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otakusheep15 · 3 years ago

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SFW Alphabet - Solomon

This is for my best friend/mother as she is the biggest Solomon simp I’ve ever seen lol. Also, this is gonna be angsty cause I love writing angsty Solomon

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He pretends to not like affection, but he’s a softie and we all know it. Really, all he needs is a hug and he’ll just melt on the spot.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

One word: chaos. You two as best friends cause untold destruction and cause Lucifer several migraines per day. Being besties with him also means being besties with Asmo, so be prepared for that as well.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He loves cuddles. Maybe it’s just the fact that he hasn’t had much physical contact in who knows how long, but he loves any form of contact. His favorite ways to cuddle is him on his back with you either laying on top of him, or on the side of him with your head on his chest.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

I can’t see him as the type to settle down, be he’d consider it depending on the person. And while he’s a terrible cook, he’s not half bad at cleaning and other household chores.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He’d be super blunt about it. Honestly, he’s scared to get with anyone to begin with since, ya know, immortality and all, so it’s been a while since he’s actually had to break it off. His main goal when breaking up with someone is to get them away from him, so he wants to make sure the way he breaks up with them will make them want to stay away.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Afraid of commitment. I imagine the last time he tried to commit to someone was before he became immortal, so having to watch them die made him vow to never get that close to anyone again. Then he met you, and all of that has been thrown out the window. He might try and rush things a bit, but he just wants as much time with you as possible. So, while he is afraid to commit, he’ll do it for you.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He’s bad at human interaction, so he might not know if he accidentally hurts you, but he’ll be quick to apologize once he realizes. Honestly, he’s better at being physically gentle since he can control that better than emotions.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Loves hugs. They’re one of his favorite things ever. He just finds such comfort in them, and they’re great for stress relief. His hugs are a bit on the aggressive side, but they’re still very enjoyable.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He’d say it on accident. And then he’d try to play it off to hide how embarrassed he is. It is pretty early on, but he does mean it with all his heart. Please say it back, he hasn’t heard it in a while.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He gets extremely jealous. Like, you spend so much time with the brothers and he can’t stand that. Of course, he would never admit it, but he would try everything he can think of to get you away from them. Once, he almost resorted to food poisoning out of sheer desperation.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses differ depending on his mood, but they’re usually soft and full of passion. His favorite place to kiss you is your neck because it gets a nice reaction out of you. His favorite place to be kissed is the top of his head cause he’s secretly a big softy who wants to be babied.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He’s not the most fond of kids, but he’ll tolerate them. They’re are fun to tease though, especially Luke.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

he’s either waking you up at the crack of dawn to work on some new potion, or he’s sleeping in until past noon and refuses to get up. Regardless, you are not leaving his side. If he gets up, he’ll drag you up with him. If he wants to stay in, he’ll hold you there until he’s satisfied.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

He’ll usually be up late working on something or other, but he’s never up for too long. He jins you in bed when he’s done, and he’ll cuddle the crap out of you an an apology for keeping you waiting. He’s also fond of talking to you about random stuff that happened throughout the day until one or both of you fall asleep.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

This man is one of the most secretive people to ever exist. He wants to open up to you, honestly he does, but he just can’t. he’s so worried that all of his emotional baggage will drive you away, and he couldn’t stand losing another person he cares about. So, he keeps everything hidden. With time, he’ll start opening up if you push enough buttons.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He’s really good at pretending he’s patient. On the outside he’s his same-old self, but on the inside he’s fuming. His patience tends to wear especially thin around the brothers (except Asmo). It’s a mixture of jealousy for how much time they spend with you, and anger that they refuse to make a pact with him. But he keeps it all under wraps.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He does remember a good bit of information, but he sucks at remembering small details. For example, he may know what month your birthday is in, but he cannot remember the actual date. Or, he would remember your favorite movie genre, but not your favorite movie in said genre. He tries his best though.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He loves this one time where you tried to help him cook something. You were tired of dealing with the mess that is his cooking skills, and you wanted him to make something that wouldn’t kill you. Everything started out fine until you accidentally get some flour on him. It wasn’t much, but still. He just turns to you without saying anything before launching some flour right back at you. And then the casual baking session turns into an all-out food war. The kitchen is a mess and you two end up getting scolded by Simeon later, but it was totally worth it.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Oh he’s very protective. I mean, you’re a defenseless human surrounded by powerful demons who want to eat you, of course he’d be protective. He would never mean to over-bearing, but he can come off that way sometimes. He used to protect those he cared about before he became immortal, so the habit comes back with you now. He doesn’t need protecting for obvious reasons, so it’s all the more reason to focus on protecting you.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Surprisingly, he prefers more lowkey dates. Maybe it’s because he rarely gets any alone time with you, but he loves just chilling out together practicing magic. if you did want to go out, he would take you somewhere in the Human World to get away from all the chaos of the Devildom.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Obviously, his cooking could kill a man, but we’re gonna move past that since it’s low hanging fruit. Besides that, he has a tendency to by pretty cunning and he’s always planning some kind of prank. He also has a tendency to get jealous of the brothers a lot, and that can make him salty when you guys can finally hang out.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He used to be pretty concerned with his looks, but he’s gotten over it. He still tries to look decent since he is in the presence of some powerful demons, but it isn’t at the forefront of his mind. Although, since becoming besties with Asmo, his vanity has started picking up again.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Maybe yes, maybe no. He’s had to deal with loss several times over, so he could probably learn to deal with it like he did before, but you could be different. It really just depends on what kind of impact you have on him during your time together.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

We all know that it’s basically canon that he and Asmo have hooked up before lol. But I also lowkey think he’s hooked up with both Barb and Satan. I have no real reason as to why I think this, but I do and I’m sticking to it. I don't even ship it that much, I just think he would do something like that.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He actually doesn’t like someone he knows he’d get attached to. He doesn't want to go through that pain again, so he wants to remain distant. Also, he doesn’t like someone who doesn’t understand or accept what he’s been through and what he’ll continue going through. He wants someone who understands and who he can talk to about it.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He gets very clingy in his sleep. If he’s sleeping with someone, they can expect to be trapped in his arms until he wakes up. And if you try to escape, he just hugs you even tighter.

#OBEY ME #shall we date obey me #shall we date solomon #Headcanon #scenarios #sfw alphabet

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buckyownsmylife · 4 years ago

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Clean - John Winchester Smut

The one where John’s your best friend’s father

Warnings: smut, age gap, rough sex, oral sex (f), p in v, overstimulation, dirty talk, curse words

A/N: Day 6 of kinktober and I’m really exhausted and low. But here it is. Hope you guys like it. The prompts were overstimulation and bestfriend’s father.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I could feel his eyes on me from across the room. It was difficult not to, especially when it felt like my body was so perfectly attuned to his, permanently in search for his attention. But of course, because things couldn’t be easy, not only was he thirty years older than me, he was also my best friend’s father.

Sammy wasn’t even my age, which made it worse. Even he was older than me, as we’d met in college, where I’d been accepted even before I was of legal age. And now that we’d ran into each other after I lost everything and everyone I knew to a werewolf pack, he felt like it was his responsibility to take care of me, which is how I ended up in his family’s bunker, permanently stuck with him, his older brother Dean, their friend Cas - who was an angel - and their father, John. The muse behind every wet dream I’d ever had since our eyes had first met.

Life with the Winchesters - and Cas - wasn’t hard or bad. Most of the time I stayed at the bunker, perfectly content in helping with research - it was my favorite activity, after all. John had been scared of allowing me to join them on their hunts, saying I needed actual training that they couldn’t quickly provide, but these last few weeks had found us alone with each other more often than not, his hands over mine as he taught me how to pull the trigger of a gun.

That part was hard, ignoring how his touch made me feel electrified when he was so close, holding my hands in front of my body from behind and directing them towards a designated target, but not as hard as the cock I felt straining his jeans and rubbing against my backside in those same moments.

We never spoke of it, both pretending to not notice, but we knew better. And that’s precisely why I allowed him to run off into his bedroom immediately after our training sessions, without accompanying him to offer my help in return.

He was my best friend’s father. I shouldn’t. But fuck did I want to.

So that’s why these last few days, it felt like the temperature had been steadily rising between us, to the point where it seemed like we’d both burn up into flames at any moment. John had gotten back from a hunt five days ago and still hadn’t offered to meet me in a training session, something that struck me as weird, but I didn’t want to bother him, so I never asked for it, opting to simply wait for his invitation.

Now, I could feel him staring at me from across the room, and as much as I wanted to ask why, I didn’t. I just kept my head down as I tried to concentrate on the research Sam asked me to help him with.

Just as I was about to finally be able to focus, though, Dean decided to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

“Who wants to go to the bar?” It was an invitation made strictly out of politeness. He’d long ago given up on ever getting me to leave the bunker to “relax” in that kind of loud atmosphere, so I just granted him a sheepish smile, to which he chuckled. “Alright, I got it. Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Sam, what about you?”

My best friend’s head whipped up from the book he was reading at the mention of his name, and it took him some time to tune in into what Dean was talking about. When he did, much to everyone’s surprise, he actually nodded, closing his book and stretching up. “Sure, I think I deserve some rest after this week. Are you sure I can’t convince you to join us, Y/N?”

John’s P.O.V.

She smiled, but shook her head at my boys.

“Nah, I’m good. You guys have fun. Besides, anytime you take me with you, someone ends up having to babysit me, and I’m sure the main reason you want to go out is to find someone to spend the night with, right?” Sam blushed, but didn’t deny. Dean, on the other hand, always my son, just chuckled, no embarrassment in his features.

“Well, a man’s gotta live.” What he didn’t add was that if she offered, he’d exchange all the skanks in the world for a chance to be with her. The only person who didn’t take notice in his obvious crush for her was her.

There was another thing that remained unspoken while the boys prepared to leave the bunker. The main reason why someone had to stay behind with her was because no other girl approached our table when she was around us. She just had that effect. We became so enraptured by her that no one else caught our eye, and so no one approached.

We didn’t mind. She took all of our attention when she was around, and she didn’t even know it. So it was safe to say that ever since she stopped agreeing to be dragged out into bars with us, we were grateful.

“Dad?” They hadn’t realized I had made no effort to get ready until they were already at the door.

“‘M not going tonight.” Her surprised eyes found mine from the other side of the room, but just like my kids, she didn’t say anything. In another minute or so they were gone and then it was only her and I in the bunker for the night.

I could see the tension in her shoulders from the other side of the room, and I almost chuckled. Perhaps this was only another sign in a long list of things that should show me how screwed up I was for wanting what I did, but I’d given up trying to fight it. I’d fucked woman after woman thinking about the girl in front of me, and she was still the only one I could think about when I lied down at night. So now it was time to get her.

“Y/N,” I called out to her a few minutes after the boys had left, wanting to give them time to possibly come back to get whatever item they might have forgotten, but when that wasn’t the case, I broke the silence that had fallen in the room without a second thought. “Come here.”

I could see even from the distance between us that she flinched at the sound of her own name. Had I startled her? She was a hunter, she couldn’t be so easily scared, but perhaps it was the tension that had appeared between us that made her uneasy enough to jump at anything.

Her head whipped up to look at me, but she didn’t immediately do anything, just stared, like she was unsure if I’d actually called her name or if it was only her own imagination playing tricks on her. When I refused to repeat myself, but still maintained eye contact with her, she slowly got up from her chair and made her way to where I was sitting, giving me the perfect opportunity to appreciate her body.

Fuck, she really was something. The way that jeans hugged her curves, showing off her tight ass, and how her breasts bounced with each step she took towards me. It was impossible not to be aroused - I couldn’t understand how Sam kept it in his pants. I knew for a fact Dean had eyed her quite a bit, because I was the one to remove any ideas of him ever getting with her with a single slap on the back of his head when I got him smirking down at her.

That kid was too much like me for his own good.

“You called?” She asked when she was finally right in front of me, her head doing that cute little thing where it leaned to one side as she nibbled on her lower lip, waiting for any sort of reaction from me.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

John’s stare was an intense kind of torture, one that seemed perfectly constructed just to break me down to my most primal state. I had no doubt he’d be able to achieve that. After what felt like hours of him undressing me with those brown hues that had seen so much more than he actually let on, he finally showed me some sort of direct recognition, sitting up straighter in the armchair he was sprawled on, before clearing his throat.

“Yes, I did call you. You see, Y/N, I’ve found myself in a sort of… situation, for quite sometime now, and I’ve tried everything I could to get myself through it. There’s only one thing left, now. You.”

My eyebrows flew up while I opened my mouth several times, in search of something to say. Still, with the little amount of information I had, all that was left for me to ask was “Me? How can I help you?”

By the way the corners of his lips twitched up - the closest thing to a smile coming from John Winchester - it was clear that while he anticipated my questioning, it still amused him greatly. I got the impression that he thought of me as something precious, innocent even, and while I couldn’t understand neither where I got this idea or why he thought of me like that, the truth was that it got me hot like nothing else.

“Considering you are the very reason for my problem, I’d say there are a lot of ways you can help me, sweetheart.” My heart had started beating more quickly, the innuendo in his words, the tension that had been ever-present in the atmosphere between us, it all made sense. But I still couldn’t believe this was actually happening, that he actually wanted me.

I didn’t want to do or say anything that let on what I was thinking about, because God, how embarrassing would it be if I had completely misread this situation?

John sighed at my lack of response, throwing a hand through his hair as he looked around the room before fixing his eyes on me again. “Listen, sweetheart. I don’t want to put you into a difficult position and I most definitely don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want, I just think you might be interested in taking up my offer. I’ve seen the way you look at me, it’s not much different from how I look at you either. None of the boys need to know. This would just be between me and you.”

I was certain he was able to hear my heartbeat by now, but still, I forced myself to speak over the thundering sound resonating in my ears. “And what would that be, exactly? Your offer, I mean.”

John didn’t immediately answer, opting instead to run his eyes through my figure once more. I forced myself to contain the inevitable shiver, pondering how the hell was he able to feel so dominating while remaining seated, whereas I was standing up.

John’s P.O.V.

“I want to use you as my personal fucktoy,” I decided to get on with it, lay it all out in the open as soon as possible. There was no reason to hide, after all, I wasn’t exactly a blushing virgin and I wanted her to know exactly what she was getting herself into if she accepted my proposal.

“Now, I need you to really understand this, pretty girl. I’m not fucking around and I’m most definitely nothing like the boys you probably fucked up until now. When I say I want you to be my fucktoy, I mean you will be my fucktoy. I have a lot of pent up frustrations to deal with and I will not do anything other than use you. It will be rough. I will not be gentle.”

I watched with clear interest as my words registered in the girl in front of me. It wasn’t hard to see that she was interested in what I was offering, by the way she was biting her lip and changing her weight from one leg to another. I was willing to bet that she was wet already.

“Are you sure we’ll be able to keep this from the boys?” I smiled at how she called my sons, who were both older than her, and at her priorities. There was a reason I knew I should take the leap and look for relief in her. Instead of worrying about how rough I could be, she just wanted to know about the privacy of it all.

“Come here, sweetheart,” I asked, beckoning her to my lap. She obeyed with barely any hesitancy, which instantly aroused me. There was nothing I loved more than a girl who knew her place and what she wanted.

As soon as she was in touching distance, I pulled her to sit on one of my thighs, relishing in the tiny gasp of surprise she let out at the sudden movement. “You don’t need to worry,” I assured her, while wrapping a strand of her hair on one of my fingers, while my other hand secured her in her spot. “We’re both consenting adults, right? They never have to know about what we do when they aren’t here.”

Her eyes had been staring at my mouth as I talked, and by the end of my question she quickly raised them to meet mine again, like she was scared to be caught staring. A chuckle caught in my throat, I wrapped my hand around the back of her neck and pulled her to me. “Just come here,” I said right before meeting her lips with mine.

It was exactly as I imagined, her softness meeting my chapped lips with some timidness as I forced her to welcome my eager tongue. The tiny moan that she let out as I parted her lips to get my first taste of her went straight to my cock, making me groan before I adjusted her so she’d sit properly on both of my thighs, facing me.

Her hands clutched my shirt as mine explored her body, masculine satisfaction filling my chest at the knowledge that from now on, she’d be mine to take.”Wanna start being a good girl for me?” I whispered in her ear, fully enjoying seeing the goosebumps that rose up on her arms at the touch of my breath on her skin.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Yes,” I breathed out without even thinking twice, completely lost to the feeling of John’s warm, manly hands groping my body. His ever-present smell of whiskey and gunpowder was going straight to my head, making me feel like the world was swirling around us as he savored my lips, my jaw, my throat, his hands getting lost in my hair before grabbing my ass over my jeans, grinding me against him.

“Then get up,” he ordered, already helping me do as he said with his hands on my waist. When I was standing in front of him again, he ran his eyes through me one more time before continuing, “Now strip.”

I’d normally feel at least a bit timid of following his direction, but with John looking at me like I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid his eyes on, I found myself wishing that my clothes were already on the floor - especially since it suddenly felt way too hot in this bunker, the fluorescent lights a sun in itself.

First went my shirt, before I unbuttoned my jeans and let them fall down to my ankles. John licked his lips at the sight of my body in just my underwear, before telling me to step out of my jeans.

He didn’t need to tell me to proceed with my strip-tease, I did so instinctively, my bra quickly falling down to the floor before my panties followed the same path. John’s gaze had darkened considerably, and had become so strong that it almost felt like a physical presence over me, exploring my crevices.

“Pull out that chair, sweetheart,” he nodded towards one of the simple wooden chairs we kept by one of the dining tables, and although I quirked an eyebrow in his direction, I did as he said, positioning the chair to face him, before he tutted. “Turn it around,” he instructed, and I did so quickly, my breasts bouncing with each step I took. “Now brace yourself on the back of that chair.”

For the first time, I hesitated before doing what he wanted. With him still seating right behind me, I’d be quite literally giving him a vision of everything. But of course, that was precisely what he wanted, so I just resorted to doing exactly as he said, wrapping my arms around the back of the chair and leaning over so that my pussy was on display for him.

I didn’t witness any sort of reaction for a few seconds, and my heart was beating so loudly I couldn’t even hear his breath to be able to actually pinpoint if he was still seated or not. All I knew was that with each passing minute, my nerves stood on end, my nipples tightening in the warm air of the room while I could feel my wetness start to seep out of my lower lips.

But then, I felt his hands on the back of my thighs, his warm breath right over my most intimate part, like he was teasing himself with my smell before allowing his own satisfaction. “Such a pretty little pussy,” he whispered in that rough voice of his that always gave me shivers. Accompanied by a sweep of his knuckles against my most sensitive part, it almost made my knees buckle.

John’s P.O.V.

I had to stop myself from chuckling at how much my little actions affected her. I could only imagine how she’d look all fucked out, when I was done with her. “Hang there, sweetheart, I wanna get myself a taste.” Keeping her still by my grip on her legs, I buried my face on her pussy from behind, paying attention to the adorable little gasp she let out at the first swipe of my tongue. “You can be as loud as you want, pretty girl. The boys aren’t here to hear ya.”

I slowly collected some of the wetness already slipping out of her with the tip of my tongue, relishing in her sweet taste. I immediately needed more, needed to have it dripping off my beard, imprinted on my taste buds.

All calmness and control recklessly abandoned, I pressed myself further inside of her, only half-listening to the broken moans and gasps leaving her lips as she tried to remain in the position I ordered her to be in, while I lapped up her cunt with a vigor I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Fuck, you really are a sweet thing, aren’t you? I’d forgotten how great young pussy tasted. Hang in there, sweetheart, this might take a while.” It wasn’t my plan to spend so much time just eating her out, but she was just too delicious to leave without having her cum directly against my tongue. So I gave her my all, engulfing her pussy in my mouth as my jaw rubbed against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, my beard certainly leaving a burning sensation I could only take egoistic pride in. Finally, she gave me what I wanted, cumming directly into my mouth with my nose pressed against her little clit, and I drank it all in, licking my lips and hers to make sure I wouldn’t waste any drop.

She was still trembling and trying to catch her breath when I pulled away from her, rubbing my lips to chase the remnants of her taste. Then I paused, once again looking her up and down, from the tiptoes she was resting on, the back of her thighs until the perfectly presented cunt just there for me to take.

“Wait just there, darlin’, I think I might need a second taste.” By the time I was done with her, three orgasms later, she’d cum with my hands spreading her asscheeks, after I fucked my tongue inside her pretty little asshole, with a single finger inside of her while I bit on her thighs and finally, with three digits buried to the knuckle, as she begged me for a release I was more than happy to give her. Her juices were already dripping past her ankles, and as much as I wanted to lick it all up, clean her with my tongue, my cock had been throbbing inside my jeans for far too long to continue to be ignored.

Rising up behind her, I caressed the skin of her back as I tried to calm her down, while I kept one hand on my belt, prying it open. “There, sweetheart. We’re almost done, aren’t we? All that’s left for you to do now is to welcome my cock into that tight cunt of yours. Think you can do it?”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

My heart couldn’t keep up with what was going on. It felt like I’d just run a marathon, my skin all sweaty while my wetness dripped on the concrete floor below us. “Y-yes,” I answered with all the energy I had left, flinching at how hoarse my throat felt. “I can do it.”

John chuckled warmly, and it was with a jolt of excitement that I realized his cock was out, as he pulled me against his chest by my hair. “I know you can, sweet thing. The question is… how badly do you want it?”

He rubbed his cock against me as he whispered the question in my ear, and I gasped at how thick he felt, immediately comprehending what he wanted from me. “Please, John, I want it so bad. I want your cock inside of me, I need it.”

The growl I got in response let me know I had gotten it right even before I felt the head of his cock pressing against me, spearing me open. He shoved it all inside of me in a single thrust, not allowing me anytime to get used to the feeling of being so brutally stretched after he bottomed out.

“Now, darlin’, you just hold onto that chair and let me ruin you.” Pushing me against the chair again, he immediately started to pound against me, both hands so tightly holding onto my waist that I was sure I’d have bruised in the morning.

He wasn’t lying about ruining me. I’d never been so forcefully fucked in my entire life, and it wasn’t hard to see that I had John’s sexual experience to thank for it. “John!” I screamed out his name as I felt myself reaching that high again, my channel throbbing around him. He just kept fucking me with the same intensity, turning my sensitiveness into overstimulation in a second.

“John, please!” I begged as tears rolled down my cheeks from the way it all felt like too much - the feeling of being so filled, the way my clit ached and throbbed, my pussy trying to push him out and keep him in at the same time. Still, I couldn’t be certain of what I was asking for - for him to stop? To continue? Both ideas sounded equally necessary to me at that moment.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to be my fucktoy?” He asked threateningly, pulling me by my hair again so he could lick the salt on my cheek. “You can take it, sweetheart. You’re a big girl, aren’t you?” With a slap over my clit, I cried as my last orgasm suddenly intensified and I felt myself bursting with a white hot flash of an orgasm as I squirted all over our clamped legs.

When I finally managed to blink my eyes open again, I realized John was still hugging me to him, but he’d stopped moving. Then, I realized the mess between my legs was even stickier, and it all made sense.

“I forgot to ask you where I could cum,” he joked, kissing my temple before slowly pulling out of my abused pussy. He looked around for my clothes before selecting my shirt to wipe the excess moisture on our skins.

“It’s okay,” I explained as I tried to catch my breath, still frozen on the same spot and holding the chair, since I was scared my legs would fail me if I tried to move. “I’m on the pill.” Before I could say anything else, John picked me up bridal style and started moving us towards the bedrooms, making me wheeze in surprise. “Where are you taking me?” I inquired, confused and tired, but he looked down at me like I was suddenly gone crazy.

“My bedroom. I figured I’d let you soak in a bath while I take care of the mess we left in the living room. Then I can come back and hold you for a bit, before you fall asleep. How does that sound?” As hard as it was to wrap my head around the concept of John Winchester performing aftercare, I was too tired to even question, so I just nodded, smiling softly up at him.

“Sounds perfect.”

#smut #my fics #john winchester smut #winchester smut #john winchester reader #john winchester fanfiction #john winchester fan fiction #john winchester imagine #john winchester smut imagine #john winchester

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blu-joons · 4 years ago

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DATING SUPER JUNIOR HEADCANON A⇴Z ⇴ Park Jeongsu

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Jeongsu is very affectionate with you, always with tinted cheeks as he gets so shy. He’s very cuddly, especially late at night when he’s tired. He loves to make sure that you feel loved and taken care of whether that means pulling you into a tight hug or simply holding your hand.

B ⇴ BEFORE DATING

He talks to anyone, and you were no different, so it didn’t take long before the two of you got to know each other. You weren’t sure if he was just being friendly, as he was to everyone, or if he really did like you, but he was more than sure. The boys couldn’t shut him up from the moment he started to tell them all about you, from then, they knew you were the one for him.

C ⇴ CONFESSION

Surprisingly, he became very shy when it came to confessing to you. He tried to avoid the topic a few times by making himself busy with work, but eventually he realised that this wasn’t something he could put off forever. He was surprised to see how relieved you were when he confessed to you, all your worries about whether the feeling was mutual finally disappeared. As soon as you confessed your feelings too, he pulled you into the tightest hug to hide his red cheeks.

D ⇴ DATES

Your dates typically ended up at his apartment to give you both plenty of privacy, not to mention how much Jeongsu loved to cook for you. People of all generations know exactly who he is which makes dates in public quite a challenge, so if you do go out for dates, he’ll tend to take you to a restaurant where you can sit somewhere secluded and out of the way. Luckily for him, your favourite dates were at his house too, just the two of you with a good meal, and then cuddling up on the sofa at the end of the night. They never stayed the two of you for long however, Koongie was well known to interrupt you both at the worst moments.

E ⇴ EXPERIENCE

At his age, it’s only natural that Jeongsu has been on a few dates and had a couple of short relationships, but never anything long term. He’d never found someone that was able to work alongside his career, until he met you. As the leader, he felt a duty to conduct himself in the right way as an idol should, but he wasn’t getting any younger and he was desperate to find love. Finding someone like you, he couldn’t bring himself to let you go, unlike any other girl he had dated he was determined to make it work with you so that he could look more to the future.

F ⇴ FIGHTING

There are very few arguments between you both, usually you’ll end up squabbling like children and then quickly making up, he’d had enough arguments with his members over the years to add you to the list. Sometimes he tends to keep his feelings bottled up to try and protect you, but they end up blowing up and he’ll eventually shout at you, but quickly apologise. No arguments ever blew up like the Incheon Battle, he’d matured a lot since those times, and the two of you were much more similar than he and Heechul were. If the two of you did ever argue, he’d tend to walk away from the situation, using time as a healer for you both.

G ⇴ GETTING TO KNOW HIS FAMILY

The issues his family has had over the years have been well publicised, so Jeongsu will be desperate for you to get on with his family. You could never fill the hole his family had left but you tried hard to impress them all. Seeing how happy you made Jeongsu though after a lot of pain, they loved you and soon warmed to you and welcomed you into the family.

H ⇴ HOME

It didn’t take long before the idea of moving you into his home came to Jeongsu. He was quite keen on having someone around to listen to him rather than walking around and talking to himself. Whilst he knew that for most people his mysophobia would be difficult to deal with, he was more than willing to try and find a compromise in order to make you happy at his home. Only a few months into your relationship he was ready to hand over a key.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

Jeongsu was the first to say, ‘I love you,’ when you surprised him at a taping one day. He’d had the day from hell, but seeing your face just made everything better. As soon as the take was over, he was straight over to you and pulling you into a giant hug, whispering the words into your ear, still making the effort to hide his face so that you couldn’t see his blush.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

He didn’t tend to get jealous too often, even if he did struggle with his insecurities at times. He likes attention, which everyone knows, so if he doesn’t have your attention then he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he has it. He tries hard to mask his jealousy, but everyone can tell whenever he’s feeling envious just by the look on his face. Out of the two of you, you tend to get more jealous. Seeing how social he is and how loved he is can be a little hard on you at times, any event that the two of you go to people want to speak to him, but you try hard to be a supportive girlfriend, and Jeongsu will always make you feel better when you’re alone again.

K ⇴ KIDS

All of the boys have expressed a desire to have children, but none of them are more desperate than Jeongsu. Most nights he’ll find himself dreaming of what the house will be like with children running around and what they’d look like. He’s very open with you that he wants children, and he’s more than willing to wait a year or too, but after that, he’ll be desperate to start a family with you and finally become a father.

L ⇴ LAUGHTER

He tends to make you laugh when he least realises he is doing out. You’ll always tune into him talking away to himself around the house which makes you smile, shaking your head in disbelief at him. When he does want to make you laugh, he knows exactly what to do, he’s well known for his dad jokes and wordplay, and he knows it works on you too. Your laughter really can brighten up his days, coming home and hearing your giggles solves everything, even just for a few moments. He knows exactly how to cheer you up, as you do with him.

M ⇴ MISSING

Jeongsu is used to putting on a brave face whenever the group is away from home, but that all changed when he met you. Video calls and texts just weren’t the same for him, he liked to have the physical contact with you. You’d try and contact him as much as you can, but time zones never worked in your favours. If you took too long to reply or answer he tended to get quite agitated and worried, and that would definitely show onstage. His members, especially Siwon, tried hard to comfort him, but when he was really missing you it was hard for anyone to know exactly how to make him feel better, especially when you still weren’t around.

N ⇴ NICKNAMES

You always remembered on your second date how Jeongsu told you how he liked to be called, ‘bub,’ which stuck throughout your relationship. He was very traditional with his nicknames for you, more often than not he’d refer to you as, ‘bub.’

O ⇴ OBSESSION

He was obsessed with your smile; it was his favourite sight in the world. He loved seeing you happy, especially when he was the reason for it. He’d spend all day making you smile if he had to, he just loved to see it.

P ⇴ PDA

Whilst he’s very protective and private of your relationship, that doesn’t stop Jeongsu from being affectionate with you in public. His hand can usually be found holding onto yours to make sure that you’re close to him, or if he has a small break he’ll try and cuddle up to you for a while to keep himself calm. He’ll try to private in interviews too, but as everyone knows, once you get him talking, he doesn’t stop.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

Being so talkative, he’ll ask you a question about literally anything. Sometimes it will just be to make sure you’ve eaten, other times he’ll ask your opinion on flat earth theory or something just to initiate a conversation.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

One thing he’s learnt to love recently is his YouTube channel, and so for any special occasions in your relationship, he’ll always upload a little video of videos he’s taken of you, without you even knowing. It’s the only real time the fans get to see any part of your relationship too, but he also loves to look back on all your memories whilst also showing off how good his editing skills are getting too.

S ⇴ SEX

He likes to dominate during sex and show off his tones body to you. He’s very protective and loving and will tend to hold you in his arms to keep you close to him. He’s a busy guy, but he’ll always make time for you. Sex is never rushed with Jeongsu, he likes to take his time with you, and also make sure he can absorb as much of your attention as he possibly can for a while. He takes great care of you and will only ever do what you’re comfortable doing.

T ⇴ TEXTS

If he wants you, he tends to call you so he can carry on with work whilst talking to you, but if he’s on tour, he’ll always text you. Anything that comes to mind he’ll send you a text so he can remember to talk to you about it on your next call.

U ⇴ UNIVERSE

Everything good in his life felt like it came from you. Over the years he’d began to feel quite lonely and disconnected, but you brought him back into the real world and picked him up every time he felt himself experiencing a low point.

V ⇴ VACATION

Jeongsu very rarely had time to go on vacations, so when he went overseas with the band or an individual, he tried hard to make sure that you could go to. Whenever he had free time, he’d find something for the two of you to do or explore. If he did have time to take you on holiday, he’d make sure to pull out of all of the stops as a thank you for putting up with him and his incredibly busy schedule.

W ⇴ WHINING

Again, if he doesn’t have your attention, he’ll definitely whine. He won’t stop at anything to make sure that he has your attention and you’re listening to him.

X ⇴ XXXXX

He absolutely loves to kiss you when he’s got you close to him, but as with any affection, it always makes him shy around you. He’s very loving with his kisses, always lingering for a little longer than he needs to, to make sure that the emotion is felt in his kiss. When he wants a little more from you too, he’ll always make sure to tell you with a kiss.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were his best friend, the light that he needed to really feel like Jeongsu.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

At the end of a long day, he loves for nothing more than to hold you in his arms as he falls asleep. He refuses to let you go all night when he’s got you, he always sleeps peacefully when he’s close to you, especially if Koongie is there too.

---

Masterlist

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g0dspeeed · 4 years ago

Text

Liar, Liar

For @constantzeigarnik

"V unabashedly flirting with Viktor, just laying it on real thick for the ripperdoc, and Viktor just not being prepared for it in the slightest."

“Liar, liar.”

The words came out in a tired sigh with a voice that hopefully sounded as indifferent as V intended.

The pair was laid out on the hood of Panam’s latest wheels, eyes closed, and cold drinks in hand. After helping the Aldecaldo get the ride from a locked storage yard, V had offered to relax beneath the shade of a highway overpass while they waited for the client to arrive. Panam accepted without a second thought. Between the two of them, a break from daily survival in Night City seemed in order.

Supposed to be chill.

Just two friends sippin’ on a dry afternoon.

No worries.

No stress for an hour.

That was before their present conversation, one that V was trying desperately to avoid.

“Yeah, I’m the liar here,” returned Panam. “And Night City is family friendly. At least I’m not the one in denial that my ripperdoc has the hots for me.”

V turned to shoot her friend a dark look. The nomad smirked as the warning fell flat. Despite V’s best efforts, Panam could see right through her: She was absolutely fuckin’ right.

“Think ya’ got it all wrong,” V maintained in a cool tone.

“Oh, do I?”

V cringed.

“Only met the guy one time,” Panam said. “Felt like a third wheel between the two of you eye-fuckin’ each other. Almost walked outta there see what that psychic girl was sellin’.”

A new warmth began stinging V’s cheeks and Panam frowned at her friend’s lack of response.

This was new territory. Seeing V react this way was beyond strange. One of the most capable people Panam had ever met was turning red over a man. Borderline bizarre. Truly, the entire conversation was out of the norm.

“Shit,” muttered Panam. At her best efforts at being soft, she added, “Don’t feel bad, V. The guy’s stacked like a fucking truck.”

At that, V finally let her guard down. She grinned as Panam gently shoved her shoulder.

“There she is. Just let that denial fade away-”

“Fuck off.”

“What the hell are you afraid of?” asked Panam. “Rejection?”

V looked at her energy drink, swiveling the liquid around before relenting.

“I mean, yeah, kinda.”

An eye roll and a heavy groan came from the woman beside her.

“Yeah okay,” said Panam. “Like he’d reject a woman half his age, much less a badass like you. V, I saw it for myself. The guy thinks you’re hot. Caught ‘im lookin’ at your ass. Not only that, he cares, like genuinely cares about you, which says a lot for people like us. Next time you see him, just lay it on thick and be done.”

V scrunched her eyes shut at her friend’s advice. Just talking about openly pursuing Viktor Vector made V’s stomach twist into knots. As much as she was the badass that Panam knew her to be, for V to explore an actual romantic relationship outside of ‘eye-fucking’ and the occasional one-night stand with some rando from Afterlife was not something V was familiar with. Her days were chaotic. Her lifestyle was that of constant motion. Viktor, in all his edginess, was stable, consistent, and secure. Also, she enjoyed the subtly they shared, the skirting around the topic of their flirty friendship, or whatever it was, from the safety of fleeting looks, suggestive undertones, and the occasional wink.

Then again, if V were honest with herself, it never seemed to be enough. V couldn’t deny that each time she left his clinic she wanted more. Craved more. More time, more privacy, more touch. She was her own worst enemy in all of those categories, always the first to shy away, to change the subject, to wander off.

“Worst case scenario,” breathed Panam. “He’s not interested in dating someone younger. Or just wants to be friends. That’s fine. Whatever. Should that happen, you delta outta there, lay low for a few weeks, find a new doc, and move on.”

“I can’t just delta out of his life,” groaned V. “He’s been my ripperdoc since I came to Night City. He’s also one of my closest friends-”

“Ok, then suffer. Fuck! Just do something. You’re killing me with this in between bullshit.”

Hours later, their conversation from under the overpass played on repeat inside V’s head. Panam cannot sugar coat anything. She might be physically incapable of doing that. Her words came straight from the heart and that’s what made what she had to say so sincere.

That is at least what V was telling herself as she steadily made her way down the steps to Viktor’s clinic, hands clammy, and body keyed up.

Part of her hoped that he was out or tied up with a patient. Maybe he would tell her to come by later.

She scoffed.

What a stupid thought. She was too quick to forget how often he invited her to stick around if he were operating, how she would wait at his workbench or nap on his crusty couch in the back. Sure enough, she could hear the man whistling below, the cheery sound echoing to where she hesitated. She swallowed.

With a final deep breath, V summoned up the bravery to walk through the metal gate.

Hunched over his operating chair, Viktor appeared to be wiping down between appointments, his rich voice humming along to some song in his head. V watched for a moment, taking in the serene sight before approaching the ripperdoc.

“Surprised you’re not watching a match,” she said.

The humming stopped. His head cocked at hearing her voice.

Without turning he responded, “Aren’t any on right now or you know I would be.”

The rag was tossed down and Viktor shifted to look at her.

V’s stomach flipped. His blue button-up was stained with a dark, oily substance all over the front. The top buttons were either missing or dangling from bits of string, leaving the shirt partly undone and exposing his undershirt. V’s eyebrows furrowed as she noticed a small crack that cut in the corner of his glasses just above a small nick on his cheekbone.

“You look-”

“Like shit?” he finished with a grin.

Viktor crossed his arms, drawing V’s attention to his thick biceps in a knee-jerk reaction.

“Bet so,” he continued. “Someone brought in his friend after a run in with the Tyger Claws, all blood clots and broke teeth. The gonk was scared out of his goddamn mind. Took a toll just to sedate ‘im.”

His smile had turned into a smirk, something confident and full of swagger as he told his story. He wore it well, mastering the balance found only in seasoned residents of Night City, of those who earned their street cred by way of blood, grit, and never backing down. V’s lips pursed at how his eyes looked to hers past those dark lenses.

Here would be the part where V ran away, ran from opportunity, from her feelings. He dared to look at her the way he did in that moment, so smooth, so confident. The man had to know. Viktor had to recognize how he affected her, had to notice how her eyes appreciated his physique, how her complexion warmed when he touched her. His frame had turned to face hers, all broad shoulders and aftershave.

She could step back.

Look away.

This was where she could coolly suppress her attraction and change the subject.

But not today.

“Here,” she said warmly.

V stepped close to the ripperdoc, shrinking the gap between their bodies as her fingers gently plucked the man’s glasses from his face. Viktor blinked in surprise and swallowed as she studied the damaged lens with a critical eye, her own smirk pulling at her full lips.

“Gonna need new ones, doc,” she told him.

Next, V carefully folded the glasses and slid them onto the collar of her top. Viktor’s eyes tracked her movements before quickly glancing away. Ever the gentleman.

“But don’t worry,” continued V. “The rest of you I can remedy.”

He chuckled.

“The rest of me?”

V looked up. She nearly gasped. For Viktor to wear those damn shaded glasses was a sin. The bluest blue that V had ever seen, his eyes were deep like ocean water. There was longing in them. Desire. He adored V for standing so close and showing such concern for his wellbeing. Christ, she could get lost in those eyes if he kept looking at her like that.

To answer his question, V tugged at the hem of his soiled shirt. He stiffened.

“Are you tryin’ to say that you like being covered in… whatever this is?” she mused.

“Well, no-”

In a near whisper, V begged, “Then come on, Vik. Let me play doctor for once.”

Fuck.

The way she was looking up at him with that smile, those bedroom eyes, leaning close like that with her fingers tugging on his shirt and talkin’ in that sweet, sexy voice.

Who was Viktor to deny her?

He sighed out a ‘Fine’ and nodded in agreement. Consent confirmed, V went to work. V’s fingers moved to undo the remaining buttons of his shirt, but Viktor stopped her hands. His own hands were warm, a little rough with scars and callouses on the tips and knuckles. In response to V’s questioning look, Viktor grabbed his shirt and ripped the buttons loose with a jerk. They pattered at their feet.

“Trash,” he stated as he slid his arms free from his shirt. Like the buttons, it went airborne and landed in a nearby biohazard bin.

“Hey now,” warned V with mock annoyance. “I said let me play doctor.”

“Oh am I being a bad patient?” returned Viktor.

To his surprise, V placed her palm at the center of his chest. Her fingers flexed gently against his undershirt, making Viktor’s heart race. She then gave a gentle shove.

“The worst,” she teased as Viktor let her push him back into his own operating chair.

Even if he wanted to, there was no way that Viktor could hide his smile. He was at a loss. What in the world had gotten into V? Not that he was complaining of course, but he was so used to waiting. The flirting, the winks, all those playful innuendos had been going on for such a long time. By now, Viktor simply accepted that she wouldn’t push it further, that their friendship or whatever they had, consisted of only those teasing moments. Nothing more. In the end he believed that V didn’t want anything deeper with the ripperdoc. And that was fine. A bummer, but fine. Didn’t feel bad about it. Didn’t resent her. She was younger, a wild one who made a hobby out of recklessly injuring herself doing God knows what in the city. The man wasn’t new to women or intimacy, and with a woman like V he thought it best to let her set the terms, especially considering that she was after all his patient. A patient who ate his food, slept on his couch, completely ignored his work schedule, and called him ‘pretty boy’ on the regular. A patient no less.

So imagine how fast his heart was racing as her fingers softly cupped his cheek, at how her body leaned in close as she inspected the small cut beneath his eye. Viktor tried his hardest to look off into nothingness rather than at her breasts. Tried to ignore how delicious she smelled. Was she wearing perfume-

“Breathe, Vik,” she mumbled. “Can’t have my first patient black out on me.”

She fucking winked and that goddamn smirk of hers graced her lips.

“I, uh,” he began. He laughed, a bit too nervously for his liking. “I’m sorry, just, just distracted. It doesn’t hurt that much, ya know.”

“How’d he get ya?” asked V.

To Viktor’s disappointment, V stepped away from the chair and walked towards his workbench. He didn’t miss how her hips swayed or how she bent over to grab his medical kit in a nearly exaggerated manner. The way she looked into his eyes while she straightened, all slow and sensual with those curves of hers, went immediately to his dick. He swallowed.

“Um,” he said stupidly. “He, uh, headbutted me. With his head.”

“Ouch,” she replied.

Before she returned to the flustered ripperdoc, V shimmied out of her bomber jacket and tossed it on his workbench. A tattered crop top pulled against her skin as she shook out her dark hair.

Viktor had the decency to rest his hands in his lap to shield the effect that the merc had on him.

Her tongue wet her lips as she fished through the kit for what she wanted. The glance she shot in his direction proved that there was no innocence in the act.

What the fuck was happening?

That question repeated itself over and over again in his mind as she again bent closely towards his body to apply a Q-tip to the wound, offering another delicious view of her ample breasts.

“Can I get some feedback, doc?” she asked quietly.

Viktor swallowed, his mouth dry like sand.

“Yeah, kid,” he replied lowly.

V paused her work to truly look at him, to gaze into those gorgeous eyes of his. Then, all calm and collected, V perched herself next to him at the edge of the operating chair. Viktor allowed her some room as she cupped his cheek with her other hand, her breasts resting on his torso as she leaned into him. Her thumb ghosted his skin, tempting. Teasing. Viktor ignored the urge to press against the throbbing hardness in his pants. The cut long forgotten, his attention was caught up in V’s eyes, the warmth of her skin, her smell, the sultriness of her voice.

“Do you want me?”

Her mouth was so close to his. The warmth of her breath tickled his skin like static. Viktor’s eyes shut in anticipation as V slowly drew herself to his lips.

He felt nothing, but heard the soft tear of paper. Viktor’s eyes fluttered open, brow crinkling in confusion. V had sat up and was unwrapping a small bandage, her eyes fixated on the task while he gaped at her. When it was open, she reached out and carefully applied the bandage to the cut on Viktor’s cheek.

“All done,” she stated in a chipper tone, a wide smile stretched from ear to ear.

Viktor smirked.

“Oh yeah?” he questioned. “Think you’re hot shit giving this old man a heart attack?”

“Think I gave you more than that, pretty boy.”

Her eyes flickered to his lap and back to those ocean eyes. Viktor sat up in the chair, his hands not budging as if his life depended on it.

“You never answered me,” said V, the playfulness gone from her voice and replaced with a feeling that Viktor found it hard to describe.

There was no mystery, however, to how he felt in hearing it. His heart melted at her words, at how the game was finally over and that she, beautiful V, wanted to know if he wanted her. A stupid question, really, but an important one all the same.

“Ah V,” he said with a sigh.

Panic alit her eyes like fire, but it was quickly doused as Viktor took her by the hand.

“Of course I do,” Viktor replied earnestly. He gave her hand a small squeeze. “I’d be a fuckin’ liar if I didn’t.”

For whatever reason, Viktor saw V blink as if there was something odd in what he said. The moment was short and quickly forgotten as V embraced him so hard that the pair fell back in his operating chair, his arm wrapped around waist and his lips pressed into her hair.

#viktor vector #cyberpunk 2077 #im tired af #ripperdoc

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amphtaminedreams · 4 years ago

Text

Sitting Front Row at...(On a Budget Obvs): Lookbook no.15

Hey to anyone reading!

And welcome to my fave lookbook I’ve done in a longggg ass time! Yes, that’s partially because it involved making collages and doing the low effort work of scouring Vogue Runway for “research purposes”, but I promise, that statement wasn’t made out of COMPLETE laziness-I am super happy with it too. It’s been a good use of pre-part-lockdown-lift time in the interim between that brief period of Christmas celebrations and eateries finally fucking opening again because let’s be honest, I always knew I was gonna get distracted by oat milk vanilla lattes and veggie all day breakfasts once I could actually sit down with them at my fave local cafe. You could say I was very much operating on a self-imposed deadline.

The “what I would wear to sit front row at...[insert designer here]” TikTok/Instagram reel trend was something I wanted to get on board with ever since I first saw one and whilst the option of doing my own live action take-I really cannot bear the thought of having to edit footage of myself awkwardly attempting to sit nonchalantly in front of a camera for hours on end-was off the cards considering my complete lack of screen presence, I decided a Tumblr text post would work just as well, and if not even better in a way. Given the absence of the time limitations you face when you’re making a reel or a TikTok I thought it’d be cool to present the looks as part of a mini moodboard for each designer which adds a bit of context to each look even if you aren’t familiar with their past collections and establishes the general vibe of the brand I’m attempting to replicate. Not to sound snotty or as if I am the font of all knowledge on anything high fashion related but even with my amateur knowledge I noticed that as the video trend took off and was adopted by big name influencers, it became less about the average person putting their own personal spin on the aesthetic of the labels we can’t ordinarily afford and more about them building outfits that only vaguely resemble the general public perception of the brand around the real corresponding (and often gifted and thus inaccessible to someone who doesn’t makes thousands for a sponsored post) pieces they own SO I thought I’d take the trend back to its roots and get a bit resourceful. All that being said, in no particular order, here are the outfits I would wear to sit front row at Gucci, Vera Wang, Miu-Miu, Marc Jacobs, Dolce & Gabbana, Brock Collection, Alexander McQueen, Etro, Burberry aaaand Saint Laurent based on their past collections and guess what? They didn’t cost a shit tonne of money :-)

-disclaimer: will include an asterisk before any new purchases if from a high street store though to be honest, I don’t think there are any, we shall see! I do include where I got old purchases from in case anyone wants to search anything on Depop/Ebay-

1. Saint Laurent (formerly Yves Saint Laurent)

-blazer from identityparty on Depop, pleather trousers from Zara, jewellery from Dolls Kill-

I know technically abbreviating Saint Laurent to YSL doesn’t really make much sense anymore given the brand’s name change in 2012, but I’ll always think of it as that in the same way I’ll always associate it with the slightly dishevelled yet simultaneously glitzy rock n’ roll aesthetic. The thing is, whilst YSL hasn’t done anything wildly out of the box for a long time, it’s rare they put a look on the runway that I wouldn’t wear; they never end up being a fashion week standout but the Parisienne take on grunge we’ve seen Anthony Vaccarello establish as his go-to will always have a place in my heart.

2. Alexander McQueen

-embroidered leather jacket from Ebay (originally Topshop), harness from Amazon, dress from ASOS, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

Alexander McQueen is a brand that is pretty much universally liked, from the historically extravagant and groundbreaking shows the man himself put together to Sarah Burton’s more toned down but still beautiful collections. Obviously I didn’t attempt to do justice to the former, so I tried my hand at putting together a look inspired by Sarah’s blend of delicate femininity and nomadic edge, and it went...okay? Like it’s definitely not my favourite of all the looks because it does give off slightly cheap copycat vibes buuut outside of the context of this lookbook it’s cute.

3. Brock Collection

-boater hat from Ebay, midi skirt from morganogle on Depop, corset top from ownmode_, heels from amybeckett1, bag from Primark-

Brock isn’t as well known a brand as most of the others in this list but I adore everything Laura Vassar Brock does and I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to try and channel the vision of one of the OG pioneers of the cottagecore vibe through my own wardrobe. I mean fr, this woman’s work as a steady provider of meadow photoshoot worthy dresses and corsets and skirts is v slept on and I will not stand for it. I will sit in front of a camera and then write a paragraph in my blog post begging anybody who reads to give LVB (an abbreviation I acknowledge is unlikely to catch on because Lisa Vanderpump anybody?) some form of acknowledgement for her services to period romance novel inspired moodboards everywhere.

4. Marc Jacobs

-coat from House of Sunny, white shirt from Retro World Camden, co-ord from Sugar Thrillz, bag from Poppy Lissiman-

If there’s one thing Marc Jacobs always does, it’s COMMITS. TO. HIS. THEME. I just KNOW he has a secret Pinterest with separate boards for every fashion era of the 20th century and he is putting those boards to good use providing us with collections that are as immersive as they are eclectic year in year out.

5. Miu Miu

-beret from H&M, hair clips from H&M, jewellery from Primark, coat from mollyyemmaa on Depop, shirt from YesStyle, sweater vest from YesStyle, skirt from Depop, diamanté belt from Brandy Melville, shoes from Koi Vegan Footwear-

We all like to talk about Bratz dolls and Monster High dolls and Barbies as fashion inspo but can we all focus on Cabbage Patch dolls for two secs so as to acknowledge the fact that a Miu Miu collection is basically all their fits grown up? And made boujie as fuck? If I want my fix of Wes Anderson meets Scream Queens (what a combo) inspired outfits, if I want prissy and girlish but also glam, if I want to look like a bratty rich girl whose one redeeming quality is her eye for vintage clothes, I know where to look and that is the Miu Miu section of Vogue Runway.

6. Vera Wang

-blazer as in no.1, velvet bralet from catdegaris on Depop, harness from Amazon, skirt from Ebay, knee high socks from Ebay, lace up boots from Ebay-

Vera Wang’s RTW aesthetic, a blend of the ethereal, ultra-feminine bridal designs she’s known for and British style punk rock influences, is something I feel has only become firmly established in recent years but it is everything I ever wanted and more. I always find myself trying to balance the part of me that loves everything girly and delicate and pretty and the part of me that would love to be in a biker gang and Vera’s collections are always an inspirational reminder of just how well it can be done.

7. Burberry

-coat from charity shop, suit from emmafisher3 on Depop, top from simranindia, shirt underneath from Zara, jewellery from ASOS-

Now I’m not gonna lie, I’m not the biggest fan of Burberry but there have been a few looks over the past few years I’ve really liked and as someone who owns numerous trench coats, high necks and way too much plaid, I thought it’d be an easy one to replicate. Plus, if you can count on Riccardo Tisci for nothing else you at least can rely on him giving you some layering inspo which is very much needed in a country where it literally just snowed in April and where my plans for today have just been cancelled because the iPhone weather app did a Karen Smith and didn’t predict rain for today right up until it started raining so thanks for that one British meteorologists. Your incompetence strikes again.

8. Etro

-corset from Urban Outfitters, vinyl trench coat from Topshop, boots from Ebay, black slip dress from kaoanaoleinik on Depop, fur trim afghan coat from louisemarcella-

Like with Brock Collection, Etro isn’t a hugely well known brand, but it is always one of my favourites-to add a spanner into the works of any attempts to cultivate a firm sense of personal style, I live for the ornate Bohemian look that Etro does so well just as much as I love both grungy and girly pieces, and so I really wanted to include a brand whose collections go down that route. It was a toss-up between this and Zimmerman, the flirtier, free spirit counterpart to the dark romance of Veronica Etro’s designs; her vision really shines through the most when it comes to the brand’s winter collections, imo, and given that I live in a country where winter or some weather state resembling it does seem to take up 70% of the year, I did decide on channelling her work rather than that of the equally talented Nicky and Simone Zimmermann this time round.

9. Dolce & Gabbana

-flower crown from ASOS, tiara from Amazon, earrings from YesStyle, dress from alicealderdice1 on Depop, opera gloves from Ebay, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

D&G is a brand I felt really conflicted about doing-I don’t include their current collections in my fashion week reviews based on the actions of designers Stefano Gabbana and Domenico Dolce over the last few years because I don’t want to mitigate the collective effort of fashion critics to push them towards irrelevancy. Though people like to claim the brand has turned a corner since Lucio Di Rosa was brought on board as the manager of celebrity and VIP relations last year (they are as prolific a force on red carpet fashion as ever), we haven’t seen any real meaningful apologies or reparations made by Dolce and Gabbana themselves which once again leaves us in the all too familiar quandary of whether or not we can separate the art from the artist especially when it is far too much of a simplification to only credit the two men for their work given there’s a whole design team behind them. There are a LOT of shitty people working in fashion, the whole industry is a bit of a cesspit if we’re honest, but I don’t think that should stop us from at least being able to appreciate old collections if we make sure we aren’t engaging in any kind of promotion of current works whilst doing so. D&G are a brand of high highs and low lows, with looks that range from hideously ugly to showstoppingly beautiful in a single show-when the looks are good, they are GOOD-and their presence in the fashion world is most definitely felt whether we want it to be or not. It would just be shit to refuse to recognise the existence of some real iconic runway moments, the practical work that went into the ornate detail and opulence that helped cement D&Gs place in sartorial history, the styling that’s made goddesses and fairytale queens out of modern day women as they’ve glided down catwalks, the far more extravagant and, let’s be real, sexier version of our world D&G shows have transported us to in the past. Will I talk about D&G ever again? No, and if you Google the scandals their brand has faced over the past few years, there are more than enough reasons why, but just this once I did want to pay homage to some of the collections, the snippets of which I saw on my Tumblr dashboard back when I was about 13, that first got me into fashion.

10. Gucci

-fur coat from Topshop, clips from Zaful, glasses from Ebay, dress from gracewright246 on Depop, shirt from Boohoo, blazer from charity shop-

Now last but, if you ever read any of my fashion week reviews (the likelihood of someone actually having read one of them and reading this is incredibly, incredibly slim lol, I wouldn’t read me either) you’ll know, definitely not least, is Gucci because Alessandro Michele comes through every!! single!! time!!

The man is truly the king of quirky throwback maximalism and it hurts my heart that a lot of people seem to think of it only as a brand associated with ostentatious displays of wealth. Year after year since Michele was made creative director he has released purposeful, fully-fleshed out collections which unravel themselves to us on the runway like time capsules containing the belongings of the rich and whimsical and yes that can sometimes result in outfits which are *ahem* a bit mismatched but it doesn’t matter because through fashion he manages to take us to a vivid version of the past where people could dress as freely and lavishly as they wanted to, into the wardrobe of a person unaffected by the side-eyeing of others. You get the impression he doesn’t design so much as plays around with some kind of enchanted dress up box and takes inspiration from there and to give that impression is only a credit to his talent-to make outfits so kooky and extravagant look like they were meant to be takes a boldness and genuine love for clothes that I do tend to feel a lot of the big name designers have lost in the pursuit of profit and the necessary placating of the dying customer base that keeps that coming in. Of course I'm not for a second saying Gucci does not care about profit, but at the very least, they have on board a creative director who genuinely has fun with what they’re putting out there and wants to make a statement too and that really shows; you can rest on your laurels and sell tweed boucle jackets to rich old white women for eternity but nobody’s going to mention your brand name and the word groundbreaking in the same sentence ever again unless they’re talking about what it was a century ago, you know (mentioning no names...unless...did I hear someone say Chanel)? That feels like such a shady way to end, lol, but I’m sure said brand will survive-to be fair, they’ve been included in every other What I’d Wear to Sit Front Row At video I’ve seen so although I’m always slagging them off for doing the saaaaame thinggggg year after year, for that same reason their aesthetic is instantly recognisable and so will always be a source of imitation. There are obviously pros and cons to being a brand which constantly reinvents itself but I think it’s totally possible to do that whilst maintaining an overall mission, and Alessandro Michele’s work at Gucci demonstrates that with ease.

Anyway, if you got to here, thanks for reading! I know I’m super behind on this whole TikTok trend and I know a Tumblr post instead of a video is a bit of a cop out but all the real, physically awkward ones out there know that watching yourself back is excruciating lmao, so I hope this does the trick. After this, I’m gonna get back to the reviewing S/S21 collections post though knowing me I’ll probs take a few days to get back into that because I feel like since I left full-time education (RIP me going back in a few months) writing continuously like this for any longer than about 15 mins fries what brain cells I have left. Again, thank you for reading and if you are, sending many good vibes your way! Stay safe!

Lauren x

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wrienne · 3 years ago

Text

My Cheating, Amnesic Fiancé

Chapter 7: Reconnaissance

You stared at him. “You must be freaking kidding me.”

“I’m afraid not,” replied Sejin as he reluctantly sipped his cup of coffee. “I’ll help you in any way I can, but it’s mostly up to you.”

“I… I’m...”

“You’re doubtful?”

“That wouldn’t even begin to describe what I’m feeling,” you admitted and nervously scratched your arm. “I… I’ll try my best, I really will. But...”

You stopped yourself right then and there. You had merely promised Jungkook you would help him through the amnesia. It wasn’t necessary for you to get him back on top of the music industry again. But you knew he had suffered and worked and spent too much of his life to lose it all just because he was stupid and impulsive enough to drunkenly run out on the street at the wrong time. Also, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty. Even though he was - or should you rather say had been - an absolute scumbag, if you would have never made him so upset, he might not be in the devastating situation he was in right now.

And he had changed. You felt it. Somehow, however little. Jeon Jungkook relied on you for the first time in your life.

You had a chance to help him. And although that was good enough morally speaking, what would be the point of all your efforts if he couldn’t perform again? The concert had clearly proven to you that Jungkook belonged up there, on stage, singing and dancing with his hyungs. Having a deadline of slightly more than three months would only mean you and Jungkook would have to work harder.

A lot harder.

“I’ll make it happen,” you said finally. “Jungkook will be able to perform in Japan by the end of May.”

You surprised yourself with how confident you sounded. Perhaps even Sejin, too, for he raised a surprised eyebrow before nodding in approval.

“I believe you can do this,” he told you. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just tell me.”

“Actually,” you began, “I need to get Jungkook some new clothes. Could you give me an address to where he lives and perhaps the numbers of his group members? Yours, too, if you don't mind.”

After exchanging numbers, you realized you could probably make a fortune selling the information to fanatic fans. Though, as Jungkook had stated yesterday, you didn’t really need any more money.

You parted ways with Sejin and found your parents’ private chauffeur, Kwon Jong-Yeol, waiting impatiently outside the entrance door to the hospital. While driving you home, he held a long lecture for you where he talked about the dangers of young women wandering around alone during the night. He didn’t even care about the emergency part, but then again, he had never been particularly fond of Jungkook.

You were done drying your hair after a much-needed shower when you decided to call your parents to tell them about your decision to break the engagement. As you stood in the hallway of your apartment, your heart pounding against your ribcage, you realized very quickly that nobody would reply. You weren’t particularly surprised, knowing your parents' habits of exercising early in the morning before work, and made a mental note to call them later in the day when they were free.

Frankly, you felt a bit relieved. You didn’t know how they would react upon hearing the news - nor did you want to know.

Before you zipped your phone into your jacket pocket, you spotted, to your great horror, that the seven numbers Sejin had given you were names you had never heard before, of course with the singular exception being him.

Jung Hoseok.

Kim Namjoon.

Kim Seokjin.

Kim Taehyung.

Min Yoongi.

Park Jimin.

Six names. You guessed Jin, the guy who had blown a kiss at Se-Eun and her friends, was Kim Seokjin, but you hadn’t even the slightest idea regarding the remaining five. You barely remembered what their stage names - since that’s what they must have introduced themselves as at the beginning of the concert - had been.

You didn’t have the chance to stress over it much, since you were getting late to school and you had forgotten to read a chapter for the day’s first presentation. You planned to read during the drive, but you were so tired you fell asleep during the usual, boring road to Korea University Business School. Yes, you were enrolled in one of the prestigious SKY universities. But as the granddaughter of one of the most prominent businessmen in the world and the alleged heiress of his company, this surprised nobody.

It hadn’t really been much of a choice for you, since you had known, ever since you were four years old, that you would one day become the owner and CEO of Phoenix Inc. Even if your parents were to have birthed a hundred children after you, none of them would have become a candidate for the post. Because your grandfather had chosen you in particular, stated your name explicitly in his will, to become his successor as soon as you had finished college. Your dad was merely a placeholder - your placeholder - until that day.

You didn’t know why, though.

Se-Eun was waiting outside the main auditorium together with the other students when she spotted you approaching. She darted toward you, greeted you happily with a hug and took you a bit off to the side, so no one could overhear.

“You have to tell me what happened,” she blurted, her brown eyes glinting with curiosity. “We only have three minutes ‘til class, so you’d best keep it snappy.”

Thinking back on the last twelve hours, it wasn’t difficult for you to deduce that you could say nothing. Not even to your best friend.

“I… I can’t really talk about it,” you said truthfully. “But I promise, it wasn’t anything sensational.”

“I thought you were going to snap someone’s neck when you returned,” she said skeptically. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that upset. Were you embarrassed because they kicked you out? You didn’t have to let us wait for half an hour just to make it seem you had gotten backstage.”

“I was neither upset nor embarrassed,” you protested. “And if I wouldn’t have gotten backstage, I would have been only half as angry as I was yesterday.”

“I knew it!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “You are the quickest, craftiest person I know, (Y/F/N) - now spill the details! What’s there to be so on the down-low for anyways?”

“You know your dialect always spills through when you’re overexcited?” You gave her a teasing smile, pleasantly surprised with her compliment.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” she said stubbornly as she folded her arms across her chest. “Why are you so secretive about it?”

You shook your head. “I really can’t talk about it, I’m sorry.”

Se-Eun sighed, but she gave in. “Well, what did you think about the concert? Wasn’t it-- every one of them amazing? Especially Jungkook?”

When you didn’t immediately give her an annoyed eye roll, sigh or a directly opposed comment as you had the last couple of years whenever she brought up the subject of Jungkook, she whistled in surprise. “You must have really been floored,” she noted.

“Yeah,” you admitted reluctantly. You recalled Jungkook’s presence on stage and almost shivered. His hair, darkened with sweat; his large eyes, filled with an intensity you had never before witnessed; his body language, purposeful and practiced, yet fluid and wild, like liquid mercury; and his voice, soft yet steady, controlled yet gentle.

Beautiful.

But then you remembered his face when he had spotted Kim Sejin. You remembered the creeping anguish in his voice when he had spoken to you and the desperate strength of his grip when he had held your hand. He had been a whole different person. Fearful and brittle. So near his dream yet suspicious, confused and alone.

Now he trusted only you. Of course, you couldn't forget his eyes on Park Yi-Jae, either.

Se-Eun had been discussing which solo performance had been her favorite while you reminisced, when she said something that caught your attention.

“‘Taehyung’?” you repeated. “Who is he?”

“Are you serious?” exclaimed Se-Eun. “I’ve been talking about BTS for years and you only now pay attention?”

“Sorry,” you said unapologetically as you checked the time on your phone. Class would begin anytime now. “You never listen to me when I talk about my interests.”

“Oh, I don’t? I’ll remember this, (Y/N).”

“Come on, I’ll buy you lunch. Now tell me.”

“You would have gotten in so much trouble without your family’s money,” she replied while giggling. “Whenever your tongue and stubbornness get you in trouble, you have an easy way out.”

“Please, Se-Eun,” you said impatiently as you spotted movement over your friend's shoulder. “Professor Kang has already begun letting people inside.”

“Make it free lunch for the whole week.”

You gave her a sharp look but knowing the time-crunch you were in, you also nodded. “Deal.”

Se-Eun began toward the door as she spoke, signaling for you to follow. “Kim Taehyung is V’s real name,” she told you. “Do you want to know the rest of their real names as well?”

You greeted Professor Kang while passing her, then nodded again.

“Rap Monster’s real name is in fact Kim Namjoon,” said Se-Eun as she followed you on your search for two available seats next to one another. She folded a finger for each member - and name in your contact list - as she continued. “Jin’s real name is Kim Seokjin. J-hope’s real name is surprisingly not J-hope but Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin is Jimin and Min Yoongi is Suga. You probably know Jungkook’s real name.”

Suga. Min Yoongi. He was the one who hadn’t spoken even once when you first had stumbled upon the group. With slim dark eyes and a solo performance that had left you feeling physically wounded.

There was something about him.

“Jimin is the shortest one, right? With the light voice?” you asked as you found two seats and sank down into one of them.

“He’s taller than you.”

“In comparison with the whole group,” you said as you rolled your eyes at her instant defense. “And it wasn’t an attack, merely an observation.”

Se-Eun sat down next to you. “I’m just saying. Now, what’s the reason you want to know about their names? Are you becoming a fan?”

“Not really,” you said nonchalantly. “I just thought it would be good to know the names of the seven guys my best friend plans to marry by the end of her twenties.”

“Well, that will be easy. I only intend to marry one of them. Can you guess who?”

You swallowed. Hard.

“I can’t believe you’re still shameless enough to fantasize about things like that,” you said in an attempt to change the subject, immediately regretting the path your joke had taken. “Aren’t you too old to be a fangirl?”

“You’re never too old to be a fangirl,” she said defiantly. “I have a whole scenario in the back of my mind for the time we first meet. Jungkook will have spotted me in the audience and fallen in love with me just like that. I just need to be seen by him, that’s all.”

“You’re absolutely mad,” you told her as you laughed in disbelief. “Love doesn’t work like that. He doesn’t work like that.”

“Right, I forgot you and him are childhood friends and have known each other for centuries.”

You regarded her closely. “You’re actually getting irritated, aren’t you?” you asked.

When she didn’t directly reply, you almost burst out in laughter again. Fortunately, you were mindful of your surroundings: people were quieting as they trickled in slower through the door where Professor Kang still waited, her one hand rubbing the face of her wristwatch.

“I would never let a guy get between our friendship,” she said instead of directly addressing the question.

“Not even Jeon Jungkook?”

She shook her head as Professor Kang shut the door and began toward the lectern. “Not even him,” she whispered.

Se-Eun could never get hold of the knowledge that you and Jungkook had once been engaged, you realized as soon as the professor began her lecture. It would mean the end of your relationship. Even though you were tempted to talk with her about you and Jungkook and the situation overall, you couldn’t.

During the rest of the school day, you surprised yourself by almost constantly thinking about Jungkook. Which ways you could help him, what type of reintroduction would most likely help him and so on and so forth. You looked back at your and Jungkook’s time as younger, when and how he would express himself regarding music. You even listened to Se-Eun’s obsessive rambling over the group, hoping you could snatch any type of idea or information that might be of use - which didn’t prove as fruitless as you initially had predicted. For example, you never knew Rap Monster, or rather, Kim Namjoon, was the reason Jungkook had chosen BigHit when he had numerous other options. By the end of last class, you had actually gotten somewhat of a battle plan against Jungkook’s amnesia. Though you seriously doubted anything less than a miracle would be absolutely crucial for you to succeed by May 30th, you were determined.

You were in good spirits by the time Jong-Yeol dropped you off outside what Kim Sejin had told you was BTS’ apartment. The sun had already sunken beneath the upraised, jagged horizon of other apartment buildings, and your breath was escaping in white wisps. Fortunately, you had had the foresight to dress properly - unlike when you darted out to see Jungkook at the hospital - so you weren’t feeling too uncomfortable. Still, even though most of the snow had melted, Seoul was a chilly city during the winter months.

The apartment Kim Sejin had given you the address to didn’t look any different from a typical, middle-class apartment building. But then, you were used to living very affluently and had no idea if this was considered a good buy or not. Jong-Yeol had been unwilling to let you walk around all on your own, forcing you to remind him you weren’t seven years old any longer. Perhaps he had meant that the neighborhood wasn’t the best.

You were too nervous to call any of the six new contacts in your phone, so you stalled a bit by trying to find out where seven guys could live by checking the mailboxes in the entrance hall. However, none of the names stuck out as particularly “largest K-pop group in Korea”-esque, and you understood to your dismay that you would have to call one of them.

You were just about to dial Kim Seokjin - since he was the only one you had managed to fully identify on your own, he felt the least awkward to talk to - when someone called you.

#MCAF #wrienne #ao3 #bts fanfiction #bts x reader

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flowerflamestars · 4 years ago

Text

Effloresce: Secrets and Silence

I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI

Elain had fallen asleep just as the sun began to rise.

No true excuse to have stayed awake- but, for the first time, Lucien had drifted off first. His head propped against hers, the arm extended along the back of their shared seat toppling to catch her waist.

The glow of victory, settled to something softer. He was a furnace, shifting with every hour. Tangling their limbs together like in sleep, in this utter, foreign vulnerability, all Lucien sought was closeness. It kept Elain awake: a little too warm, her grin hidden against a shapely muscled shoulder. Even High Fae as powerful as Lucien slept. She known it, but it was another thing to see. There were a hundred lies they’d told together. And this, her youngest, foolish sister, insisted was one of them. That Elain, because Feyre had a High Lord at her back, didn’t need the safety of a marriage. A High Lord, blood bound in fact, not that Feyre could know it, to deliver on promises to safeguard the people of the whole ancestral Archeron lands. A fact, that Feyre failed to see: that she’d doomed them so thoroughly that the entire damning list of lies for humans would cease to matter, that Elain and Nesta would lose their mortal lives no matter what came next. Respectability wouldn’t matter, not the gentry, not the arbitrary, entrapping rules. It was too late. That there was no guaranteed safety in the war to come, in the ancient feud coming to swallow the Archeron sisters whole. They could lie all they wanted, would fight every way they knew how, but in the end, there was only this- Elain didn’t know how long she had to live. She’d never known how long she had, what decades would come. She didn’t know what would be safe, in the choices she and Nesta and Lucien were making. But there was a safety she wanted, and it was this. Lucien’s arms around her. His sly voice and teasing smile, the burr of an accent in tiredness, telling her of faery knowledge. Joking with Nesta, who he loved too. Sharp teeth and hungry flames, ferocious loyalty- the family they’d made. Elain wanted the ring on her finger, wanted it to be real. So Elain was ready when sleep came. When she rose, untangled, to find her sister.

***

Nesta wasn’t in the library. Her office, the kitchens, her secret, glorious armory beneath the ground. Not even her bedroom, the location of which Cassian had shamefully memorized by sheer scent. She wasn’t anywhere, and the last time he’d seen her she’d been covered in blood. Azriel had seen her, come back and laughed in Cassian’s face, in fact, a drink in hand. Promised that not only was Nesta Archeron alright, she was extraordinary. That Cassian was in trouble. Just enough assurance that Cassian was a twitchy wreck by morning, trying desperately to pretend he wasn’t stalking the palatial halls chasing the scent of fire. Ash wood. Anything of her- too densely laid in this place she lived to get a clear trace. He couldn’t find her. So it was with typical dramatic timing that Rhys found him. His High Lord- his friend, his brother, even when Cassian felt like pummeling him into the floor- Nesta, in the snow, in the storm, bleeding- who clapped him on the back like absolutely nothing was wrong. Like nothing had changed. “Breakfast with the allies,” Rhys had purred and led the way, Cassian helpless not to follow. It could not have been clearer, as he pushed open the doors with a billow of darkness, that the comfortable little nook of a room where the eldest Archeron’s where cloistered, was private. That Rhysand was absolutely not invited. Warded in fact, Cassian would bet on it, magic a faint shudder in the air as Rhys strong-armed them both past the threshold. He sat down. Cassian, eyes on Nesta’s stilled, wrathful face, head still inclined toward Elains over a little table holding tea, stayed exactly where he was. “Wards,” Rhysand drawled, legs kicked out, hands in his pockets as he leant back. “I thought we were all friends now, bloodshed settled. No need to hide, little Archerons.” Crisp, clear as the fact Rhys was taking being thwarted as a call to be an absolute ass, Nesta made obvious effort to slowly set down her cup. “Do you misunderstand the concept of privacy as much as you clearly do friendship, Rhysand?” Braced, Cassian still had to swallow a little flinch at the light laugh that followed. Rhys hated her- but Nesta was going to slaughter him. High Lord, Feyre’s, promise bound or no, Cassian didn’t want to imagine what exactly retribution would entail from the eldest of the Archerons. “Have you spoken to your sister today?” It was Elain who answered, sipping her tea like nothing was wrong. “We’ll see her at breakfast.” “Ah,” Rhys sighed, laying it on thick. “No.” Nesta’s lips had pulled back from her teeth, a low hiss echoing. “We’re going to head out to the woods to train. I think she could use the distraction. She has nightmares, you know. Being here, in the human world where she grew up. That she might lose another parent”- “Feyre,” Nesta all but snarled, near faery- savage and utterly vicious, “Doesn’t even remember our life before. She doesn’t remember our mother. She has no idea what our father was like, who he was before the world punished him.” Rhys had frozen at the horrible twist of Feyre’s name from her elder sister’s lips. Quick heartbeat fading out of his ears like a battle oncoming, Cassian fought the urge to get in between them as Nesta rose to her feet. “You don’t know anything,” She said, devastating, a pillar of rage. Not for the first time, Cassian looked and thought, lllyrian. “And I don’t owe you answers, High Lord.” The title was an insult, sneered before she walked away, head held high. An ugly twist had taken over Rhy’s face in response. Cassian sank down onto one of the comically plush purple chairs, the sigh that escaped him as he ran a hand through his hair buried in the sound of a distant door slamming. He ignored the impulse to pull on it, and groan. When Cassian looked up, he found Elain watching him. Still perfectly composed, for the first time he saw some of Nesta’s exact steel in the set of her shoulders. If he hadn’t been startled into looking back he would have missed the breathe of a nod as she inclined her head- as though Elain Archeron, like her dream, nightmare, perfect sister also saw exactly what he was thinking across his Cauldron-damned face. He also saw the moment that resemblance became even truer. “Feyre told me your mother died fourteen years ago,” Rhys had reined himself in enough to speak softly to this sister, a less visible threat, “Her family name was Seren, yes?” Elain’s face went colder than Cassian had imagined it could become, light draining from dark eyes. With perfect human manners, she sipped her tea and set it back on the saucer, before standing to smooth her skirts. “We do not say that name in this house.” And she curtsied her goodbye. But unlike her sister, she paused before sweeping out the door. The face Elain eventually turned back to Rhys was utterly level- frightfully so, Cassian had seen that look on High Fae courtiers. Control, the equalizer: what made ageless High Fae a horror, what gave Illyrian’s a hold over killing power. Elain’s was absolute, a slate wiped clean. “Feyre doesn’t remember,” She said, calmly, “And she’s lucky not to."

***

Elain had taken a second over their now routinely fraught breakfast to tap the back of Lucien’s hand with her pinky, their standing signal to escape. It usually meant she wanted a break from the suffocating gentry, or to speak privately. So he barely blinked when she walked into the library wrapped in a white fur cloak, and announced much to the benefit of the General glaring at him beside Nesta that the sleigh was waiting. Without so much as a breath, Nesta stole the pen from Lucien’s hand and pulled the rest of the documents to her side of the desk. “Lady Isabeau hates to be kept waiting.” There was no Lady Isabeau. Nesta was saying get out- get away. Escape. Concern, spooled tightly beneath Lucien’s ribs since he’d overheard Elain get in the last word with Rhysand from a room away, became a sickening weight when he sprang to his feet. Elain didn’t wait for him to offer his arm, her hand landing familiarly against his bicep, grip iron. Automatically, Lucien curved toward her. Courtesy from the outside perhaps, but the closeness of his body also screened her white knuckles from Cassian’s view. The Illyrian treated Feyre like a little sister. Fascinated by Nesta yes, protective of Elain perhaps, helpful- Lucien suspected of all this inner circle, Court of Dreams, Cassian was the one he might trust one day. But not today, with Elain’s unhappiness sending him careening to the edge so fast Lucien could barely control his voice. “Maybe if we’re late she’ll have run out of that wretched tea,” He carefully joked. “Yes,” Replied Elain, dark eyes strange in her utterly contained, utterly cheerful face. Her grip would have left bruises on a human. “It does always taste of roses.” Roses. To Lucien roses were love- were home, not just a long lost mother- but the deepest red blossoms he’d ever found that he’d woven into Elain’s hair for midsummer. The smell had lingered on Lucien’s skin for days- roses and honeysuckle, embers and warmth. It tasted like her laugh. On that same night, Nesta putting white blooms in her own hair. A declaration of intent to the community that she planned never to marry at all. Together, the three of them had made that option safe for her. Freed her and them both from the prison of human expectation, the rules they had to play by to survive. Elain was telling him this was important. Like they had a hundred times before, they swept from the room together, continuing the easy rhythm of meaningless chatter. A clean exit, a smokescreen- courtly grace and charm. In their wake, Lucien could hear the shifting rustle of Cassian’s wings moving and re-settling, a near sure sign that Nesta had begun to smile.

***

Out in the frozen day, the newly fallen snow as even and thick as any Winter Court vista, Lucien guided draft horses in a steady clip down the road that led as easily to the Archeron’s forest as it did to the nearby estates. Luckily, it had recently become fashionable for noble human men to drive their own curricles and sleighs. Elain didn’t look at him until they’d cleared the house grounds. Onward, toward tenant farms and the warm stone buildings where cloth was woven, the smell of fires burning strong in the air. The whole world was dazzling whiteness, and her silence. They were utterly alone in the still winter’s day. Finally, Elain sighed. “Feyre,” She started and stopped, biting her lip. Lucien directed the horses into a glade of trees, coming to a smooth halt hidden from the road. He’d thought it might be this. The complications of family that didn’t want to outright stab you were new to Lucien, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see the betrayal on Elain’s face every time Feyre mentioned their parents. Their father, who Nesta and Elain both so clearly despised. That, Lucien knew very much about. The reciprocal action the three of them banded together to accomplish: the entrapment of Feyre’s High Lord, a secret she would absolutely treat like vengeance. Selfishness. Feyre, who saw so very little, who believed absolutely that Rhys could and would, keep them all safe. That there could be a difference between alive and alright under the authority of a High Lord had already, it seemed, melted from her memory. “You don’t have to agree with Feyre,” Lucien said softly, “To make up for everything that’s happened.” Surprise, warmer than any fire burning in his blood to protect him from this day, bloomed as Elain smiled. She shook her head, curls slipping from beneath her hood. “That’s not it,” She said, cheeks dimpled, like somehow, Lucien had said the right thing. He could charm and he could lie and he would do both for her- but this dance, this endless reel he no longer understood the tempo of- Lucien had lost track of where the story ended and his own enormous wanting began. Friendship, affection, family, but- He dreamt of her scent. Bloodmoons nights across her skin, the impossible, deadly danger of Autumn’s might bound to this one mortal woman. Of that damning scar on her wrist, hidden from their faery incursion only by the season. He knew exactly how she acquired it- but that didn’t stop his sleeping mind from conjuring much better, impossibly different circumstances. Rumor had always been that Rhysand was of mixed blood, had been raised away from the High Fae gentry. Lucien had to hope it was true. Not for his sake, but for Elain’s. “What does Lady Ingrid say about our grandmother?” She asked him, throwing Lucien back into this snowy day with her. Drawing him in. Those nearly faery black eyes said, secrets. Clever, careful Elain. Said that there was one more Archeron mystery to join their covenant, the value of which Lucien would burn and burn for. Lucien leaned against the padded sleigh seat to face her. “She mostly talks about how beautiful she was,” He said, gaze steady on Elain’s face, “She says you have her eyes, like your mother." The amused breath Elain let out painted the air white. “I have Archeron eyes, actually.” Here, where no one could see, Lucien gave into the urge to tilt his head like a predator. It wasn’t just human manners Elain and Nesta had mercilessly drilled into him- until Lucien could take them on and off like any garment- but body language that hid the extra flexibility and strength, utter stillness and instinct that said other. He never hid the otherness from them. Nor did they, his small, precious family, hide from him. “Have you ever heard anyone mention our mother?” She asked him, those eyes- Acheron eyes- that he couldn’t imagine on the face of anyone else bright.

Over-bright. The part of himself that Elain made all the louder wanted to burn to the ground whatever had upset her. Ash and bone wasn’t enough. Whoever- Lucien suspect the dark couldn’t put out flames, anymore than he could burn it away. But Mother embrace him if he wouldn’t have tried. Instead, he answered her. “Yes,” Lucien said, “There’s a story people tell, about her getting roses to bloom in winter. I assumed your greenhouses were built on the bones of hers, like the rest of the house.” Again, Elain smiled, but finally, Lucien saw the sadness. “No,” She murmured, “She made them bloom right up out of the snow.” Lucien’s heart seemed to stop. Shuddering, to resettle somewhere around his throat. “Lady Ingrid never knew your grandmother,” He heard himself say. It was starting to snow again. Soft as a dream, flakes smaller than a fingertip made their slow, slow way onto Elain’s delicate shoulders. “No, she didn’t,” Elain agreed. White billowing briefly in the air as she took a deep breath. “We didn’t realize until we rejoined noble society,” She began quietly, “But everyone seems to remember her strangely.” Lucien didn’t have to ask to know she wasn’t speaking about her grandmother now. “Everyone describes her just a little differently. Off. Or remembers the same events like they didn’t experience them at the same time or the same way.” She sketched a glance over his face. “Someone remembers the snow and drinking too much, someone else remembers a greenhouse- but everyone remembers the roses.” Taking his own deep breath, Lucien reached out to brush some of the snow from the velvet and fur of her cloak. At her slightest lean, he settled one hand between Elain’s shoulder blades, buried in softness. Her heart hammered beneath his palm. “Glamour,” Lucien whispered. The gift of all faeries, a natural toxin they could seep into the human world. Memories differed to the shape whoever remembering wanted most, magic safe in plain sight. Roses, conjured alive out of ice. Elain nodded. “I imagine it’s been fading since she died.” Her mouth twisted ruefully, lips bright as the flush of cold on her pale cheeks. “We just assumed it was safe, because Feyre still doesn’t remember.” Faery blood. He’d dreamt of Elain, glowing with immortality, on full moon nights. Had the forest tried to tell him? Had wondered if maybe Nesta had some of the latent capabilities of a human witch- with the ease which her blood mixed with warding. How much? He remembered, all at once, Elain asking him if all magic smelled like fire after encountering some of his power. How many years? She could smell that- she could- “Wait,” Lucien said, more to himself than Elain, “Feyre was glamoured? When you told Rhysand she was lucky not to remember- someone made her forget your childhood.” Absently enough that Lucien would feel it again and again, Elain flicked snow from the front of his coat. Not a returned gesture- her comfort so great between them that Elain touched him like it was nothing. Finally, the flakes temporarily cleared and her damp fingertips leaving lines down the deep grey of his coat, Elain met his eyes again. “Our mother made her forget.”

***

Nesta stayed in the library all afternoon, through dinner and into the cold evening. For reasons Cassian wouldn’t quite let himself name, he stayed as well. Her usually stormy scent was awash with lightening now- anxiety coiled tight and controlled, but so much of it that it was nearly making him sick. Nesta watched Elain and Lucien return through the wide windows, in silence. Cleared what seemed like more correspondence than any Night Court official Cassian had ever met received. Not a word, only the weight of her eyes in acknowledgement as he slid beside her without invitation, melting wax for each missive before the press of the Archeron seal. Wings, stars, a sextant- in bloody, beautiful red. The hours passed in Nesta’s ceaseless steady motion, not a single outward sign of the tension that had begun to grown teeth as night fell. Four chimes of the clock past sunset, Cassian, stupidly, found himself speaking. It felt like shedding skin. “I know something about the worst possible fathers.” Straight-spined and so graceful she called to mind a wraith, drifting- but wraiths didn’t have so much steel- Nesta stood and crossed the room to one of the tall windows that made up the easternmost wall. Stopped there, deep cushioned seat before her ignored to stand. Cassian honestly thought she wasn’t going to bother to answer. Braced himself for another silent nighttime hour, watching that relentlessly gorgeous, exhausted face grow pale, before her voice cut through the stillness. “I imagine you would,” Nesta said, eyes on the falling snow. “You don’t introduce yourself with any family name.” Slowly, like coming a long way back, Nesta turned to catch his eyes. “Because you don’t have one?” Bastard. That she didn’t say the word was the only thing that surprised Cassian- of course Nesta Archeron remembered every detail. Joints locked, Cassian braced himself. For the word from her perfect mouth, maybe. For dismissal, for what had always been coming. Instead, wavy hair, luminous in lamplight, fell across the sharp line of her jaw as Nesta tilted her head thoughtfully. Looked at him, leaning, wings tucked anxious tight, against the soaring shelves behind her slab of a desk.

“I’ve read about your people in books,” She said, after a long while. “There’s not a damn thing known about the Night Court. But Illyrians are a legend, as far away as the Weeping City.” He wanted to memorize the sound of her saying Illyrian- had heard it a thousand times from the mouths of others, spit like any curse. The blood that ran so strong in Cassian’s veins it could never be denied- a burden. Lesser faeries. Savages. Something to be feared, above all else.

But from Nesta? Curiosity. Maybe he was imagining it- hoping it- but wonder? Not the first time, Cassian imagined flying through the skies with her. “You’ve been to the Weeping City?” Beneath the largest waterfall the world over, surrounded on all sides by three more. It was a continent away, the crown jewel of an old faery kingdom whose people believed their great stone monuments were carved by the hand of a mourning goddess- a beautiful place, where her tears would forever touch her people. Nesta’s mouth twisted. “No. But as you can see, faery gold buys lots of books." Something in the bitterness- rage surely, but Cassian was learning that all of Nesta’s emotions wore the shape of rage, no matter what they were- made him ask. “What Rhys called you, Banfhlaith,” He repeated careful- as careful with her words as she’d been with Illyrian, “That’s your title?” Nesta turned back to the window in a snap of movement.

“No,” She said, low, “I can never be Banfhlaith, Lady of the Archeron lands.” When he didn’t reply, Nesta laughed, an equally quiet, terrible sound. “Do Illyrian lords allow their daughters to inherit?” And Cassian couldn’t stand it.

“You and Elain take care of all those people,” The words burst out from where they’d had been sitting in his chest since that first time he’d argued with her. Fought her- asininely unable to stay away, equally lacking the ability to resist challenging her- and flown away glamoured, deeper into Archeron lands. It didn’t calm him down, but eventually Cassian had landed on a snowy roof, so tangled in his thoughts he didn’t immediately realize he was surrounded by the noise of happy children. Dozens of them, and women of all ages too, but more young ones than there could have been mothers. Something molten in his bones, growing every minute, hadn’t let him leave. So Cassian listened and watched. Found that Nesta Archeron- pillar of rage, warrior of a woman- had started a home for orphans. For women who didn’t have families- or did and needed to escape them. That the sister’s paid for doctors and teachers, clothes, and a sprawling home. The building he was perched on was a weavers hall- Nesta had allotted the home fields. Fallow and covered in snow now, but in spring they’d grow flax, the woman would tend the trees he found now that he was looking that would feed silkworms. Later, Elain would tell him the adults here kept the profit of their labors, the cloth they could produce and trade, without paying tax to the estate. But the children. They spoke about Lady Nesta constantly- excited for the winter holidays, dinner at the estate, gifts from the Lady. Not in the distant way of a benefactor- but like the fond favorite aunt Cassian might imagine existed in some happy distant world to ask about childhood studies and bring treats. They knew her personally, not as a lady above them. He’d flown back, not to her side, but to find Azriel. And Az started listening for more than threats. Together, they learned that no matter that any humans with power looked to Lucien Vanserra hiding behind a false human face for authority, the people loved the Archeron sisters. That by retaking the fiefdom of their great- great grandfathers they hadn’t gained a profit. They might in a year, or two, if things continued as they were. What they had done was take a half of what their closest fellow landowners took from their people’s yields. Rotated the crops and changed the largest tenant farms to more profitable growth. Abolished the law the banned villagers from hunting on their land. Built a free school with teachers paid and brought over from human continental cities to teach the village children more than just their letters. Nesta herself, under the name of her fathers judgement, granting divorces and never turning away a single person in need. Plans and schemes and shipments of poison, turning the tide of a war that wasn’t hers to keep her people safe, endangered for every act. She was gods damned impossible, a miracle. Cassian couldn’t understand it. “You take care of all those people, and Vanserra takes the credit to keep you safe.” Cassian snarled, angry even to his own ears. “Feyre told me you going to marry some Lord twice your age to protect Elain. The title should be yours.” Lack of recognition was something Cassian had felt his entire life- had told himself didn’t matter again and again. Hadn’t allowed to matter when he brought back legions safely, kept the fragile peace in the Steppes no matter what it cost him. But this- like so much of Nesta- crawled right under his skin and burned.

Couldn’t be called poison, just sparks catching on so much ready kindling. Not agreeing- not acknowledging the cauldron damned ocean that filled him at the thought of Nesta Acheron, saving everyone she could find as it bled into his tone- Nesta looked at him with those dawn blue eyes. “I’m going to tell you a secret,” She announced. It was so far from what he’d expected her to say that Cassian froze, words on the tip of his tongue to tell her no. Not because he didn’t want to know- Cassian would have lit himself on fire to know- but because she was in a house with a Shadowsinger. And something told Cassian Nesta’s confidence was the rarest of possible gifts. A gift he wanted- her faith, her trust, a real reason to stand at her side and belong. A smile, so fast he might have imagined it, flickered over her face. No less sharp, but lovely. “The room is warded,” She told him. Looked up and up, leveling him from across the room. “Do you want to know why I hate my father?” She waited for him to nod. Cassian was afraid that answering aloud would break this moment. Behind her, the sky glowed with the captured light of a heavy snow, framing her in the surreally lit night. Grey eyes, white, white skin, pale sky- no matter the golden lamplight. Somehow all the more real, fragile, than Nesta asking his help to plan for the battles to come. Be careful, Cassian. Like he’d ever lacked care, like Cassian would have ever survived this long without his eyes open. As though Cassian, his whole life wrought in blood, inked in promise marks for the whole open, glorious sky, had ever taken a single disloyal breath.

Before the words ever came Cassian’s heart had clenched with a phantom pain, a sword straight through. “It's not the title. Or the business, or the fact that he’s never, ever coming home.” Nesta’s eyes moved over his face. “My father killed our mother.” Cassian was across the room and at her side before another breath could be taken.

***

“The Archeron name is old. Royal.” Elain whispered, to the grip of Lucien’s hands where they’d come up to catch her wrists, held captive against his heart. “But our grandfather was ruined. Our father had just enough money after his death for a single trading voyage. He had nothing to lose and went along to the continent. To Hesperia.” Lucien had been raised by monster. Whatever doubts of his parentage that lived in his heart, whatever questions could be drawn, nothing could ever change those first decades under Beron’s monstrous eye. That Lucien was called to his ancient throne by blood and birthright and act, every bit as dangerous as Autumn could be. The Archeron’s had grown up dangerous too, but he’d never questioned, imagined, it might be for similar reasons. “It was a great love story,” Elain hissed, a harsh, beautiful sing-song. “An heiress, who left her country to come live beneath the Wall. Seren is the name of an extinct merchant clan- I don’t know how he convinced her to use it, to marry him in human law- any of it. But overnight, the Archeron name was saved.” Helpless, Lucien dipped his head. Brushed his lips over the tangle of her knuckles, pressed hard to his chest. She sighed. Slumped, tipping forward, until her cheek rested against his shoulder. It was only after Lucien curled his body around hers in the snowy cold that Elain began speaking again. “Nesta thinks she might have been very old. That it was something new, to try to live a human life. The thrill of a secret.” She shifted, slipping closer, words a warm breath to Lucien’s neck. “I don’t know. I imagine she was young- she must have been. That perhaps she really fell in love and was ruined by it, I don’t know.”

No, Nesta had promised, the favor she wanted a shadowsinger for was not murder. Good, Lucien thought- he wanted to be the one to skin the absent Lord Archeron for every bit of pain in Elain’s tone, every bitter drop of grief.

He wouldn’t kill him- no, Elain and Nesta deserved that privilege. Lucien would just make it possible. Ensure, if that was their choice, they never had to see their father’s face again. “Elain,” Lucien whispered, unsure he even wanted the answer he could feel trying to burst from her, visible tension limning her entire body tucked in his arms, “What happened to your mother?” Elain sat up. Looked at him head on. “He killed her. Poison. Worthless parasite- do you know what we found among the treasure he’d hid from the creditors? His journals. I hated him for years for not caring when she died- but he killed her. He killed her and he wrote about it.” Mist billowed around her furious face. Not mist- snowflakes melting to steam before they could reach even her hair, Lucien’s power alive in the air. He ripped off his gloves, pulling at the fine leather with his teeth. Moved faster than could be seen to catch her face- to cup, gentle, the curve of Elain’s cheeks and catch those first, enraged tears as they fell. Lucien said nothing, wished he could bleed the whole force of his heart into the simple touch because he knew- he knew, Elain wasn’t done speaking yet. “Feyre’s very like her, you see. Joyful. Reckless. She loved above all beautiful things- strove to be the best, to have the brightest. After years of living among humans, of having half human children, she stopped being careful.” “The roses,” Lucien whispered. “The roses. Healing little scrapes and bruises whenever Feyre fell,” Elain audibly swallowed a laugh, “Fey always was the favorite. Magic- she was so magical, maybe she simply couldn’t hold it in any longer. But that drew talk. Whispers. No one marries faeries- to know them is one thing, legal if they’re from across the sea. But even the rumor that magic could have come into the nobility from over the Wall- the newly reborn Archeron name couldn’t have that.” “She took ill in winter. Normal- we didn’t understand, but she’d never been ill before. Dead in a week. A formal funeral, but we weren’t allowed to attend- to- to say her name.” Her black brown gaze flickered up to capture his, two burnt out suns. Elain smiled- dimples lovely, her beloved face, so damned faery as he’d thought a hundred times before- how had Lucien missed it? How did anyone? “And then, of course. The curse came manifest.” So plain to see, so wondrous to behold, the pieces that had been missing and clicked so easily together. The Archeron sisters- their mother’s daughters. Their history, so much more extreme than human folly. “The curse,” Lucien breathed, “On the merchant contract with your bloodline. What allows Archeron ships into faery ports, your people into faery land.” “No hand in violence may be raised,” Elain recited, “Against magic folk. No innocent faery blood shed, lest the seas themselves rise in revolt against mortal passage. His ships sank, his life unwound.” Lucien stroked beneath her eye, sliding warmth into her cold-flushed skin. “You needed a man’s presence to keep you safe from other humans, but you never wanted him to return. Hated him- for the negligence, for abandonment, for that need, for existing. He deserves worse. Say the word, and I’ll weave a curse of my own.” Every bit Autumn, his words embers burning. Flame to follow for the foolish, death all the way down, no light to lead out of the dark. Elain wrapped her hand around his, pressed Lucien’s calloused palm harder to her cheek. “Blindness? Ill-luck? A damning wish?” The curses of faeries in stories- lies of their own people Elain and Nesta had been deprived the truth of until Lucien crashed into their lives and found a home. A home that wouldn’t disappear. Not a hundred years. Not stolen decades Lucien would burn the whole damn warring world to hold unto each second of. Elain- who wasn’t afraid of him, who could smile and say such things- who might live as long as him, a crown of bone in her hair. It was with utter honesty that Lucien murmured, “Anything.” “Anything you’d like, Elain.”

***

When the war came, it started with a wardrobe. Red leather, once and half over again human height and twice as wide. Landed before the great doors of the manor, a soft thump in snow that went unheard. White drifted down and down still, no eyes out in the storm to see that the flakes didn’t touch that supple surface. Unblemished through ice and damp, red shone through the softly quiet world. Impervious, to the wards that sang strong, no warning gifted to the Lady of the estate, occupied entirely by her own white knuckled grip on the shaking Illyrian beside her, tales of mother’s lost exchanged.

Of vengeance, offered free.

No alarm to break through the soft clink of crystal, a midnight drink shared by the lady the ground beneath that snow loved and the man who’d bled to make it safe. Only this: flaming, fire-bright magic, and awed assurance that humanity would fade. A future that stretched forward, risk taken with assurance and this- Brighter than the leather, than the seal of the House it had been delivered to, untouched by the weather and all the more horrifically real for it, blood began to seep out onto the snow. Unfrozen, fresh, through the night. A message waiting, for Archeron hands.

@breath-of-sindragosa

@flxwer-petals

@ladyvanserra

@illyrianinterrasen

@missanniewhimsy

@tntwme

@ourbooksuniverse

@pitterpatterpot

@thestarwhowishes

@abillionlittlepieces

@my-fan-side

@the-eightofswords

@wonderland–memories

@ourbooksuniverse

@cohen-theeleven

@donnarosemary

@keshavomit @superspiritfestival @court-of-fandoms-and-art @sunsummoner @iwastoowildinthe70s @courtofmadness @oonjiawen @ashiok @caotica-e-quieta

#kicking down the door with PLOT #I'M BACK BABES #and it is straight to murder time #this au really boils down to three things: what if Feyre's bad plan had consequences #what if the sisters were allowed to know things #and what if every important acomaf thing happened...while Feyre and Rhys were busy making out in the woods #guys #I hope you saw this coming #Lucien every ten seconds: Nesta you ferocious faery sister of my heart #Elain you'd kill in the courts #god Feyre seems even more human than Nesta even now that shes A FAERY #the fundament bit is that....they don't know anything about themselves #who their mom was but rich and magic #what kind of faery she was #they've been aging like humans so far they think they're going to have a human life #but its ALSO always there in background #Remember Az promising murder?#REASONS #yes of course Rhys is going to be a dick #the single romantic loop #Elain trying to poison Lucien #learning all the faery stories are wrong from him #and Lucien learning finally from Elain now that she's ready #that the human story of HER is wrong too #because they're one in the same #next up: Cassian losing his mind #A Hug #the story descending into a wartime comedy #with Lucien and Cas in a deathmatch to be more husbandly #OH YEAH

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sovonight · 4 years ago

Text

(sith exile au)

recruit

potential

approval

rejection

truth (end)

✧ — ✧

His wounds may have been cauterized on strike, but while blood loss won't kill him, the pain itself might.

"She escaped," the General states over his comm. His hand shaky, his breath labored, Jaq barely manages to activate it to respond.

"For now," he says. The voice that leaves him is rough, dark. "I'm going after her."

"No. You will heal," the General says, instruction beneath the observation. "Even you cannot push yourself forever."

Ignoring the burning in his lungs, he collects his breath, and tries to push himself to his feet once more. He gets as far as his knees, and his arms buckle, sending him crumpling back to the ground.

"You've attempted to stand and collapsed, haven't you?" Comes over the comm in his silence. He lets out a frustrated growl to the cold emptiness of his surroundings; his breath leaves him in another puff of fog in the dead air.

"I'm out of medpacks," he says, when his pain has abated enough for him to speak. "And I'm alone."

He'd followed the Jedi out into the wilderness, and lost her among the underbrush and still trees. Aside from the local flora, which loom menacingly over his fallen form, this corner of the planet feels dead. He doubts anyone, not even a stray creature of this place, would stumble upon him anytime soon.

"A problem for your old self, perhaps. But not for you."

"There's nothing to drain," he emphasizes. "I've reached out to look, like you've told me to."

"I know. I want you to heal," the General says.

"Heal? But I—" He's not good at it, is what he'd say, but the more accurate answer is, "I can't."

He can't so much as heal a scratch. She's told him to clear his mind—he can't, not while she's there. She's told him to focus, but apparently, he's never done it well enough. He doesn't understand the technique; it doesn't feel like the rest of the abilities she's shown him, which take advantage of the emotion set deep in his chest.

"You brought yourself here," the General begins, calmly.

He knows that if anyone else had made the move he did, they would've been called reckless—but he'd studied the situation. He'd calculated the risks. It just so happened that his luck was against him.

"You made your choice, and now you must make another. Do you want to live?"

He didn't walk away from the ruins of Malachor V only to let its death claim him here.

"Yes," Jaq says. "Show me, one more time."

He doesn't know if it's the cold, or the pain, or the utter isolation of the space he's found himself in, but as she speaks, her words sound different. Less like she's directing him and commanding him to act upon her will, and more like she is guiding him, showing him the curves of a familiar path. Perhaps this is the way she's always sounded—he'd just never bothered to notice. He closes his eyes, evens his breaths, and lets her lead him to her lesson's conclusion. His efforts should not be trained on himself as an observer, but as a force from within.

A rustling of leaves interrupts his focus. His eyes open, and his hand flies to his weapon, ready to defend himself—but what emerges from the still trees around him is none other than the General herself.

"Good work, apprentice," she says.

The sense of accomplishment that'd briefly washed over him disappears, slammed shut behind the doors of irritation.

"You were here the whole time?" Jaq asks, feeling himself grow frustrated once more. "You couldn't give me a hand?"

"I just arrived," the General says. "Calm yourself, apprentice. If I had helped you, you would've never learned to save yourself."

She draws close, and lowers herself to a kneel beside him. Jaq sits up, still wary, but distantly aware that his movements no longer burn with so much pain. Then she prods the gash in his chest.

"Ow!" Jaq cries, recoiling from her. "What was that for?!"

"Your work is acceptable," the General says, and dusts her gloved hand off on her robes, as though touching him had briefly dirtied it. "Can you stand?"

"Yes," Jaq says, still irritated with her. But he follows her lead without complaint as she sets off through the underbrush.

As they walk, his irritation fades, his head clears, and he realizes: the math here doesn't add up.

"What were you doing here?" Jaq asks, breaking the silence.

"I had business nearby," the General says. Her stride does not break, and she keeps moving without looking back.

Except she's lying, Jaq thinks. He knows all of her business, now, and none of it placed her anywhere near his mission. Watching her back as she walks, he can tell by her posture that she's cold, underdressed for the weather. Her normally neat hair lays untidy, and upon her boots, one loose buckle sways with her every step. She'd rushed out to come looking for him. For him.

He lets that sink in.

"That power," Jaq says, at length. "It was different. It calls on the light side, doesn't it?"

"The light side has its uses, particularly in aiding survival," the General says. "Using it is a necessary burden in a world where you cannot depend on anyone but yourself. To others, you can always be sacrificed."

"You can depend on me," Jaq says.

"More empty words," she says. "Didn't I tell you to leave those behind?"

But they're not empty. He'll show her they aren't.

✧ — ✧

"You look different these days," Revan says. "What's happened to you lately?"

"I just told you," Cela says, pushing her datapad into Revan's view once more. Revan simply waves it aside.

"No, not that. It wouldn't have anything to do with your apprentice, would it?" Revan puts her feet up on the table, and leans back in her seat, casual. "Even I've heard the talk around the base, you know."

"What talk?" Cela asks; she hasn't heard anything about this.

"Oh, you know. Rumors about how you spend your time together, what you're "really" teaching him." Revan pauses, then adds as though it were inconsequential, "The way he looks at you doesn't help."

"How—"

"Like a lost puppy who's chosen his master," Revan says, having known Cela would ask before Cela knew it herself. "Like he'd follow you anywhere. What happened?"

Nothing, Cela thinks—except perhaps for Korriban. The conviction she had felt from him had been a promise, and it had delivered. Jaq has since dedicated himself to his training, to a degree beyond her initial expectations, and lately, when she instructs him, she feels sometimes that they are... in sync.

"We came to an understanding," Cela says.

Revan nods, as though done with her questioning. Then, "So you don't kiss?"

Cela's caught so off guard that she drops her datapad. "No!"

"Just making sure," Revan says. "I approved an apprentice, not a boyfriend."

Cela could be anywhere else right now, very pointedly not discussing this. Revan's last words seem like a valid stopping point, so Cela picks her datapad back up and makes to leave. Revan stops her just before she reaches the door.

"Oh, just one more thing," Revan says. "You've been looking paler, lately. Your apprentice not feeding you enough?"

Cela has to pause—she can never anticipate how readily Revan switches tracks.

"Don't call it that," Cela says first, then, "I'm no longer asking him to. I want him to focus on his training."

"Well, keep an eye on yourself, Pace," Revan says, light and friendly. "Wouldn't want you to collapse on me."

✧ — ✧

Cela wishes she'd never heard what the "talk around the base" has to say about her. More than once, today, she's had to forcibly clear her mind.

"Something wrong?" Jaq asks.

"Nothing," Cela says. But Jaq knows when she’s lying, these days, and persists.

"Come on. Is it something I did? You haven't looked at me all day."

Yes, ever since Revan's simple question had cursed her, she hasn't been able to look Jaq in the eye. Even now, when she is forced to face him, she averts her gaze.

Jaq gives a low chuckle.

"I get it," he says. "It's my face, isn't it? I look like I haven't slept in weeks. I knew this would happen, but… I guess I wasn't really prepared for it."

"It's not your face."

"You don't have to go easy on me," Jaq says. "I don't blame you for wanting to preserve the memory of what I looked like; I would. It's just going to get worse from here on, isn't it?"

At this, Cela raises her gaze, and realizes that Jaq's been holding himself with his head slightly bowed. It's enough to pull her from the lingering storm of her thoughts.

"It is not going to "get worse,"" Cela says, stepping forward to meet him. Her initiative makes her feel like her usual self again—back in control. "This is a marker of your growing power."

Jaq raises his eyes to hers, unconvinced, then shocked when she takes his face in her hands.

"I do not need to preserve the image of who you were before," Cela says. "All I want to see is who you are now."

She gazes upon him then, to emphasize her point, only to find her breath caught. She's committed to memory every expression she’s seen him wear, but the look he's giving her now is none of them. His eyes are dark and focused upon hers, and his lips…

"I… hadn't looked at it that way," Jaq says, low. "I think the same of you, though. I want to see you as you are."

Those visions are back again—the version of events where she leans in, making the rumors true. Pulling away, she releases herself from his presence.

“Do as you will,” Cela says. “...Apprentice.”

His hands, which had risen as if he'd been about to hold her, quickly return to his pockets.

“Back to being so formal?”

“Until I find your name deserving again.”

"Then yours," Jaq says. "Am I allowed to use it?"

A month ago, she would have shut him down. A month ago, she wouldn't have considered it. Even now, she should refuse, but…

"Yes," she says. "When it is only us, alone."

#sith exile au #pigeon meme but w me pointing to this fic and saying ''is this a [taking time to build their relationship]??''#sovo writes

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timextoxhajima · 4 years ago

Audio

Playlist Feels

Member: L E E J U Y E O N

Genre: idk anymore, jealous boyfriend juyeon, fluff?? idk idk idk intense staring idk idk can you feel my breakdown through this LOL :D (i WILL cry writing this)

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: there was absolutely NO WAY i could’ve gone to sleep knowing i just spent the last 4 posts going off about juyeon because it’s virtually impossible to ignore the fact that he’s a REAL person living in the SAME era as us like, aren’t we the luckiest people in the world UGH

p.s: requested? NOPE.

“down for your love”

“난 늘 목말라 babe”

(this line literally translates to: I’m always thirsty babe)

(i did NOT know what this song was about until i searched up the lyrics I DID NOT EXPECT THIS TURN OF EVENTS LOLOLOL)

you hear the music begin in the earpiece stuck in your left ear. your head naturally jerks on beat and shifts along with the melody, your dance partner dragging his finger along your arm and leans into your ear.

the crowd cheers and ‘hoots’ at the start, and you could hear jacob and kevin’s excessive screaming at the sight.

you wanted to smile and bask in the attention, but the music blasting in your earpiece stops you and your muscle memory takes over.

you’ve been preparing for this stage for so long; for the past three months in fact. you were in the school’s dance crew which was split into a dance-cover half and a self-producing half.

your dance partner snakes his arm around your waist, turning you around and stroking your hair ever so gently. your gaze was sharp as your laid your eyes on his jawline and you caress his neck.

“sexy mama!” you hear kevin yell at the top of his voice as you turn around and allow the music to guide your body across the stage with your dance partner’s hands still all over you.

other students were beginning to gather around, and the sudden realisation that you were performing in front of a potentially large audience of university students was so difficult to believe for some strange reason.

what you don’t notice though, was your boyfriend being exceptionally quiet. he and his crew were standing at the base of the stage that was set up in the middle of the concourse. despite jacob, kevin and the other boys hyping the hell out of your performance, his lips were sealed shut and he stood still like a statue.

lee juyeon was fuming.

“yah hyung, it’s just a performance,” eric runs over to juyeon and pouts, hugging his torso. he finds it difficult to perform the act of affection when juyeon has his arms crossed extremely tight across his chest.

but you were immersed in your own world on stage.

while your boyfriend was in the self-producing half of the dance crew alongside your best friends kevin and jacob, you were stuck in the dance-cover part because it was undeniable that the 11 boys were all too talented to be in the same half as you.

this was your first performance as part of the large dance crew, so everybody knew very well how much effort you’ve invested in it, how much time you’ve spent in the practise room with your dance partner.

all you wanted to do was to show your best and deliver a performance you’ve worked so hard for, not caring about the extent of intimacy the performance was supposed to display. if you wanted to show a great performance, then acting and professionalism were the two key ingredients.

that was what juyeon told you anyway.

the music finally comes to an end, and you finish by wrapping your arms around hyunjun, allowing him to completely hide you from the audience standing at the the bottom of the stage.

the other members of your crew and the boys erupt in loud cheers, signalling for you and hyunjun to turn and bow to the audience. you run off stage and watch as the boys head onto stage from the other side.

you were so excited to watch juyeon perform, because the last time you watched him dance, it was like walking into a whole new dimension. it was so difficult to choose only one member of his crew to watch because all they did was enhance each other’s abilities and talents.

hyunjun grabs you a chair and a bottle, opening one for himself as he stands next to you. working on that intimate dance cover not only brought the two of you closer, but it made you feel like you gained a new best friend.

naturally, you shift yourself so your butt only occupied half the space of the seat, and you pat on the empty half, inviting hyunjun to share the space with you. he looks at you with wide, questioning eyes, before you grab his arm and pull him down, forcing him to seat half his butt on it too.

you watch carefully as the 11 boys on stage get into position, and you feel a surge of overwhelming pride when you see a ton of girls start to gather around. phones and cameras were out and about, and you catch a glimpse of a few girls focusing their views on your boyfriend.

you smile widely, and hyunjun elbows you in the side.

“i know you’re proud but you don’t have to make it so obvious,” he teased, trying to stifle a laugh as he raised a brow at you. you pout playfully, elbowing him a little harder.

the song starts and juyeon’s head jerks along with the starting beats. usually he’d be looking dead straight, killing all his fangirls in the process.

but this time round, though he was facing straight ahead, his eyes were off axis and staring straight at you.

you get goosebumps, letting a prolonged “ohhhhhhhhhh” escape between your lips. you couldn’t help yourself as your face lights up at the eye contact, and the sight of all his fangirls dying around you was so gratifying.

“yah!” hyunjun burst out into giggles, punching your arm. “you don’t have to make it so obvious! else his fangirls would totally swamp you!”

you laugh out loud, feeling your face burn up. there was absolutely nothing in the world that could make you jealous, not when you knew that juyeon’s strength in performance was his stage presence and his eyes. he was bound to get his own fanclub, you were just one of the lucky fangirls who ended up dating him.

but over time, your aggressive screaming over the handsome boy faded into admiration, and he had to come to terms with the fact that it was terribly hard to make you jealous. you trusted him completely, so there was absolutely no reason for you to feel jealous despite all the girls drooling over him all the time.

throughout the performance, juyeon shoots you looks and glares that sent chills down your spine, and with every passing moment, hyunjun gradually got annoyed with you spitting out “ooooooooh”s and “ahhhhh”s, even when juyeon wasn’t center.

“ah, can you shut up?” hyunjun snickers, pulling you into a headlock and ruffling your hair.

“또 다른 날 깨우는 밤”

you hear his voice through the sound system, and the only thing that comes to mind was: “wah, how long did they take to get this choreography down?”

hyunjun releases you upon processing the question, his smile never once leaving his face. both of you were so satisfied with the performance you gave, it was almost impossible to wipe the smiles off your faces.

“i don’t know, there’s a reason why i’m in this half of the dance crew,” hyunjun snorts. before you could say anything else, two female students come up to hyunjun and asks for a selfie.

you smirk at him, for a moment forgetting that your man was giving his all on the stage.

the music stops and the now nearly all-girls audience begins screaming. the sharp, rumbling noise startles you, and you instinctively cover both your ears while hyunjun thanks the two girls who now each have a picture with him.

“WHOO! SICK STUFF!” you and hyunjun stand up, throwing fists into the air and screaming all the names of the boys on stage. your eyes naturally find juyeon, who was now smiling at the audience.

but strangely, his eyes didn’t look satisfied. it was so easy to read juyeon sometimes, you found it adorable.

you and hyunjun wait patiently by the chair you were just sharing as the boys come down and gather around you while the next group heads on stage. you give nearly all of them tight hugs, kevin and jacob especially giving you compliments on how believable your performance was with hyunjun.

“oh, you should’ve seen juyeon hyung’s face when hyunjun was nearly about to kiss your ear,” eric giggles with mischief and you laugh it off by gently pushing him backwards. you look at juyeon, who was circling the group and walking towards you.

“you did so well!” you exclaimed, throwing both arms in the air and over his shoulders. you had to tip-toe, thanks to his taller-than average height.

hyunjun grins at the other boys, giving them shoulder bumps and fist bumps while juyeon pats your head with a lack of emotion. but since you couldn’t see his face while you had your face in his chest, you don’t notice it.

the crew spends the rest of the performance time screaming and hyping up whoever was on stage. you let sangyeon and hyunjae share the lone chair, while you stand between juyeon and hyunjun.

you were so engrossed in the group that was performing on stage, all you did was yell and scream alongside hyunjun and kevin and jacob, never once picking up on juyeon being silent the entire time.

the performance period ends, and everybody congratulates each other for the impressive performances that required both time and effort in the last few months.

you wave goodbye to hyunjun and the other boys, juyeon following closely behind you as the you leave in the opposite direction from the boys.

“you were so good on stage, do you know that?” you grin widely, naturally wrapping your arm around his. he smiles emptily at you, his ends of his hair-sprayed blue hair sticking to his forehead due to the sweat.

you step back and admired him, who was still in his white and black outfit for the performance. you completely forget that you were also still in your slightly provocative outfit from your performance with hyunjun.

“yah... they really did it this time with that low-ass v-neck, huh?” you smirk at him, playfully pulling on the edge of his collar that dipped down so low between his pectorals.

“what about you and hyunjun?” he laughs, but it wasn’t a laugh you heard often. you pick up on it, but you try not to show it on your face. “they also really ‘did it this time’ with your all-black outfit. why’d you agree to let them put you in a tube top and leggings?”

you raise your eyebrows in surprise, and a smile of disbelief creeps up on your lips. you burst into giggles, grabbing his arm and interlocking your fingers with his.

“awww, is lee juyeon jealous?” you start to poke his upper arm and his chest where the v-neck was. “i let them dress me like this because of the performance! how were we going to sell that if we were dressed in pajamas?”

“no, but don’t you think hyunjun was too close to you all the time? i mean, if you were in a bar and you simply closed all the gaps between the both of you, it’ll totally look like you two were hooking up,” juyeon looks down at you, a tiny pitiful smile left on his lips.

you couldn’t help but to laugh again, nearly doubling over from the effort it took you to stop laughing.

“you were the one who told me that acting and being professional was the most important ingredient of a performance!” you were so engrossed in making your point, you don’t realise you were already at the doorstep of his room where he stayed. yours was just a few floors above.

thank god the dorm building you were staying in was close to where all the events happened.

juyeon glares at you while he pulls out his room key, and you do nothing but shake and twist on the spot.

juyeon finally gets the door open and you rush in before him, throwing your bag on the floor, wanting to collapse on the ground because you were just so satisfied.

you turn around, wanting to invite juyeon to sit with you on the floor and do nothing but talk about the performance.

but you freeze with a desire to laugh on the inside when you see the juyeon you only recognised on stage closing the door behind him.

a laugh crawls along your throat and you purse your lips, trying your best not to break out into a giggling frenzy.

“earth to lee juyeon?” you wave your hand loosely in front of him, but his eyes were looking at you like he did during the performance. it sent chills down your spine and you suddenly feel like you were one of his fangirls again, never mind the fact that you were actually dating him.

“uh... is anything... wrong?” you slowly start to back up, realising that juyeon’s completely lost his composure. juyeon doesn’t say a single word, but his eyes scream so many things that you had trouble reading him.

you suddenly remember how powerful he was on stage, and on top of that, the fact that he knew how you felt seeing him on stage.

“isn’t this a little unfair--” your voice gets stuck in your throat once you feel your back hit the cold, hard wall of his room. “you’re using your stage eyes and it’s unfair because you know i can’t handle them-- hnnng--”

you whine and turn away, feeling your heart mercilessly picking up its pace while juyeon traps you between both his arms.

“that’s exactly my point,” his voice was low and rumbled through the air between you. you wince at the sensation of his breath on your ear. suddenly, your provocative outfit doesn’t do anything to feed your confidence. it’s almost like your stage self had completely combusted and disappeared off the face of earth, because you were face-to-face with juyeon.

“i know i told you that those two things were important for a performance but i never expected you to go all out with them, especially with a provocative one.”

you lick your lips, still wanting to laugh from embarrassment. you were a mixture of intimidated and mischief, but right now, juyeon caging you was doing nothing to fuel your mischievous self. instead, it was completely killing it.

“does that mean i can’t do anymore provocative performances anymore?” you finally gather the courage to look at him straight in the eye. though his eyes were now dark and piercing, he was still your boyfriend after all.

you wait patiently for him to respond, but all he does is crash his lips onto yours without warning.

you feel the heat from him radiate into your chest and stomach, and his hands were now on your bare waist where your tube top doesn’t cover.

“you can still do provocative performances--” he huffs through kisses. “but you either do them with me, or you promise me you’ll do nothing that looks like a discount hook-up session.”

you laugh into the kiss, feeling his stage self slowly disappear as the kisses become lighter.

“oh, i’ll gladly do a provocative performance with you, and you know what?” you pull away, brushing his hair aside and noticing your lipstick smudged on his.

“i’ll gladly do one without an audience.”

#timetohajima #timetohajima playlist feels #whoa had to stop myself there #i was contemplating if i should include light smut content #but i couldn't really see juyeon doing anything remotely dirty #idk #lee juyeon #the boyz #the boyz juyeon #the boyz lee juyeon #lee juyeon fanfic #lee juyeon one shot #idk is this an au?#fluff #jealous juyeon #boyfriend juyeon #aaaaaaaaaaaa

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trainsinanime · 4 years ago

Text

Let’s talk about railway electrification systems; not so much because any of you care but because I want to talk about it (and because I talked with some people about it on Twitter recently and had a lot of fun with that).

There are four main voltages that overhead lines for european railroads can have (and most of this translates to other countries as well):

1500 V DC

3000 V DC

15000 V AC at 16.7 Hz frequency

25000 V AC at 50 Hz (aka normal) frequency

These are generally divided along country lines; every country has one (or somtimes two) of these that it uses, usually chosen without any regard for what their neighbours used. Why?

Well, because back at the start of the 20th century, everyone had different ideas and different trade-offs and different decisions, and those choices made sense to them at the time. Many of these factors have changed since; for example, after World War 1, France explicitly decided on 1500 V DC so that german locomotives (running on 15 kV AC) could not run into the country. It made sense then, it’s a pain in the butt now.

But why those values in particular, and what were the tradeoffs?

The Motor

The key for that is the “Universal Motor” (for my german-speaking followers: Einphasen-Reihenschlussmotor), a type of electric motor that was the standard for electric railways and many other applications from the first electric locomotives until 1980.

I’m not going to go into details; the important part is that this motor is essentially a DC motor, but due to its wiring, it can also run on AC. There’s a bit of an issue, though: Powerful universal motors don’t really run well at industrial frequencies (50-60 Hz); they prefer lower ones. Other than that, the motor is bulletproof and powerful and easily the best thing that doesn’t require computer control.

Your standard railway spec motor, small enough to fit comfortably into the running gears of a train, will take somewhere between 600 V and 750 V (with quite a wide margin at either end). To this day, most streetcar systems, subways, and some odd commuter rail lines (in particular most of the south of England) use just those 600-750 V directly, as DC current, because the motor runs better that way.

More Power

But low voltage means low power. Power is voltage times current, and more current means generating more heat in the overhead power lines. For a given level of power, having more volts means needing less current, which is better for the power lines. And any design of power line will have a hard limit of how many amps of current you can send through it before it’ll melt. You can build lines for more current, but that’s expensive.

The low power does not only mean that each individual train gets a low amount of power, but also that the number of trains in a given section has to be low. So you need a lot of power supply stations (substations).

So the first idea was to connect two universal motors in series. That takes 1500 V, and you get either twice the power at the same current, or need half the current for the same power. That is what is used for example in the Netherlands, France and Japan.

1500 V is still fairly low, though, so why not double that? For 3000 V DC, you connect all four motors in your typical four-axle train car in series. Again, more power, less current. That system is used in Belgium, Spain, Italy, Poland, Czech Republic, Slovakia, former Soviet Union and a couple of others.

You can’t really go beyond that, though, at least with 1920s tech. Your modern USB charger is actually an incredible feat of engineering; it took decades to reach that level. At the time, if the DC voltage you got out of the power station didn’t match your needs, then there was no easy solution.

Transformation Sequence

This was not true for AC power, where you can use a transformer, an incredibly simple piece of technology. With AC, you can essentially use as high a voltage as you want. The limit here is insulation: The higher the voltage, the more space you need to have between the roof of the locomotive and the wires, and between wires and bridges and so on. The European countries that went that route settled on 15000 Volts as a good compromise.

The problem with that is that the universal motor doesn’t like 50 Hz (or 60 Hz) frequency that you get from the normal grid. The solution is to run the whole thing with less frequency. That’s why the frequency in the line is 16.7 Hz (originally 16 2/3rds Hz). This system, 15000 V AC at 16.7 Hz, is used in Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Norway and Sweden (but notably not Denmark), and it has stood the test of time well. For the Americans reading this, the 12 kV at 25 Hz used in the north-east by the Pennsylvania and Reading railroads is essentially the same thing, just slightly different values.

The problem with this thing is that you absolutely need that transformer. And, for reasons that I don’t quite understand, the lower your frequency, the larger your transformer has to be. 16.7 Hz is fairly low, so you need a very heavy transformer. Compared to a low-voltage DC system, you need fewer substations and a less expensive overhead line, but you need more expensive and heavier locomotives. That is a very real trade-off: Many of the DC countries have a long history of small, quick EMUs, while it took much longer for AC systems to develop those; they required heavy locomotives or much heavier EMUs.

Trade-offs

In the 1920s and 1930s, when the foundations of modern electric networks were laid, these were the systems and considerations available, and given the train performances at the time, it’s hard to argue that anyone really choose wrongly. I keep saying that 1500 V means low power, but the french reached a world record for high speed trains at 331 km/h (a bit over 200 mph) in 1955 with that system.

High Frequency

In the 1930s, hungarian engineer Kálmán Kandó, already an incredibly important figure in the development of modern electric trains, developed phase converters for railway use, which changed the game completely. These things were at the time heavy mechanical devices that combined a motor and a generator, and could transform any sort of electricity into any other. This means you can use the normal 50 or 60 Hz power that comes from the national grid, and then transform them into something else in the locomotive, instead of using some weird 16.7 Hz thing. This means cheaper lineside equipment and smaller transformers. You need the converter, but that pays off almost immediately.

(I'm over-simplifying here; there is a number of technologies and types of motors that allow using 50 Hz; the phase converter was the first, but is far from the only.)

Railways at the time were very interested in that, but then there was a whole second world war, which put everything on hold for a while. After the war, engineers in various countries perfected it, and along bumped up the voltage to 25000 V for more power with not that much more insulation required (the one exception to this is Japan, which went for 20000 V instead). This 25 kV at 50 Hz (or 60 Hz where applicable) is nowadays generally considered the best system if you can choose freely.

All countries that have 1500 V or 3000 V also have more or less extensive networks with 25 kV 50 Hz; sometimes just for high-speed lines, often for about half the country. A number of countries that started electrification comparatively late only have 25 kV 50 Hz. The countries that already have 15 kV 16.7 Hz have stuck with it, though; 25 kV 50 Hz is better, but not so much better that it justified all the expense of adding a new system.

(Exceptions exist but are very rare; feel free to ask me about the Rübelandbahn.)

Modern Locomotives

On the locomotive side, things have drastically changed starting in the late 1970s. Thanks to modern microelectronics and modern power electronics (sadly nobody calls them macroelectronics), phase and voltage converters have become small, lightweight and incredibly versatile; they’ll convert anything to anything else and back if you design them properly. That makes it relatively simple to build a locomotive or EMU that can use all of these different voltages, something that used to be quite a major engineering feat.

The default approach as of right now is that you have a big transformer (no way around that, for now) for AC voltages, with different output settings for 15 and 25 kV (this was always easy). It has to be the 16.7 Hz size, sadly. The output voltage in the 1500-3000 V range gets turned to DC. If you’re running under DC, you just use that DC directly. No matter how you got that DC, you’re now putting it into another converter (typically one per wheel set or one per bogie), which turns it into three-phase AC, at a frequency that corresponds to the speed you want to go. This sounds complicated, but works well in practice, to the point that all new locomotives nowadays support either both 1500 V DC and 3000 V DC, or both 15 kV AC and 25 kV AC, or all four. You can’t get a new e.g. 15 kV AC locomotive anymore. Even ones that are designed just for one country and advertised as doing only 15 kV will actually be able to run with 25 kV, just because nobody thought it worth the effort to design a 15 kV only transformer.

(This is not true for EMUs, since those are designed to run mostly locally instead of through the entire continent. You can get them in multiple voltage, but most are designed for just one.)

Where do we go from here?

The current system is a mess that is interesting to me, but a bit of a problem for railroads. In the olden days, you’d just change the locomotive at the border anyway, so it didn’t matter much; but nowadays you want to run your freight train from Rotterdam to Genua non-stop if you can. While multi-system locomotives have become a lot cheaper than they used to be, the whole thing is still very annoying for cross-border traffic. It's not the only annoying thing about european cross-border rail traffic, but it's a factor.

Also, train sizes, speeds and power requirements have increased drastically (air conditioning in passenger trains is actually a big deal in terms of power use). AC systems have been able to cope; DC systems less so. Both Belgium and the Netherlands have quite a lot of diesel locomotives pulling freight trains on electric lines, because they can simply produce more power. One manufacturer offers electric locomotives (the Stadler Euro9000) that have a diesel motor to boost the power under DC (and for shunting on tracks that have no overhead lines). Clearly, the old DC system needs to go.

But that’s easier said than done. Converting a line to 25 kV is quite expensive. You need new insulators at every single overhead line mast, but even more importantly, you need to check for safety clearance at every bridge over the railway, and, if necessary, raise bridges or lower tracks accordingly. Tunnels get even more fun. And, of course, all line side power equipment needs to be swapped out. This isn't impossible, but it is very expensive, and while it has happened in some places, it hasn’t happened a lot.

The Netherlands, for example, are currently running on 1.5 kV DC and did consider switching to 25 kV AC. All modern equipment there actually has a bit of empty space where you can fit a transformer. But the cost of upgrading the lines was judged too high. Right now ProRail, the company in charge of the network, is proposing upgrading from 1.5 kV to… 3 kV DC, of all things. It seems like a minor deal, but it still allows doubling the power output, for much less cost. Will it happen? No clue.

Meanwhile, in France, there is research going to make use of the new electronics. Researchers there figure that 9 kV DC is something you can do very well; modern electronics should allow stepping that down even more efficiently than a big 50 Hz transformer could. This seems to be mainly because the government does not want to pay to change the 1500 Volt lines there to 25 kV.

On the other end of the spectrum, the topic of 50 kV AC keeps popping up every now and then. A few lines like that already exist, most notably a large one in South Africa. In the US, the Black Mesa and Lake Powell railway used this system and ran coal trains from a mine to a power station; it's closed since 2019, because the power plant closed, because shale gas and renewables are just plain cheaper than coal. It's an interesting bit of railway history lost, but definitely a net win for the planet.

From a technical point of view, there's nothing particularly difficult about this. The Black Mesa and Lake Powell actually used a number of locomotives built for 25 kV and just changed the windings in the main transformer. The big problem is safety distances, which are much bigger than for 25 kV. There is no mainstream push for 50 kV at the moment, but it keeps coming up in discussions about "should US railroads electrify their lines" as a possibility.

Finally, in the 15 kV countries, there is some thought about 15 kV at 50 Hz. In Germany, the idea is to use this for short recharging sections for electric trains with batteries. Using 50 Hz saves the expense of a frequency converter. Personally, I don't see why those sections couldn't be 25 kV, but I guess it makes things a bit cheaper (EMUs, unlike locomotives, still come in 15 kV only versions).

In the US, this is actually already a thing; some lines in the North-East (I think primarily for New Jersey Transit) were changed from 12 kV 25 Hz to 12.5 kV 60 Hz when the 1920s era line-side equipment needed replacing. For the newer trains there, this requires at most a software update.

So… that’s the current situation. It’s not likely to get better any time soon, and if the french 9kV DC plans go through, it may actually get a bit worse, but modern locomotive technology has evolved to cope. There’s no point to this post, I just think it’s fun.

#railroads #trains #rail electrification #voltage #overhead line #locomotives

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trashcatsnark · 4 years ago

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I recently found you through all of your silverv posts (which are amazing by the way!) and I was wondering, how does Aidan handle not being able to hear Johnny in her head after they seperate and get him his own body (because yes it's canon, we don't accept any other endings here). I imagine it would be hard for her as she got used to not having to use her hearing aids to hear him.

Ahhhhhh!!!!! Thank you so much for enjoying my posts and also thank you so much for asking about my V, I often worry a lot I bring Aidan up too much in response to things because I have absolute brainrot for my oc babies. So, thank you so much for giving me excuse.

But in regards to that; Aidan hates it and she hates that she hates it. For so much of her life, silence was her comfort. Despite all losing her hearing put her through when it comes to her Nomad “family”, it gifted her this way to shut the world out when it becomes too much. It gave her a wall she could always put up when she was tired of the world and the people in it. She didn’t have hearing aids for years following the loss of her hearing and the first time she was given them and put them in; she cried and ripped them out, because the world was too fucking loud. Even as she’s gotten use to them, she maintains them on low volume. The world has always had a mute button and volume control, which she likes. Her deafness isolated and othered her among her clan, but she learned to use it to grant herself peace as well. She prefers more often than not to be without them, nothing better after a long day of bullshit, to put the world on mute and to be left to her own silent little world.

Then Johnny comes in and he gets through that, barges his way into her peace and destroys the silence of her little world. The one person she can’t mute and he’s also someone who never shuts up. And in the early stages, even past his initial...first impression, he is at times entirely too much. And it feels as if something has been taken from her (and tbf a lot has been taken from her) her peace, her tranquility, her little quiet world where she could just breathe and be is gone because this stupid yelling old man had to set up shop in her brain.

But time goes on, communication gets better, relationship gets better, Johnny starts to grow, she starts to grow and he’s no longer an intruder in her little world but apart of it. It’s now their little word where only they exist, they only hear one another, only communicate with one another, just them, a world no one else can really intrude on. And that becomes her new sense of peace and comfort, Johnny does (Though she’d never word it that way, cause it sounds needy and dependent and lovey dovey, but he’s become her comfort and peace)

And then everything changes, as it so often does, and woohoo everything’s fixed, but now Johnny’s voice is something she can’t hear no matter what anymore. And she hates it so much, because now she’s forced to hear everything else always if she also wants to hear Johnny and she always wants to hear Johnny. Now that she wants to hear him, no matter what, she can’t. It hardly seems fair. And she hates how needy and desperate and clingy it sounds, but god the world doesn’t feel right when she can’t hear him. The first time he talks to her afterwards and she has hearing aids out, she realizes she can’t hear him, she nearly wants to cry. She always wore her “weakness” like armor, used it to protect herself after others used it to hurt her, used the barrier it provided to stay safe; but she doesn’t want that between her and Johnny, she doesn’t need it with Johnny.

For a long long while, she’ll be wearing her hearing aids more than she ever did before. Because she doesn’t wanna miss out on hearing him, doesn’t want to ever be without his voice. Once upon a time she yoinked them out as soon as she got home, but now she’s falling asleep with them in, because she wants to listen to him as she drifts off. But, hearing aids aren’t comfortable to wear 24/7, they can itch and irritate after so long and rub the skin raw. And she’ll try to pretend like that isn’t happening, because she knows she’ll be nagged about taking them out for a while. But, Johnny lived in her head, he knows what’s happening, catches her rubbing and itching at her ears more, starts to see them getting redder. And he’s telling her gently, you need to take them out and she’ll pout even though she knows he’s right. So, she starts to limit her time using them as much as she hates being without his voice...being without any part of him really.

If she’s truly frustrated and desperate and upset, she may even entertain the idea of getting cochlear implants, something she was always sternly against. And Johnny does his best not to get mad when he learns that because he knows it’ll be her choice at the end of the day, but if she only is thinking of it because of him, that’s not right and a huge thing to do because spoiler alert, you’ll be taking away your volume control and mute button. And Johnny knows what happens when she gets overwhelmed and overstimulated by noise, he doesn’t want her putting herself through that daily just to hear him.

And like with anything it takes time to adjust and grow used to it. Growing pains of both her and Johnny completing forgetting she can’t hear him without them. So, he’ll talk about something extensively or call her name or start to kind of sing a new tune that just popped in his head and be like “why is she ignoring me? did I do something wrong? did i forget something? did I fuck up?” and then see her hearing aids on the bed side table and be like “oh thank fuck, i thought I was in trouble.” Or because she sometimes even spoke out loud to him as an engram, she’ll start a conversation or ask him something, not hear the answer and be like “oh...right...”

And eventually can accept, well maybe without her hearing aids she can’t hear him but she can hold him, feel him, lay her head on his chest and feel the rise and fall of his breaths, if he hums while she’s like that she can feel the reverberation and vibration of it in her chest, when she lays on him she can feel it when he talks even if she can’t hear it (sometimes she wonders if he just makes up nonsense to say or what he may say in those moments since he knows she wont hear, he never explains and she’s still deciding if she wants to hide a recorder somewhere in the apartment to find out later) She slowly becomes comforted and okay with the fact that while she doesn’t have him the way she did before, she does have him and that alone is more than enough.

I also like the idea that there’s bleed over between Johnny and V following separation, things that stuck from the other person. Because, you can’t fuse, be separated and it be a clean perfect divide. You can’t blend red and blue then be surprised when you get purple. They leave traces of one another behind. And with my V, I like the idea that Johnny ends up with some sign language knowledge. Not fluent afterwards but she’ll catch him absent mindedly throwing an asl sign in with his usual hand gestures, which he didn’t even know he knew. And from there, he takes to actually learning it fully because while lip reading tech is way better in 2077, its still not always perfect and he knows her well enough to know how much she just appreciates people making that effort for her. He’s never quite perfect at it, because he has a habit of talking with his hands already and using a lot of hand gestures, so sometimes he’s trying to sign but instinctively does his own little hand motion. Hand talking is a habit he can’t really break and, quite frankly, Aidan doesn’t expect nor want him too. She still understands it fine, because after being brain roomates she understands him in most situations, and affectionately calls it Johnny Sign Language.

Eventually, its just normal life and she’s not even afraid to use it to joke around and be a shit head, or avoid his nagging at times, because how could she not.

Johnny: So-

Aidan: Wait, is this about Arasaka, again?

Johnny: Yeah, but-

Aidan: *pulls out hearing aids while maintaining direct eye contact*

Though even so far into it, there will be real bad days, just days where her brain is not kind to her, where she’s struggling with the weight of all she’s endured, when she just needs all of him; needs to hear and feel him, needs to feel like he’s all hers again, like they’re in their own world and nothing else matters, a bubble where only he exists to her, so she’ll insist on wearing her hearing aids to bed, laying on his chest, volume on low so she can only really hear him, and having him talk to her about anything and everything, and once she’s fallen asleep he has to gently take them out and lay them on the bed side table for her.

Also also, I didn’t get as into it, because this is already long as fucccck because i could talk about my ocs for actual years, but I also think Johnny struggles with feeling less special when suddenly she needs hearing aids to hear him. Because he kind of being the possessive man he is liked that there were times when he was all she could hear and that meant all the focus was on him. And now he’s just another person she can shut out if she chooses to do so.

oKAY SHUTTING UP NOW AND THANKS SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME SCREAM FOR THREE YEARS

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #female v #aidan becker #aidan v becker #SERIOUSLY THANK YOU SO MUCH AS YOU CAN SEE I REALLY HAVE MASSIVE BRAIN ROT FOR MY OC #THIS WAS REALLY FUN TO GET A CHANCE TO RAMBLE ABOUT THANK YOUUU #seraphfighter

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nighttimepixels · 4 years ago

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Alright alright, I’ve had liquid courage and we’ll say that this is for the best, moment important science. Sapphic science!! Which of the Lilytale ladies would love their significant other dancing only for them in their underwear or lingerie?? If all, then what’re their general reactions? 👀✨

Bless you and your liquid courage >:Dc

Answer below the cut bc things get... saucy 👀

All of them are into it.

I mean, that’s practically a given, right? Hot damn, their s/o giving them a private show like that? Dressed up (or dressed down ;D) and feeling flirty/teasing/into them so much that they want to give them a little show~?

Count these ladies down.

The only question then is just how they specifically react - and how long such a dance might last before the lady in question breaks and has to show you just how much they appreciate your hard work >:3c

Serif (Lady UT Sans): What, she gets to lay back and simply appreciate how gorgeous her s/o is? Heart eyes all the way. Be prepared though bc she’s going to keep complimenting you in a low, flirty voice until you cave - and then she’s pulling you onto her lap, hands trailing to every place she’s already memorized will get you just as riled as you’ve gotten her~

Vellum (Lady UT Pap): Her cheekbones are burning, and as much as she tries to stay still- she can’t help herself! You’re so gorgeous, and attractive, and she’s never much been one for sitting still even as much as she enjoys appreciating fine art - your dance for her will turn into a mutual dance before you find her lifting you into her arms in that perfect way that allows you to wrap your legs around her and... well, a very different kind of dance is on the menu, then ;D

Sapphire (Lady US Sans): Has she died and gone to heaven? She might as well have. Sapphire’s never been terribly spiritual, but in that moment she’s considering going to her knees and doing some dedicated worship indeed. >v> Count her as a rather uncooperative but delightful audience before long - she can’t keep her hands off you, even if she won’t interrupt the dance itself. Prepare for teasing touches to linger more and more, tracing and becoming part of the dance itself - before her mouth joins in, and you might just need to take a seat and let her show you her own moves~

Amber (Lady US Pap): Absolute prayhands meme. She’s sitting back, lounging, her s/o dressed like this and dancing for her-? One of the hardest to resist, actually, because her bedroom eyes are at full power. All the confidence in the world still finds a hard time not caving into the way she’s somehow both cherishing you in adoration in that glance, and also undressing you and promising a night full of her showing you just what she’s confident she can do to you. Also though, liable to be putty in your hands at the same time. Make thigh highs part of your lingerie look and I hope you’re not looking to sleep anytime soon... or walk on the jelly legs you’re going to be left with ;D

Crimson (Lady UF Sans): Is facing an absolute internal crisis. She can’t interrupt this absolute genie’s wish of a moment, but also can’t resist you. Extremely liable to turn into a very handsy lapdance, complete with dirty talk so sweet and filthy alike that your ears are going to be burning for days. She’s going to make sure you know just how lucky she feels to be with you - and how much she’d love to see any show you’d like to put on for her, anytime...♡♡♡

Scarlet (Lady UF Pap): Has turned the color of her namesake. Holy shit, she’s written this sort of thing before, but... no one’s ever actually done it for her - you might end up interrupted if only because Scarlet’s going to implode if she doesn’t do something. Prepare to be passionately ravaged - by the end of the night, though, she’ll end up murmuring into the crown of your head as you cuddle exhausted and brought to shall-we-say satisfaction maaaany times over - that perhaps, if you’d be willing to do so again, she might resist longer... if not though, then, well, this sort of development seems mutually enjoyable too, no? ;D

Pepper (Lady SF Sans): Stars help her you’re going to end her and she wouldn’t want it any other way. Of course, prepare to be domme’d to hell and back following this... but gods, with what praise. She’s sorely tempted to ask you to record it - in the single moment she can scrape together enough braincells to think about anything other than you and the way you move, the way you look - but decides in the end she’d much rather have the real you... tangled up with her, keening her name in that perfect way you do. Extremely liable to end up pinning you to the nearest wall/floor and not even make it to the bed, though she’ll appreciate every moment of your dance first~

Cinnamon (Lady SF Pap): ... Is pretty sure she’s having the best dream ever. Literally, it’s not until you brush your touch to her bones for the first time in the dance that she snaps out of her lovestruck and horny stupor - her gaze has been predatory in the best way, and now it’s downright ravenous. She leans back and catches you by the wrist, then the waist, her claws sliding delicatedly up the curve of your back - and you find yourself divested of your clothing before you can even realize it, as her other hand has gotten rather busy in that skilled way that always makes you gasp and moan a little. Yeah, this is going to be another deliciously long night... and she’ll be hoping for more in the future, if you’re willing. ;)c

Blade (Lady HT Sans): Honestly one of the most liable to ‘break’ the fastest. It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate it - but rather, appreciates it so much (that you’d think her worth the effort like that, broken, beat up her, slower to the punch than the rest of the girls, no matter her other qualities...) that she just can’t resist showing you, immediately. Also can’t quite move like that herself, and knows it - but she can send you to heaven so many times in one night you forget your own name... and she’s intending to do just that, all the while imprinting on her struggling memory just what you looked like, dancing like that for her. <3

Twist (Lady HT Pap): Well, you’d have to really modify a dance like that for her anyways, given the fact that Twist is blind... very hands on from the start. Twist admittedly likes it - loves to feel the way you can move like that, so smooth and sweet and deliberate, just for her, even when she can’t properly see you to appreciate some of the finer points... but, well, being so hands on means it quickly devolves into an even more intimate dance. And Twist has always adored being a giver in this field, particularly liking to wreck you in the best ways until all your worries and the world fades away, leaving nothing but the two of you entwined, so... hope you don’t mind that being the natural process for dancing for Twist! ♡

Alpha (Lady Q Sans): An absolute connoisseur. Quite possibly the perfect audience, all things said and done - the perfect balance of surprised, delighted, and turned on, making all the right comments, teasing flirts, occasional tempting touches before you dance away again, the re-approach... the perfect sort of devolving as the dance breaks down into wanting grasps, kisses at the column of your throat, her arms pulling you in so you’re straddling her lap... and so much more to come ✧(ô▿ô )

Glyph (Lady G!Sans): Is the one most likely to end up straight up dancing with you. She’ll be teasing and flirty and turned on by the display and the desire behind it... and then she’s catching you as she rises, turning the whole thing into a slow, languid, passionate dance where there’s hardly any space between you. Prepare for another long night, and more than likely to be edged until you at last crash over the peak in a way that’ll feel like your whole-ass soul left your body. Glyph knows how to treat an s/o right.

Dusk (Lady HF Sans): Absolutely blown away, hardly conceived of this as... an option??? Still baffled, but you can see the deeper flare of desire in her eyelight as it blows wide and shrinks down once more... settling into a tiny heart. It’s been a long, long time since attraction ever begot this sort of thing for her - and that you’d do it for her, well... She’ll be fiercely committing this moment to memory, but prepare to take a seat before too long on her face your throne so she can properly show you her appreciation ;)c

Dawn (Lady HF Pap): The size difference here could be comical, but for her, it just emphasizes what she already knew - that you’re the greatest treasure she could ever protect and dedicate herself too. Her touches once they come are tentative - so aware of your smaller size - but no less enamored for it. All but obsessed at the fact you’d do something like this for her - and she won’t just take a night, but several days to prove it to you. With breaks for homemade snacks, of course - gotta keep her perfect little human fueled up as she completely rocks their world ;Dc

#night answers #lilytale asks #lime i suppose #but yes my gods #just blow their minds and make their whole lives why don't you #fuck everybody else i respect YOU rad #XDD #12/10 ask #✧(ô▿ô )#radpunch

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slytherinbarnes · 4 years ago

Text

Sub Rosa [50]

v. the tinder box

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: bruising, fighting, violence, explosions/fire, near death.

Summary: tensions with the Ice Nation come to a head as Clarke desperately tries to stop a war.

a/n: HAPPY CHAPTER 50!!!! HALFWAY, WOW!!! to those of you who have been with this series from the beginning, thank you! to those of you who just recently jumped onto this wild ride, thank you! to those of you who may be reading this in the future, thank you! thank you to all of the love, support, comments, messages, and interaction. i love you all so much and I can’t believe we’ve made it this far! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!! also yes I know this is a day late, this post just disappeared in my drafts??? and I wasn’t able to reupload until today. ch 51 will go up on saturday and then we’ll resume regular posting next week!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

March 19th, 2150; somewhere near Arkadia

You don't know how long you’ve been walking for, but based on the growing pain in your legs and the soreness in your feet, it’s been a long time. You can't see anything through the sack over your face, but you are able to see the light filtering through the spaces in the fabric. Based on the fact that you started marching in early evening the night before and it’s now light outside, you can guess that you’ve put in about 18 straight hours of walking, no stops in between to camp or rest.

You know that Kane and Bellamy are nearby, because you can hear the chains on their hands and wrists jingling as they move. Every few hours one of you tentatively whispers the other two’s names, despite the fact that every time you do, the guards around you smack all of you in punishment. You’re sure that a bruise is steadily growing on your left arm, but the pain is worth it for the reassurance that you’re not alone.

You’re thinking about calling out to the two men again, since it’s your turn in the rotation, when Echo’s voice rings out loud and clear around you. “Hod op!”

Halt! You are pulled to a stop by your guard, and you feel tension run through your body at the thought that this is it, you’ve arrived at Arkadia. But before you can contemplate that any further, a familiar voice yells, “We need to talk.”

You smile underneath your disguise, and breathe out, “Clarke.”

You hear Bellamy mutter, “What? Clarke?”

You’re unable to answer him because you receive a harsh hit to your shoulder, deepening your already bruised arm, but Roan confirms your suspicions when he yells, “Reinja! Lok Wanheda in!”

Archers! Target Wanheda! Your breath stutters in your throat, and you can hear movement all around you as the archers take position, but the sound of death doesn't follow, and no cry of victory over Wanheda is called. You hear movement again, this time accompanied by a murmur of anxiety, and you suspect that Clarke had a trick up her sleeve that the Ice Nation wasn't expecting. Echo is next to announce their play, “Lid honon-de in!

Bring in the prisoners! You are grabbed by your guard and led forward a few steps until you are pushed down to your knees. You hear Bellamy and Kane pushed down beside you. Then the bag is yanked off your head, flooding your vision with bright sunlight. You blink against it, trying to readjust your eyes to the light, the world suddenly coming back into view. As it does, you see that you aren't at Arkadia, not yet anyways. You’re in the stone ravine on the way to camp, about 20 miles out. You feel your guard at your back, sword held out towards you, waiting for the command to rid you of your head. The thought makes you uneasy.

“Your move, Wanheda.” Clarke stands a few hundred feet away, looking at the three of you in shock, and you can see emotion threatening to overtake her. But then she remembers where she’s at and who’s watching, and she composes herself. “Ten minutes, that’s all I ask.”

She turns and walks away without an answer, knowing that the Ice King will follow. And he does, dismounting from his horse with grace, despite Echo’s protests. “Wait, where's she going? What if it's a trap?”

“It is a trap. We're already in it.” When he turns back to answer her, you can see green dots spotted along his chest, signaling the use of rifle scopes on the precipes up above. You smile a little, happy to have the support. He turns and walks away, following Clarke into the woods, and one by one the green dots drop away from him. save for one, which lingers on the King a full minute longer than the others, before it also drops away. As soon as Roan is out of sight, Echo takes up command. “The king is clear. Archers, the first gunshot you hear, loose your arrows. Infantry, on my command, scatter and climb. Kill until there's no one left.”

Beside you, Kane scoffs. “This is insane, they knew you were coming. We have thousands of rounds, you'll be the ones with no one left.”

As soon as Kane mentions Skaikru having the element of surprise, a hopeful look passes over Bellamy’s face. You peer at him, trying to make sense of it, until you remember his words from last night. Octavia will warn them you're coming, you’ll lose. You feel hope rush through you at the thought of your best friend, your second sister, still alive, despite Echo's best efforts. Kane sees the expression on both yours and Bellamy's faces, and he looks between you in confusion. “What?”

“They thought they had the element of surprise, but we did.” Bellamy’s voice is low, but hopeful. “Someone warned them.”

“You think it was Octavia?”

“She's alive.”

A smile passes over Kane’s face at the thought, and for a while, though still captive, the three of you sit in the middle of an Azgeda army, hopeful that maybe all hope isn't lost. Of course, in typical “chaos of the Earth” fashion, it doesn't last long. The guard behind Kane suddenly yells out, “Look out, Skaikru!”

You all look up in alarm as a figure makes its way towards you, hands lifted in surrender, and only when they get closer do you realize that it's Monty. “I’m unarmed. I need to talk to whoever's in charge.”

One of the guards runs over and grabs him, tossing him to the ground near the three of you. As Monty pulls himself up, Bellamy grabs his arm, holding him in place, and whispers, “Is Octavia alive?”

Monty nods, and relief rushes through all of you. A smile breaks free on Bellamy's face, but he quickly hides it when Echo slides off her horse and walks over to your group. “Speak.”

Monty's arms are still lifted in surrender as he watches the spy, “One of our people has moved out of formation. I've reason to believe he's going to the cave to try to kill your king.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

You turn and snap, “Why do you think he's telling you this? He's trying to stop a massacre.”

Kane looks at Monty, his expression serious. “Who is it?”

“Riley.”

You and Bellamy exchange a look, remembering the condition you found Riley and the others in, the captivity and torture they had endured, at the hands of the Ice Nation, no less. Bellamy turns his focus back to Monty. “Riley? He shouldn't even be here.”

“That seems to be the consensus.”

Echo turns and motions to two soldiers nearby, “Yu en yu, ogeda kom ai. Tsa bants.”

You and you, with me. Let’s go. Kane immediately starts to protest, “Wait! If our snipers see archers on the move, they'll open fire.”

“I will not allow my king to be assassinated.”

Bellamy argues, “He doesn't have to be. I know Riley, let me come with you. I can stop him.”

You look towards him in alarm, shaking your head. “Bellamy-”

Echo cuts you off as she stands glaring at your boyfriend, “Do you think me a fool, Bellamy?”

“You'll be a dead fool if you step out of this kill box without me. Use Monty's radio and let Kane tell them we're working together to find Riley, and they'll let us pass.”

She thinks about this for a second before nodding at Monty to pass his radio to Kane. He complies, and Kane immediately switches into Chancellor mode, voice serious. “This is Chancellor Kane.”

On the other end, Miller’s father answers, “Sir, are you all right?”

“Listen to me, Bellamy's working with one of theirs to find Riley. You let them through, understood?”

“Copy that.”

Echo turns to Bellamy's guard. “Take off his chain.”

His guard complies, leaving the reatriants on his wrists, but freeing his legs. And then, she surprises everyone by turning to you. “I want this one too.”

Bellamy and Kane both start to protest. “Echo, that wasn't part of-”

“...really not necessary to-”

But she shuts them both up by lifting her sword to your neck. “Her twin is in the cave with the king, and Bellamy is in love with her. If Riley isn't stopped, she dies first.”

Panic grips your heart as you wonder if it’s even possible to stop Riley in a vendetta for revenge as large as this one. Despite Roan having no involvement in his imprisonment, Riley seems to think the king’s death is the only retribution. It’s hard to stop ideas like that. Just ask Pike. Your guard frees your feet but leaves your hands chained together, same as Bellamy, and Echo motions to Monty. “And put the chain on this one. If I'm not back before the sun goes past the trees, kill the hostages.”

Bellamy holds his bound hands out to Echo, indicating that she should free him completely, but she ignores him and shoves him forward before grabbing you and pushing you behind him. As you follow the path that Roan and Clarke took, Bellamy muses, “So much for building trust.”

He leads your trio through the woods, straight into the setting sun, towards the cave to stop Riley, and all the while, Echo keeps her sword at your back. One wrong move and she's ready to end you, without hesitation. As Bellamy leads you down the path, he motions to a nearby ridge. “That ridge gives the best sight line to the cave, that's where we'll find him.”

“Are you really willing to kill your own man to save my king?”

Bellamy stops in place, and turns to face her, rolling his eyes as he does. “Don't you get sick of it? Sides; my man, your king. Praimfaya doesn't give a damn about what clan you're from.”

Echo ignores the jab, and focuses only on the impending doom of the human race. “I'm glad you'll get a chance to say goodbye to your sister before it comes...unless we all die here today.”

A flash of surprise passes over Bellamy’s face, but you aren't surprised to hear the words from her. Despite all of your disdain for the spy, she’s smart. Smart enough to know that if Skaikru had the advantage, Octavia had to have survived, as impossible as it seems. Bellamy's jaw tightens at the mention of his sister, from her almost killer, and he turns and starts walking again before he quips, “If you had killed her, these chains would be around your neck.”

“It's like Queen Nia used to say: war makes murderers of us all.”

The words leave you and Bellamy in silence, both of you considering the truth to them. Has war made you a murderer? You get a flash of a memory, five notches carved into the handle of your knife, and that’s just from the kills you used the knife with. That doesn't include Atom, any of the people from Mount Weather, or the various Grounders, guards, and people you killed along the way, just to save yourself. It also doesn't include anyone you killed indirectly, a death caused because you had a hand in it in some way, whether you meant to or not. Gina. The Farm Station survivors in Mount Weather. Pike. Monroe. Lincoln. Your father. Stephens. You have the horrifying realization that the idea you've always tried to fight, the thing you never wanted to become, has happened. You’re a killer. A monster in some people’s eyes, maybe a savior in the eyes of others. But the fact still remains that you're a killer. It's not an idea you’ve thought extensively about, because the truth of it makes you sick to your stomach. Never did you ever imagine that the little girl who used to listen to stories about space and constellations, who longed to see the world on the other side of her door, would grow up to become someone who took a life and rarely thought of it again.

Bellamy pulls you out of your thoughts when he turns to look at you and Echo. “We should be close, follow my lead. If he fires that gun, we'll be at war.”

“Whatever you say.”

You spot Riley first, sprawled out on a large boulder up ahead, gun resting in front of him, aimed towards the cave. You point and tell Bellamy, “There!”

Bellamy takes off running towards him, calling his name as he does, before coming to a stop at Riley’s side. “Riley, stop. You don't want to do this.”

“Get out of here, Bellamy.”

As soon as the words leave Riley’s mouth, Echo grabs your arm and pulls you closer to her, lifting your knife to your throat. You make a small sound of surprise, and it’s enough for Bellamy to turn his attention towards you, eyes widening in alarm at you so close to death again. “Echo, Echo, wait. If you kill her, Riley will shoot.”

He turns back to Riley, begging to keep the peace. “Riley, listen to me. Pulling that trigger won't end anything. The three of us will be executed, along with Kane and Monty, and our side will open fire. It'll be a bloodbath.”

Riley makes no move to end his revenge, his finger still resolutely resting on the trigger. “You're a prisoner. You're just saying what they want you to say. I know all about that.”

Echo’s hold on you had started to loosen, but Riley’s continued refusal to stand down pisses her off, and has her tugging you close again. “I’m done with this.”

Your knife bites at the skin of your throat, and dread washes over you. You look towards Bellamy, whose gaze is still on Riley and you whisper, “Bellamy, I love-”

He cuts you off, turning to face you with a teary eyed glare, his voice firm. “No, this is not how this ends.”

Bellamy is in pure distress when he drops to his knees beside Riley, nearly on the verge of tears as he makes one last plea. “Riley, I am begging you. I know how you feel about them, and I know what they did to you, but your life was saved for a reason, and this isn't it. Trust me when I tell you, if this turns into a massacre, it will never get out of your head. War made me a murderer, don't let it happen to you.”

Your heart breaks at the words, and you feel a rush of sadness at the thought that the last words you’ll hear from Bellamy are words of regret for the things that he’s done. Riley shakes with the conflict of his decision, warring between the idea of pulling the trigger or letting it go, and you feel Echo tense behind you. You aren't sure why at first, but as you look around, your eyes land on Clarke and Roan, now exiting the cave. Echo’s hand wraps tighter around the knife, and you have the distinct feeling that this is your end. A tear rolls down your cheek as you look back to Bellamy again, his gaze frantically flitting between you and Riley, before finally, miraculously, Riley drops the weapon with a sob, burying his face in his hands.

Echo drops the knife from your throat, and you scramble away from her, towards Bellamy, hugging him the best you can with the chains around your wrists. Tears of relief fall down your face as you realize that somehow, you escaped death once again. You feel a wash of anxiety when you think that eventually, one day, that won't be the case.

At that moment, Roan and Clarke come around the corner, and as soon as she sees you, she runs towards you in alarm. “La lune, are you okay?”

You turn towards her, hastily wiping away your tears, allowing her to hug you. She pulls away to inspect you, eyes falling to the small cut on your neck from your knife, and her eyes jump back up to you in alarm. Knowing her, she catalogued you the second Roan revealed you as one of the hostages, and she’s smart enough to know this cut is fresh. She whispers, “What did they do? Are you okay?”

You smile at her the best you can, still upset from near death. “I’m fine. We all are, because no one died today.”

Roan eyes your group suspiciously, looking from a sobbing Riley, to your upset form, and then to Echo and Bellamy. “So, what did we miss?”

“Nothing, sire.”

Belamy looks over at Clarke, trying to decipher her body language. “I take it we're not at war?”

“Not today.”

“And the ship?”

Clarke looks at you, then over to Bellamy. “If we can't crack Nightblood, we'll share Arkadia. Find a way for us to survive together.”

Her answer is immediately followed up with a loud explosion. You all exchange looks of alarm before looking for the source, seeing a plume of smoke drifting into the air from somewhere nearby. Clarke’s voice is horrified when she whispers, “It came from Arkadia.”

The words send you all into action, and you take off running back towards the army. As soon as you arrive, Roan is yelling out orders to his people. “Azgeda, hold here. Free the hostages. Echo, you’re with me, we’re following them back.”

“Yes, my king.”

One of the guards quickly loosens your chains, and you shake them off, before Kane runs over to all of you. “What was that? What happened?”

“We don't know.” Clarke grabs her radio. “Arkadia, come in. Arkadia, do you copy? What’s going on there?”

The answer is met with the sound of chaos in the back, screaming and crying echoing all around. “Fire! Alpha Station is on fire!”

Every single one of you exchanges a distressed look, and Clarke switches the radio back to the channel she was using for the guards involved in this mission. “Everyone Back to the rover, now! Arkadia is on fire!”

You turn to her, wheels of your mind already spinning as you contemplate the news. “How far to the rover?”

“Not far, but we only have space for two more. We rode out here almost at full capacity.”

You turn to Kane and Bellamy, “You two shoud go.”

They both start to protest, but you shake your head. “Kane, you're the Chancellor, your people need you. Bellamy, you have to go find Octavia.”

They know they can't argue with your words, and Clarke offers, “I’ll stay behind.”

“No, you're a better doctor than I am. They’ll need you.”

Roan must have caught the tail end of your conversation, because he rides up beside your group on his horse. “She can ride with me.”

You turn to look at him, “Are you sure?”

He holds out his arm, extending it to you so he can help you up, “We’re allies.”

And though you’re still annoyed at his flip flopping attitude, his constantly changing alliances, you know there’s no time to argue. If you want to get back to Arkadia, this is the way to do that. You turn and look at Bellamy, who gives a little shake of his head, but you shrug. You turn back to Roan, and take his outstretched hand, which he uses to swing you up and over onto the back of his horse. Clarke nods at Roan, “We’ll see you there.”

Roan nods once in return before nudging his horse into movement, and you have half a second to wrap your arms around his waist before he urges the horse faster, sending you flying through the woods and the trees. It takes some time to ride back, and at some point the rover catches up with you, though they never overtake you. They stick close, allowing Roan to lead the pack towards Arkadia, and the bright flames that are dancing against the dark sky in the distance.

When you reach Arkadia, Roan pulls his horse to a stop and Clarke stops the rover nearby. Bellamy is out of the vehicle and at your side before you can even dismount, and he helps pull you off the horse before you can even thank Roan. Clarke joins you as all three of you run into the camp, and straight into chaos. All around you people are screaming and crying, looking for loved ones lost during the explosion, searching for someone to administer medical aid. You pause at the entrance, Alpha Station looming in front of you, pieces of it falling down in large flaming chunks.

“I need to find my sister.”

Clarke points towards one of the flame free sides of the ship. “She was in medbay.”

All three of you take off running towards the entrance, searching for any sign of Octavia. Finally, exiting from one of the few safe places left, she is led out of the ship by a man you don't recognize, and Niylah. You point towards them, grabbing Bellamy's arm to get his attention. “There!”

He runs towards her, frantic, yelling, “O! O!”

When he reaches her, he scoops her off her feet and turns and carries her away from the growing flames. Clarke grabs Niylah and leads her away, and you eye the unknown man for a second before turning and following Bellamy to safety. When you reach them, he’s kneeling on the ground, Octavia still in his arms, her arms wrapped around his neck as she cries into his chest. You drop at her side, reaching out for her arm, and she flinches away from you, not realizing that it's you. You move into her line of sight, reaching for her hand. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

She wraps her hand around yours, connecting you, before rasping out, “It was Ilian. I tried to stop him.”

She turns the best she can to look at the unknown man, Ilian, who is silhouetted against the destruction that he caused. Octavia coughs hard, trying to clear the smoke from her lungs, and you nod at her. “You’re okay now. Don't say anything, just breathe.”

She nods, burrowing closer to Bellamy just as Clarke runs over to you. You turn and tell her, “She’s okay, for now.”

Clarke opens her mouth to say something, but whatever it was dies in her throat, because a series of explosions rings out, sending flaming debris everywhere. The loud blasts staccato the air, and all of you turn your faces away as more debris rains down with each burst. Clarke reaches out for your hand, and you instantly take it, drawing comfort from your twin. You glance at Bellamy, worry etched into his features, and you know that your expression is the same.

Your faces all lift to the burning station as it falls apart around you; Octavia in her brother’s arms, her hand wrapped tightly around yours, you in the middle, grip held tight by your own sibling. All four of you, your family, helpless as you watch the ruin of your home, and the destruction of your safe place from Praimfaya.

next chapter

#the 100 #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #the 100 rewrite #the 100 4x04

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dothwrites · 4 years ago

Text

part v of mafia!au

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

---

Dean’s never been so happy to see Sam in his entire life.

His gangly little brother sits behind the wheel of the Impala, face drawn tight with worry. He relaxes in stages as he sees Dean, sees the blood on his clothes, then sees that little of it belongs to him.

“Where’s Gabriel?” Sam demands as he rushes to open the backseat for Dean. His eyes widen as he takes in the ruin of Castiel, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t know,” Dean says, grunting as he hefts Cas’ unconscious body into the backseat. “Get his legs.”

Between the two of them, they get Cas into the backseat, though not as gently as Dean could hope for. If a few extra bruises are the price which Cas has to pay for his freedom, then Dean’s willing to fork that payment over.

He collapses against the Impala’s sturdy frame, chest heaving. Carrying Cas wasn’t easy; despite all his jabs about Cas being a nerdy little dude, Cas is solid, and carrying his deadweight through the halls of the Novak mansion counts as a workout. Sweat dapples the back of his neck, cooling unpleasantly as Dean waits.

Once again, he’s in the garage of the Novak mansion. He tries to keep his eyes away from the spot where he last saw Cas, though he can’t stop his morbid fascination with the place. He wonders if there’s a bloodstain there.

“Where the fuck is Gabriel?” Dean growls, when his body temperature changes from overheated to clammy. “We can’t risk sticking around here too much longer.”

As if in response to his prayers, Gabriel comes tearing down the staircase. He races towards them at a dead sprint, tossing a few flashbangs behind him. “Get in the car, get in the car!” he shouts, heaving himself in the passenger seat. Dean doesn’t wait for another invitation, but gets into the backseat, arranging Cas’ head on his lap. Sam spares him one shocked look before he gets behind the wheel.

Sam slams on the gas too hard, causing the Impala’s wheels to squeal and smoke against the concrete of the floor, but when he eases off a little, she jumps forward, as eager for freedom as the rest of them. Dean doesn’t breathe until they crash through the gates and the outline of the mansion disappears in the rearview.

After weeks, they’re all finally free.

---

Only when the mansion vanishes completely does Dean dare to look at Castiel.

Once he does, he regrets it.

He got a few glimpses when he first saw Cas, but he hadn’t been too interested at cataloging injuries. At that moment, escape was the only thought in his mind and Cas’ injuries were only obstacles to be overcome.

They have time now, or at least a lack of pursuit. In their world, it amounts to same thing. Dean flicks aside the tattered remains of Cas’ shirt and looks down at the bleeding ruin of his chest. His gorge rises as he looks at the wounds littered over Cas’ torso. Some of them are still bleeding.

Bruises spread over his skin in varying shades of purple, yellow, and green. There are several puncture wounds that Dean recognizes as belonging to a taser. Rage clouds up high and sour in his throat as he considers the varying stages of healing of the wounds. They’ve been hurting Cas from the first day they had him.

Rage and nausea rise in Dean until he thinks he might choke on them. The bastards turned Cas into a canvas.

“Son of a bitch.” He looks up to see Gabriel leaning over the front seat. Thin white lines of fury etch along his mouth and eyes.

In the past few weeks, he and Gabriel have come to understand each other as partners and allies, pushing aside their prejudices in favor of a common goal. Dean trusts him as much as he trusts anyone other than Sam, but for the first time since he began working with Gabriel, a little tendril of fear pokes at him.

“He’s alive,” Dean says, the barest form of comfort he can offer while being truthful. “He’ll be ok. He’s strong.”

A muscle twitches in the corner of Gabriel’s jaw as he stretches out his hand to brush through Cas’ hair. A soft noise caught between contentment and distress escapes through Cas’ lips and Gabriel withdraws his touch.

“Just get us home,” Dean tells Sam.

---

In hindsight, he should have expected the nightmares.

They made it back to their safehouse without anyone following, which makes Dean stupidly think that they’re out of the woods. Sure, they probably have both the Novak and Winchester families gunning for them, but he, Sam, Gabriel, and Cas are all under one roof. Together they’ve got enough brains, skills, and ruthlessness to take down any threat.

Dean thinks that right up until the first scream splits the peace of the night.

He bolts upright, gun already in hand, eyes darting wildly around in search of the potential threat. When he finds none in the immediate vicinity, he runs out of the room, already calling for Sam.

Sam’s head pokes out of his room, hair sleep tousled and eyes heavy with interrupted slumber, but he looks confused instead of terrified. The fear on his face is directed outward instead of for himself. “Dean? What’s going on?”

Another scream rips through the night. This time Dean recognizes the voice underneath the terror.

“Cas,” he murmurs, thundering down the hallway.

The door opens under his touch into a horror show. Cas writhes in the middle of the bed, sheets tangled around his body. His back bends into a rigid, impossible arch as his fingers claw at the mattress. Tendons in his neck bulge as he forces a scream out through clenched teeth. His feet kick uselessly, forcing Gabriel to try and dodge his inadvertent blows. Blood trickles down Cas’ bare chest as his wounds reopen.

“Cas, you’re ok, you’re all right, come on Cas.” Gabriel’s voice is frantic as he tries to pin Cas’ flailing body. “Easy Cas, easy!”

Cas screams again. The raw sound tears through the quiet night like a knife blade. The safehouse is removed from civilization, but not so far away as to be isolated, and Cas’ shrieks are loud enough to break glass.

“Sam, go get my bag,” Dean says. His heart is pounding so hard it’s amazing he hasn’t fainted. His gun is heavy in his hand, pulling his whole arm down to the ground. “There’s a sedative in there; it should be enough to knock him out.”

“No!”

Gabriel’s voice cracks like a whip, stopping Sam in his tracks. “What the hell?” A ragged, tortured sound rips out of Cas’ throat. It seems impossible that a single person could hold that much tension in their body without snapping in half.

Wild eyes and bared teeth are all Dean sees of Gabriel. “You are not putting anymore drugs into him!”

Dean’s eyes fall to Cas’ arm, to the series of haphazard bruises blossoming along the vulnerable flesh of his inner arm. An awful, terrible picture paints itself in Dean’s mind, one which explains Cas’ state of mind, his hazy eyes and wandering train of thought. It’s not real, none of this is real...in my head, there are things, there are people, and they lie--

Dean thinks he might be sick.

Without consciously realizing it, Dean finds himself moving forward. At first, he means to do nothing more than to help Gabriel restrain Cas from hurting himself, but then he finds himself murmuring soft reassurances, things that his father would have slapped out of his mouth if he could.

“Hey Cas, you’re all right, you’re all right, you’re ok, I’ve got you, me and Gabe are here, you’re ok now--”

He runs his hand over Cas’ forehead, wiping sweat away from his skin. “You’re safe, you’re all right. No one’s going to hurt you, I’ve got you.”

He’s aware of the weight of Sam and Gabriel’s eyes, but he keeps his eyes focused on Cas. One last, thin wail rips from his throat and then, like a puppet cut from his strings, Cas collapses bonelessly onto the mattress. He shudders once and is still.

Dean holds his breath for ten seconds. Then, when Cas sleeps peacefully on, he lets it out in one long whoosh. His knees buckle, threatening to send him crashing onto the mattress right beside Cas.

“Go back to bed, Sam.” A few hesitant protests come from Sam, but they’re swiftly silenced with a sharp bark of his name.

“Call me if anything changes,” Sam shoots off as a parting salvo, but Dean doesn’t think it’ll be necessary. If Cas has another screaming fit, Sam will know.

Sam’s door closes and Dean takes a few steps backward. His shaky legs give out just as his back hits the wall, and he slides down until his ass hits the ground. “Jesus,” he breathes. He buries his face in his hands, unwilling to allow Gabriel this view of his weakness. “God, oh god.”

For thirty seconds, he allows his horror, and anger free reign. Then, with effort, he pulls himself back together, stitching together reason and rationality until he’s able to think. He looks up at the bed, where Gabriel’s head is bowed low over the mattress.

“Drugs?” Dean finally asks, his voice a hoarse rasp.

Gabriel’s head rises like it’s moving on rusty hinges. His golden eyes are bleak.

“I recognize the handiwork. It’s from Naomi, one of Dad’s pets. She likes to experiment. Pump them full of hallucinogens, tear them apart, and see what falls out. By the end, they’re reprogrammed into something else they wouldn’t even recognize. Stands to reason they’d set her loose on Cas.”

Bile rises in Dean’s throat. Cas is brilliant, his mind sharper than a steel trap. Behind blue eyes, thousands of gears are constantly turning. To think of someone rummaging around in that machine, upsetting the delicate balances and systems...It’s perverse, an upsetting of the natural order. Dean doesn’t believe in God, never has, but the idea of Cas losing his reason due to outside influences is as close to blasphemy as anything else.

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I can stay with him.”

Gabriel’s scoff isn’t as strong as it could be. Instead, he just looks weary and defeated. “You know, when I first thought of a Winchester taking my place, I thought I was going to kill you myself. And now...” He shakes his head, dismissing whatever he was going to say next. “I’m going to get a few hours worth of sleep. I’ll come get you then.”

For a moment, Dean thinks Gabriel might go so far as to pat him on the shoulder. His hand hovers awkwardly in mid-air before it drops to his side. Gabriel shuffles towards the door, each step taking an eternity to accomplish. He waves at Dean, a limp gesture, before he heads down the hallway to his bedroom. It shuts behind him, leaving Dean alone with Cas.

It takes almost all of Dean’s energy to make his way to the opposite side of the room. He collapses into the armchair, still warm from Gabriel’s ass.

Blood dries tacky on Cas’ chest. None of the wounds he ripped open were deep enough to really hurt him, but seeing the reminders of his treatment torn stark red on Cas’ chest is still like getting a punch to the gut.

It seems wrong, somehow, for him to see Cas brought low. He knows Cas wouldn’t want to be seen like this. When he wakes up, Cas will probably either punch him or shoot him, and that’ll be fine. It’ll be worth it to see Cas’ eyes open and shine with lucidity.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. His voice sounds harsh in the quiet of the room. The very air molecules bristle with disapproval. It’s nothing compared to the contempt which Dean feels for himself.

“If it hadn’t been for me, you never would have been caught up in this. For whatever reason, you looked at me and you saw someone worth saving. I don’t know why you thought that. I don’t know what I did to make you think that I was ever worth this.”

Dean’s fingers crawl across the mattress to take Cas’ hand in his. Cas’ fingers are cold and limp. Blood is caked into his cuticles. In his sleep, Cas murmurs. Whether it’s a sound of distress or happiness, Dean doesn’t know. He’s afraid to know.

The first time he saw Cas was at the exchange. The Novaks were lined up on one side of the hotel and the Winchesters on the other. Dean had barely been able to swallow his rage at being sold off like a pawn, all so his father could swagger around the city like he owned something. He’d focused that rage on the family who, up until a few weeks ago, it was his purpose to thwart in any way possible, death not excluded. Now he was expected to join them, with nary a word spoken otherwise.

He recognized Michael Novak and he’d gotten intimately familiar with Gabriel Novak’s file. Neither of those Novaks were as interesting as the Novak who stood at the back of the room.

Even without knowing his name or anything else about him, Castiel was the Novak who caught his attention. He moved through the rest of them like a panther moving through wolves, all coiled grace and tightly bound intent. Where the other Novaks were stiff, he was fluid, where they were cold, he burned hot. Dean looked at him and saw the proverbial diamond in the rough, one jewel amidst a sea of imposters.

And now here he is, shattered into a thousand pieces, a sacrifice laid in front of the altar of Dean Winchester.

“I’m sorry.” Dean’s voice croaks on the last syllable. “Cas, I’m so sorry.” His instincts tell him to crush Cas’ hand in his, to bring him back with nothing more than sheer force of will, but he already knows that’s not an option. He needs to learn how to hold things without destroying them, how to love something without smothering it.

“I wasn’t worth it. Whatever you thought you saw, it wasn’t worth this.” Heat prickles behind Dean’s eyes and works its way up his throat. “I’m so sorry Cas.”

Misery forces his head low and Dean presses his forehead against Cas’ knuckles. Cas’ hand is so cold. The rise and fall of his chest is subtle, worryingly so. Dean doesn’t know how it feels to fall asleep without the taste of fear thick and sour on his tongue.

He falls asleep with his lips still shaping the word sorry.

---

Dean drags himself up from the pit of sleep, roused by a stimulus so weak it might as well be nonexistent. It’s still enough to pull him out of a troubled slumber, heart pounding.

It takes his pupils a few seconds to adjust to the lack of light. When they do, they immediately find Cas. He lies, flat on his back, but his hand reaches out towards Dean. The weight of his hand is almost like a whisper as his fingers ruffle through his hair.

“Cas,” Dean croaks, his pulse suddenly racing like a runaway carriage. “Cas, are you awake?” Are you ok, are you whole, please, tell me you’re all right, tell me that I didn’t destroy you like I destroy everything else in my godforsaken life-

A faint smile creeps over Cas’ face, like the sun struggling to break through the darkness of night. It’s a faint sliver of a thing, but it’s there, inescapable and wondrous.

“Hello Dean.”

#destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #deancas #deancas fic #dean winchester #castiel #mafia!au #part v of vi #remember when i thought this was going to be three parts #anyway sorry that it's so late #but here you go #the thrilling conclusion next #dothwrites

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twistedsinews · 4 years ago

Note

Hey! You're probably tired of seeing me in your questions box but here my request anyway LOL : 193. “Come on, this doesn’t even make it into the top 10 of stupid things I’ve done. You’re completely overreacting.” mucho love <3

[nooooo, if I didn’t love prompts I wouldn’t reblog prompt lists. you’re fine! <3]

Cyberpunk 2077; Jackie/V; PG-13

It calmed him down. A little. But she was still trapped in the server room and he was still on edge and they still had a handful of minutes at best before someone came to investigate why the mainframe they'd just sabotaged was down.

"You're makin' some of these up."

"Am not."

"Alright, make it easy: give me one thing dumber'n this, since I met you."

V could name half a dozen without putting any effort into it, and she was pretty sure Jackie could, too. The plan part of the plan had gone off without a hitch. It was merely the escape part of the plan she hadn't thought fully through.

"Falling in love."

Kinda like the words that were out of her mouth before she realized it.

There was a poignant silence on the the line to tell her how badly she'd fucked up, and when Jackie did finally answer his voice was low. Flat.

"You think it's dumb, huh?"

"I didn't mean like that."

"How did you mean it?"

"I-..."

"Never mind."

"Jackie, I'm not saying-..."

"Not the time for this conversation right now, V."

And he was right.

V closed her eyes.

The security doors were linked into the mainframe. Backup power was down, but this wasn't a matter of backup power. Because linking through the mainframe would mean cutting through any time there was so much as a hiccup in the system.

Hunching down to better see, V followed the path of the lines wired into the databanks through the darkened room. Near where they disappeared into the angle of floor and wall, her fingers brushed over a smooth, seemingly out of place indented square in the steel paneling. A smaller hidden rectangle slid out easily, giving her a manual release for the hatch beneath her fingertips.

It was as good a lead as any, and she dropped through the floor into the crawlspace beneath.

"I found some kind of a maintenance duct," she told Jackie, twisting a bit under the cramped space to slide the hatch closed above her. "See if you can figure out where it comes through on the other side."

"Yeah, sure. On it."

Directly in front of her, she found a wall. It took some flailing to get herself back around, but V nevertheless managed, and started crawling down the passage.

"Got it."

There was a sound up ahead of scraping metal. Turning a corner, there was a dim flash of moving light in the distance. Once she reached the end, she found Jackie waiting for her.

"See?" she huffed, taking the hand he offered to help drag her out of the gap in the floor. "An oversight, not the end of the world."

Jackie grunted an acknowledgement, which settled poorly with the icy chill of silence in her chest. He let go only to push her right along in front of him, and she took the hint. The way out was the way they came, up a flight of stairs out of the basement, through some hallways, and out an intricate lobby.

As they made their way down the main hallway, there came the rustle of movement. Killing her light and trusting Jackie to do the same, V spun right back around, grabbing for his jacket to haul him back again and into an adjoining hall. Tension radiated off him as Jackie pressed close to the wall behind her; his arm settled on her shoulder, less for reassurance and more ready to throw her back if things lit up any more dramatically than a few heavy flashlights. They crouched in the darkness, waiting for the security detail - headed by one computer scientist, frustrated it seemed to the point of negligence in his surroundings - to pass them by; the hired corpo soldiers scurried along behind him, no doubt equally frustrated by the clip at which he was walking straight into the unknown.

And then the light was gone, and the clomp of heavy boots faded into the distance.

V inched forward to peer around the corner, then stepped out into the dark. Jackie bumped into her, and she froze, but he nudged her onward. With security now behind them, they managed a much faster pace, and escaped out of the back rooms and through the moonlit lobby without incident.

On the street again, they fell into the crowd. A couple of blocks up and one across, they caught the line with seconds to spare, paid the fare in cash, and even snagged the last empty seat in the row.

And sharing would never have been an issue, except for the stifling rift she'd caused.

Jackie made no complaint when she settled in his lap, but other than bracing her when they got underway, he kept his hands to himself. After a mile or two of distance, she got to her feet and opted to stand in the aisle instead. Gripping one of the lines overhead, she put all her weight on it and twisted in space.

A man slipped off one of the nearer seats, and didn't seem bothered when someone immediately claimed it after him. He stepped up behind her, near enough to touch but didn't, and she stood a little straighter.

"If he can't do it for you," a smooth, unfamiliar voice reasoned over her shoulder, "maybe I can."

"Yeah, maybe you could," V mumbled in vague agreement, without any of the enthusiasm she'd have found in flirting. Still, proximity and his touch on her arm at her answer gave her an excuse to fleece his pockets. She froze as her fingers found a plate of metal, and traced the bumps on its face. "And maybe again, not."

The man gave a gruff little hmmph at her drab dismissal, and drew his hand away. Keeping her hand low, V flashed the badge behind her. Under the notice of the plainclothes dick she hoped was cruising for an easy pickup and not taking note of two mercs that were hardly out of place in taking the public transit.

Regardless of which, she opted for a quick exit at the next stop, feeling her confidence ebb back when Jackie fell in behind her. He stopped her from flashing the badge again, this time at the very cop she'd stolen it from, snatching it from her before the man could see it.

Once they'd stepped off again, Jackie whipped his hand and the badge skittered away down the sidewalk.

They made it down another block and halfway through the next alley.

With a huff, V stepped in front of him, causing Jackie to stop short of walking into her, only to jostle her all the same.

He blinked down at her.

"I wasn't saying you're stupid."

"Didn't think you were."

"And I wasn't saying loving you was stupid."

Jackie didn't answer right away, which formed something of an answer all unto itself.

"It's cool, V. I'm over it."

Squaring her shoulders, V raised her chin as she studied his face.

"Liar."

Jackie hissed sharply. Clenching his jaw, he bared his teeth in a thin grimace of distaste.

"Digging yourself deeper, chica."

Brushing past her, he kept walking.

V stood rooted to the spot.

When he noticed she wasn't following him, Jackie turned back around and stalled. He sighed heavily, and came right back. His hand settled on her shoulder, warm and familiar. Some of the tension eased out of her shoulders, and V shoved her hands into her pockets.

"Mira..." Jackie said, only he didn't seem to know what else to say. Whatever was in his head, he went with, "You go home and get some rest. I'll go and collect our pay. I'll catch up with you in the morning."

Her heart sank.

"Yeah," V agreed listlessly. "Alright. Great."

He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, leaving her with only the shadow of his smile.

It helped. And... it didn't.

"Hasta mañana."

This time, Jackie didn't look back. Just disappeared into the next street.

V took one step and stopped again.

She didn't even know where the hell she was.

With a sigh, she scratched her eyebrow and pulled up her geodata. Then, once she had a read, she started on again. And each step felt heavier than the last.

***

Jackie parked his bike near as he could to V's car out of mindless habit, but it was a flash of color huddled in the backseat seized his attention.

It wasn't where he was expecting to find her, though not unheard of, and he knocked on the window anyway. She stirred, squinted up at him over her shoulder, then twisted to reach the lock, followed by the latch. Jackie stepped back as the door swung open under her weight, not anticipating for her to pour out on the floor of the parking garage like she did.

Grabbing the top of the door, two seconds too late, he winced in sympathy.

"How's that first taste of concrete, first thing in the morning, eh?"

V flipped him off.

A sign of life if ever he'd seen one.

Jackie clasped one hand firmly around her wrist. Reaching down, he got the other into a hold on her jacket to lift her entirely off the ground, and set her onto her feet.

She combed her hair out of her face with her fingers, scrubbed her sleeve across her face, and regarded him with a dull, guarded expression that slipped a little near the corner of her mouth. Her eyes remained narrow, more to do with her hangover than anything.

Jackie smiled. And he meant it.

V's expression slipped a little further. Losing ground, she turned and stalked away.

He fell in step beside her, keenly aware that it was her money sitting in his pocket.

Among other things he was feeling overly aware of.

V survived the elevator on her own two feet. She only opted to stop once, leaning over the low terrace wall in whatever solemn post-drunk contemplation it was she fancied this morning, and tolerated him rubbing a hand down her back before finally moving on.

They made it back to her apartment at last. V immediately went for the sink; the mirror flickered on, and she turned on the water to scrub her face clean.

Jackie hung back, leaning into the wall as he watched her. Trapped between feeling out the situation, and getting lost right down the subtlest play of the muscles under her skin and the patterns adorning her shoulders.

"Last night I was thinking..." V told his reflection. "How far a full tank would get me, and I thought about three hundred miles. Not very far, really."

Jackie didn't answer. He didn't know what to answer. Luckily, he apparently didn't need to answer, as she continued, "So I thought... maybe if I loaded up six or seven tanks, still have room for supplies, and I could get maybe a couple of thousand. Still not far enough to get to the East Coast."

Ah.

Words.

Something would probably have been more appropriate than nothing right about then, but he still couldn't think of any, and careless words got them here in the first place. Moreover, he was just smart enough to know better than to speak just because.

"I thought about it for maybe two minutes total," V admitted, without his input. "But it wouldn't make a difference, would it? No matter how far I could go, it doesn't change how anything feels."

Dipping her hand under the faucet, V combed the water through her hair. Droplets caught between strands, and spattered on her ink.

"How come it's so much easier being your choom than it is being your output?"

"I don't know..." Jackie had never really thought about it, certainly never saw it that way. "Maybe 'cause you're thinking of it as two separate things, when really it's somewhere in between." Her eyes narrowed as she mulled it over, and Jackie shrugged. "Just my take on it, though."

The mirror flickered off, and he pulled back out of her way as she moved to step out of the sink cubby. She breezed past him, and started picking through the cans on her desk. Several empty ones went right under it, until she found an unopened one, which she cracked open for a long drink, abandoning the rest.

"But come on, really; it's not that bad," Jackie argued. "I think... if a couple of dumb words is all that ever gets to us once in a while, we're doing okay. Better than, I'd say."

V stared at him over the rim of the sodacan.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she stated.

Jackie blinked.

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"I know that, too."

V sighed. Still eyeing him, she took another sip, and, wandering over to the bed, dropped down, leaning her back against the outer wall.

"It was a stupid joke at my own expense, okay? Falling in love wasn't part of my plan for when I got here."

Jackie scoffed.

"Implying you had a plan when you landed in N.C." he reminded her, easing down across from her to lean against the inner wall. "Which as I recall, was not the case. Not at all."

"Okay, but I wasn't even thinking of it as a distant possibility. I sure as fuck wasn't expecting to trip and fall into your arms and for it to be all..." She waved her drink around in a vague pattern, encompassing the all of it. "Isn't that stupid?"

"Love ain't stupid, chica. Never is."

V stared at him. Jackie stared right back, until at length he glanced off, and her gaze fell to the tab of her drink as she toyed with it.

Finally, draining the can, she set it down on the floor. She kicked off her shoes, followed by rolling off her socks, and drew her legs up loosely onto the bed in front of her.

"...if it could have been anyone," she murmured, "I'm glad it was you."

Jackie smiled. Then he chuckled.

"And you know what?" He admitted, "you weren't part of my plan, either. You fell right into my lap out of fucking nowhere, and I didn't have the first idea of what to do with that..."

As V listened quietly, her expression grew quizzical, until she shot him a very particular stare.

"...okay, you're right. You're right," Jackie amended, "I had the first idea what I wanted to do with that, but maybe not the whole thing." Sighing, he continued, "But really. I wanted to be the best out there. And I wanted to do it all alone, to prove that I could. Falling in love, tch - yeah, someday, definitely. But having a partner? Wasn't even on my mind. Not until you came along. Now I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"Not even for what you want most in the world?"

"No. Wanna know why? 'Cause you're part of everything I want most in the world."

V pressed her lips together.

Then huffed a small, shaky little breath.

She reached into her pocket to dig out her knife, opening it with a soft click. As he watched her, she wound her braid around her fingers, and pulled it taut. Closing her eyes, she cut it free in one concerted, jagged little effort.

Jackie found himself at no less of a loss when she crossed the bed and inched up to his side. Reaching for his hand, she wound the braid around his wrist and fastened the ends together under the small clasp.

He glanced from the new splash of color encircling his wrist, and back to V as she closed the knife and set it on the shelf overhead. She combed her fingers through her hair, threading out the form of another braid. Jackie brushed his fingers through the loose strands on the other side, and her movements slowed. Biting her lip, she reached for his hands, one after the other, guiding him to help her weave the braid together.

"This ain't some kind of Nomad marriage thing, is it?" Jackie teased, "'Cause I'm not sure I'm ready for that just yet."

"No... I'm making it up as I go along."

"Oh."

At length, the braid reached a point that he had to let her take care of the rest. Holding the end in her mouth, she tugged free several loose threads from a tear in her jeans to tie it off with.

Jackie grazed her cheek with his thumb, and she grabbed his hand, holding it there for several long moments. There was a sound in her throat, a softened lilt like it could have been a question that didn't quite form.

"V?"

"...are we okay?"

With a glance to the window, Jackie shrugged.

"We're fine, V. You don't have to go riding off into the desert or to the East Coast or off to Mars or someplace lookin' for some kind of absolution." After a thought, and he added, "And while we're on the subject, you don't need to go around tripping over yourself thinking how you got to make me feel better about gonk-brained shit when it happens. I'm tough. I'll survive." And after another, "Ay, I almost forgot, but I got your money."

With his free hand, he found the roll of eddies that were stuffed in his inside jacket pocket, and offered it to her. She snatched it from his hand, and it went...

...somewhere.

Flying into the laundry basket, he was pretty certain.

But he had other things to think of right then than money that wasn't his, like how soft her mouth was, and how she tasted like artificial kumquat-flavored corn syrup. How soon enough, he wouldn't be thinking of much at all, and if he played his deck right, neither would V.

#heywoodvirgin #cyberpunk 2077 #jackie welles #nomad!v #fanfiction #i have no idea where this came from or why it went in that direction #please take it from me #prompts and answers #thank! <3

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