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numbaoneflaya · 3 years ago

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8, 21, 22, 26 for Caz , 25, 27, 29, 39 for Felria, 23, 30, 40, 43 for Suds, and 21, 25, 26, 35 for Nirn? 👀👀

HERE THEY ARE IM SJORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG GDSHEDG...

Caz

8. How does your character feel about religion?

Not a big fan! Hates the chantry and Andraste and the Maker and the Qun. Being raised in the circle run by templars and nuns and seeing the corruption of the church firsthand from the inside really left a bad taste in her mouth for organized religion.

21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate?

She has the ability to flip her manners on or off depending on who shes with. If shes comfortable then shes going to be more crass and impolite, but shes capable of really cleaning up her act and pretending to be professional if she needs to be. Her type of hero is anyone who goes against the status quo and disrupts systems of oppression- She considers Thurwen/the HOF and Hawke personal heroes (if Hawke sides with the mages) as well as Anders. Has read all of Anders manifestos and reports on Thurwen and Hawke and would geek tf out meeting them.

22. Who are their friends? Lovers? ‘Type’ or ‘ideal’ partner?

Friends are anyone who accepts her for who she is and doesnt snitch on her, people she can trust to do the right thing or atleast try to, and people she can have a good laugh with. Lovers are only a couple in the past as she needs to get to know someone well/find them interesting to want to sleep with them. Her type is large, charismatic and rugged. Anyone who looks like a good brat tamer but is also intelligent and keen. Iron Bull.

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

Everything is covered in tomes and journals but theres a method to the madness. She likes to keep her things organized, surprisingly. She likes cool colors like greens and blues, likes dressing comfortably. Oversized shawls that second as blankets and loose pants. Her hair she likes to keep down with the sides pulled into little braids in front of her ears.

Felria

25. What are their hobbies and interests?

People watching and painting! She knows how to blend into a crowd pretty well or how to find a hidden vantage point where she can just sit and watch people… for hours. She finds peoples behaviors/reactions fascinating and makes little journals of interesting things she sees. Finding how other people work differently than her is vital to figuring out how best to manipulate and control them and she loves learning new ways! And painting because she has an artist's eye and enjoys beautiful things. A few bottles of blood and a quiet evening in front of an easel is a great way for her to unwind.

27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality?

She relates her appearance with how easily she will be able to blend in or stand out of her surroundings, and how to dress in order to play the role she wants to play. Because of her line or work (professional assassin and information gatherer) she has to have a lot of costumes available to fit the personalities she plays. Shes a performer at heart but only for herself and the joy she gets in deception. Her own style, if shes not performing, is simple reds and blacks and silvers. She keeps her hair long so shes able to do more with it.

29. What is your character’s weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling?

Her pride could definitely be her downfall as well as her curiosity. She believes shes just better and different than everybody else and that its her right to play with people as much as she wants, I can see her eventually trying to play with the wrong person. She believes she can get out of any situation by herself without help and that she deserves the finer things in life, and if someone gets in her way, they deserve whatever harm befalls them.

39. What do they like to ridicule? What do they find stupid?

She will really ridicule anything and anyone because she finds most things stupid or benign. She likes to ridicule any of the gods and aedra, and anyone who worships them. She ridicules mortals and werewolves and any other creature that's not a vampire.

Suds

23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex?

Back in his youth he wanted spontaneous fun, a charming and outspoken person to sweep him off his feet. He always wanted someone to take him on adventures and be dangerous and in the moment. Now? Poor guy just wants commitment and someone genuine. Hes tired of charismatic liars who he always seems to fall for. He wants someone to help tend his garden and bond with the bees. He feels that sex is a sacred thing to be shared with people you trust, not something thrown around haphazardly. Relationship and trust come first with him, and he casually waves any flirtation most of the time as if he hadn't noticed it. He's been hurt too many times to trust easily like that.

30. Are they holding on to something in the past? Can he or she forgive?

Yeah hes holding onto a long ass past full of betrayal from the people hes held dearest to him :/ He by nature is a very forgiving person and believes one must be generous in forgiveness. Hes holding onto his past hurt from Felix and cant seem to get away from it- hes forgiven him many times and each time Felix just does the same things as before.

40. How is their sense of humor? Do they have one?

A little dual natured in this aspect. Generally pretty reserved and soft with other people and can seem serious to those who dont know him. Underneath that is his reputation as a trickster- fond of pranks and revelry. The little twinkle in his eye is the only thing that would give him away as the culprit when everyone is looking for who filled a bucket of mud over Nirns chamber door. His favorite kind of jokes are the really long ones, the ones that have a seemingly normal storyline and go on forever and then end in a way where the joke is really on the person listening. And everyone around goes “AAAUUGHH!”

43. Does your character have any secrets? If so, are they holding them back?

A lot of them! Hes a very good secret keeper as hes who many people go to with their problems. After being alive so long and being somewhat involved with politics he probably knows more than a few that could take down nations, and always seems to know whats going on wherever in the world. He has his connections, his mushrooms and his bees and such have eyes everywhere. And don't tell anyone but he is an ardent fan of juicy gossip.

Nirn

21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate?

Impeccable manners. The posture of a God, obviously. Always eloquent and polite, knows which spoons to use for certain dishes and common diplomacy practice from all over the world. Nirn has no heroes, hes never held anyone to a pedestal or been one for hero worship. If he had to choose hed say his mother, for how graceful yet ruthless she was in politics and trade. He also does not hate anybody, he considers strong feelings a weakness and to harbor such resentment would only make him act rashly. He dislikes the slovenly, though. Not the common man but the drunken aristocrat with wine breath who gambles his savings and acts impolitely.

25. What are their hobbies and interests?

Chess and games of strategy are some of his favorites in the odd chance he has any free time. He also plays the violin and the harp and the lute, instruments he's known since he was taught them as a child. Wine tasting as well! Hes one of those mfs who can just sniff a certain drink and say with precision the date time and location it was made.

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

Everything is refined and elegant with a certain air of someone who enjoys the arts. Many expensive paintings and sculptures on display. He prefers the colors red and gold and white, sometimes a darkish blue or purple. He is always dressed to impress, satin and velvet and exotic leathers. He keeps his hair long to the small of his back, or tied up in a bun. In appearance hes intimidatingly tall and knows how to stand to look even taller, does not tilt his head down to you but moreso stares down his nose.

35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures?

Failure is only a means to greater success to him. To win a game sometimes you need to sacrifice a few pawns, etc. Takes them calmly and with little indication that hes upset at all. He usually has four or five backup plans for any endeavor, so hes able to quickly jump tactics if something isn't working. In game or battle hes typically a good sport at losing, though he very seldom does. Hed be more impressed that someone managed to make him fail, and get to thinking on how to get them in his employ.

#caz #riley #nirn #suds #basically two babis and two asshols #thank u beloved i missed my babs....#my ocs

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warriorsredux · 4 years ago

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Do you still have the raw scraps, the scribbled notes, the heap of text documents, the outlines, the early drafts, the character/setting/narrative/whatever sketches you made when planning the Redux? If you do, can we have a look at them? I wanna see how Master Dullard does it.

Regrettably, all of that is on my old computer, and that bastard is not inclined to charge to let me get a hold of that stuff again. There are a couple sketches in an old sketchbook, but I have no idea which one (I have many old ones hurriedly shoved into a drawer so I can pretend they don’t exist). I faintly remember some things, and I’ll throw them here:

There were SO MANY documents trying to keep track of everyone’s personalities and roles in the story. Somehow I knew which ones were which. This is remarkable solely because I did not name a single document anything useful.

Seriously, all the documents were random keysmashes, jokes, single words or lyrics, none of which had anything to do with their content. I always do this. I don’t know why. It’s not helpful.

There were also documents dedicated solely to quotes and snippets of writing I wanted to eventually use in the story. Bluestar snapping at Darkstripe was written and rewritten several times because I wanted to get it just right, but it was in my head since the very first arc. Other ones were the first impressions of Scourge (noting his strange, jerky way of moving and unsettling stare among other things), several jokes and bits of banter between characters, and so on. I like to write down dialog when I have it in my head so I can perfect it over time. As a result, when the time comes to post it in the actual story, it’s as good as it can be.

One bit of dialog that never got in that I did want to use was something along the lines of “We- we are bound by StarClan to-” “Damn all of StarClan”. This was meant to be with Fireheart and Bluestar, and was inspired by a near identical exchange in Vattu (which you all should read, by the way). I liked the idea of peppering in swears where effective, but I never really went down that road. Which I feel like I should have done? Oh well. Don’t matter now!

I had a sprite sheet of pixelated cats with the names of ThunderClan’s members. This was my initial way of trying to keep track of the bloodlines - the sprites would be connected to each other with lines. It was theoretically easier, but it just got overwhelming, so eventually I just used the sprites for my own reference of color. I did eventually get help with the familial ties, which... thank fucking God for that. Jesus. Those who helped me with genetics, colors and families, you are godsends. You know who you are.

One look through a random plot document would make it very clear that I have a very loose concept of “sticking to the script”. That is, I would write down how something happens, leave it, rewrite it because I forgot that version existed, combine the two or edit them haphazardly, then expand way over what I needed during the actual process of storytelling. For example, say a conversation was supposed to happen that would give plot relevant news, then we would move on to another event. I would end up writing that conversation with so many sidetracks and banter for the sake of it (casual banter is one of my favorite things within a narrative - it’s largely why I love ROTTMNT and Pulp Fiction so much) that the conversation would take over half of the chapter. This happened on so many occasions I cannot possibly list them all. You might as well count every single chapter I ever wrote for this fucking thing!

A lot of the worldbuilding given in response to asks was made up almost entirely on the spot. I had the answers in my head without my knowledge - they’d just come to me naturally when questioned, even though I hadn’t considered that part of the world - but that doesn’t detract from the fact that I was improvising quite a bit with a lot of the Redux. A lot. Most of it was improv. Is that apparent on a lookback?

That’s another thing - I didn’t write down a lot of the worldbuilding. Appearances, cultures, funerals, language stuff, a lot of it I developed it as I wrote the Amendment posts. I had vague ideas and notes in my sketchbook, but the specifics were made as I typed on the keyboard. That’s kind of how I roll with worldbuilding. It’s not a good idea. I’m amazed I didn’t contradict myself too hardcore in this universe.

That’s all I can think of for now. If you have specific questions, it might dredge up the memories and I can give a proper response, haha!

#Anonymous #ask #i speak #readmore #let it be known that i am a mess of a writer #always have been #maybe one day ill be more organized and properly sticking to my script #but #you know #this is more fun #so

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insfiringyou · 4 years ago

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BTS - Home Again (J-Hope x Nana)

Hoseok and Nana spend an evening together following his discharge from the military, reflecting on the events a week prior at a group dinner and on their love for one another.

This fic is set about a week later after ‘A Reunion’, where Jeong-Sun (Suga’s girlfriend) is introduced to the whole group for the first time. There are mentions of events relevant to the fic that may not make sense if you haven’t read it. Mentions also of Young-Soon, Min-Seo and Jeong-Sun within.

Contains: Fluff and brief mentions of sex.

You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook & our full masterlist can be found here

Content below the cut

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Hoseok turned the key and silenced the engine. Despite her insistence that she would only be a few minutes, it had been several, and he wondered what kind of errand his girlfriend had suddenly had to do in this part of town. He had thought at first that she had mixed up her class’ assignments, before remembering that her bag was sat in the backseat and had been noticeably lighter than usual. She had asked him to come up to the third floor without explanation; his worry vanishing at once when Nana’s distinct, squeaky laugh echoed from down the hall along with one that was soft and familiar.

“Hi, Hoseok.” Young-Soon regarded him warmly as he approached, her bare face glowing with amusement. Her dark hair was tied in a messy braid over one shoulder, and she clutched her loose cardigan to her waist. She had clearly been enjoying a day off, looking vastly more comfortable in her casual home attire than she had a week earlier at the restaurant. The chemical smell of lemon cleaning products drifted from the open door of her apartment.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you lived here! Wow, there’s a lot of stairs.”

“I’m sorry, the elevator is usually out of order…” She smiled, eyes flickering mischievously back to the taller woman.

“She was just telling me about how they caught some teenagers jamming the doors yesterday.” Nana grinned, squeezing her boyfriend’s fingers as they curled automatically around her own.

“Yeah. Apparently it’s a hot make-out spot.” She smirked. “I could hear the boy’s mother yelling at him from across the building when the engineer finally managed to open them. I don’t think she approves of his girlfriend very much.”

“Kids always find a way around their parent’s rules…” Nana sighed knowingly. ��It’s usually better to just let them lose interest on their own.”

“Much less fun that way, though.” Young-soon grinned, and Nana giggled in response. Hoseok smiled, a little nonplussed, at the two. The conversation had clearly lost him, though it was apparent now why she had been taking so long.

“Anyway, I have them here …are you sure you can manage?”

She nodded in response, her auburn curls springing forward as she reached for the smaller of the two boxes, resting it against her hip. “Can you take the other one?”

“What is it?” Hoseok eyed it with suspicion, the weight surprising him as he picked it up. “Where’s JK?” He asked, with a raised eyebrow.

“He pulled a muscle. He’s sleeping it off.”

“How did he do that?”

She apparently didn’t hear, but met the other woman’s eyes with an impish look that said otherwise. A pink blush had crept up on her cheeks; Nana returned her shy smile, hoping that she hadn’t been a nuisance in dropping by unannounced.

She pressed on. “Are you sure you don’t want anything for them? I feel kind of bad just taking them without paying you.”

“I’ve been trying to get rid of them for ages.” Young-soon answered dismissively, toying with the end of her braid. “There’s only so many times you can give your friends a candle for their birthday or Christmas before it becomes embarrassing.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it. We’re going to head off now.”

“Bye Young-Soon! Take care of Jungkook.”

“Of course. See you later.”

“Please be careful,” Nana pleaded, shutting the front door awkwardly behind herself. There was a soft tinkle as she dropped her keys into the dish on the console table beside her.

“I’m trying.” He steadied himself, edging a little more cautiously through the narrow hall, having almost tripped over an umbrella. She nudged it aside with her foot, knowing he was likely to trip over it again later. He had to duck to avoid the overhanging leaves above his head. “Your tree got so big.”

“It’s a Yucca. I’ve been meaning to trim him down a little bit but it seems a shame. He’s got beautiful leaves.”

“It’s a he?” Hoseok asked with amusement as he edged into the kitchen and set the box with a relieved sigh on the nearest, slightly rickety chair.

“Don’t worry. You don’t need to be jealous.”

Nana set her own box down and opened it up, searching through the meticulously bubble wrapped contents, extricating a large glass jar filled with pink fragrant wax. She uncapped the lid with a satisfying pop, inhaling the sweet scent of peony. Hoseok frowned slightly in bemusement; he wondered whether the recent stormy weather had been causing power cuts in her neighbourhood too. “What are you going to do with these?”

“Plant them.” Nana replied dryly, capping it once again. “There should be some space under the sink.”

“Are you sure? It seems full to me.”

“I’ve been meaning to make some jam…” She muttered in weak explanation, eyeing the open cabinet.

“There’s enough jars here for the entire of Seoul.” He teased, lips curling with incredulity.

“Don’t exaggerate Hobi, it’s not that many.” She said softly, getting to her knees as she started to rearrange the haphazardly stacked glass. Hoseok leant back against the table, equally impressed and surprised that she had somehow been able to fit the contents of the smaller box in the space. It seemed she had admitted defeat on the larger, pushing the chair more snugly against the table.

“Maybe I should make some for Young-Soon, since she gave me all these.” Nana mused,tucking her hair back behind her ears. It’d been years since she’d made jam, but she thought she could remember how. Her father had a habit of buying too much fruit from the market back in Gwangju, which they’d have to find creative ways to use. “And maybe Min-Seo might like some…she mentioned she’s been craving sweet things.”

“I think she’d like that. I just can’t believe they’re going to be parents.”

“Me neither. I can tell they’ll be great though. ”The younger woman had looked both overjoyed and embarrassed following the announcement shortly after dessert. Her voice had wavered slightly as she looked to her husband, Jin’s own expression soft with pride as he finished the sentence she had been struggling to say. Nana had hugged them both as they left for their taxi, Min-Seo thanking her with a shy, but delighted smile as she drew away from the sharp edge of her collar bone.

She flicked on the kettle, selecting a few empty marmalade jars as she began to stack them on the side. “I thought so ever since their wedding.”

Hoseok’s eyes followed her lovingly as she moved about, searching for a clean tea towel. “Did you like Jeong-Sun?”

“She seems really nice. It’s good to see Yoongi with someone.” Nana smiled, pouring boiling water in each jar before drying them thoroughly and laying them upside down on the draining board. The couple had visited the older member’s apartment a few times together prior to his enlistment, and it had always struck her how eerily empty and un-lived in it had felt. Bachelor life hadn’t seemed to suit Yoongi, and she hoped sincerely that he was happier now. “Do you think I should make some for her too?”

Hoseok cocked his head. “Will there be enough?”

“As long as it doesn’t burn.” She confirmed, eyeing up the various cartons of purple and scarlet berries in the fridge. “I only have enough fruit and sugar for four at most…”

“Can I help you make it?” Her boyfriend was already hovering closely behind her as she chopped up strawberries and plopped them into the pan. She twisted the hob to a low temperature, handing him a wooden spoon, caressing his hand deliberately as she did so.

“You can stir, if you like.”

Hoseok was attentive as the concoction reduced slowly to a lumpy, burgundy pool, allowing Nana to edge around him to find ribbon and attach labels. Her heart swelled unexpectedly in the comfortable silence between them, wondering what kind of good deed she had committed in her past life to have found him. The past week since his discharge had been a blur of overslept alarms, tangled curls and forgotten suppers. It’d all passed in a frantic haze, and she couldn’t help but appreciate the simple happiness she felt now in just knowing he was close by.

Tenderly, she snaked her arms around him, resting her cheek into the crook of his neck as he stirred. His cologne reminded her of lemongrass and potted herbs after the rain, his body slender and long to match her own. He shifted against her, his lips tugging into a smile as he reciprocated, pressing his cheek against hers. The absence of his hair tickling her skin still felt strange.

“I really missed having you around, Hoseok.” Nana whispered quietly, her voice tinged with emotion. He gently entwined his fingers around her own with his free hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“It was really hard…” he admitted, and she knew that he too was thinking about how much he had missed her. Their moments of bliss when he was able to visit had always seemed far too brief. Already short, they had been cut even shorter by her commitments at work, leaving a sunken, aching feeling in her chest whenever he had to leave.

“I realised how much I love you. “ She continued. “And that I want to be with you for as long as I can.”

His eyes found hers, and she wasn’t surprised to see them wet at the corners. “Me too, Nana.”

They both turned into each other, their lips coming together. He sank into her touch as she ran a hand to his shoulder and lovingly brushed the prickly patch of hair behind his ear. His breath was warm and inviting, their kiss unbroken as both hands grasped desperately at her waist. The forgotten jam bubbled slowly, and Nana felt for the knob on the stove, awkwardly twisting it as the sickly sweet smell of it boiled up.

“Oh, shit..” Hoseok whispered, remembering the saucepan as he pulled back slightly, giving it a token stir once more.

She grinned, her face hot as she moved it to the back burner. “I think it’s done, anyway.”

“Phew.” He exhaled in obvious relief. He pulled her close once again, their hips pressed together, and she could feel that he was already hard beneath his sweatpants.

“Hoseok...” Nana breathed. “Take me to bed.”

***

Thank you for reading. To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook

& Our full masterlist can be found here

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heksesang · 5 years ago

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Dolly pt. 2

Brahms knew what he had done in his excitement, he had watched the way you eyes fluttered and rolled back, body going rigid before limp; he didn’t mean for you to blackout but he got too far ahead of himself, mummy always used to tell him off for doing that. He remembers the night that he watched you and some nameless person fool around,you had gone out into the village and ended up meeting someone. He watched that night as you moaned while they brought you to edge but what caught his attention the most were the hands clamped around your neck, the way you seemed high off it. He wanted to try it. He did. It wasn’t the same. You didn’t seem to enjoy when he did it.

He wasn’t sure exactly how long he had before you would regain consciousness but he knew he needed to move fast,get everything he needed. He hauled you over his shoulder,making his to the bathroom.

Snapping your eyes open it felt like someone had drilled a hole in your skull. It took a few seconds to focus enough to see, or rather feel, what was going on. Your shirt was haphazardly being pulled off over your head and from the way the chilled tiles was hitting your legs it seemed as though your bottoms had already been removed. Screamrunhidehitbite said that little voice in the back of your head as you tried to gain your composure, you knew that you had to be level headed about this.

The shirt was finally pulled off and you could see, coming face to chest with Brahms. With the adrenaline fuelled hysteria now gone you could make out a lot more, he was wearing a vest top that looked dirty and well worn, some sort of cardigan that looked just as worn as the vest but it still looked soft. You could hear him mumbling to himself but with the mask it was hard to fully make out what he was saying under his breath. Looking around carefully you could tell you were on the floor in one of the bathrooms, items were haphazardly strewn about the bathroom. You finally caught his eye and the panic began to weasel its way back but you concentrated on staying collected, meeting his gaze “Brahms, you’ve had your fun, time to stop” You tried to make yourself sound firm and as if you weren’t ready to cry at any given second but it sounded more desperate, voice cracking with the soreness of your throat. He seemed taken aback,jumping a bit, as if he wasn’t expecting you to talk but his surprise was quickly replaced with something more mischievous as his hands made their way to your face, cupping your cheeks.

“ You’re not in charge here, you’re just a doll” He was mocking you.

It was a week ago when you had finally had enough of all the unexplainable things going on in the house, you may have over-reacted when you found your cup of tea in the pantry after you had set it down in the study. You had shouted, at nothing in particular, how sick you were of everything and then turned your attention to the ever present doll, letting a tirade of swears and anger out. Now here you were, being mocked with the very same words you had used against said doll.

“Fuck you!”

Brahms didn’t seem to like that. The way his shoulder hunched up and his whole posture seemed to tighten indicated that maybe letting your anger get the best of you wasn’t the smarter idea considering the situation you were in. “Brahms-“ You has to be cautious, Brahms was a large man, he could easily kill you with his bare hands. “- I’m sorry for swearing, but you just scared me Brahms. If you let me go now we can start over, I’ll make some dinner and we can talk about this; you can say whatever you want to and I’ll listen but this isn’t right!”

If Brahms was taking anything you were saying on board he didn’t show it, instead getting up and walking over to the small bathtub, pulling something out.

“I found this pretty dress for you, y/n, silly dolls like you have to wear pretty dresses”

Were this a different situation than the current one the dress would have been stunning. Sheer cream materiel accented by lace at the chest and sleeves,a peachy coloured ribbon tied loosely around the limp waist. Were this any other situation it would be sweet; romantic even, but this wasn’t a different situation.

Brahms layed the dress down on the counter top before pulling you up. You felt limp, allowing Brahms to clumsily pull the dress down over your head, excited hands shakily smoothing the skirt down over your thighs before tying the ribbon securely around your waist, hands lingering longer than you liked.

“There, all dressed up. Maybe when you aren’t acting like such an entitled harlot you will be allowed to dress yourself but until then I’ll make sure you’re dressed nicely”.

The words stung, you felt stupid, leaning on a counter in an ornate bathroom in a dress fit for a model all while you knew you must look a wreck,bird nest hair and what felt like a bruised throat; a grown man in a dolls porcelain mask and dirty clothes fawning over you. You let yourself be posed into a sitting position on top of the toilet lid, Brahms hands coming up to your face and holding it before you could move away.

“I found some of mummy’s old makeup, I thought we could play dress up”.His head nodded excitedly along with his words, as if he wasn’t actually speaking to you, rather speaking to himself about you.

One hand held your face still while the other rummaged around the items scattered on the floor before picking up what looked like mascara. The wand looked small in Brahms hand, you kept your eyes on it, you knew it was silly but it could still poke you in the eye if he messed up and you didn’t need your vision to be lacking right now. “Eyes closed” it was a barely a whisper. You knew closing your eyes would mean being even more vulnerable but on the other hand refusing Brahms could lead to violence, it seemed a lose-lose situation. You decided the obeying would be the best of the bad choices, closing your eyes and feeling the messy application of the mascara. You could hear the sound of the mascara tube hitting the bathroom tiles before thumbs were wiping under your eyes in what felt like an attempt to clean up the mess.

“Eyes open” You complied. Next was a tube of lipstick, his hand once again held the side your face still as he wiped the lipstick over your cheeks lightly before rubbing it in. Brahms hand slipped to grip your chin, angling it to swipe the lipstick onto your lips. “There we go, so pretty” His pointer and middle fingers rubbed along your lower lip, prodding lightly before dipping into your mouth and tracing along your lower teeth. You held your self back from biting down as a second finger joined and pressed down on your tongue before finally retreating, wiping the remnants of spit on your cheek.

You were swept up, carried like a bride down halls and staircases until you reached the day room, sat on a seat and pushed in as if you weren’t capable of it yourself.

It had to be some sort of fever dream, you felt, saw, smelt, tasted everything that was happening but you had decided that this wasn’t actually occurring. Maybe there was a gas leak and you were actually asleep in your bed, this was all a hallucination. What ever this was a sharp slap snapped you out of your thoughts, hard enough to make your head roll to the side. At some point of your zoning out Brahms had taken his mask off, you could see it discarded on the table in front of you. He was a handsome man no doubt, rugged scars littering the right side of his face, discolouring his eye.

“Are you listening? I’m talking to you and you don’t even have the manners to answer me” He was like a petulant child. “ I asked you if you wanted sugar and you just sit there, like an idiot, answer me!” You took a second to look at the table, there was a tea set that looks like it came straight from a period drama, sugar in a small bowl.

“Sorry Brahms I was just just thinking about how nice this dress is,yes please” It seemed to placate him, watching as he added a teaspoon of sugar into the dainty looking cup in front of you.

Survival, that’s what this was, going along with what he said so that you would still be alive by tomorrow morning. The police shows always told you to go along with what the captor said, keep them happy so that’s what you planned, keep him happy, keep yourself alive.

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I am so sorry this took so long to put out but I had to basically rewrite it and then I had so much coursework. I hope it’s okay though, I proof read it but if I’ve missed any spelling mistakes or anything just tell me.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN 👹🔪🕸🕷💉🎃

#brahms heelshire #the boy (2016)#slasher #brahms heelshire x reader

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bouvillea · 5 years ago

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a dense G24 Part 2 Essay

Here is my Part 1 Essay. Like before, I would like to talk about some parts of G24 Part 2 that I found interesting first. Feel free to skip ahead to around the fourth paragraph my discussion of the plot. Spoilers ahead.

The atmosphere is very similar to G20. I don't know about how others felt when they played through G20, but the uncertainty about who you could trust (Talvish...) was emphasized to the point where I, the player, couldn't make a sound decision either. G24 Part 2 revolved a lot around the fact that the Milletian and those that help the Milletian couldn't parse why and what was happening in Erinn. There was just a constant stream of dread and bitterness and an uncertainty about the Milletian themselves; the replies we were allowed to choose reflects that. Is the Milletian really good for the sake of Erinn's future? More on this later.

Part 2 opens with Hunter being, for once, very vulnerable to the Aces and the Milletian. He reveals to us his nightmares about his past and Fodla's past. We continue to see these bonding moments between the Aces, the Expeditionary Force, and the Milletian.* Starlet plays a bigger role now as a counterpoint to Fodla. One moves minds and hearts with persuasion and charisma, the other directly manipulates memories and emotions. The Aces clearly serve as the opposing undercurrent to Vayne's prediction at the end of Part 1. The Milletian will always have friends and supporters that cherishes them. Whether or not that is enough to stop the Milletian from spiraling into angst is another story.

*The Milletian really needs some after care...no one asks how the Milletian is feeling after all of this...

Ultimately, a lot of loose ends and story plots were tied up in Part 2, most of them very bittersweet and only vaguely hopeful at best. These back stories served to make us sympathize with the antagonists and make their motives understandable.

For that reason, I cannot come to hate Fodla. She had a very contrived method of protecting Hunter--her little brother. In a pact she made with Hymerark, Hunter's memories of her and his past were mostly sealed away. To make up for the fact that her little sister, Eriu, was sacrificed and succumbed to the curse, Fodla took in Deirbhile. She was a substitute that Fodla loved, but even in her last moments, Fodla wanted her real sibling. Deirbhile is truly a tragic character. She is a personality made and shaped by Fodla. Whoever she was before is probably buried deep in the recesses of her mind. Judging by the last scenes, Deirbhile cannot exist or function normally without Fodla.

Speaking of which, did Deirbhile make an oath with Hymerark, too? What for? We won't know unless we knew who she was before she met Fodla...

Thanks to Merlin, we now know that a Geas is a pact with a god, a pact that cannot be broken easily. If, in Part 1, the Milletian seeks out Vayne in Bangor and speaks to him wearing one of the Geas armors, he speaks about the dangers of being bound under a Geas: "You become bathed in the absolute authority of his will, which grants tremendous gifts and metes out terrible punishments".* Going against the orders of Hymerark will invoke a punishment. And so Vayne insinuates that he still needs to pay for abandoning his duties on the first night to hang out with the Milletian, and the Incubus King does his best to subvert the Geas in order to help.

*Thank you to Mita on twitter for supplying me with the extra dialogue I missed.

Speaking of which, the Incubus King really went full on angst and drama when he had to separate from his wife and Eiren, huh? He gave away his powers, haphazardly made a deal with Hymerark so he could have a dark, gloomy sarcophagus to dream about his time with his wife and child. Even Eiren made an off-handed remark about how lame it all was. It feels like the developers and writers realized that his motivations were very tropey so they decided to make fun of it. And then Eiren followed up with "he sort of...melted away into the darkness like summer snow". Oh. Okay. Goodbye, papa.

I'm going to continue off-tangent here and talk about Manannan, too. He comes back, all salty that the Milletian is busting into his temple uninvited (he does say another uninvited visitor, so was there someone before the Milletian?). But Manannan is so Cat Mom to the Far Darrigs that he can't maintain his pompous god-like demeanor in front of them and the Milletian. He can't bear to frighten the squishy Far Darrigs. It's nice to see that the Far Darrig's love and trust of Manannan isn't misplaced and is reciprocated. I don't think the Far Darrigs were there when Manannan met Scathach, so did he pick them up when he was heartbroken over her? Pure speculation, but that would be really something... Manannan tries to exit the conversation with the Milletian gracefully but then the Far Darrigs ruin it by letting us know that he's going to play with them. Hah. Glad to see his character getting fleshed out like this.

The Far Darrigs also "uwu" at me so there was that. Okay, back to critical analysis.

Human* greed and corruption is a repeating theme for the gods. Manannan said it in regards to the Fairy Queen's reason for leaving, and Vayne, a former Evil God, said the same to the Milletian during their fight. Even Morrighan and Talvish accused the Milletian of claiming powers out of greed and selfishness. The Milletian is a god-like being with human needs and motivations. They see the world in a much smaller frame than the gods do, but possess powers to rival the lowest gods. Make a mistake as a Milletian, and you might as well make a mistake for the whole world. And yet, the Milletian is not recognized as a deity by the gods, and not as a human by the mortals. They're an outsider.

*I will be using human synonymously for "mortal" since there are multiple races in Erinn

And being an outsider is a vexation for the Milletian brought to the front of the mind during this arc. They are always reminded that they are not one of them, that they are a special existence. Vayne's words wheedle into the mind every time they help someone out of kindness. Admiration will turn to fear, fear will turn to hate. The elves and giants forgetting the Milletian and blaming them, albeit artificially stimulated, was a taste of that. Fodla's nightmarish illusion also put the Milletian in the state of being a stranger. They stand at a distance, listening in on a conversation they aren't a part of. And when they are noticed, there is nothing they can do to deter the hate, or prevent the blood on their hands. The worst part was that the Milletian's friends do zero damage to them. It was a cruel, one-sided fight.

But maybe this is all a trial for the Milletian, too. To steel their heart and understand who are really their friends and what role they play in Erinn. Piran said that Hymerark's trials for the people of Erinn have gotten more out of hand since Hymerark recognized the Milletian's existence. Then, perhaps, the Milletian isn't an outsider anymore. The trials are meant to be completed with the Milletian's help accounted for. These trials will unify the people of Erinn against the Order of the Black Moon.

Which, when you think about it, is not very dissimilar to Talvish's idea to unify the people against a common cause. You'll also have to admit that Vayne's/Hymerark's plan is a lot better than Talvish's. Piran also mentioned that Aton Cimeni and Talvish both condone chaos, so it explains why Talvish hasn't popped out to help the Milletian yet, or to defend them from a very persistent Vayne. He tried helping a little in G22 and then again during G23 but it seems like he got told off and instead sent Merlin to protect Erinn and protect the Milletian. Talvish is definitely on the Milletian's side though, and is probably hoping that they stay true to themselves and continue to help others.

If the goal of Hymerark was to make the Milletian to feel as helpless as possible and then chase them out of Erinn, he wouldn't need to go through such lengths. He could simply pop the Milletian into the Soul Stream and get rid of them there. Cichol did it, I don't see why one of the Three Gods couldn't. Or perhaps Hymerark's original plan was to get rid of the Milletian, but Vayne's oath with him prevented that. Vayne would want trials for the Milletian to overcome so they would become strong enough to defeat him. On the same note, since the trials are getting more intense due to the Milletian (different, I would say, than the trials are happening because of the Milletian), is the Milletian really good for the future of Erinn? I imagine the turmoil the Milletian is going through has something to do with this. Would the trials have been easier if the Milletian wasn't there? Would less people have died and gotten hurt if they did not step into Erinn?

Very briefly, on Cethlenn and Marleid. I had an inkling for a while that they knew each other (thank you, KR Twitter) but due to circumstances, they had forgotten one another. Marleid took on his name, and Cethlenn isn't his real name. So...did he pick "Cethlenn" or did someone name him that? Or did he just switch names with "Marleid"? If Vayne named him Cethlenn...well then. That's the name of Mythological Figure Balor's wife so...writers what are you thinking? (Or, more likely, Fodla named him to change him and meeting his childhood friend with his old name was the biggest trigger to disrupt her abilities.)

Anyway, things aren't looking good for Cethlenn. Or Tani. Tani's last letter to the Milletian had Morse code that vaguely translated to "please letmeout".* Upsetting, especially now that it's implied that Hymerark will use her body to descend to the mortal world. I'm just waiting for Aton Cimeni to pop into the Milletian's body to tell everyone to stop it and shut up.

*Other interesting implications regarding how Milletians work. They can sleep, but do not dream. Nao remembers every Milletian and they can chose to leave whenever or never return.

After all that has happened in G24, I hope we can get some good closure. And I hope the Milletian gets a nice break.

#mabinogi #mabinogi g24 #mabinogi g24 part 2 #long post #bouvillea speaks #spoilers

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whispering-sumire755 · 6 years ago

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Tigerlily

Her mother hired her a driver and a bodyguard, though Laura didn't want it, said she'd be fine on her own, Talia didn't care, their family was in a precarious situation right now, and she'd be doing the same for Derek and the twins; Peter was only exempt because he was an adult who could take care of himself (and by that, Laura privately thought, what she meant to say was that Peter would totally emasculate and shred any ego and/or confidence the paparazzi/protesters had with his vicious words, if they were in public, and, if not, well. No one would miss them, he'd say, they must be vile people in their private lives to do such vile things in their public ones), and Philip because he was in Ireland with their father. Grouchy, Laura admitted defeat and accepted the burden of whomever her mother had hired, despite being two whole states away from the center of the chaos.

When she leaves her apartment, the first day she's being picked up by this person, she's taken utterly by surprise to see a buxom woman with honey-blonde hair in loose pig-tails tied up with big, sleek ribbons, a steampunk captain's hat atop her head, eyes like crushed nutmeg sprinkled with cigarette-ash flecks, wearing a white shirt and oil-slick black leather pants, her clothes clinging, like she chose them with the specific intention of showing off, standing in front of a pastel, antique Volkswagen beetle, looking for all the world expectant, bored, and vaguely amused in that same way Uncle Peter sometimes gets, like the whole world is a joke that only they're in on.

"You must be Laura," the woman- or, more accurately, girl, at least comparatively- says.

Laura laughs a little, nervous and slightly incredulous, "And you're my ride?"

Blondie flashes a grin, full-up of too many teeth, plumb-red tinted lips parting dangerously around too-sharp bone, an expression as seductive as it is terrifying. "That's right," she opens the backseat door and bows with a flourish, waving Laura inside the vehicle, "my name's Erica; our chariot tigerlily and I will be providing you all of your escorting and personal protection needs, as per your mother's- and therefore my paycheck's- request."

"Uh-mm," Laura laughs again, walking down the concrete steps and away from her apartment complex's entryway, stopping short when she gets to sidewalk proper, biting her lip and wringing her hands a little. Erica remains bowed, though she does turn her head to narrow her smokey eyes, the silken waterfall of her sunlight hair tangling with her neck, the black bow holding the pig-tail in place falling just under the girl's ear, contrasting the brilliant neon-chain piercings that decorate- nearly overwhelm- it. "Are you... old enough to be doing this?"

An explosive sigh as she rights herself, leans an elbow on top of the door and rests her cheek on her hand, its' opposite going to her hip with a half-resigned, half-sass sort of attitude. "Do you want to see my credentials? I've got about a dozen boxing medals, three belts, a nikyu rank in judo, and-" she does an asymmetrical kind of jazz-hands, underwhelming and seeming almost bored, like she's explained this thousands of times, before returning to her original position- "surprise surprise, a driver's license. I'm qualified, does my age really matter?"

"I... suppose not?"

"You don't sound too sure about that, princess."

Laura shakes her head with a little hiccup-squeak- a sound she will never admit to having made, and will quietly freak out about later, thank you- "Nope, I'm sure. I'm sure," and with that she skedaddles on into the car- as elegantly as she can manage, after everything- ignoring her driver's growing smirk with an awkward, embarrassed kind of desperation. She hears Erica huff out something of a laugh before the car door's shut gently behind her, the girl moving to the driver's seat and clambering in.

"So: where to?"

"Belle Grove Kindergarten," Laura answers promptly, mildly relieved to be done with the social niceties of it all.

"Oh, that's right, your mom did say something about you being a teacher." Laura hums affirmatively. "I hate kids, personally, but, you know-" she turns the key, starting the car and pulling away from the curb- "kudos to you for bringing knowledge to the next generation of assholes, or something like that."

Laura chokes on her own spit, and it takes a lot longer than she'd like for her to become composed enough to dignify that with a response, and all she ends up managing is a very high, very unsure, haphazardly chagrined and slightly sarcastic, "Thanks?"

She glimpses, from the rearview mirror, Erica's eyes crinkling with the mirth and width of her smile.

It's odd to learn about someone so extensively over such a short period of time, but, at the same time, it seems almost natural. There's awkwardness and blundering, but Erica and Laura just kind of click.

The wind-swept wild maiden, and the tamer, tranquil, motherly type of woman, both of them very, very different, but uniquely complementary to each other.

Erica, Laura finds, became a bodyguard straight out of highschool, her epilepsy- which she avoids talking about like the plague, so long as she can get away with it- made it difficult to become a driver in any capacity, but, her episodes winding down as she got older, along with finding meds to manage it that managed it well, or, at least, better than the others before, did seem help in that vein. Still, if she has even one seizure, it could revoke her license, which, while Erica understands, the safety of others and all that, she's also vaguely bitter about.

The girl's overtly sexual, voraciously flirtatious, with a mask of lethal confidence born from deep-rooted insecurities. She's very explorative of her identity at this point in her life because her identity always used to be her illness, and now that she has the chance to discover herself outside of that, she's diving in headfirst, reckless and urgent. She's a very in your face with both my middle-fingers in the air type of person, but there's a depth, a complexity to it, and a frugal kindness saturated in cynicism riding just underneath.

Her style, too, is fascinating, from her clothes to her car to the way she utilizes her language, and, despite mostly being a pacifist herself, if Laura's being honest the way Erica fights is... mouth-watering. Would be a vulgar thing to think. Which is why Laura isn't thinking it.

At all.

Erica taps the metal curl of her sunglasses against her teeth, glaring at the door that leads into Laura's apartment complex, impatient. She knows that the school-year is over, but she also knows that Laura isn't the type to have with staying inside or being idle. The woman likes fresh air and sunlight the same way flowers do, in that she needs it like breathing, could only wilt without it.

Which is why Erica ended up outside her place, figuring she'd still need a ride... somewhere.

Sighing explosively, she gets up off of her car, rubs the sun-scorched metal feeling out of her skin with a small grimace, and decidedly presses Laura's buzzer. No response. She clicks the button over and over again, irritating-persistent, pestering, until she hears a crash and an undeniably familiar voice shouting, "Cora, I swear to god—"

The aggrieved words halt, stutter, caught like fluttering-fragile butterfly wings in her long, pale throat, heterochromatic eyes startled-wide when they light on Erica—who'd backtracked down the small set of stairs, back to the sidewalk, to look up at the sight of her boss' daughter, her client, her friend, standing sleep-soft messy on her balcony. ink-silk curls in a loose-tumble bun, a slightly revealing preppy-pink satin slip under an unzipped hoodie, baggy sleeves sliding adorably over her bony hands, dream-like cotton-candy designs on it.

"Sorry to disappoint, princess," Erica smirks, watching as Laura's barefoot toes flex against charcoal grey floorboards.

Laura blushes furiously, rosy hue dusting her from her prominent collarbone all the way to her crown, getting ripe-strawberry dark just at the tip of her ears, and erica's helpless to the way her smirk widens into a genuine grin. "Not disappointed," Laura says, breezily, turning her eyes away and smoothing her hands down her skirt with all the air of recomposed royalty—the act betrayed entirely by her coloring and the high-pitch, embarrassed crackle of her tone. Erica bites back a laugh, scuffs the heel of her boot on the crack-crumble cement.

"You gonna grant me entry into your tower? Or am I gonna have to beg you to let down your hair?"

Laura's eyes flutter closed, tonguing the back of her teeth even as an indulgently mirthful smile overwhelms her. "You know... I shouldn't," she points out with a look, exasperatedly shaking her head even as she retreats back inside to buzz Erica in, fatalistic, calling over her shoulder: "You’re likely a dragon, come to kidnap me and burn me alive."

Erica rolls her eyes, jogs back up the little street-stairway, opens the door when it unlocks for her at Laura's bidding, before running up the three flights it takes to get to Laura's apartment, only the barest hints of breathless when she gets to the woman's door and sweeps inside. "No way am I a dragon. I'm more like... Excalibur," she leans into the woman's space, sultry-purr, "silver and sharp."

Laura backs away with a sound split between a groan and a sigh, "And just as dangerous."

"Not exactly," Erica hums, shutting Laura's door carelessly and meandering to the dining table, snatching an apple from the wicker-weave basket in the middle of its’ wax-shine mahogany expanse and biting into it. "The dragon kills you, princess, because it's hungry, driven by instinct, whatever. I, on the other hand, am wielded in your defence-" she shrugs- "or not. Maybe your evil step-mother picks me up and beheads you with me. My point is, as a weapon, I have no intent, good or bad."

She looks up from her fingers, picking restlessly at blood-rich apple-skin to find Laura staring at her, expression indecipherable.

Silence reigns- vaguely uncomfortable- for a second too long. Erica blinks, knits her brows.

"... What?"

Laura shakes her head, "I— Nothing. Nothing, nevermind." She clears her throat, shuffles things around that don't really need to be shuffled, restless. "Um, so. What're you doing here?"

"My job, unless I was fired while I wasn't paying attention."

Laura huffs a little, glittering starlight returning to her eyes, "No; I'll have need of you for a while yet. But..." She shrugs, "I don't really have anywhere to go."

"Bullshit," Erica scoffs, narrows her eyes when laura's only response is a deadpanned glare. "Seriously? No... friends? social gatherings? nothing?"

*"Nothing,"* Laura sighs, nearly a pout, flopping lethargically onto her white-cotton plush couch. "Just the kids—work."

Erica blanks for a moment, fidgets, eats her goddamn apple.

"Okay," she shatters the vaguely somber air after a moment, annoyed, tossing her apple-core into the trash-can on her way to the couch before lifting Laura bodily off of it, hauling her into a bridal-carry easy as anything, and ignoring her yelp of utterly indignant shock. "Fuck this. We're going out."

Laura sputters for a moment, hands flapping a little wildly as Erica straight-up carries her past the threshold and- since the stairs don't seem like a good or practical idea- to the elevator, before she resignedly, almost begrudgingly, gives in, wrapping her willowy arms around Erica's neck and melting into her with a huff. "I suppose it wouldn't do to leave tigerlily all by their lonesome, anyway, would it?"

“No,” Erica agrees victoriously. “No, it would not.”

They spend the day driving around, avoiding paparazzi, getting frozen yogurt, a whole trunkload- literally- of books, two records, a record player, and a moment saturated in the floaty-fluff memory of dancing with Erica in the middle of the street, both of them a study in awkward clumsiness and both of them devolving into hysterical fits of laughter.

The image of Erica with her head thrown back, their bodies spinning, dizzying, her laughter throaty and reckless and breathless-wild, is replaying in Laura’s head on a loop when Erica walks her back up to her apartment, the sight of the girl's teeth, tongue, the roof of her mouth, unexplored places that Laura suddenly, yearningly, viscerally, wants to map out, discover, taste, know. Which is probably why, when Erica grins a, "G'night, Lulu," with every intention of leaving, Laura ropes her in- knuckles fisted in the collar of her shirt- and kisses her soundly.

Erica freezes for just the barest hints of a frantically eternal, terrifying moment, before she's all motion, folding Laura into her body with all the ease of a sculptor molding clay, fingertips, sharp nails, pressing into her shoulder blades as she dives into her in turn, greedy, with a gasping moan, wavering somewhere deep, all animalistic, ferine need.

When they part enough to allow air back into their lungs, lips bruised and spit-slick, Erica rasps, teased lovely, so fucking lovely at the edges, "That was-" a swallow, dry, clicking- "unexpected."

"No, it wasn't. It was a kiss. That's what you're supposed to do at the end of a date, isn't it? Kiss?"

Erica snorts, dissolves into giggles, lets her head fall to rest on Laura's shoulder, button-nose pressed into Laura’s pulse-point. "Yeah," she agrees, every muscle easing down to supple, pliant, and Laura hadn't even realized how tightly Erica was holding herself until now. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

"Come inside?" She asks, maybe begs, and Erica lifts her head, raising an eyebrow, which has Laura rolling her eyes. "To cuddle. Watch Netflix? Eat p—" she halts herself- because she knows, she knows how much Erica hates popcorn- squints her eyes at the ceiling for a second as she thinks, both arms wrapped around Erica's back, one hand absently playing with her puppy-soft hair. "Poptarts," she decides, finally, looking back down into Erica's eyes, only to be knocked entirely breathless by how much of the girl's naked heart is beating in them, joyous, honeycomb sweet, and glittering with something new, transcendent, something that, maybe, hopes to be love.

Erica catches whatever expression of besotted surprise Laura must be wearing with a kiss, like fireflies in a mason jar, says, "Sure. Poptarts sound good."

And Laura realizes, mostly accidentally, that she's now dating her best friend, and her whole world glows.

(When the political turbulence gets tied up, and the reason for Erica being hired concisely ends, she moves on to a new job, another client, but her relationship with Laura remains, grows, develops. The two women explore each other, their identities together, and, when Laura decides to bring the girl home to introduce her to her family- them road-tripping to BH in tigerlily- Erica brings a fruit-basket, which she bequeaths Talia, for essentially introducing them.)

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mokkemusic · 7 years ago

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Remnants of a Dynasty

A/N: So yea.. a year later I am doing the tiva amnesty thing. I found some documents I thought I had deleted forever and this one, at the time I put a lot of heart into. It’s not perfect and it’s more poetic then anything else but I tweaked this enough that it could be a stand alone one shot and it gives me closure to post this. Tagging all who have started tiva amnesty and who I think might want to be tagged still. @sharilynn87 @jennonthewire @mcgeekle @natashaaabartonss @loudlooks @youaresoooloved

Takes place at the end of Shiva. While going back to Israel to bury her father and planting his olive tree in the ground Ziva takes some moments to reflect...

read on ff

“A girl is born to be nothing more than a girl, A daughter is born to be nothing more than dutiful, A woman is born to be nothing more than a lover, A warrior is made to be nothing more than an instrument of fate. I was a girl, a daughter, a woman, a warrior; I was all these things, but not for long. Nothing is ever permanent.” (poem x, gif set x)

The air was quiet. The bronzen leaves on the trees bathed in the sun’s light. People from all over the Holy Land, Ziva once again amongst them, found locations like this one to put their young saplings into the earth, all to honor their prematurely departed loved ones, which due to the state of living in a war zone was not an infrequent occurrence. A mixture of copper dirt and golden sand painted the canvas of the land like a sea of rusted and shining pennies.

Pin-pointing a spot where only the rich soil remained, she took her carry-on pack off her shoulder. It camouflaged with the beige ground and she might have lost it had her life not been an endless exercise in sifting the sands of her homeland for identity, heritage and duty; she was adept at finding that which was invisible to the eye. Opening it, Ziva lifted the small plant out of the bag and sat it down next to her carefully. Then she reached for the shovel. Taking a moment to compose herself and keeping the bile that crept up her throat at bay, she turned the polished wood of the tool’s handle crafted for her by her surrogate father over in her soft and supple hands. Then, as the trained marksman she was, she delivered the swift and deeply penetrating stab to her earthly victim. She began to dig.

The sun seared her back as she worked crouched down and balanced on her knees. The palms of her hands sank into the dirt rapidly, the earth underneath her could have easily been mistaken for quicksand. It seemed like only seconds of scooping out loose sediment until she was done. She wanted it to be longer, wanted this aperture to be large enough to bury the feelings of regret, remorse and the memories that kept coming back to her after that night she had spent cradling her father’s lifeless body in her shaking arms. But her skin was burning, and no abyss would be deep enough to bury her sins. Just like her hands in the sand, they would raise back to the surface.

Grabbing the plant a little too forcefully and placing it in its new home, she loosely covered it back up with dirt and leaned back to admire her handiwork. A bent leaf made her grit her teeth in frustration. But starting over would only delay the journey she was so keen on getting over. With nimble fingers she adjusted the leaf. It would have to do. The sentiment was all too familiar: She had planted the same olive tree for Tali. She had not planted one for Ari though. In retrospect Ziva was satisfied with this decision. Her father and brother’s lingering spirits represented as intertwined tree branches may have caused droughts or floods to the entire city of Tel Aviv. She wondered now though if they were at peace.

This notion had her look out to the horizon as if her answer would be written out for her in the clouds, or in the bristle of leaves or a dove’s song.

But no sign came.

Ziva was exhausted and if her stone demeanor did not betray her, the residue concealer underneath dark eyes did. She wondered how she must have looked that day after it had happened; how disheveled she must have appeared in Beth El Synagogue; hair a mess of curls tied up into a haphazardly done knot, face ashen, colorless lips, and heart and head as foolish as she was now, searching for what exactly? Signs? Hope? A reason to keep believing? She should have known her signs never came in daylight. They came to her at night when sleep finally claimed her and she was forced back into a world of mares. Visions of Somalia returned, along with the very real stench of sweat and cigarette smoke; torturers that vaguely resembled men. But the bloodstained blades were easier to forget than solitude.

She saw them all come back to her in her dreams, escaping the rooms in her mind she would not open, their locks now unlatched. Their names should have been etched on the walls of her prison, facing her, reminding her of all the wrongs she had done. But she did not want to remember. She would never give their names the physical shape of letters scraped onto concrete walls, stones in sliced fingers, stones that could bring back the last words as clear as on the day they were spoken. The conversations played out in vermillion italics in front of her.

The one person she did not expect rammed right into the barricade of her memory. A girl, not yet a warrior, too young to be dutiful or to even understand what that word meant; not even a woman, just a child. “Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made you out of clay,” a sing-song voice hummed. Clay not yet molded into a solid silhouetted sculpture, but soft, malleable. The girl she had once been came to her as a reflection in a bowl of dirty water; a reflection that was not yet bruised and bloodied, but already stained with desert dirt.

This was the nightmare that came back to her after her father had died. It were not the countless hands that grabbed for her, that tried to steal her dignity, but mourning for a girl who had loved her father, who had looked up to him with pride. That girl would not have been ashamed of the cold sweats that had dampened Tony’s cotton sheets that night at his apartment, bunching them tightly with white knuckles as her body bolted upright, reacting on instinct, and very nearly delivering a left hook to her partner. Fortunately Tony had caught the flailing hand.

She tried to ignore the nagging feeling that troubled her in her sleep, trying to get her to remember who she had been. At her father’s funeral it had been clearer than ever that she had abandoned her home. Men and women, some of which she had never seen before, lining up to greet her, giving her rote condolences and words of assurance. “He really did love you”, “You made him proud, you know.” Ziva thought she may as well have been on display in a circus: the daughter who had come back only to bury her father out of obligation. She was sure that was what most of them thought. She was the daughter who had renounced her ties to Israel.

The daughter of a dead man.

The sympathies felt like being suffocated in a dress too small. The only way to alleviate the pressure was to tear it with her bare hands. But she didn’t know if she tore it for religion, which had fallen onto deaf ears for many years, or for something else. There was no rhyme or reason to dying, regardless of what small comfort tradition brought. Good or bad, it was completely out of your hands. The irony of this was that she had scoffed at tradition and stormed out on her father and Director Vance and his wife like an insolent child. Later it had provided her with the much needed comfort. She should have been inside the house. She should have died. Like a reckless cat she had already used up most of her nine lives, but the Malach, the angel, kept her breathing.

Her eyes fixated upon a patch of skin that was riddled with fine lines of scars long faded. She would not let an ounce of guilt seep out of these vertical lines, however. This responsibility to her father and his death had been paid in full three summers ago.

‘Your sins are too great,’ she had said to him during one of their last encounters.

The burning Yahrzeit candle which she had lit the night of his death had mirrored the Shabbat nerot on the evening which seemed like a lifetime ago, in her father’s house. The house she thought she would leave forever after resting Shiva.

Shiva and Shabbat: the blessing and the curse.

Every Friday night when it was her turn to pray, her father would mouth he words with her, silently, letting her nine year old self work them out on her own. Her mother would be the one to light the Yahrzeit with her in remembrance of a lost relative. “It is rebirth, Ziva. They are not lost. They start anew. We send them off with our love, and we treasure the time we have had. Do not cry, motek. Death is not a curse.”

Her tiny hands, held in her mother’s, chanting soft prayers that were recited in Tali’s velvet voice years later when their mother’s lips would no longer open to speak them. The sweet songs reverberated throughout their home, ingrained there. Ziva still heard them when she was there.

A chill crept up her spine, a strange sensation in the desert heat. She sunk back into the ground, her resolve slowly breaking, the last of adrenaline evaporating in the summer sun, suddenly overcome with longing and nostalgia.

It became too much, but Ziva had to make a choice: conquer, or let it consume her.

And the latter was not an option for a warrior’s heart such as her own. She took a moment to say her goodbyes to the tree and then pushed herself out of the sand. She shouldered the bag, which without the weight of her father’s spirit felt a lot lighter, and took the first step of a journey into the past so that she could continue with her future once it was over.

#tiva fanfiction #ncis #tiva #tiva amnesty #ziva david

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harrieheaux · 8 years ago

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Building Forts

heyyyy so this started like months ago but I’m the worst so i’m just now finishing it. I’ve been terrible about updating for you guys so hopefully some of you are still around to read it! haha thanks in advance and if you liked it please consider liking/reblogging blah blah blah. okay enjoy x

You’re straddling his lap, the warm balmy air of the ocean wafting in through the sliding glass doors that open nearly the length of the whole wall. The sheet is rucked up haphazardly around your hips and his and you can see a very light sheen of sweat on his upper lip though you’re not sure if it’s from the tropical heat or from the sex you’d just recently finished.

Forts. Somehow on a romantic vacation to the most exquisite location you’d ever seen in your life the conversation between you two fully grown adults had turned to forts.

“I just never got to at home!” You defend, taking in Harry’s offended look with indignation, it wasn’t your fault that your mother wouldn’t let you construct a house of sheets in your living room as a child.

“Tha’s bollocks,” he grumbled.

You giggle at his disbelief, scratching your fingernails lightly across his chest.

“I’ll teach yeh,” he tells you, a slow grin stretching across his cheeks.

“Teach me what?” you ask cluelessly, surely he can’t be talking about…

“To build a fort, o’course,” Harry says definitively.

“You can’t be serious,” you laugh, “Here? We’ll trash the room!”

“We won’t,” he assures you, “C’mon, lemme show yeh!”

“Well…” you trail off, already nearly convinced as he’s tapping at your hips impatiently as he waits for you to dismount his thighs.

You don’t have time to argue even if you wanted to however, because Harry’s soon shooing you off the bed and pulling impatiently at the sheets there to pile near his feet. His hands find his hips as he assesses the furniture in the room, no doubt mentally mapping how best to construct this makeshift fort.

You, however, are a teensy bit distracted by the not so teensy part of his anatomy currently on full display and hanging proudly between his legs. You’ve not been together so long that you’re desensitized to the sight of his penis, not that hopefully you ever will be, and it’s nearly impossible to look anywhere else at the moment.

He catches you with a sly grin, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated motion and reaching down to dig his boxers out from beneath the messy sheets. You blush a little, acting fast to catch the shirt he tosses you to cover your own bare frame.

“Now we’re even,” he mumbles, moving in the direction of the couch along the wall adjacent to the bed.

“You want to move it?” you ask incredulously.

Harry looks mildly offended at your questioning, “‘Course Bun, how else are we gonna make it?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “I just thought you like drape sheets over stuff.”

“Tha’s only one part,” he tells you sagely, nodding you over to grab the other arm of the chair, “s’heavy, can you lift it?”

You manage, with great difficulty on your end, to move the sofa more near the middle of the room, now catty corner to the desk at the end of the bed.

“We’ll put the biggest sheet ‘ere,” Harry directs while moving the desk chair so it was facing the couch with a wide space in the middle, “And another one will go between these two and over the TV.”

“Will they be big enough?” you ask him, pulling a sheet from the pile and attempting to make sense of where all the corners were.

“Trust me,” he winks, grabbing the sheet beneath yours and beginning to drape it over the desk and couch to demonstrate what he means, “gonna have to call for more sheets though.”

Harry takes the reigns on the remainder of the construction and within a span of 20 minutes and one large delivery of sheets from housekeeping he’s managed to pull together what looks like an extremely dangerous and haphazard pile of junk. The sheets are held down by precarious bits of decorations, tucked into cushions and drawers and even tied around posts. “Go on,” he urges, beaming with pride that is unmatched to what you see before you.

“Is it safe?” you ask him earnestly.

“What’d I tell yeh before, hmm? Gotta trust me,” Harry reminds you, nudging you to the space where there’s a small opening from the edges that drape over to the floor.

Getting on all fours, you humph as you start to crawl beneath the shelter, though you’re immediately taken aback by the contrast inside.

Harry chose to lay down the large comforter on the ground beneath the fort with all the pillows bunched up together facing the television. It still plays quietly in the background, filling the small space with a blue tinted light. When you’ve crawled all the way inside, Harry begins to nudge his way in too, army crawling up to rest near you on the pillow nest he’d designed.

“Well?” he asks you eagerly, eyes wide with earnest inquiry.

“It’s actually cozy,” you smile, looking around and quite enjoying the closed in feeling, surrounded by white linen walls on each side.

“S’not even the best part!” Harry tells you excitedly, reaching above your heads to pull the room service menu off the desk, “We can order some food and watch a film under here too!”

“You’re so excited!” you giggle, teasing him for his boyish wonder over the little fort.

“Just used to love these as a kid, me and Gem made them all the time.”

While your mind runs wild with that adorable image he opens the menu and starts perusing. Reaching once again above your heads, Harry pulls the room phone off the hook dialing 0 for room service.

“Hi, can I get the margherita flatbread, please, and some onion rings, and two tropical smoothies…oh and the ribeye sandwich… how about the roadhouse burger? Babe?”

You look at him incredulously, wondering if he’s inviting several unexpected guests to dine with you in the fort though you’re not sure where they’d fit.

“That’s a lot of food, Harry!” you giggle as he waves you off and wraps up his conversation with room service.

“You’ll need yer energy,” he winks as he places the phone back on the hook, ducking in to nibble at your neck with a growl and making you collapse in another fit of giggles.

An hour and three thousand calories later and you’re almost sure you’ll never move again. Harry keeps trying to give you sips of his banana smoothie but you think you’ll puke if you take so much as one more ounce. The food had been pure junk and absolutely delicious and much too heavy for the both of you. He’s tucked you into his arm to watch another film and you’ve taken to counting the freckles dotted along his bloated tummy. You give him a harder poke near his ribs just to make him squirm and look down at you with a snarl on his smoothie mustached lips. Brows heavy and furrowed over his deep green eyes he looked nearly delectable, you found it impossible to stop yourself from reaching up to give him a little kiss. You should have known that it’s never just a little kiss with Harry though. Because although you may be finished, Harry ducks down two, three, four more times to button his lips over yours, each time more forceful than the last. And soon his arm that was once hanging limply around your back is searchingly squeezing at the skin of your waist, attempting to pull you tighter against him.

“Can’t,” you groan against his attempts, “too full!”

“Wan’ you,” he whines, but it’s clear he’s just as affected when you attempt to roll him into you.

His moan is not of the sexy variety as his body weight shifts onto his stomach. Harry groans into the pillow near his head, shifting back on the blanket covered floor and reaching out to take your hand in his.

He giggles out a, “Didn’t think this through.”

You can’t help but join in scooching just slightly closer so you can nuzzle at the sparrows on his chest. His grasp moves from your hand to the back of your head, kissing your hairline as your giggles die out.

“Could like this,” he murmurs quietly, you nearly miss it as your attention had been directed back to the tv in the quiet moments prior.

You hum at him in question, leaning away from his chest to catch his eyes. His answer is merely to hitch your leg over his hips, smirking down at you while his hand wanders where your body is hidden from him beneath the shirt.

“You just got some two hours ago,” you mumble, brain preoccupied with the laser focus it’s giving to the mapping his fingers are doing across the cheeks of your bum.

Harry’s grin is contagious, “Can’t get enough, Bun.”

His hands wander up your back as you bite your lip against a smile. Each teasing touch or rub against your bare skin an invitation, an attempt to sway you in his direction. His eyes light with mischief as he gets a soft whimper out of you, his thumb having brushed against your sensitive nipple. Harry’s eyes are hooded, locked on yours as he begins to angle his hips against yours with his grip loose on you.

It’s not what you’re used to, a maddeningly frantic descent into passion with breathless panting and grips that leave bruises. It’s slow and lazy almost, taking pauses between grinding down onto him for long languid kisses and soft touches. But that same fire is still present in his eyes and bubbling low between your legs as the hardening line of his covered cock rubs against you.

“I’ll do all the work, Love,” he whispers into you the skin beneath your ear, “please.”

You realize he still thinks you need convincing, the thought nearly comical now with how you’ve heated under his small attentions.

Instead of answering your fingers tuck into the waistband of his briefs, shimmying them down his legs and hmphhing when the bend makes you remember the fullness of your belly. He huffs out a gentle laugh at that, kicking them off his legs for you and gently rolling you so you faced away from him. His hand comes to rest at the fullness of your belly and you grunt, furrowing your brows in annoyance.

“M’ little roly poly,” he coos against the juncture of your shoulder and neck and you can’t help but laugh at his joke.

Both of you are bloated and you can feel Harry’s rounded stomach where the taut toned muscles would normally be against your spine. Instead of giving him a retort, you turn your head to find his puffy pink lips, sharing lazy kisses as his strong, tanned hand skims across your flesh. His fingers dance across the plane of your chest, cupping and kneading softly at first one breast, then the other. You mewl when he rolls one nipple between his forefinger and thumb, unable to stop yourself from clutching at his wrist. Your other arm grabs gratuitous handfuls of his bum, squeezing at the taut muscles in a fruitless attempt to bring him ever closer, his hard cock already rutting against the back of your thighs.

“Ready fo’ me?” he intones against your lips, fingers sneaking down to flick between your folds and feel for himself.

He hums when he feels how wet you’ve gotten, smiling into your neck while he’s once again lifting and angling your outside leg, propping your foot against the bed sheets near his knee.

“Comfortable?” he asks you, fingers a ring around the base of him, already petting teasingly between your legs.

You barely manage a whimper of agreement, biting both your lips between your teeth as just the head of him slides inside you.

It’s a long torturous glide, feeling every inch of him splitting you open as you try not to clench down around him. When he finally reaches the hilt you both let out tense sighs, his ruffling the hair that’s now stuck to your neck. The slow drag of him, when his hips pull back, is enough to have you whimpering out, knee shaking and hand twisting in the sheet near your head.

“Feel tha’, love? Every inch o’ me fillin’ yeh up?”

You nod with your eyes screwed shut, mesmerized by the tantalizing push and pull of his slow thrusts. Your tummy contracts in time with his movements and your eyes are nearly swimming with the overwhelming sensation. His scent surrounds you and you feel the breaths he takes in and out of his nose against the shell of your ear.

“Feel like I could….ungh!” You cried out, Harry’s rhythm changing, grinding up in a circle at the deepest point of you.

“M’ barely movin’” he huffs against you, “Gonna cum just from this?”

“Yeah…yeah…” you shake your head vigorously, now pushing your hips back against him to meet him thrust for thrust.

He stays deep at your admission, alternating with little circles of his hips that make him hit just where you need him to be. His leg hitching up next to your shaking one to help him get a better angle. You cry out when he grasps at your opened knee, pulling it hard against his and thrusting with more accuracy.

“Fucking shit,” you gasp out, in shock at how quickly he’s gotten you to the edge. But here you are and just a little more will surely have you toppling over.

With Harry’s increasing grunts rumbling through your shoulder you reach between your trembling legs. Rubbing the pattern that always gets you off as you whimper.

The noise Harry makes when you finally clamp down around him is inhuman, like all the air was punched from his lungs at once. You cry out as the stars explode between your eyelids and you dig craters into Harry’s taut bum with your nails.

“Squeezin’ me,” he wheezes out against the shell of your ear, “Bloody FUCKIN tight.”

You’re a whining, whimpering mess, his thrusts almost unbearable against your sensitive nerves. Still, you’re overcome with the need for him to cum, to paint you with his desire, to mark you somehow.

“Cum on me,” you mewl, and you hear a sharp intake of breath as his hips stutter, “Cum on my ass.”

He whines, “Don’…please…”

You feel his resolve crumbling, his thrusts nearly erratic, “I want it, please baby, please Harry. Gimme it.”

The last of your request is merely a breathy whine, indistinguishable over the slapping of your hips.

At the last second, he pulls out, shoving you roughly onto your stomach and painting your bum with the milky strands of him.

It’s warm and sticky and almost immediately starts running between your cheeks but the look on Harry’s face as you look over your shoulder is worth it.

He stares in awe at your painted flesh, letting out a huffing breath as his lips curl into that characteristic smirk.

“Fuck,” he smiles, the only word he can form with his wide searching eyes drinking it all in.

It makes you blush a little, the fact that you could have this effect on the greek God behind you. He catches you and it makes him smile, folding over you to growl playfully into the hollow of your neck.

“Oof!” you exclaim when you receive the entirety of his weight, “still full!”

“Sorry, love,” he slurs, popping a soft kiss to the side of your cheek, “Lemme clean yeh up.”

His weight is lifted and you take a shallow breath in, looking back once again to watch his lithe form waltzing for the bathroom through the opening of the fort. You giggle into your hand, seeing that a Nicholas Sparks movie has just started on the television.

“Hurry!” you call out for him, “Notebook’s starting!”

“Nicky Spee!” he whoops, popping back in the room with craters for dimples.

He’s a bloody idiot, but you think you’ll keep him.

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #solo harry #harry smut #harry fluff #writing #harry stories #harry sex story #harry styles fic #harry writing

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kaitymccoy123 · 8 years ago

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A Haphazard Approach

Intro: So this is just another little (yet not so little) fic that I wrote, the idea just popping into my head one day.

Pairing: Kirk x Reader

Word Count: 3718

Triggers: anxiety attack, (that’s about it)

Summary: Jim is having an anxiety attack and though you have only been dating for a few weeks, you are called in to help. But you are unsure of what to do to make him feel better. I’m sure you can find something... (not that kind of something! get your minds out of the gutter)

ALSO: I know anxiety attacks are terrifying and debilitating, and writing this I found out how hard it is do describe someone else having an anxiety attack so I gave it my best shot - please be gentle.

-Enjoy!-

You were waist deep in a control panel when you heard your com beep. You'd left it on the table outside the control panel in case it got caught or broke while you were working. You decided to ignore it and soon the beeping stopped. It was probably just Uhura wondering if you wanted to get lunch together or something.

You worked for a few more minutes, reattaching wires and setting up new circuits with ease. Then your com beeped again.

You huffed with annoyance and yelled, "Hey, Keenser!"

A moment later his little green face appeared at the entrance to the control panel, by your feet, and he looked up at you with his cute little eyes.

"Would you mind passing me my com?" You asked him and he nodded and reached for it on the table.

You wedged your arm down between the console and your body and he passed the com to you and you flipped it open even before you had squeezed your arm back up so the com could be near your face.

"Y/N here." You said as you finally were able to wretch your arm up.

"Oh thank god." It was Uhura's voice on the other side of the com.

"Uhura, I told you this morning that I wouldn't be able to meet for lunch today, that Scotty had too much for me to do. And you caught me at a really bad time, I am currently wedged into one of the central processors..." You rambled, hoping that she would get the message and end the call, but instead she interrupted you.

"No, Y/N," she began, suddenly sounding serious, "it's not about lunch. It's about Jim."

That piqued your interest. You and Uhura talked about Jim a lot, but usually in the privacy of your shared quarters, and never in public.

"What about him?" You asked, not sure whether to be concerned or joking, "what did he do now? Did he turn off the power to Checkov's navigator panel again? I told him not to..."

"Y/N, you know I love you but for once in your life will you shut up?" Uhura really sounded serious now.

You gulped and were about to reply when Uhura continued, "Jim's acting really strange right now, and Spock agrees. We think he is having an anxiety attack."

That got your attention. You straightened up suddenly and hit your elbow off a metal bar, sending pain shooting down your arm. You hissed at the pain but forced yourself to focus on the situation.

"How bad is it? You didn't let Spock tell him he is having an anxiety attack, did you?! That would make things 100 times worse!" You spat out quickly, the whole scenario running through your head.

Jim freaking out, Spock telling him that he is having an anxiety attack and is not fit for duty in his matter-of-fact way, and them Jim punching him across the jaw. Not good.

"No, thank the stars," Uhura responded, and you let out a breath that you didn't know you'd been holding, "but I don't think I can hold him off for much longer. You know Vulcan's and their cannot-lie thing." "Okay." You responded quietly, dreading the words that came next.

"I think he needs you, Y/N." Uhura said.

You felt a rush of adrenaline and swallowed the lump that had been forming in your throat.

"I know." You answered, "I'll be right there, Nyota."

"Okay, Y/N, you better hurry." Uhura responded and the com ended.

Your hand trembling unintentionally, you closed your fist around the com and brought it tensely to your forehead. You could do this.

You reached up and haphazardly tied two loose end of wiring together to hold them in place for when you got back. You forced your limbs to move and you worked your way out of the tight space inside the control panel, finally able to pull yourself out, the bright lights of the engineering room blinding you for a moment.

You made your way to Scotty's work space, where he had his feet up on the table and was eating a doughnut. He heard you approach and quickly slipped his feet off the table and shoved the rest of the doughnut in his mouth, as if trying to hide the fact that he had been slacking.

"Y/N!" Scotty said with a mouthful of doughnut, so the syllables weren't clear, and he swallowed before continuing, "done with the compressor already? I know you are a bright young lass, but that was fast." "No, Scotty, I..." You sputtered, unsure of how much to tell Scotty, "It's Jim."

Scotty's face turned concerned, matching your facial expression, "Is he alright? Did he get himself injured? That boy..."

Scotty started to get up from his chair, leaning over his desk.

"No, none of that." You wrung your hands as Scotty settled himself back into his chair, "Uhura and Spock think that he his having an anxiety attack. And I need to go up there to help him."

Scotty's mouth formed a little 'o', and he rested his hands gently on the table, "Alright, lassie, you go on up, I'll get someone else to finish the compressor. Go take care of him."

All you could do was nod and you dashed off in the direction of the bridge. As you jogged, your mind raced as to what you were going to do with a panicked Jim.

You two had only been dating for a few weeks now, and though it had been wonderful, you didn't feel nearly close to prepared to know what to do if he was having an anxiety attack.

You had never in a million light years thought that Captain James T. Kirk would ever be interested in you, but after you'd fixed things in the bridge a couple times (mostly due to him fiddling with stuff), you'd gotten to chatting and had met at the bar a few times. He'd kissed you on the first date, like the cocky bastard he was, and even thinking about his hands on your body made you feel shivery and excited all over. And he was incredibly smart. Like knows-every-type-of-nut-and-bolt-that-holds-this-ship-together kinda smart. And you found that extremely sexy, especially being an engineer.

But this was not kissing or teasing each other or drinking a little too much together. This was a real couple situation and you didn't know if you would be able to help him.

Your heart was racing as you rode the lift up to the bridge, and as the doors slid open you wished you were back tucked into the compressor, safe and happy among your wires and steel.

You heard Jim before you saw him.

"Spock, I am fine!" You heard Jim yell, and now saw the two of them, standing next to the captain's chair, facing each other and looking very angry.

You locked eyes with Uhura who was at her station and she mouthed the word 'sorry' to you, you pursed your lips and shrugged in response.

Jim's back was to you and you could tell by his stance that something was wrong. His shoulders were hunched, his arms were flailing angrily, and his hands seemed to be trembling.

"Captain, I know the signs of an anxiety attack and you are having one, now step down..." Spock retorted and you wanted to rip the bangs off his stupid Vulcan face.

"Permission to come on the bridge?" You asked, your voice louder and more calm than you thought it would be.

Jim spun around at the sound of your voice. Locking eyes with him you saw his face change from anger to desperation, and his hands dropped to his sides in defeat.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?" Jim asked, no longer yelling, "I mean... granted... you can come on the bridge."

You walked up to him and gave him a weak smile, reaching up on your tip-toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, "Just wanted to say hi." Jim looked incredulous and his brows pulled together in confusion.

"Did someone call you?" Jim accused, now spinning back to Spock, "Because he is lying, I'm fine." He spun back to face you, "I'm fine, Y/N."

"I know, Jim." You tried your best to keep your voice steady, "Like I said I just wanted to say hi."

His mouth opened like he was going to say something else but you spoke first.

"So what are you working on right now?" You asked, gesturing to the endless stream of stars and darkness in the window of the bridge.

"Ummm..." He paused, as if contemplating what they had been working on, "we are trying to set a course for Haven, but we don't know whether to go around the meteorite belt or try to go through it."

"Interesting!" You said with fake enthusiasm, "What are the pros and cons of each route?"

You had read in one of your medical textbooks from the Academy that a way to help people having an anxiety attack was to get them to focus on something or recite something to you, like a speech they had memorized or read something out loud.

Suddenly Spock reappeared beside Kirk and said, looking down at you, "I don't think the Captain is in the right frame of mind to..."

"Spock, I need you over here." You heard Uhura's voice from her spot by the communication's board.

"Lieutenant, I just checked the communications board, it is functioning adequately..." Spock responded but Uhura interrupted.

"Spock. I need you over here. Now." You could hear the attitude in Uhura's voice and Spock looked paler than usual as he turned to stride over to Uhura.

Jim turned to follow him but you grabbed his arm, and lead him to sit in his chair.

"Tell me about the routes." You insisted, squatting down beside the chair so you could be more level with Jim's face.

It was now you saw how awful he looked. His eyes were sunken into his face and the dark circles under his eyes looked like they were painted there. He looked sweaty and his eyes didn't seem to be focusing on anything, and he shakily gripped the end of the arms of his chair with white knuckles. Your heart hurt for him. You had had a few anxiety attacks in your life, so you knew just how awful they could be.

Jim started explaining the courses, but his voice sounded strained and he kept stopping to take in raspy breaths and lick his lips. When he had trailed off on whatever he was talking about you decided to speak.

"Jim, look at me." You whispered and he swiveled his head to meet your eyes. His pupils were dilated and his forehead shimmered with sweat. You wanted to wrap him up in a protective blanket and hug him. "Hi." You said gently. "Hi." He breathed, looking at you as if he'd just noticed you were there. You furrowed your brow and tilted your head at him. His face suddenly contorted and he looked like he was in pain, and his breathing was jagged and laboured. "Y/N, I.... I don't feel good." He said breathlessly. "Alright, I know. Lets get out of here." You suggested and wanted to cry at the look of vulnerability on his face.

When he didn't move you reached to grab his hand and pulled him to stand with you. He was steady on his feet considering he wasn't breathing well, but you could see his eyes were unfocused and his hands were trembling.

Looking around you realized that the bridge had gone silent and everyone was turned, watching you and Jim. You looked around, shooting glares of desperation for everyone to look away. Finally they all seemed to get the memo and turned back to their work. You pulled Jim by the hand and went into the lift. Once the doors slid shut, Jim broke down. He squatted down and let out a gasp of air, and you saw tears streaming down his face now. You knew you needed to give Jim some time so you pressed the stop button on the lift and it halted. You could see Jim trembling and your heart broke. You knelt down beside him.

"Jim, I'm here, how can I help?" You asked gently and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Jim leaned into your touch and you responded by wrapping your arms around him as best you could due to his squatted position. He leaned his forehead into the curve of your neck and you could feel his breath on your chest.

You fought back tears as the lump in your throat grew bigger but you knew that now was not a time for you to be weak. Jim needed you.

"Do you want to go back to my room?" You asked leaning your head against his.

Jim exhaled and nodded. You knew he was holding himself together with duct tape and safety pins and it was only a matter of time before he really broke down.

You stood up and pressed a button so the lift continued on its downwards journey. Jim stood shakily and you went right to his side, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and yours around his waist.

When the lift doors finally opened you knew it was only a short journey to you room but you wished it was shorter. You led Jim down the hall and quickly opened the door to your room. You led him over to your bed and he sat down haphazardly, nearling toppling over.

His breathing started getting really raspy and laboured, and you watched as his shoulders heaved up and down, as wave after wave of anxiety took over the usually stoic captain.

Now you felt helpless. You didn't know what to say or do to help him, and you definitely didn't want to make anything worse.

You went over and sat beside him on the bed, the mattress tilting as it adjusted to your added weight.

Jim shook his head furiously, his usually fluffy golden hair looking dull and lifeless as it moved. He finally settled his head in his hands and you could hear the devastating gasps and sobs coming from him.

You reached out your hand to stroke the back of his neck but he pulled away sharply, still keeping his head down.

"I can't... Y/N... I can't...." He rattled between gasps and your mind raced as to what to say or do to help him.

"I know, Jim. I'm here." You spoke softly and wanted to reach for him but you didn't know if you should or if he would recoil again.

It felt like minutes were hours as you sat there, listing to Jim's agony. You looked around your room for any ideas or something that could help him but came up blank. Until your eyes fell on a hand-made daisy that was made of cotton balls and a straw. You couldn't help but let out a laugh as you walked over to your desk where it sat in your pencil holder and picked it up. Jim lifted his head to see what you were doing, and you saw his eyes were puffy and rimmed with red.

"Do you remember this?" You asked as you plucked the poorly-made flower out of it's container and spun it around in your fingers.

You looked back at Jim with a smile, but the sight of his panicked features made you scrunch your face up in concern.

You walked back over to the bed, settling back down beside him, spinning the daisy lazily between your fingers. "That... from our...first date." Jim gasped, so quietly that you barely heard him.

"Yeah, it was." You responded, smiling fondly at the flower.

Jim took a few more raspy breaths before he spoke again, "It was... a sucky gift."

"No way!" You quickly retorted, clutching the flower to your chest, "I love it! Where else are you going to get a flower in the middle of space, huh? It is 100 times better because you took the time to make it for me."

That got a huff of laughter from Jim, but he still had his forehead pressed into his hands and was leaning over his knees.

You shifted so you were sitting cross-legged on the bed, your knee gently resting against Jim's hunched form.

"Oh that was one special date..." You reminisced, thinking about it.

"Tell me about it." Jim said, his words half hidden by his gulping of air, "Tell me the story of our first date."

You smiled. It was the perfect thing to distract him from his panic.

"Okay, well we both got dressed up all fancy and met at this beautiful restaurant during shore leave..."

"That's not what happened." Jim interrupted and you laughed.

"Tell the real story." Jim prompted and you couldn't help but notice his breathing was becoming more even.

"Okay fine, but let me tell you, it was a disaster." Jim laughed at that and you continued, "So let me start by saying that you asked me to go to the bar after my shift, during my shift that day, so I was completely not mentally prepared. But I said yes because you are the Captain, and you are extremely hot." Another chuckle of laughter from Jim. "Anyway, I didn't think I would have time to go back to my quarters to get dressed so I headed straight for the bar, all exhausted and covered in grease from the engineering room and waited for you to get there."

Jim groaned, knowing what was coming next.

"And when did you show up?" You asked matter-of-factly.

"2 hours late..." Jim said, and his head hung in his hand from embarrassment, and you noticed his shoulders were starting to relax.

"2 HOURS LATE!" You almost shouted, the comedy of it all making this more fun to tell.

"But I waited," you continued and almost flinched in surprise when Jim's hand found your knee, and he rested it there, "I waited for 2 whole hours because who in their right mind blows off a date with the Captain?"

Jim chuckled and groaned softly again, "I'm sorry..."

"Nope. But then you showed up and you looked like you had gotten into a fight with a Teenaxian or something. Your shirt was ripped and your hair had a weird looking goo in it..." "I think you are blowing it a little out of proportion, I didn't look that bad..." Jim chuckled again and you reached and took his hand, interlacing his fingers with yours.

"Yes you did, and this is my side of the story so shhhh...." You chastised and stroked his still trembling hand with your thumb.

"And you showed up with this little white cotton-ball flower that looked like a child had made..." "Hey! You just said you liked it!" Jim complained and you pressed a finger to his lips when he lifted his head to argue with you.

"You handed it to me and... oh what did you say again?" You asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at Jim as he pecked a kiss to the tip of your finger.

"I said that I am terribly sorry that I was late and..." Jim started, now turning his body to face yours.

"No that's not what you said it went more like..." You interrupted, and suddenly Jim grabbed both of your hands and interlocked his fingers with yours, the flower dropping from your hands unceremoniously.

"Nuh'uh." Jim grunted in disagreement, "I said: my fair lady, I ask forgiveness for my tardiness, what ever shall I do to repay you?"

You let out a laugh at that and leaned toward Jim, bringing your clasped hands up to his face and stoking a line down each side of his cheeks with one extended finger.

"That's not what I remember." You whispered, shaking your head slightly.

Jim unlocked his fingers from yours and rested his hands on the back of your neck, gently tugging your face towards his. Your heart thrummed in your throat at his touch.

"Yeah, well, it's what I should have said." Jim said softly, and you shifted closer, folding your crossed legs from underneath you and kneeling beside him.

"You also should have not been two hours late." You teased and ran your fingers through his hair, trying to comb it gently so it didn't fall into his eyes.

"I know." He now moved his hands down your sides, tickling your ribs and resting his hands on your waist. He wouldn't meet your eyes.

"Hey." You breathed and lifted a hand to tilt his chin up so you met his eyes. "You definitely made up for it with one hell of a first kiss, though."

He smiled at that and slowly leaned his head towards you. You closed the gap quickly and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was slow and leisurely, his hands spreading fire and sparks down your spine, his lips caressing yours smoothly. Soon you found yourself on your back, pinned down by Jim's body and your hands firmly entangled in his hair. He left your mouth and set your jaw and neck to flames as he pressed kisses there.

Before he returned to your mouth he paused above you, looking down at you with a smile. He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours,

"Thank you, Y/N." He whispered, his breath soft on your lips.

You responded by pressing a sweet kiss to his lips and smiled up at him.

Suddenly there was a soft knock at the door.

Jim groaned and pulled back to move off you but you kept him in place by pulling on the front of his shirt and he froze a couple of inches above you.

"Hello?" You yelled, but you knew who it was.

"Y/N? Can I come in? Is Jim alright?" Uhura asked softly.

"Jim is fine, Nyota, and no, please don't come in." You responded and silently begged her to leave.

"Okay, just wanted to check..." She said but you didn't hear the rest as Jim's lips found yours again and you were lost in the heat and electricity of him.

-Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Now I am going to work on some requests and some challenge stuff that I am participating in! Have a nice night! -

#startrek #startrekimagine #jimxreader #kirkxreader #kirkfluff #kirkanxietyattack #captainjamestkirk #james kirk #startrekfic

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bubblepop-32 · 8 years ago

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Skyfall - Angoscia [A KHR Fanfic] Chapter 1: The Meeting(s) of all Beginnings.

Hello and welcome to Skyfall - Angoscia, a KHR fanfiction! I am Bubblepop32, and I really hope you guys will enjoy this fanfic that took me some time to plan out. (Inspiration came from a bar of Lavender soap)

KHR does not belong to me; it belongs to the awesome Akira Amano, only this fanfiction, the cover (yes! I know it's bad...gomen...), the plot, character depiction in this and a bit of other less significant stuff belongs to me.

~Dedicated to my fabulous friends!~

Pls Sit back relax and enjoy this story...

Tsuna's now twenty-one. It has been seven years since the eventful time travel incident, the defeat of Byakuran and the revival of the Arcobaleno, six years since the Vongola and the Shimon Famiglia have once again, formally, healed their strong and infrangible friendship that their ancestors had previously created. Seven years is definitely a long time, but Tsuna can recall those important memories from then as if it was only yesterday that he woke up from his coffin completely and utterly confused.

He sighed wistfully at his action-packed past and let out a soft chuckle of amusement when his memories drifted to all the fun times he's spent with his treasured Famiglia. He wished that he could live his carefree and less serious younger life again, but going back would contradict the idea that 'the short life-span of good things is what makes them so special'.

The almighty Vongola Decimo was no longer the thin, sickly looking child he's once been when he first started his unexpected mafia career. In fact if it wasn't for his signature brown hair that won't obey the laws physics then nobody would've been able to recognise him now. Thinking about it, being older wasn't too bad.

He no longer held eyes that expressed his expressions like an open book, which could be effortlessly read and easily deceived; they were now a lot more reserved, experienced and definitely almost impossible to fool. Because of that change, adding to the more defined jaw line and a longer, more mature face, he looked like a brand new person that did not live fourteen of their years being a Dame-student.

He's also grown over the years, but not as much as the others. But at least he was no longer 157cm (5'2") ; he's added a hearty height of 22cm to that, now 179 (around 5'8" and a bit more), almost 180 (5'9"). But not quite. Though Tsuna has grown the most out of his male guardians, he was still sadly the shortest. Tsuna decided that when he finally reached the height of being 180cm, he would throw a small party, but he would never tell anyone the reason. Never.

His actions, of course, have been strongly mellowed over the past seven years. His wimpy attitude towards life when he was still fourteen completely vanished, he's now learnt to never ever give up, no matter how dire the situation has become, because there will always be hope…

'My guardians…' Tsuna thought, 'I really do hope that they come back safely…'

Being in the state of reminiscing the past and the current, downright forgot that he was in the middle of signing a trade agreement with some other random corporation that trades leather products. His fountain pen came to a pause at the very end of the cursive letter 'e' in his signature, 'Vongola Decimo'. Thank goodness the pen's tip lifted away from the paper whilst he daydreamed, if it hadn't, the leather trading corporation would have to see an embarrassingly huge ink blot.

His hand gradually went slack and let the pen roll out of his grasp, letting the pen helplessly roll off the edge of the desk. Right at the moment the pen landed on the ground with a small 'tink', the door to his office burst open and smashed against the wall with a huge 'BANG'.

"Juudaime! I'm back! And with an urgent message!" A very distinct voice bellowed across his office.

Tsuna's thoughts immediately returned back to earth, startling his entire body to jump involuntarily. An alarmed wail erupted from his mouth as a reflex. "GAAHHHIIEEE!" In the process of trying to jump away from the sound, his knee banged painfully against the underside of the desk, causing him to lean haphazardly forward and thus banging his forehead on the edge of the same desk as well.

A few files of paperwork toppled off the desk and landed in a pile of mess on the ground, along with a few other documents and a couple of expensive Vongola enterprise pens. Tsuna was in no better state; both his knee and his head were sending 1000 degree burning daggers to his pain receptors.

The person, who caused this chain of misfortunes was none other than Hayato, who was standing in the doorway. Seven years hasn't changed him too much, except his personality has finally decided to tone down a bit from super explosive to just explosive. Other than that, he's obviously developed the mature looks: definitely taller, leaner with more muscles and a deeper voice.

He barged in, donned in his casual Mafioso clothe; A black suit, his signature stormy dark red dress shirt, a loose knotted black tie (probably loosened it when he arrived, he hates the strangling feeling of ties), a pair of black slacks and a well-shined pair of black cap-toe Oxford. He hated the feeling of wearing too much formal wear, it felt to him like he was strapped to pieces of stiff cardboard, so usually he would lay off the vests.

Hayato started speaking, but without the seriousness he planned to use after seeing the mess he's caused. "Ju-Juudaime! I'm sorr-" He started, but was soon cut off by a grimacing waul from none other than his most treasured boss.

"Gokudera! Don't startle me like that!" Tsuna pleaded with slight urgency. He was not in the mood to be given a heart attack, and most definitely not in the mood to get distracted and then later accidently start a war due to forgetting to reply to meeting invitations (the other Famiglia may take it the wrong way). He gingerly pushed himself up, staggering slightly with each little rise, then falling back onto his cushioned office chair.

He let out a small sigh and rubbed his forehead. "Other than that…" Tsuna smiled warmly, casting away the pain that was currently plaguing his knee and forehead for a moment, "Welcome back, my right hand man."

At that, Hayato smiled too. He couldn't help but feel overwhelmingly happy and proud when his boss called him his 'right hand man'. It meant to him that Tsuna has accepted him for being his trusty, jack of all trades, knowledgeable and loyal right hand man. Also, his boss actually welcomed him back!

"Ow…" Tsuna mumbled a complaint about his slightly swollen forehead, not to mention a bruising knee that will soon develop into a nice blotchy canvas of dark purple and blue.

Hayato's facial expression immediately turned sour and rushed to Tsuna's side, easily avoiding the fallen paperwork and pens. He held out his hand in distress, gently whisking away the strands of hair that covered his boss' forehead with careful fingers, revealing a small, pink bump which has already begun developing a light hue of purple.

Tsuna's heart couldn't help but beat a little faster when Hayato closed the distance between them so fast to examine his contusion. He hasn't had such close contact with his guardians for almost three months, due to them having very packed schedules, thus leaving no room for casual meet-ups.

Hayato lifted his fingers away from his boss and took a brisk step back. "Juudaime I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to cause you any pain! I'll quickly go grab an ice-pack-" He apologised earnestly, but before he could run off, Tsuna stopped him.

"Gokudera! You don't need to go." He quickly called. "It's only a bruise, and it doesn't hurt much…if I don't bang it anywhere else again." For the sake of keeping Hayato from running off, he ignored his pain. When Hayato came to examine his forehead, Tsuna's skilled eye instantly caught sight of an envelope tucked away in his pocket.

"Instead…I would like to know about the urgent message you mentioned." Tsuna instructed.

Hayato obeyed and terminated his mission to obtain an icepack. He regained his business-like posture and smoothed down his Mafioso suit, slightly narrowing his eyes in the progress. "It's an invitation." He divulged clearly, but with a slight tinge of distaste. "A meeting with the Tramonto Famiglia at one of their bases."

Tsuna's gaze darkened at the mention of the Tramonto Famiglia. The Tramonto Famiglia's ways and mafia families with similar ways of operating was one of the reasons why Primo created the Vongola vigilante group. In fact, the Tramonto was supposed to be eradicated ages ago, but an heir to their Famiglia escaped and revived the Famiglia quite a few years after.

"The Tramonto Famiglia…" Tsuna muttered. "…the one that owns and funds major DTOs (Drug Trafficking Organisations) across the globe. They're the ones who support the growing number of drug-related crimes around Japan, Mexico and the Pacific." He recalled from a database he skimmed a few months ago.

Hayato nodded and took out the envelope he placed in his pocket. "Rumours say that their boss isn't human, reason being his way of killing is terribly inhumane and many of his body parts have been replaced by mechanical counterparts." He added. He placed the envelope on Tsuna's desk, now messy, and slid it forward. "Here's the invitation." He moved back and awaited his boss to open it.

Tsuna reached out and picked the envelope up, decorated with typical vintage border design. Through experience, he's learnt to never open a letter or anything received from other Famiglias without checking it for traps.

One time, one of Dino's men (obviously spies that have successfully infiltrated their ranks) swapped a letter addressed to Tsuna. The letter was originally just a simple greetings letter, but the spies exchanged it for one that was filled with high concentrations of illegal flame absorbent powder. When Tsuna opened it (prior being checked), it led to him being in the state of comatose for a week, due to the sudden deprivation of flames from his body. The spies were singled out and were later disposed of – which Dino refused to tell Tsuna how he disposed them.

His irises flickered from a chocolaty brown to a rich, glowing orange. The warm, endearing orange was also the colour of the flame that suddenly flickered out from his forehead, which had been very recently banged. Though his Hyper Intuition is already top-notch in his normal form, he figured that he should activate his HDWM just in case.

"Gokudera." He called with his HDWM voice, which was welly modulated and oddly enthralling, not to mention very smooth and slightly alluring to listen to.

The name rolled over his right hand man with great effectiveness. His senses immediately perked up and the muscles on his torso tensed, forcing him to stand unnaturally straight. A tingling shiver involuntarily travelled down his neck when he heard his name being called in such an authoritative tone.

Hayato hastily answered the call, but unintentionally stuttered. "Y-yes Juudaime?" He swallowed and cursed internally at himself for acting like an idiot just because he wasn't accustomed to Tsuna's HDWM characteristics after not being exposed to them for such a long time.

Tsuna, of course, caught onto the stutter but kept it to himself. He noted that he should start going into his HDWM more occasionally so that his guardians won't stutter in word or action during missions. "How did you get this letter?" He continued in his well-modulated voice. He narrowed his eyes and concentrated on the contents of the letter, trying to sense any abnormalities.

This time Hayato pinched himself on the arm just to make sure he doesn't act like an idiot again. "One of their men handed the letter to me just as I walked out of the pub that I visit frequently to gather info…." Hayato furrowed his brows just a bit to express concern. "It seems like this Tramonto has been doing some unwanted research…"

Tsuna flickered out of his HDWM after making sure the letter was not laced with traps. He pressed his lips together in thought. 'This Tramonto Famiglia is plotting something…and I can feel that it's not good…but what is it?' He peeled his attention away from the envelope and instead gazed at him tentatively. 'Having such a mysterious Famiglia to know one of my guardian's schedule…it's dangerous. Too dangerous…It'll endanger not only my guardians but every one working under them too, possibly the entire Vongola.' Tsuna pondered deeply.

"Also, the messenger said that this needs an immediate reply…" 'or their boss will get angry, and their angry boss is very dangerous…but I don't want to put stress on Juudaime.' He lowered his gaze and 'tch'ed at himself. 'I should've got rid of that messenger before he even got to me!'

Having been the boss of Vongola and close friends with his guardians (maybe not Hibari and Mukuro, they are more like 'long distance friends' and 'possessive pineapple' to him) for more than six years, Tsuna can almost read their expressions like an open book. With the help of his handy Hyper Intuition, he sensed that Hayato was blaming himself for not doing something, which Tsuna had a feeling he's glad he didn't.

"Well, as long as they didn't do anything bad to you…then I can think about going." Tsuna said with a soft exhale. He could see that Hayato was doing his best to suppress a beaming smile of joy after he said he was glad that nothing bad happened to him. He still doesn't get why Hayato is still so happy after hearing words of concern from him. Actually, he also never really got why Hayato was so dedicated to him either, but he's happy that Hayato decided to be by his side.

Without further ado, he grabbed one of his letter openers that didn't fall off the desk and opened the letter. He slid his fingers around the parchment and gently pulled it out, unfolding it with the other hand. He read through the letter, which had nothing more than the addressee, the location of the meeting, a contact phone number and a short message.

Your highness, Neo Vongola Primo, please do come to this meeting. It is incredibly urgent. The subject of discussion will be addressed upon your arrival.

Please use the above phone number to rsvp.

Tramonto Settimo.

He's almost forgotten that he was retitled as 'Neo Vongola Primo' ever since…well, ages ago. The reason why he still uses 'Decimo' as his signature is probably because of Hayato's habit of calling him 'Juudaime', and that has rubbed onto to him quite a bit.

Other than his title, the rest of the small message is definitely suspicious. First of all, if Tramonto Settimo really needed this to be urgent, then why not visit the Vongola mansion personally? The Vongola mansion's address was no secret, in fact it should be common knowledge among the Mafioso. Other than the mansion's location, the location of other places, bases, communication centres, research labs etc. were kept hidden.

Making the Vongola mansion's address public simply shows how confident they are in their strength. Vongola isn't deemed the strongest Famiglia for no reason, and if other Mafioso really did come to eradicate them, Hibari or Ryohei would've already sent them flying.

Secondly, if another mafia Famiglia requests a meeting, then the subject of discussion should definitely be written. Most Famiglia bosses would decline if the subject isn't included. It was too risky to accept; the invitation could simply be something to cover for an assassination.

But knowing Tsuna, he wasn't the mean type of boss that would simply decline a meeting that's labelled 'urgent', but he wasn't impulsive enough to go straight over without consulting CEDEF or his guardians first.

"Basil-san has been quite busy lately right?" Tsuna asked no one in particular.

But Hayato answered anyway. "Yeah. He's dealing with one of the Vongola research lab that had discovered this 'will energy'. Apparently the lab had been raided and the research that was done on 'will energy' was stolen, so Basil's been trying to recover the papers and put that lab back in working order." He on-pointedly informed.

Tsuna gave a shy laugh and stood up from his chair. "Gokudera, you sure are thoroughly updated with our status. Maybe you should be the boss instead." He joked.

Hayato obviously did not take it as a joke and immediately started his episode of apologising. "No Juudaime!" He blurted out. "I will never be able to be as great as you are! I'm so sorry for offending you! You are the best boss in the entire perceivable universe! I mean it!"

Tsuna quickly walked over to Hayato, attempting to hush his words. "Gokudera! It's fine! That was meant to be a joke…but I guess you would really be a better-" He tried saying to calm him down. He was going to say 'you would really be a better right hand man,' but Hayato presumed that Tsuna was still insisting that he should become boss and started stressing again.

As Tsuna was going to walk out of the room and head off to the communication room believing that he's finally quelled Hayato's unease, Hayato suddenly grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around so that they were face to face. He looked down at his Juudaime and put on the most sincere gaze and serious expression he could make, almost as if he was going to make a grand confession.

"Juudaime! I am sincerely sorry!" He wailed, completely unfit with his deeper voice. "I-I'm a terrible right hand man! Even after so long, I have caused you nothing but discouragement! I-I-I-"

Tsuna, who wasn't actually listening to Hayato's words of self-complaint but instead concentrating on the fact that Hayato suddenly pulled him in so close, with the smell of gunpowder and a faint tint of Chamomile and Lavender aftershave gently emanating from him. It was simply too hard to keep his suppressed blush away from his face. 'Too close!'

He's been isolated from human contact for so long, yet in one day he's gotten less than an atom's breadth close to someone twice. Warmth was definitely spreading across his cheeks, and he was afraid that the pink flush would become obvious.

Tsuna, now with (way) more strength than before, easily broke away from Hayato's grasp. He stepped back strongly and quickly turned away, facing the corridor as if fascinated by it.

"G-Gokudera! A joke. It's ok. Because I know you are way better and reliable being right hand man." He exclaimed, straining his voice a little. He gripped the letter in his hands and slid it into his inner breast pocket before turning his head just a bit so that Hayato could only see a slither of this face. "L-let's go. I'm going to give everyone a call." – And he strode off, leaving a nervous Hayato quickly trailing behind.

Tsuna now sat comfortably in one of his premium leather bound chairs from the company he signed a trade agreement (quite) a few moments ago. They shipped a sample to him so that the Neo Vongola Primo could evaluate their products personally. The leather trading Famiglia's boss nearly broke Tsuna's eardrums when he personally called them to tell them how comfy they were, and he will happily accept the trade agreement as long as the leather were collected from humane factories.

He had just sent a text to his cherished guardians and his ex-Spartan tutor which he will be holding a group video call in a few minutes, and that they were welcome to join early if they wanted. Usually, he wouldn't trouble his guardians for just a meeting, but something (namely his gut feelings) told Tsuna that he should get a second thought about it.

Now that he's settled down in a more relaxed environment without the pressure of paperworks…his Hyper Intuition was sending him stronger gut feelings. These feelings were strong enough to give him a tiny prick of a headache. It was almost like trying to tell him that-

Then all of a sudden, one section of the screen flickered to life, immediately displaying a smiling ravenette with light brown eyes and a mysterious scar on the right side of his chin. He was wearing an earpiece, and he was dressed in just a light blue dress shirt.

"Yo Tsuna! How are you?" A super familiar, cheery and soothing voice announced clearly. The audio was so clear that they both thought that the person was actually standing right before them.

Tsuna immediately recognised the cheery voice and gripped his armrests in delight, though he didn't really show it on his face, but he smiled warmly nonetheless.

Hayato simply nodded in acknowledgement and muttered something about "Stupid baseball idiot calling Juudaime's name so casually." And "getting a vacation."

"It's nice to see that you're safe and sound, Yamamoto." He said, relieved that his rain guardian wasn't too injured. "How's Boston? I hope you didn't get targeted or attacked or-" Tsuna yet again was unintentionally taking on the role as the protective mummy hen, getting all fretted about his guardian's wellbeing.

The rain guardian's smile cracked into a lopsided grin. "Maa maa Tsuna~!" Takeshi soothed. "I can protect myself, plus the mission wasn't that dangerous anyway." He added. It was obvious that he was on a plane, one of the special jets that's designed especially for the Vongola. Internet was just one of the many things that are available on the special jet where normal planes aren't. Just as he was going to say something else, a flight attendant peaked into view and crouched down, whispering something into his ear.

"Oh, ok thanks. So three more hours until landing?"

The flight attendant nodded and headed back to her compartment.

Tsuna studied Takeshi through the screen carefully. He wasn't supposed to be on the plane back to Sicily until tomorrow evening, yet he was going over the North Atlantic Ocean right now, not mentioning already six hours into the flight. This was definitely fishy. Takeshi couldn't possibly have known about the meeting invitation beforehand, and if he did, it wouldn't be something to push his flight forward. Tsuna specially reserved this mission for him so that he could spend some time in Boston unwinding by exploring all the baseball culture over there, maybe even score a few homeruns if he felt like it.

It was definitely odd that Takeshi would cut short such a great, once in a (long) while opportunity to reconnect with his most favourite hobby.

Tsuna felt responsible and extremely guilty that he had to take him away from baseball. Even after seven years; from the moment Takeshi chose to join him in playing the 'mafia game', he's always felt extremely immense contrite whenever Takeshi had to leave the bat just for him. And most times, after having to leave his bat for a war between Famiglias, he wouldn't be able to play for weeks because of the severe injuries he's received.

Hayato also got suspicious of the sudden unplanned early flight, but only to a certain degree. Though it was odd that Takeshi didn't contact him beforehand. "Hey baseball freak…why the hell are you coming back so early?" He glared straight at the rain guardian as if looking for any hints. "Tch…don't tell me something actually did happen-"

Another dark section of the screen flickered to life, blasting out immense ear ringing noise; the downpour of coins sounding like metallic rain, an entire crowd of people screaming or shouting and the sound of…cards being dealt. Though this call was audio only.

But a distinct, immaculate, deep voice seemed to pierce through all the audio mess like a fog-horn. "Ciao, Neo Vongola Primo." It spoke, loud and clear. "Dame-Tsuna."

I was going to write more, but that would be too long, so please be patient and wait for the next chapter to arrive!

Shoutout #1:

- MY COUSIN (Name) WANTS A BOYFRIEND!

Have a shoutout? Pls add it to the end of your comment~

Oh, and guys, made any fanart for this? (this is the first chapter...so I guess no...I'm sorry!) Please do email them to me at [email protected] ! I would love to see your creations!

It would be great if you can critique this, or simple encouragements or thoughts on this would be absolutely great :D

-Bubblesssss

P.S pls excuse any mistakes~

#vongola decimo #vongola #sawada tsunayoshi #gokudera hayato #yamamoto takeshi #hibari kyoya #rokudo mukuro #chrome dokuro #ryohei sasagawa #primo #giotto #time travel #misunderstanding #7YL #Skyfall - Angoscia #Bubblepop32 #fanfiction

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maple-toast · 8 years ago

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Modern Chitterings and The Floating City (08)

For a human to understand the mindset of a Chitterling three points have to be focused on to grasp their perspective. These are aspects that nearly all of Chitterling culture revolves around. The first is that Chitterlings do not live long. Easily half as long as a human. They feel an anxiousness to always be using their limited time. This leads to them being ill suited to lengthy periods of inactivity, as they tend to abandon what pauses them for other avenues. A Chitterling aid is an eager worker, but will need an exhausting list of tasks to follow. When left with little to do they often perform petty acts of organization such as gathering loose objects to make impromptu hand crafts. Folk stories of Chitterlings confined to one area state the Chitterling will eventually use everything in the area for a new sport they have just made. The second point is that Chitterlings are born in large numbers. With a single female likely to lay a minimum of six eggs in her life, the Chitterling population grows extremely fast. Having so many, individuals are not valued over the group which leads to those who don't follow the majority pushed out to fend for themselves. Chitterlings in the Vale have a strong collectivist mindset not seen elsewhere in the Midlands. This point is often not as strongly present in Chitterlings born to small communities in human lands. The last important point to consider is that it is hard to distinguish between Chitterlings. As Chitterlings have few fur patterns, differences in colour, or pronounced facial features they are difficult to tell apart. While amongst themselves they can use scent to readily identify each other, even they can have difficulty seeing differences from a distance. This uniformity among themselves has lead to increasingly striking means to distinguish oneself through the use of dyes, pieces of distinct clothing and jewelry, or in extreme cases self scarring. These concerns are compounded when the fact each Chitterling is born with two or more nearly identical siblings. It has to be emphasized that Chitterlings can go to bizarre extremes to stand out amongst their own. With these points in mind the overall culture of the Chitterlings of the Chittering Vale is one of a stifling massive collective. With possible influence from Eldfast culture they have made themselves a sort of two sided caste system. After birth in the communal egg caches children are assigned into Laborer or Organizer castes, to be trained for work that the city needs. Laborers make up about two-thirds of the population and fill the most variety of roles such as craftsmen, builders, farmers, law enforcement, child rearing, and otherwise filling any physical work needs. Laborers are taught one or two specialized crafts but are free to join the ongoing work shifts such as construction or porting of goods. In general a Laborer will work at a shift for half of a day, be paid, and then choose to continue if the project is unfinished or spend their time elsewhere. This flexibility helps Laborers voice their discontent with a particular Overseer, as one who abuses their position will find themselves without workers. Laborers who do child rearing though are required to see to their charges for a full five years. Organizers are taught to be the engineers, quartermasters, and foremen who plan for the city's needs. The Organizers have internal ranks limiting how many laborers they are allowed to oversee, and as such how much authority they can wield. When working projects that involve multiple Organizers the highest ranked is given difference to in planning. These ranks are closely tied to a Chitterlings age and thus experience in their field. It has been noted that a majority of Overseers are chosen from among female children. An odd trend as there had been no noted matriarchal leaning among Chitterlings before the Floating city was founded. There is suggestion of a third "civic" or ruling caste beginning to form among the highest rank Organizers. Those who have the authority to call for broad changes to how the city runs. Internally these positions are being handed down from trainer to apprentice, and seem like they could lead into an elite or nobility station in the future.

The Sprawl and Floating City

Since returning to the Chittering Vale with human knowledge the Vale has undergone a drastic transformation. The grasslands adjacent to the Vale are now blanketed in farming and ranching lots. Primarily reptile, chicken, and insect ranches with farm land used to produce animal feed. Networks of wells and pumps bring water up from the Frozen River to supply these lots. The land is used haphazardly in a massive sprawl of fenced lots, winding dirt roads, and buildings too low for humans to enter. The only paved roads in the sprawl are those that connect to the major trade road, which are fairly straight lines into the Floating City. Spanning the width of the Vale's central valley the Floating City is a seemingly impossible marvel of engineering. Composed of vast quantities of silk, wood, traditional rope, and any other material the builders could incorporate the city is the suspended home to a million Chitterlings. The city is traversed by series of bridges which link wide wooden platforms that act as the city's hubs. Each of these disk like platforms tend to be as wide as forty men across and are each named like streets. The individual bridges that link the hubs and buildings are colour marked to make directing functional, with no hub having more than eight connections. Buildings are often vertical, built tall and thin like icicles or cocoons that have walking ledges around the outside. They are most often single room buildings, but those with multiple rooms will have them stacked atop one another, with access to each level on the outside of the building. Housing and light workshops are built around the hubs or are partitioned in separate clusters. These building clusters tend to have few bridge entrances and are like smaller internal communities. They will have ladders and short means to quickly cross to each other or to ascend and descend amongst them. Heavy storage and industry buildings are built along the valleys cliff faces on the southern end of the city. They are built for ease of access to the farming sprawl and to have solid foundation to work on. Artificial caves have been carved into the cliff faces and are where female Chitterlings go to lay eggs in communal caches. As there are dedicated laborers for child rearing and the children are fairly independent within four years, Chitterlings do not form families like humans do. Generally the children under the same tutors, in the same caste, and born the same year will work and live together as close knit friends. The Floating city is in a constant state of maintenance and expansion. While the city currently only occupies an otherwise narrow slice of the Vale, it could one day encompass the whole valley. It is said half of the city's residents are employed in its construction forces. Although this is likely an exaggeration the fact is almost every resident will contribute some small part to the city's structure during their lifetime. Commerce in the Floating city is handled unlike the rest of the Midlands. In a general sense all work is done for the sake of the entire city, with necessary goods and services provided freely to the population at large. The exception to this is that work is paid for with copper coins, each valued at trade for one meal. So a normal Laborer will be paid the value of a meal for half a day's work, letting them keep fed as long as they work. Specialized work can yield more pay, but often has rules regarding quotas to meet. There is market for trade in luxury goods, such as clothing and jewelry. Acquiring these luxuries tends to just be a matter of working harder and saving meal tokens. The entire city constantly sways and shakes lightly, which can make those unaccustomed ill. It is best not to consider the rapidly flowing water below the city, while still keeping a mind of one's footing. A slip will often land you on a lower level with bruises, but those unlucky could end clinging to suspension. Those very unlucky will have a clear fall into rocks or the Frozen River.

#Story Time #backstory #fantasy #fiction #setting development

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elixbeiste · 6 years ago

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Who: Eli & @dancyjeffswitch

When: August 6th

Where: Practice room, then Jeff’s room

What: Bondage, for We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off to Have a Good Time both boys are in the non-sexual scene class

Eli was a bit nervous, he hadn't met Jeff before, seen him around and knew of him but didn't know him very well at all. It would be okay, though, they were doing a nonsexual scene and it didn't have to be anything major. They'd briefly talked about pet play in his sub 101 class and bondage was brought up often in the nonsexual scenes class so it was really hitting two classes for him. He went to the play room and was the first one there and he took the time to check out some of the larger pieces of equipment that was there. Some were down right terrifying, others just interesting but he was fiddling with a buckle on a St. Andrews Cross when he heard someone enter and he quickly dropped it, crossing his arms over his chest and blurting out a quick, very guilty sounding, "I was just looking!" with a nervous laugh, not wanting anyone to get any ideas that he wanted to try it out.

Jeff had been here some time but never really gone down to the play room much. There was a first time for anything. Eli had been someone he had seen around, telling from one look that he was a good boy. He knew the other had be nervous though, this being the first time they will have met and all. Walking in, Jeff chuckled a bit as Eli seemed to jump. "You're allowed to look around, no one will get upset." Jeff walking over to him. "Hey there, I'm Jeff. Kneel for me please."

Eli let out a sigh of a breath as Jeff reassured him he was allowed to look and he watched him as he came over, his arms slowly relaxing down until it was just one across his middle, hand grabbing the opposite arm. "Oh, I'm, yeah..." he nodded quickly and got down to his knees taking in another slow breath and letting it out as he clasped his hands behind his back and smiled albeit still a bit nervously, "Hi, sir, I'm Eli.." He didn't know if Jeff wanted to know his name or not but he took a chance that he did. The switch had never struck him as cruel or harsh so he felt comfortable enough in that to offer it unbidden.

Jeff kneeled on one knee and lifted his chin to look at him. "Nice to meet you Eli, do you mind if I call you pet for the scene? Being that you will be my pet, also do you want to do it here or we can take it back to my room if you want." Jeff trying to make the other as comfortable as possible with all this. Taking it slow for now and not trying to dive right in.

Eli looked at Jeff with a little smile and nodded at the first question. "Pet's fine, sir, you can call me almost anything, really..." There were a few things he would veto but he doubted that they would come up. The second question had him pause and look away, his brow furrowing slightly. Did he want to do it at Jeff's room? It would probably be more comfortable, really, the practice room sort of creeped him out a little. "Uhh..." looking back at Jeff, Eli nodded lightly, "If... if you don't mind, I just though... I thought that here would be better because... I don't even know why now but your room... would be better, I think."

Jeff smiled to see how nervous he was. Offering his hand, he helped the other to stand. "its okay, its a neutral place and a good place for us to meet up. Nothing wrong with that." Jeff still holding his hand as he walked with him. He didn't mind either way and if Eli wanted to let go, he wouldn't mind. It was all about Eli's comfort. "So while we walk, tell me things you like as rewards for doing well."

Eli took the offered hand and stood. When Jeff didn't let go, Eli smiled lightly, already pleased and kept holding on as well. They started out to Jeff's and Eli had to sigh again, "Rewards, hmm... I mean, I really, really like verbal praise but if we want to keep this nonsexual we should probably keep that to a minimum." It was embarrassing to admit but he had to because of what they had previously discussed. "Other than that, things like little caresses or, I don't know, ruffling up my hair, ha..." he felt so silly, he sounded like a child, it was ridiculous, "Chocolate?" he offered the last in some sort of desperate attempt to appear more mature than he was making himself out to be but was chocolate a reward an adult would want?

Jeff could see something in him he knew well but he said nothing about it right now. He did have a question though. "What does calling you good boy do to you? Does it excite you?" he was wondering outloud though his voice had a tone of wonderment and ideas. They were playing non sexual, which was fine but he could ask. "Those i can do. If you don't mind me asking though...do you have little tendencies?"

Eli glanced at the switch when he asked about what happened when he was called a good boy, his cheeks heating up a little and he giggled quietly. Not chuckled, giggled. So embarrassing, "Uh, yeah... a little..." he didn't know if Jeff had been asking rhetorically or not but he answered him nonetheless. "Tendencies, sir? Sorry, I... don't know what you mean?"

Jeff nodded a bit. "I mean, are you a little, do you like to do little things, like playing dress up, coloring, tea parties? Those things that little boys and girls like to do." He was soft in his tone, wanting to know more about Eli as it would help them with the scene as well. "Also, you don't have to be embarrassed about your body, its okay to say how it reacts."

Eli's eyes widened when he realized what Jeff had meant, "Oh! Little tendencies not.. just small tendencies.." he snorted a little laugh as he rubbed at his eye and shrugged lightly, "I'm not sure, sir... I've never really thought much about it? I mean..." he trailed off, taking a moment to think, really think about it. Maybe it was similar to pet play for him? Maybe he just didn't know enough about it. "Maybe, sir..." he finally decided on, "And, uhm, being called a good boy gets me more than a little excited, it's like a lot... a whole lot."

Jeff shrugged. "Only asking, you remind me of my sub but in the best ways. He's a sweet and bubbly, smiley as well. You two seem to have the same attitude, at least to me it seems that way." Coming to his room, Jeff unlocked the door and let the other boy in. "LIke how much, I don't want to make you uncomfortable if I call you good boy, because I probably will.."

Eli looked at Jeff again, "Who's your sub, sir?" When they arrived at Jeff's, Eli had to really think again, "Well... once or twice or.. maybe as long as you space it out a bit, it'll be okay... like I don't..." he stumbled a bit over the next word, muttering it quietly, "Orgasm right away or anything like that? I didn't... sorry, sir, I didn't think about that when I suggested pet play, I mean, praising pets is like.. the thing, you know? Maybe... should we do something else?"

Jeff: "Cal Evans, I call him a cinnamon roll and he's my princess as well. If you haven't met him, you should. He's always up for new friends." With the discussion going on still, Jeff thought before he spoke. "Why don't we do a simple bondage scene and after, if you want, just for us, we can do pet play?"

Eli: "Oh!" Eli laughed, "I know Cal! He's the one that found the cat that Miss Cat ended up adopting, Sharkey! He showed me around my first week here! Ohhh, wait, so that means you're that Sir Jeff he was talking about..." Knowing that it was Cal's Jeff somehow made things easier, "You know, that... sounds good actually, can we do that, sir?"

Jeff smiled to hear they knew each other and seemed to get along as well. "yes, I'm that Sir Jeff and I'm taking it that that is a good thing in your eyes which i'm glad to hear and see." Jeff was happy to hear he was up for the idea of two different scenes. "Yes we can and this way if you get excited as a pup, or a kitten, its okay." With that, Jeff went to grab a bag of things he hadn't used in some time. "Now, I want you to strip to your boxers and kneel for me."

Eli smiled and ducked his head a little, "It's a good thing, sir." he confirmed and he let out a relieved sigh now that they had a plan. Communication really was key, wasn't it? There was no point in setting himself up for failure if he could avoid it and this was setting himself up for success. "Yes, sir," Eli nodded and quickly disrobed to his boxers, folding the clothes a little haphazardly and he sunk down to his knees for the second time for Jeff.

Jeff watched and waited for Eli to be ready. "Now i want to know your safeword before we begin." With the boy's word, Jeff moved closer to him. "Good, now stand, hands folded behind your back and head down." Already he knew the pattern he wanted to take and use for this. The ideas were floating in his head more and more.

Eli nodded, "Coconut, sir, and the traffic lights too..." He stood when told to and put his head down, folding his hands behind his back like he thought Jeff meant, "Like this, sir?" Being tied up was always fun for Eli, it tended to calm him down somehow, like he was being constantly hugged. So far, he'd had no complaints with it and was eager to try more.

Jeff "Yes like that." jeff told him as he started to tie the boy's hands together. The rope being dragged down his body some, he tied it around his ankles now as well. "if it feels too tight or too loose at any point, please tell me." Wanting to keep them talking. Jeff was ever watchful of Eli's face as he moved the rope around him, pulling the boy's body in tight but not too tight.

Eli stood as still as he could, trying to anticipate what Jeff was going to do just for fun. He lightly pulled at the rope around his wrists, checking the tension and had no complaints, "Yes, sir, I will, sir... things are good so far! Green light!" He added the last with a little laugh, wanting to practicing using all the safe words he had at his disposal.

Jeff "Good boy" Jeff said out of habit, though he did want to see how he'd respond as he tied the ropes up under and over his chest to outline the boy's cock a bit. Once he was fully tied, Jeff smiled at his work. "Eyes up, I want to see how you look." The ropes going down and around, then wrapping his torso to hold it all in place. "How are you feeling it in?"

Eli’s breath caught in his throat and he didn't know where to look when Jeff called him a good boy. His blush deepened to a bright red and he bit his bottom lip to try and keep from smiling but also to try and stop the rush of excitement it gave him. He was so focused on not getting turned on, he wasn't paying attention to what Jeff was doing and his eyes snapped up in surprise at the order. Letting out a slow breath as Jeff finished up, Eli smiled and wiggled a little, "It feels good, sir... secure." he looked down at himself to see the pattern and smiled, "It looks nice too!"

Jeff saw his concentration and remembered it for later. "Good to hear it, pet. Now I'm going to lay you in the couch for a moment so your muscles can relax and then once you've taken 10 slow and relaxing breathes, I want you to tell me how it feels in the position as well." Jeff going over and picking the boy up, he laid him softly on the couch, waiting for him to follow the instructions.

Eli was wondering how he was going to get from where he was in the middle of the room to the couch, deciding that hopping would be the most dignified way when Jeff scooped him up causing him to laugh. It felt weird but good and when he was set down gently, he shifted only slightly to get rid of a couple pressure points from the cushions and started in on the breaths, letting his eyes close. On the tenth, Eli kept his eyes closed and very lightly nodded, "This..." his eyes blinked open and he looked for Jeff. There was almost the hint of a blissed out sort of expression, eyes just a touch bleary, smile lopsided and relaxed, "This feels really nice, sir, I..." looking up at the ceiling, his brow furrowed trying to figure out the why, "Safe?" was all he could think of and he hadn't even realized he'd spoken it aloud.

Jeff beamed to hear him say that. "Good, I'm glad it does that for you. I'll have you stay that way for a bit more then I'll untie you. Lets keep going with the breathes." He was wondering if all this would put Eli to sleep and he was about to find out. In all this, they both were learning something new. After Eli being tied up for 10 minutes, jeff got closer and started to untie him. The knots were made to make it easy on him to untie. Once he was there, Jeff sat back. "Now that you're free, how are you feeling?"

Eli barely nodded and let his eyes close again, going back to the deep breathing that Jeff had him doing before. One breath three, he was out, a handful of not good sleep nights and the pointed lack of anxiety worked to let him drift off into a restful sleep. He slowly woke when Jeff started to untie him but didn't say anything feeling oddly spaced out. Ropes undone, it took Eli a moment to try and put how he was feeling into words, "I feel... tired, like I could sleep for a week but also... buzzy? Buzzy? Is that a thing?" he sighed tiredly and rubbed his arms gently, "It's a good buzzy... nothing bad, I don't know how to describe it, sir..."

Jeff kneeled by his head and nodded to him. His hand coming to caress the boy's cheek. "Yes, I get what you mean and it is a good thing, you know if you want to sleep you can." He moved to sit with the boy's head in his lap, fingers sliding through Eli's hair. "its okay, you did well and I'm proud of you." Still using his words to give the boy the praise he deserved for the scene.

Eli leaned slightly into Jeff's caress and he shifted a little when the switch came to sit by him. The fingers through his hair felt amazing and the praise, oh the praise. Eli smiled and huffed out a little laugh as he moved, bringing his knees up as he turned towards the back of the couch, head still on Jeff's lap. "Thank you, sir..." he murmured quietly, fidgeting a little as he settled and sighed once, heavily, before letting his eyes close once more. His last thought before he fell back asleep was that it had only been 10 minutes. 10 minutes... what would a longer session do to him. He shivered lightly at the thought and drifted off with another 'thank you' breathed out quietly.

-Fin-

#jeff: para #j:scene week #gleedsmscene4

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