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spacedikut · 4 years ago

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the blessing of a blizzard ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: a blizzard leaves the team holed up in the bau office. spencer can’t stop thinking about your elusive boyfriend, mike, who might not be your boyfriend after all. 4.3k

a/n: festive fic! kind of! im too scared to do a final check so if there’s errors or i misuse pronouns just lemme know ily happy holidays ! thank you to the incredible @homoose for helping with dialogue :D

Mike. His name is Mike, and Spencer hates him.

Full name Michael, Spencer presumes, which comes from Hebrew meaning “who is like God?” A rhetorical question, implying there is no person like God, Michael was one of the archangels in Hebrew tradition and the only one identified as an archangel in the Bible.

What Michael should mean, however, is the guy that stole your heart and left Spencer thinking things very unlike him – that Mike, a man Spencer has never met and that clearly makes you very happy, has a really stupid name, for example.

There are three things Spencer knows about him:

1. Ever since you started deciding on his wardrobe, ladies love him. It makes you a little jealous, apparently.

2. You love baking him homemade treats whenever you can. Like a movie playing in his head, Spencer can perfectly remember you excitedly chatting with Garcia and Emily, animatedly explaining how excited Mike gets when he sees you’ve made something just for him.

3. Mike can be a bit of a dick, actually. There have been several mornings you’ve come in with a long face, leaning back in your desk chair far enough to view the world upside down and whining about how grumpy Mike was that morning, how you had to tip-toe around your apartment lest he get mad.

You’d called him your soulmate, added that he’s a light in your life you didn’t know you needed until you had him. You’re a person who chooses their words carefully, so when you’re walking around putting Mike and soulmate in the same sentence, you mean business.

That business is ripping Spencer’s heart out of his chest, apparently. Because you’re busy showing JJ pictures of him on your phone right now, blissfully unaware of the subconscious glare Spencer is lasering into your phone as he leans against the jet counter.

Spencer’s never had the honour of seeing Mike (a genuine word you used – honour) and you know what? Spencer doesn’t want to know what Mike looks like. Spencer doesn’t care. Mike’s probably ugly, anyway, and Spencer’s confidence within himself grows day by day and if there’s one thing he’s learnt recently it’s that comparison is the thief of joy and-

“Oh!” JJ exclaims, “He’s gorgeous!”

Fuck Mike. Really, fuck him.

+++

The floor is slippery beneath everyone’s feet, the surrounding area slowly losing its mixture of colours to blend into one coat of white.

It’s snowing.

Garcia greets the team, a steaming cup of tea in her bejewelled hands, and everyone gets to work right away. There’s whispers of the snow getting heavier and sticking and covering more and more ground with more and more depth; people are rushing against the proverbial clock to get done and get home before they’re all stuck.

But that won’t happen, right? If people were genuinely concerned about getting snowed in, surely everyone would’ve been sent home early as a precaution. Right? Right?

Wrong.

Rossi’s the one to notice it, calling out, “Check it out. Snow’s pretty bad.”

He says it like it’s nothing, like they’ll race to the windows then deflate with disappointment because you couldn’t even create a single snowball with that light coat, but holy hell people are walking around with snow up to their ankles and it’s still coming down thick. And then the lights are flickering and JJ is making frantic calls home to Will and Hotch is exiting his office, phone pressed to his ear, calling everyone to attention:

“There’s a blizzard incoming. It’s too dangerous for anyone to be on the roads, so we’re being told to sit tight. You should all try to call home, just in case; we don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

Some people still brave it, still try to head on home, and whether they make it or not is up to the Gods. The team glance around, varying expressions – Emily and Derek look pissed, JJ is worried, and you and Rossi are straight-faced. Penelope is bouncing in excitement.

“It’s like a sleepover!”

All Spencer can think about is how Mike will have to suffer another day without you. He bites back a smile.

+++

Spencer’s straining his neck, butt barely on his desk chair, in attempt to see around all the bustling people that stand between you and him. Through the glass BAU doors, on the phone, your shoulders are slumped and you kick your boot against the floor a few times to channel your multitude of emotions into something. He hopes Mike isn’t giving you a hard time for something that isn’t within your control.

Emily looks up from her monitor, where she’s doing Christmas shopping even though it’s Christmas Eve, and looks thoroughly amused by Spencer’s internal battle of wanting to watch you but not wanting it to be obvious.

“You good, Reid?”

Spencer flinches like Emily pinched him. “Yeah, good. Fine. Are you good?”

Emily makes a show of slowly turning to look at you, still on the phone, then slowly turning back to Spencer’s wide-eyed gaze. She smirks. “You think they’re talking to Mike?”

Yes, Spencer does think that, but he’d made a point to not fully acknowledge it. And there’s something about Emily’s smugness that tells Spencer she’s teasing him – she knows something he doesn’t and it makes his eyes narrow. “Probably. Why?”

Whatever the response is, Emily’s barely opened her mouth before she’s interrupted by Penelope Garcia gracefully clapping her hands, getting the attention of every BAU member. The team quiets and all eyes are on Penelope. Except Spencer, who watches with concern as you sneak back to your desk, a furrow to your brow and downward dips either side of your mouth.

“I know these are less-than-great circumstances, and we’re stuck in work of all places, but that shouldn’t mean we can’t have a little fun! So…”

She wildly gestures for Hotch to step forward, a cheesy grin on her face and a gleam in Hotch’s eye that tells everyone he’s also smiling but internally, and she takes the three large boxes he was carrying like the good sidekick he is.

“We’re building gingerbread houses!”

There’s exclamations of surprise and joy; Emily lights up at the idea of doing anything other than work or sitting at her desk, and JJ takes a box to look it over before asking, “Where did you get these?”

Hotch answers. “They were supposed to be for the kids,” He shrugs, holding back a smile, “However, I guess we can use them now.”

“Yes,” Penelope nods, “Yes, we can use them now. Get your game faces on, because this is a competition. Hotch and Rossi are the judges, because they’re grumpy old men, and the rest of us will be in teams of two fighting to build the best gingerbread house the BAU has ever seen.”

Derek speaks up for the first time, just to insult Spencer. “I refuse to be on a team with Reid. He has no creative skills.”

Members of the team laugh and Spencer reacts indignantly. He wants to reply, but you’re already speaking.

“Hey! I’ll take him! Spencer’s great.”

Many heads snap to you when you speak, Spencer’s surely got whiplash, but you’re looking at him and smiling at him and him alone. He’s breathless at the sight, how you chose him and have literal stars in your eyes, yet all he can think is how undeserving he is of such a beauty. How undeserving anyone is, mostly Mike, to exist in the same reality as someone who puts the definition of beautiful to shame.

Spencer’s about to make the best damn gingerbread house the world has ever seen.

+++

So, building a gingerbread house? A little more difficult than originally thought.

Maybe it’s the sticky icing, or the temptation to simply eat all the sweet decorative candy rather than use it for its intended purpose, or…

Maybe it’s the pretty teammate Spencer has that keeps brushing against him, keeps brushing against his hands, and like a virus to a computer you completely wipe Spencer of all thoughts other than: Y/N.

Spencer caught you watching him while he was rolling up his shirt sleeves, caught you staring at his hands and trailing your eyes up his forearms, following the sleeves as they moved inch by inch up to his elbows.

Then, when Spencer was holding two pieces of gingerbread together, you were too lost in thought to put the icing between the cracks and cement them together. Your eyes were trained on the fingers pressing the pieces together. Spencer had to call your name three times to wake you up.

Then, something weird happened (if the previous instances weren’t weird enough). You two had been in your own bubble of hushed tones and accidental touching, surrounded by bickering and collapsing houses and at one point Emily offered Rossi twenty bucks if he just votes for her and JJ without them making a house, and suddenly it’s silent. All he can hear is his heartbeat, his blood pumping in his ears, and all he can feel is the warmth of your breath on his ear because you’re right there, over his shoulder, joining him in hunching over your creation to decorate it with all kinds of shapes and colours.

The close proximity is too much. It’s too much.

You lean even closer, shoulder and arm pressed directly against Spencer’s, and lift another hand to place a miniature candy cane next to the gingerbread door. The action causes your hand to brush Spencer’s, and for the first time ever he’s not jolting away like he’s been electrocuted, no, his hand stays there, hovering, waiting and hoping for more.

Hoping for more of you.

And you seem to realise, too, that Spencer’s reaction is abnormal. He can’t decide if you’re testing the waters, or if it was a mere accident. But what are you testing the waters for? Why are you trying to touch him? Why do you want to touch him?

He takes a sharp intake of breath. From the corner of his eye, he sees you turn to look at him, and he almost doesn’t reciprocate. Almost.

You’re so close, face so close to his own. You take the softest breaths, in and out, sending the gentlest puffs of air onto Spencer’s lips.

He has no idea what the fuck is happening. He doesn’t want it to stop.

Your eyes, always shining and full of an emotion Spencer can’t decipher, dance around his face – his eyes, to his nose, stopping on each cheek, back and forth and up and down. Spencer’s captured by them, unable to tear himself away, which has become quite the habit since he’s known you.

Then you’re looking at his lips.

Spencer blinks, hoping to clear away the obvious hallucination he’s having, but no. Nothing changes. Your gaze remains, unwavered, making Spencer subconsciously open his mouth. The softest gasp leaves it when your pupils dilate.

This is the perfect moment to kiss, right? Right here, in front of the gingerbread house you made together, decorated together, and now begin the start of something else together. It makes sense, it’s almost poetic, and Spencer’s thought about you and him in a relationship enough times to consider this opportunity good and sweet enough to regale everyone with in the future.

Can you imagine it? “We had our first kiss in front of the gingerbread house we slaved over together. We won the competition, too.”

There’s a loud clang – Penelope found an actual gong from somewhere – and Rossi announces that the timer has gone off and it’s time for the judges to vote for the winner.

When you gently pick up yours and Spencer’s creation and take it to a cloth-covered table, where Rossi and Hotch ominously stand with their arms crossed, Spencer is frozen in place.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

There’s no way you wanted to kiss him. It isn’t possible. You’ve never looked at him like that before. It must’ve been a mistake.

But you were so close…

No. If Spencer made that move, it would’ve ruined everything – your friendship, the festive fun, the atmosphere of the entire evening. Everyone’s expected to be stuck here for at least another six hours, and making it tense and awkward was not something Spencer is willing to do.

But your eyes…

Spencer can’t think about that fact too much. That could mean anything – dilated pupils don’t necessarily mean you’re in love. You could’ve gotten a good whiff of the gingerbread and felt hungry, or a song you really liked started playing from the playlist Penelope created. Or, most likely, Spencer thinks, you were thinking about someone else.

Your boyfriend, for example.

You have a boyfriend. Mike.

Of course, you were probably thinking of Mike. Your boyfriend.

Spencer almost kissed someone in a relationship, and he’s pretty sure you almost kissed him too.

+++

Much to Derek’s chagrin, you and Spencer win the gingerbread house contest.

Penelope was baffled, frantically gesturing to the Jacuzzi she made with icing and- Derek made miniature weights? Somehow? It looked chaotic.

“Practicality, my dear,” Rossi told her. “Who, living in a gingerbread house, is worried about working out?”

Even though you and Spencer were the winners, Derek and Penelope and their pouting (and calls for a rematch) took the attention away from the obvious awkward tension between the winners. Spencer stayed at the desk you worked at while you took your house to the judges, stayed at the desk when you were crowned and stayed at the desk when you cheered.

You looked at him, wide grin and happy eyes, and all he could do was tightly smile back. Give a thumbs up.

He gave you a thumbs up. You nearly kissed less than ten minutes prior. And all he could do was give you a thumbs up.

The light in your eyes dimmed, but you seemed to understand.

Understand what, exactly? Spencer’s not so sure either. But something clicked in your head – you nodded to yourself as if confirming whatever you’ve concluded, and turned your back to him.

That was an hour ago. Now, the team has spread across everyone’s desks. Turns out, Hotch is a big fan of gingerbread - he’s consumed most of Derek and Penelope’s creation, icing and all, while Rossi has decided now is a good time to open one of the many bottles of whiskey he has in his office.

Spencer believes having that much alcohol in your work environment is breaking some kind of rule, but the snow isn’t letting up and it looks like a sleepover in the BAU office is likely. He deserves a little whiskey.

And where are you in all of this?

Spencer won’t lie and pretend he hasn’t had you in his line of sight the entire time, so he’ll recap what you’ve been doing: laughing at Derek’s jokes, plaiting Penelope’s hair, eating the candy Emily and JJ didn’t use on their house.

You’d left the room to call home and check up on things (check up on Mike, Spencer thinks bitterly) and now you stand in front of the large window by the BAU elevators, watching the snow fall.

Spencer has the perfect view of you through the glass doors. When the call ends and you stay there, he grabs a paper plate, grabs one of the walls from yours and his masterpiece and makes his way towards you.

He doesn’t know what he’ll say, or how he’ll even act, but he wants to talk to you. Things feel weird after the almost-kiss, and Spencer never wants things to be weird with you. He can’t have things weird with you. You hadn’t talked to him once since the competition, and he has a feeling you’re waiting for him to make the first move.

So he does. If that’s what you need, he’ll do it.

(He’s making this more dramatic than it needs to be, really, but he feels everything so deeply when it comes to you)

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice perfectly matches the snowy atmosphere. It makes you feel warm inside, like you’ve just taken a sip of hot cocoa, and so often he’s left goosebumps on your skin just from speaking.

Seeing the outstretched paper plate in his hand, you take it gratefully. “Hi there. Thanks.” You nod to the gingerbread that you begin breaking up.

You hand him the first piece even though he brought it for you, and it’s silent while you both chew thoughtfully and watch the pure white outside. It doesn’t feel weird, necessarily, standing here, shoulder-to-shoulder with you, but you’re certainly more in your head than usual. You’re thinking a lot and, as much as it hurts him, Spencer knows you’re likely preoccupied by your boyfriend and not what transpired between you earlier.

It’s that thought, that disappointment settling into his chest, that opens his mouth unconsciously: “How’s Mike? Does he know you’re not making it home tonight?”

He regrets it immediately, worsened by the way you stop mid-chew, eyes dimming like Spencer’s taken a baseball bat and shattered the lights inside.

This is unchartered territory – talking about Mike with you – and you know it. Who, in their right mind, willingly asks the person they have feelings for how their relationship with someone that isn’t you is going? Does Spencer enjoy pain?

Although this is the first time Spencer’s mentioned Mike to your face (he’s mentioned Mike plenty to a laughing Derek), he’s been so close to presenting the topic many times. He wants to know so badly – wants to know how well Mike treats you, really treats you (he will profile you), if you see a long-term future with him and if not, on average how long does it take you to get over your exes? Just an estimate?

You swallow the gingerbread you’re eating. “He’s okay. My roommate has to take care of him, but at least he’s got someone.”

Huh?

Since when do you have a roommate?

And why is your roommate taking care of your boyfriend?

Oh. Guilt blooms in Spencer when it registers that he’s been thinking ill of a person that might be sick. No wonder you dote on him so much and seemed devastated to make that phone call home earlier - Mike needs you, you can’t be there for him, and you feel horrible for it.

Spencer feels horrible for having the subject of his anger be someone you so clearly cherish, so deeply love. He’s embarrassed that if he was asked to explain why he hates Mike so much, he’d have to tell them it’s because Mike has you, and you’re what Spencer wants. What about what you want?

“Take care of him?” Spencer asks. The concern is genuine, which is an emotion he never thought he’d have in regards to Mike. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh,” You shrug. “He needs someone watching over him at all times, that’s all.”

That’s all?

You continue. “Make sure he eats – and only eats what he’s supposed to. Give him his meds. Make sure he poops. Those kinda things.”

What?

“Your… roommate makes sure your boyfriend poops?”

Now, Spencer knows what you look like when you’re confused. Honestly, he has every facial expression you’ve graced him with tucked away in a proverbial box he spends too much time thinking about. He knows that when you’re trying not to laugh, you bite the inside of your left cheek. When you’re frustrated but need to present a professional front, you bite the inside of your right cheek. Happiness fills your entire face, like every inch is consumed by it, and you’ve trained yourself to transport anger to your hands, where they twist into tight fists and leave fingernail marks in your palms.

Confusion is one of his favourites (second only to joy – for obvious reasons. Have you seen your smile?) because it takes many forms. You’ve pursed your lips, narrowed your eyes, tapped your foot on the floor. When you do them all, Spencer considers it a jackpot. There’s something about the way you look when you’re presented with something you can’t quite figure out yet, when you’re perplexed, that just-

You make it hard for him to concentrate. He can’t be a genius when you’re around because you’re so pretty. You’re a vision and he can never rattle off information to you specifically because he will trip up and divert to talking about the beauty that is you and that would be embarrassing for many reasons.

But this type of confusion? The way you’re looking at him right now? He’s never seen this before. Your jaw has dropped, your brows are furrowed so deeply they might fall off, and you look… horrified.

“My… my boyfriend?”

Spencer mirrors your expression. “Yeah, your boyfriend. Mike?” He looks around, waiting for cameramen to jump out and tell him he’s being pranked, because why don’t you know who your own boyfriend is?

You move slowly, placing the half-eaten plate on the windowsill before turning to face Spencer fully. You take a second to compose yourself.

“Mike is my cat.”

Mike is…

“And he’s having digestive issues, so he needs to be watched pretty much full-time.”

Silence. Tense, weird silence.

“…You thought Mike was my boyfriend?”

Spencer sputters, then, because of course he did! “Yes! The way you talk about him was… it was… it seemed…”

He flustered, oh so flustered, hands flailing and face enflamed and burning from the inside out. How had he not known?! How had… how had your wires gotten so convoluted, so mixed?

Does everyone know that Mike is a cat? Is Spencer the only one out of the loop? The look Emily gave him earlier, that knowing too-smug look, was that…

She was making fun of him. She knew he thought Mike was a person, not a pet, and was teasing him because of it.

All at once, the world seems lighter and dimmer – a contradiction that leaves Spencer’s chest heaving – because the past year feels like a lie. He’s spent so long seeing the way you come to life when talking about Mike, sitting opposite you on the jet as you awaken like a dying flower watered when home got closer and closer, and it was all for… a cat?

There’s a mist over Spencer’s eyes as he recalls every overheard declaration of love and coos of how handsome Mike is, and you’re laughing. Spencer’s having a crisis in front of your very eyes and you’re laughing. Hunched over, a single tear falling from your eye, clutching your stomach because it hurts from the ferocity of your giggles.

By the time you quieten, your hand is over your mouth to cover the big grin that grounds him, gives him something other than this revelation to focus on. Spencer’s still baffled, frazzled, but there’s the tiniest of smiles on his face because of how overjoyed you look. And he did that. Albeit his stupidity did it, but Spencer’s stupidity nonetheless.

You’re out of breath. “God I… I don’t even know what to say. You really thought my cat was my boyfriend?”

Spencer’s fighting a smile, lips wiggling. The way you’re looking at him now, all blinding smile and crinkled eyes, alleviates him of any anxiety he earlier had. Like you’ve wiped away his plate-full of worries, all the times it felt like he took an arrow to the heart, all the times he caught you smiling at your phone because you were looking at pictures of Mike, it’s all worth it. Because you’ve never looked like this while talking about Mike, and Mike is a cat. He isn’t a person, isn’t your boyfriend. Mike is a cat and Spencer has a chance.

Spencer has a chance.

“Does this… this means you’re single, right?”

A somewhat terrified look overtakes his face.

“Oh, shoot, you are single, right?”

You bite your lower lip and nod. “Yes, Spencer. I’m single.”

He lets out a breath. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad.” He repeats your nod, realises what he said could imply, and starts shaking his head. “Not-not good good. You’re incredible and need to be appreciated, but… good, because that means we could, you know…” He gestures vaguely. God, why can’t he get coherent words out? “If you wanted to, we could-“

“Are you trying to ask me out, Spencer?”

“Yes.”

Just to cause immense emotional distress, you raise an eyebrow, mischief clear on your face, and wait for him to continue.

“You want me to actually ask?” He winces.

“I’ve spent the last year convinced you didn’t like me, so, yes, I want you to actually ask.”

The new information sends ice down Spencer’s back because what? Since when? “You- what?“

“I’ve liked you for a while, Spencer,” You cross your arms over your body, slightly embarrassed. “But you always kept your distance so I did too, I guess.”

“I thought you were taken!” Spencer exclaims. “If I’d known I would’ve-we could’ve- I would-“

“You’d what, Reid?” There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, but there’s no denying you’re incandescently happy.

He takes a deep breath and asks what he’s wanted to for far too long. “When this is all over, would you like to go on a date with me, Y/N?”

Relief flashes in your eyes, like you didn’t fully believe what was happening until he finally asked, and words have never sounded as pretty as when you say: “Yes. Yes I would.”

Like lovesick idiots, you stand in front of the window with the snowfall as a backdrop, grinning at each other. You can’t help it – you lean up, press a kiss to his cheek that immediately sets his skin ablaze, and fall back onto your feet with a smile sweeter than all the sugar you’d consumed today.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer.”

Somehow, despite the nerves and the way his heart is trying to leap into your hands, he manages to tell you, “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

+++

(Three weeks later, Spencer meets the Mike. Turns out he’s a nice guy. Spencer takes the first opportunity he can to apologise for all the bad things he said about him behind his back. The purring tells Spencer he’s forgiven)

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @bitchyreids @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @gublertoon @averyhotchner @prettyboy-reid @shadyladyperfection

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid imagine #genuinely if anyone reads this and has suggestions on how i can improve as a writer #and maybe as a person in general #pls message me #something about this feels OFF and i cant tell what

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atalana · 3 years ago

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[copied over from my cr blog, also this is gonna get long, i’d apologise but im not sorry]

okay, so

this is a rant probably about 7 years in the making, bc when i first watched lok i had not done any music study, i had not done any composing of my own, my knowledge of music theory was at a primary school level and i still thought tv soundtracks were just made by one person composing a whole cache of music and then the audio editors pick and choose what track to place where

(spoiler alert that’s not how film and tv scoring works, i have now done a music composition course where we had to score a short film, among other things, and i have so much more respect for tv composers jesus christ)

but this one stuck out to me even way back then, bc me barely knowing what a leitmotif was was like “hey this one little refrain keeps popping up whenever bolin does lavabending, and i like it, i’m gonna see if it’s on the soundtrack”

it was not, and that’s sort of where i left it back in 2014, but i actually did a rewatch of lok pretty recently out of nostalgia, and then noticed it even more

and to explain why (and this is also a little bit why five’s stuck out to me in tua, i’ll get to that in another ask), let’s cover, leitmotifs, and tv scoring in general

so a leitmotif is basically just a short musical idea that represents something in a piece of music. when i studied motivic development we were encouraged to make that motif four notes or less, and then develop it into something longer (aka a theme), because if you can constantly come back to a really short idea while keeping the piece moving, that’s what makes a piece of music memorable

(you can ignore those rules on purpose but that’s a different essay)

so the most common way that a leitmotif shows up in soundtracks is to represent a character or a location - you play the motif when that character shows up or when you’re in that location and boom, the audience associates that motif with that person place or thing, and you can then use this to tell the audience things without actually telling them. for example, star wars playing the imperial march whenever someone does something darth vader related - darth vader isn’t on screen, but you can feel his presence, because his music is playing

and if we were a film score, where we have two hours to show one particular character’s development, great! we give them a simple motif, and then as they grow as a person we change their motif to reflect what is happening to them, until we end up with something that communicates on a subconscious level how much they’ve grown. we toss in as much symbolism as we can, and we have a really great soundtrack that’s instantly memorable

tv scoring, is harder. partially because of time constraints (have you ever composed half an hour of original music a week, and had to make sure it fits perfectly with every beat of what’s happening on screen? these guys have), partially because there’s a much larger focus on ensemble casts

so what atla and lok do, for the most part, is not score individual character motifs for everyone. this is fairly common in tv soundtracks, instead we score ideas, concepts, and feelings - these’ll come up a lot more and give you more information than just “oh hey this character’s on screen”

the avatar state, for example, has the strongest and most recognisable theme across both shows. i’m linking an atla track in here because it has the best example but you’ll know this shows up with korra too - and with particularly important moments for wan, for kyoshi, etc. they also appear in the opening of both shows, four strong notes that start and end on the same note (in the case of what i’m linking, it’s an F#)

youtube

the first part of this track is the more uncertain, pensive theme that comes up when both avatars are feeling doubt/worry/sadness, but then it transitions into the more recognisable four. worth noting though, those are both basically the same motif. if i write them out back to back, you’ll notice they both have four notes and start and end on F#. if i had to guess, four notes four elements, and it comes back to the start because the avatar is a cycle.

korra has a theme for when she’s fighting, but not an individual character theme. the airbenders as a concept have a theme, republic city has thematic instruments, as do some big name characters, like iroh and his tsungi horn (this is also a cross-series thing, he’s always playing it in atla, it shows up when zuko has to make big moral decisions, and when we first meet iroh in the spirit world in lok, it shows up there too, to let the audience know who this is before we properly see him)

so, if korra doesn’t get a single theme and instead has several for different aspects of her life, and mako and asami follow along with the mood of the story like all the other characters, the fact that bolin has a personal leitmotif at all, let alone a solid, developing one, is pretty remarkable!

now, granted, it mostly starts with book 3, before then he was like every other character, but it has clear symbolism through those last two books! and, initially i thought it was related only to his lavabending, since that’s most of when it shows up, but since my rewatch, i’ve started calling it his hero theme

see, when people wanna criticise mako and bolin, usually the comments they get are that bolin’s too immature and mako’s too serious/uptight. but like, that’s how they work, you can’t analyse either of them without the context of the other. since they were little kids on the streets, bolin chases his heart and mako makes sure they don’t die from it, that is their entire childhood. and neither would have got here on their own because mako wouldn’t take the necessary risks and bolin wouldn’t take the necessary precautions. (like. remove either one from the equation and they’d still be working for the triple threats bc s1 and their flashback miniseries make pretty clear that bolin got them out and mako kept them out)

and then book 2 proves it! because it splits team avatar up, and what happens? bolin is totally taken advantage of by varrick and used as a pawn in his evil plan and mako ends up in jail

so what’s book 3, to them? it’s, being able to find themselves without having that codependency. mako no longer has someone to protect, which is what he’s based his whole life around so far - bolin’s doing fine and he’s no longer dating either korra or asami. and bolin’s trying his hand at some of that responsibility (look at how he immediately adopts kai who is explicitly them but younger because he wants to be the older brother for once). most importantly, they find the rest of their family, and stop being defined by being orphans. they don’t have to be that singular piece of a puzzle, they can just be themselves. and that’s where bolin’s character really starts to shine, because that’s when they bring in the bending plot, and bending, perhaps more than any other character, really gets to the heart of who bolin is

if you want more of my thoughts on that i have an essay here, but tl;dr: bolin’s an extremely powerful earthbender, but he’s not a metalbender because metalbending requires you to double down on the earth characteristics and think like an earthbender, and bolin doesn’t, he’s too fluid for that, which is one of his major strengths, so of course he can lavabend

and finally - to his motif itself! (as a note, i’ve put all of these in the same key to show where it repeats, but there’s a variety of keys used in the show)

as far as i can find, it first shows up in s3e8, when bolin stuns p’li with this well placed shot

[Edit: it first showed up in the s2 finale, but again in a simplified version and again with him doing something heroic with earthbending, so we can still start the analysis here]

mako volunteers bolin for that job, because he knew bolin was capable of it. why? because bolin landed an identical shot earlier in the episode, after trying to metalbend, getting frustrated he can’t, and cheating with some extremely well aimed earthbending. it’s just a short refrain and you barely notice it, but it’s the first connection of this motif with the theme of bolin’s bending

it looks like this, and it’s always played on a trumpet, which is part of why i call it the hero theme, because, if you’re looking at music from a western perspective, trumpets were used to herald kings, and then used to represent military glory, and then when superhero themes started happening, they used trumpets too - it’s basically western music shorthand for hero these days

(it’s also symmetrical so that helps with the good vibes)

and he’s saving everyone here, so it’s linked to his bending, but it’s also linked to his heroism

it ties the two together, and they are tied together.

when’s the next time it shows up? episode 10, when the brothers are in prison in ba sing se, and bolin tries to metalbend them out. again, he’s doing this to save people, and this motif gets a few notes added on to the end in a raising pattern - they’re inspiring, but they don’t go anywhere. which is exactly what happens in the scene, because he’s trying to go about this in the wrong way. mako believes in him, but it won’t (and doesn’t) work

it appears in episode 12 when bolin saves everyone from ghazan destroying the temple, in a more fancy orchestral remake of the first version - it’s impressive, but it hasn’t actually developed yet, it’s just his discovery of it

the book 3 finale already has its own fucking amazing soundtrack, i love that entire episode’s score, but it gets its own moment there too, and the first real development!

because what we hear is not what we’ve heard before. we know it’s the same theme, because it’s using those signature trumpets, but it’s the second part of this phrase, the answer to the question supplied by the first one. why? because bolin’s figured out who he is and he’s starting to use it. it still hasn’t settled yet though, it’s early days and he’s still just turning ghazan’s lava back on him, so again, it raises, leaving it on a question mark

it doesn’t appear in s4e7 when he lavabends as a warning against the escaped prisoners, because he’s using it as a threat, not to help people. but it does later in the episode when he uses lavabending to save them from kuvira. and that’s when we get the first full phrase, question and answer

it keeps the first motif identical, takes out the first note of the second, and ties them together - except now it’s not open ended, now it knows where it’s going - it’s been three years, at this point bolin is confident in both himself and his bending

and then that phrase appears all over the place in the finale, because all bolin does is save people - everyone from the exploding building, he slows the giant mecha with lavabending, he saves opal, he slows the giant mecha again by collapsing a building on it, and most importantly, he’s the one rescuing his brother this time, instead of the other way around (though that one doesn’t get a motif appearance bc admittedly a fuck ton of other things are happening in the soundtrack at the time)

so to that question asked in book three - who is bolin when not next to someone else? well, funnily enough, we saw it in book two as well, just in a warped way, playing nuktuk. it just wasn’t truly him because it was created by varrick, and he needed to get away from varrick too. the question put forward by the narrative is who is bolin, and the answer given by the music is, he is a hero. and i don’t know why bolin is the only one to get a theme like this, but i think it may have something to do with the fact that, while everyone in team avatar has been a hero and saved people, he is the only one who has, from the start, solely been motivated by wanting to help people. he follows his heart, and his heart cares, about everyone. it’s been the driving force behind almost everything he’s ever done. and i love him so much

#so yeah those are my thoughts on bolin go forth and cry with me about five notes on a trumpet #legend of korra #lok #bolin #music

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yoon-kooks · 5 years ago

Text

Blood to Spare

Pairing: Prince!Jimin x Knight!Reader

Genre: Angst, Smut, Royal!AU

Summary: When a malicious threat is made against Prince Jimin’s life just hours before Garreg Mach’s annual ball, it is your sworn duty to accompany him as his date and ensure he makes it through the night unscathed. For as the Prince’s personal guard, you must be willing to cut down any blade that takes aim at him, even if it’s your own heart.

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: blood, death, fingering, unprotected sex, it’s honestly super vanilla

A/N: wooooooo 2020 is finally here and so is prince jimin;;;;; this fic is based around fire emblem three houses, but you don’t need to know anything about the game to enjoy the story! but if you do love fire emblem like me, you’ll pick up on some references here and there. also lmk if you guys are interested in a prequel and sequel! ++special shoutouts to @d-noona and @scalbra for the love and support💖

You examine the bright red trail streaming down the set of ribs in front of you. The boy lies there in pain, but you offer him no sympathy. It’s his own fault, after all.

“Agh!” He tightens his fists as you press the weight of your body down onto the wound. And if the pressure alone is not enough to make the boy beg for mercy, you know what is. Alcohol and ointment seep into the depth of his gash until the burning sensation draws the response you’re looking for. “Is all of the pressing and stinging really necessary, Y/N?” he yelps.

“It wouldn’t be necessary if you had been more careful like I advised, Jimin,” you shake your head, bandaging up the boy’s disinfected ribs. “But we can’t afford to have our beloved professor and future ruler of Fodlan bleed to death after a mock battle with his students. Especially not with the ball tomorrow evening.”

In the land of Fodlan, an annual ball is held during the Ethereal Moon to celebrate both the year’s end and the founding of Garreg Mach Monastery. For this year in particular, it is crucial for Fodlan’s Prince Jimin to be present and act as a bridge that unifies the continent’s three main nations: Adrestia, Faerghus, and Leicester.

And although you despise formal gatherings such as this one, it is your mission as one of the Knights of Seiros and Jimin’s personal guard to ensure that the Prince is well and able enough to fulfill his political affairs for the night.

“Speaking of the ball, I have yet to find myself a date,” Jimin says as he reclothes his upper half. “It seems no one is interested in sharing a dance with me…”

You know that’s a big fat lie. Jimin may not be the only professor at the Officers Academy, but he is certainly the most popular one amongst both students and faculty due to his charm and royal status. Even back when he was a student himself, he always seemed to have everyone wrapped around his finger. Everyone except you. Though you suppose that’s the reason you were appointed to be his personal guard since becoming a Knight of Seiros.

“That’s too bad,” you say. Again, you offer no sympathy or solution to the boy’s misfortune.

“Well since all of the Knights of Seiros have to be at the ball anyway, I wouldn't mind if you were my date, Y/N.” He tilts his head to the side and smiles, as if that’s going to make the offer any more tempting.

“No thanks. My job at the ball is to protect you, not dance with you,” you shake him off. This isn’t the first or last time he’s tried to make a romantic advance on you. The naïve teenage you might’ve been swooned, but ever since devoting your life to protecting Jimin, romantic affairs have become of little significance to you. “And besides, if you’re not in immediate danger, it’s better for us to keep a distance at the ball.”

Jimin’s smile fades because he knows you’re right. It would reflect poorly on Fodlan’s future ruler to be associated on an intimate level with someone who lacks nobility and a crest. With a heavy sigh, there’s nothing the boy can do but concede defeat to your rejection. You, on the other hand, have more to say.

“Rather than worrying about finding a date to dance with, keep in mind your responsibilities as the prince. Tomorrow is an opportunity to build a stronger relationship between-”

“-the three nations,” he interrupts your scolding to end the conversation. “You don’t have to remind me, Y/N.”

It is not often that the Prince speaks with bitterness towards you. You don’t take personal offense from it, though, because you know it comes from a place of built-up stress and frustration. To be born into a position of power has its cons too, and you know better than anyone that this isn’t a path Jimin would’ve chosen for himself.

Still, it’s your duty to make sure the Prince is properly fulfilling all of his duties. And sometimes he needs to learn to set aside his personal feelings, just as you’ve done with yours.

“Very well,” you say, stepping out of his room. “I’ll see you in the morning, Your Highness.”

When morning comes, the walk to the Knight’s Hall feels exceptionally long and quiet. Students are rushing to set up last-minute décor and finishing touches before sundown when the ball is set to begin. However, all that chaos and chatter is drowned out by the piercing tension between you and the boy you’re escorting.

It’s clear he’s still mad at you. Probably because you last referred to him, not by name, but by status. Ever since you became his personal guard years ago, he’s always encouraged you to simply call him Jimin. It took a while, but you eventually picked up the habit and noticed the delight on Jimin’s face whenever he heard his name. As far as you know, you’re the only one who drops the formalities with him.

But because you had purposely called him “Your Highness” out of spite, you’ve now reopened the gap between you and him. Like cutting back into an old scar.

You’re thankful when you finally reach the Knight’s Hall and your fellow Knights of Seiros waste no time in filling the void of silence that had followed you into the room.

“Early this morning, a student found this letter posted on the doors to the Entrance Hall,” Seokjin hands you a torn parchment paper to look at.

“We cannot allow the nations of Fodlan to become one under the absolute rule of the Central Church here at Garreg Mach. We urge the Archbishop to consider canceling the annual ball, and with it, the meeting between Adrestia, Faerghus, and Leicester. If not, we will have no choice but to burn the bridge that seeks to unify Fodlan as one. Peace shall never be found in an allegiance that blindly sides where power lies.”

It only takes a second for you to piece together who the target in question is—the bridge that seeks to unify Fodlan, Prince Jimin.

“They want the ball cancelled or they want the Prince’s head,” you grind your teeth.

To an extent, you understand the point of disagreement between political views. The current rule, for example, does not exactly favor the Crestless or have plans of changing that any time soon. Even if Fodlan were to unite as a single nation as it had hundreds of years ago, the divide between nobility and the Crestless would only continue to increase.

That being said, a threat on the Prince’s life is enough for you to set aside your own feelings as a Crestless. If someone is willing to go as far as point their blade in Jimin’s direction, they are already dead in your eyes.

“I’ve already spoken with the Archbishop and she wishes for the ball to proceed as planned. For all we know, this could be an empty threat. I doubt the enemy has the means to break through our defenses,” Namjoon says. “However, we, the Knights of Seiros, will still need to be on high alert to ensure the night runs smoothly.”

“Understood,” you say, glancing at the boy whose life is on the line. “I will not allow anything to happen to the Prince.”

“Actually,” Namjoon continues, “the Archbishop has requested for you to act as Prince Jimin’s date for the night as a precaution to any assassin that may be lurking from within the monastery.”

“Understood,” you say again, but with an awkwardness far worse than the silent void from earlier. The last thing you need is to act all lovey-dovey with the boy you just rejected and are not on good speaking terms with.

Once the other knights have left to stand guard and investigate the origins behind the letter, your mind starts spinning. You don’t want to formally attend the ball, you know nothing about the proper etiquette of nobility, Jimin probably hates your guts, you don’t know how to dance, you have no gown to wear, and Jimin probably hates your—

The boy motions for you to follow him, pulling you out of your daze and into town to grab all the essentials for the Garreg Mach annual ball.

Several hours later, you sit in the Prince’s quarters, staring at the long flowy gown you’re supposed to be wearing. As a knight with a commoner upbringing, the occasion to wear such a fancy garment never arose, so you feel a bit perplexed with what to do next. For starters, you don’t even have a clue how to get it on.

“Do you need help?” Jimin raises an eyebrow at you as he straightens up his royal blue uniform, one very well suited for a prince.

“I got it,” you shake your head. Succumbing to the Prince’s assistance would only be a sign of weakness. You’ll find a way to figure it out on your own if it means avoiding Jimin’s gaze as you struggle to get the dress on. “Just turn around for a second and don't watch me from the mirror either.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” he hums, lowkey throwing shade as he turns his back to you. You haven’t yet apologized for calling him that, but he’s definitely making sure you’re aware of it.

You bite your tongue until you’ve stepped into the dress. It still feels a bit loose, but you put it on to the best of your ability. When you give him the okay to turn around again, the first thing he does is crack a smirk.

“What?” You shoot him a dirty look.

He gestures for you to come closer and spins you around. As he reties your dress’ complex ribbons from behind, you feel the gown becoming snugger in the appropriate places. Very slightly, you feel the cold tips of Jimin’s fingers tickle your skin as he ties the last ribbon at the back of your neck. You don’t say anything, but your body reacts accordingly.

“Oh? Someone has goose bumps,” he snickers, spinning you back around to face him. Before you can blame it on his cold hands, he gives you a good look from head to toe. “The dress looks pretty on you, by the way.”

“Thank you, Jimin.” More than his compliment, you’re thankful that he’s at least speaking kindly to you again. “And my apologies for yesterday.”

The chilling tips of his fingers have since wandered up to your cheeks, and the only reason you don’t swat him away is because it’s something he’s done since the two of you were little. He cups your cheeks and gives them a gentle squeeze before jumping back to the conversation as if it were nothing. You’ve never questioned him about it, but given the context of all the times you can recall, you assume it’s his way of showing forgiveness.

“I should not have lashed out at you in the first place. The thought of becoming Fodlan’s ruler is just… a lot for one person to bear,” Jimin finally releases your cheeks and backs away to the edge of his bed. “But that’s why it’s a relief to have you with me at my side tonight.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Not just tonight,” you remind him. “Always.”

“Yeah, but it’s not every night I get to see the cold-blooded Y/N all dolled up and without a swor-” He cuts himself off when he sees you lifting up the skirt of your gown as if you’ve forgotten a (handsome and needy) boy is still in the room with you.

You’re so focused on trying to hide your trusty Hero’s Relic sword, Blutgang, beneath your dress that you do not realize how much of your lower body you’ve exposed. “A knight can never be without their blade.”

“What if it tears the gown open…?” Jimin’s question gives the illusion of concern, though he probably would not be opposed to that scenario.

“It would be embarrassing, but I’d rather be embarrassed than unprepared,” you blink at the boy.

“I suppose you’re going to stick the whole Aegis Shield down there as well then?” He blinks back. You know he’s trying to clown you, but it’s also no secret that you’ve never been without the shield since it was gifted to you from the Prince himself.

You shake your head. “It’s too big to hide. I don’t want to stand out anymore than I already will.” Because amongst a crowd of nobles and royalty, a Crestless like you will be no more than a fish out of water. Even the most beautiful gown cannot hide that reality.

“If anyone says something about you, I’ll-”

“You’ll smile and move on because you have a reputation to maintain,” you finish the statement for him.

“Will you really be okay with that?” Jimin frowns.

All you do is nod. You don’t need protecting or for your feelings to be spared. It’s your job to defend him; not the other way around.

As the sun sets later that evening, you follow the Prince’s lead into the glamor and prestige of Garreg Mach’s annual ball. Aside from keeping an eye out for anything suspicious, all you need to do is act pretty and proper. You’ve learned at least that much after observing the event from afar all these years as a Knight of Seiros.

You don’t hold his hand, but rather, you hook your arm around his. If you were truly in love with your date, you’d much prefer to intertwine your fingers with his and never let go. That, to you, would feel more comforting and secure. But love is not the game you’re playing.

As Jimin makes his rounds to greet each and every guest, you evaluate their individual intentions. Fortune, luxury, reputation, power. From years past, you recall that many female guests had also made romantic advances on the Prince through not-so-subtle caresses, bedroom eyes, and the like. The way you stare at them with such intensity of judgment must be quite intimidating because not a single romantic advance is made on Jimin this year with you beside him.

Even through the casual, yet all important, gathering of Fodlan’s leaders, you observe no sign of suspicious activity and sense no danger to the Prince’s life. The King of Faerghus, the Emperor of Adrestia, the Leader of Leicester, and Jimin all chat as though they are one big happy family, each expressing interest in moving forward with the unification of their nations.

If the letter turns out to be an empty threat as Namjoon suggested, perhaps the unification of Fodlan can be settled without any casualties. That would be the best case scenario, though you’re still skeptical that anything could ever be that simple.

Once handshakes are exchanged and the meeting is adjourned, Jimin sends his fellow leaders off with that charming smile of his, and you try to do the same. You wouldn’t exactly describe your own smile as charming—“forced” is probably a better word for it—but it seems to be satisfactory enough for all but the Adrestrian Emperor.

She doesn’t say anything, but her long stare in your direction tells you she knows something. Whether it’s that you’re the only Crestless in attendance, or that you were once a child of Adrestia, she finally returns a smile similar to your own before heading back out of the meeting room.

“That went pretty well, didn’t it?” Jimin pulls you in closer to him as the two of you step back into the lively reception hall where most of the guests are gathered. When you turn to face him, he radiates. Part of you wants to mention the off-putting vibe you got from the Adrestian Emperor, but a larger part of you wishes not to put a damper on Jimin’s high spirits. So you keep your mouth shut.

Besides, you believe the Emperor’s intentions, if any, are not directed toward the Prince. And that assumption is quickly confirmed based on the gossip now floating around amongst the noble guests.

“What business does a Crestless have with the Prince?”

“Prince Jimin can do so much better.”

“I heard that’s the one who slaughtered an entire army with a stolen Hero’s Relic.”

“The one also responsible for Prince Hoseok’s death?”

“Such a sinful Crestless exists?”

“At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter who he’s fooling around with. As heir to the Fodlan throne, there’s no way anyone would allow him to marry below nobility.”

You do your best not to roll your eyes at the comments made about yourself. They don’t upset you, but you are annoyed. You certainly do not need to be reminded of your worth, your sins, or that Jimin would be better off with literally anyone else as his date. You don’t need to hear the very thoughts that have haunted and tormented your mind for as long as you can remember.

They don’t know your whole story, and you don’t care to share it with them either. Let them think what they will.

You suddenly spin Jimin in front of you, close the distance as much you can without kissing his ear, and whisper, “Can we get a change of scenery?” The boy agrees and pulls you away from the festivities of the ball.

“I wish you didn’t have to hear all that nonsense,” he says after closing the door to his quarters. Luckily, his room is not too far from the reception hall.

“Oh, I wasn’t bothered by that,” you shrug, unhooking the sword from the garter on your thigh and leaning it with the unused shield. “I just wanted those foul guests to believe we eloped or something. Maybe they’ll start a rumor about that too.”

“Y/N,” Jimin sits you down on his bed, “I can tell when something bothers you, you know.”

“How?”

“You start acting petty out of spite.”

He’s not wrong. Your pettiness is one habit you’ve never been able to shake from your soul. “Regardless, those nobles can think or say whatever they please about me. Nothing will ever change the worth of a Crestless anyway.”

“It shouldn’t matter if you bear a crest or not,” he says softly.

“It shouldn’t, but it does. It matters plenty to the nations of Fodlan. Crests hold a lot of power, which means bearers are not exiled from their own bloodline, they are not expendable objects, and they do not have to fight for their right to exist. If not for the Central Church, you and I-”

“You and I would not have met.” He’s wrong.

“We wouldn’t have met under these circumstances, but we would’ve met,” you say, “as enemies of war.” Because had the church not taken you from your birthplace of Adrestia as a child, you’d surely want to stop Fodlan’s unification like the ones who wrote that letter.

“Then I’m forever grateful we met the way we did,” Jimin leans over you until your back is down against the bed. From above, he has you in a place of vulnerability. “Because I will always fancy you more than any bearer of a crest.”

From below, you look up into his eyes and find solace in the one person you want to trust. It’s just a matter of accepting that solace and allowing yourself to trust enough to let him in.

Before you know it, soft caresses of the Prince’s lips invade your skin. He starts just below your cheek and works his way down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses as he goes. Your chin lifts and tilts on its own, as if to uncover more skin for the boy to please. He thankfully picks up on the cue and tends to your needs.

At the same time, you struggle to downplay the desperation in your body. You shouldn’t be having an intimate moment with the Prince when you’re supposed to be protecting him. After all, it’s wrong to be so lustful for a forbidden affair.

But the feeling of him against your bare skin is painfully addicting. The more he kisses, the further you want to go.

“We shouldn’t… be doing this…” you manage to say against your desires.

“What should we be doing then?” Jimin’s fingers run through your hair as he waits patiently for a response, but even the most innocent touch is making it hard to think. You only have one thing consuming your mind, and it isn’t what you should be doing.

You reach for his ruffled collar to pull his body down closer to you, practically reducing the space between you and him to nothing. To answer the boy’s question, you start unbuttoning his uniform from top to bottom. After tossing the princely uniform aside, it only takes him a second to rid you of the gown that had seemed so difficult to get on.

Without thinking, you pull him back on top of you. You’re aching to be touched, you need to be relieved of this unbearable heat, and you’ve reached the point of desperation where your legs are spread out as wide as they can go.

“You poor thing,” Jimin teases, staring right between your thighs for the longest second until finally swiping a sample of your glaze. He makes it a point to show you how wet you’ve made his fingers before sucking them off with a naughty smirk. “Is this what years of lusting after me tastes like?”

You hate that he’s very much aware of the feelings you had for him at one point in time. However, those feelings have since become much more complex. You’ve done your best to block out any romantic feelings and channel those lost emotions elsewhere for the sake of protecting the Prince. So what does that really leave you with?

“Aah…!” A moan escapes your throat when Jimin’s fingers give you another pleasant surprise down there. Only this time, he strokes you in a circular motion, over and over again. Your breathing quickens to the rhythm of his touch—he’s taken control over your body’s sensual instincts. And every time he casually brushes against your erect little bud, a wave of sensitivity makes you gasp out in pleasure.

Though your eyes remain shut for the most part to cope with the immense pleasure, you do catch a glimpse of the Prince’s now swollen cock. Either he’s been multitasking while pleasuring you, or the sight and sounds of your feverish state were more than enough to get him hard. When he stiffens and moans upon your sudden touch, you know it’s the latter.

As you glide your hand up and down his length, you angle yourself right beneath him to be in the optimal fucking position. With your free hand, you use your index and middle fingers to spread yourself open, and, with the other, you direct and ease the handful of cock into your entrance.

Once Jimin’s in deep enough, you let go and soothe the throbbing of your excited clit. As you take your time in building up the intensity, you glance up at the boy to make sure he’s watching you play with yourself. The sheer arousal reflected in your eyes seems to encourage him to start thrusting in and out of you to build up his own climax.

As your fingers continue to tease your clit and Jimin’s length continues to run through you, the sensations become so overwhelming that you can no longer tell where they’re coming from. Your entire body feels hot and tingly as if the sex were a wildfire that spread from head to toe. The only difference is that you wish the flame would never go out.

Based on how much Jimin’s moans have increased in volume and frequency, you can tell he’s as close as you are. You at first try to keep your fingers in rhythm with his quickening thrusts, but the rhythm is lost when the fucking becomes driven by total lust and no thought. Still, you manage to hit your high just before he reaches his.

For a long while, you lay there, waiting for your heartbeat to calm as Jimin does the same from above. If there was ever any tension, sexual or not, between you and the Prince, it’s certainly gone now. Looking up at the boy now, after the waves of sex have finally settled, you feel at peace. Even if it’s short-lived, you have to be content with the intimacy you were able to spend with the boy you once loved.

So when he goes in for the long-awaited kiss, you have to interrupt him. A kiss from the Prince would be asking for a little too much on a forbidden night of many other sins.

“I should go back to being your guard now,” you say softly, scooting your ass over to change back into the gown. “Then we need to return to the ball. I’d hate for assassins to attack over there while we’re here in the middle of… this…”

But before you can hop off the bed, Jimin stops you in your tracks. “Don’t worry, the assassination attempt won’t happen.”

“How can you be sure?” you ask in genuine curiosity because there must’ve been something you missed.

“Because I was the one who faked the letter this morning.”

You freeze. Why would the Prince ever want to fake an assassination threat on his own life? You can think of one reason, but you really hope that’s not the case. “Jimin, if you faked a dangerous situation for the sake of getting me to attend this damned ball with you, I won’t forgive you.”

When he fails to give you a response, you ball your hand up into a tight fist and start putting on your usual knight uniform as opposed to your gown. You can’t believe you allowed yourself to be so foolishly deceived.

“Y/N, wait-”

“Do you really not give a damn about your own life or duties as the future ruler of Fodlan?” you snap. “I’d rather give my life for someone who prioritizes their responsibilities for the sake of the entire continent than an entitled little prince who’d forgo all of that for someone born without a crest.”

You’re mad at not only the Prince but also yourself. You thought that after being so blinded and betrayed by trust once before, you’d never forget the fatal consequences of opening your heart to anyone. Trust and compassion have only ever brought you despair.

“If the assassination threat was all a hoax, I suppose my protection is no longer needed for the rest of the night.” You pick up your sword and slam the door behind you, leaving the shield behind once again.

You escape to the woodsy outskirts of Central Fodlan south of the monastery. The area may be recovering now with young saplings and shrubs as small animal families return home, but you still remember the scorched land from years ago when the first war you fought in took place. No matter where you walk, you stand on the soil once soaked in the blood of your enemies and allies.

But before the war, you had often paid visits to this secluded part of Fodlan whenever you needed time and space away from the monastery. There, you had first encountered a kid around your age who was kind enough to befriend you, despite your differences. It’s a shame you can no longer go back to the time when you could ignorantly trust in people without worry. And even if you could go back, you’d do everything differently so that the Prince would not have had to suffer the desolate fate you bestowed upon him.

It’s all your fault for carelessly putting your trust in others.

When you find a tree tall enough to lean against, you unsheathe your sword and examine it under the moonlight. The reddish brown sheen that reflects in the light is not rust, but your sins. It seems the blade will never be rid of the blood that tainted it on that day.

“It’d be best if we could lure the Prince and his guard away from the festivities.” Your sharp ears pick up on a small troop of rogue soldiers headed in the direction of the monastery. It sounds an awful lot like an assassination attempt.

From behind the tree, you try to figure out what the heck is going on while also deciding on the best course of action. Why are there foreign soldiers going after Jimin if he said the threat was a fake?

…Unless he was lying about that too.

You groan silently to yourself. For as long as you’ve known Jimin, he’s always been quite unpredictable to you and his actions are often questionable until you get an explanation. Perhaps there’s a better reason for his lie this time. But for now, you have to find a way to lure the soldiers away from the innocent guests at the monastery.

Just then, you swing your sword around at the slightest brush against your shoulder, but it turns out to only be the foolish Prince everyone’s looking for. You lower your blade.

“What are you doing, walking out here without a guard?” you hiss.

“Actually, I’m looking for my guard who seems to have abandoned me,” he says with the Aegis Shield you had left behind.

“That’s what you get for being an irresponsible Prince.” You keep your eye on the soldiers. “But before I smack you in the head for that, we have to do something about that troop over there.”

“They don’t look really tough, though.” Jimin takes the opportunity to lean right over you against the tree, but you aren’t quite ready to start accepting his flirtatious antics again.

“But that’s what makes it suspicious,” you blatantly ignore his failed kabedon. “They know they won't stand a chance against the Knights of Seiros, so why even bother?”

“It could be a trap?” he suggests. “Or maybe they have other intentions.”

“Whatever the case, we’ll stop them here and now.”

You make sure the Prince has a sword of his own before shoving him out from behind the tree. If the rustling of dead leaves did not already capture the attention of the soldiers, your shouting and waving at them does.

The alarmed soldiers quickly shift their sights from the monastery to you and the Prince. As soon as they begin to charge, so do you. Unlike many royal guards who stick close to their highnesses, you do not. Jimin may have lived a life of luxury as Prince, but you’ve made sure he learned how to fend for himself. In fact, he was the one who suggested that you teach him proper swordsmanship in the first place—perhaps one of his many elaborate schemes to get closer to you.

As soon as you clash blades with a soldier brave enough, you recognize the enemy troop is no pushover like you and Jimin had anticipated. Though they have the appearance of commoners who’ve never held a weapon in their life, the power behind their swing is comparable to your own. And it doesn’t quite add up.

When you’ve suppressed several soldiers, you glance over to Jimin exchanging blows with an assassin who has a more proper handle of his blade. Jimin’s golden shield blocks many of what could’ve been fatal blows, but its weight also hinders his movement against the nimble assassin.

You rush over, whipping your sword at the assassin to push him back from Jimin’s vicinity. Once you engage in a long drawn sword exchange with the assassin, you’re taken back by the familiarity in the energy he emanates. It somehow feels like the power from the Crest of Fraldarius, the very crest that Jimin bears. But that can’t be the case when crests are inherited through specific bloodlines by chance. And as far as you know, this random soldier has no blood connection to Jimin or House Fraldarius.

Either way, you eventually gain the advantage and pierce the enemy as the curved blade of your Blutgang bleeds once more. Crest or no crest, the enemy nor the Prince can keep up with the mercilessness in your every swing. In what feels like minutes, you’ve cut down the entire troop aside from the few that Jimin could handle himself.

You stare down at the body of the soldier who had given Jimin an exceptionally hard time. “Did you notice that this one had-”

“The Crest of Fraldarius,” Jimin nods. “There’s no mistaking it, but somehow it felt off.”

“Like it wasn’t the real deal?”

“Like it was a crest that didn’t belonged to him.”

The boy’s suggestion gives you something to think about. You wonder if the other soldiers also had crests of some sort—crests that were not rightfully theirs. It’s as if they were once Crestless who somehow extracted and obtained the power of a crest. Perhaps by the means of the most sacred and darkest of sorcery.

Just when you’re finally able to lower your sword, you raise it again to guard against another unwelcomed guest. With a stream of dark magic striking the earth in front of the Prince, you dash over to shield him from any other potential impacts. What you get instead is a mysterious hooded mage who doesn’t seem interested in challenging you. The magic that radiates off him is far stronger than any of the other soldiers.

“Well done on putting a stop to our little assassination plot,” he says. “But it seems we’ve already gathered a lot of valuable intel on our real target.”

“Who’s your real target then?” Jimin asks.

“Someone who can wield Hero’s Relics and slaughter crest bearers despite bearing no crest of their own.” The mage looks first at the bloodstained blade in your grips and then directly at you. His eyes are not so different from your own—empty.

Rather than the Prince’s head, they wanted you.

But why?

Before you can ask the man, he disappears into the unknown along with the bodies of his fallen soldiers. And although the outskirts are quiet once more with only you and the Prince, you keep your eyes peeled and wait a good ten seconds before sheathing your weapon.

You try to make sense of the enemy’s true intentions from a rational perspective, but the mage’s words still do not sit well with you. What exactly were they planning on doing with you, a Crestless who can wield Hero’s Relics and slaughter crest bearers?

“I won’t let them have you,” Jimin nudges your side, whilst holding the Aegis Shield out in front of you and him. “I’d even die for you.”

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” you play along with his dramatic scene just for a moment. Something about the boy makes you forget about your worries, your pain. “But please never die for my sake, Jimin.”

“Then how about I live for you?” he asks.

“Live first for the people of Fodlan,” you respond, hooking your arm once more around his. “Shall we return to the ball now before everyone wonders where their Prince ran off to?”

“No need. I already properly excused myself from the ball for the rest of the night.” Jimin frowns when you unhook your arm faster than you can swing your sword. “But I would like you to escort me back to my quarters.”

“Fine,” you agree. “But on the way back, you need to tell me why you lied about faking that real assassination threat.”

So he does.

“I still think it was a stupid move, Jimin.”

“I just wanted to take your mind off of your knightly duties without worrying about my safety for once! I thought you’d feel more comfortable with me if you knew my life was not in immediate danger,” he waves his hands in defense. “I didn’t think you’d actually abandon me.”

“Well sorry for thinking you made up the threat just so I’d sleep with you. You made me believe you weren’t taking the nature of your job seriously, and that the future of Fodlan was doomed with a ruler who thinks only with his cock,” you jab lightly into his ribs, forgetting all about the wound from the day before.

“Worry not. The future of Fodlan will always be my first priority,” he assures you. “But you are also part of Fodlan’s future, aren’t you? Doesn’t that still make you my first priority then?”

“When you put it that way, I guess so,” you say, though you genuinely wonder about that. Because as a Crestless, you’ve never felt like you belonged in Fodlan. “But just know that you needn’t go that far for me, Jimin.”

“And you needn’t act so tough all the time, Y/N.” He wants you to know that you can rely on him, that you can be vulnerable, and that he’ll protect you just as you protect him. You understand all of that, and yet, it’s still easier said than done.

Once you safely escort the Prince back to his quarters, you think you can finally relieve yourself of guard duty for the night and put some real thought into the mysterious mage’s intentions. But you’re wrong.

“Let me clean up that wound on your cheek before you go,” Jimin air-pokes the high point on your cheek.

“I didn’t realize I was cut there in battle…” you say, letting the boy reel you back into his room.

You sit patiently on his bed as he searches for a bandage, but you wouldn’t put it past the senseless Prince to not have any medical supplies lying around his quarters. You’re the one who’s usually tending to his wounds with your own first-aid kit anyway.

When not a single bandage is found, Jimin walks back over to you and pinches your cheeks together just as he had earlier in the day. You don’t quite understand the context this time, and especially not after he sneaks a kiss onto where your supposed wound was.

“That should heal the wound.” The smile on his face is too smug for your liking.

Very quickly, your face turns into a big fat pout. “If you continue to lie and fool around like this, you’re going to end up like the boy who cried beast.”

“For as sharp as you are in sniffing out an enemy, you sure are gullible around me, Y/N,” he teases.

“That’s because I want to believe that everything with you is real,” you say, “even if it can’t.”

The boy’s smile is quick to fade.

“Just kidding,” you shrug, getting up from the bed. “Anyway, I should get going now. Goodnight, Jimin.”

He doesn’t stop you. He can’t stop you because he knows you weren’t kidding about wishing for a fate that wasn’t meant for you. And that’s not something a kiss could ever change.

While you’re glad Jimin will be taking responsibility in prioritizing Fodlan from here on out, you still have much to be concerned about. Your presence has only complicated matters when the Prince is someone who thinks with his heart, not his head—to the point where he’d give up everything for you.

You’ve tried to make him set aside his personal feelings for the sake of Fodlan’s future, but it’s apparent that he cannot separate you, the one he wants to protect, from Fodlan, the land he needs to protect. He cannot see that, no matter how much he wishes for things to be different, you and all the other Crestless will never truly belong in the future of Fodlan—the Fodlan he will soon lead.

If you were to leave his side, perhaps he would be able to see that he’s trying to make the impossible possible. After all, unless Crestless are able to prove their worth to the nobles of Fodlan, they are worth nothing at all. The only way to prove your worth is to be merciless, tough, and to spare no blood. And maybe only then would Jimin be able to fully realize that this is where your two paths diverge.

It’s only after you’ve walked out and closed the door that you leave the Prince with one last thing to consider. “I know my place in this world, and it’s never been with you, Jimin. Even I’m not that gullible.”

#bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts smut #jimin x reader #bts angst #jimin fanfic #bts royal au #bts fluff #jimin #bts #bangtan #blood to spare #fire emblem au #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #bts x fire emblem

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basil-films · 4 years ago

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28-12-2020

The Godfather Part II (1974)

i’m not gonna lie, this movie was a lot to keep up with. it always feels like just when you’re starting to get it, there’s another key part that you’re missing except you have no clue what it is. anyway, here’s my not-so-analytical analysis // “things i’ve noticed list” of this masterpiece i wish i had the brain power to fully comprehend. this is definitely one that i’ll be rewatching dozens of times.

A Ceremonial Beginning (again)

an observation my dad actually made right from the start, is how both part I and part II start with some kind of ceremony. whether this was the director’s intent or not, i don’t know, but still: the first part opened at Connie’s wedding, a celebration of love, while this one opened to Vito’s funeral. the contrast of the two openings is a sign, signifying how hopeful everything used to be, compared to how hopeless they seem to already be now.

Rags to Riches Storyline

right from the start of the nonlinear storyline, we see Vito being treated almost like a peasant at the American boarder. since we already know everything he goes to achieve in his lifetime and that this is merely a flashback, we can’t help but notice that this is pretty similar to a “rags to riches” storyline. the purpose of a nonlinear timeline seems to emphasize Vito’s growth throughout his lifetime and show just how unpredictable Vito’s future will be, given that we already know how it ends.

Never in Private

another minor note that strengthens the connection between the past and present is how Michael’s talk with the senator was not in private, but with security in the room, just the way Vito would have done it. this is something we notice in the first film too, as the only times Vito’s spoke with someone one-on-one was with people, i forget who exactly but i’m sure Sonny was obviously one of them, he has a special relationship with.

while this is clearly just a safety precaution, it’s still noteworthy that this happens to be yet another trait Michael takes after his father, a habit of ensuring the safety of both himself and his family, as we find out later.

“Trying to fit in with other Americans”

one interesting cut between scenes (and timeframes) was between the scene of Vito half-innocently entering the United States (past) and Michael being insulted by the senator, being told he’s “trying to fit in with other Americans.” the concept of revenge, or even karma (if we see the “Americans” as the receiver of karma) is apparent with this one transition between scenes.

A Walkthrough of Life

It’s no surprise that the 3:22 hour movie is slow paced - just like any of the Godfather films. Other than detail, the only other reason a team would decide to make a movie this long is for the effect of it feeling like some sort of walkthrough of life and death. That’s pretty deep-sounding, but what I’m trying to say is that the entire film is paced in a way that makes you feel like you’re an outsider to the Corleone family, living each day with them.

Kiss of Death

This is one of my favorite parts. I watched this film with my dad so he had to enlighten me, but basically, there’s this this in Italian mafia culture called the “kiss of death.” When Michael finds out about Fredo’s betrayal, he kisses him smack on the lips, something you wouldn’t expect two straight mafia members to comfortably do. This is Michael’s way of basically saying, “I love you, but I’m gonna kill you.”

This raises the question of why? If someone betrays you, why wouldn’t you just kill them and get it over with (I’m talking about 20th century Italian gang culture here, please don’t turn me into the police)? The kiss of death goes to show that Michael genuinely cared for his brother and that Fredo’s slip up is one that hasn’t changed their brotherly feelings for one another. Instead, it simply means that Michael has to do what he has to do, no matter how much he may or may not want to.

Power Through One’s Family

The entire concept of both gaining power and becoming vulnerable is obtained and lost through one’s family. Whether that’s through one’s kids or his wife, if someone is messed with, the family of the perpetrator is the initial target and always in immediate danger. I think this says a lot about the values of these men. Despite their hard shells, they all know their biggest weakness: their own family.

Harsh Transitions into a New Color Palette

I’m not gonna lie, I noted this down without a specific example, but here’s my thought: Whether it’s between murder scenes and weddings or parties or whatever, there’s often these really contrasty transitions between scenes with completely different color palettes. I like this, because the two main elements of these kinds of films are family and brutal murder, some pretty heavy contrast, if you ask me. The palettes often contrast in warmth as well, leaving the warmer tones with close and family-oriented scenes, obviously. The transitions, though harsh, are an eye-opener to the unpredictability of the film and can really wake you up in case you’ve started to doze off 3 hours in.

The American Way of Life Designed by Italians

The scenes of young Vito’s first(?) murder that takes place in the crowded streets of the street market are possibly some of my favorite in the movie. The significance of that particular scene is that it reminds you that this isn’t the classic American Dream. The life all these guys and their families are after is the American life made by the Italians. The Italian culture is preserved through the body language, formalities//etiquette, etc, all while still aiming to ‘blend in’ with the American lifestyle.

I think this is beautiful, since it goes to show that their own culture isn’t something they’re willing to sacrifice for the sake of living in America.

Lonely, I’m still Lonely

There’s probably a much deeper meaning to the way the film was brought to an end, but here’s my take on it. The focus of the second film in this trilogy was Vito’s youth and Michael’s growth. Just like what my dad said when we watched this together, this is Michael’s film and his chance to grow into his father’s shoes. For this very reason, we finish on a shot of Michael sitting alone at the table, while everyone else rushes to see the surprise or whatever it was that caught their attention at the front door. This essentially leaves him alone with his thoughts, as he is after all ‘the next heir to the throne.’ He’s left in a state of deep contemplation over everything he’s just done, especially the murder of Fredo.

Sorry for another lengthy analysis! Feel free to skip around the topics and just read the ones that sound interesting to you :)

#cinema #film #The Godfather #movie #movie analysis #film analysis

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mydeardeath · 4 years ago

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To belong with (7/8)

Whole series on tumblr (to belong series tag) or AO3

---

Tim started trashing in his sleep just a few hours after going to bed, awakening Damian with a hit to his face. He kept muttering unintelligible words, but while Damian could not decipher their meaning, he could guess that it was related to the time Tim was away.

He had to hold Tim for five minutes before the Omega calmed down, lost in his nightmares. When Tim finally came to his senses, he did not speak a word. The Omega sank further against Damian, taking all the comfort he could get. Tim had seemed fine since his return. He had calmed down as soon as he had recognized Damian. After that, he had acted as he used too. Mostly, anyway. Tim hadn't asked to go back on patrol. He had not even questioned Damian about the Gotham's current night activities. In fact, Tim hadn't mentioned this part of their life at all, acted as if he was a simple civilian. Those had been obvious hints that should have alerted Damian sooner. Tim had always been one of the most dedicated to the mission.

He may have no idea what had happened to him while he was captive, but he should have deduced that it was no good. And Damian had ignored that so he could play house with Tim.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Damian murmured in his ear, still hugging him.

Tim didn't respond right away. He started tapping softly on Damian's wrist with the tip of his fingers. "I don't know. I don't know where I was. Who had taken me or why. I was alone for weeks. Alone in the dark. Nobody came to see me or to interrogate me."

"You weren't with the others?"

"What others?" Tim asked, confused.

"People started popping off as the same as you did. People presumed to be dead from the attack that took you."

"I never saw anyone else. I had nothing to clutch to while I was there. Nothing to analyze, nothing to work on, all I could do was wait. I never felt that powerless."

"We'll figure out, and they will pay for touching you," Damian promised, determined to avenge his Omega.

Damian had held Tim for over an hour before it became clear that neither of them had any chance of going back to sleep. Thus, he had offered the Omega to go downstairs to spar for a bit. The equipment had got an upgrade since Tim had last been into the room, but he hadn't remodeled the room, so it should still be familiar to him.

Damian dug out some of Tim's old training gear. He ignored the look that earned him. Damian knew pretty well how it looked like: who kept all of someone's stuff, and not just one item of sentimental value after they died? The whole family had already criticized him for clinging to Tim's belongings years after he had died. The Omega was free to judge him too. He had stopped to care a long time ago. He had his own way of coping, and nobody would change that.

"I guess it's a good thing your sentimental," Damian snorted a that, nobody had put it that way thus far, "Sometimes I feel lost when I realize that the world has changed without me to a point where I not always sure I'm really home. I mean, I can still recognize the world, but it could be a mind trick for all I know. Having my stuff makes it easier, anchors me."

They started slowly, not fighting right away, leaving Damian enough time to assess Tim's physical conditions. He didn't have enough details about his captivity to know if he had been malnourished or if he had been able to exercise. Muscle memory would allow Tim to get back pretty quickly, but Damian wasn't sure that his strength was still the same, nor his stamina. Furthermore, Damian had grown a lot during the past six years. It was weird to say, but he was now only one year younger than Tim. After presenting as an Alpha, he had grown fast, outgrowing Dick in a year, and was catching up to his father as the days passed. Not only was Damian taller but also a lot stronger and more experienced than before. Before, he knew how much strength he could put behind his punch to train but not arm. Now he wasn't sure, but he didn't want to restrain himself too much lest that Tim noticed. He wasn't sure the Omega would appreciate the precaution. He had proven himself many times in the past, questioning his abilities would be a terrible insult. Plus, none of them knew how to take it easy after an injury, Tim wouldn't accept to restrain himself. They hadn't had the best example, growing up. So, Damian was a little at loss.

Tim gave the first hit, sensing the Alpha hesitation. He didn't hold back, certain that Damian could take it. The strike did not even connect. Damian intercepted it with ease, faster than Tim had first imagined. The Alpha may have put on a lot of weight, but he was still quick and agile, it seemed. All the Robins had had training, but Damian had been groomed from birth. He was the one with the most techniques and potential when it came to fighting. Damian didn't have to rely on preparation, as Tim did. It had been quite impressive to witness when Damian had first entered their life, and something told Tim that it was nothing compared to what he could do now. He was quite curious to see it all. Tim threw a few more punch at Damian, taking the opportunity to assess the other's movement. Analyzing was what he was best at. Tim was used to facing opponents that were stronger than him, better than him. Smarter was another matter. He would find a way to beat Damian, even if he took hours.

It's only after two hours of pulling punches and dodging that Tim managed to knock Damian off his feet. He had pretended to be more tired by their sparring session than he truly was for the past ten minutes, leading to Damian lowering his guard and giving Tim an edge. That approach wouldn't have worked in a real fight, but he didn't care. He was damp with sweat, and his attacks were becoming sloppy. He wouldn't have lasted another hour. So, he let himself regain some strength for a minute and got his victory. Damian had given him lessons about fighting dirty when he was they had fought soon after meeting each other. So, the Alpha shouldn't hold it against him.

"Well done, Timothy." Damian's words were reluctant, but he seemed proud of Tim at the same time. Probably didn't like landing on his ass.

"Thanks, D," Tim smiled brightly at him, and Damian had no other choice than to return it, mollified by Tim's expression.

***

They spent the rest of the day at home. Damian had promised himself to contact his father today, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He knew there was a risk of Bruce or Dick showing up unannounced if he ignored them for too long, especially after declaring that he would be looking for Tim. Not that he had been wrong, but they didn't know that. Yet.

In the meantime, Damian was just enjoying Tim's company while they cooked together, or watch shit tv shows.

"You don't have to skip patrol because of me, you know?"

Tim had noticed that Damian had never left at night. The Alpha still maintained his nest downstairs, so he obviously hadn't given up on that part of their life. Watching tv with Damian was nice, but he didn't want to hold him back if he wanted to go out.

Damian sighed. "I don't want to leave you alone, not because I think you cannot take care of yourself. But I'm afraid that if you disappear from my sight for more than a minute, you will disappear forever." Damian honesty was heartbreaking. Tim could understand his fear, he had the same.

"I could come with you. You don't seem to be working on any major cases."

Damian looked away before answering. He wasn't sure the Omega was quite ready to go back, but Tim being able or not to patrol was not the problem.

"I haven't announced your return to the rest of the family," Damian confessed, looking guilty.

"What? Why?" Tim almost yelled.

"They refused to believe you could be alive! I search for you for hours, alone. I know it might be childish, but I wanted to keep it from them. I'm sorry," Damian apologized. It had been selfish of him. Tim deserved to be with them if that what he wanted. He had no right to take that decision from him. "I can call them now if you would like."

"No. We'll go. Now." Tim announced.

"Now? I don't think they will be home."

"Alfred will," Tim interrupted him, settling the matter.

#timdami #damitim #to belong series #part 15

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imagine-loki · 5 years ago

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The Slutty Webs one Weaves

Title : The Slutty Webs one Weaves

Chapter NO. 3 of 10?

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki’s Asgardian wife learns women write fanfiction about him on a trip to Midgard. She’s edgy for the duration and lets him have it when they get back.

Author: lokilover9

Rating: M

Notes: Hello everyone. I will get to writing another chapter of Irked, but for now, here’s a mini crack fic. Should be good for a laugh or two.

Thor was bodybuilding to a song by Right Said Fred, when his phone rang. ...'I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy, it hurts…' "Hello?"

Tony held the phone from his ear and yelled. "DO YOU…" The music suddenly stopped. "...ever look at your call display?"

"Sorry, flying human. Was working my gluteus maximus."

"To the detriment of my earius drumius."

"Oops. How's life?"

"Riveting in the last twenty four hours. You alone?"

"Jane's in Vegas with Darcy."

"Perfect. Think you can you put aside selfies with groping seniors and visit me ASAP?"

"The cougars are more troublesome. Their claws resemble a bilgesnipes. Bloody frightening."

"Buy Hulk bandages. Well?"

"Sounds serious."

"It is. I've a friend that wishes to meet you and it's mandatory you oblige."

"Who?"

"Can't say until you agree to abide by our terms of said meeting."

"Tony, are you in cohorts with an enemy?"

"Thor, are you on crack?"

"Don't know what that is."

"The universe is grateful. Please listen. You cannot hitch a ride with Mjolnir, or come by plane. You must drive here and take every precaution to avoid being recognized or followed. Most importantly, keep it secret."

Thor gave his word and was blown away by what he learned. "Spoil her rotten if need be, I'll foot the bill. Do 'not' let her leave."

"I'm a billionaire ya silly arse, remember? Start packing."

After gathering his suit pieces from the sixtieth floor, Stark went to tell Brianna, but she'd fallen asleep following a bathroom break, halfway through the movie. When Pepper went in there to clean, it looked like a photo from Architectural Digest.

Upon waking, Little Warrior was thrilled to hear the news. "Thanks, Iron Man. Where's Pepper?"

"Out buying you clothes."

"Yaaay!" *****

Thor arrived two days later and instantly fell in love with the girl. She showed him similar acts of magic Tony saw, but still wouldn't reveal anything more about herself. Her abilities and resemblance to Loki were so uncanny, he was ninety percent convinced she was his.

"Your quite talented, Brianna. Why is it you wish to meet my brother?"

"Based on in-depth research, I believe he's a sorcerer, yes?"

"He is."

"Good. I was hoping to ask him some questions about my abilities. Do you think he'll come?”

"I'm sure of it. Will you please stay with Tony and Pepper until we return?"

“I’ll be here.”

Tony rode the elevator down with him.

"How did she know Loki is a sorcerer?"

"I'm questioning the same. Only Fury, his bosses and the other Avengers know. None of us would spill the beans. I suspect Brianna's abilities are more extensive than she's letting on. How will you convince Prince Jezebel?"

"Who?"

Tony deadpanned. "Loki?"

"Threaten to tell Astrid."

"If it comes to that, have mercy and offer the guy some earplugs. Her drama queening is like fingernails down a blackboard."

"My sister in law's wrath will be a walk in the park compared to our Mother's. She's my backup plan."

Stark recalled Ellen Ripley's experience with an angry, Alien queen then pictured a seidre in its hand. "Have a nice trip, big guy." ***** On the morning Thor returned to Asgard, Astrid woke early to find Loki pensively staring out their bedroom window. "What's wrong?"

"There's no easy way to say this, my lovely. You continuously speak of longing to start a family, but this sneaking off realm without a word..it's left me hesitant to believe you're ready."

"Why?"

"Your temper flares and you often act without thinking. I keep questioning had we children…"

"They would've stayed with your Mother." She angrily started searching for attire. "But no problem. I'll stay on the pill."

"Is this reaction not a perfect example?"

"Maybe I'm insulted you think me so dumb!"

She slammed the bathroom door, started the shower and he walked out. "Nice talk, Astrid. Love you too."

Following a meeting with Odin, Loki saw Thor hastily approaching within the corridor. "Brother!" He called in a disingenuous pronounced tone. "How art thou?"

Loki was dragged by the collar into a side room and assertively shoved him off. "I've repeatedly warned your bullying days are over. Do that again and find yourself in another dimension. Painstricken."

Thor locked the door. "I'm disappointed in you."

"I've an extensive list of mutual sentiment. Make an appointment and we'll talk."

"We'll talk now. Stark and I believe you've fathered a child on Midgard."

Loki proceeded to laugh. "Impossible...ludicrous. There isn't a female there nor here I haven't used a termination spell on."

"While they slept?"

"Precisely."

"What about the time you woke naked in a dumpster in California? With no recollection of how you arrived there after leaving a club with three women? Which one did you fuck?"

"None. The last thing I remember were two pleasuring each other on a bed while the third was on her knees pleasing me, when everything faded into blackness. Crazy bitches drugged me. I never saw the route travelled, the house number, nothing, but the inside of a bedroom and then the dumpster when a pigeon rammed its beak into my nostrils."

"You aren't making sense."

"I let them blind fold me in the car."

Thor choked back a laugh. "Midgardian females tricked the trickster?"

"Do I look amused? That was the last time I drank from a bottle I didn't personally open."

"Just listen?" ~ A half hour passed. ~ "I understand your lingering skepticism. At least come help the child. If you don't, Tony fears she may leave without him knowing."

"Fine, but what exactly am I to tell Astrid?"

Loki returned to his chambers to find a note on their bed; 'Gone to my parents for a week to cool off seeing as though you think I'm always angry.' He tossed it in the trash and left one for her; 'My turn to disappear. Janes on vacation so I've returned to Midgard to bond with big brother. Do say hello to your parents, my lovely. Kisses.'

"Satisfied, Thor? Now how do we keep Heimdall from tattling?"

"By leaving immediately. His new trainee is on duty."

"Maxome? That nincompoop will send us into orbit."

"Don't let appearances fool you. He looks like a troll, but knows his job. And Maxi Waxi takes bribes."

Loki's eyes narrowed. "Who are you? Impersonating a Prince of Asgard is punishable by death." *****

The bifrost vanished and Thor's phone immediately rang. "Slow down, Tony. We can take portal taxi to…" The call suddenly ended. "...the Towers underground."

Stark exited the elevator in hyperdrive. "Holy shit, am I glad to see you guys!" He poked Loki's arm. "E..specially..you, fornication fabler. Whatever big guy here told ya? I've an update. Not only is my guest up there adorable and a bonafide genius, but definitely of a life form I've yet to encounter."

"Have you been eating Count Chocula again?"

"No, but I know what you're thinking and get in line. Pepper already threatened to duct tape me to a wall."

"Relax, flying human."

"I'm relaxed every second I'm around that kid. Can't a guy unwind a little? This is me unwinding, okay? Stop talking because I'm talking."

Both Gods locked their lips with imaginary keys.

"The day after you left, Thor, I suggested Brianna and I bake cookies with M&M's, but asked she not tell Pepper as I get in trouble for sugar highs. Then I jokingly asked if she'd ever hidden cookies in her pockets and she said yes. 'Interdimensional pockets'."

Loki cocked a brow.

"Pshh, yeah, hello? The next day, she demanded to know where the clothes she'd arrived in were. Pepper had put them in the wash and Brianna raced to the laundry room, swung opened our front loader with magic, gathered them into a ball and screamed at us while her skin turned blue and eyes Ruby red. 'DON'T TOUCH MY STUFF! DON'T 'EVER' TOUCH MY STUFF!' I just about fucking shit myself!"

The God sighed. "You 'have' encountered that life form."

"Notta, buddy boy. I would've remembered."

"Are you wearing a diaper?"

"Huh?"

"Maybe you should be." Said Thor.

Loki stepped away and partially revealed himself. His skin turned blue, but remained human in texture and eyes reddened like Brianna's.

Stark backed into a pillar. "What the hell are you?"

"Remember I said he was adopted and later educated you on the nine realms?"

"Uh hu."

Loki returned to Aesir form. "I'm a Frost Giant from Jotunheim."

"Ha! I'm not a loon, after all!"

"No one thought you were."

"I knew Brianna was yours and Pepper wouldn't believe me! Wait, isn't that realm mostly ice? Can you conjure it out of nowhere?"

"Yes to both questions, but it's exhausting without the Casket of Ancient Winters. Why?"

"Whatever that is. Little Warrior can too."

"What did you just say?"

"After yelling at us she ran into her ensuite and we followed to find ice crystals forming around the edges of the closed door. It wouldn't budge and with our calls going unanswered for a good ten minutes, I panicked, took an axe to it and hacked into a thick inch layer of ice on the other side. Brianna was out cold in the tub, slept through the hacking to reach her, then for another seventeen hours. We were frantic."

"Take me to her, now." He commanded.

"Why the sudden urgency?" Asked Thor.

Loki had a foresight he opted not to share. "Shouldn't we both be eager to meet a child so skillful without the casket?"

The trio entered the elevator.

"You better not be thinking of turning Heimdall into an icicle again."

Loki bypassed him and eyed Tony. "Eh he he he."

"Screw you, Snowflake. These are jeans and a shirt. Not a silk, pink robe and yes I'm wearing underwear."

Thor smirked. "Ah, the Boopsicle story."

"That's nice. I'll bet he told you the pink fishnets story too."

Loki pursed his lips and Thor stopped smirking. "No. No he didn't."

Stark tried a witty save. "Pepper looked great in them. Sucks to be you for missing it."

"You let my brother see your lady in fishnets? I'd never let another guy see Jane in lingerie."

Thor was being so daft, Loki laughed harder and Tony frowned at him. "Asshole."

They exited and as Virginia approached with Brianna, amusement never left Loki so quickly. Thor had said she was young, but this child craning her head to look up at him barely reached the height of his hip. From everything learned of her, he'd imagined one sturdier, yet she resembled a miniature ballerina. So delicate and beautiful, how was she the daughter of a Frost Giant? Yet the evidence couldn't be denied. He was staring into a mirrored image of himself in female form. Her body structure, ivory skin and elegant features. The striking eyes, thick lashes and hair so black, hints of blue danced upon it like the feathers of a Ravens in daylight.

'"Hello. I'm Loki."

She offered a tiny hand to shake which vanished amidst his as her voice invoked a strange sense of familiarity. "Hi. I'm Brianna."

'Og Min Lille.' He quietly whispered. Then as overwhelming guilt struck from not knowing of her existence, she made him chuckle.

"Mythology states you're the God of Mischief, right?"

"Correct."

Her smile was enchantingly impish. A perfect replica of his own. "Then I believe we'll get along splendidly." She addressed the others. "Kindly excuse us. I wish to speak with Loki alone. Right this way." Brianna closed her bedroom door gesturing to a chair, then sent a blast of light from her hand towards the ceiling.

He watched it spread in a clear ripple down every wall and politely asked. "What did you do?"

"Created a special sound shield. We'll hear them, but they can't hear us. Unless I allow it." That and bypassing Jarvis, was how she'd snuck back to the sixtieth floor the previous night to retrieve a backpack hidden there.

Loki concealed astonishment as he hadn't mastered that trick until his early teens. "Very impressive."

"Thanks and for coming."

"A worthy venture to meet a fellow magician."

Brianna sat on the bed and gave him the strangest look. A combination of curiosity, bewilderment and resentment were he to guess. "I did tell Thor my questions regarded sorcery, but those can wait. First, tell me everything about your ancestry."

She couldn't have asked an odder question based on his secret foresight. "Why do you wish to know?"

"Because you're the only person who can explain exactly what I am, 'Dad'. Now start talking or Jarvis bites it."

#loki #other #submission #Submitted fic #chapter 3 #the slutty webs we weave #lokilover9

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theweepingmonk · 5 years ago

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struck by cupid’s arrow

Geralt says nothing as he listens to Yennefer talk about a rumor she caught wind of because Jaskier does it for him.

"So love spells are being used in some remote village. What does it matter to us?" Jaskier questions as he pulls on his doublet.

"The source of the magic is said to be a vile creature feasting on those who fall under it's spell." Yennefer tells him. "Numerous people have been reported as missing."

"Again, why is it our business?" Jaskier asks.

Yennefer takes a step towards Geralt. "I am asking for your help, Geralt."

Geralt really resents the way his defenses crumple under her gaze. "I won't hesitate to give it if only you'll explain why you want to intervene."

Yennefer hesitates a moment, then says, "An old friend of mine is among those missing. I wish to investigate, and I would have to have your bard's IQ to go alone."

Geralt exchanges a look with Jaskier who immediately frowns. "Geralt – "

"We'll help you," Geralt says, looking to Yennefer once more.

Yennefer's lips twitch with the smallest of smiles as Jaskier splutters in protest. "I can't portal us to the village itself. Whatever magic the beast uses prevents me, but I can take us to the bottom of the mountain."

Geralt nods.

Jaskier complains the entire journey, picking petty little fights with Yennefer who manages to best him with her wit every time. Geralt finds it amusing, and he has to suppress his smiles lest Jaskier pout about them later.

The village is empty when they reach it, but the sound of laughter echoes off the cobblestones and lead them to a large tavern. The building is packed wall to wall with people, most of them drunk or drinking, music wordless but loud even over the stomping of feet on tables as people dance merrily.

Geralt feels a pulse of magic come from the bar, and his gaze immediately locks onto a short, fat baby with white wings protruding from it's back that allow it to hover above a stool. Geralt frowns.

What the fuck is that?

Yennefer must've felt the pulse too because she walks over to the baby, Geralt and Jaskier scrambling after her. The baby turns to them with a smile. "How may I help you, Yennefer of Vengerberg?"

"How is it you know my name?"

"Why, because I am Cupid of course." The baby answers as if it was a perfectly acceptable answer.

"Cupid?" Jaskier questions.

"The deity of love, the bringer of fate, the matchmaker of humanity." Cupid answers.

"Matchmaker of humanity – what does that mean exactly?" Jaskier prods.

Cupid smiles. "I help people find their true love."

Geralt narrows his eyes. "With magic?"

"Yes."

"Love borne from magic isn't real." Yennefer says.

"Ah, but in most cases the magic I use simply brings out pre-existing feelings. I do not twist hearts, simply inflame the spark so bright it can no longer be ignored." Cupid says.

"In most cases?" Jaskier prods.

"My bow harnesses my magic and if a mortal were to use it, they could inflict false love on whoever the arrow struck."

"Does that happen oft – "

Geralt steps forward, interrupting Jaskier with his own question. "What have you done to this village?"

"I simply brought out the love in their hearts."

"And the missing people?" Jaskier asks.

Cupid frowns. "I've been here a month and every day eighty people come. The number has not changed."

Jaskier scoffs. "Excuse us if we don't believe the fat baby claiming to be some kind of love deity."

Cupid glares at him. "I am not a baby, I am a cherub!"

"Yennefer's friend is among the missing," Geralt interjects before Jaskier can continue insulting the deity. The sooner they got to the bottom of this the better.

Cupid tilts his head curiously. "I sense only one tether of love to Yennefer here, and it is tied to you, Geralt of Rivia."

"Tether of love?" Jaskier repeats.

"Humans have tethers to each other's souls when they form bonds – romantic or other. I can see these tethers. You, for example, Jaskier have one firmly tied to Geralt."

Jaskier pales when Geralt looks to him, hope and curiosity flaring in his chest. "Firmly is such a...strong word."

Yennefer clears her throat suddenly, drawing their attention as she turns to face them. "Could you give us a moment?"

Jaskier narrows his eyes. "You want to speak to the fat love baby alone?"

"I am a Cherub!" Cupid protests while Geralt frowns in confusion.

"I knew you had an ulterior motive for coming here!" Jaskier exclaims before grabbing onto Geralt's arm. "This witch always has an agenda and I wish you'd stop blindly trusting her. It only leads to trouble, Geralt."

Geralt stares into Yennefer's violet eyes a moment, then he nods, and walks away, dragging Jaskier with him. He plants him and Jaskier at the end of the bar. Whatever Yen had really come here for, Geralt would give her the opportunity to find it. She had sought him out, and that was enough to show how she trusted him. The least he could do was prove she was right to.

"What do you suppose she's up to?" Jaskier questions, his eyes locked on Yennefer and Cupid.

Geralt doesn't respond, busy watching the echange himself.

Jaskier starts chatting up the barmaid who plies them both with alcohol that Geralt will likely have to pay for. He doesn't mind though. At this point in their friendship Geralt was used to it, knowing Jaskier liked the feeling of being cared for, and it wasn't like Jaskier never paid for anything, especially after a long stint at court.

Geralt frowns when Cupid touches Yennefer's stomach, and he feels a pulse of magic. Cupid gives her an apologetic smile, and Yennefer sags with disappointment. Cupid wanders off to join in on the merriment around him, and Yennefer joins them after a moment.

"Want to tell me why you lied?" Geralt tries.

Yennefer takes his half-empty mug, "Not particularly," she says before chugging it.

They stay an hour to drink – Jaskier managing to insult Cupid so much so that he leaves the village well before they do – and then portal away to one of Geralt's favorite fishing spots. Yennefer sets up their camp in a clearing nearby – her way of saying thank you, he guesses – while Geralt fishes and Jaskier lists out his many complaints about Yennefer and her wickedness.

Geralt makes Jaskier carry the fish back, and the oddest thing happens when Yennefer glances over at them – Jaskier lets out a sharp breath and grabs onto him as if he was in desperate need of support and doesn't let go until Geralt takes the fish for deboning. It's as he's started on the fish that he finds out why.

"Um, Geralt," Jaskier says. "I think I may have been struck by Cupid's arrow."

Geralt huffs, and rolls his eyes. "Is this your way of saying the bar wench is your new muse?"

Jaskier's hand grips onto his shoulder tightly. "It's more of a safety precaution so you won't punch me in the face when I tell you just how lovely Yennefer looks today."

Geralt frowns, eyes snapping to Jaskier only to find him staring off in Yennfer's direction, a fondness in his eyes that he would definitely never hold for the witch.

"Her hairs looks so soft," Jaskier tells him. "Is it soft Geralt?"

Geralt's frown deepens. "Fuck," he says softly, but with a lot of feeling.

Yennefer laughs and laughs when Geralt tells her, finding the entire situation to be amusing.

"I need your help, Yen," Geralt says.

"And why should I help the fool clean up his mess?" Yennefer asks.

"Because I am asking, because I don't know how, because we came to help you and now Jaskier needs you to return the favor. Pick a reason, and do it...Please."

Yennefer eyes him, a curious glint in her eyes.

"Oh, Yennefer!" Jaskier calls, drawing their attention to him. He's got a flower of some kind in his teeth, and his lute in hand. "I think I have written a song that will perfectly illustrate your beauty to the masses."

Jaskier barely opens his mouth before Yennefer does some spell to knock him out.

Geralt shoots her a curious look.

"I will track down Cupid, but if he sings one word to me I will kill him myself, Geralt." Yennefer tells him seriously, all amusement apparently gone.

Geralt nods, and she portals away. He wonders if Cupid had actually prevented her from portaling or if she had lied to spend more time with him. He shakes his head. What a foolish thought.

He goes over to check on Jaskier, finding him snoring peacefully in the dirt. He huffs, and pulls Jaskier closer to the fire.

Geralt was starting to think that if there was ever a way for something to go wrong it was sure as shit to happen if Jaskier was around. The bard seemed to have an unnatural proclivity to misfortune.

The bard wakes an hour later, pouting like a lovesick puppy when Geralt tells him Yennefer left to find Cupid. It's disturbing, but not quite as disturbing as the song Jaskier tries to write about the whole situation.

Geralt nearly punches him, but the thought of hurting Jaskier, even one yearning after the same woman as him, is sickening. Despite his best efforts, Jaskier had become his best friend, and all he wanted was to protect him.

"How does her skin feel, Geralt? From what I've seen I imagine it to be like warm velvet. And what does she smell like?"

Geralt twitches, putting all of his effort into not knocking Jaskier out again.

"Geralt?"

Geralt doesn't acknowledge him, choosing instead to eat the fish he cooked while Jaskier was unconscious. This serves only to make Jaskier move in front of him, knees digging into the soft dirt, hands settling on Geralt's knees as he crowds into his space.

"Geralt please, I need your help to write this." Jaskier pleas, eyes big, mouth set in an adorable pout.

Geralt huffs, even as he feels himself starting to soften. Jaskier's eyes really were the most alluring shade of blue. "You need to eat."

"But how I can I eat when my love is gone?"

"You don't love her. You're just under cupid's spell," Geralt reminds him.

Jaskier shakes his head stubbornly. "It's more than that! My heart aches in her absence, my stomach shrinks, my day feels colder, my co – "

Geralt clamps his hand over Jaskier's mouth. "I don't want to hear it."

Jaskier stares into his eyes, brow furrowed, but then he seems to come to some sort of realization and he gently pries Geralt's hand off his mouth, holding it captive between his own. He strokes Geralt's hand gently, unaware of the warmth it stirs in the witcher.

"I've been a heartless fool, haven't I?" Jaskier mutters. "Of course you don't want to answer my questions. You love Yennefer too, and here I am carelessly declaring my love in the face of yours. I am truly sorry Geralt."

Geralt's gaze fixes on their hands. Jaskier wasn't wholly accurate in his assumptions, but if it got him to shut up without Geralt having to reveal anything else, he would gladly play along. "It's fine, Jaskier, but for my sani – I mean my sake will you refrain from composing your lyrics out loud?"

Jaskier smiles. "Of course. It's the least I could do."

And so Jaskier remained mostly quietly, occasionally humming, while Geralt waited, quite impatiently for Yennefer to return.

"We're fucked," Yennefer says once she's finally portaled in.

"My love!" Jaskier exclaims excitedly, jumping to his feet. He goes to take her arm, and gently lead her to the log Geralt sits on.

Yennefer frowns, then looks to Geralt, ignoring Jaskier fiddling with her hair. "I found Cupid."

"Of course you did, my love, because you are brilliant." Jaskier says.

Yennefer eyes him warily.

"What did he say?" Geralt questions.

Yennefer slaps Jaskier's hands away, before answering. "He explained that he lost his bow while rushing away from this idiot."

"An idiot in love," Jaskier says, trying to reach for her again.

Yennefer rolls her eyes and smacks his hand away.

"Did he tell you how to fix this?" Geralt asks.

"He said true love's kiss is the only way to dispel the magic."

Geralt stares at her, waiting for her to say she was only kidding, but she doesn't and all he can say is, "Fuck."

Jaskier tries to touch Yennefer's hair again and she pushes him into the dirt. "Who could love this screeching moron?"

"Well he is very popular at court." Geralt points out.

"Love and lust are not the same thing."

"But they are often interwined," Jaskier says, sitting up and brushing the dirt off himself. He quickly interjects himself in between Geralt and Yennefer. "But no, I don't think any of my muses hold any true love for me."

"Are there any loopholes you can think of, Yen?" Geralt asks, ignoring the prickle of jealousy at the tender way Jaskier is gazing at her.

Yennefer appears to think a moment, then says, "You could try kissing him."

Geralt's heart skips. "Me?"

"Cupid said he had a firm tether to you and true love can also be found in friendship." She has that same curious glint in her eyes from earlier.

"I am not kissing him!" Jaskier protests, jumping to his feet.

"Why not? He's very skilled at it." Yennefer says, making Jaskier frown, an echo of his usual thinly veiled annoyance at her presence set in his features.

"It's not him I wish to kiss tonight."

"Only tonight?" She questions, and Jaskier struggles to speak, face turning pink. Yennefer looks at Geralt expectantly and he supposes he doesn't have much of a choice.

Geralt grunts, then stands up and grabs Jaskier's face, pulling him into a rough kiss. There's a pulse of magic between their lips, and then Jaskier's hand tangles in Geralt's hair, holding him in place as he kisses back.

Geralt makes a soft noise of surprise, but he doesn't make to move away, relishing in the way Jaskier's mouth fits perfectly against his.

Yennefer clears her throat after a moment, and Geralt breaks the kiss reluctantly, pulling back to meet Jaskier's gaze. He looks almost dazed.

"Still in love with Yennefer?" Geralt asks.

Jaskier frowns. "What fool, besides you, would love that creepy witch?"

Geralt huffs in amusement, and looks to Yennefer.

"If that's all, I will be on my way," She tells him, her expression closed to him now.

Geralt nods, aware of Jaskier's fingers gently pulling his hair. "Thank you, Yen."

Yennefer nods, and opens a portal.

"If you ever need my assistance again, don't hesitate to ask." Geralt tells her.

Yennefer glances at him, then says. "Perhaps next time we won't bring the damsel in distress."

Geralt chuckles and she leaves. He barely moves before Jaskier's kissing him again – sweet and firm. He allows himself to return it briefly before pulling away. "The spell is broken, Jaskier," He reminds.

"Can we really be certain of that?" Jaskier questions. "In fact, I think I feel a desire to finish my ballad of how beautiful Yennefer's lavender eyes are prickling under my skin. Maybe we should keep kissing just to be safe."

Geralt's lips tug briefly into a small smile, amusement washing over him. "Jaskier."

"Geralt." Jaskier says, crowding into his space. "By the way you've chosen to keep kissing me instead of pushing me into the dirt I doubt your true love is rooted solely in friendship. Just as I doubt that you don't wish to kiss me again."

"You've always been presumptuous," Geralt tells him, his hand fisting the front of Jaskier's shirt, readied to push or pull the bard.

"And you've never minded as much as you pretend."

Geralt grunts, eyes flicking briefly to Jaskier's soft lips. "Perhaps not. Or perhaps I simply thought a brazen fool like you was safer irking me than someone else."

He kisses Jaskier before he can even open his mouth, feeling protests die against his lips, and hands settle on his hips to pull him in closer. Maybe not all of Jaskier's misfortunes were so terrible after all.

read on AO3 | toss a coin to your writer |

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #i wrote this for valentines but i figured it wouldnt hurt to promote it/post it here now

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neilada-d6-meghah · 5 years ago

Text

Theories about the murderer: A long summary

I’ve been thinking a lot about Ykhar and Chrome’s attacks, and I’ve read every theory that came across my eyes. I still don’t know who the murderer is, but I did some observations during these days, I think, is always good to at least have these points into consideration. Let me know what you think of it.

Reasons to think it was Leiftan

First of all, is suspiciously easy to point at Leiftan because of a lot of things. Both, Ykhar and Chrome, were on Team Kill Them All, even if Ykhar was there against her will, so is easy to assume that something went wrong and Leiftan is just trying to get rid of the evidence. Plus, last time we saw Ykhar was on Leiftan’s route when she came back from the Fenghuangs’ and showed up like a badass at Leiftan’s door to have a “heated conversation”. We have seen Leiftan kill people before, so, it’s easy to think this led to her death.

In Chrome’s case, as I mentioned to @icyspicymilitary, I don’t see any reason for him to be on Leiftan’s side after Lance betrayed him (I haven’t played any of the spin offs so I might be ignoring valuable information on their relationship). We have seen Chrome disagree to Leiftan’s methods before (Anya’s death), and we know Lance didn’t leave alone, he actually had some allies for himself (Enthraa, for example).It would make sense to think that something happened when Leiftan sent Lance to the Fenghuangs’ to make sure Ykhar didn’t betray them, because Chrome was there too, and the next time we saw Lance, he betrayed Leiftan.

Maybe they joined Lance’s team, or at least he tried to convince them of doing it, and they went to Leiftan to renegotiate their alliance and it didn’t go so well. Let’s remember Chrome’s words when he runs into Gardienne for the first time after her kidnap “It should have never happened LIKE THAT”, it might mean he already knew it was Lance’s plan, and he didn’t do anything to stop him, as far as we know.

Reasons NOT to think it was Leiftan

Ok, let’s start for the obvious, he does get along with Chrome. But I don’t think that’s reason enough to acquit him yet, because his cause is bigger than everyone (except Gardienne).

Let’s remember the day he killed Anya, it was totally cold blooded, he wasn’t showing any kind of guilt or anything right then (I read once that he let his guilt came out after he killed Naytili, but even in that case, is a long time afterwards), I remember he even made fun of guard because of how easily he could fool them. We know he can act totally normal after doing something like this, and yet, he looks really affected after hearing about Chrome, more than the others. He was completely absorbed in his thoughts and only comes out of it when Gardienne tells him that she wants to kill whoever hurt Chrome, but it wasn’t a suspicious reaction, it was more like a surprised/concerned reaction.

On Ykhar’s case I can’t find anything to take the blame away from him, other than how obvious it is that it was him, maybe someone is trying to incriminate him, but it doesn’t make sense to anyone who doesn’t know Ykhar went to talk to Leiftan.

Lance

The only reasons I can think for him to do it is to disarm Leiftan’s team and as a distraction. If it is the last one, he can take Valkyon as far as he can while the guard is busy trying to find whoever the killer is and trying to save some lives. The timing, though, is the one problem here. Lance left the HQ with Gardi many days ago, maybe a week, and Chrome wasn’t hurt too long before Gardienne found him, otherwise he would have died for sure. If we are trying to put the blame on Lance, we have to assume it was one of his mercenaries following orders, but it would also mean Lance planned everything that happened in episode 26 with an unbelievable accuracy, knowing how many days it would take him to get to Memoria (even not knowing where it was), and how many days until the guard found them.

But there are strong reasons to believe it wasn’t him, starting with the fact that he currently hates Leiftan but can’t expose him. It would’ve been easier for him taking the hostage away from Leiftan before betraying him, and having Ykhar to reveal all the information she had on him to the guard (once again, it points at Leiftan). In addition to this, as I said before, I don’t think Lance managed to plan everything, so I doubt he left orders of killing Chrome, and I don’t see how he could’ve managed to give those orders from the distance.

The M.O.

We know both, Ykhar and Chrome, were attacked the same way, they were both stabbed, but other than that, there is a huge difference between one case and the other. Ykhar was killed in a cautious way, whoever killed her was trying to gain some time to escape or whatever, and sent a letter excusing her absence for a few days, this way no one would try to find her, and it worked, because it took a lot of time for Miiko to actually have a reason to go into her room and find her corpse.

In Chrome’s case is pretty much the opposite, the person who tried to kill him, did it on an isolated area, but didn’t take any precautions with the body, didn’t hide it, didn’t finish the job, and it doesn’t seem like this person planned it either.

From this we can assume two things, either Chrome almost ruined this person’s plan on the last second and the murderer had to take care of him in order to escape/stop him from doing something about it, or we are talking about two different murderers.

If we assume the situation right now is similar to what I said earlier (Lance taking the hostage away from Leiftan to make Ykhar expose him), we can think maybe Leiftan killed Ykhar to stop Lance’s strategy, and Lance somehow responded by getting Chrome stabbed, which fits Lance’s personality as an impulsive person whose master plan just got ruined.

But, what if it was somebody else?

We’re thinking about Lance and Leiftan because we know some of their reasons, but what if we are ignoring other points leading to another person just because we don’t know their reasons yet at this point of the story? I read @tetrakys10’s awesome theory where she explains why she thinks Colaia might be the murderer based on her size, ability and unexplainable amount of knowledge for someone who spent so much time on a wild state. We did see her training with a knife, and honestly, we have seen a lot of her, she is with us in a bunch of missions, and we get to see her interact with a lot of people. We have seen Kero much less, so it is an interesting point.

On the other hand, we got some shocking information on episode 27 about Twylda. She is taking care of Marie-Anne, the woman who killed her son, after wanting to kill her the first time they met. That’s freaking sick, so I started to consider the possibility of this being the result of Twylda failing to kill Marie-Anne, and getting somehow under her control. I honestly don’t think it is the answer, but there is something hidden here somewhere, maybe Twylda is taking care of her because she is waiting for a good moment to kill her, but I couldn’t help to think about Twylda with the stabbing thing since she tried to commit suicide in the same way.

One more important detail to have in mind

I don’t remember anyone mentioning this, but if anyone has an explanation or a theory I’m totally interested.

In episode 25, when Lance kidnaps Gardi, he activates a barrier to keep people trapped inside the HQ while he escapes, but the LI finds a tunnel under the cherry tree and manages to get out before it closes. We know Leiftan and Lance used this tunnel before, in Leiftan’s route he just goes through it knowing it would be there, but on the other routes they find it by accident, because someone used it before them. At first I thought it was Leiftan, but then I realised he didn’t appear anywhere close to Gardienne while Lance takes her away, and I don’t think he would’ve preferred hiding in the bushes than going to save her.

We know for sure it wasn’t Lance because he was inside the HQ before he was found, and then he goes out of the HQ using the front door. It wasn’t Enthraa either because she uses the underwater passage, any of the other traitors of the guard could just walk out of the HQ and raise no suspicions. So, who the hell went through that tunnel?

Are we sure whoever used it was trying to get out? Because I can’t shake the feeling that someone infiltrated in the HQ and that person might be the one murdering people inside.

#eldarya #eldarya theory #eldarya episode 27 #ykhar #chrome #leiftan #lance #ashkore #nevra #ezarel #valkyon #miiko #beemoov

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yogaposesfortwo · 5 years ago

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Digital Detox? Nah. How to Cultivate Digital Wellbeing

When Jess Davis and I were first scheduled to chat, I didn’t get an answer. I knew that she was planning to spend the day in the woods, and figured it was a reception issue. It’s an appropriate issue for Jess to have—as the founder of Folk Rebellion, a media and lifestyle brand advocating for offline living—a lack of cell reception kind of comes with the territory. When I spoke with her a few days later, she gushed about her experience in a Getaway cabin, a new-ish company founded to help city folks develop a personal relationship with the great outdoors. Jess had been running around for the previous couple of weeks, stressed and overworked, and had gotten sick. Jess’s friend and founder of Getaway insisted she come and stay in a cabin, completely off-grid. Unplugging for a few days was just what the doctor ordered—though it came as no surprise to Jess. A former award-winning brand strategist who thrived for 10 years in a fast-paced, tech-heavy world, Jess had a reckoning that while she’d helped to create a world that was digitally connected, the flip side was a sincere disconnection from the actual, tangible world. She founded Folk Rebellion to help others like her develop a sense of digital wellness and a healthy relationship with their devices. WTF is Digital Wellbeing? “Five years ago, digital detoxing was a way to start the conversation,” says Jess, but notes that an absolute approach may not be the healthiest way to go about digital wellness today. The digital revolution isn’t comparable to something like cigarettes, for example, when it comes to being healthy. “Technology is an amazing tool when used appropriately. For me, it’s digital wellbeing,” she says. “The same way you have wellbeing with nutrition and with exercise, I think that the next form of wellbeing is being digitally well. You can’t rush to yoga, have your juice, take your supplements, and be well if you don’t have a healthy relationship with your technology and your devices,” she says. Jess likens the evolution of digital wellness to the seatbelt revolution in the 1980s. Cars were, point blank, unsafe—and auto manufacturers were reluctant to spend the money to revamp their factories. Ralph Nader led the charge to change mindsets: It wasn’t cars that were dangerous, it was the cars without safety precautions. He successfully lobbied for seat belts, airbags, and stop signs. “I’m not saying that the tech is bad and we need to go without it completely,” says Jess, “but if we don’t start adding some stop signs, seat belts, and some age restrictions, there are going to be some negative things that happen.”

The Dangers of Digital Overdose Going through the windshield of a car is a significantly more dramatic deterrent, however, than the threat of a sore thumb. Consequences of digital overuse are much more nuanced, and complicated by the fact that digital dependency is, point blank, a revenue model. The more time we spend online—and the more information we share—the more money companies make. “When you think of addiction you think of drugs,” says Jess. “You think of all of these terrible things that you think, ‘Oh, no. Not me.’ When you find out that people are sitting alone and they can’t get off of their phones for like 13 hours a day or a video game, this is addiction.” Jess should know. Before she left her previous life, she absolutely considered her own dependency an addiction. “The experiences that I had and what’s now being documented is a general sense of dissociation from reality,” she says. “A malaise, a feeling of un-wellness 24/7. Inability to focus, memory loss—which was my number one ailment—which now they call digital dementia. It’s terrifying, but it’s literally called that,” she says. If we don’t start adding some stop signs, seat belts, and some age restrictions, there are going to be some negative things that happen. Overuse can result in myriad consequences. We’re physically rewiring our brains to consume and retain shorter and shorter content, which shortens our attention spans. This can in turn inhibit our ability to be creative and to follow-through with complex tasks. Additionally, there is no shortage of evidence that boredom—space previously unfilled by mindlessly scrolling—spurs innovation. But it’s more than that. “One of the things that they’re finding is the scariest thing to me is that children who studied with an iPad or used and iPad as a learning device from birth till they entered kindergarten versus children who did not,” says Jess. She understands that these can be great learning tools, but when comparing the socialization of these kids, children who used the device were 35 percent less empathetic than the ones who didn’t have it when they entered kindergarten. “What does society look like 35 percent less empathetic?” asks Jess. There’s also the issue of increasing narcissism, which leads to increased rates of depression and isolation. The long-lasting effects of heavy social media use have yet to be determined, but again, there’s no shortage of anecdotal evidence that the negative effects of overuse are damaging at the very least. And Jess suspects that there are potential negative effects on physical health as well—she thinks there could be a correlation between the cortisol released when our phones ding, and increasing stress levels that lead to autoimmune disease. “That’s my hunch, anyway,” she says. Corporate Responsibility Just as the doctor who created Frankenstein was ultimately horrified with his invention, Jess says that many of the bigwigs who helped to create Silicon Valley are aware of its dark side. One group, the Center for Humane Technology (the guy who invented the “Like” button and an original founder of Twitter among its founders) is one organization looking to pull back the reins on the creations they put into the world. What does society look like 35 percent less empathetic? “They’ll go to Google, they’ll go to Apple, and they’ll say: ‘This is how you need to start thinking about making things’,” says Jess. “On the other end of the spectrum is me, and organizations like Folk Rebellion. What we’re really trying to do is to educate the consumer.” Jess says the approach to curbing digital addiction should be three-pronged: Organizations funded by the government (ie: education in public schools), corporations, and personal choices. “I think it really starts on a small scale,” she says. “Homes, small businesses, neighborhoods, families, schools—things like that.” Advice for Kicking Your Addiction The first time Jess purposefully went without her phone for a three-day weekend, she says she was forced to face just how dependent she had become. “I’m an introvert at heart,” she says. “What happened was I kept touching my back pocket when I was being introduced to somebody, and I then had this gross realization that I’m cutting off conversations of people I have just met because I’m uncomfortable and I have this sort of get-out-of-jail-free card in my back pocket,” she says. The first step Jess recommends to digitally detox is to truly get rid of everything. Keep a pen and paper handy, and jot it down every time you think of your phone, touch your pocket, or feel uncomfortable without it. “Then you start to understand your triggers,” says Jess. “Once you have that, you go back to the real world and you have to start to set these boundaries in balance.” Jess only checks her email Monday through Friday, at specified times. She keeps her cell number private. She gave herself the rule that she no longer scrolls while in motion—that includes the subway, while walking, or in a car. “It’s just creating space,” says Jess. “If you can slice off and put these little hatch lines throughout your day of space that you can expand that doesn’t have the digital or the tech in it, that’s where you’re starting to create that better balance of it.” The other thing she’s done is to reintroduce tangible mediums where possible. “I use tech all day—I’m a creator on the computer,” she says, “and so when I don’t have to be working, I go back to the forms that I used to love before these devices kind of consumed everything. I have magazine subscriptions. I actually carry physical books.” Despite that they’re heavier, for Jess, it’s a relationship worth the weight. Bottom line? Technology isn’t the enemy—it can be a powerful tool to connect, which can enhance your relationships and make life easier. Allowing the digitized world to make life too easy, however, is the trap. As yogis know, balance is the key. Author: Lisette Cheresson Source: https://wanderlust.com/journal/digital-detox-uk/ Discover more info about Yoga Poses for Two People here: Yoga Poses for Two Read the full article

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flyingthehedge · 5 years ago

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Questioning Spirits: Is This Spirit My Guide?

When hedge riding, I often encounter any number of spirits. Honestly, I prefer to work alone or with a select few spirits when I am hedge riding, but there are times that spirits specifically seek me out. Sometimes these spirits have a message for me for someone else, although this is rare in my case. I've made it pretty well known to the spirits of the Otherworld that I have no desire to be their medium, at least not at this time in my life. Most of the time, however, the spirits are coming to work directly with me, some asking to stay in my life longer than one journey. It's important that we are critical of these interactions. Not every spirit we encounter is benevolent and not every spirit has your best interest in mind. For example, the spirit attached to my ex-husband. I made the mistake of trying to steal my heart piece back from this spirit instead of doing it the proper way and ended up being stalked by the creature every time I crossed the veil. It was terrifying and extremely dangerous and reckless of me, but I desperately wanted to feel better. Up until the beginning of this year, the creature had hung out just outside my Garden gate, waiting. However, with the help of three new spirits, I was able to banish this creature and have felt a huge weight lift from my shoulders. When I first met these new spirits, however, I was hesitant and skeptical. The only reason I even allowed myself to work with them is because Meka, my fox guide, trusted them. If Meka trusts you, I trust you. Despite her trust, I still sat down and recorded everything I could about these new spirits and how I felt working with them. Each time since that I have encountered them, I have expanded on my notes. I want to be sure these spirits are really there to help me and not trying to trick me. So far so good.

It's extremely important that we judge the spirits we work with in the same way we judge strangers. Always be cautious and wary, especially of eager spirits. Most spirits are not pushy and overbearing. A benevolent spirit will leave if you are uncomfortable and ask them too. If a spirit is too eager to hang around you, be mindful of their behavior and tread carefully. That isn't to say all eager spirits are out to get you! Child-like spirits and those who passed before their time tend to be immature and pushy, just like little kids. Just use your best judgment and always trust your gut. Keep a detailed record of your interactions with these spirits to help you decide if the spirit is really a guide or partner, or if they are just trying to use you.

Devin Hunter in his book The Witches Book of Spirits has a really great outline of questions you should consider and statements you can rank to help you determine whether or not the spirit is truly a spirit guide, familiar, helpful spirit, or something else. When you first meet a spirit you suspect may be a guide or otherwise helpful spirit, begin by asking the following questions:

What is your name?

Do you come to work with me?

Have we worked together before? When?

What are you capable of doing for me?

What do you want in return for your assistance?

What shape do you most often take?

How will you present yourself to me when you want to make yourself known?

What can I do to immediately feel connected to you?

What messages do you have for me? Where do you come from?

Were you once human?

What are your interests?

What are you here to teach me?

I've modified or left out some of his suggestions because I personally don't feel they are pertinent questions, but that's just me. And of course, these are just basic questions to get you started. When conversing with a spirit, you'll often know intuitively which questions to ask. Spend time getting to know them during your journey for as long as it takes. Once you have returned, Hunter suggests using his Spirit Guide Profiler to rate your interactions with the spirit. I absolutely love this idea and have started using it in my own practice. Each statement is ranked 1-5, 1 being strongly disagree and 5 strongly agree. Rate each statement below when you encounter a new spirit that may be a guide:

I feel a vibrational or energy change when actively communicated with this spirit.

I feel safe when this spirit is around.

I feel calm when this spirit is around.

This spirit is easy for me to communicate with.

I feel that the information exchanged between us betters me.

This spirit is direct when it communicates with me.

This information comes to me easily.

The information is easily integrated or used.

This spirit has accurately informed me of future trends in my life.

When I finish my work with this spirit, I am left feeling empowered.

This spirit assists me in my life.

This spirit and I have a deep connection.

The spirit feels like it might be a potential familiar spirit.

This spirit is will to journey through the Otherworld.

Again, I have modified several of these and excluded one statement: Since meeting this guide I have been able to help and encourage others. This isn't an important factor to me because I am selfish and journey for me alone, not others. However, you may feel the need to add it to your list. If your score is low (15-30) this spirit probably isn't a guide. Cleanse and release yourself from this spirit. If your score is between 31 and 45, this may be a spirit guide, but they are most definitely worth continuing to work with, even if they aren't a guide. They are at least helpful to you but take proper precautions. They could also be a spirit guide that is not yet ready to become a full guide as some of the pieces or connections between you two are missing. If the score is 46-60, the spirit is likely a guide and you should continue working with them until the day comes that the lesson they had for you is taught. Remember, guides come and go, so we open to change. No matter what, keep a record of these answers and ranked statements and revisit them as information changes. A spirit may make you feel comfortable one day and really uncomfortable the next. You will not always know after one meeting whether or not a spirit is helpful, but keeping detailed records will help you sort it out down the road.

When you encounter a new spirit, how do you determine if they are a guide, familiar, helpful spirit, or something else entirely?

#spirit communication #spirit work #spirits #spirit guides #hedgewitch #hedge witch #witch #witchy #pagan #neopagan #occult #witchcraft #wicca #wiccan #traditional witchcraft #witchblr #tradcraft #otherworld

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simplyyeol · 6 years ago

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ten out of ten

word count: 3.638

pairing: kim jongin x reader

genre: fluff! sports college! au (weightlifting fairy kim bok joo, anyone?)

author's note: hello! it’s me ;; lol, um so I was supposed to finish this sooo long ago for the valentine’s day collab with @lucyandthepen @baekbuns @jiminiesthighss and @starcrossed8 ! read there parts at @v-daycollab, they’re all so good and fluffy and uwu. anyways i hope you like it!!

“I’m so sorry, Jongin.” You muttered into the phone for the millionth time in just the past five minutes of your phone call with your boyfriend.

“It’s not your fault, that you got sick. We can just go on a date next weekend and say it’s Valentine’s day.”

You chuckled before coughing, a nervous cough more than a sick one. He’s so thoughtful. The guilt slowly started to creep up you.

“Okay, I’ll let you rest, Y/N. Get well soon.” His sweet words made you wince. You really hope karma won’t beat you up for this.

The screen went back to your basic wallpaper. The call was over.

You made eye contact with your roommate who was lounging on her bed, hugging her Pikachu plush, before you screamed. Or well, more like a girly shriek that bounced off the empty walls of your shared apartment as your feet frustratedly kicked the empty air wishing that your luck would go and fuck itself. You’d somehow lost balance on the bed (anything was possible with you) and tumbled off the bed, a loud thud echoing throughout the empty room. You clenched your hand, void of your phone as you’d thrown it somewhere else immediately after the phone call ended. Hopefully, you didn’t throw it too far. You couldn’t bear to starve to fix a broken screen, again.

You struggled to come out of the blankets that you’d wrapped yourself in (claiming that if you acted like a sick person maybe you’d sound more like one) and scrambled to the wall mirror attached on the wall next to your bed.

A gasp left your mouth as your fingers brushed over the big, red, disgusting, and very ugly pimple that resided on the tip of your nose.

“Did it get bigger?” Your roommate questions from her bed.

A shriek comes out in response. You cover your mouth, muttering, “Why is it so big?” You poke at it a few more times, careful not to touch it too much, reading somewhere that you should absolutely not touch a pimple if you don’t want it to scar.

“Wow, it’s so big.”

Min, your roommate, ducks as your hand flies straight towards her cheek. You almost smack her in the face but she’s always been blessed with fast reflexes, part of the reason why she has trophies stacked upon one another in your shared medal case, well, cabinet. If it wasn’t for that, she’d be sporting a good hand-sized mark on her face. More specifically, your hand-size mark.

You smack her on the shoulder a few times because she scared the living shit out of you (how does she move that fast?) still careful with your strength as not to hurt her (again) before you jump back into your bed and bury your face in your pillow. It takes a minute for you to calm down, and flail some more about how bad your luck is, and for Min to recover from her ‘near death experience’ (she deserved it) before she comes over to pat your head and attempt at soothing away your loneliness that you’ve been misfortuned with on Valentine’s Day.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have a Valentine either.”

“Oh shut up, you chose to be lonely.” Your voice is muffled by your pillow so it sounds more like gibberish than anything.

Min was a part of the swim team at your college. With both of you attending one of the grandest sports colleges in Korea, that fact alone made her “popular with the guys.” Her words, not yours. She was also pretty and had an amazing body from swimming every day, every week, every hour. You, on the other hand, were just a measly Taekwondo major. You know how to swing a good kick, maybe flip a few people, but you envied Min’s abs, and thighs, and her extremely model-like physique. It’s not like you didn’t have any muscles or nice looking features, they just paled in comparison to Min’s. The girl eats so much, you wonder where it all goes.

You’d gotten here on a scholarship and Min had been scouted from a national competition. You’d been lucky to just have been runner up in a grand Taekwondo competition that your teacher had signed you up for. Thank god for the fact that people do (sometimes) look at people other than first.

It's been three years since you’ve started college. Three years of hard work, training, bodybuilding, sweat, tears. Being a third year at the college, had its perks, though. For example, not having to do your seniors laundry just because they’re older and they told you so. Those people who take the notion of respect and use it in that way piss you off. A lot.

Maybe it has something to do with Taekwondo since respect is a major factor that needs to be taken into consideration when doing the sport, or you were just that amazing and great of a person. You lean more towards the latter option.

You’re embarrassed to say that outside of your own department, people basically knew you as the ‘Taekwondo major who fights everyone.’ Min’s words, not yours. She'd told you this one fateful day when a group of freshmen guys scurried away when you made eye contact with them.

The first time you actually encountered Jongin, your boyfriend, who you’d just bailed on over a phone call, was at the beginning of this year. About nine months ago (you weren’t counting or anything, just an estimation off the top of your head, totally). You’ve obviously seen him around (he’s literally in the same year and college as you, how could you not?). A part of the swim team, with everyone knowing who he was with just his name, and he was cute too. A swimmer with good looks? Kim Jongin has all the women swooning.

It was a good afternoon, after you ate lunch, walking to practice, you and your teammates filling up the silence about how nice the Hapkido team’s, Byun Baekhyun’s kick was in his latest match. And his ass, but that doesn’t matter (the guy’s got a really cute butt, though, good for him). But in all honesty, you all should get a few tips from him.

A man around the age of forty, you assumed he was one of the teachers or mentors just from his looks, but he acted like a total asshole, walked up to you and started ordering you around.

“Finally! I need you all to take these chairs to the big stadium!” He shouted at your team. It was only the third years, and you all were only passing from the cafeteria to get to your gym. Why would he ask random students out of the blue?

You step forward, seeing no one else in the gym. “Are you talking to us?”

He waved his clipboard in the air and huffs in annoyance. “Well, who else? You guys are students here aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah. Are you a teacher here? I’ve never seen you here before.” You cross your arms over your chest, as he eyes you up and down.

“Obviously, now stop asking questions. They need these in the big stadium before one-thirty.”

“No one told us that we had to do this.” You sneered, mocking him. “We don’t even know who you are and we’re Taekwondo majors. We don’t even lift weights, and you expect us to take all these to the stadium across the school?”

You feel someone elbow you in the side. “We can just take them, it’s fine—“

“Yeah, listen to her, you girly. At least she shows respect to her sensei.”

“Sensei?” You spit. “I only give respect to a sensei that deserves it.”

“Hey! Hey! What’s going on here?” You turn to the side to see the swim coach walk into the gym with his whole team following behind him. You barely, not even for a millisecond, lock eyes with Kim Jongin who was right next to him before you turned away, embarrassment finally flooding through your veins. “Y/N? Are you picking another fight?”

Embarrassment never lasts with you however, when you're wrongly accused.

“Wait, wait, wait a second.” You spread your arms and throw a glare at the man. Coach Kim awaits your excuse this time. You could see how bored he looks already and here you are thinking that you’re on good terms with him. “He told us,” you point to your teammates, “to take these,” your finger points to the stacks of chairs, that looked to be about five hundred chairs, “to the stadium.”

Mr. Kim chuckles under his breath. “That’s it? He’s the performance director, Y/N, and I’m glad that you took precautions, but—“ he turned to the rest of your teammates, “none of you have ever seen him before?”

One of the smaller third-year girls spoke. “I think I’ve seen him around the dorms a few times.”

“See! You should’ve said that earlier, so all this wouldn’t have happened!” He clapped his hands in a very teacherly manner. “Now all is settled! Just help him out this once, yeah?”

You scoffed but didn’t say anything.

“Great! I’ll see you all later.” He clapped your back and waved at the other girls before making his way towards the exit with the rest of the team following him, whispering among themselves. You really hoped that they weren’t talking about you.

“Now that all’s settled—“ the performance directed twirled his pen, very uncoordinatedly you may add, as it flew out of his hand and landed behind him. He turned around to pick the pen up when you heard his pants rip.

He looked back, surprised, but his hand was too late to cover what everyone saw.

You gasped. Another girl screamed. Before everything went to chaos.

Hot pink had peeled out from the rip and you were clearly able to see the strands of a fucking thong coming out from his pants. You grabbed a chair and used it to shield you from him, when he turned around and, and had the audacity to smirk at you.

“Do—don’t come closer!” You stuttered, as you shoved the chair towards him, a slight tremble visible in your voice. “Someone go call Coach Kim!” He stepped closer, hands raised wearily, and a chorus of screams rang throughout the gym.

At that exact moment, with you clutching the chair in front of you, a few girls behind you, and you cowering in front of a completely disgusting psychopath, Jongin came running in with Coach Kim hot on his heels. It was all a blur from there.

Everything was taken care of cleanly in the end, however, you were very much scarred. Never in your life had you thought there were people who actually did those type of things.

“Hey, are you okay?” You looked up from the office chair to see Jongin, looking at you. Was he... worried? No, that’s ridiculous. He didn’t even know you.

“I—um, yeah. Just a... weird day.” You winced. Great, when you really needed to be good at words you turn into an ugly mess.

“Yeah, weird is an understatement. Come on, I’ll walk you to your dorms.” He held his hand out for you, which you embarrassingly didn’t see. If you hadn’t seen him awkwardly wipe his hand on his jacket when you got up you wouldn’t have even noticed.

You couldn’t help but think that maybe it was because you were a Taekwondo major. People never saw you as feminine or girly. They reserved their hands to be held by art, literature, dance, rhythmic gymnastics types of girls. Not by a ‘strong and boyish’ Y/N. You also weren’t too bad looking. Nothing over the top, but you could look good if you tried. You just didn’t try seeing that no one really cares in the end.

He held the door open for you on your way out with you mumbling a small thank you before silence loomed over the two of you. You were jittery, finding the silence uncomfortable before he spoke up.

“I guess Coach kept only you and me for the witnesses.” He muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets to shield him from the cool evening breeze. Everything had taken longer than expected, well this has never happened to you, so it’s not like you could speak from experience, but from the times you’ve visited the main office, this is the longest it has been.

“Yeah, I’m glad he didn’t bring the other girls into it.”

“Yeah.” He paused. “I think that was really brave of you.”

Your head whipped towards him before you laughed.

Your laugh echoed throughout the empty courtyard, and maybe, the shock had finally started filling to you from the horrible day you just went through You may have heard Jongin’s join in with you in the middle, but no, he probably found you even weirder, or crazy or possessed. It’s happened before. “Please? Me? Brave?” You scoffed. “I was literally shaking.”

He lightly nudged your side. “I’ve never seen someone hold a chair that confidently. Ten out of ten from me.”

You chuckled. “Thanks, Jongin.”

It all went uphill from there. Morning chats when you didn’t have class and accompanied Min to the pool, you’d spot him. Small talks led to you going out eating together, watching movies, and even shopping whenever you felt like it, as he needed a girl’s advice on what to wear for another one of his blind dates. He really was popular from how many times that had happened. Obviously, you were jealous, after growing a small crush on him. Well, it’s not exactly your fault, who wouldn’t be able to.

You only started dating last month, with you fumbling over your sentences for at least an hour after he confessed to you (apparently those blind dates that he needed to get ready for were excuses to go out with you. Please, you absolutely melted when he confessed). Because Kim fucking Jongin confessed to you. Sure, you had one boyfriend before in high school, but everyone knew that Insik was a tool. So, that doesn’t really count.

Lounging on the couch, stuffing popcorn in your face with blankets thrown around all over you, you jumped when you heard a thud coming from your room. You jolted upright, confused as to if something fell or someone broke into your house and was about to kill you.

Min left earlier for practice. Checking the time, you deemed it was about time she got back. Could she even help if a thief broke in? What if it wasn’t even a thief? What if it was a pedo—you choked just at the thought of it.

No other sound came from the room, but before you could call the coast clear, you had to make sure. Throwing the covers off of you, you padded to your room, your hand reaching out to turn on the light—

“Boo!”

The scream that flew out of your mouth would no doubt have been heard by your neighbors. Your back hit the wall, hands coming up to cover your mouth when you looked up to see if you could recognize the person who’s about to steal all your money and kill you. But then your eyes met those familiar, warm brown ones and you screamed even louder.

“Jongin?” You shriek, enraged. “What the fuck?” You grab a pillow that just happened to be on the floor next to you and chucked it as hard as you can at him.

He doesn’t look phased, a small smile spreading on his lips. You cross your arms, an unconscious pout forming on your lips as you send a glare in his direction.

He slowly walks towards you and you back away, suddenly feeling trapped. What’s happening—why is he—why does this feel like one of those movies where the guy traps the girl against the wall and kisses—

Your own foot betrays you. It knocks itself into your other foot sending you tumbling, and you obviously grab onto the closest thing available to steady yourself, which is obviously Jongin.

A stream of curses flies past your lips as your back makes contact with the floor and Jongin collapses on top of you. On top of you. On top of you.

You can feel your face flaring when you look down feeling something on your chest. That was Jongin. And his face was buried in your neck.

The door opens at that exact moment and your roommate enters. She analyzes the situation before making a move.

“I’m out.”

Both you and Jongin’s head turn to her, finally noticing her presence when her back is turned as she closes the door.

“Wait! Min—“

Jongin stumbles as he scrambles off of you, and you cough way too much for normal, your face probably tomato red at the moment. You hear the front door close, and you internally throw a roundhouse at your friend. It was not what it looked like.

“Well... um.” You look towards Jongin who’s running his fingers, distractedly through his hair, a sheepish look on his face. “I brought soup.” You look towards the lunch box that tumbled from his hands during your fall. You make eye contact, then burst out laughing. The soup didn’t survive the fall either.

“You know that pimple looks cute on you.”

You gasp handing flying to your nose to cover it. It’s been a few hours since Jongin crashed at your place. You’d totally forgotten that you were supposed to go on a date with him and bailed on it because you had a ginormous monstrosity on your nose and wanted nothing to do with him until it was gone.

“Is that why you said you were sick?” Your eyes widened when you realized that you were caught.

“N—no! I’m actually sick!” You faked a cough just for an extra measure.

He suddenly leaned towards you and you felt a wave of deja vu wash over you as you leaned back. It seemed you leaned a little too far back, as you almost fell off the couch. His hand shot out and grabbed your shoulder, to which he stilled you before his hand cupped your face. You looked back at him wide-eyed, his eyes holding yours for what felt like an eternity. You could feel your face burning up under his touch.

He hummed while pulling away. “Yeah, you’re not sick.” You scoffed, turning away from him, letting your hair drape over your face hoping he couldn’t see you become tomato red. Confrontation is not your friend. Jongin looking at you like that is not your friend either.

You cupped your own face with your hands wishing that your cool fingers could calm your red blood cells. Any more and you’d burst. “You can’t go all up and close to me like that without askin—“you muttered turning around and almost screaming again when you saw just how much space was between the two of you.

With both of you on your couch, your blankets covering the both of you. He was almost hovering over you, leaning on to the couch arm for support, as to not fall (unlike you, who almost fell earlier, he has precautions). His breath fanned over your face and your eyes searched him, frantically. You had no idea what was going on.

His voice was no louder than a whisper when he spoke. “Do I need permission—“ and then he swooped down and kissed you.

You’ve only kissed one other guy before and then, it was mediocre. You deduced that maybe, that was just how kissing was. You didn’t see the appeal that all the other girls talked about. It was more of an awkward mouth sucking, lip biting, and teeth clashing kind of experience. It was horrible, per se. However, today you find out that appeal that all the girls would talk about it. It wasn’t kissing that had no appeal, it was the tool that you had kissed. He was nothing compared to Kim Jongin.

It was a gentle kiss. his lips pressed to yours, fingers playing with the baby hairs that framed your face. Your hands felt awkward placed on your lap, as they started moving upwards, exploring his broad chest. Does he work out that much, good Lord—

He pulled away slowly, his forehead touching yours, causing your hands to still. Too bad. You sighed, lips parting and opened your eyes. A small smile formed on your lips when you saw his eyes flutter open an almost dazed look coating them. “—to do this?” He finished his sentence and you only just registered what he said before.

You gasp, flabbergasted. He kissed you like that to just ask if he needs permission to—! You smacked his chest hopefully not too hard, but still enough to make up for him teasing you.

“Ow,” he whined. “I come to bring you food when I thought you were sick, and then I find out that you bailed on me, and now you’re abusing me.” He pouts, and you see it as one of the cutest things in the world. He perfectly resembles a kicked puppy. You literally coo on the inside. He’s too adorable for his own good.

You open your mouth to retort but he cuts you off with another chaste kiss. You frown at him because you forgot what you were going to say.

“It’s alright, though. I think this is a pretty good Valentine’s day. Ten out of ten from me.” He leaves you speechless, and you can’t even say anything when he winks at you before he brings you into another kiss.

It doesn’t really count as a date. But, you agree. You'd give this ‘date’ a ten out of ten as well.

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thegreenfairy13 · 6 years ago

Text

Dog Sitter Part 5 - Little Prince

A Gobblepot fanfic. When Oswald loses his dog Ed, Jim Gordon finds it and does an excellent job when it comes to taking care of the mobster’s furry friend. Read it on Ao3 here.

Oswald is surprised when Jim accompanies him to his car. His face is sour, like always. The man somehow never fails to look like he swallowed a vinegar-filled grapefruit and downed it the whole thing with cranberry juice. Gordon is probably genuinely terrified he’ll take some of these oh so innocent Gothamites to their early graves on his way to Connecticut. The kingpin snorts. He’s filled with too much spite to die just yet. Besides, his little boy needs his father.

Holding Ed in his arms, Jim watches Oswald climbing into the vehicle with a disapproving expression. The cop works his jaw as if he wants to say something but then thinks better of it. When Ed squirms, he puts him gently down to the ground. Expression uncertain, the cop hesitantly reaches for the door but doesn’t close it right away.

“Why aren’t you taking Ed with you?” he asks, the question coming out too harsh, too loud. The mobster’s anger flares. They aren’t at the precinct, he doesn’t owe the cop an explanation but he answers anyway. Because he always answers to Jim Gordon. Even if he doesn’t want to, even if Jim has no business ordering him around.

“Ed always vomits on a long drive,” he sighs while buckling his seatbelt, hoping the cop would be satisfied by this explanation.

Jim tilts his head in acknowledgment yet still doesn’t move. Oswald wonders what Jim might still want from him. Finally, he’s about to get out of his sight so why is he still hovering beside the car, boring his eyes into his forehead?

“If you want to know if you can keep the dog in case I wrap myself around a tree, the answer is no,” the kingpin declares breezily, itching to finally get going. He’s serious though. Should anything happen to him, Ed would be given to Martin. Along with enough money his boy would never have to worry about material things in his entire life.

Expression softening, Jim reaches for the door again. “I did not…”

He works his jaw silently, leaving the sentence unfinished. He’s staring at the floor, seemingly observing the dog beside him. The cop is quiet for once, not barking orders or needling the other man with questions. His grip on the door frame tightens until his knuckles turn white. There’s something genuinely distressed, something sincerely concerned, about his whole posture. And then their eyes meet and Jim’s uneasy, fragile gaze almost knocks the wind out of him. Oswald drowns in those blue eyes like the fool he is.

In front of Jim Gordon, he’s sixteen years old again. He’s that pale, scrawny kid nobody wanted to be friends with. The odd boy with the old-fashioned clothes that were always a bit to too big cause his mum thought he’d still grow. He reads a lot and talks a bit awkwardly - like a character from times long gone. He’s got a stutter and he flushes beet-red when he’s ashamed. He's ashamed often. Young Oswald hasn’t got enough money on him to buy lunch but gets roughed up anyway. He hopes his mother won’t notice the bruises.

Thankfully, his mum doesn’t notice much anymore. She lives in her own world and so does he. He’s mostly alone. And even if he isn’t, he’s lonely.

And Jim is the golden boy. The pretty quarterback every girl wants to go out with and every boy wants to be friends with. He’s never lonely and never awkward. He doesn’t stutter and his laughter sounds like a low rumble, not like a hysteric giggle. His clothes could be worn down but he’d still shine. He’s got the kind of body that makes a potato bag look like haute couture. And he’s kind. Everybody loves him and he loves all of them.

Except for Oswald. Nobody loves Oswald, nobody notices Oswald. He hates them all with every fiber of his being.

And when Jim finally does notice him, he only sees that ugly, insecure, cruel, little boy. He sees right through him, right to the bottom of all that hatred, and like any sane person, he turns away from the boy, too.

“Just make sure you’re back in time before my shift starts,” the cop finally requires, voice steady again.

The door then snaps shut with a loud bang and the mobster is finally free to leave. Heaving a deep sigh, he looks after Jim. The Captain stands at the edge of the stairs, Ed in his arms. He takes one paw in his hand and waves it at Oswald, lips curling into a small smile as he stares after the retreating car.

The mobster waves back, despite himself, feeling miserable and confused when stepping on the accelerator. Jim really knows how to wrap him around his little finger. It’s not like he cares about his well-being, he never did, and for sure he won’t start caring today of all days.

The Penguin drives through the night, alone with his thoughts and the ever-present paranoia. He glances into the driving mirror too often, fearing someone might be following him despite all his precautions.

At night, every car looks the same, each person behind a steering wheel seems hostile. The pain in his leg returns, like it always does, but it’s nothing more than a slight throbbing, a reminder to stay focused else terrible things might happen.

Gripping the wheel tightly, he slows down and takes an exit he doesn’t even need. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he watches a black sedan drive past. The car had been bothering him for the past fifteen minutes but thankfully, it had only been a false alarm. Well, better safe than sorry, he thinks while trying to figure out how to return to the freeway.

One tiny inattentiveness on his part could endanger Martin’s life and end his own. If anyone ever found out where exactly they are staying, if anyone would attack, he’d be lost. Sure, he’s a fighter, and he’s armed, but even he couldn’t fight off a paramilitary assault alone. Staying alone at the mansion in Connecticut is a security measure and a high risk all the same.

Maybe he should have told Jim where he’s going. The man knows how to keep a secret. He proved that often enough. After allegedly shooting him at the docks for example, or after killing Galavan. Both times he kept his mouth firmly shut.

And he might not be fond of the Penguin but he’d probably come to the rescue if Martin was in danger and bring some reinforcement too. But then Oswald doesn't want to give him the slightest leverage either. He doesn’t believe Jim would be as heartless as to use his boy against him but what if…? However, shouldn’t Martin’s safety be the utmost priority?

The sun has long since set when he finally arrives at his mansion in New Heaven. Martin had been waiting for him the entire evening. He’s sound asleep on the sofa in the living room. His nurse is sitting beside him, reading a magazine. Oswald hired the woman because she hardly speaks English and never watches the news. She has no idea who and what he is and he’s grateful for that. With a gesture of his hand, he dismisses her.

Dropping his luggage, he makes his way over to his precious little prince. He’s the only good, pure, untainted thing in his life. His precious son stirs when Oswald sits down beside him but doesn’t wake fully. Only when the criminal presses a soft kiss to his forehead, the boy opens his eyes.

“Daddy!” the child mumbles. He’s still fighting to speak properly but that word always comes out without a stutter.

When Martin wraps his tiny arms around him, the burdens of his life fall from his shoulders. The boy is still sluggish but struggling towards consciousness, intent on not letting his limited time with his dad go to waste. This should be enough, Oswald thinks. The unconditional love of a child should be everything he needs in his life.

He takes Martin to bed and despite being drop dead tired himself, he starts reading him a bedtime story. Fittingly, the little prince of Gotham chooses The Little Prince. Oswald hasn’t read that book in years. He only remembers a distant feeling of sadness being connected with the reading.

Martin snuggles closer. Taking the book from his hands, he browses through it, searching for the pictures.

“Did you brush your teeth?” Oswald asks and the little boy nods. Then, he points at one particular page and the mobster starts reading again.

“Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.”

The kingpin has to laugh. He knows exactly why Martin wanted him to read this paragraph. He doesn’t understand why they can’t be together. The boy asks him regularly if he can return to Gotham soon. Oswald tried to explain, he did, but Martin just wants to be with his father. What does a child care for money, power and criminal empires? To him, Oswald isn’t the Penguin, but daddy, and he wants to go home with him. Instead, he’s being left behind at this boarding school, waiting for the weekend to finally come and his dad to share some time with him.

That won’t last, though. Oswald knows. He’ll turn into a teenager soon and there would be parties and friends and too much money to spend on booze and girlfriends or boyfriends. Their relationship is already strained as it is, and one day Martin would stop caring if his dad makes it to New Heaven or not.

The boy falls asleep once again but Oswald keeps reading. He wakes the other morning with the book sitting on his stomach and his child waiting for him to finally make breakfast.

He changes into a pair of slacks and a cashmere sweater. His hair hangs down loosely and all too soon he’s covered with a fine layer of flour. He’s making pancakes with Martin like any normal single-parent would, while desperately trying to keep Martin from accidentally setting the kitchen on fire. Like any ten years old, he’s absolutely excited about doing grown-up stuff and terrible at it.

The butter in the pan almost burns and there are traces of eggs in places Oswald can’t even remember coming close to. It doesn’t stop there. Once Martin discovers the chocolate cream, the damn thing is smeared everywhere. Oswald once decorated his hair with purple accents. Now, he’s sporting Nutella at the same place. In this kitchen, he’s not the King of Gotham but only daddy.

And he’s genuinely happy. He isn’t lonely here in New Heaven, not at all, and still, he wishes he could share that day with someone else. This joy he’s currently experiencing is too great for one person alone. He wants to talk with someone else about how Martin finally managed to flip that pancake, looking ridiculously proud in the process. He wishes he could lean into someone else’s touch while watching his beautiful son regain his ability to communicate piece by piece.

Martin keeps talking, slowly but with determination. He’s telling him about his week, about the other kids in his class, and how his teacher Mrs. Roughlin always smells like mothballs. He tells him that he still hasn’t found any real friends in his class. Oswald smiles while his little boy is speaking, he’s listening attentively as if those mundane events were the most important stories he’ll ever hear. Perhaps they are.

His boy says he wants to go to the zoo with his dad. And of course, they do. He could never deny Martin anything. The boy falls asleep mere moments after arriving back at the mansion and one more sacred day with his boy has passed way too quickly. He stares at the kid’s sleeping form, wondering how he deserved to get so stupidly lucky.

Jim Gordon would probably argue he deserves nothing of that. The gangster is a father. His little boy loves him and he loves him back. And the cop, this man who tries to save Gotham on a daily basis, lost his kid. Jim would probably tell him how unfair that is. He would probably tell him that a man like Oswald Cobblepot, a multiple-murderer, doesn’t deserve being a father whereas he had to bury his child before it was even born. Oswald wonders how he ever overcame the loss of his unborn child when all he ever wanted to be was a parent.

The answer is, he didn’t. The pain had been writ clear on his face when the mobster accused him of being responsible for his unborn child’s death. And therefore, his behavior at the precinct when retrieving Ed still fills him with shame. Jim had never given up on a battle as quickly as back then. For one moment, the indifferent mask had crumbled, revealing raw, deep pain.

Oswald tries picturing Jim with a kid, imagines him with a little boy on his shoulders. It’s unsurprisingly easy. A man who has so much love for a pet would have endlessly more love for a child. And he for sure would do anything in his power to protect it. More than ever, the kingpin wishes he could take his harsh words back.

Thinking about Jim, the mobster realizes how blessed he indeed is. Being a parent isn’t a burden but a gift. And this gift should be enough.

The love his son gives him should be enough. If he was a responsible parent, he would pack a bag and leave with his kid. They could start a new life - maybe in Iceland. It’s cold enough to wear three-piece suits on a daily basis but not cold enough for his leg to get worse. Crime rates are low, his boy would be safe.

So why doesn’t he leave? Why does he keep returning to Gotham? The truth is, Oswald fought tooth and claw to become a king. Respect had never been given to him, he earned it - through blood and pain. His own mother had died because of his ambitions.

If he would just leave, her sacrifice would mean nothing. His shattered leg would mean nothing. Each loss would mean nothing. Deep down, he’s a warrior. Nothing compares to the feeling of standing on a battle-field, only armed with a shot-gun and his untamed rage. It was that rage that enabled him to take down an entire city, to make it his own. How could he ever be anything else?

Besides, he likes being a king. All those proud dons kneeling before him, having an entire city at his beck and call, being able to order people like Zsasz around - all these things give him life.

And he still wants more. He’s greedy, insatiable in those regards. He wants even more money, more power. He wants even the stubborn, incorrigible James Gordon dancing to his tune.

But he wants his son, too.

Oswald wants anything and everything. The world owes him. He spent his childhood in bitter poverty, barely saw his mother who worked three jobs to provide him with food, to give him a proper home. And nothing she did was ever enough in the eyes of the others. No, he got beaten up on a daily basis for daring to be different and she had been called a whore.

Now, he feels entitled to take everything this planet has to offer. And there’s still so much more to achieve. So much more to gain.

And yet, he’s being frowned upon. No one really appreciates what being a crime lord truly means. How many sacrifices one must make to gain such power. His leg is destroyed beyond repair and he’s suffering from anxiety attacks. He feels like he could vomit every morning, right before he downs his first whiskey. Mostly, he doesn’t sleep more than three hours per night. He’s constantly exhausted and each day could be his last.

So no, he won’t stop before all of Gotham kneels before him. Before they all respect him.

He’ll leave his son a legacy, the legend of the Penguin. His boy will never have to fight his battles. One day, he’ll be Martin Cobblepot, the heir to the throne of Gotham. A legend on arrival, a man to be feared.

Pouring himself a glass of wine, Oswald makes himself comfortable in the living room. He continues reading The Little Prince while sipping his drink.

“Why are you drinking?” the little prince asked.

“In order to forget,” replied the drunkard.

Heaving a deep sigh, the mobster closes the book. Abruptly, his self-assurance fades to nothing. Until now, Oswald didn’t even notice he hadn’t been drinking the entire day.

However, once he smells the alcohol, he devours it like a vampire sucking fresh blood. He downs glass after glass, trying to forget. Trying to forget his fears, trying to forget how his ambitions keep him from being the father Martin needs. His son doesn’t need a legend, he needs a daddy. And he certainly doesn’t need a drunkard.

His boy should be worth more than all his great plans. Deep down, he just knows. And still, he’ll return to Gotham by Sunday and fight for more. That’s just the man he is.

His Martin deserves a better father. He deserves the kind of parent his mother had been. His mother would have never left him behind - not for all the money in the world. But she’s gone now, can’t tell him anymore what’s wrong and what’s right. He wishes she was still there, being a grandmother for Martin.

Lighting a cigar, Oswald stares out of the window. A responsible father would give up being a king and be a father. He inhales the smoke deliberately. It tastes like soil, oil, and minerals. Filling his lungs with the poisonous fume, he tries picturing to be anything else but the Penguin.

He simply can’t.

His thoughts wander back to Jim. Ever since their first encounter, the man seems to be repulsed merely by his physical proximity.

Maybe Jim had always been right about him. If he can’t even give up his life of crime for his own son, he’s really the trash the cop thinks him to be. It took him only one look to figure out how utterly worthless the Penguin truly is.

Eyes brimming with tears, Oswald almost doesn’t note the sedan from earlier crawling up the street.

#gobblepot #fanfiction

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airiustide · 6 years ago

Text

Fair Warning to my Heart

Chapter 3 of The Water Witch of Biei Village

Summary: The family gets ready for a new addition. Katara wants to experience this moment with the people she loves. With Izumi and Zuko by her side, Katara knows she can get through anything.

A/N: Please note that some of Katara's birthing experience is based off my own. Everyone has their views on the right way to give birth, and I don't believe a single one of them are wrong, as long a you were happy with the results, so please don't comment if you disagree or possibly feel offended. This is the last chapter to this fic. Thank you all for the likes, comments and reblogs. I really enjoyed writing this.

Chapter 1 2

Chapter 3 posted on AO3

A nice bath did the trick. Katara relaxes with a contented sigh as she wraps a clean robe around herself and sits at the vanity, humming as she brushes her curly, long hair. The palace was quiet now that the day’s events ended.

Summer Solstice was a big thing in the Fire Nation. Across the nation towns, villages, and cities celebrated with their own versions of festivities. It was something Katara liked about the people here. They didn’t have these kinds of celebrations in the South Pole. Their withered, little village could hardly stand as it was before she was even born.

Izumi had her fill of fun today; squealing with excitement over the various venders lined up in the streets with food, gifts and trinkets. The fireworks were a favorite of both mother and daughter.

Zuko wouldn’t have it, at first. The two of them walking through the city alone. Katara convinced him with the promise that they would always stay with his guard during their visit to the city. She reluctantly agrees, wanting to spend this time with Izumi before the baby came.

They had discovered that Katara was pregnant not even half a year after Izumi’s fifth birthday. A result from a visit to the Northern Water Tribe. Zuko was needed to go over new trades. Katara begged him to take her so she could see the ice city for herself. It was breathtaking, nothing like the South Pole. Though, she didn’t care for their customs, the people were kind. Chief Arnook had asked if her and Zuko were married. They explained that the Fire Nation would not recognize a union between royalty and a commoner. Sad to hear that, Arnook proposed that they marry in the Northern Water Tribe; they would always recognize the couple as a union in their country.

There was no need to think it through; they loved each other, and they couldn’t help but jump on the opportunity.

Zuko thought she looked beautiful in a white water tribe parka and Katara thought he looked handsome in traditional water tribe attire; hair tied in a wolf’s tail, a single beaded braid tucked behind his ear.

They made love without precautions that night and neither cared.

Now she was mere weeks away from giving birth. With a request, she had sought the help of Yugoda and several other healers from the Northern Water Tribe to help aid in the birthing process along with Kioko.

Katara’s not at all startled when Zuko storms in the room. He sighs an aggravated growl and tosses his crown on the dresser.

“Long day?”

Zuko barely looks over his shoulder and nods. Katara sees that he’s favoring the left side of his neck where his shoulder meets and gets up, telling him to lie face down on the bed and relax. Zuko removes his armor and royal robes until he’s left in nothing but his boots and trousers, falling flat on the bed with a groan. “You’d think with summer solstice my advisors would go easy on me. Proposal after damn proposal, yet no one seemed to want to come to a compromise or even stick to one subject for that matter.” Zuko groans louder, Katara’s hands working his neck muscles. His limbs fall limp. “Why can’t my days be more like this?” He muffles in the pillow. “Just me, you, Izumi, the baby and your healing hands.”

Katara chortles, planting a kiss on the back of Zuko’s neck. “That kind of luxury doesn’t come with being a Fire Lord. But no one is more capable of handling this than you are, Zuko.”

“Mmm.” Zuko hums when she works through a rough knot in his left shoulder. “There’s a lot of thing I’m not capable of...you make that possible somehow, love.”

Katara shakes her head. “I’m just a healer.”

Zuko rolls on his back, pulling Katara on top of him. “You are more than just a healer. You are powerful, beautiful, and undeniably talented. You’re a true master of your element, a respected diplomat when the other ambassadors don’t know apples from Adam and an amazing partner and mother. I can’t see my life any better otherwise or the lives you’ve touched in this nation.”

Katara smiles ear to ear, cerulean eyes lit up for the man she loved. “You think too highly of me, Fire Lord Zuko.”

“On the contrary, Master Katara, I don’t think enough of you.” His hands slide up and down her arms and he kisses up her bicep to the crook of her neck. “Maybe I should build a shrine to prove a point.”

Katara rolls her eyes, sitting up, and smacks Zuko on the bottom to get him to lay back on his stomach again. “On your belly, your majesty.”

“Feisty.” Zuko teases. “That’s what I really like about you. Shouldn’t I be the one giving you a massage? You’re pretty far along, Kat.”

“This is actually a good distraction. I haven’t been able to sit still for days. I think this is what Yugoda calls the ‘nesting stage’.”

“You really think you’re that close?”

“Hmm...I don’t know, I’m still a few weeks away.”

“Don’t rely on estimations. She’ll come when she’s ready.”

“And how do you know it’s a girl?”

“Instinct.”

Yeah, where have I heard that before. Katara mentally remarks. “Izumi’s been curious about my pregnancy a lot lately. Today, she asked me where babies come from.”

Zuko’s eyes almost pop out of his head. “Please tell me you told her that a messenger hawk delivers them to parents who make wishes?”

“Really? That’s what you come up with?” Katara sighs. “I was honest. I told her babies are born in the belly of a mother as a result of two people in love. And that in some cases mothers have babies on their own due to certain circumstances but that doesn’t change how a mother loves her child. It was pretty deep, but I didn’t go into anything inappropriate.”

“And you believe somehow she understands that?”

“Children a more discerning than adults are led to believe. Give her some credit, Zuko.”

He sighs, knowing Katara was one-hundred percent right. “Of course, love.”

It’s not even dawn yet. A dull pain like an electric shock course across Katara’s abdomen. She sits up in bed, blinking twice, thinking maybe the pain was just a dream. She waits about fifteen- twenty minutes maybe- before she shrugs it off and sinks back into bed. Another pang hits her this time, harder. It lasts for maybe a minute before subsiding.

“Zuko.” She shakes his sleeping form. “Zuko. Get up. I think I’m in labor.”

Katara jumps when he jolts out of bed, frantically turning in circles. His long hair in a messy bun, eyes still glazed and red with sleep. “Yugoda!” he shouts, tripping on his feet, getting back up and running out of the room.

“Zuko! Your robe.” But it was too late. He already stumbled out the room with only his sleep trousers. Katara shakes her head. Her contractions were still far apart, so they could’ve taken the time to get to the birthing room.

Katara sighs, getting out of bed to gather some things. Kioko shows up to help, stating the Fire Lord is currently running the halls in search for the waterbending healer. Katara asks if he had any luck making it to the guest quarters. Kioko only laughs telling her Yugoda is preparing the room for her as they speak. The Fire Lord will learn that once he stops his panicked roaming.

“Should I wake the princess, madam?”

“No. let her sleep a little longer. It’s still early.”

Zuko’s already in the birthing room, being scolded by Yugoda for running around the palace indecent and that he should be setting an example considering his status. After taking an earful, Zuko accepts a tunic Katara brought along for him and the healers begin to undress Katara; dressing her in water tribe bindings for comfort and tying her hair in a loose bun.

“It is most unorthodox, your majesty.” Advisor Chu exclaimed in the Fire Lord’s study. Zuko was there to rush through some final things before heading back to the birthing room. Katara urged that it was okay since her contractions weren’t anywhere near close together. He remembers Mai and how many long hours it took to have Izumi. “For a man, especially of your stature, to be in the room as well as the princess, while she gives birth is barbaric.”

“You dare question the life choices of me and my family?” He wasn’t there for Mai. He’d be damn if he wasn’t for Katara. “Watch your tongue, Chu, that is my wife and the mother of my two children you are speaking of.”

But Chu doesn’t give up. “I’m just saying,” he argues, “since this waterbender has come along, she has been defiant of any and all of our traditions. This is profane! Do you not see what she is doing? Joining you in matrimony in a completely different country, even though the Fire Nation will never accept it? Having you participate in the birth-”

“I don’t need a documented parchment with a stamp of approval for Katara to be my wife. And I don’t need you telling me what’s best for my family and the decisions we make- as a family. You are entitled to your opinion, Chu, but in the end, this is mine. I give my life and duty for this country but when it comes to the people I love, that’s mine to do with what I please, and I don’t need your superficial advice to tell me otherwise.”

This wasn’t the first time something like this was brought up, and frankly, Zuko was tired of hearing it but he will be there for Katara and so will Izumi. This was their wish.

Zuko returns to the birthing room, refusing to give Chu another word. It was mid-morning by then and Izumi was already up and handing Katara a glass of water which she turned ice and crumbled, chewing since liquids wren’t allowed to be consumed while in labor.

“Daddy, look. I’m helping.” The six-year-old grinned happily.

“You all right?” Katara asked, sweat formed on her brow but Zuko could tell she was forcing herself from expressing the pain she was going though. Her problems came first.

“I’m fine. What can I do to help?”

“Her water broke about a couple hours ago but she’s dilating at a slow pace.” Yugoda informs. Katara whines, rocking her hips while standing and leans against the bed post.

“Shouldn’t she be lying down?” Zuko asks worriedly.

Yugoda laughs. “No wonder your woman go through such excruciating births. No. Unless baby and mother are in danger, it’s good for Katara to move as she pleases, in any position she’s comfortable with. I ran a bath for her just in case, there’s a mat on the floor by the bed, and my healers are prepared to aid in anything Katara needs.”

“W-what should I do?”

Yugoda pats his arm, chuckling at his confusion. “You just be there for your partner.”

Zuko can see the relief in Katara eyes as he took her into his arms. He holds her arms as she leans her forehead against his mid-chest, back bent and rocking side to side. Zuko joins her, allowing her to use him in any way she needed. Yugoda checks to see how mother and child is doing. She claims the baby’s head is facing sideways and that Katara would have to kneel on her hands and knees to reposition it. Zuko massages her back; long, low groans drawled out of Katara’s mouth, the contractions now moving to ten minutes apart.

Yugado checks again, the baby now in the right position. She reminds Katara to take deep, slow breaths through the contractions. Katara says the pain is worse in her back. Yugoda concludes that it most likely is back labor.

Hours go by. The healers are on stand by and Katara is now bent over the bed on her knees, Zuko rubbing her lower back with his thumbs. Izumi is lying in front of her, just awakening from a nap.

“Mommy.” Izumi whispers. A small hand touches Katara’s cheek and she smiles.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Are you hurting?”

“Mmm, only a little bit but I’ll be fine.”

“Oh...okay.” Izumi pauses, contemplating what she should say next. She knew her mother was going through some kind of pain and wanted to encourage her. She then strokes her mother’s hair; just like when Katara would when she was feeling down. “You’re doing a good job, Mommy.”

Katara laughs softly, a huge smile on her face. “Thank you, sweetie.” she reaches out to caress Izumi’s cheek. This was what she wanted since she first learned she was with child. These beautiful moments she could spend with her family. No noise, no stress- just her and her daughter and husband. “I feel so much better now.”

“I love you, mommy.”

Katara kisses Izumi on the forehead, a smile on her lips. “I love you too, Izumi.”

It’s well past midnight when the contractions are now just a few minutes apart. Izumi had fallen asleep again, Kioko holding her as everyone moves to the bathtub. They carefully help Katara in, Zuko sliding in behind her, both hands laid gently on her waist. Her groans get louder, the water at least soothes the some of the pain, but the pressure against her pelvis becomes too much. Through obscured hearing, the healers are telling her to push through every contraction. Everything around Katara is moving in slow motion, she could hardly make out her surroundings. When she remembers to push again, Katara dips her hands in the water, bringing them back up and a cry brings her back.

She brings the baby to her chest, gasping as the weight in her belly disappears. Katara immediately bursts out in tears. Zuko’s running his hands up and down her arms, praising her over and over, sobbing uncontrollably.

It’s a girl.

It was strange how instinct kicks in; bringing the child to her breast once she’s cleaned and placed back in Katara’s arms. An index finger traces down the infant’s round cheek and Katara can hardly believe she did this.

Katara wakes up. Izumi is still asleep next to her, hues of sunlight stretched across the sheets from the bedroom window. Her eyes flicker to the balcony windows where Zuko is holding their newborn. He’s lit up, pressing their daughter to his cheek and speaking softly.

“Why aren’t you asleep? Did she keep you up?” Zuko looks at his wife and smiles. She had never seen him so at ease since the day she turned around on that airship and wrapped her arms around Izumi.

“No.” He whispers, coming to the bed and pulls up a chair next to her. “I couldn’t take my eyes off her.”

It’s only day one and he’s already at her whim. He won’t survive when he gives in so easily to their daughters. “Have you decided a name yet.”

“Yes…Kya.”

He remembered. Katara couldn’t believe he remembered. She’s so elated that she could hardly come up with the words. “Thank you, Zuko…I don’t know what to say.” She tears up.

“No. Thank you, Katara,” Zuko places a kiss on her forehead, coaxing her to lay back down to rest. “for giving me everything I could ever dream of.”

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #zuko x katara #fire lord zuko #katara #izumi #daddy!zuko #family #the water witch of biei village #chapter 3

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teresa60521-blog · 6 years ago

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chapter 4: aftermath

Uraraka was at a loss for what to do so she made an appointment with the clinic.

It was begrudgingly so, but after speaking with Recovery Girl she had no choice but to make one. The old nurse had no ultra sound equipment in the medical rooms, understandably so considering that this wasn’t a typical situation. Uraraka wanted to keep this under wraps for as long as possible and did not want to get the school involved, knowing it would most likely be a mess if she did. Uraraka hadn’t the slightest clue what she was going to do with this baby yet but she wanted to make sure it was healthy and find out proper precautions to make sure that it remained healthy. Uraraka wasn’t a monster, not even to a tiny bundle of cells.

Uraraka spent the entire train ride that Sunday morning googling information about pregnancy on her flip phone. Half of what she found was articles about complications which was enough to send her into a mild panic attack so she opted for staring out the window for the remainder of the train ride. Her friends came to mind and how they were probably wondering where she was and what she was up to. That morning she had successfully evaded Iida and Midoriya and Tsuyu but the longer she avoided them, the more suspicious it would become. Tsuyu especially was extremely perceptive and would catch on quickly and Uraraka didn’t feel like being called out in front of the class like the girl usually liked to do. Uraraka couldn’t blame her, it was part of her blunt nature, she just didn’t want to be on the other side of that,

The train came into the station quickly and it wasn’t hard to find the clinic; it was only about two blocks away and an easy walk. Each step was agonizing and her heart continued to speed up, slamming against her ribs, looking for an escape route.

The scent of lavender hit her nose when she stepped into the lobby and it was so overpowering that she was almost knocked back. The walls around her were painted a light purple with floor tiles to match, the desk a turquoise color as she stepped up to it to give her information. Predictably, there was paperwork to be filled out and it gave her a chance to ignore her rapidly buzzing phone.

Once she was finished she found she had multiple messages from Bakugou but only one caught her eye:

Katsuki

>> where are you. Deku and glasses are buggin out nd its annoying as shit

Uraraka smiled softly, she couldn’t help herself. Even through the phone Bakugou was so Bakugou and there were times when she questioned her attraction to him. He was so vulgar (this not being the most prime example but still slightly so) and Uraraka herself was sweet. Maybe the phrase opposites attract came to mind and she giddily typed out a simple response.

<< im at the doctors, be back later!

With her phone now shut, she perked up when she heard her name being called by a cute nurse wearing rose pink scrubs. She was scanning the waiting room to put a name to a face and Uraraka quickly stood up, offering a shy smile when she walked over to the woman.The nurse only beamed at her and if she was shocked to see how young Uraraka was, she didn’t show it, only took her into one of the rooms and shut the door.

“I’m going to check your heartbeat and your blood pressure, okay?” The nurse’s voice held a mellifluous tone in it and Uraraka found comfort in the kindness of it. Uraraka agreed, not that she had much choice, and allowed the nurse to get done with the procedure. Then she was left alone in the small room with beeping monitors that reminded her more of a hospital than a clinic.

Alone with her thoughts, Uraraka tried to distract herself with the decorations on the wall instead of the mullings of her mind. The voice in her head was not very kind, telling her to leave and telling her that this wasn’t a mistake. Uraraka kind of wished that she had brought Bakugou with her to quell the frantic anxiety-induced beating of her heart. Bakugou was always enough to make her take a step back and look at things with a new, much stronger perspective. She never wanted to be one of those girls who relied on their significant others for things but Bakugou did more to build her up than put her down.

“Uraraka Ochako?” A young woman who couldn’t have been older than thirty-five entered the room, reading over Uraraka’s files as she did so. Then she lifted her head, lavender colored hair swishing around a heart shaped face, tickling her chin. Her eyes were almond shaped and irises matched her long locks. Everything about the office made more sense now, the colors and the smells that had assaulted Uraraka when she first walked in.

“Ah yes.” Uraraka weakly smiled and the woman gave her a bright smile back.

“Nice to meet you, Uraraka-chan. I’m Dr. Fujiwara.” Uraraka took the extended hand for a loose shake and examined the long nails on Dr. Fujiwara’s hands. They were painted a lavender colored and Uraraka enjoyed the dedication to the color. “It says here that you’re only sixteen years old, is that so?”

“Um, yes.”

“Do your parents know you’re here?”

Uraraka bit her lip and shook her head.

“I’m not really allowed to conduct these types of things without parental consent, since you would need that..” Dr. Fujiwara explained and looked at Uraraka sympathetically. “And letting it slide would be against my better judgement.”

“I understand, ma’am.” Uraraka said softly and looked at her through thick lashes. “But I just want to know if this baby is healthy or not, and how long… how long I’ve been pregnant. I won’t come back after this, I promise, but I already had my blood pressure and everything taken. Just please… please make an exception this once.”

Dr. Fujiwara smiled again, extremely kind, and Uraraka felt her heart break. “Uraraka-chan.”

“Please. I really promise I won’t come back unless it’s with parental consent.”

Dr. Fujiwara sighed and rolled her chair over to the machines. “I guess since you’re already here I can make an exception. You need to keep your promise though. I of course want to help as much as I can but since you’re still technically a minor this is the best I can do. I don’t usually get patients as young as yourself so I’m sure it would fly under the radar if I gave you an ultrasound without your parents knowing.”

Uraraka expelled a breath with relief. “Thank you so much.”

Dr. Fujiwara instructed Uraraka to lie back and push her shirt up to reveal her stomach. The chair she was lying on was slightly uncomfortable, the leathery material sticking to her skin when she pressed her bare arms to it. Everything about the current situation was awkward and again, Uraraka wished for it to be over. Or that she never came in the first place.

“All right now this is going to be a little cold, just to warn you…” Dr. Fujiwara said as she spread the gel over her stomach. Uraraka hissed and bit her lip as it coated her stomach. Then she began to rub the wand over her stomach, rubbing the gel into her skin, Uraraka watching in aw as an image of her womb appeared on screen. Normally it would be clear but lined at the bottom was a small circular… thing that was, without a doubt, her child. Her and Bakugou’s child. Uraraka couldn’t help but tear up because it was really, truly real.

“Is that…?” Uraraka’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Dr. Fujiwara’s voice was cheerful. “That’s your baby! It’s only about the size of a raspberry right now but it looks like you’re about nine weeks along, Uraraka-chan.”

“Nine weeks?” Uraraka repeated, counting back that many weeks. That would have been April… the end of April.

Uraraka’s hands flew to her mouth as she recalled Bakugou’s birthday, how she had worn a special outfit just for him to tear it off and shove her down on the sheets, appearing above her. She remembered Bakugou’s lips trailing over every expanse of skin that he could find and how she had clung to him when he sunk into her.

Bakugou’s birthday. She couldn’t remember if they had used a condom or not. Surely, they must’ve but even if they did it was clear it was defunct as she was staring at a small bundle inside of her.

Dr. Fujiwara calculated her due date to be January twenty-fourth. She continued to move the wand around Uraraka’s stomach as she spoke, “You’re almost to the second trimester and looks like everything is okay.” She offered a gentle smile as she asked Uraraka if she wanted a copy of the ultrasound. Uraraka wasn’t going to say no and when it was handed to her, there was nothing else she could do but stared. The gel was starting to harden on her stomach, grossing her out so she wiped it off and thanked the doctor.

“I really appreciate all of this.” Uraraka said again and Dr. Fujiwara waved her hand.

“Just remember to keep our promise.”

“Yes ma’am.” Uraraka bid her farewell with a bow and made her way back to the train station, making sure that she kept the sonogram well hidden in her bag despite wanting to look at it. Teen pregnancy wasn’t very common in Japan (or given positive exposure) and now that Uraraka was pregnant she had to start thinking about her options.

An abortion still didn’t sit right, souring her mouth. Adoption was a likely route too and if she chose that option she wanted to make sure that her child went to a good home. Then again, the idea that she wouldn’t be able to see a person that she carried in her womb for nine months didn’t sit well with her either. There was no logical way for her to to support a child either, her being sixteen and all, but she wanted to make it work.

Then there was how Bakugou would react again. He was so unpredictable that Uraraka still had no clue what he would do or say. She knew she would have to keep it under wraps as long as possible but with how fast the summer break was approaching (surprisingly they didn’t have some sort of deathly training camp waiting for them this time around, since the last one proved to be disastrous), she knew it was unavoidable. Over the summer she would start showing and by the time of the second term….

She would be five months with a noticeable bump. Considering that her class what at the top of the school, she wouldn’t be able to pass it off as weight gain. Especially since she always trained so hard and stayed on the regiment that Gunhead had given her during her internship the previous year. Everything was a mess and she was unable to come up with a good game plan in the thirty minute train ride. In fact, she thought so hard that she almost missed her stop.

When she got back to the dorms there were a few of her classmates scattered around the common room, Bakugou being one of them. He lifted his eyes off of his phone for a moment, looking directly at her with blank crimson irises before going back to scrolling. Uraraka wanted to offer a smile but instead she turned into the kitchen, almost colliding with Midoriya.

“Ah, I’m so sorry Deku-kun!” Uraraka frantically waved her arms, scanning her friend to see if he was hurt only to see that he was doing the same to her.

“Oh, n-no it’s okay I just I-I didn’t see you there!” Midoriya said rapidly. “Where were you this morning?”

Uraraka laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of her head. “I went to go see a doctor! Turns out it was just some weird cold but I’m feeling a lot better now!” Uraraka couldn’t remember a time in her life when she had told this many lies. Not even as a child had she fibbed this much. She justified it by telling herself that she was protecting Bakugou and a nameless third party that wouldn’t be able to be hidden for much longer.

“Well, I’m glad you went to see a doctor! I would have been happy to go with you though, so you wouldn’t have to have gone alone…” Midoriya started mumbling and behind her there was a sudden flurry of motion. Uraraka turned just in time to see Bakugou stomping up the stairs, fists shoved into his pockets.

“Oh, that’s alright.” Uraraka smiled and opened the fridge. “I am starving though, did anybody make food?”

“Yeah!” Midoriya started explaining that Yaomomo had made some large, luxurious breakfast with the help of Bakugou. It was no secret anymore that Bakugou could cook and he was damn good at it. He was the designated cook in the dorm whether he liked it or not and Uraraka made enough requests to make it seem like he was her personal chef when he was actually just being a good boyfriend. People (namely, the self proclaimed “Bakusquad”) teased him about it but Bakugou could handle it.

After breakfast Uraraka climbed the stairs, telling Midoriya she was going to lay down when in reality she was going to see Bakugou. It was close enough as she would probably end up laying in Bakugou’s bed anyway, whether they be doing something scandalous or innocent. She knocked three times on his door, glancing around to make sure nobody else was in the hallway. The door swung open and a rough palm grabbed her wrist, tugging her into the room.

“How come you didn’t tell me you were going before you left?” Bakugou immediately questioned, pinning her to the door.

Uraraka shrugged. “Would you have come with me? Wouldn’t that be suspicious?”

Bakugou snarled and let go of her, lifting her hands soon after and kissing her knuckles. “Sorry.”

Uraraka blushed. She hated when Bakugou did small acts of kindness because it was so un- Bakugou that it was disturbing. She squeezed his fingers with her own. “It’s okay.”

“What did the doctor say?” Bakugou huffed as he let go and sat on his bed, crossing his arms over his chest. Bakugou’s room was plain; she was the only one in her class who had seen it despite having lived with each other close to a year now. His sheets were black and he had some American band posters hung up on the walls along with Japanese bands. Behind some books on his bookshelf above his bed there were some poorly hidden All Might figurines. Uraraka had pointed them at once and had been promptly banned from the room. Only for a day though, Bakugou just couldn’t keep her away.

“It’s just some weird cold, Katsuki.” She sat beside him and dropped her bag to the floor. For a split second she forgot about the sonogram and hoped the picture was concealed enough so that it wasn’t visible on top of her bag. Bakugou was a typical boy, however, and he wouldn’t go through her bag even if he wanted to. One sighting of a pad or tampon and he was acting like it was some vicious poison.

“Did you get meds or anything?” Bakugou asked.

Uraraka shook her head. Now that she thought about it, she had no idea if prenatal vitamins were over the counter or not. Heck.

“I’ll be fine, Katsuki. I’m feeling a lot better already.”

“Does that mean I can kiss you again?” Bakugou wasn’t looking at her as he asked and Uraraka giggled.

“Yes, ya big cheese ball.”

“Oi, I hate that shitty nickname.”

Uraraka kept giggling and tugged on his hand, pulling him closer to her. She pressed their lips together, once, twice, three times before he placed a hand on her waist, keeping her in place. It was soft, unlike him, until he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. Uraraka sighed and gripped his arms, the muscles twitching beneath her hand. She loved feeling the muscles ripple in his arms or his abdomen whenever Bakugou got particularly turned on or too into something.

Soon Uraraka found herself in his lap, then on top of him as she pressed him into the mattress, their lips bruising against each other, all worries melting away with a little press of tongue.

#bakugou x uraraka

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