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dontfeeltoohot · 2 years ago

Note

Prompt for Eddie being allergic to something in Steve's house (maybe cleaning supplies or air freshener??) and as the night goes on he sneezes more and more.

Optional bonus Steve has a sneeze kink and is trying not to go feral as Eddie becomes an allergy ridden mess

❤️ Bewitchedfeathers

siodjfsadoijf my brain lost it at this. thank you for this prompt, i love it so much. i hope you enjoy!!

+ + +

Steve, Robin and Eddie, walk through the Harrington's front door, bags of food in their arms for tonight's festivities. It's October and it's Friday the 13th. They've been talking about it all week, now that Eddie works at the Family Video with them some days, when he doesn't have band practice or DnD. Not only did they grab the first Friday the 13th, but the next three as well, keeping them hidden in the back so they'd have their copies ready when all the others inevitably got rented out the next few days. Now Friday was here, and the only thing they were going to do was veg out and enjoy the horror to come.

As they make their way further in, all three are hit with the very intense smell of fake lemon Lysol cleaner. Both Robin and Eddie wrinkle their nose, but Steve seems unphased.

"Uhh, Harrington? Wanna explain why it smells like the inside of cleaning bottle in here?" Eddie sets the bags of food down, going through them to find whatever stuff needs to go into the freezer. Steve's working on preheating the oven.

"Oh, our cleaning lady who usually comes Wednesday's couldn't this week, so she came today," the nineteen year old shrugs, obviously used to the manufactured smell.

"Well, it smells gross, and she should use like eighty percent less next time," Robin adds, setting the VHS tapes down over near the Harrington's large television, at least, the largest most of them have seen in someone's living room.

Eddie loves teasing Steve as much as he can about it, and really about anything he can, in hopes of catching one of those signature Harrington smiles. Every time he gets one, it makes him feel a little bit lighter, like the world almost ending was worth it to have met Steve and actually get to know him. He'd thought he was a mindless jock back when they'd gone to school together, but he was still a hot mindless job. And now they're....friends? He hopes Steve considers him a friend, after all they'd done together.

Eddie rubs at his nose with the crook of his finger, a vague, barely there buzzing in sinuses as he shrugs his vest and leather jacket off, revealing an old long sleeve black shirt. It's worn, soft, and usually reserved for sleeping, but watching movies is close enough since they'll all be sitting and enjoying for over five hours.

As they all talk and joke around, Eddie watches Harrington, who looks like a natural as he pulls out Totino's pizza rolls from the oven, a whole large bags worth sizzling on the tray. Eddie wonders if they should have bought more, but then he remembers they still have chips and cookies and candy and soda. He sees the small box of Honeycomb that he'd grabbed for himself after much deliberation and grins, knowing the whole box will be gone by tomorrow.

"I don't see how you eat those things Munson, they're literally just sugar."

Looking up, the guitarist sees Harrington snarking at him, so he sends him his most flirtatious smile.

"You are what you eat I guess," he winks and then smirks when Harrington's cheeks go red.

It's no big secret that Eddie likes guys and girls, and he's been beyond grateful everyone here seems pretty chill with out. Robin had even come out to him earlier in the month, and he's made sure not to talk to anyone else about it, not when she seemed so worried.

As he watches Harrington try to come up with a reply, Eddie can feel an itch start to unfurl in his head and sinuses. Sniffling does the exact opposite of what he's been hoping, and the intense lemon-y smell hits him full force. He tries to follow along with whatever snarky comment Harrington finally shoots back at him, but the ticklish feeling is cresting, making his eyes want to close. Quickly, he brings his left arm up, nestling his face into the crook of it.

"n'GKt! h'GKkt! h'NKt-uhhh!" He keeps his face buried the whole time, even though there's a few seconds in between each sneeze. The last one is hard enough that he lets out a thick sigh after. He's always sneezed in triples, for as long as he can remember. His parents would bless him the first time, but by the third time there was usually a 'shut up' or 'can you stop' thrown into the mix. Not his fault his nose takes more time.

Dropping his arm, Eddie sniffles again and takes the bandana he has in his back pocket, rubbing his nose gently with it before sticking it back in its place. He doesn't notice Harrington staring at him while he does so, but once he's bringing his head back up, the other man gives him a sort of smile.

"Bless you."

"Oh, thanks," Eddie nods and heads to the sink to wash his hands before making himself a plate of pizza rolls and Doritos.

+ + +

Steve and Eddie sit next to each other. Well...Steve sits down, Robin sits on one side and after he looks around for a moment, Eddie choses to sit on the other side of Steve, for which the middle man is half excited and half nervous. Never in a million years would he have ever thought he'd be attracted to Eddie Munson, yet here he was, his stomach full of butterflies as the curly haired man sits next to him. Steve can smell his cologne and it's intoxicating to say the least.

He's embarrassed to say he's always thought Munson was kind of...dirty and grungy, even if back in classes he'd never talked to him or paid him much attention. Now though, now he sees just how nice and white his teeth are, how good his skin is, how soft his curls look. He always smells good, and for the most part his clothes are always clean. Even when Steve had worn his vest back months ago, it had smelled good even after being out in the woods for god knows how long.

As the movie starts, it's silent aside from the movie and everyone eating. No one talks, mostly focused on the food. Five minutes in, however, Steve picks up on a few soft sniffles coming from his left. And god, if Munson sneezes again, next to him, he might combust. Sure he finds sneezes hot, that's just...a thing he's always known. Nancy's sneezes had been surprisingly not dainty like he'd imagined, but they suited her and were definitely cute. But Munson's sneezes...he's never paid attention to stifled sneezes much, at least, not until twenty minutes ago. Something about it just...wow.

The sniffles don't get loud by any means, but they don't stop either. Steve's pretty sure his whole body is thrumming with some kind of weird energy, half watching the movie and half listening to Eddie. Finally decided to chance a glance at the guitarist, he notices he's sitting with his legs drawn to his chest, arms resting on them in a way that doesn't look super comfortable, but hey, to each their own. What really catches his eye though, is the way Eddie's nose is scrunched up, like he's trying not to sneeze. He gives another sniffle, this time rubbing his wrist that's hidden under his soft looking shirt against the underside of his nose.

Not able to look away, Steve's heart starts beating hard, watching the way Eddie's nostrils twitch and he rubs at them again. It's like watching someone lose a game- they twitch again, and then finally his eyebrows knit together, and his eyes flutter shut, showing off his long eyelashes. With one more twitch of his nose, Eddie inhales, his chest expands, and his arm is brought up against his face again.

"h'kGktt'uh! hh-gkXT! hih'KXxt'uh!"

A sniffle and then Steve watches him rub his face into his arm, quickly turning back to stare at the television the second he sees the arm move back down. He decides not to bless him this time- he has a feeling Eddie cares more about horror movies than a simple gesture.

Shifting, Steve moves enough that he can see the screen, but also can easily see Eddie and his movements without being obvious, or at least, he hopes to god he isn't. How awkward of a conversation would that be. He thinks maybe he'd rather get eaten by a demodog. Not three minutes later Eddies scrubbing at his nose with his knuckles, his shirt sleeve pulled up over his hand, his fingers only barely visible. He looks ridiculously cozy. Steve kind of wanders if he's a good cuddler, he looks like he would be. Lost in his thoughts about cuddling Munson, Steve doesn't realize anything's happening until-

"nkGxtt! h'dKGt! ihgKT'uhh!"

Steve's not sure if it's just his imagination or if the sneezes sound stuffier, but the sniffle after definitely confirms he's congested. It's thick and soupy and before Steve can do anything, Eddie's snagging his bandana from his back pocket and pressing it tightly to his face.

"h'GKt! hih'gKtuh! ihh'KTsch'uhew! Fuck..."

His insides are melting, he's sure of it. He can already feel his pants getting tight, and his palms are sweaty. The fact it's all happening beside him too, it's making him jittery. He wants to ask if he's okay, wants to ask if he can help. Hell, he wants to ask if he can jump him, but instead he misses his opportunity.

"Are you okay?" Robin beats him to it.

Eddie looks up, big brown doe eyes meeting hers and then flickering to Steve's. He's still holding his bandana, but it's resting against his lap for now. Steve notices that his nostrils are still twitching in allergic anticipation, and if he really zero's in, he can vaguely see a light sheen on his cupids bow. Eddie blinks and his hand that's not holding his bandana comes up and rubs at his eyes, making him look far younger than he is.

"Y-Yeah, sohhmethings...just," he sniffles but this time it's more desperate. "Just gehhttihng to me..." His eyes are fluttering and his nostrils are twitching like crazy, quivering and obviously itchy. Steve shifts, trying not to just blatantly stare, if only for Robin's sake.

"hih'Ktschh! ihh'gTCH'uh! h'kgt'uh!"

"Dude, do you w-"

"Nohht done H-Harri'gton...h'GKkt! Jesus Chrihhst..n'gXKTuhew! hihdKXtch! hah'KSTCHuhew!!"

As soon as the small fit ends, Eddie blows his nose roughly into his bandana, rubbing his nose over and over. Steve bites his tongue almost hard enough to draw blood so he doesn't let out any other noises.

"You want some benadryl? My parents keep some in the cabinet, I think it'll help. Do you know what's bothering you?" Steve finally manages to come up with words while Eddie scrubs his face with the neck of his shirt.

"Uhh, sure. N-Not suhhre, think mahhybe the cleaner?" Eddie sniffles and rubs a little harder. Steve nods and gets up, going to find the pills. As he walks, he tries to think of things like his parents, or showing up to class naked, anything to help get him to calm down. He comes back with water and two pills, then freezes. Eddie is looking at Robin with a curious expression, eyebrow raised. Robin is half blushing.

"-n't know that was a thihhng- kTSCH! hih'GXKtt! h'ixschh'EW!"

The last sneeze is louder and surprisingly...girly? And Steve squirms again. Then he notices Robin looking even more weird and Eddie smirking. And...oh. OH. Is this a joke? Some kind of new hell? But then again, he and Robin could always have fun with it...but. Really?!

Steve thrusts the pills into Eddie's hands and then mumbles something about going to the bathroom, needing a minute to himself.

#my fic #em #sh #rb #s/t #strthi #asks #answered

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mandoalorian · 4 years ago

Text

Sinner [Dark!Din Djarin x F!Reader] *SMUT*

Summary: The Mandalorian has been attending confession for weeks now, with the sole intensive purpose to see you.

Rating: 18+ smut

Warnings: Dark!Din, implied age difference, religion kink (don’t come for me...), sex in a place of worship, smut: loss of virginity, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, degradation, unprotected p in v, cunningless, death mention, alcohol mention, brothel mention.

Word Count: 4000+

Masterlist

REBLOGS APPRECIATED!<3

He’d been coming to confess for about a year now. He’d gone off the rails when he lost the kid. You’d heard rumours about the Mandalorian — strong, fierce, brave... a warrior. You certainly wouldn’t have pinned him for a man of faith. You’d seen him a few times when you were shadowing your father in church. He was tall, broad shouldered, and only came during the dead of night, when the abbey was completely isolated.

“Hello,” you greeted him, your soft voice echoing throughout the chambers. Your crimson red heels clicked against the marble floor beneath you as you approached the masked figure. Curtseying politely and removing your hood, you couldn’t help but bat your eyelashes in the direction the Mandalorian. “It’s quite late. I was just closing for the night.” you admitted, biting down on your lower lip in hope that he’d understand.

“I thought places of worship aren’t supposed to close?” He countered quizzically, an air of amusement in his voice.

“You’re right, technically,” you hummed, picking at your nails as a wash of nerves flooded over you. “But my father is out of town and... I need to sleep.”

That’s where he recognised you from— you were the daughter of the Grand Bishop. He’d seen you before, doting around the abbey in your signature black gown and red robes. You were hard to miss, your beauty being beyond standards of measure. Yes, he knew you. He had noticed you watching him from the pillars above, when you thought nobody was looking. He noticed the way you’d deliberately brush past his body... desperate for just the slightest touch. He recognised your scent too; it was sweet like honey. And your ruby coloured lips. He’d dreamt of them plenty of times. It was really you.

“Where is he?” The Mandalorian asked after a beat of prolonged silence.

“He was requested by Senator Berenko to present evening mass on Naboo, for the Festival of Lights.” you explained, probably offering a little too much information.

“When will he be back?”

“Next week.”

“Well, I’ll be back then.”

No, you couldn’t just let him leave. You couldn’t just let him walk away from you. This was your chance. In a fluster, you extended your arm and pawed at his bicep. He froze under your touch, and you hoped that you hadn’t overstepped.

“Are— you’re here to confess. Aren’t you?” you asked him with a nervous gulp. Maker, why were you so nervous? The Mandalorian didn’t say anything, so you heeded to continue. “I’ve seen you come by before. I know you speak to my father usually but— I can do it. The confession, I mean. I’ve been shadowing my father for the past few months— training with him. I can do it. If... if you’d like me to.”

The Mandalorian took a moment to process your words. Maker; you were a sight to behold. Your eyes were starry and reflective of the galaxy he’d spent so long venturing. Your skin was soft and delicate. You were pure— untouched— holy. He was afraid the discussion of his sins might be a bit too much for you to handle.

Or maybe there was something more.

Maybe he was afraid that once he’d start opening up to you, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He wouldn’t be able to resist you.

“Aren’t you a little young?” The Mandalorian scoffed incredulously, bringing his leather gloved hand to his helmet, his thumb grazing the cloth between his chin and his neck. His rude manner didn’t surprise you at all, but yet, you kept a strong posture and held your head high.

“I’m old enough.” you declared, not ripping your gaze from him once. Even through the dark tinted visor of his helmet, it felt like you were looking into his eyes, staring deep into his soul.

So, he agreed. You told him to wait in the confession box by the altar. “I won’t be long, I just have to lock up and turn out the lights.”

As you walked down the aisle, you lit a match and ignited some candles. They were tall and made from beeswax, and the flicking amber flames provided barely enough light. But it had to be enough. It had to do. The wax dripped down the sculptures and chambersticks, pooling into swirls of hardening ivory.

The Mandalorian waited for you in the confession box, having already discarded the plates of his beskar armour. It was hard to wear, and heavy on his back, but he felt safe… here, with you. He had no reason to be still wearing it. No more fighting tonight, he hoped.

The image of you couldn’t escape his mind, no matter how hard he tried. Dirty thoughts — it was wrong of him. You were the Grand Bishop’s daughter for Heaven’s sake.

When you entered your side of the confession box, your full intention was to follow the ordinary strict protocol. There was no reason for distraction.

“State your name for the records,” you requested, shuffling around as you worked on getting comfortable in your chair.

“Din Djarin.”

Din Djarin. It was a beautiful name. Your mind immediately went to pairing his last name with your first name, and then you cursed yourself for the inappropriate thought.

“Din,” his name left your lips like the sweetest tasting honey. “Why are you here today? What would you like to confess?”

“I went to Corellia over the weekend,” he announced, his voice cold through the modulator. “The bad part— well, it’s all bad over there,” he corrected himself before continuing. “Got into some trouble gambling at Lady Proxima’s casino and a bunch of white worms surrounded me. So I killed them, all of them. I didn’t have to. But I did. I murdered them in cold blood.”

It was in that moment you learned how dangerous of a man The Mandalorian was. His beskar armour was just as cold as his heart.

“Wh— why did you kill them?” you asked timidly, almost afraid to know the answer.

“For the release. The adrenaline. The feeling of power. I can’t escape it. Have you ever killed?”

“N—no.”

Din scoffed incredulously. “Of course you haven’t.”

“What do you do after you kill?” you inquired, hoping to change the subject.

“Corellia has the best brothels… cheap too. I sought them out and look for a quick fuck.”

“Out of wedlock?” you pondered with a queasy frown.

Din laughed. “You’re asking if I’m married?”

He was right, it was a foolish question.

“Do you enjoy your time at the brothel? Or do you regret it soon after?” you wondered.

Another laugh— and Maker, he made you feel terrible. Were you really that bad at this?

“Yes, I enjoy myself. The girls there are pretty little things. Needy. Desperate. But— it’s not special, you know? It’s not… not exactly what I crave.”

“What do you crave?”

“To touch someone untouched. Pure. Holy…” the Mandalorian trailed off. “So, when I fuck the girls at the brothel, I tend to think of the Grand Bishop’s daughter.” He revealed, feeling his cock harden in the confines of his pants at the memory. You swallowed, a wave of heat immediately washing over you. You. He was thinking about you.

This was ridiculous. Was he messing with you? He had to have been messing with you. Sure, he’d seen you around before but neither of you had even held a conversation, prior to today. And he’d been thinking about you while he was sleeping with other women? You had to suck it up and remain professional, no matter how much it irked you. He was here to confess and you couldn’t let this become personal.

But it was so hard. Maker, why was it this hard? Was it because you’d thought about him too? Because you’d imagined his cock in place of your fingers, at night when everyone else is sleeping? You yearned to know more. You ached to know the details. Surely that was fair. He was speaking about you, after all.

You could already feel your panties begin to dampen with arousal. How could one man have such an effect on you? In your place of worship too. You wanted to punch him, kick him, take out all your anger on him. But most importantly, you wanted him. His touch. His hands on your body and his cock splitting you open. That’s what you wanted the most.

“What did— what did you think of?” You swallowed, anticipating the details. You were glad he couldn’t see how flustered and hot you were right now. It certainly wasn’t in the code for you to ask about details such as this but… surely one question would do no harm.

You could just about hear Din chuckle, from the other side of the wall, and it made your slick wet cunt clench around absolutely nothing. He was driving you feral. “I’d think about her ruby red lips and how they’d look wrapped around my cock. I’d imagine fucking her mouth, making her gag— wanting her to cry. I’d want to see the tears stream down her cheeks as I give her my all. And finally, I’d imagine her letting me cum down her throat.”

There was something about him talking about you, to you, in third person. Like you weren’t supposed to be there, listening. Like this information was not made for your ears.

Your panties were soaked at the thought. You couldn’t believe it. All this time, all these sessions of confession with your father, and it had only stirred him on more. He’d been going to confess, only to see you.

“Tell me, princess. How does that make you feel?”

Shit. He could not be serious right now. You placed your palm flat against the wall and took a deep breath. “Mando, you’re here to confess. Not me.”

You tried to shut out his words, but your body ached for him. Ached to feel him… touch him. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you — but it would be wrong. It would be so wrong.

Another chuckle. You hated when he did that. As if all of this was some kind of joke to him. Did he even know what he was doing to you? It was like torture.

“See, the Grand Bishop’s daughter… oh wow. She’s a vision. She dotes crimson red lips and she walks around as if she owns the place, her stiletto heels clicking against the floor. She’s bad, like the devil in disguise, and yet, I know her. She’s young and untouched. Her father will probably marry her off to some other minister in the outer-rim, ship her away for good. And she’ll be forced to deal with very mediocre sex for the rest of her life. Which is a shame, really, because she deserves better. You deserve better.”

“You have no idea who I am.” you spat out, feeling your cheeks burn with rage. How dare he make these assumptions about you and your family. This crude, older man with a tongue that could kill. How dare he.

You wanted to be mad at him so bad. He couldn’t possibly get away with this. But he was going to. Because what exactly could you do?

“She’ll never know how it feels to be stretched open by a real cock,” Din gritted out, dismissing your comment completely. “F—fuck.”

Din was palming himself through his pants, desperate for some kind of release. His sleuth, dirty words set a fire blazing in your core. You wanted it too. You wanted it so bad. You contemplated all the things you could do, all the actions and their consequences. You and the Mandalorian, both in the confession box. You couldn’t even see one another… the prolonged silence on your end prompted Din to get up and leave when he heard your honey velvet voice speak once more.

You had to say something.

“When the lights are out and everyone is asleep, I think about you,” you confessed, hating the way the croaky admission left your lips. You’d done it now. Din’s head snapped upwards to face the wall and oh how he wished he could see you right now. You were squirming around in your chair and when you heard the zipper of his pants become undone, you knew it was your queue to continue. “I touch myself. It’s hard to keep quiet… thinking about you. I imagine you touching me… running your gloved hands all over my body,” you bring your hand to your breast and give it a little squeeze. “I figure.. maybe you don’t take the gloves off. You praise me when you feel how wet I am, and I tell you that it’s all for you. I’m all yours. To use however you like. I want you to ruin me. Spoil me for any other man. Fuck me until I cant walk. Bite me, give me marks I have to hide during tomorrow’s mass.”

Din made a fist around his cock and began to pump as he listened to the dirty words that left your holy lips. His grunts and groans echoed throughout the box and went straight to your core. Oh how you wished you could see him right now. Peeling up the hem of your robe, you slid your fingers under the waistband of your panties and began to rub tight circles into your clit.

“You’re a virgin?” he asked, although it came out more so like a statement. Like he already knew the answer.

“Ye-yeah,” you whimpered, quickening your pace.

He was achingly stiff now, beads of milky white precum already dripping down his shaft.

“You want this?” He quizzed. “You want my cock right now? Think you deserve it?”

And in that moment, you made your decision.

Maybe this life that your father had given you, just wasn’t for you.

“Y-yes, oh God yes. I deserve it.”

A low and dark chuckle left Din’s lips. “You’ve been a child of God your whole life. But you want this, yes? You’ve been waiting for this?”

He was right. You had been waiting for this.

“P-please Din, please. Wreck me. Ruin me.”

“In the chapel too?” he laughed, rising to his feet. “You really are desperate. C’mon then.”

In a fluster, you practically fell out of your side of the confession box.

The Mandalorian stalked towards you with his cock in his hand, jerking himself off as he got nearer and nearer. His eyes didn’t leave you once and although you couldn’t see his face, you could only imagine the predatory glint in his eye. Maker he was huge, and thick, and you wondered how you’d ever be able to take him.

You weren’t used to this— Maker, you’d never done anything like this before. There was no way your fingers would ever be able to compare to the size of the Mandalorian.

“Are you sure you want this?” he grunted, releasing his cock and grabbing your throat, giving it an experimental squeeze. You nodded your head desperately and subconsciously licked your lower lip. “I must know. If I start, I won’t be able to stop. Do you want me to claim you?”

Just like Hades claimed Persephone? You shut the absent thought out of your mind and agreed to his proposition.

“I do.”

If it was so wrong, why did it feel so right? You had dreamt of this moment. How could you ever deny him?

He pinned you against the altar and tapped at your thigh, gesturing for you to open your legs up. His eyes dropped straight to your dripping core and he had to hold back a guttural moan.

Din wasted no time and rubbed his cock along your slick wet folds. For a second you were afraid he’d knock over the many burning candles that you had lit earlier in the evening, before your little confession session had begun. But, to no surprise of your own, the Mandalorian had extremely good coordination.

“Oh f-fuck, such a pretty little thing. So warm, bet— bet you feel so fucking good.” Din mumbled utterances of praise, his grip tightening around your wrists as he propped you up.

Every now and again the bulbous tip of his cock rubbed over your clit and the sensation practically sent you into orbit. You were touch starved, having never experienced intimacy like this with anyone before. “Do you want me to fuck you now, huh? Want me to fuck that pretty little cunt of yours?”

You whimpered a small ‘yes’ and Din chuckled darkly, tapping his cock against your cunt before sliding into you with one swift movement.

You let out a squeal, your fingernails digging into the muscles of his back as he seated deep inside you. Underneath his helmet, his perfect lips were parted into an ‘O’ shape as your fluttering walls clenched around him and made him feel like he was home.

“Fuck— so tight, so fucking tight. Just like I’d imagined.” He murmured, feeling like he was already seeing stars.

Din thrust upwards into you, the curve of his cock stretching you open and pulsating inside of you. His movements were rough and bruising, as his fingers dug into the soft flesh at your hips as he held onto you for support. Just like you’d requested, he was completely and utterly using you.

“How’s that?” his gasp rolled into an achingly long groan as his balls slapped against your cunt, creating the most obscene wet sounds.

It was uncomfortable at first. He wasn’t soft or gentle by any means, but you’d anticipated that. After just a few thrusts, the intrusive pain turned into bolts of pleasure that coursed through your veins. It clouded your vision like white noise— like what the red berry wine you’d drink during Sunday mass would do to your mind. Din grabbed at the thin cloth that covered your chest, and ripped it off, exposing your bare breasts to him. A sheen of glistening sweat glazed your skin like the most beautiful honey dew. The Mandalorian was tall and broad, and as he towered over you, he coated you in his dark shadow.

His large hands palmed at your breasts and you moaned at the sudden, unexpected contact. He continued thrusting, fucking you mercilessly. With every movement, he hit that sweet spot inside of you, and you knew he’d been doing this for a long time. He was definitely experienced.

He dropped his hand for your chest and lowered it to your clit, expertly moving his two fingers across your bundle of nerves. That feeling, combined with his thick cock, was enough to send you over the edge.

“Oh yes, yes, yes,” you chanted his name like it was a prayer— and he felt powerful.

The Mandalorian grinned wolfishly under his helmet as he increased his speed. You were seeing stars and it felt like your whole body was trapped under a spell. His spell.

“I ca- oh I can’t, I’m close, I’m close,” you cried as he continued to rock his hips into yours.

You hugged his body into yours, wishing the pleasure would never end. With every twitch of his cock he watched you intently. He watched the way your body reacted to him, revelling in the way your face screwed up in heated pleasure. Din adored the way your brow knitted together and your mouth parted as the most angelic noises omitted from your plush lips.

“Have you ever felt so alive than you do right now, with me inside of you?” Din queried with a grunt.

“No,” you answered, shaking your head profusely. “Please don’t stop.”

Your orgasm ripped through you like a tornado and without warning, The Mandalorian split his seed deep inside of you, his salty cum roping your perfect walls as they gripped down around his cock. Now he had marked you for life.

Din returned to confession a week later when your father had returned from the Festival of Lights. There was no reason for you to see The Mandalorian anymore.

“Forgive me, Grand Bishop, for I have sinned yet again.” Din announced, his voice clear as daylight after discarding his beskar helmet. He ran a gloved hand over his face.

“Another kill?” your father inquired, but from the other side of the wall, Din could only smirk.

“I’ve met a woman. A holy woman. And she has consumed my every thought. When I think about her I feel more inclined to sin, over and over again.”

It was true. Your ruby red lips, high heels, thin robes… Din had become completely enraptured with you.

Your father spent a moment contemplating the Mandalorian’s words, finding that he was speaking a lot differently than ever before. Not as ruthless or dangerous— but almost genuine.

“Would you give your body to this holy woman, if she requested you do so?” The Grand Bishop asked, not realising he was speaking about you, his own daughter.

“I already have,” Din confessed, subconsciously licking a stripe over his lower lip, at the memory of your taste. “And I would do it again.”

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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Taglist for ‘Sinner’: @guiidiiosa @pascalpanic @fucktheforce @rosalierowan

#din djarin #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #dark din #star wars #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

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babyboibucky · 4 years ago

Text

Birthday Tiara

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You weren’t enjoying your birthday until Bucky comes along.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: SMUUUT, oral (m receiving), p in v penetration, unprotected sex

A/N: This is dedicated to our birthday girl @whoth3hellisbucky 🥰 I’m so happy and flattered that you sent me this request!!! I wrote and finished this piece as soon as I got your request lmao that’s how excited I was. I really hope you’d enjoy this!!! Happy Birthday and have a great one, lovely!!! 😘

MAIN MASTERLIST

How in the fresh hell did you end up being in someone else’s birthday party during your own birthday? You have no idea in all honesty. Was it fun? Yeah sure, free unli-booze for you and your friends.

Were you having fun though? Not really.

This was supposed to be your day, and initially it was. You’d taken your girl friends out to dinner, did some pre-gaming at a nice bar and then went from one club to another. Everything was peachy and going as planned until one of your friends saw her co-worker who happened to be on her way to another friend’s house for a party.

One thing led to another and now you were here, in a stranger’s house and all by yourself because your so-called friends were too drunk to even remember why all of you were out together in the first place.

“Best birthday ever.” You harrumphed sarcastically as you stepped out into the backyard.

You shivered at the cold wind that welcomed you and wrapped your arms around yourself. Letting out a melancholic sigh, you began to kick at the ground in disappointment at how the night went.

Looking up, you found yourself staring into a pair of ocean blue eyes. You didn’t know whether you had looked at each other at the same time or if he had been watching you ever since.

He was standing a few meters away from you, with two other ladies who were chatting with each other. The man was tall and handsome, you could see that even in the dark. Brunette locks and a five day old stubble, donning a jacket with a wool collar— very, very handsome.

As if his physical appearance wasn’t attention-grabbing enough, he even had a plastic tiara on his head and you have no idea why.

The two of you continued eye fucking each other but neither of you decided to make any move. Despite the guy engaging in a conversation with the girls, his eyes kept going back to yours. You smirked when he winked at you before taking a long sip from his drink.

His eyes were glued onto you even as he brought a blunt up to his lips, taking a quick drag from it before handing it over to the girl in front of him.

And then he made a face at you, his hands gesturing as if he was telling you what the fuck are these girls even talking about?

You chuckled at his face and shook your head. Deciding that maybe, it was time to go home, you waved at the guy and walked away.

“I was asking you to come and rescue me out there, not leave me behind.”

Turning around, you found that the guy was already standing in front of you. Now that he was closer, you realized how tall and well-built he was. Your eyes automatically scanned him, from his wide chest down to his—

“Bucky.” He said, interrupting your thoughts.

“Bucky?” You repeated in question.

He nodded, “That’s my name. And you are?”

You eyed him suspiciously, trying to read his expression but he was just smiling at you and waiting for an introduction. You told him your name and shook his hand before the both of you started walking around aimlessly.

“What brought you here?” Bucky asked, hands inside the pockets of his jeans.

You shrugged, “Beats me. You?”

He mimicked your gesture, “Got dragged by a friend and now I can’t find him.”

You snorted, “Tell me about it. I was out with my friends to celebrate my birthday and now I’m alone.”

Bucky stopped in his tracks and tugged you back, his hand around your arm sending shivers down your spine.

“Hold on, it’s your birthday?” He asked with amusement. “As in today?”

You nodded, “Yup.”

Bucky licked his lips as he stared down at you, “You got a couple hours left to make the most out of it.”

You bit your lip, knowing exactly how you want to make the most out of it. Bucky was an attractive guy, you weren’t going to deny that. And he seemed to be insinuating at something too and honestly, you were up for it.

You were pissed off at your friends for ditching you for someone else’s party. At this point, you’d do anything to turn the tables around and make your birthday memorable at the last minute.

“Have any suggestions on how I can do that?” You asked, looking up at him through your lashes.

Bucky smirked, taking off his tiara and then placing it on your head.

“I’ve some things in mind that I can show you, princess.”

Bucky had you pinned against the door of whoever’s bedroom it was that the both of you first stumbled in. His lips were bruising yours as he kissed you fervently, hands wandering all over your body, cupping, squeezing whatever he can.

“Whose room is this?” You panted against Bucky’s lips as you pushed his jacket off his broad shoulders.

Bucky licked your lips and then began kissing his way from your jaw down to your collarbones, “No fuckin’ idea and I don’t care.” He huffed against your skin, tugging at the straps of your dress.

Your hands fumbled with the buttons of his top, almost popping them off with urgency when you felt a hand brush your folds through the thin material of your lace underwear.

“Shit, wet already.” Bucky grunted before grabbing the hem of your panties, pulling it down your legs.

Finally, you managed to completely remove Bucky’s shirt, revealing his more than average body beneath all his clothing.

“Fuck, happy birthday to me.” You moaned before pushing Bucky towards the bed, climbing over him and straddling him.

Bucky groaned when you sat on him, your bare cunt pressed against his clothed erection. He watched you with lust-filled eyes as you reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it off and then throwing it aside. He chuckled when you fixed the tiara on your head, straightening it up.

Bucky’s hand slid from your thighs up to your waist, his rough palms leaving goosebumps in its wake until he reached your breasts. He cupped them before he unclasped your bra behind you, revealing your entire body to him.

He sat up and licked a nipple, eliciting a breathy moan from you as your hips began to grind against the rough material of his jeans.

“Fuck, baby. You messed up my jeans.” He chuckled, noticing the damp spot on his crotch.

You couldn’t care less anymore, you needed Bucky right now. You wanted to feel him against you, inside of you. Maybe it was the alcohol in your system or the sheer disappointment how your birthday went down, but you were desperate to get laid.

Bucky sucked your other nipple, his tongue laving at it playfully as your hands grabbed at his fluffy hair.

You moaned out his name when he pulled away, laying back down but leaving his hands on top of your thighs.

“Come get your present, birthday girl.” He rasped, head tipping towards the impressive tent on his pants.

You practically purred and wasted no time to unzip him, quickly pulling his pants down together with his black boxer briefs. His cock sprang free, slapping against his abs and you salivated at the sight of it— hard, red and weeping.

Taking his shaft in your hand, you bent down and licked a thick stripe from his balls up until the tip, tongue twirling around his crown earning a low groan from him.

“I’m not even sure if it’s still your birthday we’re celebrating or mine.” Bucky quipped breathlessly when you repeated the action.

You took the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking on it and letting your tongue flick against his slit while your hand began to give him slow but firm strokes. Bucky lifted his head up to watch you, hands framing your face before he decided to fix the tiara that was still tangled into your hair.

“Look at you, baby. Lookin’ like a dirty little princess with my cock in her pretty mouth.” He grunted, moving his hips to get more of his cock into your mouth.

You hummed around Bucky’s length, relaxing your jaw as you tried to take all of him. He was too big and girthy but god, he tasted magnificent. Even without touching yourself, you could feel your wetness gush out of your throbbing cunt.

The kind of throb that needed to be addressed as soon as possible.

Bobbing your head, you squeezed Bucky’s balls making his hips thrust upwards before you released him with a lewd pop.

“Wanna fuck you now, princess. Come here.” Bucky said and took your face in his hands when you climbed back up, pulling you down into an urgent kiss.

You whimpered into the kiss when you felt Bucky line his cock into your entrance, pushing his hips upwards until the head was in. Straightening up, you placed your hands on his chest and carefully sunk down on his length.

Both of you moaned in unison when he bottomed out, the heat in your abdomen growing and growing until you felt like your entire body was on fire.

“Go on, princess. I’m all yours, take what you need.” Bucky urged, holding onto your hips and guiding you to grind down on his cock.

The slow, deliberate roll of your hips against Bucky’s turned desperate, with you moaning out his name as you bounced on his erection. You watched Bucky throw his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he growled at the feeling of your velvety walls clenching around his cock.

You grabbed one hand on your hips and brought it up to your breast, letting him fondle it as you rode Bucky. He let the pad of his thumb brush against your nipple before pinching down on it, making you cry out in pleasure.

“Bucky, fuck! I’m close...” you whimpered, legs burning but never stopping as you chased your high.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down to him before rolling over until he was on top. His hips pummeled into you hard and fast, lips attaching onto your own and swallowing your whines.

“Cum for me, princess. Come on.” Bucky growled against your lips.

A certain snap of his hips allowed his cock to hit your sweet spot, sending you into a spiral of pleasure. Your body went rigid as you climaxed, your toes curling and your fingers digging deep into Bucky’s ass as your pussy clenched around him.

Bucky kept on thrusting, his breaths mingling with yours until he too came with a low grunt. You hummed at the feeling of his warm release filling you up.

“Fuck.” Bucky breathed out, his body going limp against yours.

You stayed quiet for a couple of seconds, catching up on your breath before you let out a chirpy chuckle.

“I feel bad for the person who owns this room.” You admitted.

Bucky pressed a gentle kiss on the side of your throat before lifting himself up with his forearms.

“I don’t.” He said before leaning down to kiss your lips.

“Happy birthday, princess.” He greeted again before removing the tiara on your head.

“Like I said, I had a couple of ideas on how you can make the most out of your birthday. We just checked the first one on the list.”

You made a face, unable to believe that Bucky wasn’t done with you yet. Before you could even protest, Bucky beat you to it by flicking his tongue against your clit.

“Lay down and let me show you how a princess should be treated.”

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14 @buckysmar @bakugouswh0r3 @sweetcoldharmony @wintersfilm @charminivy @amelia-song-pond @iamvalentinaconstanza @mcubqrnes @i’m-squished @tcc-gizmachine @sipsteacasually @prettyintopeerpressure @weloveyasmin @est19xxshit @bloodhon3yx @dressed-in-prada @lizette50 @thatfangirl42 @sunflowerbunny2 @unmagically @okiegirl24 @sugarpunch-princess @enlyume @vvipgotbb @slimeyderp @lyoongx @just-deka @nobody-will @jaziona92 @elisebuitron @dpaccione @suvikamahes98blr @buckybarneshairpullingkink @earthtonav @x-judyjude-x @nani-kenobi @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @belladonnabarnes @iloveangstposts @weenersoldierr @asemistablehundredyearoldman @reidbuck @lizzarooni @girlfriday007 @bonkywobble @lost-in-the-stars03 @its-yasbxtch

#bbb writes #oneshots: bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky #sebastian stan

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whumpiary · 3 years ago

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VAMPIRE TUCKER TAKE MY MONEY 💸💸💸💸💸💸💸💸

just a fun little ditty while all other writing routes are blocked. thank you for the inspo/encouragement anon! definitely indirectly inspired by the likes of @deluxewhump and @ashintheairlikesnow

content warnings: blood, blood drinking, some light murder, supernatural addictive substances

A square of silvery light streams in through the window, highlighting dust motes, half a frame of abstract wall art, a stain of bright red on tangled white bedsheets. Almost everywhere else, the blood is rendered dark and colourless by the shadows. But in that one little quasi-spotlight, it shows its colour: vibrant and enticing. Full of theoretical life. The hand of the body it was drained from, of course, lies lifeless and perfectly manicured atop the mess, the pale skin turned almost luminous by the glow of the streetlights and the moon.

It’s all quite artistic nonetheless, Tucker muses. Shame he doesn’t have a camera.

He wipes his mouth clean on a blanket before dropping it to the floor without ceremony. His meal had been a messy one tonight. It had wriggled.

He idly sucks his fingers clean of blood, picking up a book from the bedside table of their would-be host before putting it down again. He picks up a small metal trinket and does the same. An old ticket stub, a picture frame, an uncapped bottle of cheap perfume. All human’s little knick knacks were the same.

Up on the windowsill, his companion sits perched, not unlike a cat, a silhouette of bent knees and shoulder length curls from the moment they’d been welcomed inside, when their host had asked him if he wouldn’t be more comfortable on the arm chair in the corner. Such courteous last words.

Tucker, frankly, is sick of all the pouting.

“Come on Cassius,” he sing-songs. He licks blood from where it’s pooled in his palm. “Come get your supper from the nice dead lady.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Oh,” Tucker tuts, bottom lip jutting out in an utter mockery of sympathy. “I don’t believe you.”

The little thing curls his arms around himself, curling oversized jacket tighter around his body. “M’not.”o

He shivers as he’s doing it, letting out a little huff of breath that would fog the window if he were mortal. Tucker closes the distance between them slowly, licking blood off his fingers with each deliberate step.

“You know if you had a little drink you wouldn’t feel so cold,” Tucker says. He walks fingers up Cassius’ arm, only to get shrugged off when he gets to the shoulder. “Or so grumpy.”

“I’m not-“ Cassius huffs air through his nose again. “Fuck off, alright? I’m not cold. I’m not hungry.”

“But you are grumpy.”

Cassius tries for a little shove. It’s far too easy to step sideways and have him miss, tumbling forward off the sill as he over corrects. Tucker doesn’t give a chance to steady himself. He grabs his hair and pulls him backward, kicks his knees out for good measure so he can look down on him. He always likes looking down on him.

Cassius claws at Tucker’s hand, baring teeth, cute little fangs on display. Tucker smiles down at him, serene and satiated from feeding. He feels a little blood-drunk tonight, a fun floaty feeling sitting hand in hand with the sudden rush of strength and vigour.

“You’re being a baby,” he says with a sigh as Cassius writhes in his grip, far too weak to actually get anywhere. If he’d had a little drink maybe he’d have been able to put up more of a fight. He hadn’t had a nip in near three days.

“You didn’t have to kill her.”

“Oh is that what this is about.”

“You said it wouldn’t be like this.”

“I said it didn’t have to be like this, not that it never would.”

“I don’t think that’s why you’re so grumpy, though,” Tucker murmurs, almost conspiratorial. “You didn’t mind the killing on Friday.”

Cassius tugs a little against the grip in his hair, sneering. “That was different.”

“Why?” Tucker says absently as he straightens the fold on his sleeve. “Because he sleazed on you?”

He gets a glare for that one. “No.”

“Me think the boy doth project too much,” Tucker muses. He taps the little thing on the nose, laughing again as Cassius swipes at him like an irritated cat. “No, no. I know what you need. And it has nothing to do with your little vigilante vendetta situation, does it?”

Cassius gives him a flickering glance, far too transparent, before looking away again, glaring out the window at the here-and-there raindrops spattering the glass. The apparent nonchalance doesn’t cover the itch needling just below the surface though. It’s obvious. Tucker knows what he wants. He knows what he needs.

Tucker brings his own hand to his mouth, eyes on Cassius as he presses the pad of an index finger to the very tip of one fang. He feels the familiar pierce the flesh. The sweet, sharp sting of a needle point. And Cassius can smell it. It’s there in the minute flare of nostrils. The tiny parting of his lips as he sucks air in. Thirsty boy.

Tucker brings his hand down to inspect the single droplet of blood swelling up on the curving swirls of his own fingerprint, “You want dessert before dinner, sweetheart?”

Cassius keeps his eyes averted, pressing his little lips back together until all that’s left is a thin line of a mouth. He shakes his head, dark little mane of curls tugging in Tucker’s grip.

Tucker tuts his tongue, pouting again for a moment before bringing his hand closer in to Cassius’ face, “You sure, baby?”

He can barely contain his amusement at Cassius’ twisting hands, white knuckled around the hem of his own hoodie, at the little twitch of his nose as he tries not to smell it, tries not to look. Another little shake of the head.

He was good at denial, Tucker could grant him. Years of practice from a sire who kept him hooked on vampiric blood while refusing to turn him properly all the while. What did that do to a person, exactly? Turn them into something unlike a person at all, he was sure. Even for the likes of them.

Tucker hums in thought. He reaches his hand forward, dragging the droplet of his own blood over the little thing’s lips, an uneven line over the Cupid’s bow, dragging down at Cassius’ bottom lip for a moment as he goes, his teeth glinting in the glowing light.

And that does it, doesn’t it? Another little intake of the breath, deeper and more primal than the first, and Cassius’ eyelids flicker. His eyes snap to Tucker’s with naked hunger, pupils dilating wide and black as a predator’s ready for the hunt. If the thing had a pulse, Tucker’s sure he’d be able to hear it from where he stands.

Cassius lasts maybe a second longer before his pink little tongue darts over his lips, laps up the blood. He’s desperate for it. Stranded in the desert, ten miles from water.

He lurches forward for more only for Tucker to pulls his hand right back with a grin, “What do you say, sweetheart?”

There’s barely enough hesitation for the thing to swallow. “Please.”

Tucker laughs, the sound melodic against the uneasy rhythm of the rain picking up outside. He brings his mouth to his wrist, fangs piercing the flesh there with ease. It’s a good thing he still has one hand keeping Cassius’ head in place or he’s not unconvinced the young little creature wouldn’t snap up and bite just to get his fix faster. So cute when he’s deseprate.

As it is, he suckles on to Tucker’s wrist like a starving pup on a teat as it’s offered. all that fight melting away to a deep satisfaction as he drinks, eyes closed in a surrendering bliss.

“Nothing but the best for you, hm?” Tucker croons. “My little connoisseur.”

Cassius speaks around a mouthful of wrist, “Shut up.”

Tucker hums with a smile, tilting his head as he ruffles Cassius’ hair. Cassius makes a protesting sound that fades quickly to a low vibration in his throat as he continues to drink. If Tucker didn’t know him better he’d almost call it a pur.

“When you’re ready to play nice again you’re going to clean up this mess,” he tells him. “Have a little snack for the road and then see what we can take from the good lady’s stuff to sell on. Got it?”

When there’s no response beyond the obscene suckling of blood Tucker sighs, gripping the young thing’s jaw with a thumb and forefinger pressing into his cheeks. It puckers his lips, forces him to unlatch, hazed eyes flickering up with near confusion as he refocuses on the here and now instead of his little fix.

“Got it?” Tucker prompts again.

Cassius nods in his grip, blood smeared lips parted to take in shaky, unnecessary breaths. It’s a cute little habit. His eyes can’t stay on Tucker’s face, just keep sliding to the little piercing marks on his wrist. Tucker rocks back on his heels with a plaintive hum.

“Better watch yourself,” Tucker warns him, waving his arm like a forbidden fruit. Dilated pupils follow it like a cat tracking the swing of a pendulum. “If you’re not careful, you’ll rot those little teeth.”

He taps the tip of Cassius’ nose again, the creature shaking his head like a dog to get away from it. Tucker laughs before giving his wrist back over and Cassius attaches to it like it’s the answer to life itself. Perhaps to him, it is.

There’s another little humming vibration. A noise of relief. Tucker laughs again and cards his fingers through Cassius’ hair, for once the liytle thing too enraptured to shake him off. It’s hard not to have an affinity for a thing so reliant on you, isn’t it? Made you feel godlike. Affectionate, even.

“My little junkie,” he croons. Blood smears from his fingers through Cassius’ dark hair. “What on this godforsaken earth would you do without me?”

#answered #blood cw #death cw #addiction cw #vampire au #am I ever gonna write about this ever again?#probably not!#was it fun as hell all the same?#sure!#hope you see this anon!#I know it was a little bit of a wait #digging my way out of the writers rut with a spoon and a bad mood

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ssaalexblake · 3 years ago

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Actually, what if Tecteun's reply to 13 asking her if everything the master said was true, and Tecteun immediately knowing what the doctor was on about, wasn't a sign she was being a creep and spying on the doctor, but rather a sign that she knew what the doctor meant because she'd told the master what to look for in the matrix herself. She likes to meddle and play games, she released Swarm and set him on the universe in aid of her plans. There's a president for her to meddle to achieve her goals, it's basically Division modus operandi.

So what if this old lady clues him in, and he's curious so he goes and Looks and what he finds breaks him, but this wasn't about him at all for Tecteun, it was about manipulating him into telling the doctor the information so her universe ending plans could fall properly into place.

I'm sure it would have been So Easy for her to manipulate him into taking a look through the matrix. I mean, he says he was just casually going through it basically like we all channel flip on the tv and okay you Don't need more nuanced motivation than that, but if Tecteun wanted the doctor to know the basics of what happened to prepare her plans, then tipping off the master -the one obsessed with the doctor for thousands of years- would be the perfect way to make it happen without risking any division members going near 13 after she unfortunately ran into her past self and Gat and learned they worked for a place called The Division, and would therefore be on the lookout for any mention of the organisation to get some answers.

I always though the only time the master looked Properly like he was lying through his teeth in ttc is when he says all other knowledge of the timeless child is lost, gone forever, I mean he was also talking crap a few other times but not necessarily in a 'i am openly lying' kind of way and more in a 'my perspective is messed up, kind of way, but in that moment Dhawan played him Noticeably shifty as hell and he's absolutely capable of perfect nuance in his performance, that was deliberate.

So what if he was shifty not because there was more in the matrix to see, but because he was lying about how he found out about it and had worked out exactly Who the person who tipped him off was? Or at least, who they worked for using context. I also always found it Very odd he'd not spent a lot of time focusing on Tecteun, to be honest, she'd absolutely be somebody he'd try and rain down vengeance upon and he doesn't even seem to care the tiniest bit? At the time I actually thought that may be a clue Tecteun would come into play again in the future and any plot like this might derail that, and I wasn't wrong that she'd appear, but now i'm thinking that maybe his plan was for him and the doctor to die and for it to in turn ruin whatever scheme she had up her sleeve that way.

I just feel that if we balance the odds out here, it's probably more likely Tecteun knew what the master told 13 because she told him/had him find out about it herself, and contextually of course that's what the doctor would ask her, than her spending great scores of time spying on them both to know what happened (she's in the middle of a plot to end the universe as all know it, she's a busy lady).

#dw shit #been thinking abt this one for a while #i don't think they were in kahoots #i think he'd Hate her more than most other beings in the universe #but that doesn't mean there isn't a connect there #i am spitballing it's a theory not a headcanon #i just on balance think this is more likely than the spying thing #dw meta

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yaskefer · 2 years ago

Text

sons and seams and symphonies

read on ao3

This is my contribution to the Jaskier Mini Bang 2022 (@jaskierminibang) my first fandom event ever! Super excited to share this fic with you, along with the basolutely stunning decoupage art @nadik1 did for it that you can check out here.

summary: When Renfri escapes Stregobor’s men, she leaves behind a brother. Stregobor compensates. When Geralt enters the tower at Blaviken, he senses the presence of another being other than the mage and his illusions. The two things are connected.

Renfri had messed up her stitches again. They were uneven and did not look like flowers at all, and her fingers were sore from the dozen times she’d pricked them. She stuck her index finger in her mouth, sucking on it and scowling. She’d much rather be with Jaskier right now, playing knights and brigands, maybe. Or try to train Daisy with as many wrong commands as possible to annoy the stablemaster.

She blew out a noisy breath, setting down the ruined embroidery work, and stood up. Technically, she didn’t need to be doing needlework right now. But she needed to show Jaskier that she could do it. If he could make recognisable buttercups in straight rows across a long piece of ribbon, she could at least stitch one recognisable flower.

She reached back to touch said ribbon, currently tied around her hair, keeping it out of her eyes. It was a simple ponytail, something both Jaskier and their stepmother disliked. Jaskier wasn’t allowed to keep his hair long, so he always wanted to play with Renfri’s, who’d rather have it cut short halfway to her ear, but wasn’t allowed to.

Sometimes she wished she could swap places with Jaskier. She knew Jaskier would agree too.

The door to her room flew open, and Jaskier strode in. He paused when he saw her abandoned needlework, before leaning over to take a better look at it, brows furrowed.

"Judging by the colours, you were trying to draw flowers. But judging by the shape, maybe you were having a go at Lady Aridea's hair," he proclaimed finally.

Renfri let out a snort, and Jaskier snatched up the piece. He took up the needle and started undoing the stitches. Fixing them, properly.

Renfri cast a worried look at the door, "What if someone sees you?" she hissed at him, moving to shut the door before anyone could look in. Jaskier already got punished enough for not being 'manly' enough, whatever the fuck that meant. If someone saw him sewing, they'd both be in for it.

"Hush, it'll be fine. If someone comes in I'll just tell them I was making fun of you." He bit down on his lips, fingers moving effortlessly through the threads, doing and undoing them so fast that trying to keep track proved impossible. "It's not too bad," he said, "It's just…" he looked up at her, badly hiding a grin as he coughed very deliberately.

"Aren't you supposed to be learning accounts or something," Renfri shot back, annoyed.

Jaskier waved his hand dismissively, "I have to leave something good for you, don't I? Can't take all the spotlight."

Renfri aimed a swat at his head, which he deftly dodged. She could see some silly retort on his lips, but didn't let him speak it before throwing a pillow at him, which struck him right in the middle of his face.

Jaskier spluttered, Renfri laughed, and for a moment, she didn't have to worry about the black sun, or the creepy old mage, or the hate always colouring Lady Aridea's eyes.

---

Jaskier stared blankly at the wall in front of him, counting his breaths slowly. In for the count of three, hold for three, and out for three. It wasn’t really helping, but he could feel himself going numb.

These were the things he knew; the mage– Stregobor– was talking to his father and stepmother. Renfri was gone, and Renfri hated Stregobor.

Stregobor was here, and Renfri was gone.

She hadn’t said anything to him. He woke up that day to see her gone, which wasn’t unusual in itself, except she’d never come back to her room the night before. He’d gone to her room to show her his new piece, a handkerchief with the tiniest birds stitched along the sides, and she hadn’t been there. She hadn’t been there in the morning either.

And then there had been a lot of chaos, with Stregobor at the head of it.

When the door to the room opened, Jaskier didn’t look up, but he knew who it was. There was something about the man that seemed to suck all joy and life out of the room whenever he entered. Something about him that made you suffocate.

“Well, Julian,” he said, and finally, Jaskier looked up. Stregobor had the nastiest grin on his face, “Looks like you’re coming with me.”

Jaskier froze, staring at Stregobor, as icy cold fingers gripped his heart and squeezed. “No,” he said automatically.

Stregobor frowned, “Come now, Julian, don’t be difficult. You know what your sister did. Creyden doesn’t need a prince like you.”

“No one needs a sorcerer like you either.” Jaskier thrust up his chin. He’d leave, he’d leave that day, no one cared anyway. He’d leave and find Renfri. And they’d run away together. He didn’t know what Stregobor had done to her, but he’d find her and, knowing Renfri, make Stregobor pay.

He never wanted to be a prince anyway, so confirmation that even his father didn’t want him didn’t quite phase him.

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you, don’t you?” Stregobor said idly, taking a step closer to him. Jaskier willed himself to stay still. “Just like your sister. It won’t serve you well.”

Jaskier stiffened, “Ren did nothing wrong.”

“You would say that, wouldn’t you?”

Jaskier lurched to his feet and snarled at him, “Fuck you! Fuck you to hell and back.”

Stregobor just gave him a half smile, his quirked lips a cruel slash against an even crueller face.

---

It was a beautiful day, and the sun felt good on her face, warm and bright, colours visible even through her closed lids. Renfri could hear a stream running nearby, crouched down on the ground, barefoot with her toes curling against the soft, cool soil. Her hands were buried in it as well, her britches rolled halfway up her calves.

The britches had been made with Jaskier in mind, but it didn’t really matter. They often exchanged clothes, often enough that they practically had the same wardrobe.

It was late afternoon, almost evening, now. The sun hanging low, the sky just starting to turn into a beautiful shade of orange, lighting up her hair a brilliant crimson. She was waiting for Jaskier, they were supposed to hunt for frogs in the stream after his fencing lessons were done.

When she finally heard footsteps behind her, as familiar to her as her own heartbeat, she rose and turned with a smile.

The smile slipped off her face like water through cupped hands when she noted his red-rimmed eyes and the dark red mark on his cheek. It would definitely bruise later.

Jaskier gave her a watery smile, coming closer as he started rolling up his sleeves to go catch frogs. Like nothing had happened to derail their plans.

Oh no, so not happening. She grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him to a stop before he could step into the water. He hadn’t even rolled up his britches yet, Lady Aridea would be apocalyptic if they went back with muddied clothes.

She raised a hand to Jaskier’s cheek, her fingers leaving a muddy smear across pale skin. She gritted her teeth as his smile turned more genuine.

“I’m going to kill him,” she said, seething. How could their father allow it? How could he just… let others hurt his children? Did they not matter? Were they not his firstborn? And she could get it, she could, his disregard for her. She was a girl, a woman, more a bargaining chip than anything. But Jaskier? Why did no one care about him?

“I’d love to watch,” Jaskier grinned, showing teeth, this time. He grabbed her hand and tugged it down, “Let's go catch some frogs to put in Aridea’s bed now.”

---

The room he’d been given was cold. Goosebumps erupted across Jaskier’s skin, and his teeth would have chattered if it weren’t for the gag Stregobor had stuffed in his mouth; dry, rough, and foul-tasting. He shivered and shuddered, the lightest of movements making the too-tight ropes chaff against his already bruised wrist and ankles.

The ceiling was high enough to be intimidating, to make him feel small, cowed, almost. He couldn’t even lift his hands up to wipe the angry tears from his face.

Stregobor hadn’t done anything to him, not really. Just tied him up, gagged him when he started screaming profanities at the man, and put him in this cell. Stonewalled, windowless, and cold as fuck. He’d even stripped his shoes, socks, and doublet from him, leaving him only in his chemise and britches.

It would have been a cell, he supposed, if it weren’t for the perfectly ordinary wooden door instead of metal bars.

It didn’t really matter, though. Not the cold, not the gag, not the rope burns around his wrist and ankles, not the fact that he’d been essentially disowned, not the fact that he would never go home again.

What mattered was that he would never see Renfri again. He didn’t think he would. Stregobor had taken them far away from Creyden, the portal causing an instant change of temperature and making Jaskier lurch and retch until he couldn’t throw up anymore. Far far away from home.

He didn’t even know if Renfri was alive. He knew she’d run away, and she knew the woods, like Jaskier, like the back of her hand. But they were only 14, and one could only do so much with trained men after them.

He shuddered, more tears leaking out of his eyes. He didn’t want to cry, he didn’t, didn’t want to give Stregobor the satisfaction of seeing him cry if he were to burst into the room. But if he didn’t grieve for Renfri, no one would. If he didn’t cry for her, no one would.

He couldn’t just… let go of her like this.

So he cried, and shuddered, and sobbed until the tears ran dry. And then he cried some more.

---

“See?” Jaskier said, grinning at her, “It’s pretty. And deadly. Like you.”

Renfri laughed, her fingers running delicately over the ornate hilt of the dagger, “You’re just complimenting yourself, you know?”

Jaskier snorted, “I’m not deadly though. I can’t even fence properly. You’re the one who manages to copy Sir Frederick just from looking at us practice.”

Renfri shrugged, pleased at the praise but unwilling to admit it. And anyway, Jaskier was a lot better at her in the things she was supposed to be good at, so that made them even.

She couldn’t stop running her fingers over the knife, the hilt starting to warm with her constant touch. There was a beautiful, bright red ruby embedded in it, the colour of blood. Her favourite colour. She didn’t ask where Jaskier had gotten it. She just knew he had gotten it for her, and she knew he must have paid some sort of price for it, or he wouldn’t have given it to her as such a reverent gift. It was a beautiful thing, nearly as beautiful as her mother’s ornate brooch.

It wasn’t very long, the hilt and the blade making up roughly the length of her forearm. It was double-bladed, sharp, clean, and gleaming. One side of it was silver, the other steel.

She could feel a lump in her throat, tears starting to gather in her eyes.

Jaskier noticed, because of course he did, and beamed at her, “C’mon then, are you going to show me how to skin rabbits with it now?”

Renfri laughed wetly and shoved him backward.

She loved Jaskier so much that sometimes it hurt. She loved him to the point of destruction, and she knew without a doubt that there was very little she wouldn’t do for him. The thought didn’t scare her, as it perhaps should have. He deserved it, he deserved someone who would be willing to go to the ends of the world for him.

Why would it scare her?

She was already a monster, why not be a monster for a worthy cause?

The ribbon he’d embroidered for her was warm around her wrist, a constant reminder of his love for her as well, and now this.

She’d have to get a sheath made for it, and maybe a belt she can attach it to, or some sort of pockets in her skirts or britches she could put it in. She’d watch the knights and soldiers training more carefully, better, not just the idiot teaching Jaskier fencing. She had a dagger now, she’d best learn how to use it as well.

Worthy causes.

---

There was a girl. There were the woods. And there was a girl running through the woods.

Renfri’s breaths dragged out of her in painful, panting sobs as she ran, and ran, and ran. Her legs ached and cramped horribly, her fingers white-knuckled around the dagger Jaskier had given her, a stitch in her side that made breathing harder with every pounding step she took.

By Lilith’s name, she will fucking kill Stregobor, she will murder him, she’ll murder him with the same knife Jaskier had given her, she’ll shove it up that fucker’s arse, she’ll–

Renfri tripped over another tree root, her third in however many minutes she’d been running for. She landed on her hands and knees, her dagger flying from her hands and landing a few feet away. Her knees and palms scraped against the forest floor, stinging harshly.

She let out a choked sob, bent almost in double, before taking in a deep breath and straightening up. She crawled over to where her dagger had fallen, wiped her hands on her skirt and picked it back up.

Then she climbed to her feet, took another few deep breaths, and looked around to see if anyone was still pursuing her. She couldn’t hear anything other than the usual forest sounds, but she knew that didn’t mean much.

Her body shook with tremors, and her knees threatened to buckle even as she stood still. The slippers covering her feet were impractical and made her soles hurt. Her dress was thin, it itched in places where the embroidery was done badly along with the frills that had been added in awful places, and there was a long rip running right up to the middle of her thighs.

She turned her head up, letting the sunlight filtering through the tree canopy fall on her face.

Then she resumed running.

---

“We should run away together,” Jaskier said quietly.

They were sitting in Renfri’s bed, pressed against each other. The large window was open, letting in the cool night air and making the little wind chime hanging in her room tinkle pleasantly. A single large blanket was wrapped around both of them, lush and soft and warm. Jaskier was warm as well, and Renfri was happy.

“That’s a nice dream,” Renfri whispered, closing her eyes and letting the cool air rustle through her open hair. She hated braids, the maids always did them up too tight and they pulled at her head and gave her headaches. Taking out the clips and hair ties always led to several yanked-out hairs as well, and her hair was long enough that sometimes it made her head feel heavy.

Jaskier had a hand on her head, and was scratching gently at her irritated and sore scalp. She sighed, and melted a little against him. She could remember their mother doing this for her, very vaguely, more feeling than real memory. But she could remember it.

“I’m serious,” Jaskier said, a small laugh huffing out of him before he turned serious. “It’s not like there’s anything for us here, no one’s gonna miss us.”

“You’re the heir to the throne, why’d you want to run away?” Although she already knew the answer. It wasn’t the first time they were having this conversation. Their life was a bleak one, with rules and confines and helplessness. Running away fantasies were a staple.

“I–” Jaskier turned suddenly, jolting Renfri so she had to straighten up and face Jaskier as well. She missed the calm of his hand on her head, but she paid attention, “This isn’t just a fantasy anymore, Ren. We both know that I’m the heir only in name, we both know Father’s just waiting for Aridea’s son to come of age before he names him heir. And that’s the best case scenario, the one where I remain the second in line and you the third. Worst case would be an accident, to get rid of me, to avoid the scandal of changing the heir. And you? God knows who he’ll just… marry you off to.”

Ice slid down her spine as she stared at Jaskier’s face. He looked scared, more so than she’d seen him before. And he was right, wasn’t he? They were rapidly growing older, nearer to the age when they’d become true threats. When they’d need to be dealt with.

Renfri had already had her first blood, which meant that any moment her father and stepmother might start looking for good marriage alliances for her. To sell her off to the highest bidder.

She couldn't imagine staying away from Jaskier. She couldn’t imagine marrying someone. She couldn’t… she didn’t want to imagine it.

To her mortification, her eyes started stinging with tears, Jaskier’s eyes widening at the sight.

“Ren, I wasn’t trying to– fuck–”

“I know,” she interrupted him, “I know. I just… you’re right. We should. We should run away. But how? You know we’re guarded all the time, right? Most of the time. It’s not like old times anymore, when we were still young enough to get ‘lost’ in the woods and die.”

Which was the only reason they hadn’t been monitored so closely before. The reason they could traverse the woods and play in the mud and try and catch frogs. Because everyone always kept hoping they would fall into a ditch somewhere and die.

But now they were too old to leave alone.

“We’ll find some way, okay? You and I,” Jaskier whispered, leaning his head against Renfri’s forehead, his breath warm on her face.

A wolf howled in the distance, low and mournful.

---

The woman’s screams rang through his ears, making Jaskier wince and writhe on the stone table he had been tied to. His head hurt, pounding in tandem with her shrieks, and he was sure his ears would start bleeding any second.

The screams abruptly cut off, replaced with a low, pained, keening noise, watery and heart-wrenching. Jaskier went limp on the table, furious and terrified. He stared up at the ceiling, a scowl etched on his face as his fingers clenched and unclenched.

Footsteps sounded, and he refused to turn his head to look up as Stregobor’s passive voice spoke, “Well, she isn’t dead yet. So that’s some progress. Your blood does some really strange things, Julian. It’s fascinating.”

Jaskier didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak, what with the bit that the mage had forced into his mouth in response to Jaskier’s threat of biting his tongue off and depriving him of his favourite test subject.

A cold hand rested on his head, and he bucked hard, trying to dislodge the hand. It didn’t budge, only stroking lightly at his sweat-soaked hair.

“You don’t have to work yourself up into such a frenzy, Julian. Why do you care so much about some nameless woman? She won’t be missed. You haven’t even seen her.” He sighed, and removed his hand.

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut as he felt tears pricking at them. He would have struggled more, but it wouldn't have made a difference. Stregobor always restrained him too well, quite aware that if Jaskier got free then his magic would be useless against him. One could even say he overcompensated, especially against a skinny, malnourished teenager who was probably anaemic with the amount of blood Stregobor drew every day.

It had vindicated Jaskier at first, just how overcautious the bastard was, but now it only meant heavy chains, too little food, and more pain.

“Now,” Stregobor said, his voice grating and self-assured, “Stay still so I can take some more of your blood. I’m sure you can spare a few more vials before we are done for today.”

Jaskier tensed up, bracing himself for more pain. It still never really prepared him for the icy sting of a dagger cutting into the crook of his arm, the smooth, cold press of the vial pressing against the place as blood trickled into it. There was a row of several such neat cuts all across his arm. It wouldn't be long before Stregobor started on the next one.

When he had taken three vials of blood– not that Jaskier could be sure, lost in the haze of pain and fury as he was– Stregobor gave him a sickly smile, “I’ve been studying some things, Julian, and I think I might have made a breakthrough.”

He must have seen something on Jaskier’s face, because his smile widened, “Don’t you worry yourself about any of it, you just have to lay there, and try not to die.”

---

The Court of Creyden didn't have a full-time court mage.

They did have a consultant, someone who came when called and was paid on a case-to-case basis. The mage was always well dressed in expensive, revealing clothes, expertly applied dark make up, her hair open and falling below her waist.

Her clothes were even finer than Lady Aridea's, and looking at her was the only times when Renfri ever felt like dressing up. Because she didn't look like she hurt with every movement, she didn't look meek or stuffy. The mage's movements were fluid, graceful, dangerous. Something Renfri hadn't thought possible to do in as elaborate a dress as the ones she wore.

Renfri liked her. But they weren't really allowed to interact with her.

The only mage she and Jaskier had contact with was Stregobor. The mage who had delivered them both during the eclipse.

He was the worst person she knew. Looking at him made her want to take the dagger Jaskier had given her and jam it into his eyes. It wasn’t like he could do anything to stop her.

It had been a recurring topic, the twins' immunity to magic. Renfri thought she had seen something very, very similar to fear reflecting in Stregobor's eyes. It was subtle, it was quiet, there and gone in a flash. But it was there, and not just once, often.

Whenever she moved too fast, whenever she flashed her dagger, whenever she smiled at him with too much teeth.

It was all too clear in the way he had them stripped down to the barest slip of clothes whenever he came to see them. As if afraid of whatever they could be hiding beneath their clothes.

What a pathetic man, she thought, so very dependent on his magic that he can't contend with two little kids. No one else in the castle was afraid of them. They had contempt for them, yes, plenty of the palace inhabitants had contempt for her and Jaskier, but not fear.

In a way, Stregobor was the weakest man she knew. And she loathed him.

He poked, and he prodded, and spoke like he knew something she didn't. He never saw both Jaskier and Renfri at once. Always only taking one of them with them to the room.

Sometimes he would make them drink fowl little things from shiny little vials, and most of those times they would spend the rest of the day throwing their guts up, while he looked on with a furrowed brow and took notes. Like they were some specimen, some particularly exotic species he was trying to study.

She knew they were, at least for him. Nothing more than anomalies, interesting little creations that shouldn't exist, but did. Freaks of nature. But at least she knew she wasn’t alone. That there were other girls born like her. But there hadn’t been any boys, none except Jaskier.

Which made him quite interesting to Stregobor, and she hated the way he looked at her brother. With hungry eyes, like he couldn’t wait to get his hands on him, like he would love to cut him open and see everything inside.

She grit her teeth, she’d cut off his hands first. She would.

---

Renfri was lost.

She didn’t quite recognise the woods around her, but she didn’t feel like she’d been running for that long either. She’d seen some roads, she’d seen some travellers, but the people varied.

Some, undoubtedly, did belong to Creyden, their accents unmistakable. But there were several others as well, dark skinned and light skinned and men, and women, children, and players, merchants, and farmers, and on one occasion, a really pretty bard in a feathered hat who played the harp.

Their accents were from all over the world, and Renfri only recognised very few of them. Their clothes ranged a variety of different styles, and Renfri saw such exquisite yet practical hairstyles on some people they made her almost regret her decision to hack off her hair up to her ears.

Not like she’d had any choice, after her hair had gotten snagged into some tangled up branches and given her a spectacular cut on the brow. She could never handle her hair before, and she certainly couldn’t now.

It had become exceedingly clear that she couldn’t handle anything at all, really. Her dress hung in tatters around her, filthy and smelling and barely leaving anything up to the imagination. She didn’t think she’d eaten anything in days, but her memory was getting a little hazy, and the ground shook beneath her whenever she walked for longer than a few minutes at a time.

She’d thrown up horribly the last time she’d eaten. Some berries, brightly coloured and distinctly edible from what she knew. They mustn’t have been poison at least, considering she was alive and breathing. Her mouth felt like something had died in there, and her feet were covered in horrible blisters, some broken and bleeding, every step agony.

The sun had dipped low around the horizon, the sky a pretty blend of crimsons and inky purples, and she was starting to shiver. Her gaze was fixed on a little camp made by a lonely traveller. He had a mule, from what she could see, and a nice, cosy little fire going.

It was a well travelled road from what she’d seen. No need to have protection with yourself, no need to be overly cautious. Nothing much dangerous passed through these roads.

The man had food.

She could smell it, even several feet away. Something warm, and salty, maybe. Maybe some bread, or maybe he would even have dried fruits. He looked like the kind of person who carried dried fruits with himself.

He was setting up his bedroll now. Another luxury Renfri missed, with several days of pointy, dirty ground and ticks and bugs crawling all over her. Her back ached constantly and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d not felt tired. She couldn’t remember what it felt like to not be tired.

She swallowed around her dry throat, and tightened her fingers around the knife.

Needs must.

---

Every single day was worse than the last, and somewhere along the way, Jaskier had lost track.

Days and nights tend to blend together when you’re in pain and locked up in a dark and damp windowless room.

He knew they’d moved a few times, being shoved through a portal conscious for some, and waking up in a different room with a completely different temperature during others. Of course, the temperature thing could just be a trick Stregobor was playing on him, but he didn’t think the mage would waste his time on mind games like that.

Physical experimentation was much more fun, after all. Jaskier thought like a human, and Stregobor had no shortage of those.

He had absolutely no idea where he was, and no one else did either. Other than Stregobor, that is. He doubted the other victims Stregobor brought in had any more idea of where they were than Jaskier. He could be rotting away in the bowels of his own father’s castle and no one would be any wiser.

He’d grown weak enough that even the ever paranoid mage didn’t bother chaining him hand and foot, usually only leaving him with a short chain around his leg. He couldn’t really move around the place.

Jaskier lay shaking and shuddering on the floor, every single limb cramping and aching, both cold and hot. He couldn't feel his fingers. They’d burned at first, like he’d dipped them in liquid fire, but after a while the pain had given way to blissful numbness. He’d managed to drag himself a little away from the puddle of vomit, but that had sapped any remaining bits of energy from him.

Stregobor did this often. It wasn’t anything new, he’d done this when they’d been at Creyden’s court as well. But then he’d been a little restrained, by virtue of both him and Renfri being a prince and princess, curse notwithstanding.

Now? Now Stregobor had free reign to try out his more experimental potions. Some left him just unconscious. He didn’t know how long, but he’d just wake up feeling exhausted, missing time he had no way of measuring. Some would do nothing. Absolutely nothing. Some would have him throwing up for hours. Some had bruises sprouting all over his body, turning his limbs black and blue.

On a memorable occasion, one had taken away his sight for… for a really long while. Stregobor had hemmed and hawed and sounded awfully curious, prodding and poking at his face, his mouth and his eyes, drawing enough blood to leave him dizzy and nauseous.

He’d talked about maybe taking an eye out and studying it, but then discarded the idea because magic didn’t work on Jaskier– which involved healing magic as well– and he didn’t want to permanently maim the boy. Not yet, at least.

He’d shuddered and sobbed that day.

He’d also begged for the first time that day.

Jaskier hated thinking about it, the sheer helplessness of not being able to see, of not knowing whether it was permanent or not. It had been worse than being strapped down and force fed potions, worse than listening to people scream as Stregobor forced magic and concoctions into them, experimenting with his blood, worse than the potion currently running through him like hellfire.

The tears had taken hours to stop when he’d woken up to see. See. It hadn’t been permanent.

Stregobor hadn’t been surprised. Which meant he’d known his sight would return. Jaskier didn’t know why he’d expected the mage to tell him that. He was a cruel man with absolutely no regard for Jaskier beyond his value as a test subject, as a peculiarity and abomination. But he’d been unable to help the bitter feeling of betrayal run through him either.

Jaskier lurched up, bile rising in his throat again, burning and vile, making tears stream down his face. He wished Renfri were here. Most of the time, he was glad that she wasn’t. He couldn’t bear to see her suffer the way he was, couldn’t bear to think of everything Stregobor could have been doing to her if they had caught her.

Better dead than this. Better dead than suffering with no end in sight, better dead than treated worse than animal, better dead than having your humanity stripped away. And for what?

To satisfy the curiosity of one human? A human more monster than anything Jaskier had encountered before.

He didn’t move when the door to his cell creaked open, he didn’t move when he heard Stregobor’s footsteps, and he didn’t move when the mage dumped a thin, unconscious man near him.

The man’s face was covered in grime, making it hard to make out any finer features, and set in a peaceful expression that signified a forced magical sleep Jaskier had seen on several of Stregobor’s victims before. The rags he wore were filthy as well, ripped and mended in several places.

Typical, really. Jaskier wasn’t even surprised anymore. Stregobor always chose his victims well, the people no one would think to look for. It was so horribly cliche that on some of the worse days Jaskier could almost laugh about it.

Currently, the pain made it impossible to do much more than hack out coughs that splattered the floor in front of him with blood in tiny droplets, stark crimson against the grey stone floor.

“I have made some advances with regards to you,” Stregobor said mildly. Jaskier ignored him, knowing he would continue regardless of his answer.

Jaskier glared at him as he crouched down delicately, vanishing the mess at his feet with a wave of his hand. He held up two clear glass vials filled with blood.

“Now,” Stregobor said, going in his ‘lecture’ mode, where he would explain the torture he was about to inflict in very fine detail. Only when it suited him, of course. Like it did now. “This is your blood, just a little… modified. I am fairly certain it will not kill you. I have a theory, you see.”

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut, curling up tighter, trying to block out the mage’s self assured voice, grating on his nerves like nails on board.

“Of course, you’re resistant to magic, and a lot of magical potions as well. Nearly all magical potions, although they affect you a lot more than direct magic does. They’ve never once had the desired effect on you, and your body seems to reject them in increasingly— gruesome, perhaps, certainly messy ways.”

Jaskier peeled his eyes open to see a brief expression of disgust pass over Stregobor’s face, before it settled back into gleeful curiosity. Eager.

“Now, I was thinking, perhaps… Your body is unlikely to reject your own blood, especially if I pour it directly into your veins. Magically altered, the slightest bit. That might give me something more conclusive, won’t it?”

Despite the burning pain consuming Jaskier, his stomach turned to ice, cold fear washing over him as he weakly tried to get away. It wouldn’t matter, of course. He couldn’t get away, his body just refused to accept it.

Stregobor paid no attention to his useless scrambling, “This man right here,” he jerked his head towards the still unconscious person lying a few feet away, limbs askew, “Is also going to receive a vial of the same enchantment, although of his own blood. A comparison, you see? I think I might finally yield some concrete results with regards to you as a naturally mutated human.”

More tears leaked down Jaskier’s face as he tried to snarl at Stregobor in anger, shaking and shuddering. Stregobor looked at him with something akin to pity, mouth twisting a little before settling in a condescending smile, “I know it hurts, Julian. But you have to realise, it’s for your own good, and for humanity’s good. Who knows where we would be now if all the Black Sun princesses had been allowed to run free? And you, Julian, you are my most prized possession, the key to unlocking this mystery, the key to answering so many questions and perhaps even saving the world. Isn’t it better to just resign yourself to it rather than fight every way? I could make it hurt less.”

Jaskier spat out a thick mouthful of blood right onto Stregobor’s pristine robes.

---

The sword is an extension of her arm, and moves as swiftly and easily as her dagger does.

Renfri almost likes it more than the dagger. Almost. But not quite. Nothing will ever exceed her love for her dagger, no weapon so sharp, so dear, as her love for her brother. No fire as cold and eternal as the fire of vengeance that burns within her, whispering into her ears every single day that Stregobor lives.

The first time she had heard of Jaskier’s death, she had… stopped.

Everything had stopped. The world had gone very, very still around her, and not even the wind blew.

She did not know what she had expected. For Jaskier to come after her? For nothing to happen? For Creyden to move on like nothing had happened? For them to mourn the ‘death’ of Princess Renfri and then continue their merry way, perhaps happier than before, about having one cursed child out of the way?

They probably did do that. They just decided to get rid of the second cursed child as well. They killed Jaskier.

There was no ‘tragic’ accident that took the life of Prince Julian and Princess Renfri, no unfortunate event. It had been all carefully calculated by Stregobor, a convenient and pleasing turn of events.

And then the wind blew again, stoking a fire that refused to die now.

Renfri was going to kill Stregobor with the same dagger Jaskier gifted her, and she was going to make it hurt.

So she trained, and trained and trained and trained. Practising by copying, practising with Jaskier, never quite came close to the real thing. This was the real thing. This was the thing that Stregobor created, and this was the thing that would kill him.

And so she became the sword and the dagger and the Shrike. The Butcherbird on a bloody path, eyes set on a single, beaconing prey she would rent apart.

there's going to be a chapter two that i'll post in two weeks time, if you're interested you can either subscribe on ao3, or ask to be on the taglist.

#jaskier minibang #the witcher #my fic #witcher fic #jaskier dandelion #renfri of creyden #geralt of rivia

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pudding-parade · 3 years ago

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One of the many benefits of snake ownership...

They get rid of proselytizing Jehovah's Witnesses.

The JWs in my area have recently gone back to door-to-door preaching, which they hadn't been doing for a while because of The Plague. (They were writing me heartfelt letters instead. True story.) But they're baaaaaack! I've long been on their radar because they know I'm an ex-Christian atheist, and that sometimes I enjoy engaging with them to mess with them and their "theology," so they keep coming back. They come pretty much every Saturday, though often I'm not home because that's a day I do errands and stuff. So, they just leave their pamphlets shoved into the door, and I read them and have a giggle before throwing them into the recycling, and it's fine.

But a few Saturdays ago, I happened to be home. I was giving my baby Burmese python a spa day, with a nice long soak in a lovely warm bathtub because he was having a difficult shed and I wanted to loosen up the shedding skin. (Jungle species living in the desert; it happens.) Someone knocked on the door. I didn't think much about what day it was and just grabbed the snake out of the tub because I can't leave him alone in the bathroom or else he'll have everything in the room that isn't nailed down on the floor in about three minutes. I draped him around my neck, and answered the door.

And of course, my usual crew of three JW ladies and a boy about eight years old or so, which I guess is the son of one of the ladies, were at the door, all smiling and shiny-faced and ready to bring me back to the Lord. And there I am with a dripping-wet python around my neck, and he's busy trying to stick his snout up my nose. (I don't know why; it's one of his things.) I mean, he's a baby, less than a year old, and he's only about four feet long right now, and he certainly didn't do anything threatening, but the ladies went white as a sheet. (The kid, on the other hand, looked interested.) They left without saying a word, and I haven't seen them since. Maybe they thought I did this deliberately, but I truly didn't. Either way...Hallelujah, it's a miracle!

...although, honestly, I might miss messing with them, if they stay away forever.

#non sims #snakes are just the best

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wincore · 4 years ago

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vixen | nakamoto yuta

pairing: kitsune!yuta x female!reader

words: 5.1k

summary: every year, you visit the fox who claims to know everything about you.

genre: fantasy/folklore, fluff, angst(?)

warnings: suggestive, mention of past bullying, one excessively flirty nakamoto yuta

song rec(s): clear and sunny - sou (cover)

a/n: this is for all you furries who aren’t quite furries yet muah (im joking) but aaaa love exploring folklore and also i should put in a disclaimer that not every aspect adheres to the original tales of the kitsune <3 i did not proofread btw and i am very sorry

Some things never change.

Examples: boys, shitty friends, death, and the scent of nostalgia. To you, that very scent happens to be the earthy smell of chrysanthemums and a faint waft of spices from the kitchen in your parents’ house. To you, October is not just another month. To you, there is one more thing that never changes and it is not your belief in old ghost stories.

Around this time of the year, the autumn festival begins in a flurry of vibrant red smudges and a whiff of excitement, in streets suddenly brought alive. The skies are candied orange, and it’s the only time you aren’t tired of home. This time is also when you find yourself right in the clutches of the one demon you swore you’d avoid for the rest of your life. You swore. It’s not your fault that said demon is a little, let’s say, tempting.

Tempting in the most vexing, infuriating way possible. Bewitching, cruel, seducing—all that foxes are and all that you’ve heard of them could not have prepared you for an encounter. Folklore runs deep through you. The memories of a certain fox-boy run deeper.

It is not the festival you are here for.

You yawn, leaning against the wooden door frame of the shop. It would be inappropriate to fall asleep on the job, especially since there are a bunch of children staring idly at you. You close your mouth quickly, resting the back of your hand against your lips. Late afternoon is an easy time to fall asleep. You have half the mind to snarl at the kids to scare them off, their gaze getting on your nerves and when you think you will, you turn the other way. Manners come first to you, no matter how temperamental you get.

The procession has gathered a crowd. Some shouts and squeals from the children make you slump further. At least they’re having fun with whatever stupid game they’re playing. You breathe in the autumn air. A part of you wonders if you simply let your feet lead you down the stairs, you’d be free of this entire ordeal. You shake your head. Temptation has always been hard to resist—never meant to be resisted but you’re much older now. There is dignity to be answered.

October is mild—your grandmother’s shop is still on the verge of collapse, your mother still yells at you for misplacing kitchen utensils and your old friends from school still gossip about who you’re dating. It’s like the script never changes; people change the meaning, twist their words in the same old pattern. If you were a little less behaved, you would have poured your drink over their heads yesterday.

You clench your jaw. It’s always an ‘Oh, you’re so attractive’ and an ‘I wish I could date as many men as you do but I’m loyal to my boyfriend’, or even a ‘Must be nice being surrounded by boys all the time’. You know what they mean. It’s not the first time you’ve been called a fox, and you don’t think it’ll be the last—at least until you decide to stop letting your hometown suffocate you. Maybe you’ll accept what they say. You have heard of what hatred left unchecked can do.

If you’re honest, you haven’t been with too many men. If you’re a little more honest, none of them have ever made your heart race.

You watch the children play with a keen eye, their painted masks ridiculously large for their faces and in brightly coloured clothes contrasting well with the town. You might not be allowed to fall asleep, but there’s nothing against closing your eyes for a second or two.

The image of glinting yellow eyes and a fanged smile pop up and you quickly open your eyes. You don’t know why your heart beats so loud at the mere thought of him, thoughts in which his lips are full and painted red, and his bright smile is stretched upon them. Sometimes, the thought of him is in gentle washes, his hand fixing your hair, or a flirty smile when you dare stumble upon him on a particularly sleepless night. You shake your head to get rid of the thought. That is not love. Some sort of embarrassing attraction, maybe. However, the friendship you have is worse.

“I see you’re a slacker as always.”

Your grandmother’s voice breaks you out of your cycle of thoughts and you’re almost grateful.

“I sold approximately zero sweets,” you snort. “Why can’t we just do away with the shop?”

“You’re starting to sound like your mother,” your grandma calls from behind one of the counters, distaste ringing clear in her voice.

You sigh. “Fine, but… you work way too hard to make these for them to not sell.”

“Maybe they would sell if a certain little lady would stay and help.”

You groan, leaning your head back. “You know I have work in the city.”

Your grandmother waves her hand about, dismissing your reasoning. She fiddles around in the shadows for a bit before coming forward with more boxes than she should be able to hold.

“You don’t have to feel too guilty. Yuta’s been helping out,” your grandmother informs fondly. “You could learn a thing or two from him.”

You’re not the superstitious sort and yet still, your heart beats faster. For him, or for the bad omens foxes bring to a household—you don’t know.

You scoff instead. “He’s not as great a guy as you think, grandma. He can be really mean too!”

“Oh, I doubt that. Have you seen his smile? Impossible.” Your grandmother waves it off before drawing nearer, voice hushed without reason. “Have you thought about it then? He is handsome, isn’t he?”

“Grandma.”

You’re not sure what old women go through in their youth that makes them something of a matchmaker in their later years. You think the whole ordeal is messed up. There is no way you’re going to stick your nose into your grandchildren’s love life; it’s gross.

“These should be enough for the children, no?” Your grandmother asks and you look up.

“You’re giving them away for free?” you question, furrowing your eyebrows. “And you talk about bad business.”

She places her hand on her hip, pointing an accusatory finger. “You’re going to lecture your grandmother?”

You raise your hands up in defeat, standing up to help her with the red boxes of acorn candy and paper wraps of roasted chestnuts. You end up with the entire load in your arms, your grandmother happily shuffling about as she locks up the store.

You turn sharply at the surprised sound behind you. The evening has settled in and glowing lanterns bring forward the evidence, the darkening streets flooding with round droplets of light.

But it is not the festival you are looking at.

Yuta looks somewhat serene, your cheeks heating up despite yourself. You look at him with bated breath, hoping the boxes obscure your face enough to make the vaguely positive emotions less evident. The dark red jacket draped over his shoulder does not look out of place—in fact, he fits in so well you would’ve mistaken him for another face in the crowd if he weren’t stupidly gorgeous. He looks at you with no strong emotion in the eyes before breaking into a smile; and when his hand strokes the top of your head as a greeting, he seems fond. He always does.

“Grandma,” he calls with his best smile, turning to the old woman.

Your grandmother doesn’t need any more convincing of his character.

“Oh, there you are! Did I tell you (name)’s back? I wanted to break the news to you earlier. Ah…I must have forgotten.”

You glance from Yuta to her. Is this another one of her tricks and tests?

“She’s always here this time of the year,” he responds, laughing politely.

“Ah, you remembered,” she says, eyes crescent as she smiles back. “Help her with the boxes. The city has made her so frail.”

“I’m good,” you choke on the words, hurriedly moving away and almost dropping one of the boxes.

You slip on your sandals and scurry off faster, wishing he’d just stay behind. He always has. The air makes you shiver but you’re adamant; and it’s not the only trait of yours to make relationships fail.

“You know, you should be nicer to old friends.”

You try not to react when Yuta takes the boxes from you, matching your pace almost effortlessly.

“I thought foxes ran away once they’re found out,” you snap, reluctantly letting him take the packages.

Yuta rolls his eyes. “I see you still aren’t very fond of me.”

“Not when you’re tricking my grandmother like this,” you hiss.

“You call helping trickery?” he retaliates.

“Foxes bring bad business,” you mutter.

“I’m the reason your grandmother’s business is somewhat above the water.”

You sigh, exasperated. There’s no point in wasting your breath. You look away, crossing your arms as you walk, the silence between the two of you suddenly awkward. Even so, you’re not going to open your mouth for him.

“Would you two slow down?” your grandmother calls, voice weary. “We’re already there.”

The two of you halt in your tracks immediately, taking mellow steps back to her. She looks over the two of you with furrowed eyebrows and you try to think of an explanation when she starts laughing.

“Oh, I don’t mind the two of you flirting,” she says, littered with slow laughter. “Just make sure the food is where it’s supposed to be.”

You’re about to refute when Yuta laughs, the sound still boyish and lively. “Of course. (name) missed me so much this year, she couldn’t help herself.”

You give him a pointed look which he ignores, deliberately or not. “We- I wasn’t—”

“Grandmother, if you’ll give us permission,” he interrupts, settling the packages on the table by the food stall and smiling wide. “We’ll go enjoy the festival now.”

She bobs her head in affirmation and Yuta grabs your hand to pull you into the bustling street, your silent plea for help ignored by your smug grandmother.

“What are you doing?” you ask, slipping your hand from his. “You aren’t- You aren’t trying to eat my liver, are you?”

“Why the liver? Can’t I have the rest of you too?”

It’s not like you were particularly alarmed but his response makes you feel a flush of embarrassment.

“It’s been a year since I last saw you,” he says before his voice turns a shade cooler. “Have you thought about my proposal?”

You fall silent. The overthinking started last year too. Your thoughts and dreams, so easily pervaded by him and all it took was one sentence.

“We should get married.”

“Why did you even think I’d agree to that?” You try not to get too flustered. He knows all your petty weaknesses and you’d rather not have them on display for him to stare and pick at. “What the fuck would I get out of marrying you?”

Yuta whistles. “I like your tongue. But—yes, to answer your question, you’d get a very handsome and capable husband. Your bed will always be warm and oh, speaking of beds—”

You clamp your hand over his mouth at the suggestive look he sends, worried about being spotted by one of your school friends. Ah, right—friends, the very same people that smell of jealousy and won’t miss any opportunity to throw a jab your way. Friends. You can’t believe you’re still afraid of their judgement.

“And why do you want to get married to me?” you ask, looking into his eyes.

There’s a pause, filled with the chatter of the crowd.

“You look like you’re afraid of finding someone,” he speaks finally, ignoring your question. “Or is it the other way around?”

You roll your eyes, ready to walk off when he grabs your wrist to pull you closer to his chest. It draws some looks from nearby people, your eyes darting from face to face in fear. You take a deep breath and look at Yuta again, almond eyes distracting.

“People will think we’re lovers,” you whisper, almost a hiss.

“What’s wrong with that?”

You breathe out in disbelief. “You’re really something.”

“What? Why did you always come to meet me then? Behind the keyaki tree?”

“It wasn’t for you,” you lie quickly. “I had nothing better to do.”

Pining after a fox? You could never have feelings for him. Even so, your answer comes off childish and silly, and somehow he’s the only one to be able to draw that side of you—the you that is messy and unprepared.

Yuta smiles in return. “You think people can’t fall in love with us the same way they fall in love with most everything.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

“How conservative of you,” he leaves with an airy remark, but not before urging you to follow him.

The sizzling sound of food being fried and the knocking, clicking sound of children playing games, all these forgotten sounds grow louder and for a second, if only you let yourself, you could close your eyes and it would be just like your first date.

No. It’s different. You look up, eyes trailing over Yuta’s back, his golden hair, how his figure moves with ease and confidence.

It is different.

You raise an eyebrow at the box of takoyaki Yuta shoves towards you, an expecting look across his face.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asks, an uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice.

You hum in response, taking the box from him and saving yourself the trouble of asking whether he paid for it or simply charmed his way through.

“Eh, no thank you?” he complains. “How polite.”

You scrunch your nose to accompany an exaggerated smile and he laughs, the two of wandering over the asphalt streets. Your hands are close enough to brush—and if a twenty-something year-old woman can feel jittery because of it, hands truly are meant to share warmth. The smell of candy and caramel fills the air, making you smile. You’ve saved enough for the taste of home, you think.

The taste of home.

Inevitably, the thought of kissing your companion crosses your mind and you stop in your tracks. Whatever. It must be natural when someone as attractive is beside you. Those aren’t feelings. You curse yourself for feeling like a teenager again.

The festival grounds aren’t as shabby as you expect them to be. The city,—if you could call this one—stops here and the earth spreads out to the forest behind. The crowd also thins, and you take a fresh breath. They’re selling old books in the corner, but no one seems to be there.

“The raccoon dogs,” Yuta whispers in your ear, with an arcane smile. “Want to visit those rascals?”

You roll your eyes. He knows you’ve heard one too many folktales for a lifetime, seen one too many. It’s time to go home, especially now that the thought of thanking him crosses your mind. You’re about to turn when your shoulder crashes into someone else’s. A surprised, syrupy smile greets you, which you cannot return for the first few moments. Yui’s smile wavers and you flash her a quick smile. A friend. Her arm is looped through her lover’s, the one she never shuts up about and suddenly the urge to pour water over her head returns.

Yuta glances from you to her before pressing his lips together, as if suppressing laughter. You’re almost offended when Yui laughs flippantly.

“You’re on a date too? I knew you couldn’t stand spending the festival alone,” she says, tugging her lover closer.

People have always told you who you are and what you do. As if they know better.

You smile awkwardly. “It’s… actually not—”

“Oh, don’t be shy.” She gently pats your shoulder before leaning in. “He’s a real catch. As expected from you. You can never leave the boys alone.”

You know what she really means. You’ve heard the same words in high school when she was shoving you into a wall behind the school. The sickening smile is still on her face.

You gulp, feeling sixteen again. The lack of people around somehow makes it more awkward and you’re about to excuse yourself when suddenly, Yuta bumps into Yui and his warm drink spills over her left shoulder. Your eyes widen, more in confusion. When did he leave? You don’t doubt his ability to sneak past people, but surely you couldn’t have been so enraptured in your own feelings that you barely noticed.

“I’m so sorry,” Yuta says, voice honeyed with surprise.

Yui looks like she’s about to explode when she looks at him, her expression dropping to a calmer one almost immediately.

It’s an easy look to recognize. They always have it when they first meet Yuta, whether it’s the smile that’s too dazzling or the pretty round eyes.

How persuasive, those eyes.

“Ah… I must have not seen you,” she says faintly, and Yuta’s smile widens.

Before he can stir up more trouble, you slip your arm into his and pull him away, not caring for another polite apology to an old, almost nameless face.

“I was having fun,” Yuta complains, voice still smug and calm.

You glare at him and it only seems to add fuel to the fire, to whatever cold fire dances at his fingertips.

“You’re happy, right? Don’t look at me like that. You should reward me.”

You don’t respond, looking away and hoping to get at least a word in about how troublesome he is every single time you visit. Yuta has other plans, however. Leaning his head to look you in the eye, he maintains a distance which looks perfectly decent but feels less than so.

“How about a kiss? I deserve one, don’t I?” He moves his head closer to yours, making you shy away.

You grab him by the belt and pretend to not catch a glimpse of the pleased look on his face as you drag him into a secluded part by the forest.

It’s quieter here, so much that you can almost hear your own heart drumming in your chest, and the faint light of the distant festival grounds doesn’t help much at all. It’s dark as dusk, and you can only make out Yuta’s jawline and a faint smirk over his lips. You think that if a fox ever wanted to eat your liver, this would be the perfect spot.

“You did something,” you finally utter the words. “You did something to me.”

“Why do you think I did something? Do you mean love?” he responds with a cheeky smile. “This means you’ve been thinking about me? How cute—”

“Yuta, stop it,” you warn.

“Or what? You should stop me yourself.”

You grab the lapels of his jacket, the cloth bunching as your knuckles turn white. The anger you feel isn’t the first of its kind—it’s just a little funny how it’s always Yuta every time, making you remember the burning feeling time and time again. You find yourself unable to respond.

“Oh, don’t hold back,” he provokes, leaning in.

You push at his chest in exasperation, but he grabs your wrists before you can retract your hands.

“Scared?” he whispers.

You pull apart anyway, a scowl over your lips. “You’re as annoying as ever. Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”

“Ooh! Sharp claws. You’d be lovely as my fox-bride.” he teases.

Your face flares with heat. “I’m not your… I’m not a fox.”

“I didn’t say a fox, I said—”

“I know what you said,” you snap, massaging your wrist so you don’t have to look at him.

Yuta falls quiet for a moment, voice lower when he speaks again.

“Is it so nasty to be called a fox? There are worse things, you know.”

You scoff, growing increasingly annoyed. “Of course you’d say that. I hate it. I hate this town. I hate foxes and I hate you.”

Yuta places a hand over his chest, gasping with no emotion. Your eyes linger over his long, painted nails a little longer before you meet his eyes. A part of you regrets saying the words but you couldn’t help it. The shroud choking your hometown makes you want to scream at the top of your lungs every time you’re here. You hate this place.

But you don’t hate him, after all.

You try to clear yourself of the thought. A gentle gust of wind brings you back to the present, Yuta still glancing at you with no giveaway to what he’s feeling.

“You wouldn’t make a terrible fox though,” he says, eyes sharp. “Don’t they know you’re a vixen already? How many livers will you eat?”

You suck in a breath, tears stinging at your eyes. However, it’s not like you to get so easily affected by him. No. No, somehow that doesn’t make sense either. Those words do hurt from Yuta and you’re not sure if it’s just because he's the only one you didn’t expect them from.

“You…”

“What? Aren’t you going to lash at me again? You’re so predictable.”

His voice is calm despite your obvious annoyance and you feel flames lick at your heart. Your hand moves before you can think, about to meet his cheek when he grabs your wrist. You struggle, trying to pull free but to no avail and you use the other hand to hit him in the chest. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t bother him and that same feline smile curves up his lips.

You feel something you haven’t before, a warm growl at the pit of your stomach.

You push with all your strength, catching Yuta off guard and he stumbles backward but not before pulling you into him. Consequently, either of you lose footing and land on the grass with a sudden thud, Yuta’s side pressed against yours. His hands still clutch your wrist, and he shifts to hover over you.

“We used to wrestle like this as a litter,” he says, erupting into full laughter. “Ah, memories. I don’t even know if they’re alive or dead now.”

Yuta is much stronger than he looks, and he’s taken your tantrum as a source of amusement much to your infuriation. He has your hands pinned back, eyes unaffected as he scans over your face. You try to shift but there’s just too much weight on you. You breathe slowly, chest rising and falling in time with his. His earrings sway gently in the wind, dangling a few inches above you—he’s pretty, so pretty. Admitting defeat has never been your forte but now that your senses are gathering again, you feel a flush of embarrassment for losing your temper.

Or perhaps, it is something else when you register the lack of distance between your noses.

“Playtime’s over,” Yuta coos. “You’re kinda cute when you’re losing.”

He tilts his head, an adoring smile over his lips. For a moment, they’re all you see.

Can a fox comfort you? Can a fox make you feel loved on the darkest of nights? Your mind races with questions your heart does not want to answer.

Yuta leans in to close the distance and despite every nerve in your body, you turn your head away. You can hear him gulp, the following moments painfully quiet before he gets up. Your breath is soft and shallow, lying on the ground till you get enough courage to sit up.

You almost gasp. His tails are clearer under the dim moonlight, all nine of them golden and luxurious. The light hitting his face isn’t any less flattering and once again you are reminded of how handsome he is, fairytale or not.

Yuta looks uncomfortable, and that’s a first for you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, though you don’t know why.

He waves his hand dismissively, annoyed.

“Yuta,” you take a step forward.

“I see the way you look at me,” he says quietly, “Is it not want?”

You fall silent, biting your lip so you don’t retort violently. He doesn’t look particularly malicious when he says that but you do not want to give him the satisfaction of an answer yet.

He quietens for a moment before a look of curiosity flashes across his features.

“What is it then?” he asks. “Is it a secret? Foxes love secrets. Tell me.”

Despite every bone in your body burning up, you find it in yourself to laugh.

“I don’t think I could keep a secret from you if I tried,” you finally say, before bursting into soft laughter again.

Yuta looks at you puzzled, lips parted while he stands frozen as if he were a painting. A daunting, reckless, heavenly painting.

“It’s not want,” you answer quietly. “It’s more than that. Even if I hated it. I like you.”

Yuta’s ears perk up at your confession. “So- so you admit, then? You are interested?”

“I could blame you for this, you know?” You shrug, hugging yourself once the night starts to feel cold again. Yuta begins to take off his jacket when you stop him, gently pressing your palm against his chest.

“You’re a fox, after all,” you whisper. “Like me. What they think of me.”

Yuta purses his lips. “Does it really hurt you? No, wait. Did they- did they—”

“Now, you tell me,” you cut him off. “Why do you insist on getting married—to me?”

There’s a pause. The crickets chirp a merry tune despite the leisurely darkness of the night.

“You’re not terrible,” he says, nonchalantly.

You glare at him and he raises his hands in defeat. He looks wearier the more you look at him.

“I want to grow old,” he mumbles after a long pause. “Properly.”

You hold your breath.

“And you want to do it with me?”

Another flower blooms in your chest, as if he hasn’t planted a garden in there already. The lights from the festival flicker down, the lanterns burning brighter in the distance. He glances at them for a moment, your eyes still fixated on him.

The tails glow even brighter in the dark, as if gold in broad daylight. You’ve always been curious about him and his kind, all the stories; but he says he’s too old to remember if you ask.

You reach out to touch one of the tails, wondering if the fur is as warm as it looks. They’re pale and captivating, but they look so soft—they shouldn’t belong to an animal so vicious. Is he, though? Is he all that you think he is or have all these years failed you? If anything, he’s quite probably not as much a fox as you are, you think bitterly.

The fur is warm, but the realization is short-lived.

A short growl leaves the corner of his mouth. Yuta glares at you like he was stolen from and yet, you do not move your hand. Some part of you wants to aggravate him further.

“I’m not a pet,” he snaps. “Stop that.”

“You should stop me yourself,” you mimic his voice.

Yuta’s shoulders relax, and he looks down but you can still see the trembling smile on his face. It’s the way he looks at you, you think to yourself, maybe that's the reason after all.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, feeling warmer than the autumn night should allow.

“Like what?” he asks, still smiling.

You look away.

“You’re not too fox-like, you know?” you mumble. “You’re just annoying. And flirty. And annoying.”

Yuta chuckles, before pressing his palm to the top of your head.

“And you’re lovely.”

You give in to the gesture of affection, leaning your head to press against his shoulder.

“Why do you even do all this? What do you get out of it?” you say, voice muffled. He hears you clearly, however.

“Because I love you,” he responds, as if coming to terms with it himself. “More than you think.”

There is no joke, no flirtation to his tone, no decoration upon his words. It’s plain, and laid bare. And sometimes, simplicity is scariest.

You pull back, lips pulled into a frown. The air is cold once more; the longing for warmth flowing into you. The silence is worse.

“You don't believe foxes can fall in love,” he states softly upon a wavering smile. “I knew that. Of course.”

A part of him believes it too.

“I…” you begin, and for the first time, you are afraid of promises in the name of love. You are the one making them now.

“I’ll believe you,” you whisper, “I’ll believe you so please… please take care of me.”

You place your palm against his cheek, his skin bewitchingly warm.

“Only if you take care of me,” he whispers back, leaning in.

This time, you do not move.

The lovers’ kiss you’d been searching for—lovers’ warmth, lovers’ comfort—all of it comes crashing down once Yuta tightens his arm around your waist, the other hand resting gently at the base of your neck. He kisses with the right amount of pressure, the vague taste of sweet berries in his mouth.

You used to fear his touch, like he would eat you whole; even if they have been gentle, always. This time, you might as well let him. He presses his lips from your cheek to jaw to neck, lingering at each spot enough to make you clutch at his shirt tighter, taking in short gasps of breath. You kiss for a little longer, like time means nothing.

“We should go back,” you whisper, pulling apart.

Yuta kisses you again, the distance unacceptable.

“Yuta—”

He kisses you once more, your calls falling on deaf ears.

Finally, after another long kiss, he pulls apart enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

“It must have been hard for you,” he mumbles.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you scoff.

“Foxes are faithful lovers, you know?” he insists.

You laugh. “What do you mean?”

“It means I’ll follow you everywhere.”

He stands up straight, his thumb stroking your cheek as he bites back a smile.

“I don’t think we should get back tonight,” he suggests all of a sudden. “We could book a hotel. That’s the place you use these days, right? I’m sure your grandmother will understand your absence—”

You groan, resting your forehead against his shoulder and he presents a delighted laugh in return. It is warm by his side; he is warm. You find it easy to forget the failures in love, the loneliness of a lover that isn’t meant to be yours. Folktales are just long tales, after all. You smile to yourself.

You should’ve known—it was the fox all along.

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queer-and-dear-books · 3 years ago

Photo

Title: The Hate Project

Author: Kris Ripper

Genre: Fiction | Romance | Friendship | Drama | LGBTQ+

Content Warnings: Anxiety | Depression

Overall Rating: 9.9/10

Personal Opinion: Oh, the sweet sweet enemies to lovers trope. Oscar and Jack are constantly at each other’s throats. Always sniping at each other and being overall grouches. But it works for them. Even if Oscar doesn’t realize it. They’re an oddly adorable pair turned couple and if you’re like me, you’ll be shocked by just how cute they can be together.

Couple Classification: Oscar Nelson X Jack Phillips = ??? X Nerd/Jock

Do I Own This Book? Nope.

Spoilers Below For My Likes & Dislikes:

Likes:

- The first kiss took my breath away. Literally, it happened so quickly and naturally that I was taken aback because Oscar and Jack had never kissed before that point! It was such a moment that I was enthralled in it. And it was just written and described so well, I wish that I could write a kissing scene that was half as impactful.

- Oscar’s anxiety is relatable and the way it causes him to self-sabotage his relationship with Jack is painful but real. I love how his friends were there for him though and helped him see that maybe, just maybe, he was in the wrong for the way he reacted to the kiss and flipped out on Jack. But also, he has anxiety and they get it. At least, Ronnie gets it.

- The friendship of everyone in the Motherfuckers is so pure and wholesome, I love the roles that they all play in it. But I love seeing the depth in Oscar’s and Ronnie’s personal friendship. How they ended up being college roommates and Ronnie was pre-transition and she was a scared 18 year old girl and Oscar was there for her through it all. He’s a mess but he’s such a good friend and it made me so happy just seeing him and Ronnie interact over the course of the story.

- Like with Declan and Sidney, I like that Oscar and Jack have these unique dispositions that make them a perfect fit for each other. During their sex scenes, they were constantly egging each other on and sniping at each other and it worked for them. It definitely does not work for me but I like seeing their interactions as just uniquely them.

- Also, Oscar deliberately just hanging around until Jack would come home so they could fuck was so cute for some reason? I don’t know, he’s just such a grouch but he respects Jack’s privacy while he’s cleaning the house and he lingers while organizing just to be there when Jack comes home and it’s oddly domestic. I love domestic cuteness. And then Jack had the audacity to come home one day with sushi for two and I lost it. They are so oddly domestic together and it’s so cute.

- Evelyn is such a spark of joy. I adore her. She’s hilarious for casually introducing Oscar as Jack’s “young man” and also for getting the house painted neon green while Jack was at work. Not to mention her very irreverent but sometimes very wholesome humor. Oscar is right, she really is the coolest old lady ever.

- Jack being so understanding of Oscar’s condition is also so thoughtful. He wasn’t bothered by the fact that Oscar’s new meds were affecting his libido and when Oscar expressed his traffic light system for anxiety, Jack didn’t judge. It’s just so sweet and I honestly cannot believe I rooted so hard for their relationship when their sex scenes were so… verbally violent and aggressive. But also Jack explicitly and openly loving Oscar’s plus-sized body… mwah.

Dislikes:

- Their sex scenes are weirdly aggressive and verbally violent. It works for them obviously but there were some moments where I worried things were going too far? I don’t know, maybe it’s just not for me personally. Maybe it’s hot for others.

- There was this whole chapter where Oscar was just wallowing in his depression and it was just a lot. Every detail was concerning his wallowing and I just don’t really know how much of it was actually necessary to the storytelling? Because it was just all mundane and maybe it could’ve been condensed into… a few paragraphs? Rather than a whole chapter.

- Oscar flipping out over the kiss is obviously overreactive but like hey, anxiety is a bastard. So I’ll let that pass.

#Booklr #Booksbooksbooks #Book Blog #Book Review #Book Recs #The Hate Project #Kris Ripper #Queer Books #Queer Lit #Queer Representation #Queer

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Note

Prompt - Meng Shi is NHS's mother, making him half brother to NMJ and JGY.

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3)

- Chapter 1 -

Meng Yao sat out on the balcony of the brothel, bored out of his mind, as he waited for the party in the fancy inn down the way to finish.

He knew it was an important one from the way his mother had nearly clawed another girl’s eyes out for the opportunity to go. It wouldn’t have been worth it otherwise: she was older, her looks a little faded, her body a little weaker than the others, and a party like that was not nearly as effective a means of making money as the steady work at the brothel.

But Meng Yao didn’t know why it was so important – only that his mother had looked especially excited as she’d gotten ready.

Maybe she thought she might find a patron there.

Wistful thinking, if she did – she hadn’t had a patron in over a year, and the last one hadn’t been worth much; they hadn’t even gotten a better room at the brothel out of it, much less being set up in a discreet apartment of their own the way Meng Shi had told him had happened in the past.

At least Meng Yao hadn’t been recruited to act as a server at the party. The bosses at the brothel and the inn asked for him to do odd tasks like that more and more since they knew they could get him to do it for free, and he had no choice, even though he hated seeing his mother smile and flutter her eyes at the men she serviced. This party, though, was too high-end, apparently, to risk having a child like him mess up – they’d gotten actual servers, paid ones, and never mind the cost.

Maybe there would be rich men there, generous ones. Maybe his mother would be able to get a good tip. Maybe the bosses would be well-paid enough to let her keep it. Maybe they could get some meat to eat…

“Hey, you! You – you up there! Can you help me?”

He looked down.

There was another boy there at the base of the balcony outside of Meng Shi's window, where Meng Yao liked to sit: a boy few years older than him, taller, in finely made clothing that would normally make Meng Yao itch all over in futile envy, but the other boy’s eyes were white around the edges in a way that was immediately, painfully familiar.

“Someone’s chasing you?” Meng Yao asked, and the boy’s eyes widened even further, surprised, but he nodded in confirmation. “There’s a trellis around the left side – can you climb up? I'll hide you.”

The boy found the trellis that Meng Yao used to get in and out of the second floor without anyone seeing – it creaked a little under the bigger boy’s weight, but he was just young and small enough that he managed to get up without too much of a problem, and Meng Yao pushed him through the balcony door just as a dark figure stepped out from the inn down the road, his motions a little too slow and deliberate to be anything but predatory.

The man was handsome enough, in a cruel sort of way. Meng Yao didn’t like the way he smiled as he started to survey the street with his eyes �� looking for the boy Meng Yao had just hidden away, no doubt about it, and men who attended parties stocked with people like Meng Yao’s mother as party favors didn’t have good intentions when they looked at boys with a smile like that.

Meng Yao put on his stupidest and most vacant expression, leaning his head against the bars as if he’d never done anything more interesting in his life than daydream, and eventually the man walked by the brothel without paying him more than a cursory look.

As soon as he was sure the man was gone, Meng Yao turned and went back inside.

“Thanks,” the boy said. He was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest and still shaking; he didn’t even seem to have noticed that he was in the perfumed heart of a brothel lady’s personal chambers. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“He was looking for you in particular,” Meng Yao said, crouching down next to him and studying him with the practiced eye of a boy raised among whores. The boy was handsome, with straight features, good cheekbones, and a certain ruddiness that suggested health – not the sort of pretty boy that usually got sought out at such parties, but certainly more than pretty enough. Tall, too, to judge by the length of his legs, but the amount of baby fat on his face suggested Meng Yao had been right about him being not that much older than him. “Why? He was at a party full of prostitutes.”

There wasn’t any point in obfuscating.

The boy ducked his head down, cheeks flushing dark. “My father’s there,” he said, not really answering the question. “They kept toasting him over and over, until they’d gotten him really drunk, and then they set up him with one of the – with a lady. Normally he keeps an eye on me so there isn’t any trouble, but this time...”

Meng Yao frowned. “That man’s been after you before?” A shaky nod. “You’re sure? Has he ever tried –”

The boy flinched.

“And your father still took you to where he could find you?” Meng Yao shook his head: fathers really weren’t worth anything, were they? His own had abandoned him, abandoned his mother without even purchasing her freedom, and this boy’s didn’t seem especially good either, if he was out getting drunk and leaving his son where known harm could come to him.

“He didn’t have a choice,” the boy mumbled. “Either about going to the party, or about bringing me. Anyway it’s not even – I don’t think it’s about me. He doesn’t have any reputation for liking boys generally. But he hates my father, and I’m my father’s only son, his heir. Wen Ruohan only wants to ruin me to hurt my father.”

Having seen the avid, avaricious look on the man’s face as he’d walked down the street, searching, Meng Yao wasn’t so sure about that, but he thought it might not help to say so. “Well, you lost him.”

“Thanks,” the boy said. “I’m in your debt. But I’d better get going, before he starts knocking on doors and asking questions.”

“In this district? No one will answer.”

“They will if he offers them gold,” the boy said, rubbing his face. He looked tired, and scared.

If this Wen Ruohan was willing to go knocking at every brothel in town and offer them gold to search for the boy, it definitely wasn’t just about his father, but Meng Yao was a practical sort of person. “I can help hide you,” he decided. “Will you give me gold for it, too, later?”

The bosses wouldn’t share any of Wen Ruohan’s gold with him, but this boy – or rather, his father – might, if Meng Yao played his cards right. Of course, he might get nothing at all, but nothing was more than likely what he’d get on the other side, too, and if he did nothing then there’d be another ruined boy on the streets, probably disowned when his dishonor was discovered, with no way to live other than to sell himself to one of the brothels that catered to things like that.

He wasn’t yet quite bitter enough to want others to be torn down to make his own misery seem less.

Might as well try to help.

The boy nodded, eyes wide, and Meng Yao tugged him over to the closet where his mother kept her clothing. “He’s looking for a boy,” he explained when the boy didn’t seem to understand. “This brothel doesn’t keep boys – I’m not a worker here, my mother is – and so it would be strange for there to be a boy here, you understand? But not strange at all for there to be another whore. Not even a young one.”

He probably could have just hidden the boy in the closet and called it done, but Meng Yao took a certain pleasure in stripping down the fine sturdy fabrics the boy was wearing and replacing them with his mothers’ cheap silks – they’d been more expensive, once, but she’d had to sell those – and in painting the boy’s face and eyes until he looked like any of the other girls that worked the house.

More pretty than some, even. His looks were really quite striking, even covered in cheap makeup, but with a fan and a veil to guard his face, no one looked twice at him where he was sitting in the corner of the main room, not even when the man hunting him, Wen Ruohan, leisurely followed the bosses around as they tore through the brothel, opening closets and looking under beds, searching for a stowaway.

Meng Yao’s pettiness turned out to have been a good idea, and if the boy asked, he’d definitely done it on purpose.

(A few of the men tried to buy ‘her’, always out looking for new meat, but Meng Yao was an old hand at turning down or redirecting customers that wanted things, and the one that kept persisting, a mean old drunkard that they’d had problems with before, got scared away by the boy’s own vicious glare.)

“Thanks,” the boy said again once the man he'd called Wen Ruohan had left. “Again.”

“You’ll pay me later,” Meng Yao reminded him, and the boy nodded. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“My name is Nie Mingjue. What's your name?”

“Meng Yao. Come upstairs – I have a little place in the attic where I sleep, and if you squeeze you might just fit.”

Nie Mingjue did, albeit barely, and if Meng Yao shoved himself into the boy’s arms, insisting that there wasn’t any other alternative, he thought that the bit of warmth he got was the least he deserved for enduring the stresses of the evening. His suspicions that Nie Mingjue was a great hugger whose hands never wandered were borne out by truth, and they stayed warm and safe the entire night through.

The next morning, Meng Yao reluctantly gave Nie Mingjue back his clothing – he would’ve liked to have sold a few pieces if he thought he could get away with it, but Nie Mingjue was meticulous in dressing properly – and watched him get dressed, thumbing idly through one of the cultivation manuals his mother had bought him. She hadn’t come home the night before, which meant she’d had a customer at the party; hopefully that meant they would be eating this month, even if Nie Mingjue forgot about paying what he owed. Assuming she didn’t waste the money on even more stupid books…

“What’s that?” Nie Mingjue asked, nodding at it.

Meng Yao showed it to him. “It’s supposed to teach you the basics of cultivating.”

He didn’t think it did, though. Nothing happened no matter how many times he practiced the motions, and it wouldn’t be the first time something his mother had bought at too high a price with her hard-earned money turned out to be a fake.

“Cultivation?” Nie Mingjue asked, and took the manual. “This is wrong.”

Meng Yao sighed. Of course it was.

“This won’t teach you anything,” Nie Mingjue continued, flipping through the pages with a frown. “Some of this is actually backwards - it’s not just useless, it’s worse than useless.”

Meng Yao blinked. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m a cultivator, of course,” Nie Mingjue said as if it was nothing. “Do you really want to learn?”

“It’s my mother’s dream for me,” Meng Yao said, his hands curling into fists with excitement. Nie Mingjue could be lying, of course, but he’d figured out pretty quickly in their conversation the night before that Nie Mingjue was very bad even at dissembling, and he didn’t look like he was lying now. “If you get me a real manual, there’s no need to pay any gold.”

“I’ll do both,” Nie Mingjue said, very seriously. “I don’t have a beginner’s manual with me, but I’ll get one from home and bring it to you next time we come here. Will that work?”

Meng Yao nodded furiously. Even if he got nothing, he started with nothing, he reminded himself harshly, but he couldn’t quite stop himself from hoping. Just once, just this once…

“And as for the gold, I can get that right now,” Nie Mingjue said. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Meng Yao spent the next quarter shichen telling himself to forget about seeing Nie Mingjue ever again, that the other boy had already forgotten him, that it was all pointless and he should be thinking instead about how to convince his mother to save some of what she earned from the night’s work rather than spending it at once.

But Nie Mingjue did come back, running as fast as he could.

“Meng Yao! Meng Yao!” he shouted, waving, and Meng Yao looked down at him from the balcony just the way he had the night before. “We’re going to leave right away, so I have to go back, but I got you whatever I could grab! Catch!”

Meng Yao caught the little bag Nie Mingjue threw him, stunned, and watched as the other boy ran back the way he came, a pair of fiercely scowling men in dark robes catching him by the arms and starting to scold him even as they dragged him away.

The pouch in Meng Yao’s hands was very light, feeling almost as if there was nothing inside, and very small, barely two fingers in width.

He figured that meant that there wouldn’t be much in there – a child’s pocket-money – but when he opened it up, he unexpectedly could fit his whole hand inside.

“Qiankun pouch!” he gasped, realizing what it must be, and grabbed a handful of the coins inside to pull out. They weren’t all gold – mostly not, in fact, but all those copper pennies and pieces of silver were still more than Meng Shi had managed to save up in six months’ time, and the two or three little chunks of gold hidden underneath would be an excellent start to a fund meant to buy her freedom.

Meng Yao hid the money in four different spots right away, putting the bag itself in the safest spot of all, and went to show the bosses a portion of what he’d gotten, claiming he’d gotten an unexpected tip. They took the small scrap of silver, leaving him with only a few copper pennies, and they went and found one of the more obviously hidden stashes to confiscate as well, just as he’d expected. But after that, they thought he’d been emptied out, while the gold and the rest of the money were still safe.

“Yesterday was a good day,” he told his mother with a smile when she returned, but she didn’t smile back even though her clothing was still intact and he didn’t see any new bruises, meaning it had to have been a decent enough night. “Wasn’t it for you?”

“No,” she said, her voice dull and deeply disappointed. “Not really.”

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #nieyao #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #three gates #Anonymous #congrats anon!#you won the happen to hit my inspiration sweepstakes!

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verobatto · 3 years ago

Text

Destiel Chronicles

Vol. CXXIII

It was a love story from the very beginning

Missing Each Other

(15x06/15x07/15x08)

Hello my friends! We are still walking over the last Destiel breakup. I'm gonna talk in this meta about how they miss each other even when they're mad at each other. Because they're two dumbasses in love.

Remember this is a summary from my season 15 metas. You can find all the links from these episodes here: X, X, X, X, X, X, X, X, X, X, X and X.

Come Back Home

Previous episode we saw a visual reference that linked Dean with a fish. Now in episode 15x06 we have Castiel trying to catch a (hard) fish and walking around a fishing ship, mentioning Dean to let us know, the symbolism about that sneaking fish. Castiel misses him.

Another important visual element in this episode was the lady reading a book that pictures the Destiel breakup we are witnessing and writers are making it one of the centric topics.

I'm talking about the Destiel color coded lady, with a hint of pink (happiness)...

...reading a novel titled: "Lovers Quarrel".

An now, let's talk about the awkward Destiel phonecall.

Let me tell you that Dean didn't have to ask to talk with Castiel when he was speaking with the sheriff, but he did it anyway. Why? Because he missed Castiel.

Even so, he won't recognize it. Because he is still mad, and Castiel is still mad, then why is Dean asking for him?

Because he needed to scold him about not answering Sam's messages. Because Sam is messaging him, but Dean is not.

And then...

Look at this:

DEAN: Would you put my agent on the phone, please?

He can't lose the opportunity to talk with Cas.

SHERIFF ROY [handing the phone to Cas]: He wants to talk to you.

CASTIEL: Hello?

He wasn't happy about it, at all. As a parallel with that phonecall in season 14, in which Castiel said it was good to hear Dean's voice, this time it isn't.

DEAN: Cas. Sam's been trying to call you.

CASTIEL: I know.

DEAN: Did you check his messages?

CASTIEL: Nope.

Dean is behaving very childish here, and Castiel isn't checking the Winchester's messages, because he really wanted to move on from them, from Dean.

DEAN: Right. Smart. Why would you? Look, I don't know if you care or not, but, uh... God... Chuck... is back on the board, so watch yourself. And check your damn messages.

After this, Dean suddenly cut the call, and Castiel looks very upset about that. But thing about these words Dean told him has a hidden message:

And then... "Chuck is back in the game." Is the same as if Dean wanted to say HEY CAS YOU LEFT BECAUSE CHUCK WAS GONE, WELL, HE IS BACK, SO... YOU HAVE TO COME BACK BECAUSE CHUCK IS BACK. NOT BECAUSE I'M MISSING YOU SO MUCH AND I'M SO DEPRESSED SINCE YOU LEFT, BUT BECAUSE CHUCK IS BACK.

That's so Dean, right?

A miscellaneous point I repeated so many times in all my metas from this season was, Castieo was related to people dressing green and pink and Dean with people dressing blue and pink: THIS IS BECAUSE THEY'RE EACH OTHER'S HAPPINESS.

Another symbolic reference, this time related to Dean's behavior, it's the following piece of dialogue between Dean and Sam at the beginning of the scene:

DEAN: You know they still put, um, jokes on the backs of these things. Listen to this one... What's round and bad-tempered? "A vicious circle." (...)

This is self referencing over here, my friends, because is talking about how Dean is stuck in his toxicity, and his way to "solve" his problems and repress his feelings m is a vicious circle that never ends, and he's playing in the same line, and lying to himself. The bad temper, is a reflection of Toxic Dean, and he's trapped in this vicious circle, and he needs to MOVE ON to make things changing.

And because we had people moving in this episode, it's another symbolic analogy to what Dean must do to grow up.

Bi!Dean episode and Dean's attempt to fix things with Castiel

Episode 15x07 was full of Bi!Dean subtext.

Dean is praised by a male sheriff, and we had a waitress flirting with him. And Dean rejecting her all the time. Why? Because he behaves as a married guy, married with Castiel, if you know what I mean.

We had the whole bi flag lighting when Dean was singing on the stage, and this whole sexual tension with his old friend, Castiel's mirror.

Jumping from Bi!Dean to the Destiel breakup, we had this symbolic dialogue:

When Dean found the girl at the bar, he interrogates her, but Lee, his friend, called him, and the words he says: "She went without saying goodbye?" "Well, maybe she deserved it."

This was related to episode 15x03 when Castiel walked away from Dean. It felt as if he didn't say goodbye to Dean, 'but maybe Dean deserved it.'

Keeping the drama here, we had Castiel calling Dean the whole episode and Dean not answering the phone.

Castiel came back to the bunker because he had a plan, but when things doesn't work well, he calls Dean... A lot of times. But Dean didn't answer... Just like a cheating husband. Cas lost his temper and he even shouts WHERE ARE YOU!? At the phone.

Avoiding the whole Swayze's Bar and Rocky's Bar parallels you can find in my meta link on the top of this analysis, let's just go to the 'Lovers Quarrel scene and enjoy the failed attempt from Dean to fix things with Cas... à la Dean.

Gift credit @agusvedder

When Dean appeared at the bunker, Castiel's face is about surprise, relief, and a hint of heart eyes, Dean is acting as if nothing had happened between them, just like I expected to occur, because is his way to avoid things. But this time it won't work, because CAS recalls immediately Dean's hard words and the last call, and he recalls that THEY DIDN'T PART FRIENDS (this quote from episode 7x17 when they came back to see each other after the break up in season 6).

That's why I said Dean is trying to fix things à la Dean here, just acting as if nothing happened. It's the coward way to try to approach the love of your life.

Awkward, horrible and wonderful, Awkward silence. The romantic tension here! Even my dog saw it. This was deliberately written and performing to show what it is: ROMANTIC TENSION.

This was gold... because Dean's face is yelling: Uh, oh, wait, don't go, we still can chat a little... oh wait, right. Things are still bad... got it.

So, Cas changed his face, and he just threw a few words, and leaves, quickly. Dean senses this, and he just grimaced, okay... What did you expect, Dean? Things are not good. You need to use your words!

Imagine their hearts running fast, dry mouth, knowing they love each other so much and they missed each other so much. They're finally in the same room, but things are not good. Castiel is very hurt and Dean can't spell the magic words.

And now, it his wasn't enough Destiel pining for you... we had this last scene:

Gifset credit @agusvedder

Dean stares at Castiel, and Castiel feels that look, but he didn't look back at Dean. This is because Castiel is trying to show Dean how much he hurted him. The Destiel eye-fuck/eye-love making has been always their way of intimate communication. Well. Castiel cut it off here. Just like Dean did with that phonecall.

Time to Fix things. Time for Purgatory 2.0

The whole episode 15x08 showed how broken were Destiel. Dean and Castiel were shown in divided, separated, in all the frames.

We also had this...

Gif credit @agusvedder

Castiel didn't touch Dean to heal him FOR THE FIRST TIME. This scene was very meaningful to show things are not good.

We also had the scene with Rowena, in which they were sitting far away from each other, another empty seat in the middle, and Rowena noticing this, and obviously, giving that married couple a good speech. Almost yelling at them to fix their mess.

So, if Dean and Castiel had to fix their relationship, what better than go to Purgatory again. The place where Dean realized he was in love with Castiel. Because it was pure, and his feelings and thoughts alined into one spot: THE LOVE HE FEELS FOR THAT ANGEL.

After this scene, Dean and Castiel spoke with Michael, and did you know what Michael says in one of his lines?:

ADAM: What about 'I'm sorry'?

LEGENDARY MY FRIENDS! The whole Universe was yelling at Dean to use his words and ask for forgiveness to his angel, to fix things with him. That's why karma sent them back to Purgatory.

Miscellaneous: two things I want to point about Saileen: they were mirroring Destiel the whole time, even the goodbye scene and even Dean calling Eileen as the hot woman perfect for Sam, that understands him, it was a reference to Castiel, the perfect man for Dean, that understands him and is pretty hot.

Second is the fact that Castiel cockblocked Sam and Eileen. Again, karma. 🤣

To Conclude:

The 'Lovers Quarrel' was shown in the show as one of the centric topics. GA could see and be aware of the ROMANTIC TENSION between these two.

But don't worry, the breakup is coming to it's end in the next episode. One of the most beautiful Destiel scenes, and is happening in Purgatory of love 2.0.

I hope you liked this meta, see you in the next one!

Tagging @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weird-dorky-little-d @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @dea-stiel @poorreputation @bre95611 @thewolfathedoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @authorsararayne @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant @little-crazy-misha-minion @samoosetheshipper

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @nerditoutwithbooks @mikennacac73 @justmeand-myinsight @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @teddybeardoctor @pepevons @helevetica @dizzypinwheel @horsez2002 @qanelyytha

@destielle @spnsmile @shippsblog @robot-feels @superlock-in-the-tardis @superduckbatrebel @belacoded @madronasky @anon-non2 @cea1996 @lisafu02 @asphodelesauvage @deancasgirl777

If you want to be added or removed from this list, just let me know.

If you wanna read the previous metas from season 15, here you have the links:

Vol. CXXI, CXXII.

Buenos Aires, July 25th 2021 12:47 PM

#destiel #destiel chronicles #destiel meta #supernatural meta #season 15 #15x06 #15x07 #15x08 #destiel breakup

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teamhappyme · 4 years ago

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to care for you

rafael barba x female!reader

referenced cases from S17E04 and S17E16

word count: 4k

a/n: this is my first fic that I’m letting the world see and I’m... terrified. i hope whoever reads this gets some joy out of it. shoutout to @qvid-pro-qvo and @hurricanejjareau , y’all got me roped into loving the SVU boys, and this would not have been created if I hadn’t found your blogs. big inspiration over here. alright, here we go friends.

****

“Well you’re going, right?”

“I haven’t decided.” “Haven’t decided? It’s Liv and Noah, Barba. A christening for the cutest little boy and the most deserving mother. They’ve been through hell this year, they deserve our support. Besides, you’re a devout Catholic, you should be all in for this.”

“First of all, he’s getting christened in a Unitarian church. Second, I wouldn’t exactly use the term devout. The last time I went to church was with you and Carisi after that trafficking case last year.” He said while grabbing another slice of pizza. In your three years since joining the SVU this was the first time you saw Rafael Barba eat a slice of pizza.

“Careful. You might get some grease on that thousand dollar suit, Counselor.” He glared at you before taking a bite. “If you’re worried about the priest smelling your absence out, Carisi and I have enough devotion to pass on to you.”

“I don’t want any of Carisi’s Catholic guilt.” “You need me to take your confession?” You asked with a smirk.

There weren’t many people that could get away with pushing Barba’s buttons without getting chewed out by the ADA in his next breath. And when you first started out with the squad, there were many occasions where you and Barba had some heated arguments.

Getting transferred to SVU was an overwhelming experience. You were thrown into the understaffed department right along with Carisi, so the two of you had to step up pretty quick for the unit. There was no adjustment period, trust wasn’t built, it was forced upon the squad. It took about two months for you to really trust the other detectives, but once you did, the unit got into a groove. Cases were being solved left and right and you started to understand the routine of the SVU.

Until you had to testify. It was six months in, and it was your first testimony with the unit. It was also the first rape case you worked with minor victims. There were four fifteen year old girls accusing their history teacher of rape, two of which disclosed to you.

You prepped with Barba for an hour the night before, making sure you knew the case inside and out. You felt confident in your answers, and were ready to take the stand. Until the following morning. On your walk down to the courtroom with him, you rushed into the ladies room to vomit up your coffee and your anxiety. Public speaking was never one of your strong suits, and Barba had cautioned you to be prepared for Buchanon’s toxic cross examination.

As you washed your hands and cleared your face, Rafael stayed outside the door, even deterring a woman from coming in. Once you exited, he was waiting at the side, pulling a granola bar and stick of gum out of his blazer pocket. You took the food, as he gave you a nod and waited for your okay to continue the walk down to the courtroom. A slight nod of your own and weak smile got his feet moving again.

That trial was the first olive branch extended between you and Rafael. He wasn’t one to offer warm greetings, and since you were often glued to Carisi’s hip, it was hard for him to separate you from the enthusiastic detective. There were passive aggressive comments relayed back and forth while trying to indict a perp, and long nights spent deliberating probable cause at the round table. But it wasn’t until you accompanied Liv to One Hogan Place, in a particularly bad mood when you sassed the ADA back after he made a comment about your witnesses being incredibly unreliable, not having time for the shenanigans.

After that moment, Rafael knew that he could trust you. The passive aggressive comments yielded, but the sass continued. The repertoire the two of you were slowly building drew quite the audience, Carisi and Rollins almost always feeding the fire with more topics to discuss.

About a year into your tenure here, you started to check in on Barba. The first time you stopped by was originally a business call. Liv needed a warrant asap, already staking out the apartment of a suspect. You rushed over to the courthouse, trying to find any ADA’s secretary when you saw Barba still in his office at midnight. According to Carmen, he rarely went home before 9:00. After that night, you made it a habit to check in on him at least once a week. The DA’s office was a cutthroat environment, and Barba’s office was an even lonelier place.

Thursday nights were penciled in for your unofficial drop ins, almost through the week but still burning the midnight oil. You would show up around 10:00 with pizza for you, and sushi for his expensive taste every time, knowing neither one of you had time to eat dinner yet. Most of the time, the two of you would work on your respective cases, sometimes sharing notes if the work overlapped. But if it was a slow week, sometimes the two of you would just, talk. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who understood the demanding nature of the job. Your family in particular couldn’t understand why you loved this career so much, but your squad could. It was reassuring to have their support.

“Alright, enough with the holier than thou attitude, Detective. I actually wanted to talk to you about the case.” Sitting up a little straighter in your chair, you wiped your hands on a napkin as he pulled out a manila folder. “I’ve been encouraged by the D.A. to drop the charges against Bobby D’Amico and Noel Panko.”

“What?” “And I have a motions hearing scheduled for Friday morning to dismiss the charges.”

After everything the squad had done for this case, what you saw Amanda put herself through. It was all for nothing.

“Barba, you can’t be serious. We have three victims, two willing to testify. We have footage of them attempting to rape Rollins for crying out loud.”

“Kristi Cryer has changed her story too many times. She was raped, then it was consensual, it was Panko, it was Panko and D’Amico. A jury will never believe her story.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “The jury won’t believe her or you won’t?”

“Hey, you know this isn’t about what I think. This isn’t a case we can win. We have to look at the optics.”

“The optics,” you muttered as you stood up from your seat. “Multiple women were raped by two well-known men in New York society, and the D.A. doesn’t want to make any enemies, right?”

“You’re taking this worse than Liv did.” You scoffed. “Am I? Good. Because for the rest of their lives, those girls will have to live with the fact that their rapists are still out there. Not to mention their reputations will be ruined. People are going to call them liars, and whores. Their lives are never going to be the same. All because you won’t stand up to the D.A. and do what’s right?”

Rafael stood up now, his loosened tie swinging from the sudden movement. “If this goes to trial, it will not go our way.”

“What about when you went after DCFS? You went after Musio, Grayson, Sheridan,”

“That was different,” “Why because it was Liv?”

“Because the department was a mess, and there were months worth of evidence of neglect and backdating reports. You were there, and if I remember correctly you were fighting alongside Liv to get me to prosecute.”

You ran your fingers through your hair, not willing to accept that this case was over. “These girls deserve justice, Barba. You were there when Panko went off at Dodds, he knows he’s done.”

“I want these guys just as bad as you do, Y/n. But we do not have the evidence. It’s a he said she said case, with one other accusation from a year ago without a rape kit. Not to mention Rollins went undercover without notifying a superior, tainting the whole investigation. We will make a fool out of ourselves and lose this case in court.”

“And it’s all about winning for the D.A.’s office, isn’t it. Can’t do anything out of the kindness of your hearts, can you?” You knew you crossed the line as you saw Rafael’s shoulder’s drop the slightest bit, his jaw clenched in place.

“Maybe if you passed the Bar instead of failing three times you could understand why we can’t pursue this. We can’t bring a case to trial based on our emotions. This isn’t your tissue loaded desks, this is a courthouse.”

You broke the tense eye contact you were holding after his statement. Insulting your academic failures and empathetic tendencies in one foul swoop. That was a low blow, even for the counselor.

Rafael knew his words pierced you. He pushed his chair back and let out a breath, getting ready to back track. But you beat him to the punch.

“You know, my capability of empathizing with victims is the reason why you’ve put so many rapists away. If they had to speak to you, there would be no cases for you to even prosecute.”

This wasn’t a normal spout between the two of you. Things rarely got personal, and if they did, they were never this spiteful.

“Then I guess there’s a reason I’m prosecuting in front of the judge and jury and you’re dealing with the victims.”

You scoffed at his final statement. You knew he was cocky, but you didn’t think he would use your insecurities or shortcomings against you. Especially not the fact that you failed the Bar Exam three times, which was only disclosed to him once Carisi opened his big mouth.

Covering your head with your beanie, you made your way to the door before either one of you could do more damage. You fought the urge to apologize, knowing you would need space before you could think of a response.

“Have a good night, Counselor.”

****

“Oh my goodness, Benjamin! Look at that tower you made with Maura! Did you show Luke?” “No. Mama saw it!” You smiled at the two year old through the phone, his own grin lighting up the room even over facetime. “Benjamin, is mama there? Y/n/n wants to talk to her for a minute.”

“I can bring you to her!” Maura took the phone out of the toddler’s hands, but you quickly protested so you could say goodbye to your godson. “Bye Benny, I love you buddy.” He blew you a kiss and you caught it as your little cousin brought you across the room.

“Auntie Leah! Y/n/n wants to talk to you.” She handed the phone over while settling in next to her aunt. You saw your older cousin’s calming face, and couldn’t help the tears in your eyes.

“I haven’t even said anything and you're already crying,” You let out a laugh and took a sip of water. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“Y/n, are you at the precinct? It’s 8:00 your time on thanksgiving, what are you doing there?”

“There was some work I needed to get done. If I can’t be with you guys, I can at least get a head start so I can come home for Christmas.” The squadroom was empty now, but it had only been filled by the desk sergeant and a couple uni’s until five. You’d been here since noon, not succeeding in spending the holiday alone in your apartment. “Besides, I’ve been able to ignore all of my mother’s phone calls with the ‘I’m working’ excuse. Has she called you guys yet?”

“Just mom once. You know she doesn’t mean it to hurt you, she just wishes you could spend time with family for the holidays.” “I know.”

Your family meant the world to you, and having missed the last two years of holidays was hard on you. Sure, you saw them eventually, but Christmas and Thanksgiving weren’t the same alone.

“Since I’ve already started Christmas shopping, is there anything Benjamin needs or wants from his godmother?” “He has requested, and I quote, ‘y/n/n’s nummy cookies’.” The smile that spread across your face was so big it almost hurt. That baby boy was probably your favorite person on the planet, besides your own nieces and nephews. “Alright well hopefully he can help Y/n/n make those nummy cookies in a few weeks. If not, I’ll send a box out, along with an amazing present.”

“What about me?” Maura asked, and you just shook your head. “Hey, I’m not made out of money here girlfriend.” She laughed at that.

“Have you at least eaten anything today?” Leah asked, trying to steer the conversation into a more meaningful direction. She could read you so easily. “Yes, I have. I’m not going to be here much longer, so I’ll grab something for dinner on my way home.”

“Y/n/n,” The eight year old interrupted again, and you couldn’t help the smile that etched across your face as you rolled your eyes at the silly nickname.

“Yes, Maura.”

“There’s a fancy man walking towards you.”

You turned your head and saw Barba walking through the squadroom. “I gotta go, Leah.”

“Is everything okay?”

He pulled over Carisi’s chair, raising a brow to make sure it was okay. You nodded.

“It’s okay. Just a colleague. I’ll talk to you later.” “Okay. We love you and miss you.” Tears pooled in your eyes again as Maura hopped on. “Love you Y/n/n!” A tear fell from your eye as you let out a laugh. “Love you too guys. Bye.”

You ended the call, quickly wiping your eyes now that you had an audience. It was only last night that you had your rather animated argument, and neither of you had reached out. Being stubborn was one of many traits the two of you shared.

“Can I help you, counselor?”

He held up a brown bag with a receipt stapled to the fold. “It’s thursday night. It’s usually you making trips to the office, but I figured I could take the field trip tonight.”

He opened up the bag, pulling out cartons of Chinese food. Your hand immediately reached for the fortune cookies, ripping the plastic wrapper off.

There was a lingering tension in the air, unresolved conflict, and hurt feelings, but it still felt okay. Mainly because the two of you knew you were both to blame.

“How did you know I was here?” You asked while grabbing the carton of lo mein. “I called Carisi. He said you were supposed to be in Minneapolis for the holiday, but got wrapped up in the case. Said he offered his family to you, but after hearing the commotion over the phone, I understand why you declined.”

“I didn’t decline because of their raucous personalities. I just wanted to get some work done.”

He digressed, retreating into his carton of fried rice. “What about you? Why aren’t you eating pie and decorating for Christmas with your lovely mother?”

“She volunteered this year. Since Abuelita died, she hasn’t been a big fan of holidays.” You nodded, knowing how hard it was for Rafael to grieve his abuelita last year.

“How has she been doing?”

He shrugged. “She has good days and bad days. She blames herself most of the time, but she has her school, and her kids to keep her upright.” “And you.” His eyes met yours for a brief second, the corners of his mouth turning up the slightest. He always wanted to do more for his family.

“Was that who you were on the phone with? Your family from Minneapolis?”

“Yeah. I was supposed to go out there for thanksgiving, but when we caught Kristi’s case, I cancelled. I thought,” You stopped, knowing any mention of the case would bring up last night’s conversation.

“We were going to trial.” He finished the sentence and you nodded.

If everything had gone according to plan, Panko and D’Amico would’ve been indicted this week and the trial would’ve begun the following week. You’d already started prepping Kristi with Rollins, making sure she knew her story backwards and forwards. But it was all for nothing it seems.

“Y/n, what I said last night,” You shook your head. “We both said things we didn’t mean. I started it, and was completely out of line.”

“You weren’t. You were fighting for Kristi, and your case. I just, I didn’t want to hear it.” He ran a hand through his hair, not perfectly quaffed like usual. “I shouldn’t have brought up the Bar. It was low, extremely low, and you didn’t deserve it. You and Carisi could take me out in court in a day. And if you ever tell him that, I’ll deny it until I die.” You laughed while taking an egg roll, crossing your finger over your heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

You let the apology sink in for a minute before starting your own. “I know you would’ve brought this to trial if we had enough evidence. I know that you care about the victims just as much as we do. I’m sorry that I said you didn’t.”

Poking around the container, he let out a scoff. “You weren’t that far off. I’m the D.A.’s puppet, letting him decide which cases I prosecute or not. We don’t have a lot of room for an emotional influence. I know how cold I can be with vics and witnesses.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t care.”

“Tell that to Kristi Cryer. She posted a vlog today, ripped me a new one for not believing her. Called the D.A.’s office, and I quote, ‘a bunch of spineless jellyfish.’ She’s not wrong. I mean,” He let out a humorless laugh. “I went to law school so I could help people. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself the last twenty years. But in reality, I’ve been climbing the bureaucratic totem pole, pushing myself further and further away from that kid in the Bronx.”

“You don’t seriously believe what Cryer said do you?” He shrugged, not meeting my eyes. You sighed, placing the carton on your desk, leaning over to rest your hand on his arm. “You are the Assistant District Attorney for the Sex Crimes division. People do not last here if they don’t care about the victims. I’ve seen you in court, in testimony prep, hell even in interrogation. You care about every single person that needs our help. Does it suck that the law is not the most accommodating to rapists and pedophiles? Yeah, it’s really shitty. But you didn’t write the law books, as much as you like to believe you did.” A smile crept onto his face. “You care about your mom, your abuelita, everyone that helped you in the Bronx. I know you care about us, even Carisi, although you’d never admit it. You are not a spineless jellyfish, no matter how fun it is to say.”

“You really believe that?” He still couldn’t meet your eyes. It always amazed you how easily the most put together people could fall victim to their insecurities.

“Rafael, I would not be spending every Thursday night for the past two years with you if I didn’t believe that you were one of the most kind-hearted people I’ve ever met. I care about you.”

His green eyes finally met yours as he moved to gently hold your hand that was previously resting on his forearm. He gave it a soft squeeze as you smiled, trying to ignore the butterflies that started blooming in your stomach. The same butterflies that rested there every time your hands brushed when you were walking down the hallway, or when his hand rested at the small of your back to escort you into the courtroom. And after tonight, and the way he was looking back at you, you knew he felt them too.

You spent the next ten minutes finishing off the takeout, sitting in a comfortable silence, not needing to fill the moment with anything else. The two of you kept sneaking glances at one another, breaking out into a sheepish grin if you were caught.

Once you were done eating, Rafael cleaned up the food as you got all your belongings together for the long weekend. It wasn’t until that moment you realized he wasn’t wearing an expensive suit; he had on a navy blue quarter zip, black jeans, and some loafers. A smile crept up on your face knowing that you got to see him in casual clothes.

“Ready?” He asked as you slipped on your gloves and pushed your chair in behind you. “Ready.”

You lived close enough to the precinct that it was only a ten minute walk. Rafael lived in the other direction, but still insisted on walking you back to your apartment. An Uber could pick him up from there, he said, because that man would not be caught dead walking across the city in his loafers.

He called for a ride as you approached your block, not wanting him to wait in the cold too long. As you approached the brick walk up, you started to fidget with the keys resting in your pocket.

“Thank you for dinner. And a double thank you for not making me eat your sushi.” He smiled. “You’re welcome. Thank you for being such good company.”

“Anytime.” A sharp gust of wind hit you, causing you to duck your head into your coat for a few seconds. When you looked back up, Rafael’s cheeks were rosy red and wind burnt, and absolutely adorable. “I’ll see you next week for a warrant, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure. Make sure to get me a coffee on the way, listening to you list the legal reasons why you need the warrant always makes me sleepy.”

You smiled.“Deal. Goodnight, Raf.”

“‘Night, Y/n.”

Despite the farewell statements, neither one of you moved. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from his warm eyes, and it wasn’t until you felt his fingers brush against yours that you moved closer.

His eyes flickered to your lips for a second, before looking back at you. You took another step towards him, waiting for him to close the gap between you. When he did, all you could feel was the warmth of his lips on yours, and the cold tip of his nose resting against your cheek.

It was short, the two of you pulling away after a few seconds. But one smile from you had him leaning back in, resting a hand on your cheek as he kissed you again. It was slow and careful, but full of adoration. You couldn’t help but smile into him, bringing your hand up to rest against his own. After a few more seconds, his own smile made it impossible to stay connected.

This time when you pulled away, you rubbed your thumb across his red, wind burnt cheek, not even trying to suppress the stupid smile on your face. And you were happy to see him grinning the same way.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” He said, shifting his head just enough to press a kiss to the palm of your hand. Neither one of you is willing to ruin this moment with any talks about what this means. “Okay. Get home safe.” “I will.”

One more look at his rosy red cheeks, and you let out a laugh before you let yourself pull away.

“What?” He asked, completely dumbfounded by his affect on you. You shook your head in response. “Nothing.”

He returned your laughter before lightly kissing your lips one last time. You could get used to this.

“Goodnight, counselor.” You said once you pulled away, lightly shoving him toward the ride that just pulled up.

“Goodnight, detective.”

****

#rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fic #rafael barba #law and order: svu #law and order svu #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x female! reader #rafael barba x female!reader #jules writes shit ??

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vaguely-concerned · 4 years ago

Text

R-r-r-rewatch thoughts for The Mandalorian S2 Ep2

(or Chapter 10 as they seem resolved to call it)

- can I just express my joy for a moment that in one episode we get peli, the answer to my pleas for female representation in the ‘sketchy middle aged car mechanic’ niche, and a female alien designed with no consideration towards sexiness. (I mean I’m sure there’s someone. There is always someone somewhere on the Internet, is the bitter truth history has shown to us. but it’s not the intention behind the design haha)

- they do take great pains to deliberately show you boba’s armour several times both in the recap and in the episode itself, so never despair he is very likely still on his way onto our screens once more

- this dude holding the baby hostage wanting specifically the jetpack in exchange is the one (1) break this whole episode gave din lol

also the Patented Mando Finger Curl of Stress while he talked softly and calmly to not promp this asshole to make a sudden move... the most endearing character tic, I love my space cowboy dad so much

- fun continuity detail: din is all out of whistling birds now, and you can see it here!

I wonder if he could still use the same mechanism with different ‘ammo’, it’s just not as effective? from the way the armorer spoke whistling birds seem quite rare and it would be an inefficient use of beskar if that’s the only thing it can be loaded with

- I love how after the last episode, a 50 min epic with a bunch of original trilogy significance and impressive technical achievements and exciting character reveals, I was like ‘yeah okay I suppose that is quite interesting’, and this mess/comedy of inconveniences is the thing that fully makes my brain tip into the obsessive ‘BABY AND DAD SHOW!! BABY AND DAD SHOW!!!!!’ mind state lol

- ah the traditional ‘mando trudging slowly but steadily through the desert’ montage we all love to see (I hope this is going to be a Thing for the second episode of every season from now on)

Also I assume his suit has some sort of temperature regulation built in and that’s how he didn’t, y’know. die under the blazing desert sun

CAT FIGHT CAT FIGHT man I love the jawa. also mando doesn’t even glance over at them, really emphasizing how he’s like. done with this entire day (and it’s all barely even getting started din! i’m sorry)

yodito’s look in this scene tho... he’s like ‘we’ve Seen some shit lady’ (actually I think he’s staring at ‘dr mandible’ like O___o. it’s been a long day for a lil boy)

you get to see dr mandible’s cards a few times, so I assume anyone who knows the rules of... sabacc? probably? could figure out beforehand that he was in a bad spot. (the star wars fanbase is one of those where I KNOW the rules exist somewhere, and I know people who know those rules exist too)

- that sound the baby keeps making -- the ‘boo-a’, sometimes with a p-sound at the end -- if that’s the precursor to him saying any variation whatsoever of ‘dad’ or ‘papa’ or ‘baba’ or even ‘buir’ or anything, I will die. I will sink to the ground in a heap and never get up (the way he keeps seeking out gaze contact with the helmet and seems perfectly satisfied with it too... fasdhfaskdjhl my FEELINGS)

- it seems confirmed in this ep that the mandos who died on nevarro did so while holding off the enemy so the rest(probably especially the children) could get away; some of them appear to have escaped. which I guess is a small relief

frog lady stepping out of the shadows and into our hearts

I like that her firm nod after Peli translates ‘her husband has seen them’ lets us know she understands... basic? is that the common tongue thing in star wars there’s just so many to remember across fandoms lol? perfectly well, even if she can’t speak it.

- mando might be running low on ammo for the pulse rifle, if the fact that he hasn’t replaced the missing cartridge on his... bandolier belt thingy is any indication

ETA: actually ignore me this has been a thing since the literal first episode of the show my brain just had a hiccup lol

- so baby seems to use a little bit of the force to pull the eggs towards him -- I wonder how often he ‘taps into it’ or if it’s always ‘on’ in the background for him. if so I guess there’s no wonder he’s so hungry (but also... kid you can’t end this lady’s entire family line like that one cat who singlehandedly made extinct a whole species of bird! D:)

- din so rarely gets openly angry, he just gets passive aggressive and grumpy. and that’s probably not the healthiest way to deal with things but I love him

- frog lady reacts so strongly to when din sends the ping when nothing else woke her up, I wonder if she can hear more frequencies than a human

hello darkness my old frieeennnddd

proof nr 1508 that din does not starve this baby you guys, he even has his own little tray just the right size for him! as it happens the baby simply seems to prefer eating things that are... still alive in some capacity. which, uh. maybe they can invest in some form of non-sentient crickets or something for him to hunt down and.... oh dear

Look how they massacred my boy

By the way I finally managed to put into words why the Razor Crest -- and particularly the way it keeps getting beaten to hell and back and patched up again -- is so symbolically important and meaningful to me in this show in this post over here! it’s always a great relief to me when I can finally understand what the hell I’ve been going on about all this time and this was one of those lol

- honestly if it weren’t for frog lady and (more importantly) the baby I think there’s a slight chance din would’ve gone ‘well I had a good-ish run of it for a while there’ and just let the ice claim him haha

- “Why don’t you come over here and give me a hand. Make yourself useful” This is the one time in the episode I think he crosses the line into just being a dick for a moment (but noticeably the baby isn’t just a little hurt at this reaction, he’s clearly surprised and confused, which means this really does not happen often. after the time mando’s been having recently I guess a moment’s snappishness is understandable haha. he does follow up right after with being much more responsive and attentive when the baby toddles away from him, so it feels like it’s going to be okay)

also the ‘boo-ap’ sound is there again when he’s trying to get din’s attention. just sayin’

when din comes over to see the footprints baby makes a declarative little meep like ‘see??? I did tell you!’ haha

- it is very funny that mando is using all his technology meant to track down dangerous bounties in the grungy depths of the criminal underworld... to find a naked lady just chillin’ in a hot spring

cue the ‘father is evil?’ memes fsadfda. actually the funniest thing about this moment (apart from the fabulous finger acting) is that din actually snatches a few eggs out of the baby’s reach more subtly right before, and that baby only whines for ALL OF ONE SECOND before he goes to sniff around for other food possibilities fkadfhjkds. from my experience with human children he’s a lot less prone to tantrums. yodito doesn’t get mad, he gets even

- baby running towards din through the hatching spiderlings like ‘DAD I FUCKED UUUUUUP’, din’s little strangled ‘ngh’ sound as he picks the baby up and watches all the creepy crawlies come out... *chef kiss* impeccable

(that little ‘ngh’ and the soft shocked ‘ah ah AH!’s from when he goes flying at the beginning of the episode... pedro pascal and his voice work for this character gives me so much life. in some ways din has this sort of dignity and grace and in other ways he uh extremely doesn’t. he gets to be cool but also vulnerable in ways a lot of male main characters don’t and it’s probably why I love him so much)

btw here is that moment when din moves to hold the baby tightly against him with both hands as the big spider appears, because it gets me right in the heart... it such an instinctive thing of holding on to the dearest thing you’ve got before something bad is about to happen

fdsafhsdakjlfhsdkjlhfsdajhf oh my god the baby is clutching din’s finger with his little hand during the chase!!!! 😭😭😭

this FUCKING SHOW has just WEAPONIZED putting in small details everywhere to convey the love and tenderness and attachment felt by a little muppet doll even where only weirdos like me will frame by frame their way through the video to see it I am so MAD

- frog lady going ‘fuck this’ and bounding along is e v e r y t h i n g

- din is an amazing shot, though, he doesn’t seem to miss a single one in this whole scene (then again there’s something to shoot at basically everywhere one can take aim so lol)

baby hiding behind/half hugging din’s boot as he tries to get the doors closed hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I can’t breathhhhheeeee

honestly every single one of the baby’s proximity seeking behaviours in this ep has me on my knees

- it’s very unfair to play the heroic happy mando music like everything is going to be fine and then have a huge fuck-off spider drop down from the ceiling and break it off mid-tune, the mandalorian, you have trained me in certain ways and now do you betray me??? how can I trust again

- the camera work in the scene with the new republic guys gives such a good sense of the discomfort of being judged from on high by someone or something you can’t really see -- the glare of the lights blocking out everything in the shots from din’s pov makes it feel like a tense interrogation (the new republic dude who is actually dave filoni has such a look of fondness as he watches din tho it’s kind of sweet)

- ...oh no I think baby was actually considering munching on that dismembered spider leg YODITO NO JUST EAT YOUR KRAYT DRAGON BABY

- hngh this is a weird filler episode and it has my entire heart. I suspect we might get some episodes of a more stationary baby between active ones like this -- you can tell a little bit in this episode that especially having him running around fast is quite difficult to have look natural, they likely save that effort up for when it best serves the narrative

#star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian meta #the mandalorian spoilers #mmmm brain empty only dad and baby show in here #(actually that's not true there's some tf/graves activity going on at all times too haha)

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bondsmagii · 4 years ago

Note

Regarding this cat that is perhaps not a cat at all. Definitely not MY cat.

ARCHIVIST

Statement of Orla McDonald, regarding a cat that is perhaps not a cat at all. Original statement given July 3, 2012. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

It started after Bella died. Or I suppose, after I thought Bella died. Bella was – is? – my cat, or at least I think she is, or was. I got her as a kitten and she’s now seven years old, if she’s actually still alive at all, which I’m pretty sure she must be as I saw her just this morning, when I was on my way here. Bella is a beautiful cat, long-haired, that grey colour they call blue and that I never understood until I looked at Bella when the light was just right and I could see she did look kind of blue after all. She has eyes to match, too – big and sea-blue, like you could dive right in – and she’s more photogenic than I am. Temperament wise, she’s a very chill cat. She likes to relax in the sun, stretch out over the sofa, basically just laze around as the lady of the manor. Altogether a very typical cat, right? Nothing remarkable at all.

Well, all apart from one thing. Every so often, perhaps once every few months, Bella just goes wild. It’s not like, you know, her time or anything, because she was fixed as a young cat because God knows I can’t be doing with kittens. Apparently it’s normal for cats to have times of the day where they just go crazy for some reason, running around and making a mess and yowling, but she doesn’t do that. It isn’t every day, or even a once a week thing. And it doesn’t last for a brief period of time, like what all the things I’ve read have said. She’s fine for months, chilling out and sleeping on the sofa, and then one day she’ll just wake up and it’s like a wild animal has moved into my house. She doesn’t go outside as a rule, because I worry too much about her, and usually she’s fine with that. But when she enters this state she will absolutely get out of the house no matter what. As soon as I open the door to go to work or to put the rubbish out, Bella will shoot out through even the tiniest gap and off she goes. There’s nothing I can do about it at all. Once – and only once – I tried to stop her, and she clawed up my arm so badly I still have scars. It was the first and only time she’d ever scratched me, and I was stunned. It got the message across, though. I’m not happy about it, but I have no choice but to let her out. I worry about her, but it’s not like I can stop her, and also I don’t particularly want her in the house when she’s in that mood? It sounds neglectful, I know, but she really does just rip the place apart.

There’s a lot of danger when it comes to cats outside, and I live right by a main road, and yeah. I won’t go into detail, but the inevitable happened. I wasn’t too shocked? I mean, I think deep down, I always knew. That’s what happens, right? Obviously I was devastated, and finding her was… well, I didn’t find her, I should say I found out, because she had a collar and the driver… God, I feel so sorry for her too, you know? She was so good about it, she could have just driven off because that’s what most people do when someone hits a pet on that road – my neighbours just let their cats run wild and I’ve called the RSPCA so many times but anyway, that’s not the point. The driver was only a young girl, maybe eighteen or nineteen, couldn’t have been driving long. She brought Bella up to my door, wrapped tight in a blanket like she was sleeping. Thank God there wasn’t any visible injuries. We even talked for a little bit; I tried to reassure her that I didn’t blame her, that it wasn’t her fault, but I don’t think she believed me. How could she? I still think about her even now, wishing that I could somehow explain that Bella was still alive, but… I’m not even sure that’s what’s going on, but if it makes her feel better, right? I don’t know. I brought Bella into the house and I just sat with her for a while, talking to her. Calling her a little idiot, asking what got into her. Telling her I loved her. You know. That kind of thing. I held her in my arms and rocked her like she was a little baby, and after some time – I’m not sure how long, maybe half an hour? – I became aware that she was moving. She was moving around in the blanket like she was trying to get out, and in my shock I let go and the blanket fell into my lap and out she jumped. She even gave me an indignant little meow as she did so, like I’d been deliberately keeping her in there. She sat, washed a paw, and then trotted into the kitchen where I kept some food laid out for her. I just sat there in shock.

I mean, cats have nine lives, right? That’s what they always say. I’m not sure what Bella got up to on her other trips outside, but as far as I knew, she’d never lost a life before. She’s always been a healthy cat, no scares, no accidents until that one. I get that it’s just a saying, but something in me wondered if there was more to it then. I was sure she was dead. She might not have been, because admittedly I didn’t check for a pulse or breathing or anything, and the accident had just happened so she wasn’t cool or stiff. The only proof I have is the weight there was to her when I took her from the young driver’s arms. It’s called a dead weight for a reason; it wasn’t the sleepy heaviness she had when I would try and get her to budge over at night, or how she would go deliberately limp when I lifted her away from something she wasn’t allowed to eat. This was a different kind of weight, and while I’ve been fortunate enough to have never handled any kind of dead body before then, I just instinctively knew what that weight was; what it meant. It was so heavy – literally the absence of all life. She was dead, and then she wasn’t, and of course I was glad for it but I was naturally very uneasy.

After a couple of days I brought her to the vet. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop analysing her for signs she might be acting differently, or I suppose for proof that I hadn’t somehow imagined it. I explained what had happened to the vet, but I suppose I chickened out of saying that she was absolutely dead – I don’t think the vet would have believed me. Or at least she would have explained away how I must have been mistaken, and I know I wasn’t mistaken but I also know I would have probably been so eager to believe her that I would have convinced myself I was, and I don’t know. I just said she seemed dead, and then she was fine. They put Bella through a bunch of tests and scans and sure enough everything showed up just fine; their best guess was that she hadn’t been struck at all, but had maybe just had the life frightened out of her and passed out or something, like how a person can get a shock and faint. I suppose that’s not impossible? Something about the vet’s choice of words struck me, though. Frightened the life out of her. It really did seem like that was what had happened – like whatever made Bella Bella had been… taken. Or vanished. Like the fear had replaced it entirely.

That’s not to say Bella was a frightened cat after that. She acts much the same, if I’m honest. She’s still pretty chill, she’s still always lazing around not doing much of anything, but there’s something just off about her. There’s a look in her eyes that I can’t quite explain. Have you ever seen an animal and you’re kind of like oh my God, it looks like a little old man or old woman or something? There’s just something about the face that looks so human, or they pull an expression and you just know what they mean? It was kind of like that with Bella’s eyes – they looked human. Sometimes she looked at me with an understanding that was beyond… beyond what a cat should be able to conceptualise. I know, I know, we don’t actually understand as much about animal intelligence as we’d like, and we don’t know just how much about their environment they do or do not understand, but I’m telling you it was different with her. She had never acted like that before and I’d never seen her look like that before. It’s so strange. I considered maybe some kind of brain damage affecting her personality, but the vets found absolutely no injuries at all. I even took her back to ask about it, just saying that she was acting out of character, but they could find nothing wrong with her that time either. Scans came back fine. She was her usual self with the vet. I felt – I feel – like I’m going insane.

As if all this wasn’t bad enough, I’ve started noticing some… really odd things. A couple of weeks ago I woke up in the middle of the night, just wide awake like something had deliberately woken me. I couldn’t remember hearing anything, but I just knew that something, some noise, had woken me. I sleep deeply, too, so it would have to be some noise – I mean, I’ve actually slept through a fire alarm once, it’s that bad. Whatever happened had to be some kind of I don’t even know, explosion or something, or it had to have happened very close to where I was sleeping. I sat up and turned on my light, and my bedroom door was fully closed. I never fully close it because Bella likes to come in and out, but it was completely closed and when I went over to look, there was a crack in the wood running from the top and bottom of the panel where the handle was attached. It looked like it had been slammed shut with extreme force, and I suppose that’s what woke me. I was confused, obviously, and I didn’t even consider the implications until I heard footsteps on the stairs. Thankfully they were running away from me, but I heard them as clear as anything – thud thud thud on the stairs, like a fully grown man in heavy boots. I was absolutely petrified. I had these horrible thoughts of some creep sneaking around in my room while I was asleep, but nothing was moved and there were no prints on the carpet and the room didn’t feel like anyone had been in there. It didn’t seem as… well, as simple as that, so I found the courage to ease the door open and peer out. The house was still and silent, and as I crept towards the top of the stairs I knew that I was definitely alone in the house – there was no other presence. I finally looked around the corner and down the stairs and the only thing I could see was Bella’s vague outline, sitting at the bottom of the stairs and looking right at me, her eyes glinting in the dim light.

I don’t know why she frightened me so much then. I think it was because of the glow of the streetlight outside, coming in through the frosted glass of the front door. I suppose the effect of the glass could have caused it, but for a moment her shadow… didn’t match. It was elongated, jagged, like her joints were all harsh angles. Like a bare tree in winter, all knots and wild angles, sharp and rough. Whatever fur she had didn’t show up in the shadow – she looked short-haired or even hairless, and her jaw was longer and more canine. I took a half-step back and from that angle her shadow looked normal again, and she meowed at me and trotted quite normally into the living room and out of sight, but I didn’t miss the way she looked at me. I got the distinct impression that she knew I had seen.

It sounds ridiculous, I know. Even writing this, I feel stupid. I do think maybe I should go and speak to someone, because now I’m laying it out I do wonder if I might have just suffered a horrible shock thinking Bella was dead, and then I’ve just created this strange story around the whole thing. Maybe she was fine. Maybe she did just faint. Maybe it’s all in my head. I have no idea, but something about it just doesn’t seem that simple at all. I keep going back to that old saying, that cats have nine lives. Perhaps I’m thinking too deeply into it, but I have to wonder if those lives are all the same one. I mean, does it just refer to close calls? That they get lucky and get more tries? Or do they get nine separate lives? If they do, where do they get the extras from? Is it still theirs, or does it come from… somewhere else?

I don’t know if Bella is still a cat, but even if she is, I don’t think she’s still… my cat. Or maybe she is? I don’t know. I’m still glad she’s here, but… well. I sleep with my door closed now. With the chair against it. And that’s not really normal, is it?

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends.

This is certainly one of those statements that makes me wonder why I’m here. An unnerving story, yes, but I do wonder if this isn’t an exercise in creative writing or perhaps as Ms McDonald said: some kind of post-traumatic episode following the shock of believing her pet to have met an unpleasant end. If it is, I imagine that the shock will eventually wear off and Ms McDonald will stop believing that her pet cat has been possessed by some kind of entity, or whatever she believes is going on. There isn’t much to investigate in regards to this, either – the nature of the incident makes it very difficult to ascertain facts, and checking with the veterinary clinics in the area of the address Ms McDonald provided was a waste of time. They either don’t remember any such cases, or they are not inclined to discuss patient information.

As for Ms McDonald herself, she has since moved away from the property and left no forwarding address. The house is, as reported, situated on a main road and the residents there suffer all the frequent calamities from having one’s front garden directly attach to a road with a 60 mile an hour speed limit – collisions with pets and cars emerging from driveways, and occasional car-house collisions. A few neighbours remembered Ms McDonald and reported that she was a pleasant and completely unremarkable young woman, causing no trouble and certainly never acting like she might be suffering from any kind of mental distress. A few neighbours also recalled Bella, having seen her stalking through their back gardens or, more frequently, sitting in Ms McDonald’s living room window. Nobody reported anything strange about the cat at all; certainly not elongated shadows. It was impossible to track down the driver of the vehicle said to have struck Bella with the information provided with this statement, and with that any potential leads were exhausted – though I confess to not being entirely sure where they might have led to even if we had found them.

Not exactly debunked, but certainly not worth filing away as open. I’m considering creating a new designation for statements containing material perhaps better discussed with a therapist.

End recording.

#tma #statement prompts #my writing #fakements #long post #anon #asks

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