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thana-topsy · 1 year ago

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I’m infinitely fascinated by the falmer in Halfway to the Sky, I really want to know more about your ideas for their culture etc

Thank you so much anon! I kind of had to sit with this one, since I don't really have a lot of my Falmer headcanons written out or in one place as it stands. Before writing their introduction in Halfway to the Sky, I began by researching modern isolated tribes and what first contact with those tribes looked like and, surprise surprise, humans are pretty universal in a lot of ways. I try to apply the same to the Falmer. In true form, I started writing my thoughts down and it got a little long, so I went ahead and turned it into a scholarly pamphlet written (with the help of a sighted-person) by none other than the budding expert on the subject of Falmeri cultural exchange: Sarel of Winterhold. (No real spoilers for HttS, just hints and nods). Sorry, again, this got LONG.

[PAMPHLET ONE] An Introduction to the Modern Falmer: Social Structure, Family, and Trade By Sarel of Winterhold, transcribed by co-researcher and Dwemer scholar Aicantar

Quite possibly the most misunderstood nation of our modern era is that of the Falmer, living quietly beneath the surface of Skyrim and no doubt beneath the other provinces of Tamriel. The Falmeri diaspora after the disappearance of the Dwemer is still very much a mystery with little written documentation following the dubiously researched and far-too-often quoted ‘War of the Crag’. (My thoughts on that to come). However, through my years of close contact with several of the Skyrim tribes, and with the aid of my research partner (who is currently assisting in my transcription of this document), we have managed to construct a rough timeline of events based on the Falmer’s oral history provided to us, as well as a basic understanding of their culture and practice.

SOCIAL STRUCTURE AND FAMILY

As it stands, I would classify Skyrim Falmer as a nation of loosely associated tribes. There is no centralized ruling body, but there is a clear social structure found repeated among the independent tribes. The structure is as follows:

There is a Matriarch, usually the eldest member of the tribe, almost always female (with some exceptions), whose duties are similar to that of a Jarl, though she acts as more of a spiritual/religious leader as well. She is a magic user first and foremost, and has received the “Gifts of the Old Masters” (see: Tonal Architecture; pamphlet 3) as part of her necessary requirements for the role.

Beneath the Matriarch, there are the Time-Keepers. Time-Keepers are strictly biologically female and count the passing of the months based on their menstruation cycles. There is usually one assigned Time-Keeper with several young females under her tutelage, who are prepared to take over her role when she enters menopause. Time-Keepers may take lovers, but they do not bear children, and to bear a child as a Time-Keeper is seen as breaking a very serious vow. Typically, the Time-Keeper and her charges live together and operate as a small familial unit. The Time-Keeper may have duties outside of this role, often falling again into the realm of magic-users (alchemy, healing, enchanting, etc.).

Beneath the Time-Keeper is the Lead Warrior (Aicantar note: the title of this role is pending, but we really can’t come up with a better description). He is almost always male (with some exceptions) and rules the warrior class. This domain includes tribal protection, boundary claims, territorial acquisition, and conflict resolution.

The Matriarch, the Time-Keeper, and the Lead Warrior are the typical ruling tribunal of the Falmeri tribe. They often hold council with one another, though the Time-Keeper and Lead Warrior act as advisors to the Matriarch, who will usually have the final say in any decision.

The other tribal roles include those who raise and farm the chaurus; craftsmen who construct the weapons, tools, and armor from the harvested chaurus; those who roam in order to gather resources; those who raise children; and those who attend to the infrastructure of the settlement. The Falmer tend not to designate these roles based on sex or gender, though there is a noticeable skew that tends to occur in terms of female members rearing children with male members preferring to roam or hunt, but there is no discernable taboo if a male member wishes to raise a child or a female prefers the life of a warrior. (Gender and sexuality among the Falmer is a topic for another time).

The Falmer do not have traditional family structures, but tend towards communal child-rearing. There is an unfortunately high infant mortality rate due to the hostile environment and the increased chance of infection due to chaurus farming, and because of this fact most Falmer children are not given a name until after their first birthday has passed. Mothers keep their children bound to their chests, and many will often cycle newborns between one another to prevent breastfeeding fatigue. Once children have safely passed the stages of infancy, they are reared in groups, taught basic social and crafting skills, and generally kept safely in the confines of the settlement until they are of age to begin contributing to the function of the tribe.

TRADE

Most Dwemer scholars know well that nearly all Dwarven settlements are connected via long tunnels, running like arteries to the “heart” of Skyrim: Blackreach. Blackreach is the closest approximation to a cultural hub for the Falmer tribes, acting as a centralized marketplace for trade and commerce. Goods from the overworld make their way down to Blackreach usually through scavenging bandit camps or any scholars brave enough to make their way deeper into the Dwarven ruins. I will not deny that many have met their untimely demise at the hands of the Falmer. They are fiercely protective of their tribes, and scouts will not hesitate to kill intruders without a second thought. I hope to work with some of the tribes to change this deeply ingrained instinct of isolation and mistrust, but the denizens of the overworld must also play their own part in seeking peace over violence. A “two-way street”, as my father used to say.

The Falmer of Blackreach have been known to deal in the slave trade, both of other Falmer and any poor outsiders who do not manage to properly defend themselves. This has presented a unique circumstance in which overworld culture and language have been adapted into the Falmer’s culture. It is not as unlikely as many might think to find a Falmer with a rudimentary grasp of the Cyrodilic or Norse languages. I’ve even met one who spoke with the most peculiar Daggerfall accent after taking a former slave as his wife.

I understand that it is not my place to interfere with the nature of the Blackreach slave trade, (Aicantar note: I have had to remind Sarel on multiple occasions that I would prefer not to die over the matter), though I do not condone it and feel very uncomfortable with its continued practice. Abolitionist movements exist within individual settlements, and there are certain Matriarchs who disavow the practice altogether. So I’m relegated to the position of scholar and observer, though I do what I can to preach the philosophy of self-governance. But, as with the cultures of the surface, opinions vary and wars rage between tribes over such debates. Thus is the nature of man and mer, I suppose, as much as it pains me.

In the next pamphlet, we will cover the etymology of the modern Falmer language, the various dialects used between tribes, and the “trade language” of Blackreach. Future pamphlets will include religious practices, funerary rites, the re-appropriation of Tonal Architecture, and the unique properties of Falmeri alchemy.

#topsy writes #falmer #falmer headcanons #skyrim fanfiction #sarel the falmer #tes lore #apocrypha #falmer lore #skyrim #elder scrolls

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 3 years ago

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Michael in the Mainstream: The Passion of the Christ

At what point is it okay to separate the art from the artist, and at what point is doing so simply impossible? Let me give you a few examples to illustrate my thoughts.

In the case of H.P. Lovecraft, I think it’s okay to enjoy his stuff. Yes, the man was virulently racist and xenophobic, and yes, it does tend to bleed into his writing from time to time… But here’s the thing: He’s dead. He’s not making money off this anymore, he’s not naming any cats racial slurs, and he’s thankfully not on Twitter. By reading his stories and using his public domain creations in your own works, you’re not lining his pockets or pushing his agenda. Of course, I believe acknowledging his bad views is important, but I also don’t think buying a Cthulhu plushie means you hate black people.

In the case of JKR, it’s not okay. Rowling is a miserable, virulent TERF who uses feminism and her own past negative experiences as a hammer to beat down trans women every chance she gets. By watching the movies of her work, buying her books, retweeting her, and openly expressing your love for her in fandom, you are in effect advertising for her and funding her hateful agenda. Not to mention she has tons of racist, transphobic, and anti-Semitic themes woven into the very fabric of her works. This woman ruined goblins, and that alone is a sin more unforgivable than any curse she could ever write. Now, if she dies (or better yet, is assassinated), and hate groups no longer profit from her, then I think liking her shit is fine. Whatever. If JKR is down having tea with her like-minded buddy Thatcher in Hell, I think watching Daniel Radcliffe and Alan Rickman transform her awful prose into something watchable can be done guilt-free.

And for when it’s impossible… Well, I think Mel Gibson nailing Jesus to the cross is about the point where you can’t ignore subtext anymore and you’ve gotta quit that cold turkey.

Yes, I’m not kidding. Gibson’s hands are the one hammering those nails into the Lord, and that one simple fact undermines the entire story and just serves to highlight how demented and evil Gibson truly is. For those who are blessed not to know who Gibson is, he is a miserable washed-up action star who was the lead in films like Mad Max and Lethal Weapon, franchises that would have been enough for him to coast by on goodwill for the rest of his life… But then he had to go and blow it all. Racist rants. Horrific anti-Semitism. Conservativism, the list surprising thing here since it really only makes sense he’d be right-wing considering the other stuff.

And then here he is, making a movie about one of the most beloved Jewish men in history being brutally maimed, tortured, and executed, and he’s the one pulling the metaphorical trigger. It’s unsurprising every conservative dimwit from film critics to Bill O’Reilly bent over backwards to defend this, but goddamn Roger Ebert? He gave this movie four stars, denied anti-Semitism, and called it the most important version of this story ever? Seriously? I couldn’t even charitably call it a good version of the story. Look, I get it. I get the Passion is about his sacrifice, that’s all well and good. And I get that it wasn’t pretty. But the way this is filmed, the way it lingers on our boy JC’s suffering… It feels less like an honest and frank attempt at spirituality on Gibson’s part and more like self-serving torture porn so he can live out his twisted fantasies.

It’s not even possible for me to praise the things that, in other contexts, would be worth praising. All of it being subtitled, the set design, the acting, how can I lavish any praise on it when it is a hateful movie made by a hateful man? It’s impossible here. Gibson is a despicable, evil man and it really seeps into this film, especially with how he portrays the Jews. In her own review, Katha Pollitt said "Gibson has violated just about every precept of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops own 1988 'Criteria' for the portrayal of Jews in dramatizations of the Passion (no bloodthirsty Jews, no rabble, no use of Scripture that reinforces negative stereotypes of Jews.) … The priests have big noses and gnarly faces, lumpish bodies, yellow teeth; Herod Antipas and his court are a bizarre collection of oily-haired, epicene perverts. The 'good Jews' look like Italian movie stars (Magdalene actually is an Italian movie star, the lovely Monica Bellucci); Jesus's mother, who would have been around 50 and appeared 70, could pass for a ripe 35." Rowling would be proud of this crap. It’s just a miserable, miserable movie, and yes that’s part of the point but it’s impossible not to read into it in the worst ways because of who Gibson is.

Gibson has never even apologized for how he is. People like Robert Downey, Jr. have called for us to forgive him, but what has he ever done to deserve it? He just keeps on being an evil man, saluting Trump and acting in racist movies alongside fellow right-wing hack Vince Vaughn, while reaping in all kinds of rewards for his directorial efforts. He barely suffered at all for his horrifying, toxic behavior, but he gets to lay claim to having the most controversial film ever made, and it’s not even controversial for the right reasons. I remember people being more up in arms over the violence than anything, and yeah, the violence is so over-the-top to the point of being unnecessary, but I think Mel’s rampant bigotry seeping through the screen is the bigger issue here.

There is literally no reason to watch this movie. You want a better look at the final days of Jesus? Scorecese made The Last Temptation of Christ. Don’t want to feel miserable while watching Jesus die? Jesus Christ Superstar is right there. Do you absolutely have to watch a version of Jesus that has the involvement of a stupid old bigot? The Life of Brian is right there. All that The Passion has to offer viewers is misery, brutality, bleakness, suffering, and bigotry, and we get enough of that in the real world without watching it on the screen. If Gibson really wanted to make a beautiful and personal film about Jesus, maybe he should have done a more wholesome and uplifting part of His life, instead of the part where He is literally murdered. If this is what Gibson thinks faith is, that really says more about him than anything else ever could.

Fuck this movie, and fuck Mel Gibson.

#Michael in the Mainstream #MITM #review #movie review #The Passion of the Christ #Mel Gibson #Jesus Christ #Easter #violence

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thinkingimages · 3 years ago

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Joan Bennett in the film Secret Behind the Door

Sexuality and Space edited by Beatriz Colomina

Elizabeth Wilson

In the early 1990s the addition of “sexuality” seemed to take the vibrant debate on space into new territory. The very title of Sexuality and Space reflects this, and as Beatriz Colomina remarks in her brief introduction to the collection of articles it comprises, to insist on “sexuality” as a component of space can be, at one level, to insert feminist concerns into a masculine discourse—although it is dispiriting if sexuality is still perceived as women’s domain, somehow suggesting that anatomy still is destiny and/or that women are still equated with the bodily in a way that men are not. As Colomina makes clear, however, the volume, like the symposium at which the papers it contains were initially presented, aims to do more than simply “include women.” Nor does it aim simply to explore “how sexuality acts itself out in space,” although this would have been an interesting subject in its own right: how actually existing urban, architectural spaces are used intentionally or illicitly for sexual purposes. We could have had papers on the role of the “cottage” (public lavatory) in gay sex, on museums as pick-up grounds for intellectual singles, on the voyeurism of peep shows, and so on. But this would presumably have been too literal a project for the theorists gathered. Instead we are invited to treat architecture as a “system of representation” on a par with film and TV, and to ask how space is “already inscribed in the question of sexuality.” Gender is inscribed in space and space is never designed in a gender-neutral way.

Accordingly, the articles range across the visual arts in a fashion that at first glance seems not so much interdisciplinary as wildly eclectic—Atget photographs of Paris, Alberti’s writings, an Australian advertisement for real estate. The approaches taken by the authors are also widely divergent.

Jennifer Bloomer has missed an opportunity to explore the purported “effeminacy” of Louis Henri Sullivan’s architectural work. She raises the interesting issue of the assumed relationship between gender identity (and/or sexual orientation) and allegedly “feminine” architectural forms and decoration, but instead of developing this theme she flirts with it, creating a theoretical bricolage that fails to achieve intellectual coherence, her discussion of the function and symbolic importance of ornament not fully meshing with the problematic figure of Sullivan. A similar collagist approach is used by Catherine Ingraham, and I can see that it may be a kind of postmodern criticism; but while it permits the introduction of a variety of interesting, if only tenuously related, points and theories, it has a modish feel, especially when the usual theoretical suspects are rounded up for an airing, Lacan’s lavatory doors making repeat appearances. By contrast, Alessandra Ponte’s essay on the 18th-century antiquarian Richard Payne Knight is very focused (as is Molly Nesbit’s meditation on the absence of “la Parisienne” from Atget’s photographs of empty corners of his city), a piece of historiographical excavation revealing the phallocentrism of 18th-century theories of architecture.

Yet most of the articles, despite their apparent divergence of subject, are united by theoretical protocols as well as by the central concern of the book as a whole, which is not eroticism but gender, and not architecture but space in a variety of manifestations, many of them historical. The main uniting factor is psychoanalytic theory.

The material throughout is rich and detailed. Beatriz Colomina contributes an analysis of representations of house designs, particularly interiors, by Adolf Loos and Le Corbusier. She explores the way in which these houses are photographed, and some of the ideas informing them, drawing out the way in which these utopian, perfect rooms are—paradoxically—theatrical sets for dramas of domestic life. There is an implied contradiction between the architect’s dream of perfect space and the actually existing mess of daily life; but either way the woman is always positioned as hidden and within, object of the male gaze. Surprising similarities (or perhaps they are not so surprising) are revealed between these modernist architects and the Renaissance architect and philosopher Leon Battista Alberti. Mark Wigley shows how Alberti, both in his treatise on the family and in his architectural writings, describes the ideal house as a building that encloses, conceals, and ultimately fetishizes heterosexual intercourse; the separate rooms of husband and wife may be entered by a private intercommunicating door, so that other members of the household need never know when the partners engage in sexual relations. More generally the domestic interior becomes, in Alberti’s propositions, a prison house for women, although Wigley suggests that this architectural manifestation of patriarchy only fully came into its own with the 19th-century bourgeoisie.

Patricia White’s paper is concerned with the filmic representation of a house, “Hill House,” as explored in Robert Wise’s 1963 horror classic, The Haunting. As she points out, this film is truly terrifying, but achieves its effects without any special effects or any actual representation of anything horrific. White identifies the underlying horror as arising from the film’s exploration of lesbian sexuality, demonstrating convincingly how the film’s central character, Eleanor, played by Julie Harris, although destroyed by Hill House, whose “gaze” she cannot escape, yet manages to “exceed” the narrative, speaking finally in voice-over from beyond the grave. White’s deployment of psychoanalytic film theory seems particularly apt and nonreductive; she uses it to bring out the ambiguity of the film, in which lesbian desire is apparently defeated and yet remains disruptive, “exceeding the drive of cinema to closure.”

Patricia White inevitably refers in the course of her argument to Laura Mulvey’s well-known article “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.”1 I have never entirely understood why this article became so hugely influential, given its negative and pessimistic reading (especially from a feminist point of view) of cinematic pleasure. But perhaps that was the point: as this volume itself demonstrates, psychoanalytic theory (especially its Lacanian variant) has been the basis for a “criticism of suspicion,” by which I mean a criticism that not only deconstructs the way in which effects are achieved and exposes meanings that might otherwise be hidden from an “innocent” audience, but invests all aspects of any aesthetic work with doubt and dubiousness. The excavation of cultural products must always, it seems, uncover skeletons. In this regard, architecture and cinema are two forms of cultural production particularly vulnerable to what Martin Jay has termed a 20th-century “denigration of vision” that has supplanted its earlier (Enlightenment) celebration.2 Viewing and the gaze, the totalizing vision and the nobility of sight, have been comprehensively delegitimated as (white, Western) masculine methods of control and domination.

In Laura Mulvey’s original article there was no place for the female spectator to lay claim to the gaze other than by becoming masculinized. Mulvey has since sought to modify this view, while never renouncing the underlying assumptions on which it was based, and she contributes to the present volume a meditation that considers Pandora and her box (“the box can … stand as a representation of the enigma and threat generated by the concept of female sexuality in patriarchal culture”), the Hitchcock film Notorious, and the idea of female curiosity as a transgressive exploration of forbidden spaces. For her, psychoanalytic theory as used in feminist criticism is transgressive, for “curiosity describes the desire to know something that is concealed so strongly that it is experienced like a drive, leading to the transgression of a prohibition,” and feminist curiosity then constitutes an unmasking of the patriarchal structures of popular, or indeed any, culture.

Yet, as Victor Burgin argues in his essay on the photography of Helmut Newton, Mulvey’s original article has itself been fetishized; its influence has neither diminished nor evolved. Having made this statement, however, Burgin himself makes little further attempt to develop it, confining himself instead to an analysis of a Newton image, interesting enough, but much narrower in focus than his opening sentence had led this reader, at least, to expect. Burgin is rightly dismissive of the way in which psychoanalytic theory has been “sociologized” and collapsed into a vulgar-Marxist version of woman-as-commodity. He might feel that Lynn Spigel’s essay on television and the postwar American suburban home is too “sociological,” but this is one of the clearest articles in the collection, a model of structural simplicity and accessibility, in which the ambiguity between public and private, outside and inside, created by the plate glass doors and picture windows of the suburban home, is shown to be reproduced by the advent of television with its concomitant notions of the living room as theater and the TV space as a safe, sanitized public space introduced into the home. (Indeed, although television created fears of a new generation of what we now would call “couch potatoes,” the screen community of the sitcom often seemed preferable to the real-life communities of the new suburbs.)

With Elizabeth Grosz’s article on bodies and cities we return to a more euphoric postmodern take on the relationship between sexuality and space. Grosz moves the discussion beyond traditional metaphors of the “body politic” or the humanist idea that at one time people unproblematically built cities; instead she explores the way in which “the city is one of the crucial factors in the social production of (sexed) corporeal bodies: the built environment provides the context … for most contemporary … forms of the body.” But disappointingly she does not develop this idea, falling back instead on a familiar and arguably exaggerated vision of a cyborg future: “the city and body will interface with the computer, forming part of an information machine in which the body’s limbs and organs will become interchangeable parts with the computer.”

Meaghan Morris’s contribution, too dense and theoretically “over-egged” (i.e., incorporating too many ingredients) to summarize, rewards several readings, and is a serious attempt both at a critique of theories and at an analysis of two specific cultural events concerning property speculation in downtown Sydney. It is insightful and thought provoking; nevertheless it illustrates both the virtues and the flaws not just of the book as a whole, but of the general state of cultural studies. Simultaneously populist and obscure, such studies can become both incoherent and philistine (although the latter is certainly not an adjective I would apply to her essay or any of these contributions).

Indeed, this is a (probably rash) generalization, not a comment on any particular article in Sexuality and Space, but if I have seemed to single out some authors for negative criticism, it is less on account of their specific contributions than because they are the heirs of what for me are ambiguous, indeed dubious, tendencies in contemporary cultural criticism, in which the debunking of Marx and all Enlightenment thought is married (or at least engaged) to a fundamentally uncritical appropriation of Freud (or at least Lacan). I have gone terminally off Lacan since I discovered that, when Antonin Artaud was his patient during World War II, Lacan showed little interest in the deranged playwright3; an illegitimate ad hominem argument, I know—but the grip of his theory on academic critics has always been mysterious to me. Even worse is a practice, which I fear may have been on occasion my own, whereby a critic distances herself ironically or cynically from an assortment of postmodern theorists (Baudrillard, Deleuze and Guattari, even Derrida and Foucault) while simultaneously appropriating their thought, not infrequently in the form of spurious generalizations—a feature, Meaghan Morris suggests, of the work of Deleuze and Guattari themselves in relation to Freud. The whole is then likely to be couched in dauntingly arcane and grammatically tortuous language. Faced with this bricolage, I am totally with Edward Gibbon—who identified one aspect of the decline of the Roman Empire as the decadence of its later literary tradition, when, he complained, “a cloud of critics … darkened the face of learning, and the decline of genius was soon followed by the corruption of taste”4—and I cannot but feel that this kind of postmodern criticism is indeed an index of decay.

But I suppose that postmodernism in general and contemporary psychoanalysis in particular is the theory our epoch in history deserves. Psycho-analysis has certainly been reconstructed to fit; in contrast to the highly moralistic and adjustive Freudianism of the 1950s, which was in any case a therapeutic and sociological rather than a critical tool, we have today psychoanalysis as an ideologically empty vessel, a theory without consequences. A fractured body of thought pleasingly open to endless reinterpretations and deconstructions, a detheorized (or perhaps etherealized) theory, it holds up a (splintered, it is true) mirror to assist in the contemplation of ourselves, one which can be thrillingly seen as “transgressive” while remaining devoid of any calls to action or any social or moral imperatives. Truly a theory for our postpolitical times.

1. Laura Mulvey, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” Screen 16, no. 3 (Autumn 1975): 6–18.

2. Martin Jay, “In the Empire of the Gaze: Foucault and the Denigration of Vision in Twentieth Century French Thought,” in David Couzens Hoy, editor, Foucault: A Critical Reader (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986), 178.

3. See Stephen Barber, Antonin Artaud: Blows and Bombs (London: Faber and Faber, 1993).

4. Edward Gibbon, The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1985), 83.

Elizabeth Wilson is on the faculty of the School of Information and Communication Studies at the University of North London; her recent books include The Sphinx in the City and Chic Thrills: A Fashion Reader.

#Joan Bennett #Secret Behind the Door #Sexuality and Space #Beatriz Colomina #Elizabeth Wilson #Desire #FIlm #Postmodernism

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winterscaptain · 4 years ago

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immovable object.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: happy birthday aaron hotchner!! here’s a little something i cooked up, just for y’all who wanted to see something from aaron’s point of view. i figured a birthday would be as good a time as any to share a little bit of aaron’s head, even if it’s not his (actual) age this year. as always, i love to hear what you think! takes place au!november 2018

words: 2.3k warnings: language, implication of sex, light drinking/alcohol use

summary: “the years between fifty and seventy are the hardest. you are always being asked to do things, and yet you are not decrepit enough to turn them down.” - t.s. elliot

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

Fifty.

Aaron wasn’t sure where he’d be by fifty. He’d only had loose examples over the course of his life, as his father kicked it before he got to that point. But then again…

His father never appreciated what he had. Two sons, different to the point of extremity, a wife who loved him even through all his (many) shortcomings, and a big house in northern Virginia that he could afford with his very plush salary working on The Hill as a prosecutor. Nevertheless, he drank himself to death at forty-seven.

So…

Where am I at fifty?

He looks down into his lap, finding Caroline tucked into the crook of his elbow with a hand in her mouth while they sit in his armchair. She’s teething now, but she isn’t half as unbearable about it as Isaac.

Isaac.

Aaron scans the room, finding his son with Spencer and Hank at the formal dining room table. Spence has them both in his lap and reads aloud from whatever Russian novel he’s flying through. As Aaron listens closer, he realizes Spencer is translating as he goes, reading the book in English.

Tolstoy should be fine for toddlers...right?

Another scan sends him to you, sitting on the floor with a bottle and a spit-up rag, Sophia snarfing down her afternoon snack like it’s her job.

You find his eyes, double-taking a little. What?

Nothing. Aaron’s mouth presses into an amused little line.

With a fond roll of your eyes, you turn back into the conversation with Sean and Derek.

And that’s another thing.

Aaron never expected to really have his brother in his life as an adult. To his surprise, it's a rather pleasant change of circumstance. Once he moved out of New York and back to Virginia, Sean really got his act together. The arrival of his second nephew didn’t hurt. At your behest, Aaron called him in Isaac’s first weeks, inviting him over to meet the new addition. He feels silly now, for starting a spat with you about it in the moment. It’s not easy, but it’s good.

He’s the first one to admit that you did most of the heavy lifting, leveraging your similar age and propensity to draw flocks of the struggling and confused.

Your Honor, I’d like to present Exhibit A in regard to struggling and confused - Aaron Benjamin Hotchner - before the court.

He laughs down his nose at his own train of thought. Caroline fusses, but once she’s sitting up in his lap, one of his hands across the entirety of her chest and little belly, she’s happy.

Will she continue to insist on seeing everything? Will she always be so quiet?

There’s something about Caroline’s eyes, even as they continue to settle into their permanent color, that is inherently wise. He knows, logically, that Caroline and Sophia are near-identical, but neither of you have ever had any trouble telling them apart.

If someone asked, he wouldn’t be able to articulate the differences. He just knows.

Aaron almost startles when you appear at his side, Sophia freshly burped and smooshed against your shoulder.

��You look pensive.” It’s a gentle accusation.

Aaron snorts. “It’s my birthday. I’m allowed to be pensive.” He holds Caroline up for a minute and you accept the invitation, planting yourself in his lap. Sophia’s still in your arms, so it’s a bit crowded, but nevertheless, you swing your legs over the arm of the chair and melt against Aaron’s chest.

The girls, of course, are delighted to see each other and make a happy, babbling pair sitting on your abdomen and thighs, watching all the action in the living room.

Aaron presses a kiss to your head and just for another second wonders how he got so lucky.

“Hey. Quit.”

He looks down, meeting your eyes. “What?”

You look at him, soft and affectionate. “You’ll never stop, will you?”

“Probably not.” He adjusts again so he can cradle you in his arm while he keeps the girls stable with his free hand. “But that’s why I’ve got you.”

“Unstoppable force meets immovable object?”

Aaron squints, making play at thinking. “Wasn’t that on our wedding announcements?”

You huff a laugh and pat his chest twice. “Maybe it should have been.”

Realistically, he knows he should be out socializing with everyone there to celebrate him and the fifty years he’s lived (only a couple of them in dog years), but he can’t bring himself to care. His cheek rests against your head, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm. Caroline has the other one of his hands, playing with his fingers (and putting those in her mouth, too) while Sophia sits back against him, threatening sleep.

But really, nobody minds. They’re all having too much fun off the clock, with children of their own. Derek and Savannah lounge in the rec room, watching Tara, Sean, Will, Jack, and Henry play Mario Kart. Not far off is Kristy, wiping illicit frosting off her oldest son’s cheek before he rejoins the boys on the makeshift tournament arena.

Matt, Dave, and Emily are gathered around the kitchen island, their wine glasses never far from their hands. JJ flits between the groups, her puttering instincts inescapable even outside of her domain.

Luke and Penelope pretend they aren’t following each other from room to room, activity to activity. They are horrible actors, and Aaron wonders if the kid will ever pluck up the guts to do something about it.

You didn’t.

That doesn’t count.

Yes, it does.

JJ finally comes to rest beside Emily, propping herself up by her elbows as she sits backward on one of the barstools. “I’d never thought I’d see Hotch so happy.”

Emily looks over her shoulder. What does she see?

She sees a man she’s known her entire career at the bureau, a man who hand-picked her to replace him when it was time for him to leave his post as unit chief, a man who lost almost everything and somehow found it again.

She watches as Aaron says something to you, a wicked kind of humorous glint in his eye. She watches as you let out a loud laugh, accidentally startling your daughters in your lap. She watches as the girls process and pick up on their mother’s joy and start to shriek and clap.

She watches Aaron live.

“I dunno,” Emily says, finally. “I always thought those two might make it if they faced themselves.”

JJ humphs in the irony of it. “That’s a lot to ask.”

“And yet -”

“- Somehow, they’ve managed.” JJ looks to her own family just in time to see Will taking advantage of the high ceiling, throwing Michael into the air and catching him. “It’s kind of funny, how things work out.”

“I can’t believe he’s fifty.” Emily’s non-sequitur drops into JJ’s thoughts, which were rapidly devolving into the abstract. “It doesn’t seem right.”

Dave taps Emily on the shoulder, reminding her he’s been there the whole time. “You’re in your late forties, I might remind you.”

A kind of dissatisfied noise leaves her throat. “Thanks.” She turns, looking at him with a glare that could cut glass, but all in play. “Thanks for that.”

“Just doing my civic duty.”

Emily rolls her eyes and stands, wandering farther into the kitchen to pilfer a bag of animal crackers from the snack drawer.

“Alright!” Penelope calls from the kitchen archway. “It’s time for cake!”

That gets the attention of all the children in the vicinity who have experienced the unadulterated joy of Aunt Penelope’s buttercream frosting.

Aaron tolerates the attention as you and the girls get shuffled (or in your case, shuffle yourself) off his lap. Emily takes Caroline while Savannah has Sophia. A quick glance finds Isaac on Dave's hip. With a little bit of a start, he realizes just how big his family is. They’re all here.

For each other.

For him.

Soon enough, Penelope brings the cake - candles all lit (and no, there are not fifty of them - that was a hard no from the birthday boy) and places it in front of Aaron at the head of the dining room table.

You kiss him on the cheek, distracting him while you put a ridiculous party hat on his head. You can almost feel his eye roll and you hear a few phone cameras click. Of course, shortly after, everyone starts singing at him - horrifically out of pace and key, but it’s perfect.

He’s confronted with the back of a few more phones as parents and friends snap pictures out of habit. He reaches out to snag you around the waist and you end up half-sitting on the arm of his chair.

You loop your arms around his neck, leaning into his side. “Make a wish.”

After one slow blink and a deep breath, he blows out the candles to whoops and hollers and baby shrieks.

Your eyes snap up out of instinct, finding Isaac covering his ears and looking more and more alarmed by the minute. You toss another kiss onto Aaron’s forehead and quickly take Isaac from Dave, traveling down the hall with practiced haste.

If he’s honest, Aaron forgot. He should have grabbed Isaac’s headphones from your office, but he didn’t. He should have warned his son about the loud noises and all the people before they overwhelmed him, but he didn’t. He should have remembered that his son needed more thought and attention than the others, but he didn’t.

He hides his self-directed frustration well, but it doesn’t take long for him to make a quick and subtle escape. He knows the girls are just fine. Emily has Caro well in-hand and Savannah is always looking for an excuse to practice with the girls. She’s due in February, looking radiant and lovely.

In a near-whisper, he calls for you and Isaac as he tracks down the hall on light feet. He hears you murmur, then Isaac’s voice: “Here, Dad,” guides him into your office, where you’re stationed on the floor under your desk.

Isaac’s playing with the soft carpet chosen especially for him, his little fingers getting lost in the plush fabric. Aaron kneels down and rests his forearms on the ground, searching for Isaac’s eyes.

“Hey, little man.”

He hums.

That’s a good thing.

Aaron puts his hand on the carpet, about three inches away from Isaac’s. He can see it, but it’s not touching him, communicating his presence without sensation.

You meet Aaron’s eyes over Isaac’s head. Not your fault.

He shoots you a withering look.

I’m serious, Aaron. You raise your eyebrows and shake your head. Not your fault. We’re okay. Your eyes flicker to Isaac before returning to Aaron. He’s okay.

Aaron watches as you arc your body around him, getting close but not too close, running your fingers through the carpet on either side of him. Aaron wiggles his own fingers, sinking deeper into the blue shag. To his surprise, it calms him a little.

Little Man might be onto something here.

Eventually, Isaac leans back into you, and you slowly bring your hands to his hair, massaging his scalp with the tips of your fingers. You look at Aaron and nod once.

He takes his cue. As always, he’s in awe of your command over Isaac’s needs. With a breath, and very quietly, he asks. “Are you feeling better, little man?”

His eyes still on the carpet, he nods. “Just loud.”

“Yeah. It was pretty loud.” He looks up to the bookshelf, spotting his headphones on their charger. “Do you want to go back to the living room, maybe with your ears on? Or do you want to stay in here?”

The boy stills, thinking. In the two years he’s known his son, the turning of gears in Isaac’s little head enamors and amazes him. He can almost see their spokes behind his eyes. After a minute or so -

“Living room, but only for a little while.”

You kiss him lightly on the top of his head, where the band of the headphones rests. “Do you want your ears?”

He nods and Aaron rises, bringing the headphones back down. Isaac puts them on and wiggles a little where he sits. Aaron likes to imagine it’s his way of settling back into his body.

Much to the surprise of everyone present, Isaac reaches out to Aaron. With soft eyes, he takes his son in his arms, letting him wrap like a koala around his neck and chest.

The three of you return, finding everyone still milling about, eating cake, and sharing space together. Jack, catching sight of you, jogs over. “Is Isaac okay?”

You nod, brushing the hair off Jack’s forehead. “Yeah, bud. It just got a little overwhelming for a minute.”

It’s been eleven years of you and Jack, but it never gets old for Aaron. The way you are with each other - somehow balancing a parent-child relationship with a steadfast best-friendship - constantly surprises and warms him.

Jack nods, circling around so he can get into Isaac’s eye line. He waves a little, and Isaac waves back, lifting his hand briefly from Aaron’s collar. Jack offers a fist, and Isaac reaches out to tap it with three of his fingers.

Aaron closes his eyes, taking it in.

+++

“So,” you say, tucking into bed beside him. “Fifty.”

“So,” He doesn’t pull his eyes from his book. “Thirty-six.” He throws you a side-eye, immediately noticing the playful glint in your eye. “Don’t start.”

You raise your eyebrows, the picture of innocence. “Start what? I’m just appreciating my loving and handsome and thoughtful and distinguished husband on his birthday.” You scoot and shift, straddling him. “Are you gonna let me?”

That gets his attention. Keeping his eyes on you, he markes his place and sets the book on his bedside table. “I might.”

You lean down, pressing your lips to his, speaking quietly against his mouth, like a secret. “Happy Birthday, my love.”

If anyone asked, Aaron loved his present.

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt @qvid-pro-qvo @mandylove1000 @simsiddy @jeor @synonymforlame @roses-and-grasses @bwbatta @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @cevanswhre @joanofarkansass @infinity1321 @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @spencerelds @ssahotchnerr @this-broken-band-girl @winqhster @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years ago

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“All you have to do is ask” Chapter 4 - [Reid x Reader]

previous chapter // series index // next chapter

Summary: The morning after! How awkward could it be when Reader and Dr. Reid meet in the bullpen the next morning? An honest conversation turns smutty and Reader is starting to rethink some decisions.

Pairing: Spencer Reid / (Female) Reader

Word Count: 3.6k for Chapter 4

Content Warnings: No smut actually happens this chapter, but there is a lot of smutty talk. BDSM themes. Fluff. Tiny bit of angst if you squint.

A/n: This chapter was initially just supposed to be filler, but when I sat down to write it, it became really important to me. The way BDSM dynamics are presented is really important to me, so I wanted to do it justice. The actually femdom kicks off in Chapter 5 😌 (Also, tumblr isn’t letting me tag some people and its slowly driving me insane.)

y/n = your name. y/l/n = your last name. italicized text are Reader’s thoughts.

-- Chapter 4 – “Please don’t lie to me.” --

I wasn’t sure what I expected to happen when I got to work the following morning; my mind spun in circles while the elevator slowly brought me to the floor that housed our elite FBI unit. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop my thoughts from straying to last night.

Spencer had fallen asleep with his head in my lap, my fingers moving softly over his scalp, brushing through his curls. I sat there for longer than I wanted to admit, lost in thought. How did I let this happen? I thought over and over again. Did I break my rules because I knew Spencer? I trusted him with my life; I trusted the entire time with my life, I had to. Perhaps that’s why I let him kiss me, let him touch me. I trusted the good doctor in a way I hadn’t trusted anyone I had been intimate with in a long time.

That must be it. I refused to look at it on a deeper level; I couldn’t. I had to keep my feelings in check. I wouldn’t risk my job, my life, my world over unchecked emotions. Not again.

The metal doors slid open; the bullpen was already buzzing with activity at 7:50 in the morning. I usually arrived earlier, but I had stopped for coffee. I reasoned that it was just a treat for myself; not an excuse to avoid the office coffee station, which we all knew was the domain of Dr. Spencer Reid. I hadn’t received any messages from Garcia or Hotch, leading me to assume today was another day of paperwork.

I tried to stop my eyes from searching for him, but it was no use. He was like a magnet for my senses. Most of us typed up our reports and only wrote when we had to, but most of us were not Dr. Reid. He was hunched over, papers scattered over his desk in some pattern of order only he would understand. His pen scribbled quickly over the pages, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.

It wasn’t until he glanced up suddenly that I became aware of the world around me; someone had said my name, alerting him to my presence. Looking around, I shot Prentiss a smile, her gaze already on my face. “Hi, Em,” I said in greeting.

Her smile confirmed my suspicions that she was the one who had spoken. “Did you do anything fun last night? You didn’t answer my text.”

Who, me? “Oh, nothing much,” I said brightly, placing my bag at my desk, setting my coffee down. “I just did some stuff around the house. I’m sorry I didn’t see your text.” I hadn’t seen her text until hours after she sent it. I was so wrapped up in that man I didn’t even look at my phone. For hours.

One of the wonderful things about SSA Emily Prentiss is that nothing phased her; she had lived a life that was too complicated and dangerous to sweat the small stuff. “Not a problem. Are you doing anything tonight? Garcia is trying to organize a girl’s night.”

I could still feel my boy’s eyes on me. “No, I don’t have any plans. If she asks me, I’ll let you know.” Prentiss scoffed, turning back to her work. We both knew Garcia would ask.

Don’t look, don’t look, I kept repeating to myself; but how could I not? Slowly, my head turned towards him, finding him already staring at me. To anyone else, his face would have appeared blank, but after last night, I knew him better than that. He didn’t have his glasses on today, he wore a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, his messy curls hanging in a state of permanent disarray around his face. Calling his eyes brown was doing them an injustice; not quite hazel, they were filled with so many tiny shards of color, giving them a depth I had never noticed before last night.

No, his face wasn’t blank; his face was filled with uncertainty. When he eventually woke up last night, he lifted his head from my lap quickly, his cheeks red with embarrassment. I hadn’t said anything; I kissed his cheek and walked out of his apartment. My poor nervous, beautiful boy. I offered him a small, soft smile. This didn’t have to change anything. Not if he didn’t want it to.

Just because you expect something doesn’t mean you’re ready for it; that’s a lesson I had learned a long time ago that had always held true. I expected Dr. Reid to try and talk to me at some point today. I expected it, but I wasn’t ready when he finally cornered me on my way back to the bullpen from the bathroom. I felt his presence before I saw him; he stepped around the corner, briefly meeting my eyes before he started shuffling awkwardly.

He cleared his throat. “H-hey, y/n. I was…I was hoping that I could talk to you for a minute?”

Still such a nervous boy. I gave him a nod; I knew he needed answers. It wasn’t fair to ignore him just because I was uncomfortable with how I was feeling. I had done this before, Spencer hadn’t. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what Spencer had done before. I turned as he walked past me, following him down the hallway until we reached JJ’s old office. It was filled with old boxes and scattered with case files. It was as private as we were going to get.

I waited for the boy genius to speak first; it might have been cruel, but I really didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know how to begin. How was I supposed to start this conversation when I remembered the noises he made when his cock was in my mouth? When I could still see the desperation in his eyes when he begged me to cum? After I had gone home last night, I lay in my bed until I couldn't resist the urge anymore. I slid my hand into my panties and remembered those sounds, how he looked, as I brought myself to a powerful orgasm.

I had masturbated thinking about Spencer Reid. That probably wasn't as earth-shattering as I was making it out to be, but I didn't do those sorts of things. I didn't do this shit with someone I work with…someone who has some form of power over any part of my life. I wasn't vulnerable; I was never vulnerable.

“Y/n,” his voice cracked on the last letter of my name. “I…I wanted to talk about yesterday.”

“I figured.” I kept my tone light. Despite my complicated feelings about the situation, I really did care about Spencer. I knew that for certain. Seeing him nervous, squirming, and desperate yesterday was one of the sexiest moments of my life. Seeing him nervous, squirming, and desperate today was different; it made my heart squeeze.

He gave me a smile. “I know we didn’t…talk about things before or after. But…I wanted to thank you.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him, earning a beautiful flush rising on the apples of his cheeks. “No, not about that,” his voice squeaked out, furthering my amusement. “I meant for staying with me. Last night. You could have left after we were…done. But you didn’t. You knew I needed to be close to you…and you stayed with me.” Dr. Reid finally stopped fidgeting, his words less rushed, but still tinged in nervousness. “No matter what happens after this, that meant a lot to me. So, thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for knowing you needed aftercare, Spencer.”

“Yes, I do.” Those three words made my breath stutter. Did he know? Did he know how scared I was? Could he tell how badly I wanted to run from the feelings he brought up in me? Knowing my luck, probably.

“You’re welcome, Pretty Boy.” Spencer smiled at the nickname, but I could tell he wasn’t done. Thanking me wasn’t the only reason he’d pulled me in here. I decided to speak before he got the chance to again. “Can I ask you a question?” When he nodded, I asked what I had wanted to know since the moment I met him. “Are you a virgin, Spencer?”

He must have known it was coming; he tried to keep his face impassive, but I could see the embarrassment in his micro-expressions. "No, y/n. I'm not a virgin…" Not super convincing, Doc. “I’m really not,” he gave a small huff of amusement. “I’ve had sex before…just not a lot.”

There is it. “What is not a lot?”

My boy shifted his weight from foot to foot then. "I had sex for the first time when I was 24, right after I joined the Bureau. I've gone on a few dates since then…It's lead to some…stuff, but it's never gone that far again."

“So, you’ve had sex with one person? Was that a woman or a man?”

“She was a woman.” I loved that he didn’t seem offended at the question. Spencer didn’t put on airs of hypermasculinity; I wonder if he had ever given any thought to his sexuality, or if he just accepted that it was what it was.

“Okay. Have you ever thought about having sex with a man?” This wasn’t relevant, I was just curious.

Spencer licked his lips; I could tell this conversation required a lot of courage from him. "Yes. I've been asked out…I've gone on two dates with men." He smiled when my eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’ve kissed men, but men are…they’re so aggressive. At least the ones I have been interested in.”

“Is aggression bad?”

“No,” he went on quickly. “It’s not, usually. I just…I don’t pick up on cues very well. I didn’t feel…safe with them. I was attracted to them, and I wanted to have sex with them…but I didn’t want to do that unless I felt like the person cared about me.” His voice shook, but his eyes never left mine, even as his fingers began to fidget with the end of his tie. “With you…yesterday, I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. I knew you’d…you’d stop if I wanted you to. And you made me feel like it was okay.” Fuck, why does he do this to my heart? “You made it feel like exploring my sexuality was okay. With you.”

I took a step towards him then; I couldn’t stop myself. He was the sun, lighting up the entire room, and I was just a mere mortal that wanted to stand in his light. I raised my hand to cup his cheek, gazing up at him; he was so tall, so much taller than me. “Exploring your sexuality is okay, Doc.” My voice was firm, leaving no room for debate. “It’s important to feel safe with the people you explore it with. You should never do something that makes you uncomfortable or with a person that doesn’t care about you. I’m honored that you saw that in me.”

He wanted to kiss me; I knew he did, I could see it in his eyes…but he didn’t. I don’t know if it was because we were at work or because he was afraid that I would reject him. I wouldn’t have. His hand came up to cover my own, pulling it down from his face so he could lace his fingers through mine. Just like my kissing him, it wasn’t lost on me that holding my hand was significant to him.

“I know we didn’t talk about it,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable. We work together…but, I like you. I trust you. And…if you wanted- if you’re okay with it…I’d like to explore what we talked about yesterday. With you.”

I knew he would want to. Who wouldn’t want to explore the unknown? Especially a curious man like my Dr. Reid? Despite all of that, my heart couldn’t help but swell at his declaration. I loved being dominant in the bedroom. I found that amount of control arousing beyond belief, and I’d never say otherwise. But there was something about the trust that my submissive put in me that fulfilled a different part of me. To be trusted like this…It was something so important and it triggered a feeling of pride in myself. I was worthy of their trust.

I squeezed his hand. “Okay, Doc.” He looked so fucking hopeful. “We can discuss it. This is the unsexy part of any BDSM dynamic. We have to talk…a lot. Communication is what makes this work.” And I do want this to work, which was terrifying. “I want you to take some time to think about this,” I hurried on when it looked like he’d interrupt me. “You need to do some research, Doc. I want you to look at things and decide what or how you want to proceed. Or if you even want to proceed. If you change your mind, that is okay.” He needs to know that. “Then we can have a discussion and go from there.”

Spencer nodded, seeming more comfortable now that he had a task to focus on. “What about work?”

“That’s an important thing to talk about too. Obviously, we can’t do anything obvious at work. There are cameras everywhere. And we need to focus on cases.” He made a noise of agreement. “We need to talk about what works for us. If you’re open to playing together when we’re on a case in certain settings, like back at our hotel, if you want this to be a monogamous dynamic, signals, safe words, and how we establish when a scene starts.”

His eyebrows were so high I was worried they’d disappear into his hairline. “O-okay.”

I smiled. “Good. Think it over; you know where I’ll be.”

Again, just because you expect something doesn't mean you're ready for it. I expected Spencer to want to talk to me again, but I wasn't ready for the text message that popped up on my phone at 6:03 pm.

“I’d like to talk whenever you are free.”

A normal person wouldn’t have been able to do the required research in just 40 minutes, which was the maximum amount of time he could have been home for; but Spencer Reid wasn’t a normal person.

Which is why I text Emily and Garcia some lame excuse about backing out of girl’s night before I told Spencer I was free tonight.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to cancel girl’s night.”

Fucking profilers with eidetic memories. “I’d rather do this. I’ll see you in 20.”

I raised my hand to knock on his door but felt myself pause before my knuckles connected to the wood.

What the fuck am I doing? It was a valid question. It wasn’t too late to back out…but it was also far too late to back out. Before my fingers could decide if they wanted to knock or not, the door in question swung open to reveal the curly-headed man that plagued my thoughts.

He was in the same clothes he wore to work that day, only his tie was missing, the first few buttons of his shirt undone. Spencer’s hair always looked like he just woke up, his curls having a mind of their own and he couldn’t be bothered to tame them. They looked different right now; it was like he had been running his hands through his hair.

I offered him a smile. “Hi, Doc.”

“Hi, y/n.” With a smile of his own, he waved an arm, ushering me into the apartment. It didn’t look any different than it had yesterday, not really. It just felt different. I walked over to his couch, just like I had yesterday. I sat on the same cushion, just like I had yesterday. Everything just felt so different.

Spencer sat beside me, just like yesterday. “I feel bad about making you cancel girl’s night.”

“Don’t. You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do, Doc.” I pushed my hair behind my ear; a nervous habit I hope he hadn’t picked up on quite yet. “I want to be here.”

“I want you to be here too.”

It’s unprofessional to swoon, y/n. Get it together.

I mentally shook myself. “Right. So, where do you want to start.”

“Why do you hold your submissives at such a distance?” he licked his lips; he was nervous, but his gaze never dropped from mine. “I respect you and your decisions, but I would really like to understand.”

“…Well, that’s certainly a place to start,” I gave an awkward chuckle. He didn’t return my amusement. My curious boy really wanted to know. “I told you, I got my heart broken. That’s it.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to pressure you,” his voice was so fucking earnest. “I just…I don’t understand. I want to understand. You don’t have to tell me everything, but please don’t lie to me.”

Shame washed over me; I had been stressing how important open and honest communication is and here I am avoiding something because it makes me uncomfortable. This had never been an issue before; none of my previous subs had ever wanted to know. But how could I even explain how embarrassed I was? How stupid I had been? How I gave someone my entire heart when I didn’t even know the kind of person he really was? How could I explain the choices a 22-year-old girl made?

"You're right, Spence," I took a deep breath. "Trust is important. I won't lie to you, but please understand that I'm not comfortable talking about it right now. I've never talked about it with anyone." I reached out for his hand, holding it softly in mine. "It's not that I don't want you, I just…haven't done that with anyone in such a long time."

He didn’t understand, hell, I didn’t even understand, but he accepted what I said…for now, anyway. “Okay,” he squeezed my hand. “We don’t have to do that, and you don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready.”

My mouth couldn’t help but turn up into a smile. This man. “Thank you.” I let go of his hand, clasping both of mine together and putting them in my lap. I wanted to touch him, but I needed him to not feel any pressure from me for the next part of our conversation. “Now, we need to talk about limits and expectations.” He began shifting in his seat. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but this is all part of it. I assume you’ve done some research, so tell me about what interests you and what doesn’t.”

My boy looked so unsure of himself; he was bearing such a vulnerable part of himself to me, and he was frightened. But no matter how afraid he was, my boy was also brave. “I-…I don’t have any real frame of reference. I’d like to experiment with some things before I decide if it’s a hard limit for me or not.” I nodded in an attempt to encourage him. “I don’t want extreme pain. Or things that are…unsanitary.”

I laughed. “I never expected any different.”

Maybe my laugh relaxed him; he didn't seem quite as tense as he went on. "I'd like to…touch you when you allow it. I've never…really done anything with a woman outside of just penetration. I know the basics of how to…I just would like to do those things. With you. If you ever felt comfortable." I'm almost positive I was blushing now. Spencer Reid, Dr. Spencer Reid, the pride of the BAU wanted to do things to please me; and I was tempted to let him. Who would have thought? “You don’t have to decide now…but the moment you feel comfortable, I’m ready.” His eyes ran up and down my body, I could see his throat work when he swallowed. “I’m really ready.”

After a beat, he went on, “Beyond that, I’m interested in being restrained. I like the idea of choking…but I’m nervous about it. The idea of giving up control and following order is what fascinates me. I…I also wanted to tr-try what you mentioned. In Nebraska.”

As I live and breathe. "Spencer, are you asking me to fuck you?" He knew what I meant; I could see it in the way he bit his lip. "Do you want me to tie you to my bed and make you beg for me to fuck your ass?"

He tried to disguise that whimper, but I fucking heard it. “I-I…It’s not uncommon for men to like that sort of stimulation, given that-“

I raised my hand, placing a finger on his lips before I broke my own rules again. I leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on his full pink lips. “No shame here, pretty boy. None at all, especially with me.” He watched my mouth move, his posture becoming less tense. “I’d love to fuck you. Pegging a man is something I found arousing, Spencer. The thought of doing it to you turns me on. We can work up to it.”

The smile he gave me was so hesitant and sweet. "Okay." He waited a minute before he went on. "I know that you don't always orgasm with your subs…you don't let them make you cum. I don't want to pressure you or make you uncomfortable, but I really, really want to make you cum." I clenched my thighs together. Jesus fucking Christ. “If you’re comfortable, I’d like for you…for that to be part of what we do together. You’re so beautiful when you cum, y/n. I thought about it last night after you went home. I thought about how you taste…I really want to taste you again.”

Fuck. I really wanted him to taste me again too.

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anerdinallherglory · 4 years ago

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Approaching Sun (30)

Author’s Note: Happy late Valentine’s Day! Fun note: I actually started A.S. on this very same holiday a couple years back. And I did not expect the length or plot this story has taken at allll. Again, I am sorry this is so late. I am hoping to update a LOT more this summer (only one summer class this time!) Unless I get the new job that I am hoping for (fingers crossed). But if I get this job, my free time to write will really open up for me. So it’s a win-win for this story either way.

Also, I want to especially thank these readers: adarkunicorn, softshelldefence, seafoamsands, hatakeliz, harza4925, peachop, cheese-and-biscuits, epitomeofprocrastination, tamnobela, and andreeastroe. These readers really encouraged me to keep writing this story after I was ready trash and take it off all of its publishing sites. You can thank them this story continues.

To all my reviewers, I seriously love you ALL. I am hoping I will get to a point where I can take a break from student emails and respond to each and every one of your reviews in the future. That will be my new year’s resolution this year! I am going to be better. You are all amazing and bring me so much joy and encouragement.

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29

Chapter 30: A Very Dangerous Game

Sasuke hated Kaguya’s sand dimension even more than he disliked the desert that covered the vast majority of the Land of Wind. This dimension was forever hot despite that the dimension’s otherworldly moon hung low in the dark horizon, a massive orb of blinding white that mirrored the Earth’s moon in exact replica. Sasuke had always felt like the illusion was a reminder of the Otsusuki people, and that Kaguya had designed this dimension to display something that reminded her of home. To Sasuke, the dimension moons eerily reminded him of Kaguya’s pupil-less irises, always watching the spaces that existed between nothing.

Glaring at it in paranoid response, Sasuke, deprived of chakra now, walked toward it slowly and determinedly as a challenge. He would show her exactly how her dimensions were now his domains. The Uchiha decided he would walk freely here because he couldn’t do as he pleased his own world. He wanted to scream curses at that eye-like globe, demanding the Otsusuki show up and take him on now in his weakened state.

“Come on!” he screamed. “All of you! What are you waiting for? Let’s get this over with! I will find you all eventually!” He wanted it done. He wanted this over. He wanted to have a life despite his promise to be the worlds’ sacrifice for peace.

As if to taunt him, Sasuke’s shuffling feet snagged over something in the sand, and he glanced down at his feet in surprise. A ninja’s vest, half-burnt away from acid, displayed itself like a green bearing flag left behind by those who had explored a barren planet. Even though Sasuke had been the only human to ever walk here, Sakura’s old vest that Sasuke had used as a teleport connection between dimensions back when he had been trapped here, always served as a call to his more current jumps. In other words, every time Sasuke had come here over the past couple of years, no matter where he opened the portal, he would always land within a few feet of it.

In the past, he had thought of removing it because it was a painful reminder in many ways. But as he returned consistently to the same spot, Sasuke began to theorize that it had something to do with his ability to travel here. At first, Sasuke believed it was because during teleportation, his path crisscrossed into a connection that had already been created and used before—this was the most likely explanation; his chakra simply wasn’t strong enough to rip a new tear in the fabric of space and time. But as he looked at it now, Sasuke wondered if there was more to it than that. Did emotions tie him to this piece of fabric? And because Sasuke’s friends always existed somewhere in the back of his mind, did his chakra seek it out as something familiar to secure itself to before flinging him through the vacuum of nothingness?

Sasuke glared back at the moon in hatred, wondering too, if it could be just a sick part of Kaguya’s illusions, knowing that the vest had in the past and always, always would continue to stop the Uchiha in his tracks. A temptation reminding him of a different life, one that would cause him to ignore the Otsusuki. Kaguya would want that.

He sat down beside it despite how much he wanted to turn and walk away from it as he always had. This time, he let it be his beacon out of the void, drawing some sort of strength from it in his chakra-deprived state. The whole point of being this exhausted was to avoid thinking of her, but the tattered shinobi vest always pricked him with guilt, especially now when he had left her alone in Sunagakure despite his promises of partnership. It was as if the green material had a voice of its own, saying “See how far she would go for you?” And Sasuke, keeping his thoughts private from the ever-watching rock above, would think to himself “I am doing this for her, too. She will understand eventually. She will accept just how far I am willing to go for this peace we both envision. We have the same goal.”

As Sasuke thought these thoughts again, Sasuke accepted that if they couldn’t be united in love, then at the very least, they would be united in the same goal, the same vision of happiness. It comforted him ever so slightly.

He sighed as he fingered the chakra pills at his waist, guilt invading his chest and suffocating him. How could he tell her his true feelings and make her accept what he was willing to accept? How could he satisfy the both of them and do the least damage?

Sasuke exhaled and leaned back in the sand once more to sleep, sweat beading across his brow in the high temperature. He turned on his side and faced the vest in exhaustion, pretending it was her—pretending to be satisfied with this small piece of the woman he loved and would ever allow himself to dream this close to.

. . . . . . . . . . .

The blackness pervaded all of Sakura’s senses as soon as her feet hit the ground opposite the giant hole she had just created in the sand. She blinked hard, hearing the cursing and alarmed proclamations of those she had attacked. The darkness was like a leaden mist before her eyes and Sakura instinctively created the sign of “release” for genjutsu. And whether it was from her lack of chakra, or because this was a ninjutsu, Sakura’s attempts yielded zero results. The blackness remained and blinded her past several inches in front of her face. When she heard Isao’s shout for her, she had no choice but to dart forward blindly, determined to reach him before someone else did.

“Let go of me!” the child screamed, his pursuer unfortunately catching up with him. Sakura navigated through the pillars of sand-dripping earth that now projected themselves in the air around her. With hands outstretched, she cursed herself. The blow had meant to disorient her opponents and it had, but this damn thickening darkness made it difficult to move forward through the landscape of her own destruction. Thankfully, the waterfalling crumble of sand masked her rushed footfalls.

The kunoichi drew upon her chakra once more, but it came as slowly as before, the medicine still lingering in her system with its toxic chakra clotting effects. Sakura moved hurriedly ahead, hoping that she wasn’t the only one choked with darkness.

Isao’s curses came and Sakura finally rounded a huge boulder to find herself facing the back of the thug’s head. He had his massive hands around the child’s throat, weapon tossed aside in favor of a crueler death to the victim that had caused him so much trouble. Despite his struggle for his life, Isao made eye contact with her the moment they were close enough to see each other. His attacker saw recognition register in the boy’s eyes and spun to face her. But it was too late. Sakura’s kunai was slicing the gray flesh of his throat before he even had time to see her, a final blow that had been delayed from earlier, but determined by fate to be his cause of death. The brutish ninja dropped to the ground instantly and Sakura justified the blood that pooled freely at her feet by remembering his cruel actions to the child that struggled to catch his breath before her.

Sakura picked up the abandoned weapon, the weight unfamiliar in her hands. The sound of the man’s death had betrayed her position, and the footsteps of his companions crunched closer to her location. Terrified, Sakura clutched the child, pushing him behind the jagged column of rock behind her.

“Isao,” she pleaded in a whisper. “You have to make a run for it.”

“I won’t leave you,” he declared, determined to fight to his death for her.

“The only thing you can do for me now is to go get help,” she said honestly. It was a half-truth. There were only a few realities before them, and Isao making it back to the village and bringing help was not likely due to how much time it would take. But Sakura was desperate to remove the brave child from the scenario. She cared too much to let him sacrifice himself for her.

“Miss—” he protested, but Sakura propelled him forward in the blinding darkness, an enemy’s footsteps rounding the earth that cloaked him. It was too late to argue, and Sakura turned to face the phantom-man who stepped toward her in visibility, shadows curling around him as he cleared a path through the inky mist.

Sakura faced him squarely, taking a defensive stance and raising the wicked katana with her sharper green eyes, sending a stare to him along the metal’s surface. The shadow-wielding ninja smirked and the rest of his crew appeared beside him.

“Go!” she screamed in final command at the child whose feet took off into the black at her back.

Sakura brandished the sword in confident threat at her attackers, herself serving as the shield between herself and Isao; they wouldn’t move an inch in pursuit of his direction if she had anything to do with it. Sakura had never wielded a sword before, but in the absence of chakra, she would become a master at it in this moment. Sakura was a kunoichi, a medic, a chakra control master, the pupil of a legendary Sanin, a rising legend herself, and today, she would add something else to her list. Scratch that. She would two things tonight: she would eradicate this new movement of anti-peace revolutionaries, and she would do it at disadvantage with the weapon of her enemy.

. . . . . . . .

As Isao ran, he clutched his side in pain, a sharp stab in his waist. The man who Sakura had killed moments before must have broken one of his ribs as he crushed Isao to the ground. At first, the young ninja pitched forward in blackness, half-debating to turn back to help the pink-haired ninja. But Isao knew the truth. He had been foolish to pursue her and her kidnappers alone and he cursed himself for his rash decisions in his fear of losing sight of them; he should have told someone else even if he lost their trail. Any of them, anyone at allwould have been better help to Miss Haruno than he had been.

Isao’s bravery amounted to nothing and it was evident in every piercing word from the medic kunoichi: The only thing you can do for me now is to go get help … Isao let the command fuel him forward despite the pain, until the night faded into morning hours later and the mighty walls of the Sand Village came into view.

He didn’t know how much time had passed and he didn’t wait to scream for help. The Kazekage was not in the village—he had overheard that much. Neither was the teammate that traveled with Miss Haruno. He yelled the only name he could think of, the name his heart still cried out to despite how much he hated him. The roaring sand shrouded his cries, and the prison walls would buffer it completely, but Isao begged to the air, shouting over and over, “FATHER! HELP ME!”

. . . . . . . .

The taste of the chakra pill was bitter, smoky and acrid. The Uchiha almost gagged trying to swallow it down, and he silently confirmed that Sai had been right—although Sasuke hated to agree with anything his entitled replacement said. What had he called them? Mudballs? Despite the accurate term, Sasuke feared his kunoichi companion more than he hated the taste, so he would keep the complaint to himself.

The pill pooled in his stomach and Sasuke took a breath, focusing on the ignition starting in his core. The rush of power was exhilarating as it topped off his chakra supply, overflowing visibly in a blue-purple halo around him. It sizzled along his skin and Sasuke grinned wickedly as a spiraling vortex appeared before him, much larger than any he had been able to create on his own before.

This was it! It was working! He pushed beyond the core dimension easily, his ready supply of chakra speedily fueling the tunnel between the void, but it ate and ate away at his energy and the color disappeared from his skin. Running off his own meager supply now, Sasuke exhaled and grinded his teeth in concentration. Finally, the connection was made and Sasuke threw himself through it.

He landed roughly, skidding to a halt, and he was ironically thankful for once for the Land of Wind’s high volume of sand. Sasuke found himself smirking up at the lightening sky as he recovered, because this was his first victory in a long struggle of jumping dimensions. To the Uchiha, it was proof that he was doing exactly what he was meant to do: beat Kaguya and the Otsusuki clan at their own game in their own territory. Giddy in his success, Sasuke used the last of his dwindling energy to rise to his feet, his thoughts immediately turning to the woman who had helped make this all possible—he hadn’t achieved this on his own; Sakura deserved the credit. And it was the first time that Sasuke could admit that he needed someone else’s help in his goal.

The dark walls of Sunagakure cut the bright morning horizon in half and Sasuke’s gut twisted in a combination of emptiness and guilt at the thought of returning to Sunagakure to face his friend after their… kiss. Sasuke was torn between finding her immediately to tell her that their plan had worked, pretending the kiss never happened in typical Uchiha fashion. But the time he had stolen away from her “to think” brought him to only one conclusion: he needed to apologize—again—and at least explain why. He had made her a promise to be a partner that depended on each other, and here Sakura was continuing to keep that promise, while Sasuke stole moments of happiness and bailed when he had to face the consequences. Suddenly remembering their sunset conversation the last time he had returned after leaving, Sasuke felt a fresh stab to his consciousness as he recalled her statement: “a part of partnership is communication.”

Sasuke slowly made his way toward the village gates. When he passed through the canyon-like entrance, people greeted him with “good mornings” while others stared openly at him. Their gazes were a little different, warmer, and Sasuke wondered if his teammate’s influence in the hospital had something to do with his newreception in Sunagakure now.

Feeling even more ashamed, Sasuke resolved himself for his female companion’s wrath and made a straight line for the hospital.

When he entered the hospital’s double doors, Sasuke came upon a scene that made his stomach drop into his feet. Kankuro, who was haggard from exhaustion, and had apparently returned sometime in the night, was fisting the collar of a hospital staff member.

“What do you mean they’re not here?” he bristled. “If she’s not in her rooms, then she should be here. Where’s Mako? Where’s the kid?”

“I don’t know sir,” came the panicked response from the employee, terrified to be facing the Kazekage’s right-hand man. “I’m sure they’re in the village somewhere.”

Hearing those words had Sasuke acting before thinking and the Uchiha rushed forward to fist the shirt of the same medic. “Are you talking about Sakura?” His eyes darted between the both of them and Kankuro’s grip released from the startled staff’s shirt in the same moment he shoved Sasuke’s own hand away.

“Where the hell have you been?” Kankuro accused icily, and a fire Sasuke didn’t even know he had left in him, surged from his throat in anger.

“What the hell is happening?” he demanded, taking another step toward the puppet wielder.

Kankuro pinched his nose in frustration, then beheld him in shock. “You mean Sakura isn’t with you?”

Sasuke eyes widened in immediate response, an answer refusing to form on his lips. Instead, he shouted, “You don’t know where she is?!”

Kankuro frowned deeper at his sudden animosity. “She hasn’t been seen since yesterday morning,” he explained quickly. “The innkeeper said she never came back to the inn. Mako, another medic, and Sakura’s young patient are missing too.”

Sasuke didn’t wait for any further explanation before he began sprinting up the stairs to the second floor of the hospital, the filter for his behavior now completely removed. Let everyone think what they want! That bastard! When Sasuke got ahold of Mako, he wasn’t sure what he would do. Sasuke’s feet were unusually heavy and his breath labored as he continued climbing to the third floor toward the medicine preparation room they had occupied together only recently.

“Sakura?!” He kicked open the door and furiously searched the vacant room with his eyes. After seeing no one, Sasuke stared at the empty couch where they had sat so close to one another the night before last. As if his memory of her there could recall her, Sasuke gazed openly at it, breathing hard.

Having followed the Uchiha, Kankuro appeared in the door behind him. “We’ve already checked the hospital. She isn’t here. We need to check the rest of the village, quickly!”

She couldn’t be missing. Was she really with that assistant of hers or that child? Were they off somewhere else doing something medical, or were they truly missing? Shit. Shit. Shit.

He turned on Kankuro in his unnerved rage. Sasuke wanted to demand where they had been, he and the Kazekage, but Sasuke remembered that Sakura had told him that they were investigating trouble near the border. He cursed himself again for being selfish and leaving her here alone.

As if reading his thoughts, Kankuro explained, “I was sent back by the Kazekage in the night. He is handling a situation regarding the ninja Sakura said ambushed you both in Tanigakure. The incidents were apparently related.”

“What do you mean?” Sasuke suddenly asked, a deep and cutting sensation coming over Sasuke that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time: fear.

Kankuro looked down and away from him, debating on how much to reveal. “With some unmentionable methods, we were finally able to find out who their target was,” he finally informed with a sigh. His eyes rose to meet Sasuke’s and the Uchiha saw the same raw fear mirrored in Kankuro’s eyes. “It’s Sakura.”

At the very moment that Sasuke’s knees felt like collapsing beneath his weight, the same staff member that the two ninja had threatened seconds before, came running into the room, panting heavily from having hiked the floors.

“Come quickly,” he urged between breaths, turning immediately to run back down the steps. “Isao has returned.”

Kankuro made eye contact with the Uchiha before they both bolted back down the stairs, taking two and three steps at time. Sasuke cursed his lack of chakra that kept him from just teleporting downstairs.

Sitting in a chair, the child clutched his side. Sasuke noticed that he kept trying to rise, but the staff held him down as they tried to bandage a wound on his arm. Deep purple finger marks circled around the child’s neck like a collar.

“Not me! Her! Go find her, please!” he shouted as he struggled against them.

“Calm down boy,” a woman medic urged. “We have to staunch the flow of blood from your arm.” The child looked at his wound as if he didn’t even know it had been there.

When Isao caught sight of Sasuke and Kankuro, he started to cry. “HELP! Please help!” he shouted, and they quickly moved to hover over the child. Kankuro suddenly kneeled before him, taking the gauze from the medic and wrapped the child’s arm himself as he questioned.

“Speak kid,” Kankuro urged, “What is going on?”

“Miss Haruno,” he choked between tears. “She’s still out there! Please, we have to go!”

Before Kankuro could ask the child why, Sasuke did something appalling, an act that Sakura would be disappointed in him for. His sharingan flashed bright, soaking up the last of his chakra like a sponge, and he caught the panicked child’s stare in his own crimson and purple one.

Just as he had to Isao’s father, Sasuke stepped into the child’s memories. Isao’s recollections were almost too overwhelming for Sasuke to handle at the moment, each image dripping with the fear in which young ones saw the ninja world. There was also bravery in them and familial concern for the pink-haired kunoichi. Sasuke skipped through the memories like speeding up a film, an act that made his head throb in pain. He didn’t care about his own state at the moment though, seeking the green-eyed face of the woman he had come to love.

There. Isao’s most recent memory Sakura was of her telling him “to go get help.” Sasuke didn’t have time to go back further and he let the memories play out from that point, mapping the child’s nighttime desert sprint, hours long, from the empty desert back to the gates of the village.

Not needing to explore the child’s mind further, he released Isao and they both gasped. Sasuke clutched his eye, ignoring the angry glare on Kankuro’s face. He didn’t care about Kankuro’s morals or even the child’s shocked state at that moment. There was only one thing he cared about. He would let the child explain the details to Kankuro; Sasuke didn’t have the time to explain things to Kankuro. Instead, the Uchiha did the unthinkable, playing the very dangerous game of popping another chakra pill into his mouth as he sprinted out the hospital doors.

#approaching sun #approachingsun #sasusaku #Happy Valentine's Day #Sakura Haruno #sasuke and sakura #ssfanfiction #sasusakufanfiction #Sasuke Uchiha #sasukeshinden #sasuke shinden #sakura hiden #naruto fanfiction #narutolightnovels

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dessarious · 4 years ago

Text

The Angel of Death Pt38

Inspired by this Story Starter by @someone-ev

AO3 Prologue Beginning Previous Next

“I believe I’ve made myself quite clear sir.” Tris responded calmly, but inside she was cursing and calling herself every word she could come up with for ‘idiot’ or worse. Not only had she endangered herself in one moment of rage, she’d endangered the Kwami and the people who thought of her as a friend. She needed to get them all away and prepare them for the League to descend on Paris. There was no way word wouldn’t get back to Talia now and everyone who knew her was in danger. What the hell was wrong with her?

“I suppose you have, but I still think we should talk. You seem to be under the impression that Damian is still in contact with, or even connected to Talia, but I can assure you he’s not. I would also like to know what the connection between you two is.” Tris finally took the time to look at Damian’s threads. There was a dark purple thread connecting him to Mr. Wayne and various others, some lighter, going off in one direction. The anger she felt at that surprised her but considering he was the reason she only had one familial connection it annoyed her that he got to have those relationships. Maybe it was petty, but she couldn’t help it at the moment. What really caught her attention was the inky black thread that was running in the same direction as her own. She had to wonder what had caused Talia to turn on her precious son.

“We’re soulmates.” Tris glared at Damian’s bored tone in response to his father. He’d always put on an apathetic front about their string that annoyed her to no end.

“We were soulmates. That bond was severed and luckily for me it shows no signs of reforming.” She saw something flash in his eyes but it was too fast to get a good read on it. His father looked like he’d just been slapped. For her part she was doing her best not to look at the string between them. It was a rather nauseating greenish orange which was bad enough, but it was also pulsing in a way that left her with a sense of dread.

“Damian has changed a lot in the last few years, perhaps if you two got to know each other again your bond would have a chance to come back.” She couldn’t help the wan look she shot at the man. In any other case perhaps a red string was something to be cherished and protected. In this instance it absolutely wasn’t.

“Sir, being connected to your son destroyed my life in a way I’ll never be able to recover from. I’m not insane or stupid enough to invite that influence back in to see how much worse things can get.” The man looked like he wanted to argue further but Damian put a hand on his arm.

“She’s right. Our bond began weakening the moment we met. My death simply allowed the universe to correct a mistake.” His tone was… strange. The Damian she remembered would have been smug because he was no longer connected to a worthless burden like her, but now… from anyone else she’d call it wistful. It didn’t make any sense. She finally looked at the people around them and noted the mass confusion. They’d held the entire conversation in Arabic and she was glad for it. She was going to get interrogated regardless, but she’d rather not give them too much information. Mr. Wayne was looking between her and Damian obviously trying to decide if he should push the issue. Eventually he just sighed, pulled out a business card, and held it out to her. Tris just blinked at him.

“In case you ever change your mind, or if you need anything.”

“I won’t.” The man pinched the bridge of his nose before glaring at her.

“Just take it to make me feel better.” She looked at Damian to get a better idea of what his intentions were but he just looked amused.

“I assure you that I can find your information on my own should I require it. I don’t understand why giving me a piece of cardstock makes you feel better.” Domain actually coughed to cover a laugh and it stunned her for a moment. She’d never seen him show things so openly. It was creepy.

“None of these numbers are publicly available and I would feel better knowing you have them should you need help. Especially with Talia currently in the wind.” So he was trying to monitor her movements. That was something to look into later.

“She’s in Norway for the next few days, then likely will be heading to the Congo.” Once Tris realized the woman was looking for the Angel of Death she’d started taking jobs in the most random pattern she could manage. It was rather amusing watching the woman chase her trail. Both Damian and his father were looking at her like she’d grown a second head. “That woman already ruined my life once, I’m not about to let her sneak up on me to do that or worse again. I assure you I’m prepared for most scenarios, and if it’s something I’m not prepared for chances are high I wouldn’t be able to contact you anyway. They’re pretty much zero that you’d get to me in time to help even if you could.”

“You may as well just take it. If you don’t he’ll start monitoring your movements as well and I’m sure you don’t want that.” She let out an involuntary scoff at Damian’s assumption they’d be able to monitor her. Even without the Kwami to help, they’d only see what she allowed.

“You can try, but unlike you I haven’t been living the high life the past three years. I’ve been on my own evading your mother and everyone else in the League who thought it was a good idea to use me to get at you. I don’t care how good you think you are, you don’t stand a chance of following me if I don’t let you.” She couldn’t help the bitterness in her tone. The look of shock on Damian’s face that said he hadn’t even considered what her life had been like didn’t help her mood at all.

AO3 Prologue Beginning Previous Next

Ko-Fi

Tag List

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#maribat #marinette dupain cheng #Tris #Damian Wayne #bruce wayne #assassin mari #angst

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paintedwarpony · 4 years ago

Note

I’d love to know your thoughts on Luthic worship!

ABSOLUTELY. I would be glad to share! This is something that I started to explore as a player myself (but sadly the DM I had at the time seemed to actively discourage creativity) but then picked back up and continued to explore and expand on as a DM myself when one of my own players wanted to work up more orc-ish heritage culture for his own half-orc.

So typically the god that most orcs and half-orcs are associated with is Gruumsh the One Eye, the Ruiner, who in most instances aint a good dude. Specifically in my campaign, running in Matt Mercer's world Wildemount, Gruumsh is a Betrayer God and known to be a savage and brutal warmongerer and pillager, the orc and half-orc army under his command is cursed with equal savagery and brutality.

So two of the many brilliant things that Matt Mercer's world allows for are:

1. Races/Species historically considered monstrous or evil are given the opportunity canonically to be free of that villainous heritage

2. While there is a Prime Pantheon he built in and has made PLENTY of room for Quasi and Lesser Deities.

Alot of orcs and half-orcs in Wildemount turn to Kord the Storm Lord as their chosen deity, using his expectations of challenge and strength and sportsmanship as an outlet for the energy and rage thats left behind when breaking from the cursed influence of Gruumsh but I wanted more, "less aggressive" options.

So while exploring a bit about Gruumsh in older editions of D&D and orcs in the Monster Manual I came across little bits and blurbs about his "wife" Luthic. Of course in the info from the Forgotten Realms and older references she didn't have all the best traits but there was surprisingly ALOT of potential to really use Luthic as a benevolent goddess compared to the Ruiner.

Luthic is the orc goddess of home, hearth, family, fertility, wisdom, medicine and caves (and a few other less ideal things but we cherry pick because we can). Her totem is the orc rune for "home" and her animal is the cave bear/bear. She's referred to as "Cave Mother" which is the common deity name I and my player chose to refer to her by (akin to the Wildmother or the Moonweaver). She most associated with the Life and Nature domains. And while Luthic isn't particularly depicted as being soft or kind, her focus is always shifted to being protective of home and hearth, of family and to the health, prosperity and propagation of the family to carry on strong bloodlines.

Those were the biggest themes I decided to run with when it came to those that follow Luthic is their loyalty and protectiveness of their home and family clan, that orcish clans and families that follow Luthic are far more likely to produce Clerics and Paladins than more war-like classes, almost all Luthic followers have knowledge or home training in medicine and fall back of remedies readily.

Arguably Luthic is the reason half-orcs exist at all. One of the “commands” of Luthic is to go, propagate and bring strong young into the world regardless of heritage. A true goddess of fertility, Luthic doesn’t care about the parentage of children as long as they are strong and healthy. Feeding off that I made it a trait of Luthic Orcs to be far more tolerant and accepting of other Races and Species and especially accepting of individuals that are mixed races (wither orc is one of them or not). They are also far more relaxed and willing to seek partners and mates of any gender in other races and species. This makes for A LOT of diversity and mixing of culture as well as racial traits and physical attributes in Luthic Orc clans and families. In my personal campaign this is part of the reason why Luthic Orc clans thrive so well in Xhorhas and under Dynasty rule, where there is a similar mindset concerning mixed race family units and children. (The Kryn and Dynasty canonically embrace and view mixed race pairings and children as blessings and displays of genuine love). So a lot of Luthic Orc clans are made up of half-orcs of a variety of heritages and origins. The strength and bonds built within Luthic Orc clans start very early but they don’t prevent members from scattering to find their own families and places in the world but there is always a desire to eventually return, either for a visit or to knit two family groups into one. All in all this aspect of followers of Luthic make them exceptionally protective of children, their own and any they cross.

While many a villager or adventurer find themselves pleasantly surprised (or outright lucky) to find that some of the best midwives, surgeons, and healers have the surprising origins of being connected to Luthic Orcs or a Luthic Orc clan by some means, worshippers of the Cave Mother are not soft pushovers. A part of Luthic’s mythos and origins was that she was a general and great warrior of Gruumsh’s armies. While they are not the ravagers of the Ruiner’s followers nor the more aggressive tribes that follow the Storm Lord, Luthic devout orcs and half-orcs will without hesitation lay down their lives to defend their families, clans and homes. Often this protective instinct is so strong it extends to the community and/or country an individual orc or half-orc may be from and Luthic Orcs are often exceptionally fierce and revered soldiers and guardians.

Within the campaign a few of the symbols and signs of worship of Luthic that had come up are holy symbols and totems in the form of bear claws or teeth, either left whole or carved with runes or turned into beads and charms used in any form of jewelry or ornamentation. The use of a bear pelt to accentuate or ornament clothing or armor, use of orcish runes (particularly ones meaning “cave”, “bear”, “home” and “family/clan”) are often embroidered, engraved or embossed on clothing, weaponry or armor as subtle ways to display loyalty to the Cave Mother. Simple shrines are made and often adorned with home and hand made carvings or crafts made of bone, clay, wood, stone, anything natural in the shape of a bear or a female/feminine figure representing Luthic herself. Her most holy day is the Winter Solstice and followers of Luthic gather up their families and closest friends and clan members for a long day and night of feasting around comfortable, roaring fires where familial and communal bonds are strengthened and prayers offered up for a healthy and hearty year to come and that any babes born are whole and hale (as in the more “primal” communities of orcs the winter is often considered the “mating season” as war bands and ravagers hole up in caves to ride out the worst of the winter weather).

Keeping actual bears is not common practice as bears are notoriously terrible pets and difficult to fully train and tame, though some Luthic worshippers that find themselves wandering the world as an adventurer do occasionally challenge themselves with raising a bear cub. Though any bear dens found in non-nomadic Luthic Orc territory are considered protected and to be left alone unless the animal proves to be a danger to the clan or community in some way.

NOW that all being said I am only just starting my research into Maori culture and traditions and how I can weave it into Orcish and half-orc culture. The Maori have an extremely rich and deep culture and it has so many unique traditions and aspects. A major part of the Maori culture I intend to borrow from is the use of traditional arts. They include whakairo (carving), raranga (weaving), kapa haka (group performance), whaikōrero (oratory), and tā moko (tattoo). The patterns and characters represented record the beliefs and genealogies (whakapapa) of Māori. Tattoo especially will play in a lot into Luthic worshippers especially for clans in certain regions of (my homebrewed parts and cultures) of Wildemount that will display more diverse and influenced cultural traditions. BUT because I haven’t done all the research I want on that subject yet I will at this point refrain from commenting much further on the use of Maori cultural influence because its really important to me to get it right.

I went off on a bit of a ramble but hopefully this was informative! I’ve had a lot of fun developing this stuff for my campaign, characters and players and am glad to share it!

#d&d shenanigans #d&d #dm life #matthew mercer #how to dm #world building #i love orcs #i love half orcs #orc culture #deep dive #luthic #cave mother #explorer's guide to wildemount #homebrew #maori culture

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crescentsteel · 4 years ago

Text

Just Friends - Part 4

plot: fubu set up with Kuroo as a university student, model fem reader

word count: 5612

A/N: I enjoyed writing this chapter, thus the extra thousand words. Don’t know how I should tag this. Smut, fluff, sexual tension (even though they had sex already?) I don’t really know lol.

Listening to Over and Over Again by Nathan Sykes while writing the rooftop scene.

There’s still 4 chapters in my head. I know its so long already but like I just can’t let go of my original vision haha

Part 3 | Part 5 | m.list

After you finish reviewing your last paper for the semester, you walk to his couch and let yourself fall on it.

“Finally!”

You’re done with the semester. You feel relief, but you also feel the weariness of the past weeks coming down on you. You thought that when you finish all your requirements and exams, the first thing you’re going to do is have sex with Kuroo. Especially since you were at his place already.

“You done with your paper?” he says loudly from his room.

‘Yep!”

You hear his footsteps approaching. He lifts your legs up and places it on his lap as he sits. You ignore him and continue to relax. His fingers start to slowly caress your legs up to your thighs. You know where he’s going with it, and it does feel nice, but not sexually.

You sit up, which gets his attention. He makes his move immediately and is about to kiss you. Before his lips touch yours, you cover them with your hands. He stops with a puzzled look on his face.

“Sorry. I know it’s been a while, but I’m still tired.”

He grips your wrist and puts your hand down. He holds both your shoulders and nuzzles your neck.

“Mmm. I can’t change your mind?”

You laugh weakly and ruffle his usual bed hair.

“Let’s watch something on Netflix. Maybe we can ‘chill’ later.” You give him a lopsided smile which he returns.

“Alright. What do you wanna watch?”

“Romance.”

He frowns at you.

“What? I wanna watch something that does not need my full attention.” You defend yourself.

“Mkay.”

It’s been around an hour since the movie started. Your mind is afloat while you watch. You can’t follow the story, but you like this state of doing nothing and something at the same time. You check on how Kuroo is, only to find him asleep. You’re amused at how this isn’t so surprising. After all, you aren’t the only one who juggled studies. You’re not even sure if he’s done with his own.

You scoot beside him. You’re about to wake him up to tease him about sleeping, but he looks really out of it. You stare at him for a while. You don’t tell it to him because he’s going to rub it in your face, but he really is good-looking. You brush up his bangs that was always blocking his face. You get a full view of his features. You’ve never paid attention to how he looks when sleeping.

Before you know it, you lean closer to him and kiss him on the forehead. After your lips leave his skin, you freeze in horror. What the hell did you just do?!

You’re only friends with benefits. Nothing about that was sexual nor friendly. You know your boundaries. You shouldn’t have done that. You don’t even like Kuroo like that. Right?

You shake your head furiously. No no no. You’re just really tired. Maybe your brain absorbed the romance even though you weren’t fully paying attention to the movie. Yeah. That was it.

You like Kuroo for sex and sex only.

You shake him furiously. He sits up abruptly.

“Huh? What happened?” He’s obviously startled by how you shook him, but his eyes are still a bit disoriented.

You stand up and remove your shirt. Your shorts go next. He puts his arms on his thighs and slouches a bit to look at you more closely. His once-disoriented eyes are now completely focused on you.

You hold his gaze as you strip yourself naked down to your underwear. That was all it took for the air to sizzle with lust. Since you’re at it, might as well make the most out of it. You stride slowly towards him. You give your hips a bit of a sway, lingering minutely in each step you take. You keep your eyes on his, not faltering in any way.

When you reach him, you straddle his lap. His hardness that’s rasping his flimsy boxers instantly lets you know that he enjoyed the show. You cup his face and kiss him right away. You don’t waste any time. You stick your tongue on his mouth as you grind on his hard-on. You want to feel him more. You want it now. You have to harshly remind yourself that this is what you came for.

You take out his member and position it at your entrance.

Kuroo pulls away from the kiss. He holds your hips in place, stopping you.

“Is something wrong, kitten?”

His lust-filled eyes now have a hint of worry in them. Why should it matter if something is wrong? That shouldn’t be an issue. You want to be had. Plain and simple.

Damn it. You don’t like how this is making you feel.

“Nothing. Don’t you want it?” you ask impatiently.

“Hah! Of course I do. But you seem upset.”

You underestimate how he notices almost everything. No way you’re going to let him know what’s going on in your head.

You sigh. You hug him and purr on his ear.

“Tetsu, I badly need you to fuck me right now.”

He grunts. You never use his first name. You don’t use swear words as well. Only now.

That does the trick. You feel him twitch underneath you. You feel his grip tighten on your hips that it almost hurts.

“Oh kitten,” he places an open-mouthed kiss at your shoulder.

“I’m gonna ruin you tonight.” You shiver at how dangerously he said those words.

He pulls your hair, making you look at him again. You shudder at the raw desire completely visible on his face.

He plays with one nipple with his tongue while his right hand gropes the other. His left hand goes to your groin. He traces the warmth of your slit and rubs your clit at the end of his strokes. You grip his shoulders tightly for support. You yelp when he bites the hard bud while inserting two fingers inside you.

Ahh yes. This is what you want, to let both of your carnal hunger for each other take over you. To let it cloud your head and consume you until your mind goes blank.

—

You look for your laptop in the back seat, but it wasn’t there. You’re a hundred percent sure that you did not take it to your unit last night. You were so out of it that you just got inside, laid down, and slept. That could only mean that you left it at his apartment.

You hurriedly take out your phone and dials his number. After three rings, he picks up.

“Hey. Can I go there? I think I left my laptop there.”

“I’m not home, but I do have it with me. I was just about to call if you’re at campus.”

“Actually, yes I am.”

“I’m around the area. I’ll be there in 20 minutes or so.”

“Alright. Thanks!”

You drop the call first.

You find a seat at the benches near the university gate. You’ll just wait for him here so he won’t need to find you.

“Oh hi y.n. Have you submitted our last paper?” It’s Kira, one of your classmates from your Management Theories class. She’s with another classmate of yours, but you don’t remember her name.

You give both of them a frail smile. That was all you could manage.

“Not yet. I’m waiting for someone before I do.”

“You okay y.n.? You don’t look too good. You must’ve stayed up all night for our paper.”

“Hahaha. Yeaaah.”

Blatant lie. You finished your paper early. It was Kuroo that kept you all night. A man of his word he is, he ravaged you senseless. It was only sheer willpower that gave you the strength to drive home at 2am.

In fact, you don’t want to go outside today. Your shoulders are tender. Your hips and legs ache. You feel sore between your thighs. Even walking is a chore You just want to lie down and waste the day away.

You hear your text notification.

“I’m here.”

When you find him, his eyes are already on you. He grins and waves at you. You can see your laptop bag on his hand. You meet him halfway.

“Are you sick?” He puts his hand on your forehead. You swat his hand away.

“No. But my everything hurts.” You speak softly.

“Oya?” You pout and glare at him. He puts up his usual conceited grin.

“You asked for it, kitten.” He inches closer to you and tilts your chin up.

“Remember?”

You feel your face getting warm. You always match his provocations. You don’t back down, but that was when you’re at the confines of his apartment. This is the first time you’re in a public space since you met at the bar. This is your university, your domain. You are very much aware that other students who might know you, are passing by.

You gently push him with one hand.

“Stop it. We’re in public.” You warn him while looking around.

“Alright, alright. Here’s your thing.” He hands you your laptop bag.

“Uhh. Thanks, Kuroo.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“It was Tetsu last night.” You scoff. “That was a one-time thing. You should’ve savored it.”

You freeze when you feel his hand on your cheek. You’re not sure which is warmer, his hand or your face.

“I did savor it.” He pinches it lightly before letting go.

Before you’re able to react, he scurries away with a stupid smile. “Hehe. See ya, y.n” he salutes with two fingers and finally leaves.

You want to be annoyed, but you’re too tired.

“You and your boyfriend look like you came from a magazine. You’re so tall and pretty.” You hear Kira’s voice behind you. You harshly turn around to explain. You wave your hands frantically. “No, no, no. He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Eeehh? But you were so sweet.”

You laugh nervously. “He’s just a friend.”

Kira nods. “You should go home after you submit our paper, y.n. Your face is very red now.”

Damn him.

—

When you passed your paper two weeks ago, that officially ended your semester. Aside from your modeling gigs, you’ve only stayed at home. Kuroo’s been asking if you want to hang out, but you’ve been ignoring him. You needed the rest from juggling sex, work, and studies. You thought that you need to focus on one for now - work. But now you’re getting bored. It’s been two days since your last gig. What should you do today?

An unknown number suddenly pops on your phone.

“Hello y.n.?” It was a familiar calm voice.

“Kenma?”

“Yea. But it’s Kuroo who asked me to call.” You hear fumbling on the other end.

“Oi. Y.n. Why do you answer Kenma’s call but ignore mine, huh?” You sigh. You don’t really want to explain that you need some time away from him.

“Never mind that. I’m at Kenma’s. Wanna play here?”

You perk up. That’s perfect. You don’t have anything to do today. It’s also been a while since you played altogether.

But, you’ve never been over at Kenma’s.

“Is it okay with him?” It might be Kuroo’s idea. You don’t want to impose.

“Kenma! You don’t mind, right?” You hear Kenma but couldn’t make out what he said.

“Yep. He said it was fine. I’ll text you the address.”

You drive to the address he gave you. He said to just enter, so you did. You follow Kuroo’s loud voice to locate them. You open the door where you hear his voice from. Both of them take their eyes away from the screen to see who entered.

“Look who’s back from the dead.” You don’t want to admit it but it was nice to see his usual grin.

“Missed me, Kuroo?” You tease back.

The two-week break did you some good. You’re back to how you are with each other, in your part at least. No weirdness involved.

“Hey Kenma.” you give him a warm smile. He greets back with a curt nod.

“So what’re we playing?” You sit beside Kuroo.

“I wanna race y.n.” Kenma says.

“Ooh. That means you’re in my seat, Kuroo.”

“Fine,” he unwillingly hands you the controller.

You switch places. Kenma goes to his disc collection and looks for the game you’re going to play.

“By the way y.n., aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

“For what?”

Pride shines on his face. “Hehe. I’ve passed all my subjects. I’m officially graduating this semester.”

You gape at him in astonishment. You know he’s a Senior, but you thought he’s going to graduate next semester, not this one.

“Whoa. I- uh.” You don’t know how to react. Should you hug him? Shake his hand? Kiss him?

Wait, what? You shake your head. Kenma’s here. No indecencies allowed.

“But why aren’t you celebrating?” you ask.

“I did already. I was gonna invite you actually, but you weren’t answering my texts,” he says it casually, but his face is serious.

It‘s nice of him to want to invite you to celebrate such a milestone in his life. Maybe you really are actual friends despite being shagmates. Now you feel bad for ignoring him because you felt strange around him lately.

“Um sorry. I didn’t know.” you apologize awkwardly while looking away. Your face lights up when you think of a way to make it up to him.

“Do you want anything in particular as a grad gift?”

“You can ask for that newly released game” Kenma quickly answers from across the room. You laugh when Kuroo makes a face.

“Hey. I’m the one she’s asking.”

Kenma returns to his seat and starts the game.

“Think about it while we play,” you say.

He doesn’t seem to be thinking though. While you’re racing with Kenma, Kuroo keeps on taunting you to beat Kenma. He abandons sitting and moves behind you.

“Left, left. GO LEFT!” With his hands on your shoulders, he nudges your upper body to the left as you swerve through a curve. You two are in sync in movement which adds to your excitement. You go through two nitrous while Kenma slips on a banana.

“Bye Kenmaaaa” you can’t help but egg him on. You’re grinning so hard your cheeks are starting to hurt. You’re almost at the finish line. Finally, you can beat Kenma at something on the first try.

“Haha! Good one, kitten.”

You go rigid. You glance at Kenma to see his reaction. He’s still focused on the game. Hopefully, he didn’t hear. When you return your eyes on the screen, you hit a shell. You slow down while Kenma gets back to being first. You do your best to catch up, but he’s already at the finish line.

“So close.” you groan in frustration. You could’ve won if Kuroo wasn’t such an idiot.

“Heh. My turn.”

“Don’t you need to be somewhere tonight?” Kenma asks Kuroo.

He looks at the time. “It’s way too early,” then he stills for a second before sitting beside you again.

“I know what I want y.n.” His smile tells you upfront that he’s up to something. You ready yourself for what it is.

“Come with me tonight.”

“Where? What for?”

“We have this batch graduation party at a hotel. We’re allowed a +1.”

“Uhh. Why me?”

“Cause you’re pretty.” Kenma says in a nonchalant manner.

“Not just pretty. You’re way hot. My batchmates will be jealous of me nyehahaha.” You just stare at his animated state of idiocy.

“Sorry about him y.n.” When you look at Kenma, he shares the same expression you have.

“Won’t you get bored if I’m there?”

“Nah. I planned to go alone before asking you.”

“Why not ask Kenma?”

“Pass.” Kenma says too quickly.

“That’s why.” Kuroo confirms.

“Don’t you want anything else? I can get you anything.” You try to negotiate something else that you can buy for him.

“That’s too easy for you. And I don’t really need anything.”

You exhale heavily while rubbing your face.

“Okay, sure.” You grumble.

“Yes!” He laughs maniacally.

To be honest, you’re a little uncomfortable about this. You’re sure people will think you’re dating. Ugh. Whatever. Since he asked for it as a gift, you’ll give it to him just this time.

“I’m thirsty. Does anyone want water?” Kuroo suddenly stands up and heads to the kitchen.

“I’m good,” you say while Kenma just shakes his head.

“So,” Kenma spoke as soon as Kuroo left the room. You turn to him.

“Kitten, huh?”

Your whole body tenses up. He heard it! You have no excuse this time. You feign innocence and smile so fake that it’s making you cringe. Kenma’s smarter than you thought. If he pulled this off before Kuroo asked you, you wouldn’t have agreed to it.

Wait. He’s also the one who reminded Kuroo of the event even though it’s still early in the afternoon. Did he do that deliberately because he knew Kuroo’s going to ask you in that instance?

Ugh.

You know that Kuroo is very perceptive, but Kenma’s just on a different level that it’s almost scary.

“I think I’m gonna get some water too.” You make your escape to the kitchen and give Kuroo some verbal beating.

–

Maybe he should’ve gone together with you. It’s been thirty minute since he got there. He’s even late, but he still hasn’t heard from you.

He takes out his phone to call you, but his thumb stops when he sees his outgoing calls history. It was mostly your number from the amount of times he’s called you from the past two weeks. They were all missed though. You never answered him.

Admittedly, he was worried when you were ignoring his texts and calls. That’s why you had to use Kenma’s phone to check up on you because he has no idea where you live.

Of course, neither of you is obligated to reply or show up to each other, but he does care more than a fuck buddy should. It wouldn’t hurt for you to take 5 seconds to reply to his texts. What bothered him the most is that maybe he went overboard with the teasing and pissed you off for real.

He’s glad that you seemed normal this afternoon. You were actually nice to have thought of giving him something for graduation. He didn’t think that you would. You even agreed to be his date tonight. He didn’t exactly phrase it that way earlier because you might feel off with the word ‘date’.

Instead of calling you, he sends a text message to know where you are.

Someone puts a hand on his shoulders. “Hey Kuroo. Are you with someone tonight?” It’s Reiji, a batchmate with the same major.

“Hell yeah I am.” The confidence in his voice makes Reiji curious. “Where is she?”

“Running late,” he answers thriftly. Reiji nods his head and looks around. Reiji suddenly stands up straight and shakes his arm violently.

“Someone brought a hottie. Look!” Reiji continues to shake his arm to urge him to look at said hottie. He doesn’t care though. He looks at his phone to see if you’ve replied.

“I swear, Kuroo. She looks like a freaking model.” The word ‘model’ didn’t go unheard. He instantly turns to the direction Reiji was looking.

Reiji is a fucking tool. You aren’t just hot. You look absolutely divine. You’re wearing a crimson dress that hugged your marvelous figure. It goes just above your knees, but there’s a knot on both sides that hitches the dress higher to show just the right amount of skin on your gorgeous thighs. It has flimsy straps that highlight your neck and shoulders.

The only time he saw you with makeup was the night you met, and that was only lipstick. Tonight, a glossy shade of peach is tinted on your lips. You’re wearing eyeliner that’s intricately drawn, giving your eyes that sultry look.

You’re also wearing heels which makes you stand out even more.

The most captivating of all is how you carry yourself. You are not overdressed in any way. The clothes are just right for the hotel setting. It’s the way you walk with finesse while occasionally glancing at corners that makes you look like royalty who’s checking on her subjects.

Others are also staring, but you don’t seem to notice or maybe you don’t mind at all.

Your eyes finally meet his. He suddenly feels nervous. He has all the cockiness, but he can’t muster any right now. You look down for a while and tuck your hair behind your ears. Then you give him a coy smile before you approach him. Ah fuck.

“What the- Did she just smile at you?!” His lips form a lopsided smile as his ego swells up. He pats Reiji twice. “Sorry dude. That hottie is with me.” He puts his hands on his pockets. He raises both eyebrows and gives Reiji a meaningful look before marching to meet you.

He puts a hand on your shoulder when you’re within reach. The stares that were previously on you are now shared between you two.

“You’re late,” he says in a hushed voice.

“Deliberately, of course. Now everyone knows the pretty girl is with you. Be a little thankful.” You respond in the same manner while giving him a pleasant smile for everyone to see.

You really are a sly one. His hand goes to your waist and leads you to his friends. He introduces you as a special friend of his. He gives them vague answers when they ask if you guys are dating. You ride with it. You don’t just nod when there’s a conversation. You actually join in it and keep up with what’s going on.

There’s a time when he had to leave you for a while because a professor from his department asked him about his plans after graduation. He doesn’t prolong the conversation because someone might hog you.

He excuses himself and finds you giggling with his batchmates. He smiles to himself. You really kept your end of the bargain. You aren’t just the hot chick, you also have wits to boot.

He goes back to your side. “Sorry folks, but I’m getting her back.”

“Whaat? Cmon.” He hears more grumbles of disagreement, but he doesn’t care. He wants you to himself now. You smile politely to them and bows your head. “Nice to meet you guys.”

“C’mon.” He guides you out of the hall. “Where are we going?”

“Just follow me.”

He goes in an elevator and presses the highest button.

“I have to say. I didn’t think you’d cooperate this well.”

You sneer at his indirect praise. “I’m an amazing trophy girl, aren’t I?”

He nods approvingly and claps slowly. “Brilliant honestly.”

You punch him playfully on the arm.

The elevator dings and reveals the rooftop. He lets you go first and follows. The floor is amazing. The lights are warm and there’s soft music playing in the background. The clear view of the city lights is the biggest attraction.

“Woooow,” the look of awe palpable on your eyes.

“Cool, right?” He asks, but you don’t answer. You just absorb the view in front of you. The breeze blows your hair gently, showing more of your profile.

“Don’t you want to sit? Your feet must hurt from those shoes.”

You shake your head. “Not really. I’m used to it. I’ve stood and walked in heels for long periods of time.”

“From work?”

“And family. I’m also their trophy girl sometimes.”

He looks for any hint of sadness but you say that as a matter of fact only. On the contrary, you look back at him with warmth in your eyes.

“Congratulations Kuroo.” The smile he sees is like the one he saw when he cooked for you. He’s a bit moved that you are truly happy for his achievement.

“Thank you.” He returns the sincerity.

You both enjoy the silence and the twinkling lights laid before you. The soft music in the background is the only sound audible presently.

“Come here.” He grabs you by your wrist and pulls you close. He puts your arms around his nape.

“What’re you doing?” You struggle a bit from his grip.

“My gift still hasn’t ended, right?” He outsmarts you, yet again. You blink twice and heave.

“You’re really milking this, aren’t you?”

He wraps his arms arounds your waist when you stop resisting. He starts swaying slowly, following the rhythm of the song. He revels in the feeling of your body pressed to him. The natural thing to do would be to whisk you away from here, take you to his place, and bang you wildly. But that’s not what he wants right now. This. This is enough for him for now. Having you this close gives him unspeakable contentment.

He lifts your chin with a finger so you’ll look at him. He returns his arm to your waist once you’ve locked eyes.

“You really look beautiful tonight.” He finally tells you. You’re too gorgeous not to let you know.

You blink twice at him with your mouth a few centimeters apart. The make-up doesn’t hide the subtle pink shade that suddenly glowed on your cheeks. Lovely. He won’t miss this opportunity.

He swiftly dips down just to stop with his lips a few inches from yours. He can feel you completely tensed. The breath you’re holding is apparent.

“Relax, y.n.” His one hand climbs to your back to caress it, ushering you to ease up. When you loosen up, he claims your lips. When you melt in his arms in complete surrender, it’s enthralling. The warmth of your mouth against his is too good for words. He can’t get enough. You open your mouth letting him slip in his tongue. He adores how you reciprocate with the same passion.

Your right hand travels from his nape to his chest. How this is still non-sexual is beyond him. He can kiss you like this all night.

The ring of laughter that echoed in the air breaks the enchanted bubble you two were just in. A group of people enters the floor. You get away from him hastily.

“We should go.” You tell him while avoiding his gaze. You make your way to the elevator without waiting for him. One of the girls who just came in lingers her eyes at your face. You ignore it and get in the elevator. Kuroo goes right after you.

When the elevator closes, you see your reflection. Your lipgloss was smudged all over. No wonder the girl was staring. You hurriedly get a napkin from your purse to wipe it off.

“Can I take my gift home?” You don’t know if it’s you or his voice lacks the regular egotism it has. You still steer clear of looking at him so you can’t see his face.

You still haven’t recovered. No one has kissed you like that. It was agonizingly delicate but ardent. It felt like drowning but floating at the same time. You can still feel your heart pounding at your chest.

You laugh timidly to shake it off. You need to get back to your cheeky self before he notices.

“Sorry, but the gift is getting tired.” You do your best to look normal when you finally face him.

“I’ll drive you home then.” You want to refuse, but it would be weird. You just told him you’re tired. It’d be obvious that you just want to get away from him.

You defeatedly give him your keys.

The ride to your place was spent in silence. You close your eyes to straighten your mind. It was nothing. That was just a regular make out session done in a very romantic setting. It’s probably completely normal for him, so it should be for you too.

“I’ll let you borrow the car so you don’t have to take a cab home.” You interrupt the stillness. “You don’t have to. It’s still early anyways.”

“Consider it a consolation since you can’t take the gift home.” You did it. You said something your usual self would.

“I’d rather take the gift itself, so no.” Damn it. Just when you thought you’ve regained your sass, he instantly shoots it down. You’re almost at your place.

“Holy shit. You live at Roppongi Hills?!” He says out of the blue. Oh right. You’ve never let him drive you home. You didn’t see the need for him to know where you live. You’re also wary of your privacy. You completely forgot about that because of what happened earlier.

“Parking is over there.”

He stops the engine when he finds a spot. You get out of your car immediately.

“Thanks for driving me home. Night.” You greet dryly.

“I want to see your place at least.”

“Buy why?” You whine in frustration. You just want to lie in bed and distract yourself from any thoughts about him.

“Oh y.n. You’ve been keeping me out since day 1. Now that we’re here, can’t you spare this unfortunate man a peek?” He laments dramatically.

His acting is so bad that your laugh echoed at the corners of the parking lot. God, his humor really gets you. You speak when you catch your breath, “A peek it is then, unfortunate man.” Finally, you feel the air between you two clear up.

He follows you when you go inside the building.

“Good evening, maam.” Ths security guard bows as he greets you.

“He’s with me,” referring to Kuroo. “Good evening, sir,” he greets Kuroo as well.

When you’re out of earshot, he says, “Sometimes I forget how ridiculously rich you are. Maybe I should start calling you milady or somethin.”

“Call me ‘Mistress,’ you lowly servant,” you say jokingly.

His eyebrow and the corner of his mouth both shoot up at the same time. “So you’re into that, huh?”

“I was kidding of course!”

“Let me stay and I’d serve you all night, y.n.”

The right response would be to ask him how he plans to serve you exactly. But you panic instead, the thought of even kissing him again makes you nervous like crazy. Crap, you’re really losing it. You pray that you aren’t blushing.

“Tough luck, Kuroo. I just want to lie down and do nothing for the night.” You bring the conversation back to normal before it escalates into something that involves you and him having any intimate contact.

When you get to your unit, you let him in. You keep the door open. You don’t want to be enclosed here with him in it. The last thing you need is him tainting your place. You don’t want to wake up and realize that he’s had his way with you on your own bed.

His eyes survey every corner, looking very impressed at the interior. “Daaamn. My place is shit compared to this.”

You check your phone. Five minutes from now, you’re kicking him out.

“You can get your water in the fridge if you want.” You mentally praise yourself for keeping the conversation light and breezy.

“Left or right?”

You sigh loudly. You make your way to your kitchen. Halfway through, you hear your door creak. Oh no. You hear it thud close.

“Say y.n., what should I do so I can stay here tonight?” Despite the huge space, you feel trapped. His eyes are intensely piercing on you. You gulp to clear the build-up of nerves that blocked your throat.

“Y-You just can’t.” How dare you stutter!

As he takes his steps to cross the distance between you, you grow even more fidgety. You want to step back, run away even. If he pulls off the same stunt on the rooftop earlier, you don’t know if you can hold back the unwanted feelings you’ve been disregarding recently. You’ve been pushing them at the back of your head, telling yourself excuses, and convincing yourself that it’s nothing. And until tonight, you were successful.

You don’t want to have feelings for Kuroo. You won’t be able to handle the complexity of the situation that would arise.

You waver when he gently strokes your cheek.

“Hey,” he says it so gently that your eyes reach for his, pulled in by the magnetism of his voice.

They hold the same mellow tenderness they had while ago. He’s never been like this with you. Only tonight.

Maybe he - no. You shouldn’t delude yourself like that. This can go very bad for you if you make a mistake. You’ll end up falling for someone who enjoys only the sex and company, nothing more. What you’ve been feeling since you left the hotel is fear. You’ve been repressing all these thoughts and they’ve built up to this situation. You are now in a sitch wherein you’re scared that if he makes his move, you’ll be too powerless to stop yourself.

He lowers his head, closing in inch by inch. Too close for comfort. His lips go past yours and lands on your cheek. It’s only a soft peck.

“I really liked your gift,” he says with authenticity, then lets you go.

He heads for the door. Your eyes absent-mindedly trail him as he exits.

“Good night, y.n” He winks and closes your door.

You go to your bed and sit. Your eyes are fixated at the wall while your brain tries to make out what just happened. You stuff your face in a pillow and squeal with frustration. Who are you kidding?

Kiss or no kiss, you fell for him.

Part 3 | Part 5 | m.list

#smut #fluff #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro fluff #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x female reader #kuroo smut #kuroo tetsuro x reader

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gstqaobc · 4 years ago

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Our dear Queen: never alone THE MONARCHIST LEAGUE OF CANADA 🍁🇨🇦

FOR TOMORROW, OUR QUEEN'S ACTUAL BIRTHDAY,,,We invite members to respond by return email by completing one of the following sentences in no more than 25 words of which we will publish an assortment of the most interesting tomorrow. You never know what might happen if yours is judged best. NB: this challenge is not the place to express condolences to The Queen or refer to her recent loss, which we each will do in our own way, with a full heart and no interest in publicity or reward. 1) I find The Queen's most endearing trait to be... 2) If I could ask HM one question, it would be... 3) If I were asked to give one piece of loyal advice to our Sovereign, I would say... LEAGUE POETRY COMPETITION ON THE NINETY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY OF THE QUEEN THREE WINNING POEMSWe were surprised and delighted by the number of entries in this first poetry competition of the League. But then, given its subject, perhaps we should not have been taken aback. The sentiments were universally heartfelt and the loyalty clear. We are therefore awarding three prizes. Two were written in English and one in French: naturally, we are not translating them! The first is a subtle evocation of The Queen’s sense of duty and her love of horses - the poet’s reference to giving up riding was of course an allusion to HM’s ceasing to ride at Trooping the Colour - she enjoys riding as relaxation to this day! The second is true to the spirit of Holst’s stirring melody, known to many as “I Vow to Thee, My Country.” And the third, the winner, explores HM’s Realms whimsically with a touch of gravity by means of their national foods. The poems could not be more different - which is as it should be. Our thanks to all who entered the competition! SECOND PRIZE TIED by Tom MacGregor, Ottawa ON QUEEN ELIZABETH’S 95th BIRTHDAY On her ninety-fifth birthday, I think of the Statue on Parliament Hill Of her confidently seated On a horse named Centennial Given to her by The Royal Canadian Mounted Police. The small woman unveiled it In 1991 after she had given up riding. Still, she carried on More than 60 years as Queen And 95 of service. FIRST PRIZE by an anonymous member who is donating the value of the prize to supply a food treat to the homeless today in honour of The Queen’s birthday QUEEN OF THE SIXTEEN REALMS On the 95th birthday of Elizabeth II PROLOGUE Elizabeth, to your Realms grandmother, sister, friend and Queen: How can we embrace you, and today let you know That we would your sorrow share, wish you could lean On our sixteen hearts, like the drums, beating slow. We look back as you must on Philip’s decades: Your strength and stay during storm and fair days. We gaze also to our future wish: grief ‘midst memories fades To joy of life full-lived, walked on the fields of praise. So follows our birthday wish, from Realms richly diverse, Who now tune their heart-strings to the happier times Which will follow, dear Ma’am, as sure as sunrise: A great truth of life, which we need not more rehearse, But, rather, assure you: north, west, east, southern climes Gather round to uphold you, dear Queen - loving and wise! ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Elizabeth, our Queen and friend, the nations’ joy and pride, Her 95th today is hailed through Realms both far and wide; And since all share in most fond wish to serve special birthday treat - These lines some local fare suggest - loyal banquet so replete! In ANTIGUA AND BARBUDA, small islands to be sure, But big in heart and loyalty - FUNGIE ‘tis special allure: Polenta-based and spicy hot, with pepperpot ‘tis served, A treat for their beloved Queen, one surely well deserved! Down Under, AUSTRALIAN mates present their VEGEMITE: This brewers’ yeast extract not yet the world’s delight! But served on toast throughout the land, a tribute singular - quite - Antipodean Queen finds on Aussie plate a most distinct delight. THE BAHAMAS offers special dish: folk there pluck CONCH from sea: And dressed with lime and vegetables - ‘tis rich in Vitamin C! Bahamian Sovereign will enjoy devouring “Queen Conch” recipe, Dressed with fruit, offered with love and Island loyalty BARBADOS, amidst disloyal dance, bakes up its famed RUM CAKE On which Monarch’s pain at such dalliance might well her sweet tooth slake; Since toothsome confection is topped up with frequent rum infusion: EIIR hopes (though’d never say) “Drink deep: to republican confusion!” BELIZE proffers its BOIL UP, reminiscent of the pie in rhyme: No blackbirds for its Queen today, but fish, eggs, veggies: good time! Tis topped with broth and dough, then baked - a treat fit for a princess, The Central American domain diverse could offer her no less! CANADA may indeed be home to most loyal Maple Throne: Thus on this day POUTINE shall stand in prominence, alone: Like the Dominion, flavours many, with toppings beyond measure - As each in own way toasts our Queen, the True North’s splendid treasure! GRENADA’s OIL DOWN, savoury-sweet, a one pot dish of stew, With coconut leaching flavours out to make each casserole new To taste - and variegated ever for all this island nation. Which prospers under Reign of she whose birthday brings elation! Next in our roll of Realms, JAMAICA, island, of many peoples, blest To keep cool ‘neath tropical sun with ACKEE AND SALTFISH zest: Its spices mirror nation’s mix, from planters to Bobsled team; And dread-locked Rasta men, who share deepest love of Queen. PAVLOVA is NEW ZEALAND’s gift to the arts culinary, Its Kiwi, cream, meringue mix cherished by settlers as by Maori; Whether Hobbits share such taste, brave Frodo first and foremost, We know not - but all in the island realm drink to EIIR a toast! If MUMU you were offered while exploring PAPUA NEW GUINEA shore, Polyglot island lines hot coals with leaves - adds meats, fruit, veg and more, To make a stew from ground oven of savour nonpareil, Thus honouring their Queen and friend with two Hemispheres’ “hooray.” SAINT KITTS AND NEVIS to birthday brings STEWED SALTFISH, which they blend With coconut dumplings and plantains for feasting without end, As no close they ever sight in good Queen’s service to tiniest sovereign state In Hemisphere - large they be in duty, love - thus this day they fete! SAINT LUCIA pairs fish and fig, GREEN FIG AND SALTED COD! Antilles population takes a week to give the nod To stew that melds, as island does two seas, Atlantic and Caribbean, And mix a Bounty cocktail to raise their glass to Queen! A BREADFRUIT ROASTED in iron pot, add fried jackfish for great repast, Is SAINT VINCENT & THE GRENADINES’ entrée, not easily surpassed: Its thirty-two islands celebrate their Monarch’s special day, Sing “...Land, so Beautiful” to big drum, calypso, steel pan and reggae! Now Taro roots make sticky POI, SOLOMON ISLANDS’ favorite food, The wise old King lends his name to 900-strong island brood; Thus Melanesian Queen presides, with Governor-General elected: Their birthday bouquet beauteous, as from 200 orchid strains selected! TUVALU brings to feast PULAKA, swamp taro cooked for hours: Raising ocean discourages cultivation - ‘tis time for Commonwealth powers To use their world wide fellowship to save this crop essential: Their Queen fears global warming looms, Polynesian threat potential. The UNITED KINGDOM is Elizabeth’s home, of sixteen Realms The Queen: No longer a colonial power, but from Empire’s legacy yet seen: Its “national dish” CHICKEN TIKKA MASALA now claims pride of place, Transcending old-style differences of climate, Raj and race! ~! ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ EPILOGUESo, all hail, dear Queen, gracious Lady: your true realms lie deep within, Not geographic, to be sure, but values kingly. gracious, human; Constant Commonwealth care for its nations great and small, Reflects deep-reciprocal, hailed to your heart, one voice echoed by all! So here’s to Elizabeth - long may she reign, long live our monarch so great! Here’s to her courage in fair weather or foul, duty done, chosen not - happy fate! Here’s to the faith ever kept, beyond clamour of sectarian creeds; Here’s to the hope she brings all, so nourishing humankind’s needs; Here’s to her ninety-fifth birthday, her years’ gift to us, thus today we proclaim:God willing, all your Realms do their duty And each subject in turn do the same!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦🇬🇧🇦🇺🇳🇿

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guigz1-coldwar · 3 years ago

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'Play by the rules' : an new chapter for "The woman with an strange name" is out !

Chapter Summary : The sheriff Eleazar Azoulay is taking the woman named Bell for an tour to discover the town and the numerous rules in place......

To read it on AO3, click here !

Taglist : @snowgoldwaylon (If anyone want to be added, feel free to tell me, same thing for my main fic "Redemption of an Spirit in an Cold War')

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"Okay, let's get going !" Azoulay exclaimed as he was starting to walk outside of his office while miss Bell was letting him pass, moving aside before she could join him too. "Don't forget to close the door for the moment." He ordered at her as he wanted to keep his own office secure, knowing how Adler's thugs can be in town, he wouldn't allow them to go inside his office and loot what was left inside even if there's only an few things useful for an outlaw in it.

"You're an man that is making sure to protect his property." Bell affirmed as she was slowly closing the door, an smile on her face and Azoulay was reciprocating the same move to her, adding an little nod to it.

"I'm trying my best, miss Bell." He told her as suddenly, his eyes went in the direction of an white horse with an blonde mane who was attached at the pole on the porch of his office. "Hey, is that your horse ?" He asked her, pointing at the horse and she nodded with an smile to him. "It's looking nice." He gave away his thoughts about the horse, stunned by the beauty of such an horse in here. "What is its name ?" He continued.

"She's an female, called her Butterfly." Bell replied, watching the sheriff slowly moving to stroke her horse's head with his right hand and she was surprised when her horse moved her head to get along with the sheriff hands. "Seems that she likes you, sheriff." She expressed, putting her hands on her belt, still witnessing the scene until the sheriff decided that it was better to let Butterfly alone and letting her drink in the brough.

"I didn't pay attention but you're armed." He gestured, his hand pointing at the revolver that was strapped at Bell's pants belt, his eyes trying to figure what type of revolver she was wearing. "Looks like you have an Colt Single Action Army." He figured out the revolver before Bell decide to give him an better showcase of the gun, looking well polished but an little rusted wooden grip with an engraved letter on it...'B' "You will have to watch out : Adler's gang doesn't very like the people with guns if they're not on their side, including the strangers."

"I'll see about it." Bell chuckled as she put her revolver back inside her holstler.

"If you ever need some bullets in case, you can ask to our gunsmith in town." Azoulay said before the two start to slowly walk out of the sheriff office to start the tour he wanted to do with her, starting by showcasing her the gun shop that was the first building in the beginning of their tour. "His name is Frank Woods if you want to know." He added, thinking that it could help her in case.

"That's sound interesting." Bell whispered to her, taking an closer look to the window where some guns were showcased and seeing the man behind an counter talking with an man in black clothes. "Sheriff, you might want to tell me the rules of the town ?" She demanded, turning around to look back at him.

"Oh yeah, let's continue walking slowly for that." He suggested as it was preferrable for him & her to talk about everything to know about this town along the tour instead of staying in place while people around were having their eyes on the duo, including the multiples armed men posted at differents places. "First, you need to know that mister Adler and his gang are the masters of this city meaning their priorities came first."

"So, if an member of their gang is wounded and an normal citizen too, the gang member is first to be healed ?" Bell thought as Azoulay nodded to her, meaning that she was right in saying that idea.

"Yes, drinks, guns & even prostitutes...they are prioritized and it's better that to not get under their way." He continued, giving an whole idea of what the town is under the control of Adler. "And if by bad moves or bad luck, you got yourself wounded, go see our doc' in town." He continued, walking with Bell near an bulding that was hold by the man in charge to heal. "Our doctor Lawrence Sims is also taking care of the horses of the stable just here." He pointed at the stable that was in fact just next to the doctor building and the duo could see briefly inside the stable, the doctor taking care of an horse.

"He's seems to be an nice guy." Bell expressed, seeing the man inside with an little smile on his face as Azoulay was having the same thing on his face.

"Sims is the best in his domain, you can be sure about it." He reassured her, making an little wawe to Sims as the two met gazes for an few instant before the stable's door got closed by the latter. "To continue...." He started, going back with her to walk again on the main road of the town. "If you maybe want to make an little prayer, you can go to the church." He stopped himself to look from afar at the church that was in another path. "Alex Mason, the priest....is an troubled man."

"Why that ?" Bell questioned him, looking curious as her eyes were on the man dressed as an priest that was greeting an woman and her little girl inside the church.

"He's an old army soldier but bad things happened and he became an priest here." Azoulay replied in an low voice to her as it was something complicated to talk and even, he wasn't able to learn more about the priest old stories. "Anyway, if you need to confess something, he's the man." He added before he could see Bell now watching at the big mansion that was at the end of the main road.

"I suppose that is the 'mayor's house'." She breathed, discovering the state of the house, very different from the others buildings around town and also guarded by heavily guarded men, more guarded than an army fort to be honest. "He doesn't joke about security here." She stated, her hands on her waist.

"Adler is making sure that the town play by the rules here." Azoulay told her, taking an deep breath at looking at this big house with his eyes. "He's controlling everything here, the taxes are collected by him and his men and no one is willing to stop them." He exclaimed, also his hands on his waist before he turned around to see the other side of the town.

"Not even the army or an group of US Marshall ?" Bell asked him and he sadly shook his head to her.

"There's an fort nearby but unfortunately, it happened to be the old unit of Adler himself and so, they're loyal to him." He responded as the duo started to walk back into the other way to return to the sheriff office. "And about US Marshalls, the last group that tried to help here finished hang by Adler." He muttered in an low voice, thinking at the sort of podium near his own office with an rope that did killed more innocents and mens of law than outlaws.

"So, it's like hopeless to think about the day the town will be free ?" Bell demanded after an little walk when the two arrived back at the porch of the sheriff office and she didn't even need an response as his face was saying in fact everything about it before the two got back inside with Azoulay, sitting on his chair.

"This town is like damned but we ain't want to think about it." He pass his hand behind his head to scratch it before looking back at Bell still standing up next to the door, the same positon she used when she came here first. "Guess that even with all of it, you wouldn't want to leave this place without looking back." He suggested, seeing her not even flinching at all.

"I just want to take some rest and discover an bit of this town." She affirmed to him, crossing her arms like before. "Is there any hotels here ?" She asked him.

"Near the saloon, you can find an room for you." He told her before making some little cough out of his mouth, covering it with his left hand. "Before you go, there's some little rules to know about here." He said, stopping her as she was getting ready to leave him alone in his office.

"I'm listening." Bell complied, moving to get sit on an chair on the other side of Azoulay's office.

"Don't put your hands against anyone related to Adler's gang." He started, putting his hands on his desk even if this rule was pretty obvious in that place right now. "Pay up your taxes if you, somehow, decide to install yourself here and don't look at Miss Park !" He continued in telling her the few importants rules in here until he could see an incomprehension on her face whille saying the last words.

"Don't look at miss Park ?" She repeated, raising an eyebrow to him, not understanding it at all.

"Yeah, strange but it's in fact one of the most important rules here." He claimed, knowing what happened when that rule is broken, having assisted to the scene earlier. "You can look at her from very afar but avoid this when you're close or very close." He added.

"And why is this miss Park unlookable ?" Bell demanded, very curious to know.

"She's Adler property." He replied, stretching his fingers while looking at her. "I don't know too much but she was part of an english family that was owning an orphenage until her whole family was killed by Adler's gang and he took her, now forced to be his wife." He continued, shaking his head to have that thought in head as Bell was attentive to that part. "Looking at her if you're not Adler and you are either warned or killed if you broke three rules here."

"Damn, she did suffer." Bell whispered to herself, looking aside for an moment before she looked back at him. "Since when ?"

"I don't know and I wouldn't want to know." He responded, gesturing with his hands that he was really meaning it before he got an serious look on his face. "You are pretty curious to be honest."

"That's an part of me, there's things I want to know." She admitted clearly to him, deciding to get up from her chair, ready to leave the office. "I think that I will go install myself to the hotel now."

"There's an party that will be happening tonight in the saloon, you could go there if you want." He explained to her at one second of her leaving the office and thankfully, stopping her in her moves. "I will not go but you can have an talk with me before." He suggested and she nodded to him.

"I will see, thanks sheriff." She smiled at him, making an little sign with her own hat, reciprocated in an second by the sheriff himself before she left the office, leaving him alone.

Now, she was alone on that porch of the sheriff office, watching around the whole town and the saloon that was just in front of the building at the other side of the road as some folks near by was still intrigued by the presence of an woman stranger in town, wondering what she was doing here and why here. She wasn't blind, she could see that she was like the center of the attention but that wasn't disturbing her, she knew that each town was adopting the same behavior to the strangers like her but with the complicated story of the town, she knew that their looks were more questioning than any town in the state.

She took an deep breath before moving to get back to her horse, to give her something to eat from the satchel Bell was wearing and stroking an bit her horse head, proud to have an horse that has been almost accompanying her for an part of her life. Instead of get on the horse, she decided to left her attached at the sheriff office as it wasn't necessary to get on to just attach her in the other side of the road and also, she knew that the sheriff was an good man.

After that, she crossed the road, focused to get inside the little hotel near the saloon as she was seeing armed men in black clothes at some points of that part of town, thinking that those men were surely part of Adler's security. She then entered the hotel, discovering the old man receptionist and to say, she was already seeing that on his face that there were something suspicious about him : an look that could say that she wasn't really welcome here.

"Hi !" She waved at the man with an smile, staying polite after all.

"What do you want ?" The receptionist asked her in an harsh tone like that without any reasons, causing her to be taken aback in the inside.

"Uh, you can be polite, you know ?" She told him in an serious voice as she was walking towards the reception desk....could say that this man wasn't like the sheriff....

"We don't like strangers here, always bringing troubles." He explained, removing his eyes from her to write in an book.

"I would like an room, please." She stayed polite to him even after his agressive tone as she put on the reception desk, five dollars, the price of an room here, looking at the little board behind the receptionist.

"Good, room 2A upstairs." He took the money off the desk and pointed at her, the stairs that was going up before putting an key on the desk. "Now, go !" He ordered in an harsh tone again and honestly, Bell would have like to take back her money and go away but she missed an real bed for an time so she couldn't refuse to leave.

Without any hesitations, she took the key he gave her from the desk and she walked away to get upstairs, the place was very modest but for her, it's just what she needed. She arrived in front of the room she rented and she entered it. The bed was barely made, some dressers around, an mirror to check herself and an view overlooking the main road and by luck, the sheriff office. That was enough for her as she closed the door behind her.

She didn't know what to do right now as an complete stranger in town with only an suggestion of the sherrif to go to an party organized at the saloon tonight and for the moment, the only thing she could do was to get some rest on the bed, not taking out her clothes as she wasn't willing to for the moment and her thoughts was about an lot of things about this town but she was sure of something real....

"This town is really special to be honest !"

#cod bocw #cod cold war #cod black ops cold war #cod cw #cod bell #fem!bell #Western AU #COD fic #Safehouse crew #helen park #eleazar azoulay

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oss-crime · 4 years ago

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Chapter 2-Project “Ma” –Eve–; Scene 6

Original Sin Story: Crime, pages 56-69

One of the cities that made up the Twelve Royal Capitals was the city of Asmouse.

This town, managed by senate member Ceci Vaju, was the place where the historical backing of the Twelve Royal Capitals was most pronounced.

The people who had once began the excavation of the god’s legacy in this area—Senator Vaju was a descendant of theirs, and he was also a very passionate researcher of artifacts.

Fumbling for a way to more effectively utilize these artifacts, Senator Vaju founded the Royal Research Institute in Asmouse with permission from the previous queen. He entrusted the position of first director to a friend who shared his passion, Horus Solntse.

As their initial goal implied, the Royal Research Institute’s research wound up contributing greatly to the development of Leviantan engineering, weaponry, and living wares. The artifacts could be made to work with magical power, but Horus and the other researchers progressively discovered more effective operating procedures, and brought yet more glory to the Magic Kingdom.

Meanwhile, Senator Vaju and Horus also used the institute to pursue a different avenue of research.

That was “to deliberately create people who have strong magical abilities”. In other words, it was to make a candidate for the next queen be born under the domain of Senator Vaju, and was also necessary research for him to obtain the position of the next senate head.

But that research had proved to be much rougher going than anticipated, and Horus had passed away from illness before they could achieve any results.

Horus had an adopted son named Adam, and he was, too, a skilled scientist. For that reason he was hired on by Senator Vaju as the new head of the institute, and he also inherited their research—the “Next Queen Project”.

--That “Next Queen Project” had now changed its name to “Project Ma”, and was proceeding under the supervision of Head Senator Miroku.

…Most of that was inconsequential to Eve.

The important thing was the fact that Eve was, at present, the strongest candidate they had for “Ma”.

Not having much interest in science herself, Eve could only conclude that the Royal Research Institute was a cold, unappealing place.

“Wish I could have had a more comfortable chair.”

Adam gave a slightly troubled smile at Eve’s complaint, handing her a cup with a liquid in it.

“We’ll give that a fix the next time we’re making a device to test magical ability. But for right now this is all we’ve got…Well, anyway, give this is a drink if you like.”

“…What’s this?”

“It’s a drink called coffee. It’s not spread much outside the capital, so it’s understandable if you’ve never heard of it.”

With Eve’s mood souring more under the impression that she was being made fun of as a country hick, she brought the brown liquid to her lips.

“—It smells good. But it’s a little bitter.”

“It’s got a lot of milk and sugar in it. Drinking it should help you calm down a bit.”

“I think I’d be a lot calmer if I could get these wires off my arms and legs.”

“We need them to get an accurate reading of your magic. …It’ll take a little bit of time, so please try to be patient.”

The measuring device they’d used in the village of Nemu was a simpler, portable model.

Though, it wasn’t the fault of that device that they hadn’t gotten an accurate result back then.

“That spoon…is also extremely curious to me, as a scientist,” Adam said, brandishing the blue spoon that Eve used instead of a staff.

“At a glance it looks like a normal, bland item….But it can increase or decrease the magical ability of its owner at will. In other words it can amplify magic and also temporarily put a seal on it—”

“My mother gave it to me.”

“Did she make it?”

“I don’t know. I never learned that.”

“This might also be a legacy piece…Well, we’ll deal with that later.”

Adam set the spoon on a nearby table, and then drew closer to a large box that was next to the chair Eve was sitting in.

“Well, let’s get started.”

He pushed up a lever that was attached to the box.

Suddenly feeling slightly dizzy, Eve fell back a bit in the chair.

“I’m…a bit nauseous.”

“It’ll go away. We have to check to see if that powerful spell you used in the forest…was because of the spoon, or your own magical ability.”

“How…long will it take?”

“Hmm…About an hour, I think.”

“That long!?”

“It’s not like you have to keep perfectly still the whole time. Though you can’t leave the chair. You can drink coffee, or if you’re hungry I can bring you something to eat.”

“Then—” After looking up at the ceiling for a moment, Eve continued, “Can I talk?”

“With me? …Of course, I don’t mind.”

“Then…I want you to tell me something.”

“What is it?”

“About the ‘Witch of Merrigod’.”

Adam’s expression stiffened. “Why would you want to—”

“She’s the one who murdered the father who raised me. Isn’t it only natural that I would want to know about her?”

“What will you do with this information?”

“…Not sure.”

Eve herself didn’t know the answer to that question.

But—

“I can’t just go on not knowing.”

“…”

“Assuming I’ll become queen someday, I mean.”

“…I see. Yes, perhaps…so.” After gazing fixedly at Eve’s face, Adam steeled himself and then started to talk. “The ‘Witch of Merrigod’—Meta Salmhofer was originally an ‘Ma’ candidate.”

“You told me that earlier. But you said she was discarded for being cruel?”

“Yes. If you go southeast of the capital—far, far further east than the village of Nemu where you live, there is a place called Merrigod Plateau. That area is a dangerous region, used as a stronghold by a certain group.”

“…You mean the ‘red devotees’?”

“No, to be accurate those are little more than a single unit of this group. The name for them as a whole—is ‘Apocalypse’. There are some people who say they’re a simple crew of bandits, and there are others who caution that they’re an anti-social organization that seeks to overthrow the kingdom.”

According to Adam, not even the royal capital’s information bureau knew the true situation.

“What we do know is that the leader of Apocalypse is named ‘Pale Noel’. And that he and Meta are lovers.”

“Pale Noel…”

“His age, his appearance…all of it is unknown. Actually, we don’t even know if he’s really a man. Whatever the case, she’s this person’s girlfriend. We needed to exercise extreme caution even to go see them.”

At the time, Adam, Seth, and a few other researchers had gone to Merrigod Plateau with a peacekeeping force led by Gammon following along.

“But…that was a mistake.”

Adam heaved a great sigh.

“We just ended up provoking them. As a result…a small war broke out on Merrigod Plateau. Though that wasn’t what we scientists had intended at all.”

“But that wasn’t the case with the peacekeeping force and Apocalypse…Right?”

“Indeed. Gammon is always looking for glory. It’s like he’s a big bundle of ambition. Even more so after he became the head of the peacekeeping forces. He likely figured he could use his position as bodyguard to crush Apocalypse.”

But his plan ended in failure.

“Meta is an ‘Inheritor of Gilles’. She controlled the soldiers of the peacekeeping force with her power, and they all started firing at each other. Even us researchers, who they were supposed to be guarding, got caught up in it….We had heavy losses. That’s why the institute is still completely understaffed.”

Eve had come along to the institute with Adam, but now that he mentioned it she realized that she hadn’t seen anyone else up to coming to this room.

“How…many scientists survived?”

Adam spread his arms in a grandiose gesture and replied, “Don’t be surprised. Just me and Seth! Though this facility wasn’t very heavily staffed to begin with.”

“I see…How awful.”

Eve had the home where she’d lived destroyed by Meta.

But Adam too had had his friends murdered.

“Yes…Some of them I got along with quite well, and some I frankly didn’t much care for. But none of them deserved to die like that.”

On seeing Adam’s bitter expression, Eve was reminded of her own grief.

“Hey…Just what is an ‘Inheritor of Gilles’ exactly?” she asked, trying to change the mood.

“R-right…An ‘inheritor’ is, well…To put it simply, it’s someone with ‘supernatural powers’.”

“’Supernatural powers’? Unlike magic?”

“In this country there are people who possess ‘special powers’ different from magical power. For example…the white army. We know from our reports that clan has the power of ‘Inheritors of Salem’, able to wield fire.”

“I see…So that was it.”

Eve had always thought that the white army’s usage of fire was through magic, but it appeared this wasn’t the case.

“Among the white army there are people who are magically impotent—that is, they were born without any ability to use magic at all. And yet despite that they are able to use their fire powers just the same as their fellows. …Though I’ve heard that research into the fundamental theory behind it hasn’t progressed very far at present.”

“Is that research conducted here?”

“No. Research into ‘inheritors’ is the purview of Lighwatch Temple. Sir Yegor Asayev, the head priest, is the expert on it.”

“Wow…”

“So, honestly I don’t actually know that much about ‘Inheritors’. Just that they’re divided up into categories by ability, like ‘Gilles’ and ‘Salem’, and that those are based on the names of the god kin—”

At that moment, the box set next to Eve—the magical ability measuring device, started to faintly shake.

“Hey…Is this working okay?”

Eve pointed to the box.

“Hm? …Oh, that’s fine,” Adam replied, gazing at the symbols that popped up onto the box’s screen. “Would you like some more coffee?” he asked her, turning around and noticing that Eve’s cup was empty.

It was a peculiar drink; Eve didn’t find it all that tasty, and yet she kept bringing it to her lips for some reason.

“Yes, please…But before that, one more question.”

“What is it?”

“…Why did Meta go after my father?”

“…That I don’t know.”

His eyes looked somewhat shifty.

Still, Eve couldn’t tell if Adam was playing dumb or not.

“Well then, a different question.”

“You’ve quite a lot of those. I actually have a lot of things I want to ask you, you know.”

“What does the royal capital…or rather, the military, plan to do about Apocalypse?”

“What do you me—”

“They’ve killed a lot of people, right? The people of the village of Nemu, and the people from this institute…’Sin must be punished’…Even I know the laws of this country.”

“…”

Adam took the cup from Eve and left the room without a word.

--In hardly any time at all, he had returned once more with a cup full of fresh coffee.

“Here you go. I put in more milk than last time.”

“Thanks.”

“…They are to keep careful watch over Apocalypse—That is what the military…or rather, the senate, decided.”

“--! Why!?”

“At present, Apocalypse has done no damage to the Twelve Royal Capitals. For the kingdom, the white army and the others are little more than barbarians at their border. The capital’s protection would be imperiled if they moved their security forces against them any further than they have.”

“So you’re saying that as long as the royal capital is alright, it doesn’t matter what happens to the others?”

“…I’m just a mere scientist. What I’ve told you now is just what I’ve heard from Gammon.”

Even if he was involved in a project of great importance to the country, he wasn’t in any position to say much more on the government outside of that—That’s likely what he meant.

Eve could tell that.

She could, but…

“That’s unreasonable. The ruler of a country needs to understand the suffering of its people…I think now I understand why my father hated politics,” Eve muttered, frustrated.

“…”

Adam looked upon Eve in silence for a short while, but eventually he shifted his gaze to the measuring device.

Then he took up the piece of paper and quill set on the desk and started to write something down.

--Midway through his work, Adam said, still not looking at Eve, “In that case…You should become the ruler.”

“…”

“It seems you have the qualifications for it.”

“So you mean…I can become queen? Has it come up with a result?”

“No, it’s still measuring, but…At this point I’m already seeing some impressive numbers. I think…your magical ability is much higher than that of your father.”

Even so.

No matter how gifted she was, Eve was still just a simple girl who knew nothing of governance.

Would anything change by someone like her becoming queen?

--Appearing to sense her anxiety, Adam set down the paper and quill and drew close to her.

“It’ll be fine, I know it.”

“…”

“I’m sure you can do it.”

“Can I do anything alone?”

“You’re not alone.”

“My father is dead. And the people of my village are gone. I don’t have anyone—"

“—You have me.”

Adam clasped Eve’s hands in his own.

…She couldn’t bring herself to brush aside the warmth in them.

“Do you dislike me?” Adam asked.

“…If I did, I wouldn’t be cooperating with all this…But, what about you?”

Adam had gotten close with Eve just because she might have had strong magic.

She was just a candidate for queen to him.

That was surely the reason for him being so kind to her like this—

“I wouldn’t be trying to have someone I disliked selected as queen,” Adam said plainly. “You’re an enchanting woman. I’ve thought so since the first time I met you.”

“…Didn’t you stab at me with a sword at first?”

Adam burst out laughing at Eve’s reply. “Pfff…Ah haha, that’s true. Please forgive me for that. I was desperate back then.”

“Are you good with a sword?”

“I’ve only learned enough to defend myself…Ah yes, speaking of swords.”

Adam shifted his gaze to a sword that sat in the corner of the room.

“We ended up bringing that over here.”

It was Raisa’s sword, the one that Gammon had thrown to him in the forest.

“It’s an unusual shape…Its current owner is currently in prison. Not much point in returning it.”

“Raisa is…alive?”

“Just barely. Though even if her wounds are healed, thinking on what she’s done…She’s not likely to avoid an execution.”

“…”

It wasn’t just Raisa.

The Witch of Merrigod Meta, and Pale Noel.

In this world, so much—

Evil had spread.

Even if Eve continued to fire lightning as the “Witch of the Forest”, she could never get rid of it all.

It was impossible for one person.

She would need—much more power.

And for that…

Eve chewed her lip.

--As though to mock the resolve that had begun to sprout in Eve’s heart, several days later something happened.

Raisa, the white fiend of Jakoku, escaped from prison.

There was no way that she could have accomplished this herself, being near death.

It was likely that an outside person with influence had pulled some strings.

Meanwhile, the magical potential measurement result…was suitable for queen candidacy, just as Adam had predicted.

Her M count was over 350…Eve didn’t know how much exactly, but at the very least it was more than enough to secure the agreement of both Adam and the senate.

And with that result, Eve could smoothly become queen—or so she had thought.

<<prev------directory------next>>

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voidingintotheshout · 4 years ago

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Black History Month Public Domain Reading List

I’d seen a list floating around the internet with links to pirated books by black writers of note for black history month. I felt that it was problematic to be sharing something that’s disenfranchising black writers when there are a lot of great books by black writers to read that are in the public domain and free to read. I compiled this list of books by various black writers of note with descriptions and links to a site to download them onto your devices. The site is Project Gutenberg, the original e-book site, releasing ebooks since, surprisingly, 1971.

Slave Narratives & Other Writings

Up from Slavery: An Autobiography by Booker T. Washington (A Memoir). This is his personal experience of having to work to rise up from the position of a slave child during the Civil War, to the difficulties and obstacles he overcame to get an education at the new Hampton Institute, to his work establishing vocational schools—most notably the Tuskegee Institute in Alabama—to help black people and other disadvantaged minorities learn useful, marketable skills and work to pull themselves, as a race, up by the bootstraps. It’s worth knowing that Washington was a segregationist, and so some of his views may surprise modern readers. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2376

Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave by Frederick Douglass (A Memoir). It is generally held to be the most famous of a number of narratives written by former slaves during the same period. In factual detail, the text describes the events of his life and is considered to be one of the most influential pieces of literature to fuel the abolitionist movement of the early 19th century in the United States. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23

Narrative of William W. Brown, a Fugitive Slave by William Wells Brown (A Memoir). A wonderfully gripping slave narrative that’s the length of a novella. The matter-of-fact, almost journalistic way in which the writer describes the horrors he saw and experienced really hits home. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15132

Clotelle; Or, The Colored Heroine, a tale of the Southern States; Or, The President’s Daughter by William Wells Brown (A Novel). This book tells a fictional story of what the life would be like for the mixed-race daughter of founding father and president Thomas Jefferson and slave Sally Hemings. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/241

The Souls of Black Folk by W. E. B. Du Bois (Essays). The book contains several essays on race, some of which the magazine Atlantic Monthly had previously published. To develop this work, Du Bois drew from his own experiences as an African American in American society. Outside of its notable relevance in African-American history, The Souls of Black Folk also holds an important place in social science as one of the early works in the field of sociology. In The Souls of Black Folk, Du Bois used the term "double consciousness", perhaps taken from Ralph Waldo Emerson ("The Transcendentalist" and "Fate"), applying it to the idea that black people must have two fields of vision at all times. They must be conscious of how they view themselves, as well as being conscious of how the world views them. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/408

Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral by Phillis Wheatley (Poetry). She was the first African-American author of a published book of poetry. Born in West Africa, she was sold into slavery at the age of seven or eight and transported to North America. She was enslaved by the Wheatley family of Boston. After she learned to read and write, they encouraged her poetry when they saw her talent. On a 1773 trip to London with her master's son, seeking publication of her work, Wheatley met prominent people who became patrons. The publication in London of her Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral on September 1, 1773, brought her fame both in England and the American colonies. Figures such as George Washington praised her work. A few years later, African-American poet Jupiter Hammon praised her work in a poem of his own. Wheatley was emancipated by her masters shortly after the publication of her book. They soon died, and she married poor grocer John Peters, lost three children, and died in poverty and obscurity at the age of 31. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/409

Alexandre Dumas’ Writings

Many don’t know this, but he was the grandson of a French Nobleman and a Haitian slave woman. Writing in the 1800’s, his work is characterized as adventure novels and page-turners with beautiful descriptions that rarely steal the show from the plot.

The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas is a standalone book that sets up his D'Artagnan Romances (pronounced Dar-tan-yun, by the way). Romantic in the sense of vivid and sentimental in tone, the stories have captivated generations all over the world. https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1257

The Count of Monte Cristo (Illustrated) by Alexandre Dumas is one of the best adventure tales of revenge that spans decades, as our hero unfolds a tale of revenge that includes prison breaks, fabulous wealth, hedonism, and much more. https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1184

The Black Tulip by Alexandre Dumas is one of his shorter novels that takes place amid murder and intrigue in a world where tulips were more valuable than gold. A good read, but not as gripping as the above two books, but great if you don’t want to be on the hook for a thousand pages of description and action. https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/965

Zora Neale Hurston’s Writings

She was an American author, anthropologist, and filmmaker. She portrayed racial struggles in the early-1900s American South and published research on hoodoo. The most popular of her four novels is Their Eyes Were Watching God, published in 1937. She also wrote more than 50 short stories, plays, and essays. Her writings are known for their noticeable focus on vernacular speech, where character spoke as they would during that place and time.

Three Plays by Zora Neale Hurston (Lawing & Jawing, Forty Yards, & Woofing). Lawing and Jawing is about a "regal" Judge who having a rough morning sends everybody to jail. He adjourns the court so he can "escort" a pretty girl home since he sent her innocent boyfriend to jail. Forty Yards is all about the teams cheering and singing. Every step is a song. The game is just an excuse to sing, even when the place catches fire they sing. Woofing is about a procrastinating man who doesn't finish anything and when a marching band goes past his porch, he and all his cronies drop everything to follow the band. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17187

The Mule-Bone: by Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston. (Novella) The only collaboration between the two brightest lights of the Harlem Renaissance—Zora Neale Hurston and Langston Hughes. In this hilarious story, Jim and Dave are a struggling song-and-dance team, and when a woman comes between them, chaos ensues in their tiny Florida hometown.

http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19435

De Turkey and De Law by Zora Neale Hurston. The two friends from The Mule-Bone, Jim and Dave are back again and so is Daisy. These two friends become enemies because they both imagine that Daisy prefers himself over the other. They both go out to hunt a turkey to give Daisy. The two young men fight over the turkey and one gets hit with a mule bone from the same old mule from the other play.

http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22146

#zora neale hurston #alexandre dumas #booker t washington #frederick douglass #william wells brown #sally hemmings #thomas jefferson #w.e.b. du bois #Phillis Wheatley #black history month #black writers #project gutenberg

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yukipri · 4 years ago

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Marco’s Bauble Part 3 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Here’s part 3 of the Marco’s Bauble story, posted last month on Patreon!

Finally, an appearance from Marco himself ^ ^

Contains mention of Marco x Luffy.

Continues off of, and should be read after:

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 1

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 2

Namur takes great pride in being a fishman in the Whitebeard Pirates.

Fishmen and merfolk are usually usually reluctant to join human-dominated organizations, and with good reason, given their long and painful history of suffering prejudice. And for those few who do feel the call of pirating, joining Jinbe and the Sun Pirates to be among their own kind is a natural and comfortable choice.

Jinbe's a good friend, and Namur has nothing but the highest respect for him and Aladine, but he's already chosen who to follow.

Pops, who stood up and protected Fishman island with just one word. Pops, who lets them keep his flag on the island without any tribute, which not even the world government would allow. Pops, who personally brings the wrath of colossal waves and quaking earth every time humans try to bring trouble to the undersea oasis.

Namur knew that he'd be alone among humans, but he trusts Pops, and trusts those who follow him and protect his home alongside him. And given everything he's done for Fishman Island, Namur feels it only fitting that fishmen be represented on the crew.

And so Namur became the first Fishman to join the Whitebeard pirates, but he wasn't the last. By the time Namur had been raised to the rank of 8th Division Commander, a handful of others had joined, along with a number of other people from various tribes considered not quite fully human. Some minks, some longarms, even one guy from a sky island.

In a crew as massive as theirs, diversity isn't surprising, and Pops has ensured they've never been alienated. Even so, the 8th Division became a natural gathering spot for those seeking others who are also a little different, and Namur's damn proud of his versatile, unique division that can handle missions that no other group can.

Namur's happiest aboard the Moby, and it's his one true home now. But at the same time, after spending so much time away from Fishman island, he sometimes misses his birth homeland and culture.

Which is why it feels like reverse culture shock when something familiar appears in front of him with no warning.

Like right now. On Marco's desk.

"Uh," Namur says eloquently, reports in his hand forgotten, eyes glued to the Thing that Marco's now wrapping in what looks like a letter, written in Marco's unmistakable elegant cursive.

"Sorry, I'll be done in a second, yoi," Marco says, and Namur freezes, realizing he must have intruded on possibly a very private moment--except Marco doesn't seem particularly bothered.

Well, even if Marco doesn't mind, Namur still feels awkward, and forces himself to avoid looking at the now-wrapped Thing. He really feels like he just saw something he shouldn't have. Had he knocked before coming in? He thought he had. He thought Marco had told him to come in, but now he's not so sure, because dropping by Marco's office to hand in reports is so habitual. Namur begins to sweat.

"Alright, what is it?"

Marco turns around, and he's wearing those glasses he always wears when he has to pour over documents for hours, that somehow make the legendary Phoenix look less like a terrifying warrior and more like an exhausted secretary. He's wearing his usual open shirt, Pops's mark proudly emblazoned on his chest, and his head still looks like a tropical fruit, and his face still looks kinda stoned. So, the usual Marco. Nothing amiss.

But maybe he's just hiding it. Humans can be so hard to read at times, and Marco wears his poker face better than most. Even though Namur's been his crew mate for roughly twenty years now, he still can't really see through it. Namur fidgets, palms feeling slick.

"Reports from the Eighth's last mission?" Marco prompts, and Namur flinches because oh, he'd been staring.

"Uh, yeah," he forces out, and raises his arm mechanically to pass over the bundle of documents he'd spent the entire morning writing up.

He notices that Marco uses his right hand to take it. He's heard that sometimes, humans wear the equivalent of the Thing on their left hand, and Namur realizes he hasn't seen (or perhaps just hasn't noticed) Marco's left hand in a while. He wonders if Marco's actually hiding it, and sneakily tries to peek at Marco's left side.

Apparently not sneakily enough, because Marco's sharp eyes flick to his side to try to catch what he must have thought Namur was trying to see, and Namur hastily straightens.

They stare at each other and the silence stretches awkwardly, and oh, Namur can tell this one, Marco looks very Confused. It comes off as sorta constipated, but Namur knows Marco well enough recognize the emotion on his questionably human face, and immediately feels bad. He didn't mean to act suspiciously, or snoop in Marco's personal life, but...he's so unbearably curious.

Namur supposes honesty is better.

"Marco," he tries to choose his words carefully, "that, on your desk..." Namur makes a vague jerky motion at the Thing.

"Oh, this?" Marco plucks up the little bundle that's now tied off with twine. "I was just going to send it off to Thatch."

Namur chokes on his own spit.

"You're, Th-Thatch?" Namur wheezes. "You're giving...to him?!"

Namur feels like he's just been sucked into a whirlpool, his world's suddenly tilting in every direction all at once. He doesn't have a problem with them being, y'know! Of course not! He supports his friends! It's just, well, he's surprised, because he'd never even suspected these particular brothers were anything but close friends, because it's Marco and Thatch, and he's been living with them for twenty years and--oh no, did everyone other than Namur actually know all along, is this Human Stuff again--

"Oh, no," Marco says with a soft laugh. "This isn't for him, yoi. He's just delivering it for me. It's for Ace's little brother."

Namur heaves out a huge sigh of relief. It's not Thatch. Oh thank goodness. Not that he doesn't think that Marco and Thatch wouldn't be great together. But. He's glad it wasn't just Namur misunderstanding...

Namur chokes on his own spit, again.

"Ace's little brother?" he tries hard not to shriek, and it comes out even tinier than expected, barely a whisper of a strangled sardine.

Marco frowns a bit at Namur's weird voice and offers him a bottle of fresh water from his side desk, which Namur shakily accepts. This is a lot to process.

"She's...ah, Ace said it's alright if Division Commanders know, but try not to spread this around too much. But she's a mermaid. I thought it'd be fitting," Marco says, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Ah," Namur nods, feeling numb. That does make a lot of sense, far more sense than giving That to Thatch at least.

A mermaid. Ace referring to his mermaid sister as "brother" also makes plenty of sense, given how vulnerable mermaids are in the world of pirates. In fact, it makes so much sense, and Namur wants to applaud Ace's discretion, he didn't seem the type to have that kind of tact and Namur's genuinely impressed, but his mind's also kind of overloaded right now.

"Although, Namur, since you're here..." Marco looks down at the parcel, dwarfed in his palm. "Do you think she'll like it? Or is it too bold, from someone she's never even met?"

It might be a trick of the light but...does Marco look, demure?

Namur's eyes bug out.

Holy shit. This is the real deal.

Namur's never known Marco to have a personal life or interest in anyone, the man's the definition of dedicating his life to the crew. But perhaps he was just being discreet, because surely everyone has a some soft spot or another, and Namur has just found Marco's.

And they've never even met?! They have a long distance relationship too. She's all the way in East Blue, and they correspond via letters and packages. All those oceans between them...

And on top of that, a mermaid and phoenix. She, bound in water, reaching up for the unattainable, while he, bound to the sky, doomed to drown if he touches her domain...like epic lovers torn apart by fate, just like the fairy tale of the fish princess and the bird, beloved by all fishmen and merfolk...

Namur feels his eyes sting a bit from the tragic romance of it all. But now Ace and Thatch have gone to retrieve her, and she'll be coming home to the Moby Dick soon. They'll be united. They'll get their happy ending.

Namur reigns in his overflowing emotions, remembering that he has an important task.

Do you think she'll like it? Or is it too bold?

Marco has consulted in Namur, his closest friend, his fishman expert confidant. This is his time to shine, his chance to give back a little for all the kindness and support Marco's shown him all these years. And Namur will not disappoint.

Namur composes himself, and then takes his reports back from Marco's hand, letting them go because they're suddenly utterly unimportant in light of Marco's blossoming future. He then grasps the now-empty hand, so warm and human, with both of his webbed ones. Marco's eyes widen in alarm as the papers flutter all around them, but Namur ignores them.

"Marco, I promise you, she'll love it," Namur pours every ounce of sincerity he has into his words, and feels his eyes begin to water again from the weight of it all. "I just want to say, I'm super happy for you, brother, and you can come to me for anything."

Marco stares at Namur, and Namur wills him to understand the depth of Namur's dedication to helping his dreams come true.

"...Right. Thanks, yoi?"

Namur doesn't see Marco's eyebrows climb up into his little mop of hair, doesn't notice him try and fail to extract his hand, doesn't notice him looking completely and utterly lost.

Because Namur's so overwhelmed. They grow up so fast! His friend's taking his next big step in life! And Namur gets to see it through! Being alive is incredible!

Namur leaves eventually, and Marco stares blankly after him, hand still cramped from being death-gripped by the fishman for who knows how long.

He has no idea what just happened.

He then looks at the reports that are now scattered across his entire office.

"...He could have at least picked them up, yoi..."

Namur is this guy here.

While he's a canon chara, he's also bg, and like most of Whitebeard's crew other than a core handful, we know very little about him and his personality and backstory is entirely me making it up ^ ^;

Next up in Marco's Bauble #04:

Namur values his crew's privacy. And given that he doubts he was even supposed to see Marco's secret, he absolutely can't disclose it to anyone.

Which is why he's snuck into Izo's room at ass o'clock in the morning, when everyone but the morning shift is asleep, but Izo's awake because he takes a few hours doing his hair and makeup.

Anyway, if you got through to the end, thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

As always, comments/reblogs/tags always immensely appreciated!!! <3 People sharing their thoughts with me motivates me to write so much more, and update more frequently, so thank you so much for everyone who’s so kindly done so in the past!! ;A;

(and if anyone wants an early look, the next parts are already up on my Patreon ;D)

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Read the next part: Marco’s Bauble, Part 4

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

#OnePieceMermaidAU #One Piece Mermaid AU #Marco the Phoenix #Namur #Whitebeard Pirates #MarLu #longpost #long post #text headcanons #fic

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