. The Pentatonix cover of “You Make My Dreams Come True” from the movie UglyDolls.

Mads is giggling and clapping in the high chair, Eugene is squealing with delight as you dance and sing foolishly through the Isaacs kitchen, a baby on your hip. Out of the corner of your eye you catch a figure standing in the entryway of the kitchen. Continuing your toddler entertainment you spin around to see Pedro leaning against the wall in the kitchen, a look of pure amusement shines on his face as you return his joyous smile.

“PEHDWO!” Eugene squeals at top volume, seeing him in the room. Walking toward you, Pedro places a hand on the small of your back and places a quick kiss on your cheek as he wraps his free arm around the small boy. “Good morning, feliz cumpleaños sobreno!” Pedro says lovingly to the boy, who smiles at him before turning back to you and demanding “Dance tia!”

“What the birthday boy wants, the birthday boy gets!” You laugh, resuming your kitchen dance party. Pedro gleefully joins the dance and soon Elvira enters the kitchen and bursts out laughing. Picking up a gleeful Mads, she dances along to the happy song with the baby enjoying every second.

“What the...?” Oscar stands in the patio doors, his face flushed from his run, taking in the scene before him. You dancing with Eugene, his wife with Mads and Pedro entertaining everyone with his goofy antics. Not one to be outdone, he joins the fray. Eugene extends his hands toward his dad, who takes the boy from your arms to dance with him. Your arms aren’t empty for long as Pedro grabs your hands, spins you around and pulls you into his arms. Your back is pressed against his chest, hands linked and arms crossed, his chin on your shoulder. “Good morning, beautiful” he whispers in your ear. If he could see you, he’d see your eyes practically roll back in your head as his scruff brushed your cheek. But, Oscar saw...he raises an eyebrow at you, smiling before he turns and kisses his wife, adorably squishing their two children between them. The room emanates joy and your heart swells as you can palpate the energy around you. Too soon the song ends and the mood shifts as the songs tempo is markedly slowly than the last.

Both men hold on a little longer, everyone content to let the mood last as long as possible. But hungry toddlers wait for no one, and soon all the boys demand breakfast. With everyone working together, breakfast is on the table in just a few minutes. Elvira and Oscar tell of the birthday plans for the day, party starts at noon! Looking at the clock and suddenly seeming slightly rushed, Pedro finishes his breakfast quickly. He excuses himself from the table, sighting the need for a shower and gives you a quick peck on the cheek before darting off. You catch eyes with Oscar, who suddenly finds great interest in how much his boys had eaten. While Elvira stifles laughter as she keeps her head down, then quickly changing the subject at the table.

Helping to clean up the breakfast mess you finally head back toward your room a short time later. In it you find a dressed and ready Pedro, his hair still wet from the shower. You wished in that moment that you’d been in that shower with him. As if reading your tension, he moves toward you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. He kisses your lips and face, sweetly, gently. In between kisses he murmurs words you can’t quite understand, but they make your heart flutter all the same. Pulling away slightly he says “would you mind if I went with Oscar to run a few errands and leave you here with Elvy and the kids?” “Sure” you shrug, not minding the suggestion. You were sure it was for last minute essentials for the party. He smiles brightly and kisses you once more, but this kiss holds the promise of so much more. Both of their resolves hold on by frayed strings, neither of them sure how much longer they’re able to wait.

Happily you set your mind to helping Elvy decorate for the party, and the two of you are pretty proud of your efforts by the time all is said and done. “Thank you!” Elvy gushes, giving your shoulders a quick hug. “This would have sucked by myself!” “Birthday party decoration services for hire!” You laugh easily with your new friend. With decorations complete, catering on its way and the boys still out and about, we took cups of coffee onto the patio to let Eugene run around while Mads napped in the house. Enjoying the warm California sunshine, you close your eyes and lean your head back.

Interrupting your moment, Elvira suggests. “So, if I were a woman, away for the weekend with my new boyfriend. I might find myself being in need of a good home spa day. And it just so happens we have one of those.” Confused for a moment, you stare with a furrowed brow. Elvira raises her eyebrows at you and suddenly you understand her implications. “Since, I’m not supposed to say anything, I’ll just say, let me show you to the master bath and you can do what you want with the info.” She says, standing and scooping Eugene into her arms as he runs by.

You find yourself in the Isaacs master bath, and Elvira wasn’t lying. It’s an oasis and you take advantage of their very deep bathtub. Your apartments tub in NY is laughable at best, so you let out an audible sigh when you let yourself drop into the steaming water, and let your mind wander. What was Pedro planning? Running through multiple scenarios you take care to scrub and shave and take Elvira’s advice.

Totally relaxed and smelling fantastic you emerge from the bathroom as the boys return home, looking triumphant. Seeing the blissed our look on your face, he cocks his head with a questioning gaze. “Elvy told me I could use their bathtub. I love a good bath” you confess as he wraps you in his arms, kissing you seductively, hands wandering to rest on your ass, but not before possessively palming your cheek and squeezing tightly, drawing your hips together in a mind shatteringly erotic roll. Causing muffled moans to escape both of your mouths in unison as hands began to search more frantically to feel skin.

A child’s squeal breaks the moment as you quickly separate, remembering you’re not alone. A second later Eugene comes tearing around the corner, straight for Pedro. Who catches the speeding toddler and tosses him into the air, eliciting an ecstatic scream from the boy. Pedro looks at you and smiles before saying, let’s party! Carrying Eugene toward the living room where Elvira was putting the last minute touches on the party.

The birthday party was a success, Eugene had had the time of his life and was now passed OUT in his bed. The house was picked up and Oscar and Elvira played quietly with Mads in the living room where you all sat, enjoying a minute to sit and be still. Suddenly Pedro stood from his position next to you on the couch and said, “you ready?” As he looked imploringly at you. “For?” You questioned. “An adventure!” He said in a muted booming voice as he waved one arm wildly, holding the other hand toward you. Laughing you put your hand in his and he pulls you to stand, and then linking fingers with you he leads the way toward the front door, calling over his shoulder, “don’t wait up!” A chorus of laughter follows us out the front door, where a convertible Audi waits, top down.

Holding the door for you, he gives you the most heart melting smile before rounding the car and getting into the drivers seat. One had on the wheel and the other on your thigh, Pedro pulls the car onto the highway and you can’t help but smile as you think about where you where this time last week, versus where your are at this moment. Your hair blowing in the wind as the sun warms your skin, a man who both stops and restarts your heart in the seat next to you, no idea where you’re going. Yet, you don’t care, you could go no where but here and it would be perfect. With him.