#me: what a pleasant evening i think ill just hang out for a few hours before downfall

[burr-ell]

On the subject of Vex's flaws, I think it's interesting to compare and contrast the conversations she has first with Vax and then with Percy in 1x63. Right before the episode break, Vax goes to Vex to talk to her about the title Percy gave her and tells her that while he appreciates that it made her happy, to him it's like "gilding a lily" and that she's "already perfect" to him. She insists her strength is an act and he immediately replies "bullshit".

Immediately after the break, Vex seeks out Percy, and thanks him for the title and tells him how much it meant to her that he took up for her that way. Percy says a title is "mostly there to remind you you don't really need it" and "it doesn't change anything", and they have a brief discussion about the logistics of what her title means. He teases her that "I imagine you're eventually going to become very insufferable" but then adds that "you have to be".

Now on its face it seems like Percy's saying the same thing Vax is! But there are a couple of crucial differences. For one thing, the comments Percy makes about her becoming "insufferable" (and then that actually she should be) are clearly playful, but it's also an acknowledgment that she can be exasperating. Lighthearted it may be, but it tells Vex that Percy's not afraid of her flaws or put off by the ways she could potentially be annoying. For another, he openly admits that she doesn't actually have any land—the land isn't his to give; it's Cassandra's, as the actual ruler of the city. Percy's promising her what he CAN give her, with an honest explanation of what that is. Like with the come-from-money conversation, he's being both kind and objective. It's at this point where he says a title "doesn't change anything", and I think that allows Vex to see his gesture for the totality of what it is and make her own choice about what she does with it. It's like the arrows; he's giving her the tools to forge her own path, trusting her judgment.

Now I'm not at all hating on Vax here, but I do think Vex's conversation with him revealed some flaws in their relationship. Vax only emphasizes how Vex is cool and strong, and when Vex directly states that it's an act, Vax dismisses this and says he needs her to keep being strong. And he clearly means well! But it's a fascinating choice from Laura to go from that conversation and then talk to Percy the first chance she gets, and one of the things that says is that Vex does not trust Vax's judgment of her in that moment. He's her brother, and he just explicitly said she's perfect! Vex has, by this point, started to see her own flaws clearly enough that just telling her how amazing she is doesn't address the issue, and she's less inclined to trust the opinion of someone who does it. She wants to know that someone can see her flaws, assess her honestly, and still love her.

And the conversation with Percy shows Vex someone who looks at her and sees through her, who has seen and done terrible things and is clever and pragmatic and ruthless, someone who does his best to evaluate a situation as objectively as possible and someone who's striving every day to become better. And that person trusts her, wants to see her succeed, and gives her everything he can to make that happen.

[dragonbarbie]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 | Part 2

aegon x best friend!reader ; modern!au

series summary: this fic is snippets of aegon and reader's relationship as they grow up and discover new feelings. but to let himself be loved, aegon has to first do some growing up. loosely inspired by the tv series one day!

rating: 18+, minors dni.

tags: alcohol, substance abuse, making out, titty sucking, blink and youll miss it dry humping (lmk if i missed something)

word count: 5.1k

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A/N: im so overwhelmed by the response to the first chapter! im so sorry this took so long, this chapter was originally well over 8k so ive just decided to split it, which means the next chapter is pretty much ready maybe ill have it up by wednesday. thank you so much to everyone who interacted, hope you like this. [not beta read!]

lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

divider credit @cafekitsune ! title of fic is from 'peter' by taylor swift.

Age 18

“i think that’s enough pictures, mum.” y/n held up her arms to shield herself from any more photographs her mother might take. she felt self-conscious enough already, grimacing at every picture, thinking how the flaws glaringly stood out. her parents thought she looked beautiful as always though, and wanted as many photos as possible to keep as memories of their daughter’s special night. only she didn’t want to believe there was anything so ‘special’ about it anyway.

she heard an impatient car honk coming from outside, just in time for her to make her exit. “let me at least take a picture of you and your date.” her well-meaning mother attempted, earning a whine from her daughter, “for the last time he’s not my date.” not really he wasn’t, they were just going as mates, nothing more, she reminded herself as she waved her parents a quick goodbye.

then why did her stomach flutter seeing aegon leaning against his irritatingly green, flashy sports car. taking a drag of his cigarette, his platinum hair was mostly gelled back, few strands allowed to fall to his eyes either fashionably or as a result of hurry. he was dressed simply, black suit and a white shirt. but seven hells did he wear the hell out of that suit, y/n had to admit. he looked neater than usual, the light stubble he usually carried had now been shaved off, his eyes didn’t look nearly as red as she was accustomed to. he even wore dress shoes, when truthfully y/n had been betting on him showing up in his usual jordans.

she couldn’t help but beam as she realised walking towards him, that all this effort he had made for her. aegon hadn’t even wanted to go to their senior prom. he’d said he would simply throw the after-party for the prom back at his mansion, where he wouldn’t be required to ‘come dressed as a penguin,’ in his words. the entire school knew about aegon’s famous ragers by now, and the night of senior prom was guaranteed to be the greatest ‘one-last-hurrah’.

it was y/n who had wanted to go, in order to live the full high school experience before they would be forced to enter the adult world after summer. and there was no one else she would have rather taken to prom. so, after countless hours begging and pleading (and some threatening), aegon finally relented. but his acquiescence hadn’t guaranteed to her that he would even bother following the dress code. yet, here they were.

she was going to comment on what a pleasant surprise it was to see him look like a ‘penguin,’ when she saw the look on his face. his eyes were suddenly alert and his mouth slightly agape, cigarette in his hand forgotten momentarily with his hand hanging still in the air holding it.

“what is it? do i have something on my face? on the dress?” she patted her cheek in alarm, before looking down at her dress. she’d chosen a simple black, satin dress that hugged her just right, pairing it with the deepest red lipstick she could find. she smoothened the front in anxiety, scared her high heels were going to make her trip on the fabric any second.

“no, it’s just...you look nice. very pretty.” her eyes focussed on aegon’s trying to gauge his expression, but his gaze remained transfixed on her figure.

“is it that shocking that i would look pretty, that you have to go and make that face?” she snorted. that snapped aegon’s attention back to her face with an eyeroll, “i didn’t mean it like that and you know it. you look good, would it kill you to just take the compliment?” her lips turned upwards at his words, “yeah i’m just messing with ya.” she tried to hide how the praise made her feel warm inside her chest.

“you don’t look so bad yourself, targaryen. look you’re even wearing the shoes and everything.” aegon grinned at the words giving a quick twirl to show off his full look. “who knew you had it in you?” she teased.

“had to step up my game. can't let my date outshine me, can i?"

date? the word rang in her ears. did aegon think this was an actual date?

“oh, please,” she tried to maintain a cool façade, seemingly uncaring of his words, “i've always outshined you.”

“only because i let you.” he claimed, flashing her one of those lazy half smiles of his that would make her mind wander to what else he was capable of doing with those lips—

she immediately shook her head to get that image out of her mind.

“got you something. well, technically mum got you something” aegon opened the passenger seat of the car, and retrieved from it a beautiful, very expensive looking bouquet. “she wouldn’t let me leave the house without flowers for my date” there it was, that word again, ‘date’!  she thought, astonished as she received them.

did aegon think this was a date? a date-date? was he expecting something? did she expect something? her mind started to race with a hundred things.

she had to clear her throat to bring herself back to the present, “these are beautiful, tell alicent i love them.”

“great, can we go now? i want to get the boring part over with so we can properly party later at my place.”

the prom itself ended up being less dreadful than aegon had been sure it was going to be. aegon spiked the drinks, and then proceeded to get his friends leon and martyn as drunk as possible. it didn’t escape y/n’s notice that aegon himself, was merely buzzed. she even dared to hope for a second that he was limiting his cups out of respect for her, and her very known hatred of his drinking himself into blackouts.

he remained clear-headed enough to laugh about and reminisce with her over their years at the academy. “no, i remember clearly, you’ve never once said sorry about making me fall on my first day.” y/n accused as she attempted to drink the very strong punch aegon had made for her. “and i remember very clearly, you came in my way.”

she narrowed her eyes at his blatant lie. “cunt.” he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him at her drunken-vitriol. “and i think that’s quite enough for you.” he grabbed the cup out of her hands in spite of protests. “good gods, aegon targaryen preaching moderation? must be the apocalypse.” she nudged him playfully.

in that moment, smiling and laughing with her best friend, she couldn’t help but realise that this time of their life was coming to an end. come fall, they would be on different sides of the country.

y/n had been accepted at her first choice, sunspear university only weeks ago, but she hadn’t discussed it with aegon. he hadn’t spoken of his plans for university either but helaena had told her that their grandfather was using his pull to get him into the family alma mater, oldtown college.

any time she had attempted to so much as talk about life beyond school with aegon himself though, aegon would get irritated and cagey, eager to shut down any and all conversations about the future. then again she couldn’t blame him, for some reason her first instinct too had been to hide that acceptance letter from him.

yet as they stood there, she had a feeling that he was thinking about the same great uncertainty that lay ahead too. thinking, that their days of being by each other’s side like this every day were numbered.

“come on” he suddenly offered her his arms, getting a puzzled look in return. “you wanted the ‘full high school experience’ right? dancing at prom is kinda the main thing.”

she let him lead her to the dance floor, feeling her cheeks going red. he brought them right in the middle, and when he placed her arms around his neck, his own hands becoming placed around her waist, she couldn’t find a word to say.

couples around them were slow dancing to some song she couldn’t quiet place, and she couldn’t believe that aegon had willingly placed himself in the scene around them. this suit, the shoes, the dancing, the flowers – none of it was remotely close to his scene. yet she had barely heard him complain. she had to give it to him, he had been on his best behaviour because he knew how much the night meant to her.

“thank you,” she finally said, looking at him with adoration in her eyes. “for agreeing to come.”

aegon’s expression was unreadable at first. after a second he seemed like he was going to lean in towards her to say something, when his eye caught something behind y/n shoulder.

she turned her neck to see who it was and felt her heart drop down in her stomach.

cassandra baratheon, the most sought-after girl at school, her golden hair and confident demeanour were hard to miss. y/n looked up to see aegon was transfixed on the tight red dress she wore.

she felt his hands drop from her waist, “get you something to drink?” but he didn’t so much as look at his friend.

“sure” she mumbled, trying to mask her disappointment, but he didn’t wait for a response before he started walking towards the blonde.

she watched as aegon approached cassandra, his charm on full display. y/n sighed, tired of how predictable his routine was. she danced with a few classmates, trying to keep her spirits up, but it wasn’t the same without aegon.

after a while, she grew tired of pretending and slipped out of the ballroom, certain she wasn’t going to be followed by the only person she wanted to be with. she started walking in the direction of her home, too angry to think to call someone to pick her up.

the sound of her heels against the pavement and the chattering of her own teeth from the unexpectedly cold night couldn’t distract her from her woeful thoughts.

she should have expected this, she chided herself. aegon’s attention had always been fleeting, especially when it came to pretty girls. but it still hurt. she had hoped, maybe just for tonight, things would be different. at the beginning of the night he’d been giving her all his attention, and making her feel as if she was the only one who mattered in that room.

yet, he had to go ahead and ruin that, by chasing one more skirt to add to his long list of distractions from anything that could actually matter.

when she reached her house she was grateful her parents had long since gone to bed, not wanting to talk about her night.  she walked up to her room and changed into some comfortable clothes.

she curled up on her bed, but sleep seemed to escape her. she tossed and turned but she could not forget the look on her best friend’s face when he looked at cassandra baratheon, ignoring her. she couldn’t help but wish that the way his eyes trailed down her figure, the open lust with which he watched her, the desire that carried him away from her – she wanted it all to be hers.

it was perhaps the first time she had admitted it to herself. she wanted this, she wanted him and not just as a friend.

her mind then wandered to that one moment of hope she had not dared to let herself dwell on. the way his hands felt rested on her back, how he looked for a split second as if he were going to lean in to her, what might that have felt like if it had been allowed to go on? would he have kissed her? would his lips have felt as soft as they looked? would his tongue—

she didn’t realise when in the middle of all these wandering thoughts her hand had slipped down to underneath her shorts. over the cloth of her panties, she could feel a wetness building as she slowly rubbed the top of her entrance, her imagination building up the tension between her legs.

just as she was getting comfortable though, she got the fright of her life when she heard her window open. “fuck me!” she sat up straight on her bed, clutching her blanket in front of her chest.

she let out an exasperated breath at the now-messy platinum hair glinting in the moonlight, that she could make out even in the darkness of her room. she moved to get up and turn on the lamp next to her bed. the light revealed a slightly different aegon to the one she had left back at the dance, stumbling into her room.

his jacket now gone, his white shirt was untucked and the first few buttons had been left undone (one of them was missing, from what she could tell), the semi-open shirt allowed her to make out lipstick smears trailing his chest. his eyes were red, and the fact that he couldn’t seem to walk straight, told her he’d returned to drinking at his usual pace once she’d made her exit.

“what are you doing here?” she sighed, crossing her arms across her chest, both defensively and because her bra had been long discarded, which left the tank top she wore revealing far too much for her liking.

he almost looked earnest when he answered “came looking for you. you never showed up to the party at my place.”

“yeah, well i don’t like your parties” “sure you do!” he snorted

“no, aegon i don’t! i never have. i only ever come for you and i’m miserable the entire while, and you never notice!”

he looked hurt at her accusation, blinking as if it had never crossed his mind that she didn’t enjoy getting high and causing chaos as much as he did. that hurt quickly turned into anger of his own as he shot back.

“fine, even if you didn’t wanna come to the party, why did you leave prom so early? for weeks it’s all you wanted to do, going to prom. you dragged my ass there and then just ‘puff’ i turn my back for one second, and you’ve disappeared.” he sounded almost as if he felt abandoned, wounded.

“you seemed busy.” she cooly replied.

“busy?” aegon echoed, his brows furrowing. “i was just talking to people.”

y/n shook her head, her eyes reflecting a mix of hurt and frustration. “you always do this, aegon. you leave me for the first pretty girl that catches your eye.”

he shook his head as if y/n were being the unreasonable one here “it’s not like that.”

“then what is it like?” she demanded, her voice rising. “because it feels like you’re always looking for a distraction. and tonight, i needed you.” her eyes burned as tears pooled in them. “it was our last night in school. it meant something.”

he flinched at her words, the truth of how much he had bruised her, cutting through the haze of alcohol. “i didn’t mean to—"

“didn’t mean to what? make me feel invisible?” y/n's voice softened, the anger giving way to sadness. “it’s like you don’t care.”

aegon stood there, steadying himself by leaning against the desk, looking deflated. “i do care, y/n. you’re my best friend.” she could tell he was trying, trying to make her see he cared, trying to be a good friend. the fact that he had left his own party simply to come look in on her, hadn’t gone unnoticed by her.

but unluckily for him, y/n was tired of his constant trying when she knew it never led to any real change.

she took a deep breath, steadying herself. “we need to talk about something else, too. we’ve been avoiding it all year.”

aegon looked up at her, confusion and apprehension mingling in his eyes. “what do you mean?”

“college, aegon. you’re going to oldtown, and i’m headed to sunspear,” y/n said, her voice trembling slightly. “i’ve tried to bring it up, but you always change the subject.”

he looked away from her, fiddling with the rings on his fingers almost anxiously. “because i don’t want to think about it.”

“well too bad, because we have to discuss it” she insisted. “this is big. we’ve never so much as spent one summer break apart, you’ve dragged me to every family vacation and christmas dinner. but come fall, that’s over. you don’t think that’s important enough to even talk about? doesn’t it matter to you at all?”

“of course it matters!” he finally spat out, taking stumbling steps towards her. “i don’t want to talk about it because i know it’ll change everything.”

aegon’s eyes were glassy, his emotions threatening to spill over. “because you’ll be far away, making new friends, living a different life. you get to conveniently walk out on me and my fuck ups. i don’t want to talk about it because you’re leaving me.”

“leaving you?” the aegon that stood before her was shaking like a scared child, gone was the playful, laid back popular boy. for the first time that night, she could see clearly through him, the first time he’d allowed her to.

y/n moved closer, taking his hands in hers. “aegon, i could never leave you.” she promised. “you’re a part of me. distance doesn’t change that.”

“you say that now…” he mumbled, looking away as she caught tears running down his cheek.

“i’m not leaving you,” she repeated, more firmly this time, her heart aching for him. “we’ll find a way to make it work. i promise.”

“do you really mean that?” her hand reached out to his cheek, wiping away his tears with the pad of her thumb. “with all my heart,” she whispered. the vulnerability in his eyes was raw and unfiltered as he confessed “i don’t want to lose you.”

“you won’t,” she assured him, putting her arms around him as she pulled him into a tight embrace. “we’ll figure it out, together.” she sounded sure, determined.

he clung to her, and she could smell the weed and cigarettes on his shirt, she knew that he wasn’t as clear-headed as he should have been for the conversation they were having. “i don’t know what i’d do without you, y/n.” he muttered into her hair. she smiled against his chest. “lucky for you, you don’t ever have to find out.”

as one of his hands trailed down to her lower back, she suddenly felt her shorts were far too short for her to be having company. his other hand started to rub at her side, his thumb brushing up against the side of her breast and lingering just enough that she knew he could tell she was bare beneath her flimsy cotton top.

they’d been standing in silence for a minute when he suddenly spoke up, “i’m sorry that i mess everything up, you deserved to have me there with you tonight.”

his hand had stopped right by her cleavage, causing her throat to dry up. “it was just a stupid dance.”

“yeah, but it mattered to you.” he brought his other hand to her ass, as he pulled apart slightly to look down at her. her breathing became rapid as she looked back up at him.

in that moment, the tension between them shifted. aegon leaned in, his lips brushing against hers hesitantly. y/n responded, closing the distance again, with more passion.

there was a sense of urgency, a rush as his tongue entered her mouth. the hand on her ass moved to slip past her shorts and panties to grab at her bare skin, causing her to moan into his mouth. her own hands attempted to undo the few remaining buttons on his dress shirt, before letting her fingers roam around his exposed chest.

he pushed them back, till she felt the edge of her bed behind her making her fall back on it, pulling him down with her as she went.

his mouth moved to trail sloppy, wet kisses on her neck, and then down to her collarbone. she could feel him use his teeth, marking her for the next day.

situated as he was between her legs, she could feel his semi-hard on from under his pants, rubbing against her in the most delicious way making her wrap her legs tighter around him, to feel that friction more intensely.

his mouth broke away from her now-sensitive skin momentarily, as he lifted her top enough to expose her breasts to him. his hands roughly gripped the flesh, making y/n gasp with how cool his rings felt pressed to her skin.

his mouth then took in one of her nipples, as she whimpered at the sensation, her fingers pulling his hair as he flicked it with his tongue, before sucking on it.

when he finally lifted his head to look up at y/n, she couldn’t believe the scene before her. in that moment aegon was looking her with a hunger and wanting, that she didn’t think he’d even given cassandra baratheon.

what might come next though, made y/n nervous. she’d never gone this far with a boy before, reasoning with herself that she’d never liked anyone enough. but she could admit to herself now that she’d been waiting to share that experience with aegon, waiting for him to come around.

still, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to go all the way, or how to do it if she was.

thankfully for her, aegon reached ahead and merely kissed her lips once more, softer this time. then, even more unexpectantly, he placed a final, tender kiss atop her head, before climbing off from between her thighs and crashing down on the pillow beside her.

she blinked at the figure of him, lying next to her completely relaxed, as if what they’d just done was so routine, it didn’t warrant another thought. “get that lamp light next to you, would you?” he yawned.

as if in a daze, y/n wordlessly switched the light off, plunging the room into darkness.

she could hear him breathing beside her, close enough to block her nose with the smell of cigarettes she was sure she’d have to wash out of the sheets the next day. but with his pale hair falling like that against his fluttering eyes, she knew he was the only person she wanted, flaws and all.

drowsiness began to take over her after sometime, and she wasn’t sure if she actually heard him mumbling “love you” or if she’d dreamt it but she drifted off with a faint smile on her face nonetheless.

the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over y/n’s room. she stirred awake, stretching out lazily when her eyes fell on to the snoring boy beside her. she couldn’t help but smile at how peaceful his face looked, her hand stretching out to tuck behind the strands of platinum falling to his eyes.

she tried to be as quiet as she could in walking to her bathroom. standing in front of her mirror, she noticed the now purpling hickey right by her collarbone. she still couldn’t quite believe that the events of last night had actually occurred, but the evidence was staring her right in the face. her fingertips grazed the bruise, and the corners of her lips turned upwards automatically.

she washed her face and brushed her teeth in a haze, where all she could think about was what was going to happen next. would she and aegon have a conversation about it, or would he pretend it was nothing? oh god, what if he regretted it? the thought made her tense. instead of going back to her room she sat on the edge of her bathtub, nervously thinking about what impact last night would have on their friendship. she couldn’t imagine losing aegon, she thought. if it came down to taking whatever happened yesterday forward or saving their friendship, she would pick the latter, she determined. before she could lose her nerve, she decided to go back to her room with that thought.

upon her return she realised the object of all her anxiety was already up, rubbing his eyes with his palms and groaning, clearly nursing a hangover. her heart suddenly started to pound in her chest. “you’re up early. it’s not even noon yet.” she teased as she came to sit by him. “and morning to you too” he grumbled.

“how are you feeling?” she hesitantly asked, “like i got hit by a bus,” he said, attempting a weak grin.

she gave him a faint chuckle. she looked around the room as silence filled the space. she was hoping that he’d be the one to bring up last night, rather than making her go through the embarrassment and awkwardness of coming to that topic.

how did you even start that conversation? she wondered as she pulled at a few strands of embroidery coming untethered from the rest of her bedsheet. ‘hey last night was the best kiss i’ve ever had, let’s do it again sometime soon’? no, that wasn’t it. she stole a glance at aegon who had picked up his phone, neither of them having said anything to break the silence. i could start by telling him how i’ve always liked him? no that would definitely activate his commitment-phobia, and he’d go running out the door, she realised. sitting this long without either of them talking felt far too weird and she started to panic slightly.

she kept thinking if he was going to approach the topic, wondering if she should instead, when suddenly aegon got off her bed.

“what have we got here” he walked over to the basket where some of her old toys had been kept for her mother to donate when she went to college. “nothing just some old things” she replied, surprised that this was what he wanted to discuss now. he seemed to be entertaining himself by going through her things as if he hadn’t been in her room a hundred times before.

well, if he was going to avoid it, y/n decided she should be the one to rip off the band-aid. she cleared her throat to start speaking, when he suddenly cut her off, “do you still have that lightsabre i gave you for your 12th birthday? the one that used to light up and all?” “no, because you broke it playing with it in my garden that same day you gifted it.” she reminded him, “right…” he muttered, before going back to his rummaging.

this time she stood up and walked over to him, and started to say, “y’know i think we should talk—” “what’s ollie doing here?” grinning, he grabbed an old red octopus from the basket and lifted one of its stuffed tentacles to wave at her. “did this mean old lady steal you from me ollie?” “no, you stole him from me, remember? and alicent had to return it back” she reminded him, snatching the toy back from him in irritation. if he was going to keep mucking about, she was never going to be able finish what she wanted to say.

she exhaled a big sigh, and built up her courage again, “we have to talk about last night—” “yeah, what did happen last night?”

she could only blink, as aegon nonchalantly asked, not even bothering to look up from the box of broken, dusty toys. “what do you mean ‘what happened’?”

“as in how did i end up in your bed?” he laughed, “don’t remember much after us arriving at prom” her heart sank at his words. “you blacked out.” she said in realisation. she turned around and walked back to sit on her bed so he wouldn’t see her wounded expression.

he didn’t even remember what was possibly one of the biggest moments of her life, something so monumental that she’d woken up this morning as if waking up to a new life. all those years she'd spent unknowingly pining for him, she’d thought that now there was finally some hope that she could actually be with him. but one little sentence from him had made her memory of last night dissipate like a mirage.

what had she even been thinking, he was drunk out of his mind and was probably barely in knowledge of himself when they did what they did last night. it was a mistake, and it should have never happened. she couldn’t control the tears slipping down her cheeks, her back facing aegon to shield herself subconsciously.

“you were pretty drunk. you climbed up to my room and we talked for a while. you fell asleep here.” she answered in robotic narration, not daring a look at him. she wiped her face quickly as she heard him stop with his aimless search and come sit next to her.

“sounds accurate. i do anything stupid i should know about?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern. it was the standard question he asked when he blacked out. for a second, she wondered if she should tell him everything.

y/n shook her head, smiling faintly. “no, you didn't. just needed a place to crash.”

she thought about it rationally – even if they did talk about last night, what was going to be the best-case scenario? he would be glad of what he did? but even then, what would happen next? she was going to dorne, and him to the reach, and a long distance anything was going to be impossible enough. here they were nervous about their friendship surviving the distance, but a relationship? she couldn’t see any way this would end well.

and this was considering if aegon even wanted any of it. last night may have been special for her, but if drunken fooling around and crashing into bed was all it took to get him to pursue someone romantically, half the school was ahead of her in that line.

this was the best thing for both of them, she sadly thought, to preserve their friendship.

him putting his arm across her shoulders and squeezing her brought her out of her miserable thoughts, “thanks for looking out for me, as always.”

“of course,” she replied softly. “that's what friends are for.”

aegon met her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “yeah, best friends.”

a few minutes later she left momentarily to get herself a glass of water but by the time she returned, her room was empty with her window left open and her red octopus missing once again from her bed.

[myfanfictiongarden]

The Words Spoken, The Mind Healed- Dracula (1897)

Because we were left out of the evening of 25th of September

----

Mina Harker´s Journal

26th of September- Early morning. The clock had just stuck half past eight as Jonathan went out of doors to bring over the good professor from his hotel to breakfast at our place. Because I will have a few minutes before they arrive, I shall put down what went on yesterday evening, my head full of thoughts and impressions that are so convoluted and entangled, that it seems like I carrie the Gordian knot itself and desperately need Alexander's sword to make end of it. To think that all is true…

After professor Van Helsing left to read the manuscripts at his room in the hotel, I was left again with Mary alone in this big house and decided to finish bookkeeping that needed to be done, but had a hard time concentrating. Yet, I was thankful for the distraction, for while concentrating on figures and numbers my mind stayed clear for a while of other thoughts that might have distressed me if dwelled on too long without rest. After I was finished with the calculations of expanses for the next week it was time to think of supper. A letter came from Van Helsing that lifted a heavy weight from my mind yet brought dark dread upon me as well. Jonathan was sane, my dear beloved the brave man I always thought him to be- but his captor was then real as well, as were the other beings of his kind, and he in London. While I sat down to compose an answer, a telegram arrived just at that moment from Jonathan, telling he would be back with the last train at 10:15, so Mary and I agreed on the meal, which I was to have earlier and later on then only tea and some biscuits as to keep him company while he sups. Night came and the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind St. Peter, the hours passing by too slowly. By 10 o’clock I had abandoned both the novel I had attempted to read, the printed letters morphing into bats and beasts and wolfs, as well as the needle work that hanged limply in my hands, and so kept watching through the window for his form to arrive and bring me peace. 

Finally the knock on the door and a moment later I there to open it. Seeing his face, if even in the dim light of the hallway lamp, made my heart easy and some tears of joy about to sprung, so I drew my arms around him in embrace last he should see them.

“I am so glad you are back home.”

“Me too. I missed you, even if it was only one day.”

“Did you have a pleasant journey? Wait, let me help you. Mary has left some cold lamb and vegetables so you can eat right away.” With his coat and hat sat off I began to hasten to make the dining room ready, but he insisted late supper in the kitchen would do just as well.

“You are too humble for a lawyer.” I told him while he took the first bite after having set up the table by himself, like if he were still a simple clerk and not the master of a nice house.

“You are right. From tomorrow on I´ll set up the household as that we should live like the Tsars in the Winter Palace.” I knew he was jesting and loved him the more for it.

While he ate I asked him more about how his trip to Launceston went and if his client was satisfied, and he told me as much of his work as he could, continuing later to describe the picturesque town and landscape he saw from the train.

“How was your day?” He asked.

“I had a visitor today. You know the gentleman that wrote me concerning Lucy’s passing? He was her doctor and is the mentor of one of Mr. Holmwood´s friends. Wishing to learn more about her illness he received permission to read her letters and diary, and so came upon my name and wanted to meet me as to ask about our stay in Whitby.”

“I'm sorry that you should have such a distracting visit, she was such a dear friend of yours.” He said and placed his hand on mine in a gesture of comfort. I went on-

“He also asked me about you.”

“About me?”

“Yes, in the letters to Lucy, and my diary kept in Whitby, there was much mention of you. He asked me about your business trip and your health, and feeling bold in his presence I gave him your journal to read. He says- he says its all true.” My voice went to a whisper at the last part and the words hung now in the air, silence following them. He moved his hand from mine, his eyes widening for a moment, before his look settles on his half empty plate and stays there, long heartbeats without movement.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don’t be angry with me! You gave me your journal to keep and I promised you, upon my soul, that I shall have it safe, to only read if duty commands it, and I have kept my promise, for when that episode caught hold of you in London it became necessary to learn the cause of it, the cause of it all to save you from further distress!”

“It is all true, so I am sane.” He whispers finally, and before I know what’s happening he has moved his chair to mine and taken hold of both my hands in his, bringing them to his lips and kissing feverishly. 

“My Mina, my darling Mina, most beloved in the world! What a blessed husband I am in you! But you, you had read it all, and must know now that I would battle all these demons again, imaginary or real, just to make it to you. It pains me, pains me so that you had to witness that horrors even if only in writing, yet part of me is glad to have a confidante in your collected mind.” We kissed, and tears streamed down both our faces. 

It was getting late so we decided to move upstairs to our room, leaving the kitchen for Mary to clean in the morning. It was simply by going through the motions that I dressed for the night, glad when finally under the covers and Jonathan sitting by my side. The bells were toiling midnight through the silence of the night as we both waited for our mouths to form a coherent word.

“Tell me.” I said at last, and so he did. It was only a shorter account of his journey and his stay at the Count's castle, but hearing it from his own lips made it even more horrifying. He would stop at times, as if battling with himself and his memory to distinguish what had really happened and what might have been imagined, at times worried he might shock me too much, but he did not need to say everything in order for me to understand.

“And when I thought it all had just been an awful dream brought upon me by fever, and sure I had passed the worst, I saw him there across the street, in London, walking among people like he were a man too. And while he didn’t see me, I could see his eyes, forever burned into my mind as their were, so blazing red, like- like…”

“Red like the blood red setting sun.” I said as a memory washed over me.

“How do you now?” He asked, noticing my expression change as frightful realisation finally settled upon me.

“Because he was there that night with Lucy.” I told him finally the whole story of my stay by the sea, and that awful night that I had found her lying on our bench up by the old churchyard. He listened patently as I told of all her instances of sleepwalking that followed, of her ebbing spirits and the rattle of wings at night at our window.

“What ever illness she acquired there, he must have brought it with him. To think her sweet nature in his presence…”

“It truly is an illness that consumes body and soul. Don’t cry my darling, for what ever misplaced guilt you may feel- yes, I say misplaced for I know you already blame yourself for not having protected her better- it matters little when he sets his mind, believe me, I know from being in his presence and in the one of these frightful women, although that word is unfit to describe them just a he is little a man himself. I know not what he is, or what they are, nor what any of it means, but if this professor Van Helsing has as much wisdom as you say- and he seems to know a deal more than us poor people from Exeter- he will bring light into this terrible darkness and peace to our minds. There may be yet a way to fight this evil, and I am ready to take up my sword like St. George did when facing the dragon.” His voice was even and strong, and I could see a change in him, his old strength of mind returned. 

Full of gratitude for seeing him not doubting his mind  anymore, I leaned closer and kissed him gently.

“What ever we will have to face, we'll face it together. “

[tariancadman]

How could we ever just be friends?

Once again I have written a shitty fanfiction. You're welcome.

Read on Ao3

Summary:  The sound of the rain greeted him as well as a soaked Chaol. Dorian took another deep breath.

“Look Chaol, whatever you’re going to say, I just want you to know I’m sorry-”

“Do you want to dance with me?” Chaol interrupted. 

Dorian’s mind simply stopped. He was like the human version of the loading symbol. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water before managing a broken, “What?”

“Do you want to dance with me?” Chaol asked again. There was an odd look on Chaol’s face, something like hope. Dorian gazed into his brown eyes and remembered the text he had sent. The part where he’d mentioned his gorgeous eyes, the ones he felt like he was being sucked into every time he looked at them. 

***

The rain beat on the windows violently, as it had been for the last few hours. The sound of it was oddly relaxing. Even the thunder that seemed to shake the entire house was nice in a way.

Dorian had been sitting in his room on the windowsill since the rain had started. It had proved pleasant background noise while he finished his homework. He had plugged his earbuds into his phone, played music from one of his playlists, and finished most of the homework he had.

About an hour ago now, Dorian’s father had sent a maid up to tell him the old man had left the house and would be back later tonight. Dorian had thanked the woman and settled back into his work. The house had quieted after his father had left, most people taking his absence as a chance to sit for a while and rest. His father would have wanted him to go tell the people to get back to work, but he couldn’t care less what they did. They deserved a break anyway after working for his father for so long.

Dorian sighed, pulling his earbuds out and packing his notebooks, pencil case, computer, and other things into his backpack and placing it by his bedroom door. Just then, he received a text.

Aelin: Sorry Dorian, I don’t think we can hang out today. My dad is all worked up about the storm and doesn’t want me to leave the house until it’s over :(

Dorian quickly texted her back saying it was all okay, that they could hang out next weekend instead. He couldn’t help the slight disappointment he felt though. They’d been meant to binge Heartstopper while he moped over Chaol, and Aelin held him while he cried.

Dorian jumped onto his bed, thinking about what he could do with the new free time he had. Immediately he thought of face timing Chaol, but that wasn’t a good idea. Last week, Dorian had been drunk and sent Chaol a text about how in love with him he was. When he had woken up in the morning, there had been a bunch of texts and missed phone calls from Chaol saying they needed to talk. Dorian had been avoiding him since, not wanting to hear Chaol say he didn’t want to be friends anymore and that he had never wanted Dorian like that.

Dorian sat back up and ran a hand through his hair before an idea popped into his head. Grabbing his phone, Dorian ran down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Why hello there, boy,” Thalia said from where she sat on a barstool. “Is there something you’d like for me to make for you?”

Thalia was his family’s cook. She had been around for decades now and was the only person who dared to speak ill of Dorian’s father openly. Dorian thought of her almost as a grandmother. She’d always been nice to him, giving him extra sweets when he was younger and talking to him about school when his parents ignored him.

“Not today, Thalia. If it’s okay, though, I’d like to use the kitchen to bake something.”

Thalia smiled and slid off the barstool and hobbled over to the door. “Don’t let me stop you, sweetheart.”

The door shut behind Thalia and Dorian quickly went to work, grabbing everything he needed.

***

Dorian sat at the kitchen island while he waited for the last batch of cookies to finish cooking. The smell of fresh cookies had engulfed the room, making Dorian’s stomach rumble. He was forcing himself to wait for them to cool off enough so that he didn’t burn his mouth when he took a bite of one.

The oven beeped, signaling there was only a minute left on the timer just as a young maid, the same one who had told him his father was leaving earlier, walked into the room. She wore an apron over a nice pair of black slacks and a white shirt. Her dark curls were pulled back into a tight ponytail on the top of her head, and Dorian thought he could see some sparkle on her eyelids.

“Hello Sir. There is a man at the door asking to see you. He says he’s your friend. Would you like for me to let him in?” The woman said, her voice soft.

Dorian couldn’t hide his surprise. The calls and text messages from Chaol had stopped yesterday, and he’d thought that would be the end of that. He’d cried for hours, knowing he had finally fucked up their friendship in an unfixable way.

The woman stood there waiting for his answer, but Dorian was still a little shocked that Chaol was here and couldn’t even tell her not to call him sir. The timer on the oven decided right then was the best time to go off and Dorian went to grab the oven mitts, moving on autopilot, but before he could, the woman grabbed his hands.

“Go talk to your friend sir, I’ll deal with your cookies.” She was smiling now, as if she knew something he didn’t.

“I-um-Thank you. I’m going to go, uh, do that.” Dorian managed. “Thank you, ma’am, very much,” He yelled as he ran through the halls towards the front door.

As he neared the closed door and saw Chaol’s silhouette through the glass, his stomach turned over. Maybe Chaol had come over here to yell at him or to give him back something he’d left at Chaol’s place. Dorian pushed the nerves down and took and deep breath, opening the door.

The sound of the rain greeted him as well as a soaked Chaol. Dorian took another deep breath.

“Look Chaol, whatever you’re going to say, I just want you to know I’m sorry-”

“Do you want to dance with me?” Chaol interrupted.

Dorian’s mind simply stopped. He was like the human version of the loading symbol. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water before managing a broken, “What?”

“Do you want to dance with me?” Chaol asked again. There was an odd look on Chaol’s face, something like hope. Dorian gazed into his brown eyes and remembered the text he had sent. The part where he’d mentioned his gorgeous eyes, the ones he felt like he was being sucked into every time he looked at them.

Dorian, not trusting himself to speak, nodded his head and gestured to the coat closet. Chaol smiled and nodded, understanding what he was trying to convey. He always did that, understood Dorian without even needing to try. It was aggravating.

Dorian moved on autopilot once again, grabbing his shoes and tying them quickly. When he stood up and moved back into the doorway, his eyes met with Chaol’s outstretched hand. Dorian took hold of it, Chaol pulling him out of the house and reaching behind Dorian to close the door.

Dorian closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the scent of Chaol when he was so close to him and savoring the feeling of their chests pressed together. Chaol’s hand tightened its hold and then he pulled him down the steps into the pouring rain.

The cold soaked through his clothes in seconds, chilling him to the bone, but Chaol didn’t stop moving, instead he pulled him into the garden and let go of Dorian’s hand. Chaol reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, pressing a button before tucking it back into the pocket.

“Until I Found You” by Stephen Sanchez and Em Beihold started played through speakers Dorian couldn’t see. Chaol reached out his hand again, looking slightly nervous now. His wet shirt clung to his body, and Dorian wanted to trail his fingers along his muscles, but he reminded himself he couldn’t.

Cautiously, Dorian grabbed Chaol’s hand, and Chaol pulled him in close. One of Chaol’s hands went around his waist and the other stayed holding his hand. Chaol moved them into a dance that was incredibly romantic.

“You told me once a few years ago that the most romantic thing you could think of was dancing in the rain,” Chaol whispered in Dorian’s ear. Dorian’s heart raced as he realized what Chaol was implying and at the thought that Chaol had paid attention to something so small.

Chaol spun him and pulled him back in, pressing himself to him as tightly as possible. Dorian looked up slightly and brought the hand he had rested on Chaol’s shoulder to his face, gently cupping it and running his thumb along his cheekbone. Chaol shuddered, his face looking absolutely wrecked as he closed his eyes.

Dorian smiled softly. “You also remembered my favorite song.”

“Yes,” Chaol whispered. “I’ve wanted to speak with you.” Chaol opened his eyes and they stilled, staring into each other’s souls.

Dorian swallowed, letting himself hope. He watched as Chaol’s Adam’s apple bobbed and as his tongue came out to wet his lips. Dorian forgot about the rain causing him to shiver, focused solely on Chaol.

“I read your text, and at first, I simply stared at it. I couldn’t believe what I had read, I thought, he must be pranking me, but then you didn’t answer any of the messages I sent you and I knew it was real, that you were panicking because you thought I would be mad with you. I have been trying to contact you so I could tell you that you are not alone in your feelings.” Chaol pressed Dorian tighter into him.

“I love you, Dorian. Your eyes sparkle when you are happy and your laugh is beautiful and you me feel dumb and I love it. I have loved you ever since we were children and I want to spend every moment of every day with you. I have spent the last years thinking that I was destined to be alone forever because I had found my soulmate, but he did not see me as his.” When Chaol finishes, he is panting.

Dorian smiles and then pulls away from Chaol to fall over laughing. Chaol stands there surprised only to realize how stupid this whole situation is and starts laughing as well.

Dorian stands back up, grabbing Chaol’s face in his hands and resting their foreheads together. “I can’t believe we have been desperately in love with each other this entire time and not noticed it. We are possibly the most oblivious people ever.”

Chaol chuckles and stares into Dorian’s eyes as he says, “Did my romantic gesture live up to your expectations?”

Dorian’s smile grows. “Yes, 100 times yes. Now shut up and kiss me.”

Chaol pulls him in close and suddenly spins Dorian away from him before leaning him over like in the movies and presses his mouth to Dorians. When they pull away from each other, both out of breath, Dorian says softly, “Would you like to eat fresh cookies with me and cuddle in front of the fire, wishing we hadn’t spent so much time in the rain?”

Chaol laughs, the sound loud and uninhibited. “Of course I would, Dorian.”

[clonecaptains]

kept promises

a fives x f!reader fic~ 

word count: 4k

rating: m - for mild smut 

summary: fives aims to keep his promise to marry you when the war is over. but things get complicated when he’s been shot. this is my fix it fic where fives doesn’t die :) pls enjoy

a/n: fives is the loml and ive been wanting to write about him for so long~~ i hope yall like this!! comments are appreciated!! 

A loud knock on your apartment door stirs you from your sleep. You weren’t resting well anyways, but the bang on the door startles you. You push the covers back and feeling disoriented you rush for the front door. You fear something is wrong because who would be banging on your door at this hour. If Fives was coming home, he wouldn’t knock. He knows the entry code, it’s his place too.

You push the button, and the door opens with a hiss. You’re greeted with the sight of Rex and Jesse standing in your doorway. It’s always nice to see them, but from the looks on their faces it’s not going to be a pleasant visit.

Your face falls and you feel ill.

Fives.

“Is he alive?” you feel tears well up in your eyes and you reach for Rex. His eyes are sad, he carries a weight on him, and you know it.

“For now,” Rex winces to tell you the truth. “He’s been shot.”

Your hand flies to your mouth and Jesse reaches out to touch a hand to your arm.

“We came to get you to take you to him,” Jesse tries to speak as gently as possible.

“You need to pack a bag,” Rex puts his hand on your shoulder. “I can’t tell you why, but you need to hurry. There’s more to this than we can say right now.”

You nod and move aside so the boys can come in.

“Rex? Can you get some things you think Fives might need?” you ask him, you’re not entirely sure of the situation and he nods disappearing back into the bedroom you share with Fives. You yourself grab a bag and begin to stuff random clothing items in it, unsure of what you’ll even need.

This is more your place than Fives, he’s working constantly and only comes once in awhile when he has rare time off. But you have nothing here that really matters to you. What matters is him.

Your bag is stuffed full, and you’re flustered bringing it into the living area. A thin lacy pair of underwear hangs from the top, and Jesse quirks a brow.

“Packing the essentials?” he teases. “Has he seen you in that?”

“No, as a matter of fact he hasn’t,” your face warms and you shove it deeper into your bag and zip it tight.

“Jesse,” Rex’s voice is stern. He might have smiled before, but not now. “We need to go.”

Rex shoulders the bag packed for Fives, and Jesse takes your bag and slings it over his shoulder casually. You follow the boys, and your door closes behind you for the last time.

“Where are we going?” you ask, keeping up with their long strides.

“Can’t tell you,” Rex nods in the direction of a small ship outside your place. You follow them on board and Jesse is quick to get the ship into the atmosphere. He punches in the coordinates and before you know it, you’re off Coruscant headed out into space.

Rex sits down in front of you, and you feel queasy. You know he’s about to tell you something difficult and you’re not ready to hear it.

“You know when Fives sets his mind to something he won’t stop,” Rex smiles softly at that, knowing his brother’s determination. You smile too but a tear falls down your cheek. “He got into something he shouldn’t have, and he was shot for it. We took him off Coruscant for his own protection, and our own. If anyone were to find out about this, we could be in serious trouble.”

You nod. You won’t say a word.

“Besides Jesse and I, Kix is the only one who knows. He’s with Fives now. Get some rest, it’ll be hard to see him when we arrive,” he nods.

You nod back and take his advice. You try and sleep but to no avail. You do lie still and try to prepare yourself for what you’re about to see.

The ship exiting hyperspace stirs you before Rex comes to get you. He’s quiet and patient while you sigh heavily, knowing you’re about to see him.

The planet you land on is one you’re unfamiliar with but it’s beautiful. Trees and mountains fill your sight. The boys take your bags and lead you to a humble little house nestled in some trees near a small pond.

Rex goes in first, and Jesse waits outside with you. Just in case something has happened. They don’t say that, but you know that’s why.

Rex opens the door back up and gives you both a small nod that it’s ok. Jesse puts his hand on your lower back and walks with you into the little house.

It’s a comfortable space, and you’re greeted with Kix as soon as you walk in. He gives you a soft smile and a nod, telling you that it’s ok.

“He’s in the back,” Kix tells you and the boys let you walk into the bedroom alone to see Fives.

In a cozy bedroom, Fives is laying out on the bed on his back. He’s hooked up to a number of machines. You’d seen a medical droid in the living area with Kix, so you know he’s in good hands. But it still breaks your heart to see him like this.

His head has been shaved, and there’s a cut on the right side of his head. It’s been patched up, but you can still see some old blood that seeped through the bandage. He’s shirtless and there’s a bandage wrapped around his chest from where you can only assume is the blaster injury.

You reach for him and touch his shoulder. Then you stroke his cheek with the back of your finger. You place a tender kiss on his forehead before you lay down on the bed next to him. Careful of everything he’s hooked up to, you rest your head on his shoulder.

You fall asleep there and you don’t know how long you stay there with him. It’s Fives who wakes you. His body stirs and you gasp softly sitting up. His eyes open, you can tell he’s exhausted. Even the rich tones of his skin seem paler. But he smiles when he sees you. His hand reaches up to cup your face and he mumbles a mando’a pet name.

He falls back asleep, and you feel tears well up in your eyes again. Just a brief glimmer of the life in his eyes is enough to bring you joy and sorrow.

You think about when you first knew him. How you and your friends would go to 79’s and they would try to push you in Fives’ direction. How if he ever looked your way you’d look away and avoid his gaze. You did this for weeks. Then he’d leave for a mission, and you wouldn’t see him for months.

Before too long, he approached you. And it was his brothers teasing him. Daring him to talk to you and howling when you agreed to go out with him.

You sniffle softly with a smile at the memory of when you kissed him on the cheek, and he was quick to put his helmet on to hide his flustered face.

The boys would tell you later that you were the first person Fives was interested in that made him act like this. Usually he was smoother, more charismatic with charm. But with you? Brain dead. Just as flustered as you.

That was months ago. But it feels like a lifetime ago. He made a promise to you before his last mission that when the war was over, he’d settle down and marry you. He said this a few weeks back before he left. And now here he is, laying on a bed recovering from being shot.

You sit up and press a kiss to his lips before you climb off the bed. You’re hurting and you need some air. And you think it’s wise to tell Kix that Fives woke for a moment.

“Rex?” you whisper, and he’s quick to stand when you speak his name. “Will you walk with me while I get some air?”

You don’t want to be alone right now. Especially not on this strange new planet. And you trust Rex with your life. You don’t know this, but Fives made Rex promise to keep an eye on you if something ever happened.

Rex is right behind you when you step outside. You breathe deeply and he does too. You can’t imagine it’s ever easy seeing one of your brothers hurt like this.

The two of you begin to explore and walk quietly together.

“Fives is a good man. One of the best I know. He’ll make a good husband I think,” Rex smiles offering you his blessing.

“He told you?” your face warms at the thought of him talking about you.

Rex chuckles, “we always knew in the barracks that night if he had a date with you. He wouldn’t shut up. He told me months ago he wanted to marry you.”

You cover your smile with your hand, and Rex smiles seeing the affection on your face.

“Seeing our brothers find joy in this war is a gift. And you have been a true joy to him.”

You spend the rest of the walk in silence. Enjoying the sound of the wind in the trees. It’s peaceful. You see a few animals and some homes nearby. It’s good to know you aren’t truly alone out here.

You can only assume the boys will pack up and leave- no matter the outcome.

But then Rex gets an unexpected message that they are needed. They have to pack up that night. Kix runs you through everything you need to know about what you can do to help. He’ll leave the medical droid there with you to help as best it can.

You can’t help the tears that fall when the boys get ready to leave.

You give each one a hug and a kiss on his cheek. Thanking them for what they’ve done for you and for Fives.

Rex hugs you a little tighter than the rest, and you know he hates to leave you here alone. Kix feels a pang of guilt leaving Fives too, but none of them are even supposed to be here. Kix has already reported Fives as KIA to keep the both of you safe, but it’s hard to leave.

Then it’s quiet. It’s just you and Fives and a droid. Fives is still resting, and the droid is checking his vitals. Based on what Kix told you, Fives sustained a couple broken ribs from the shot. He should be fine, but it will take time to fully heal, and he will be sore.

That’s how you spend the next couple weeks. Fives slowly starts to heal and he’s able to get on his feet. You take walks when he feels like it, and you learn about each other. For the first time in a long time, you have time to spend together. Getting to share meals and stories and watching silly videos on the holonet.

You even find out about the end of the war when you’re here. The turn of the tide. That there’s an empire now. Fives has a hard time that day. Feeling betrayed, knowing he was right. Pain eating him up inside knowing many of his brothers are out there fighting something in their head they can’t stop. The lives that have been lost. Even the Jedi.

He’s quiet for a few days then. Trying to rationalize what it all means. And where he fits in in this galaxy.

When he comes to bed that night, you know he’s haunted.

“Take it easy my love,” you kiss his temple. His hair is starting to grow back and it’s soft to the touch. You smile at being so close to him. You’ve shared a bed with him for the last few weeks, and even before when you lived on Coruscant. But you’d yet to be intimate with him.

You’d never been intimate with anyone at all. And you know the day will soon come that Fives will be your first. And hopefully your only.

“I can’t believe the war is over,” he says gently pulling you into his arms. It’s less and less painful now to hold you. He kisses your stern brow. “And I made you a promise,” he grins.

You’ve thought about that promise every day. Especially when you thought you might lose him. But now it’s even stronger sharing a bed and all your time with him. He’s so close to you. You can feel his warmth and smell his skin. The soft touch of his lips on yours before bed.

When your relationship was new you told him you wanted him. And he told you the same. But you made an agreement to wait until after the war. You can’t really remember why now. Because when you thought you lost him, all you could think about was the moments that might have been lost. Or the regret.

But now that he’s safe, and the war for him is over – you’re glad you chose this. There’s no urgency. And you both know that once he heals, you’ll take that final step together.

And it’s getting closer. A growing feeling in the pit of your belly tells you. Fives is able to do most things now. He had difficulty staying in bed. Staying still. He wanted to get up and move. He thrives off the day-to-day chores around the house and taking care of their land that you’re not sure how Rex even got ahold of.

You woke yesterday morning in Fives arms and his hard length pressing against you. He was just as flustered as you were, but you saw the flame of desire in his eyes. And that flame licked your body all over. You were tired of waiting, but now you had to for him to heal. You would feel terrible if something happened to him for the sake of pleasure. But you could only imagine his wry chuckle in saying he wouldn’t mind at all.

“Fives?” you call to your lover this afternoon out the window. He’s in the back tending to the garden that has begun to grow. He perks his head up at the sound of your voice and he smiles warmly. With his forearm, he wipes sweat off his brow and joins you inside. “How are you feeling my love?” you ask him after he gives you a kiss. You taste the salt from his sweat and you’re aching. You need him. Now.

He knows you, and your looks. He knows what this means.

“Good enough to keep my promise,” he gives a little wink and pulls off his sweaty shirt. He only grunts a little from the movement, but it’s nothing major. You giggle at his eagerness but then feel your knees buckle at the sight of his sweaty chest. Dark hair is dusted lightly over his pecs and lead down to his waistband.

“Fives,” you moan and touch his skin. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen him shirtless or touched him like this. But it feels different now. There’s a scar and a slight yellowing from his bruise almost done healing.

He reaches for the hem of your shirt when there’s a quiet knock on the door.

Fives laughs because you’ve been alone for weeks and now there’s a knock at this moment.

“Who is it?” Fives calls and Rex answers. You both light up at the sound of his voice, and Fives runs to open the front door for him.

Rex looks exhausted. He has a cut on his head in the same place Fives does. And he wears a tan poncho over his armor. Any humor about the moment has gone when Rex sees Fives and hugs him tight.

Something in you tells you that Rex has lost too many brothers over the last few weeks. And seeing Fives alive is a peace he needed.

“I came to check on the two of you,” he tells you finally. “But I seemed to have interrupted you,” he almost looks shy.

“Actually,” Fives stops and looks at you for a moment with a smile. “You might be just the man we need.”

Fives disappears into the bedroom. You and Rex exchange looks as you hear Fives clattering around. He emerges moments later in full armor. There’s a blast mark on his chest plate and you try not to look at it but it’s the thing on everyone’s mind.

“Why did you put this on?” you ask him touching his shoulder. You love how broad he looks in his armor, and you lean up to give him a kiss on the cheek. You love him so much and it’s hitting you hard seeing him in this armor. Just how you could have lost him and yet here he stands.

“Rex? Wanna marry us? Can you do that?”

Rex smiles bigger than you’ve ever seen, and no one really cares if he can legally or not. You’ve been married to Fives for a long time as far as you’re concerned.

“Well wait, I want to look nice too,” you stop and head to your room to put something else on. You choose one of the nicer things you brought with you when you were scrambling to pack all those weeks ago. You put it on and feel giddy with love.

Fives offers you his arm when you come out, and he leads you outside into the quiet of the woods. He takes your hands in his and Rex stands with the two of you.

“You know, I’ve never actually been to a wedding before,” Rex chuckles, getting a loud laugh from Fives. “Fives,” Rex speaks his brother’s name, and Fives stands at attention. “The Republic has fallen. We live in the times of the Empire now. You’ll always be a soldier but this time – your duty is to this one in front of you. Promise me, yourself, but most importantly to your riduur  that you will protect and love with all that you have. I know you will. But it’s an order Fives.”

Rex smiles, and Fives gives a nod. He squeezes your hands, and you know he will keep his promise.

Then Rex looks to you. His eyes are gentle.

“You have been given a gift. And that’s the love of my brother. I know him better than anyone, and I know how much he loves you. I know he would do anything for you. Because I know I would if I were in his shoes. I’m trusting you to look out for him. Protect his heart. I know you have, and I trust you with him.”

By now you have tears in your eyes. But it’s more than just from love- it’s knowing that you have Rex’s trust. He’s one of the best men that you know.

Rex pauses, and steps back a moment. And Fives takes that opportunity to cup your face in his hands and kiss you deeply. Then he presses his forehead to yours and if only you knew then what the gesture meant to him and Rex.

When you part, you reach for Rex and give him another hug and kiss on his cheek.

“I owe you everything,” you tell him, and his brow is stern even with his small smile.

Fives then grabs Rex in an even bigger hug and kisses him loudly on the cheek. They touch foreheads and then Fives laughs shoving Rex on the shoulder telling him to get lost.

“We have things to do,” Fives laughs again, and Rex can only roll his eyes with amusement.

“Stay safe, I’ll contact you if I need you again,” Rex tells you both and with that he’s gone.

The moment Rex is out of sight, Fives grabs you. His hands are on your hips digging into your skin and his lips are on yours. He’s already moaning into you as he backs you into the house.

He knows that you’ve never been with anyone, and it makes him even more hungry to touch you. He’s eager and excited and between his kisses and tugging off your clothes, he makes sure every action is alright.

He’s so excited that he forgets to undress himself, and he has you naked in front of him while he stands in full armor.

“Fives,” you feel shy and tempted to cover yourself while he stands proud in his armor.

“Oh, right,” he chuckles and begins to take off his armor piece by piece. You help him in between kisses, and he sneaks little butt grabs and smacks while he can. He gets distracted easily by the sway of your breasts as you move, and he squeezes them until you squeak.

When he’s free of his armor and blacks and everything else, he tips you back onto the bed and kisses you all over. Every bit of you that he can kiss, he does. His goatee tickles and you tug on his hair even though it’s still really short.

He finds himself between your legs and he takes his time. Going back and forth between his mouth and his hands until you’re crying out his name. He’s almost too rough in his eagerness and you gasp and giggle pushing him off you. You could cry, you’ve never been wanted so much in your life.

“Sorry,” he presses a kiss to your thigh. “You taste so good,” he murmurs against your skin.

“Don’t be,” you feel warm, “I just want more from other parts of you,” you giggle when he raises an eyebrow.

He slides up your body and delves his tongue into your mouth and squeezes your breast again as he lines up with your entrance. He’s slow moving inside and you cry out in his kiss. Your hands are on his shoulders, and you tell him to wait.

He’s patient and kisses you while you adjust to him. But you can tell he’s ready to move. He grunts and his abs tighten, and he can’t help the wince that escapes his lips.

“Do we need to stop?” you ask him, your voice full of concern.

“No,” he shudders when he pushes in a little deeper. “I need you mesh’la.”

He focuses on feeling the pleasure of it and making sure you feel your pleasure. When you arch your back and press your chest to his, something about the action sends him over and he cries out in your ear as he spills inside of you.

He whispers another apology but you’re moaning and gasp when you feel his thumb press where you need him most. You find your release with a whine.

He pulls out of you but stays on you. He slides down a little and rests his head on your chest. His face nestled between your breasts and his ear can hear your heartbeat pound.

“Happy?” you giggle scratching his head as he nuzzles your breast.

“Happier than I’ve ever been. Are you?” he looks up at you, resting his chin on your sternum.

You nod and scratch his back then his scalp. “I’ve never been so happy in my life. I love you baby,” you tell him.

“I love you cyare,” he mumbles kissing your sternum before laying back down.

You don’t know if he’s thinking the same thing, you are. But all you can think about is how a few weeks ago you were laying in this bed with him hoping he would get up. Hoping he would move. Praying he was alive.

Now that you have him in your arms, you’ve never been more thankful he’s alive. But in this case, you don’t want him to move. He feels too good.

He can feel your heartbeat, and you can feel his warmth. The life is in him again and you truly have never been happier to have him alive. Heart pounding and life in his veins, and that fire of love in his eyes.

[caramelcal]

His Favorite Girl

a/n: HELLO. (sounding like the guy in the cinema cba lol) anyways I have returned for a brief period of time to share this update with you guys. It’s based off of this request here: “ Do you think you could write a Luke x gang again where maybe he has to leave for work during sex and the reader touches herself out of frustration and he comes back and finds her ?” 

STOP BECAUSE THIS IS DEFINITELY NOT WHAT THE REQUESTER WANTED BUT ILL WRITE SOMETHING AGAIN BUT LIKE JUST TH REQUEST IF THATS WHAT YOU GUYS WANT SDGHGDFGBH but this is kinda a part 2 to the Bambi/His Favorite Secret series thingy cause a few people wanted that! thank you guys so much for all the love mwah

i should literally be studying rn but im not so <3 im very sorry for this abomination lol

sorry for the long a/n guys! :( enjoy x 

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smutty stuff (fucking, fingering, anal and all that...ive never written this before so PLS PLS PLS give me feedback omg) uh choking, doesn’t have a daddy kink in this but sir is mentioned. talks of being tied up and being tied up? talks about overstim... he calls her little girl at one point...

“Luke! Stop moving!” She lightly slapped her boyfriend’s hand, to which he groaned in return. Her tongue stuck out slightly from between her lips in concentration, eyebrows furrowing as she returned to the task she had firmly put her mind to. That was, until the blond giant moved again, “Luke!”

“Bambi,” Luke echoed lightly, using his nickname for the smaller girl in front of him who looked up at him with an unimpressed facial expression.

“You’re gonna ruin it,” She mumbled lightly, pointing back down at her artwork which Luke only then first looked at. It was safe to say, although he shouldn’t have been, he was thoroughly shocked.

His nails, which his girl had somehow managed to convince him into painting weren’t black, or blue. No, they were bright, blasting, hot pink. He groaned lightly, wondering just how exactly she had managed to rope him into this and just how he was going to hide his nails from the rest of the gang later on tonight when he -they- met up with them tonight.

She was a bundle of both nerves and excitement, finally getting to meet Luke’s closest friends. It had been about a week since their argument, and now she was meeting his friends. It seemed like everything was moving in the right direction, thankfully. She couldn’t wait to be honest, very much looking forward to being able to hear more about Luke from his friends, and just meeting them in general.

They seemed fun.

Well, as fun as gang members could be. She probably should have been more cautious surrounding them, but Luke got her guard down so quickly and she was yet to regret that. How scary could they possibly be considering the man in front of her, soft blond curls held back by her bunny bath headband, nails painted hot pink, was supposed to be the scariest man in the whole city.

“Cal’s gonna rip the piss outta me for this, Bambi,” He complained softly, with no plans to take the polish off of his nails as he looked at his girlfriend, between his legs, small hand wrapped around the bottle of nail polish with her other hand laying against his knee.

She couldn’t help the small upturn of her lips as she blew softly against the nail polish on his fingernails, not patient enough to let it airdry despite it being a fast-drying polish. She shrugged lightly, head flopping to the side adorably as Luke stared down at her, resisting the urge to run his hands through her hair; another issue he had with the wet paint on his fingernails.

“I think it looks great, we’re matching,” She then flaunted the bright pink color that coated her own nails, and Luke’s lips twitched into a grin, careful not to ‘aww’ at the cute words that came out of the smaller girl’s mouth.

He hummed lightly, leaning back against the couch but his baby blues never leaving her face, “They look a lot better on you than they do me, Bambi.”

“I think they’re cute,” The girl climbed onto his lap, making Luke take a deep intake of breath as she sits barely an inch away from a rather sensitive area of his. She, however, seemed to pay no attention to the risen area of his jeans as she leaned against his chest, face hidden in the crook of his neck, soft breaths from her mouth fanning against his neck.

He twisted to give her a small kiss on the forehead, to which she responds by kissing his neck softly, lips staying against his neck as her hand traveled up his stomach up to his neck, holding him close as she began to kiss the base of his neck more.

“Lu,” She whispered softly, “How much time have we got?”

“Like an hour, baby. Why?”

However, the girl never replied verbally, and instead repositioned herself carefully, Luke’s neck void from her warmth before her hand started to travel down, painfully slow, until it landed right above the tent in his jeans. His eyes traveled up to meet hers, eyebrow raised as she dropped her hand down barely, lips struggling to pull the smirk away.

He lifted his hands to her back, going to reposition her before she shook her head, “Your nail polish, Lu. Hands down.”

His hands didn’t move, frozen in place around her clothed waist. His nails were long since dried, she knew that, but she liked this. She liked the intake of breath he took when her hand ghosted over the hardened cock in his jeans, the way he couldn’t lift his hands; scared to smudge the pink on his nails.

He was restricted. Oh, how the tables had turned.

Her hand gently palmed against his hardened, clothed cock, causing a grumble to emit from his throat. It was a deep rumbling sound, -something that the girl had heard numerous times but would never get used to.

To her, everything about Luke was perfect, even his moans.

“Bambi, you know the rules about teasing-”

Her lips attached to his, cutting him off rather efficiently, pressing softly as she continued to palm him through his jeans, gently rocking on his thigh. He moaned into their kiss, her tongue, as a reflex, finding its way into his mouth. Their tongues pressed against one another, lips still pressed together as her spare hand crawled up to the back of his neck, playing with his soft curls.

Her palm pressed into his fully hardened cock now, his tongue swiping over her lips before tugging on it, pulling apart, breathless. His hands found a place on her waist, guiding her softly but firmly, taking back the control he craved.

Looking her straight in the eyes, one of Luke’s hands went around her neck, thumb pulling her lower lip down as he unbuckled his belt with one hand, taking his cock out of its confined clothing and bringing her hand down to hold onto it. It wasn’t the first time that she had given him a handjob, and it wouldn’t be the last, but she still couldn’t help but be nervous.

Despite not being a virgin when she met Luke, she still lacked a lot of experience that Luke definitely had. She knew that he would never judge her, but that never stopped the nerves that festered.

“All shy all of a sudden, Bambi?” He mocked, hand around her neck tightening as he bit down on her ear lobe, gently tugging at it before letting out a breath, “All big and brave, teasing Sir, aren’t you? If you’re going to start it, then you’re going to finish it. On your knees. Now.”

Releasing a shaky breath, the girl clambered out of Luke’s lap dropping to the floor, in a similar position to the one she had been in minutes before, only in a more sexual manner. Her lips met the tip of his cock, tongue lightly swiping across the base.

His hand grabbed firmly onto the hair on the back of her head, holding her steady as she got used to the feeling of his cock in her mouth before thrusting against her. She gagged as it hit the back of her throat, sending vibrations up him, releasing a deep moan from his throat.

“Suck, little girl,” Luke commanded deeply, leaving no room for argument as the smaller girl abided to his command, tongue swiping over him as she reached up to cover the last part of his cock with her hand.

Yet, she didn’t get much further when a ringing sounded through the room, Luke groaning but ultimately pulling away from the girl who stayed on the floor, watching Luke as he grabbed his phone.

“What?” He gritted his teeth lightly, trying to keep his frustration at bay after being interrupted.

He sighed softly, not looking at the small girl with furrowed eyebrows still on the floor as he pulled his jeans back up, clambering to get shoes on and getting ready to leave, hanging the phone up.

“Luke what’s going on?”

“Gang shit, Bambi. I gotta get going, be ready for six, we’re meeting Cal, Ash, and Mike later, remember?” He offered her no more words, but she can tell he isn’t angry at her, just due to their interruption.

However, she can’t help but be frustrated at the interruption, waiting until after Luke leaves to huff and puff about it before starting to get ready.

. . .

“Luke has this old penguin fan account on Instagram from like seven years ago. There’s this one picture on there with him with a penguin hat-”

“Cal, stop,” Luke interrupted Cal swiftly, an arm going around his smaller girlfriend’s waist who looked far too amused by the embarrassing things about Luke that Cal was telling.

“No, no, Calum please keep going. Please,” The girl begged, feeling very comfortable around the Maori boy. They were pleasant, to her at least, and so far they had made her feel very comfortable and very much at home. It was hard to believe that the people joking with her where infamous mobsters, ones that were feared all across the city, and state. 

They had met in Ashton’s house, who she had already met before, at six o’clock. It turns out gang members like to be punctual, or maybe it was only these ones.

Luke was in a bit of a hurry once he arrived back home, with no time to finish what he and his girl had started before he had to leave in a hurry, leaving her oh so frustrated. This was only magnified when she saw him afterward, ready to head to Ash’s in that pale pink silk button-up that only seemed like it would suit him; like it was made specifically for him.

Maybe it was.

Luke was never shy of customized clothing, cars, or anything he wanted honestly. If you have the money, why not? Was always his answer when she asked why he seemed to wear all of these expensive items. If it wasn’t custom-made, it was a high-quality designer that he wore, she rarely ever found him in anything that didn’t smell of cash and high-class, -far too expensive but albeit intoxicating- cologne.

This money of Luke’s also happened to extend to her also. He was never shy of picking her up a few things, letting her have his card for shopping and now, he started going out shopping with her too. He didn’t look like the type that would go out with his ‘girlfriend’ or anyone, but in the case of her, he followed her around like a lost puppy; willing to hold her bags, let her drain his bank account. Not that she did, anyway. She was still mindful, even if Luke had more money than he knew what to do with.

“Nah, can’t. Don’t want Luke to kill me for embarrassing me in front of his precious little girlfriend,” Calum teased lightly, shaking his head as his eyes darted to meet Luke’s baby blues. Truthfully, Luke could pretend to be annoyed at Cal and the rest for exposing his old penguin Instagram account but he was just glad to see them getting along with the girl that owned his heart.

She was the first girlfriend that his best friends seemed to approve of. He didn’t normally bring his girlfriends to meet them, but the ones he did, the boys he called his best friends didn’t usually like them. For the first time, Luke could actually see a future with the girl in front of him, beamingly smiling as Cal and Michael joke about with her and laughing at their attempts of humor.

God, he loved her.

“So, do you think they like me?” She asked the moment they got home, the door shut behind them. Luke turned around, staring at the wide-eyed girl with a small smile on his lips.

Did she seriously not realize how much they liked her? Especially with how much joking that they had done with her, he was certain that she would have realized but then again, she wasn’t the most self-assured person when it comes to new people. He nodded his head, “Yeah, Bambi. They really liked you.”

Luke would never get over the way her eyes sparkled, his smile only growing. She looked amazing in that red silky dress that he had bought her, and he looked just as good in the coral colored button-up he was wearing.

Their lips met softly, Luke bending down slightly to meet her lips as the girl went up on her tiptoes, bare feet on the top of Luke’s shoes. He didn’t mind, in fact, he barely even realized as he swiped his tongue across her bottom lip for access which she quickly gave him. Her hands wrapped around his neck, one entangling in his blond curls, while his went around her waist and one under her ass, lifting her up.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, lips never breaking away from his as she moaned into the kiss. She pushed herself closer to him as the kiss heated up, eyes closed as Luke tried his best to navigate the way to their bedroom. Thankfully, even with his eyes partially closed and completely distracted by the soft lips on his, he managed to get there, fumbling with the doorknob before kicking the door open.

Luke pulled away quickly to get a breath, now at the edge of the bed as his mouth went to the side of her face, pressing kisses along her neck before whispering in a sinfully sultry voice, “Let’s finish what we started earlier, huh?”

With that, she was placed down on the bed, staring at Luke with a glaze in her eyes, lust, lips slightly swollen as he pushed her dress up, nudging her underwear to the side. His fingers ghosted over her pussy, making her take a ragged intake of breath. He was on top of her, watching her as she awaited every movement of his fingers, completely helpless under his touch.

“So wet for me, baby,” He murmured, pressing a few chaste kisses against the base of her neck as he rubbed her slit. She didn’t reply just yet, whining lightly when he slowed down his movements, coming to a stop, “Tell me what you want baby.”

“You, Lu. I want you, sir,” Her words flooded out of her mouth quickly, the aching between her legs becoming too much. If Luke didn’t do something about it soon then she would have to. She stared up at his smirking face above her. His fingers pulled away from her, making her whine as he reached for his belt, skillfully unbuckling it and letting his cock spring free from its confines.

He looked up at her as he repositioned himself, her squirming with need beneath him before he lined his tip at her entrance, baby blues meeting her eyes, “You sure?”

She nodded vigorously in return, but Luke didn’t move, commanding lightly, “Words, baby.”

“Please Luke, I’m sure. Please fuck me.” He swatted her thigh at the sound of the swear falling from her lips but obliged nonetheless, plunging deep into her letting out a moan, her strangled moan following behind.

He plunged in once again, hitting a spot that made her whimper and moan at the same time, hands reaching around to his back, clawing on the now exposed skin. Luke’s hips are flushed against hers as he goes deep inside of her once again, both moaning.

“Fuck, Bambi,”

Luke’s pace quickened, thrusts becoming sloppier as he continued to thrust into her, hitting her sweet spot over and over, moans filling the room with small pleads from her and soft curses from him.

Then a phone went off. Luke froze inside of her, and she groaned, sweaty, a mess, and incredibly sexually frustrated. She could feel Luke sitting inside of her; how big he was. She thought that he was going to ignore the phone call, to continue something that they were robbed of earlier. He wasn’t really going to let them be interrupted twice today, was he?

He reached over to the bedside table, picking his phone up and looking at the caller ID before sighing. He pulled out of her, baby blues looking at her with a frown, “I need to take this.”

“Luke,” It was a plead. For him to stay with her, to let them finish what they started. She shuffled lightly until she was sitting in front of him, on her knees. Her hand went to the side of his face, caressing it gently as she put her face at his neck, “Stay with me, Sir. I need you.”

He knew exactly what she was trying to do, but he wasn’t going to fall for it. He pulled away from her, gripping onto her side as a warning with his free hand, “No, Bambi.”

His voice was low, a warning for her to stop what she was doing as he sent her a pointed look. He didn’t even let her make another move or get another word in before he was back in his jeans and walking out of the room, leaving her alone.

The seconds that she was alone turned into minutes, and those minutes turned into ten, then fifteen. She shifted uncomfortably, still on edge and incredibly frustrated. It didn’t seem like Luke was coming back as he had left without saying goodbye or telling her where he was going to be or how long. Was this all because she had tried to get him to stay?

Well, if he wasn’t going to get back, she would have to take stuff into her own hands. Leaning back, her hand reached her own clit, rubbing desperately, basking in the feeling once again. This time, she would get the job done.

Her fingers slipped inside of her, curling into her, moans softly filtering out of her lips. She was close, her fingers covered in her own slick as she continued to curl her hands into herself, soft pants falling from her lips as she spread her legs more to get a better angle, trying to go deeper.

Her hands would never be as good as Luke’s though, her small fingers not holding a torch to his digits. He knew everything that made her squirm, even better than she did, he had her all decoded, knew how to navigate her better than anyone else ever could.

“Baby I need to get-” Luke opened the door, stopping when his eyes met her figure on the middle of the bed, fingers inside of her as soft breaths fell from her lips. Her head titled back, eyes lidded as he froze on the spot before a smirk made its way onto his face.

“Really?” He asked incredulously, sauntering up to the bed before grabbing onto her wrist, pulling her fingers out of her desperate cunt making her whine. Her eyes met his, which never strayed, even after he brought her hand up to his mouth and swirling his tongue around her slick-covered digits.

“Lu-”

“Quiet,” He shut her up quickly, voice hard and commanding, something that made nerves bundle in her stomach and turned her on even more. He stood up again, sauntering over to the dresser before pulling a belt from the top of it, grabbing her hands and confining them with the thick leather, “Since you can’t keep your hands off of that pretty little pussy of mine, I guess we’re going to have to do something about that.”

Luke pulled her up to the headboard, hooping the leather around there and tightening it. When he let go, she pulled against the leather restraints, only to find her hands unable to move from their position at the headboard.

“So desperate to cum, baby? Well, you’ll be desperate to stop after I make you come over and over until there’s no more cum left in your body and you're writhing beneath me. Do you understand me, baby?”

“Yes Sir,” She whimpered out in return, nodding her head as she breathed heavily, watching Luke’s hand as it trailed teasingly down her side until it reached her pussy, a finger flicking up and down it, making her hips jerk up.

“But first of all, I need to go deal with the drug run. See you later, Bambi.”

And with a smirk on his face, Luke left his girlfriend there, tied up to the bed, whining for him to come back. And he would, and when he did, she wouldn’t be walking for days afterward.

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.19

The True Heir

03/09/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,781

Warnings: angst, depression, pregnancy, marital troubles, pining

A/N: There is very little editing. Forgive me. I’m sleepy. I’ve been up writing all night. I’ve also been hurting, but it’s all good! I’m so happy to get this chapter out. *insert evil laugh* If you happen to reblog, thank you so much for helping me spread my work! it truly means so much, more than you know. xoxo

Sunday

Today you do nothing.

You’d opened up your laptop last night and attempted to scribble a few lines for your next book, but all you could think about was Thor, Jane, the babies to come, and where exactly you fit amongst all of it.

After typing Thor’s name along with a few other random words for the tenth time, you gave up and shut the laptop. You’d crawled into bed, bundled up under your fluffy comforter, and bid goodbye to the world as you caved in to unconsciousness.

The fact that morning is here, you find that your hope for today to be better than  yesterday was silly. How can anything ever be good again?

You place your hands on your lower tummy, caressing what feels like a very slight swell. It’s just barely harder than the rest of your stomach. Firm. Despite the happiness that your baby brings you, you stare across the room at your computer and can’t find it in you to get up and work.

Instead you roll over onto your other side and pull Thor’s--that is to say, the one he’d used while he was here--pillow over to cling to.

Thor’s texts are also still fresh in your mind.

Sleep didn’t dull their effect on you or the confusion they raised.

Did they mean that he wouldn’t get an annulment? That’s sorta what you were getting from them. His declarations that he couldn’t live without you and that he would die for you and that he missed you so much at his side sounded like he was also telling himself how he felt. As if he were, not so much convincing, but reaffirming what he already knew.

You reach over and switch your phone on, clicking through to your messages to find that Thor must have stolen his phone back from Loki at some point.

Thor: Good morning, my cherub. I hope you slept well.

Thor: I could hardly sleep with you absent beside me.

Thor: Our bed is too big without you in it.

Thor: Have you seen the doctor yet? You’ll text me as soon as you get a diagnosis, won’t you? I’ll be waiting.

Thor: Loki insists that I give you some distance to rest but being apart from you is torture.

Thor: Would you be very angry with me if I came to see you?

Thor: I have some things I must deal with here before I can go though. Loki is right. I should allow you rest and fix things here before I come to you.

Thor: Are you still sleeping, cherub? I’m sorry if my messages are disturbing you. I haven’t gone this long without talking to you since...I wish I’d met you years ago. When things weren’t so complicated.

Thor: Would you have let me court you even though I am the God of Thunder? Future King of Asgard? Would you have married me when I came back with my people to live here on Earth?

Thor: I think if I had to choose all over again, you’re still the only woman equal to the task of being my Queen.

Thor: And the love that has grown between us is...I will never take it for granted…

As you read that last message, you assume he wants to say he won’t take it for granted again. He’s already let it slip through his fingers, although he doesn’t know it yet.

Thor: Perhaps this can be that break you were talking of. For our baby? Maybe we do need a little bit of relaxation to let our bodies recover?

Thor: And yet, I can’t wait to start a family with you, cherub.

You’re bawling all over again, your eyes flooding with tears as you bury your face into his pillow and sob loudly.

He’d said that he missed your body next to his. You can relate. You want to feel the heavy fall of his chest, the deep breaths that fill his lungs and escape through his lips in a quiet little snore that always makes you cuddle into his side.

Normally, he’d respond by turning to face you and holding you right up against his chest.

The comfort that simple thing would give you right now when your heart is aching so painfully is what you so desperately need. But...you’re so angry too. You don’t want him near you.

The images that flood your mind are torture. Mixtures of pleasant, happy moments now marred by the betrayal and anger that has taken hold of your heart.

You bury your face into the pillow and scream until your throat really does go hoarse. Frustration at the force of change you’ve had to make in the past twenty-four hours.

You’re startled back to the present when your phone rings. You make a small attempt  to clear your throat then answer and the absolute gravel voice you use settles any wondering as to whether your illness is real.

“Hello?” you whisper, clearing your throat to no avail.

“Oh, cherub, you sound terrible.”

Your heart panics. How are you supposed to talk to him?

You don’t want to talk to him.

“I can’t really talk,” you say weakly hoping he’ll take the hint.

“Did the doctor see you already?” Thor asks, his worry evident in the quiet tone of his voice.

“Yes, he gave me some medicine and told me to try not to talk,” you lie, surprisingly easy right now since you don’t want to talk.

For your emotional sanity, you need to hang up soon.

“I’m so sorry, love. I wish I could take this illness from you. Where’s David? I’d like to talk to him.”

You panic again, floundering as you cough and clear your throat to buy some time.

“He’s not here. He went to the store to get some groceries,” you hope he buys it.

“I’ll call him a little later then. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll get it for you.”

“Thanks, Thor,” you mumble, suddenly not wanting to hang up.

How can one person give you so much ease and worry all at once? How can he be your source of agony and comfort at the same time? It’s not fair.

“I have so much to tell you, but...now is not the right time. You need to get better first.”

Nevermind! Fuck this guy. Your heart sinks.

“I have to go,” you tell him, hoping he’ll just hang up and leave you be now.

“Very well. I love you, cherub.”

How do you answer him without giving anything away just yet?

“Me too,” you choose. And it’s true.

Even if he’s torn your heart into pieces, he’s still the father of your baby and you still love him.

Whatever madness overcame him when he’d suggested to Loki getting an annulment was the best course of action seems to have passed. Loki must be right about him.

“Bye, Thor,” you whimper.

“Bye, Y/N,” he says your name, making your heart quake a bit.

You hang up and quickly dial up David.

He answers after two rings.

“Hello? How is my favorite girl in the whole wide world?”

He sounds amused by something, or just happy. It’s such a difference to how you feel at the moment that it breaks you and you sob again, renewing your tears.

“Y/N? What’s the matter?” David demands, clearly now beginning to fret over the way you sound.

You tell him everything. Somehow you manage to get it all out minus one important detail and when you’re done recounting the most horrible night of your life, David sighs heavily and you can almost picture him settling into a deep armchair with massive worry weighing on his shoulders.

“Well, the good thing is, if he goes through with an annulment, you’re to be given a monthly allowance for the rest of your life. It was a condition in your contract, should Thor change his mind about marrying you. But he didn’t so it was moot, until now. You will be a very rich woman. More so than the small fortune you originally inherited.

“I know that money is hardly a consolation for the man that you love-” David sighs again. “Perhaps he said it in madness? He must have been very upset. Caught by surprise?” David offers.

“Even if he doesn’t mean it or doesn’t go through with it, I know that for you the point is the thought was there.

“However, I do think we must make allowances for Thor. I’m sorry to say. He is a king and he’s responsible for his entire people. A baby would give them security. Stability. A legitimate heir would tie them to Earth forever.

“We musn’t make light of his choices. This isn’t a common situation to find one’s self in. For either of you.”

“David, I’m pregnant.” You finally explain, knowing that it will maybe just show him a little bit more of what you’re facing. “I went to tell Thor and that’s when I overheard them.”

For a moment he’s speechless. When he speaks again, his voice is heightened.

“Congratulations! I-I knew it would happen eventually. The timing is a little-”

“I haven’t told him yet, clearly.”

Silence again. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I was so happy when I went to tell him and then I heard their conversation and I-I just can’t find the strength to do it right now. Not until I know whether he wants the annulment.”

David breathes in deeply and then exhales slowly into the phone. His breath is light and soft.

“You’re afraid that he will only stay with you because of the child,” a statement.

David knows you better than anyone else in your life. It’s not surprising that he’d make the leap so quickly.

“He’s willing to leave me and marry Jane because of her baby. It’s possible that he’ll stay by my side only because of our baby and I’d rather he do what’s best for our people than to stay with me because of a sense of obligation.”

“It could be that Jane will not want him. She might keep her child away from the Asgardian royal court. Didn’t she refuse to marry him because she didn’t want to be Queen?” David’s voice is pensive. “This might all feel much larger than it is. I suggest you take some time to really think through your actions before making any decisions.”

“I’m not going to never tell him, David. He’s the father of my child. He has to know that he has two and not just the one. I don’t think I could do that to him. I could never keep him from his children.

“Either of them.”

“You are magnanimous, Y/N. More than even I thought you were capable of.”

“Bullshit. I ran away and am refusing to see him until I get my week of space,” you nod firmly. “But David-?”

“Tell me,” he urges you, recognizing your tone of anguish.

“I-I know that I accepted this marriage hesitantly. It wasn’t like I asked for it and you know how I felt before Thor asked me to marry him. You know how s-scared I was about marrying someone who was in love with someone else, and now...now he’s-”

“He’s married to you, Y/N. Not Ms. Foster. And from what I have been able to see, he does love you. Not Jane. This is a temporary setback. If you’re angry at him, be angry at him. Don’t pretend you aren’t. If you’re hurt, show it. Wear your heart on your sleeve.

“Loving someone is one of life’s greatest blessings. Sometimes that love doesn’t last, sometimes it takes a beating. But you must choose whether your love is worth fighting for.

“You’ve also got obligations that you cannot escape from. Duties to your people as their Queen.”

“Assuming Thor doesn’t leave me and take my crown,” you scoff.

“I’m with your brother-in-law. I don’t think it will come to that. I think Thor was a little shocked and thrown by Ms. Foster’s news. Now that he has had some time to think, I believe he’ll do right by you and when you tell him, your child.”

“I won’t tell him until he makes up his mind,” you insist.

“That is your prerogative. Do what you need to. What can I do to help? What do you need from me?”

“Just be prepared for any eventuality. I’m not sure what’s going to happen at the end of this week. Oh, and if Thor calls you--just make something up and tell me what you say. He thinks you drove me from the airport and have been staying with me.”

“Using me as your alibi so that your husband won’t come looking for you,” David clicks his tongue. “How much detail shall I give him?”

“You’ve got a job too, just tell him you’re coming and going. Tony had his staff install some security on the house after the honeymoon. I’m safe here. He’ll believe that I’m safe if that’s all you say.

“Anyway, I need to go. I have two more calls to make before I can relax and enjoy my break from the throne.”

“If you need anything, you know how to reach me. Anything, Y/N. I mean it.”

“Thanks, David. I can always count on you,” you smile.

Just a tiny one. A very subtle curve at the corners of your lips.

“Well, you do pay me,” he jokes, which actually pulls a small laugh from you.

“Right. Bye, David.”

“Goodbye, Your Majesty.”

You take only a minute to think about your conversation with David before you make the most important calls of your week in solitude.

The first one is simple. Just a reminder of doctor-patient confidentiality. He understands what you’re saying even if he doesn’t practice by that mentality.

Dr. Wilson’s phone call is more difficult. She wants an explanation. She wants to know why she’s not allowed to tell your husband, the King of New Asgard, that he’s finally got what you and he have been wanting.

An heir!

It’s painful to talk about but you tell her what’s happened. You tell her that Thor doesn’t know that you know about Jane’s baby.

She’s very quiet as you talk. She assumes things and you can hear her anger when she starts to ask for what she can tell Thor.

“He didn’t cheat on me, Dr. Wilson,” you explain, hoping that this will ease her anger.

You’re angry at Thor because of the annulment, not because he and Jane have created a life from their love. You’re hurt because he’s willing or was willing--you’re not sure yet--to leave you to be with Jane, even if not for love but for the baby growing within her.

You’re hurt because the man you love was choosing his duty over his feelings for you.

Even though you know that he’s right to do it. Even though you know that you should understand because he’s King and you also took an oath to put the people of New Asgard first.

It’s your duty to put their well-being before your own. That doesn’t mean you have to like it.

In Thor’s mind, his only duty is to his child. Jane’s child. He doesn’t know you’re carrying one of your own yet. Even though that would probably make sure that he stays with you because of the baby, you don’t want that to be the reason he stays.

Proud fool.

“Thor slept with Jane the same night he proposed to me. This was before we loved each other, when leaving Jane was the hardest thing he’d had to do. I don’t hold that against him.”

You don’t tell her about the annulment. She doesn’t need to know how messy this all is.

“He’ll probably call for you and Dr. Alric soon. Loki suggested they get Jane checked so act surprised? But please don’t tell him I’m pregnant. Not yet. He’s coming to see me at the end of the week and I’ll tell him myself then. Please?” And it really is a genuine plea.

“I’ll do whatever you need, Your Majesty. I would like to come and check on you. You don’t sound well.”

She’s very sweet and her concern is touching.

“Thor will probably send you to me eventually. He’s worried but he’s clearly got other things on his mind.”

“I’ll make arrangements to head over there tomorrow. Oh, can you hold for one minute Your Majesty? I’m so sorry.”

“Of course.”

There’s silence on the phone for a few minutes before she comes back.

“It was His Majesty. He’s told me about Jane but she’s not available for an examination until later in the week. So, he’s asked me to come to you first. I’ll be there tonight.”

For some reason, the idea of having her with you eases some of the stress you’ve been carrying with you since yesterday.

“I’ll call and have a car sent for you.”

“Actually, His Majesty has promised to bring me straight to you via bifrost.”

“Wait, what?” You sit up in bed, clutching your blanket to your chest as your nerves suddenly fray and panic begins to build up within you.

“Should I come by plane?” She asks, worried by the sound of your voice.

You can’t see Thor. No. You can’t.

“No. I’ll just be going out later tonight to pick up a few things that I need here at the house. Toilet paper, napkins, laundry soap. I just didn’t want you to get here when I was out, but I’ll text you the passcode to get in.”

You’ll just have to make sure that you’re not at home when they come. That’s what you’ll do. This is a perfect excuse to be out since you need to get the stuff you listed anyway.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t just like me to come by plane?”

“No, really. The sooner you get here, the better. The car ride is so long from the airport. I’ll see you tonight, Dr. Wilson.”

“Bye, Your Majesty.”

Even though you know that you have hours upon hours until Thor brings Dr. Wilson here, you force yourself out of bed and abandon your plans to wallow in your feelings so that you can shower, get dressed, and leave the house.

If Thor’s coming, you’re going to be as far away from your house as you can be. You’re not ready to see him again just yet. You only have small errands to run but you’re gonna stay out all damn day if it’s the last thing you do.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday

Thor is at a loss. Completely and utterly lost without you.

If he was ever in doubt as to how he really felt about you--which he never has been because he knows himself well enough to know better--he knows now that you are the light of his new life here on Earth.

His reign would mean significantly less without you at his side.

Even though the time you’ve spent together has been a short few months, they have been the best months of his life.

If he’d had one of those other women he’d interviewed become his Queen, this life he’s chosen to lead would have felt empty and tedious. Instead of watching his Queen spend her time with his people leading the way in progress.

You’re so eager to be part of the Asgardian populace. They’ve embraced you so fully.

With a sigh, Thor leans forward and buries his face into his hands as he mentally trashes himself for the absolute fool that he’s been about this entire situation.

The fact that he’d even entertained the thought of leaving you.

He wants to cry and tear his hair out in frustration.

Should he tell you that the thought was weighed along with many others at Jane’s news?

And Jane.

Thor groans.

She’s been avoiding him since she told him. He can’t exactly blame her for it. He hadn’t exactly taken the news well.

He had no reason to expect her to be receptive to him after he’d basically accused her of being confused about it. She knew her own body. If she said she was pregnant, what reason would he have to doubt her?

He’s messed everything up so much and he’s terrified to tell you about Jane.

What if you have the same idea he did? What if you decide to leave him in some foolish attempt to have him marry her and legitimize his future child?

It’s something you would do. Sacrifice yourself so that he could do the right thing.

The thought of living this life of rule without you at his side is unbearable.

With another frustrated groan, he gets up and moves to pace the length of the room, ignoring the large pile of paperwork on his desk as his mind moves in circles.

It always comes back to you.

And then you’d been out when he’d gone to drop off Dr. Wilson. He hadn’t expected you to be gone. He’d wanted to see you. To hold you. Touch you. Hear your voice after so much turmoil.

You are his only solace.

Going so close to you and not seeing you has left him with a terrible pain in his chest.

His phone rings.

Thor dives for his phone and fumbles with it as he grabs it off the bed. He almost loses it over the opposite edge.

He literally throws himself towards it and lands with a grunt onto the bed as he catches it.

He presses the button on the screen without looking to see who it is because he only wants it to be you.

“Cherub?” he gasps, his voice an octave higher than normal with the little bit of exertion he just underwent.

“Oh, no. Sorry, Your Majesty, it’s Dr. Wilson. I was just calling to give you your daily report on Her Majesty’s health.”

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sorry. I just haven’t heard from-” He clears his throat, sits up, and slides to the edge of the bed. “No matter. How is my Queen, doctor?”

“She was asleep. But just woke up. She’s very tired. Her throat is better, but she’s had a fever every morning since Sunday.”

Thor sits up straighter, hand clenched into a fist around the edge of the bed as his heart starts to thrum loudly.

“Is she seriously ill?”

“No, of course not, Your Majesty. But she really does need rest. She has been under severe stress and I’m sorry to say that your constant messages are not letting her rest.”

Thor’s heart drops and buries itself into a hole at the bottom of his stomach. He feels numb suddenly, fearful of what he might be doing to you. The guilt of what he knows he must tell you soon also weighs down on him.

“Are you saying that I should leave her be until she is recovered?” Thor checks, just in case he’s not understanding correctly.

“I’m saying that if you want her to get well quickly, you must give her what she asked you for. She needs rest.”

Thor hates that he can’t be there to check on you. He wants to feel you close. He wants to see you. What if you’re deathly ill and you’re telling Dr. Wilson to lie for you?

You abhor lies and cherish honesty , but he can see you lying in order to spare him pain. Just as he is lying to spare you the worry of all this uncertainty with Jane.

Although he knows that he can never lose you now and even with a child coming with Jane, you are his wife and he can’t leave you. He was stupid to think he could even try. The thought was a sin and he’ll never forgive himself for thinking it.

Loki was so angry with him.

Rightfully so.

The good thing is that you’ll never know how bleak things looked. At least he has found his sanity again.

“Will you keep me informed? I’ll stop contacting her if you will promise to tell me how she fares. If she gets worse, I want to know.” Thor insists, his voice passionate and begging.

“You have my word, Your Majesty. Have you heard anything from Ms. Foster? Do we know exactly when we’ll be running her tests?”

“She’s very busy. As of now, it’s looking more and more likely that we won’t be able to find the time until the week’s end. After we confirm her pregnancy, I’ll tell Y/N. I’m sorry that I’ve asked you to collude in this business.”

There’s a long pause and for a moment Thor thinks that maybe the phone has disconnected but then Dr. Wilson sighs, “I cannot wait for this week to be over. Will you come back for me then? When she’s ready?”

“Yes. I’ll pick you up in the same spot that I left you. My wife wasn’t too upset about her lawn, was she? Only, Stark seems to get irritated with me every time I land on his.”

“No,” Dr. Wilson chuckles once. “She was not upset. Again, there’s little more than her throat, head, and fever on her mind. I’ve gotta go. She’s gone out into the garden for some fresh air but I need to get her back into bed.”

“Please take good care of her, doctor. She’s...well, she’s my wife,” Thor finishes heavily.

The phone goes dead and Thor sits there staring at his phone until he can find the strength to get to his feet and go off in search of Jane. They really need to talk.

~~~~~~~~~~

Friday

Thor is upset.

He’s beyond frustrated by now.

He’s irritated.

It’s a week tomorrow since he’s seen you and he can’t stand the distance anymore.

Dr. Wilson snuck him a photo but you’d been sitting on your sofa, looking weak and withdrawn.

He’s not sure what exactly is making you sick, but he knows that he can’t go another day without seeing you.

He needs to get Dr. Wilson back here and he needs to get confirmation so that he can have something to tell you once he sees you.

He won’t lose you over this.

It was one last time. One final goodbye with Jane and he’d thought she was on her birth control but apparently she hadn’t been so he hadn’t bothered to protect himself from the possibility of getting her pregnant.

Why hadn’t she said anything?! Why hadn’t she told him that she wasn’t on her pill?

He knows it’s wrong to blame her. It took both of them to make this baby, but being away from you for so long is wearing thin and he’s losing all semblance of patience.

It takes some very careful maneuvering. Heimdall is sent first, then Hilde, then Loki.

None of them know why they’re going in to corner Jane in the tower except for Loki. Well, Heimdall knows, but there’s no hiding much from Heimdall. He pretends not to know and that’s good enough for Thor.

Loki is just stepping out of the tower when he turns to look at Thor with a grave almost exhausted expression.

“She’s up there,” he assures Thor, frowning as he shuts the heavy door. “When will this end, Thor? Are you going to keep the Queen away forever?”

Thor says nothing, he’s too upset to speak. He pulls the door open roughly and stomps his way up the steps taking them two at a time until he’s standing on the top floor landing.

He can see Jane biting her lip, pacing the length of the room until she turns and finally sees him.

“Thor…” she gasps, not expecting to see him.

“We have to talk, Jane.”

She looks away, turning her back on him then moves towards her laptop which she carefully closes. She puts her hand up to her throat and turns to face him.

“I will have Dr. Wilson brought in and Dr. Alric to give you the same tests they have been giving Y/N. They will be confirming your pregnancy and once we have that, then we can all sit down and figure out-”

“I’m not pregnant,” Jane gasps, her voice filling the room despite the quiet breath that escapes her pink lips.

Thor’s stomach twists. It’s agony.

On the one hand, the words she’s just spoken are...they’re a celebration. They’re simplicity. They’re peace and a return back to normal where in his life there is only you.

On the other hand, he’s just lost a baby he never had. An heir that he’d been expecting and now can never get back.

He’d made plans for this child. He’s pictured his life with them, the happiness and joy that their birth would bring to the people of New Asgard. The assurance that they would always belong to Earth.

He’d picked names for boys and girls. He’d begun to make a list of nursery items they would need even as he lamented that the baby was not yours but Jane’s.

This baby would have, and had already begun to change his life.

And now this?!

“What?” he very nearly spits.

Jane is so flustered she’s wringing her hands hard, welting them red.

“I’m...I didn’t expect to come here and see you with her and see how fast you just-” she waves her hand as if shooing away some animal. “-moved on. It’s like you were never with me.

“You were both so happy and talking about the future and I just lost it for a little bit,” she shrugs. “I have no excuses, Thor. I’m sorry if what I said hurt you. It was selfish of me and I just loved you for so long. You were mine, you know? And now you’re married, planning to have kids, and your wife is so nice and considerate and even though she has every reason to hate me, she was polite and so damn perfect…

“I’m not afraid to say that it made me hate her. I’m ashamed of it, but not enough to take it back.”

The silence is thick. The air suddenly grows charged and Thor’s eyes shine a bright sparkling blue.

His hands crackle and his eye spits as if full of blue fire.

The sky overhead thunders and the world shakes with the boom. The lightning strikes sharp and fast, shaking the tower so that for a moment, Thor can see how Jane thinks it might topple.

His anger gives way to betrayal and his lightning fizzles out as he takes a step towards her, his brow furrowed, eye full of pain as he stares at her, searching for the joke that this must be.

There is no way that this is really happening.

“You lied to me?” Thor accuses.

Jane blanches, her lips going pale as she takes a step towards him.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie, I just-I didn’t want to see you with her anymore and I wasn’t thinking straight so I just said it before I could stop myself. I know that it was wrong and I didn’t think it would go on for so long. I wanted to tell you almost as soon as I said it that it wasn’t true, but then you just took off and then the Queen left and I wasn’t sure if you told her and maybe that’s why she wasn’t here.”

Thor shakes his head, turning away from her as he paces towards the stairs but then turns back, his anger returning but full of pain now.

“I defended you. When Loki insisted I have you tested I asked him if he doubted you and I assured him that you would not lie about something this important. What reason would you have to lie?” he demands, almost of himself instead of Jane.

“Thor,” Jane begins.

“How long were you going to let me think you were carrying my child? How long were you planning to con me?” he accuses and his words seem to hurt Jane.

Thor can’t find it in him to care too much.

“I wasn’t-that’s not what I meant to do, Thor. Please, you have to believe me. I just didn’t know how much seeing you with her would-”

“You have no right to be upset!” he booms, his voice loud and it startles Jane quiet.

She’s never heard him angry like this. She’s never heard his voice raised.

“I gave you every opportunity to be with me, to marry me, to build a life here with me and be my Queen. You didn’t want it! You flat-out refused to be tied down by me and this Kingdom but now that you see me and my wife happy, you change your mind?

“You have the audacity to raise obstacles between us because you have regrets?”

“Thor,” she tries again, but Thor won’t let her speak.

“Get out,” he says sternly, turning to move towards the stairs.

“What?!”

“I said, get out. You are no longer welcome in my home. Pray no one ever finds out of your treachery. And should you have the urge to return for any reason, don’t.”

Thor storms down the steps, so angry that each step shakes the tower.

He’s breathing heavily as he slams the door shut behind him.

The storm air helps to calm him a bit. It clears his mind at least and the past week zooms by him like an unpleasant movie.

All of that worry and the plotting and planning. The agony that he felt wondering if you’d leave him when you found out about his child with Jane was the most unbearable.

Your face flashes before his eyes and he knows that there’s only one place he can be right now.

He throws his hand out and a metallic whistling rushes closer before his fist closes around his hammer.

He swings it firmly and throws it up into the air as he makes for your home.

Now that he has nothing to keep him here, he’s eager to get back to you. He’ll tell you everything and hope that you can forgive him for lying to you about Jane.

Even though it was a lie by omission, it was still a lie.

“I’m coming, my cherub,” he whispers, so eager to have you in his arms again.

Nothing will ever tear him from you again. He is certain. Nothing. Not a false heir, or a former love, no doubts exist within him anymore. You are the one.

The only one.

[cuttoothed]

For day 4 of @jonmartinweek prompts "tea" and "tape recorder".

*

Jon generally tries to snatch a few hours’ sleep each night. Not by choice; there’s so much to do, so much he’s sure he isn’t doing, and his dreams are a fresh horror every night. But he’s read enough studies about the effects of sleeplessness—declining mental acuity, impaired decision making—and he needs all his faculties about him with the threat of the Unknowing looming closer by the day.

So, around one in the morning, when his eyes are gritty and it’s getting hard to focus on the page in front of him, he retreats to the cot in Document Storage.

He could go home; he has a new flat, in a nice, modern apartment building. But his possessions that didn’t get lost during his eviction in absentia from his previous flat, or taken as evidence by the police, are still mostly here, in boxes that he keeps intending to take to the new flat, and keeps not getting around to. It’s just easier, staying in the Archives when he has so much to learn, when so much depends on him learning the right things, even while he has farcically little clue of what those might be.

He doesn’t examine the idea that the Archives feels more like home than his unlived in new flat, or even than the old flat he’d occupied for four years; it is what it is.

Tonight, Jon can’t get comfortable. He’s gotten used to the cot over the past couple of years, its lumps and creaks practically old friends. But tonight it seems to be rebelling, jabbing what feels like about a dozen springs into his lower back. Jon scowls and flops over, squirming to find a more tolerable position. As he does, he knocks his phone off the thin mattress, and it skids beneath the cot.

“Oh for—” he mutters, and hangs off the edge of the cot to retrieve it. As he reaches for his phone, he sees another object: a cassette tape in a case, lying on the floor beneath the frame of the cot. Jon frowns, and fishes it out along with his phone. He uses his phone torch to take a better look.

The clear plastic case is dusty, as if it’s been under there for some time. The label is filled out in neat handwriting, which Jon recognizes instantly:

Martin K. Blackwood — Poems

Jon considers it, chewing on his lower lip. Martin must have left this here when he moved out of the Archives, over a year ago. Recordings of his poetry; recordings of him reading his poetry.

He shouldn’t listen to it. It belongs to Martin, and it wouldn’t be right to listen without his permission. Yes, Jon read some of his poetry before, but he had been...not exactly at his best, back then. Martin would probably be embarrassed if he found out. Not that he has any reason to be; Jon’s no judge of poetry (heaven forbid!) but what he read was very pleasant. Lyrical and melancholy, a sort of yearning towards a kinder time and place.

It was...very Martin, Jon thinks.

There’s a click to his left, and when he looks down there’s a tape recorder on the cot beside him, whirring gently as it records him doing absolutely nothing. Just an innocent tape recorder, it seems to say, Not here for any particular reason; certainly not because you want to listen to a tape right now. Jon scowls at it.

“Fine,” he snaps. He removes the tape that’s in the recorder and slots Martin’s in. Just one poem; he’ll just listen to one, and then he’ll return the tape to Martin. He might never have another chance to hear Martin recite his poetry. He might never have the chance for a lot of things.

He presses play, and the tape hisses to life. For a few moments, there’s nothing but white noise, then the sound of someone clearing their throat, and then:

“Tea, By Martin K. Blackwood.

The simplest of things: a cup of tea

A grand tradition distilled to personal ritual

Delicately brewed, or stewed and sugared ‘til the spoon stands up

Not a cure for all ills, but a balm—a calming interlude

A moment to yourself; a welcome for visiting friends

A taste of home for soldiers in the trenches

A way to say: I was thinking of you, and I care—”

The narration cuts off with frustrated sound, and then Martin says:

“That’s—no, that’s bloody stupid. Try again.”

The recording ends with a clunk, and Jon turns the tape off before the next one can start; he’s startled to realize that his eyes are wet, his throat tight. His chest is heavy with some vast, inescapable emotion.

“God,” he laughs, swiping a hand over his eyes. “Getting emotional over tea, I must be tired.”

Except it’s not the tea, is it? It’s the soft sincerity of Martin’s recorded voice as he read the words he composed. The thought of him back then, stuck on this miserable cot night after night, scared for his life yet still trying to do something that brought him joy. It’s what Martin really thinks about tea, when he makes it so often for—for all of them.

I was thinking of you, and I care.

Jon wipes his eyes again and tucks the cassette back into its case. He shouldn’t have listened, but he can’t bring himself to truly regret it. Even if it’s selfish, snatching for pieces of Martin that haven’t been offered...well, Jon is greedy in that regard. He’ll apologize later, if they all get through what’s coming. If they get a chance to really talk.

The next morning, Martin looks up when Jon approaches his desk; his smile is warm, and Jon’s heart aches with it.

“Morning Jon,” he says. Jon feels the corners of his own mouth curl in reply, unbidden.

“Morning Martin,” he says, and holds out the cassette. “I, ah, I found this in Document Storage. I supposed you might be missing it.”

“Right!” Martin flushes, embarrassed. “Thank you, Jon. Silly of me to leave it there.”

“No problem,” says Jon, and extends his other hand, which is holding a mug. “Oh, I thought you might like a cup of tea?”

“Oh,” says Martin softly, taking the mug. “Yes, thank you. This is lovely.”

“It’s nothing. I just—I was thinking of you.”

And I care, he doesn’t add, but by the way Martin smiles, Jon thinks he understands.

[shadowfromthestarlight]

self-pity party:

i don’t have it in me to celebrate or even be a remotely pleasant person right now. i had a cold starting on december 11th, which never progressed into anything worse but never entirely went away, then i must have caught something on the way to florida on the 23rd, because on christmas day i came down with what felt like a cross between covid and strep throat (maybe it was lol; i didn’t test). eating and drinking became a chore because of my swollen lymph nodes. my whole body hurt. i got a plush toy to remind me of my cat because i wished i could have my cat to cuddle with. the sore throat and aches gave way to a massive sinus infection. on wednesday morning, everything just started coming out. i had to work, but i also had to blow my nose every couple of minutes. falling asleep was hard because it was hard to breathe from the congestion. normal cold & flu medicine didn’t help. by friday night, i’d lost my voice. saturday morning, my eye hurt and there was never-ending green gunk coming out, my voice hadn’t improved, the congestion hadn’t improved, the sinus pressure was barely tolerable.

i spent the last day of 2022 feeling the worst i’d felt all year, unable to speak in anything above a hoarse whisper, a never-ending headache and pain all over my face, my eye clogged with goop, weak and fatigued from days of illness. i spent three hours of the afternoon waiting to get prescribed antibiotics at an urgent care. my head throbbed more and more as the night wore on. i was in so much pain and discomfort and frustration from being sick for three weeks and all-around misery that i wished i was a child so it would be okay to fall on the floor and scream. i watched the fireworks (at least 2 dozen displays) from the balcony and kissed my plush toy and went to bed. 

medicine and sleep marginally improved things; i can now think without a pounding headache and my eye isn’t oozing every minute. i might be able to travel home without people freaking out because i look like i’m patient zero for the next pandemic. i can still barely talk. i woke up coughing from post-nasal drip. i’m so over it. i’m over being asked how i feel, i’m over being told what to do to feel better, i’m over being asked if i’ve taken my medicine, in fact i would like to not be spoken to at all. i just want to go home, pull the covers over my face, and hide in the dark with my cat.

[i don’t even feel happy about the new year; i actually feel nothing much at all. i had never looked forward to 2023 anyway because i didn’t like the number. besides, from a global standpoint, it’s going to suck. we have possibly the greatest concentration of “leaders” who don’t know how to lead in human history. they’re all either weak-willed, stupid, or just plain psychopathic. there will be zero accountability for the people who just from a moral standpoint deserve to be hanged for crimes against humanity over the past three years. they’ll just come up with creative new ways to abuse us. can’t wait to see what the next annual propaganda campaign is!]

i feel awful because i’m a walker and a hiker and a step counter and i’ve barely been able to do anything for days. i haven’t had 10K steps since the 22nd. i’ve had one meal i would consider satisfying in the entire past week. i look scrawny. i have to do a lot in january to make up for it, but right now, instead of excited, i just feel exhausted.  

i think i’m gonna try crying and see if that helps get more... you know... out. 

happy new year same shit, different digits. enjoy it while you can, before WWIII hits. 

i might be back in a few days. idk.

[meganlpie]

First Date

Based on this request: Could I please request a Snape x reader one? They are having there first date and everything goes smoothly. Maybe at the end they are having there first kiss too? Thanks :)

Here you are, lovelies! I do not own Severus. He is Rowling’s property, I’m afraid. 

Warnings: Fluff...a kiss without asking, but then apologies, because consent is sexy. 

Pairings: Severus Snape x reader

When Minerva had approached him about dating, Severus had been reluctant to say the least. Now that the war was over and he had healed from his injuries, he was busy trying to make amends where he could. He was no longer a teacher at Hogwarts and not many people wanted to work with a former double agent so that left his days fairly free. But it also meant that Severus was wary about meeting new people. He never knew who was out for revenge for Voldemort.

         Still, Minerva was persistent and Severus finally agreed. That was how he found himself in a booth near the fireplace in The Three Broomsticks. No one bothered him there, but his date knew where he would be. Until they arrived, Severus was content to stay warm by the fire, sipping his butterbeer. No one but Madam Rosmerta knew, but he really did enjoy it. It was one of the few sweet things he liked.

         The door of The Three Broomsticks opened, letting in the chilly winter air. Severus didn't bother to look up until he heard someone clear their throat. "Severus? Severus Snape?" Severus stiffened a little as he looked up. You graced him with a small smile. "Hello. I'm Y/F/N." Severus gave a little nod in greeting before you sat down across from him.

         "I must apologize," you said after a moment, "My godmother can be quite persuasive. I don't usually date people I don't know." You let out a light laugh, making Severus relax a little. At least he wasn't the only one slightly ill-at-ease. "Yes. I worked with Minerva for many years. She can be quite meddlesome, but she means well." Severus snapped his mouth closed. He'd just spoken ill of your godmother.

         To his surprise, you merely laughed again. "Believe me, I know that better than anyone. She thinks I need someone to love for me to be happy. She once set me up with Hagrid. Nothing against the man, but he's a bit too wild for me. I prefer quiet evenings in, not traipsing around after magical creatures." Severus felt his shoulders loosen a bit more. Maybe Minerva knew what she was doing after all.

*short time skip*

         It took a while, but Severus was finally able to open up a bit, especially after you told him that, of course, you knew who he was. You knew what he had done, but you never once looked at him in disgust or like he'd betrayed you. "I believe in second chances," was all you'd said when he asked you about it before the two of you relaxed into easy conversation.

         Much to Severus' surprise, the two of you ended up staying in The Three Broomsticks much longer than expected. You didn't seem to care either. You were content listening to Severus' voice as he spoke and Severus found himself hanging on your every word. It was nice; the most pleasant evening Severus had in a long time. He didn't feel the need to hide himself as he had been forced to do for so long. He felt…free with you.

         The clock on the wall sounded off another hour, prompting you to glance up at it. "Oh. I didn't realize it was so late. I should go. I'm expected to work tomorrow." Severus felt himself frown and you chuckled lightly. "I feel the same. I would much rather stay here with you. However, St. Mungo's needs all the healers it can get. I had a lovely time, Severus."

         You stood and Severus did the same. "Allow me to escort you, Y/N. It still isn't completely safe." You smiled at him, knowing that wasn't true in the slightest, but nodded anyway. "I'd like that." Severus followed you out, grabbing his warm cloak and scarf along the way.

         Once outside, you held out your arm to Severus. "I Apparated. It's much quicker, although walking is an option as well." It took less than a second for Severus to decided on walking. After all, he wanted to spend more time with you. The smirk on your face when he'd said it told him that you knew that too. You were playfully teasing him, but for once it didn't bother him. This was a good teasing. Better than what he'd endured growing up. He enjoyed it.  

         As you walked toward your home, the two of you continued your conversation. Even though the air was freezing, you walked slowly and deliberately. Neither of you wanted to night to really end. In you, Severus found a connection with another person. He hadn't felt that since he was a child. In him, you found some you could really talk to. Minerva had indeed known what she was doing when she paired the two of you up.

         When you reached your home, you turned to Severus. For the first time all evening, there was a frown on your face. "I suppose this is goodnight, then." Severus nodded. You gave him a sad little half smile. "I hope to see you again, Severus. Really I do."

         Severus didn't reply. He was staring intently at you. Part of him was waiting for the shoe to drop. He hadn't done anything to deserve such a nice evening. And, even if the two of you continued seeing each other, who's to say it would last? Severus let his mind run away with him for a moment before he felt something slightly warm against his cheek.

         He froze as realization hit him and his face heated up about a hundred degrees. Those were your lips on his cheek. You pulled away, looking slightly embarrassed, but were smiling again all the same. "Get out of your own head, Severus. I mean it. I really enjoyed myself tonight and I'd like to see you again." Severus gave a nod. His eyes refused to leave yours. "I'm sorry," you whispered, "I should have asked first."

         "I-Thank you," Severus said, cursing himself for stuttering. He was a grown man, not some teenager, "It took me by surprise, but-"

         "I know. I'm sorry." You glanced at him sheepishly. Severus very carefully reached out his hand to take yours. It was your turn to be surprised as Severus didn't seem like the kind of man who initiated affection. The two of you stared at one another and, despite the chill in the air, you both felt a warmth that no coats, scarves, or even fires could duplicate. All-in-all, an almost perfect first date.

(I hope you like it!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard​ @brewsthespirit-blog​ @sirkekselord​ @aikibriarrose​ @lady-of-lies​ @esoltis280​ @motleymoose​ @sdavid09​

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Reader: Secluded Village - Pt 3

Secluded Village – 3

Well this is going in a slightly different direction than I initially thought but who knows! I sure don't. Please give suggestions if you can. I have no idea what I'm doing

-

Another day in your life as a healer passed. Seeing patients, tending your plants, talking to Chester, mixing medicines, the day passed.

Word came that Lord Medve was recovering well, though it would be a long process to return to where he was. The cook, as it turned out, had been slipping him the poisoned mushroom. It seemed the cook was actually from a rival family and would benefit greatly with Medve’s death. His punishment was immediate and quick.

You shook your head, not wanting the details but appreciating the bag of gold coins you had been given in recompense.

A few days passed in your usual manner: healing, tending, mixing. You could not find an excuse to go back into the forest. As much as you wanted to, it would just be a waste of sleep. Though still, you longed to see the mysterious man again.

Within a week, your wish came true.

You were mixing herbs well into the night, not yet sleepy even though the hour was late.

Chester bolted upright.

You looked at him and saw the cat gazing intently at the door. “What is it, bud?”

The cat slowly sank back down and folded his paws under himself, still watching the door closely.

Carefully, you set your things down and made your way over to the door, double checking that it was latched.

Then a soft rapping came at the door, someone’s knuckles hitting it.

Chester yowled softly, straightening up.

You licked your lips nervously. “Please come back in the morning. I have things to tend to tonight. Unless it cannot wait?”

A soft voice, though muffled, came through the door. “It cannot wait.”

Your eyes widened and you threw open the door. “Loki!” You cried softly, mouth falling open to see the mysterious man standing before you.

Loki smiled back at you, stepping away from the door to bow low. His hair hung in curtains, obscuring his face and he straightened up once more. “May I come in?”

“Yes, by all means.” You moved to the side and motioned for him to enter.

Loki towered over you, walking in and looking around your cottage curiously. Chester had settled down and was now watching the strange man suspiciously.

“Chester be nice, we have company.” You scolded the cat.

Chester grunted and went back to sleep.

Loki smirked. “A pleasant creature.”

“Normally he’s friendlier.”

Crossing the room, Loki knelt beside the bed and stroked the cat’s fur. Chester started purring though still stared at Loki suspiciously.

“You’re good with animals then?”

“Just certain ones. I have something of an affinity for them.”

You smiled, heart thudding as you stared at him. “Oh. Well, that’s lovely.” You wiped your hands on your skirts and looked around. Swallowing hard, you returned your gaze to Loki. “So, what brings you here? Normally I don’t let people come this late but…” You trailed off.

“You’ll make an exception for me?” Loki asked, sinking into one of the chairs at the same time.

You put your hands on your hips and scowled.

Loki laughed softly and your scowl faded. “Forgive me. It is difficult to travel during the day.”

“You’re a night creature, huh?” You giggled.

Loki’s eyes flashed and then it passed, an easy smile crossing his face once more. “Is that what they call it?”

“I’m something of a night creature myself.” You added.

Loki nodded. “Yes, you do seem to be.” He looked around at the various hanging plants.

“So what do I owe the pleasure of such a visit? Though it is untoward to be single and having strange men in my cottage.”

“Single?” Loki repeated curiously.

You cleared your throat. “I do not have a lover.”

Loki smiled. “I see.”

Your heart fluttered. Once more you wiped at your skirts. “The villagers may think ill of me if they see such a strange man in my home.”

“And what do you think of me?” Loki tilted his head.

You felt your cheeks heat. “You seem nice, polite, gentle.”

Loki nodded. “I see. Though I should not mislead you, I am not gentle, and I am not always nice.”

You raised your eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“I come from a village deep in the woods.” Loki shrugged, looking at his nails.

“There’s no village in the woods.”

“That you know of.”

You pursed your lips. “That I know of, no.” Then you asked, “So is that why you are always traveling in the woods at dark?”

Loki nodded. After a few beats of silence, he spoke again. “Danger is lurking on the horizon.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re intelligent, I’m sure you can figure it out.” Loki stood up.

“Explain yourself.”

Loki walked over to you, tilting his head down to stare in your eyes. His hand reached up lightning fast, and you flinched. Then carefully, with all the gentleness one might hold a babe, he stroked the back of his hand across your cheek.

You shivered at his cool touch. Heat spread further across your body, and you felt yourself trembling.

“You are so warm, gentle dove. Yet you tremble like a leaf in the wind.” Loki’s knuckles stayed brushing against your cheek.

You felt your voice lower to barely a whisper. “I’m not trembling.”

“Do you fear me?” Loki asked, tilting his head to the side, his hand still caressing your face.

“N-no,” you stammered.

“Perhaps you should.” He murmured.

You furrowed your brow. “Why?”

“I am not of your land.”

For a moment, you swore you saw the flash of sharp teeth as he spoke. You shivered.

“Does this frighten you, pet?” He purred.

You shook your head and stammered again. “N-no.”

“Perhaps it should.” His hand slid down your face and his thumb caressed your lower lip.

You felt frozen in place, unable to react as his cool thumb brushed your lips.

“I would steal a kiss.” He whispered, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours gently. Then he pulled away.

You let in a sharp inhale as he pulled back from you. Your lips still tingled from where his had been.

“Do you trust me?”

Your eyes fluttered shut and you nodded.

“Good.” Loki leaned down, moving the neck of your dress away from you. He kissed your skin gently and you whimpered, still unable to move. Did he hold some sort of spell over you? Or were you just that entranced?

You could feel his cool breath on your skin, sending gooseflesh across your body. Then very carefully, he kissed you again, before his teeth bit down and he sucked on your skin. With one hand, he held your head towards him, allowing him to kiss and bite deeper. His other hand slid down your waist and rested above your hip.

Stars burst across your vision and you felt lightheaded. The way his mouth moved on your bare skin felt electric and you could feel yourself starting to sway in his grasp, lost in the moment. Knots tightened in your stomach and your eyes shut.

Then the moment passed and he pulled away, fixing your dress. Loki licked his lips. “Thank you, pet.”

You swayed where you stood and smiled up at him with glazed eyes.

Very carefully, he scooped you into his arms and carried you over to the bed. “Rest, gentle one.” Loki murmured as Chester jumped down from the bed making room for you.

“Things are happening in your city.”

You nodded tiredly, still staring up at him dazed, your eyes half lidded. “Yes, what sort of things?” You mumbled, already feeling half asleep.

“I’ll be back for you when they happen. Don’t worry, pet. You are mine now.”

And then he was gone.

[logan-please-smile-speaks]

[Long, Tw food (in depth descriptions), brief references to unnamed heavenly beings of no specified religion, brief reference to hell. Not really any angst. Just good Dadza.]

[Hurt/comfort my beloved]

Me: i can't write

Also me: writes an entire fic by accident while telling my friend about an idea I had

(I'm gonna need this ask back at some point so don't keep it too long, okay? But make sure to take care of yourself (unlike Techno sksksks))

(How many words is this) (Cenn I've been writing this for like 3-4 hours. I've been hyperfixating on this)

-@2ble

I had this really cute idea where Techno gets sick after doomsday and Dadza takes care of him (for an animatic, or? How should i draw techno?)

Phil's Dadza side kicks in. He gently pushes Techno, who is in full garb back into bed. "Techno, you're sick. You can't go."

"But I haven't streamed in 2 weeks!"

"Rest."

Techno turns on his side in bed. Dadza gently pulls the blankets up and tucks them around Techno. Techno begins to cough, and the coughs rack his body. Dadza's expression is soft and concerned. He rubs his hand on Techno's back until he stops coughing. Techno closes his eyes. He's exhausted.

Dadza takes Techno's crown and places it on the bedside table.

He observes his ill friend. Techno is nothing like what he was up until Doomsday. He seemed--weak. Vulnerable. Sick.

"Have you had anything to eat, Techno?"

Techno doesn't open his eyes. He shakes his head. "I ran out of food a few days ago. I meant to get more but..." Techno doesn't want to admit that he couldn't get downstairs. He doesn't want to admit to weakness, to vulnerability. But everytime he thought of searching through chests, of trading with the villagers, they just seemed so far away.

Phil noticed a tear leaking out from Techno's eyelid. If he brushed it away, Techno would feel worse about his state because it would mean he was in fact vulnerable.

"I'll make you some stew."

Phil goes downstairs and tends to the fireplace. The fire seemed to have gone out sometime between now and the last time Phil checked on Techno.

How long has the house been this cold?

Phil builds up the fire and puts a cauldron over it. He makes mushroom stew because he doesn't know if techno can stomach rabbit stew.

When it's ready, he ladels it into a bowl and climbs the ladder.

Hanging off the ladder by one hand, he calls out. "Techno, stew's ready."

Techno's eyes flutter open. He sees his friend holding out a bowl of food and his eyes widen.

Phil notices that Techno is sweating and the blanket strewn to the side, only covering his feet.

"Are you too hot mate?" he asks.

Techno is broiling but he can't summon the strength to take off his outer clothes. His body refuses.

He's more focused on food. He's starving, and his body uses up what little resources it has left to sweat.

Phil walks over and puts the stew on the table. The heavenly aroma fills the room.

"Let's get this coat off of you." Phil reaches around Techno and unclasps the chain on his neck. He gently pulls the coat off of Techno's arm but he's still laying on it.

"Techno," Phil says.

"Whaaat," Techno drawls.

"You got to let me get this coat off ya mate."

Techno lets out a deep groan, then turns over on his stomach so his other arm is towards Phil.

Phil reaches under techno and grasps the coat. He pulls it out from under Techno and off his arm. The sleeve turns inside out. Phil fixes the sleeve and hangs up the coat.

Techno's shirt is drenched in sweat. He rolls over and starts fidddling with the button closest to his throat, looking up at Phil.

"Here, I'll get that for you." Phil undoes the button. He can't imagine how tired techno must've been after Doomsday, that he just collapsed in bed fully clothed, not even bothering to loosen them.

At least he took off his armor. Sh-t's heavy, he thinks. Phil ignores the fact that after the adrenaline and excitement wore off, the sore and tired Technoblade probably couldn't move with it on.

Phil pulls the blanket off the bed entirely, folds it, and places it on the table next to the stew. He pulls off Techno's shoes and socks and puts them near his coat.

They were also drenched with sweat, not to mention the smell--but it doesn't bother Phil all that much. He's smelled worse. He's frowns at the imprints on Techno's legs from the socks.

Phil loosens the rest of Techno's clothes. Techno seemed to were his tightest, least comfortable, most regal outfit to Doomsday.

Lucky for them both most of that was just accesories and pins, and Phil could easily remove those.

While Phil was doing this, Techno had been lying on his back, eyes closed. Though Techno tended to be stone-faced, Phil noticed the relief on Techno's face.

"How you feelin', Techno?"

"Philzaaa,"

"Yeah?"

Techno opens his eyes halfway, just enough to see Philza and the bottom of the bed.

"Do you have water?"

Phil procures a water bucket from his bag. "Thirsty mate?"

Techno looks at the water bucket and a small smile creeps over his face.

Phil smiles at his friend. He moves to the head of the bed and looped his arm and tattered wing around Techno and sits him up.

He holds the bucket up to Techno's mouth and tips it to his lips. Techno sips gratefully as the cool liquid pours over his hot, dry mouth and down his throat, cooling him from the inside.

"You've lost quite a bit of fluid, mate."

Techno lets some of the cold water slip out the sides of his mouth and drip down his face. His skin is boiling. The water dropelts running down his skin feel like heavenly beings allowing drops of mercy to fall upon him in the pit of hell.

Techno pulls back briefly to swallow and catch his breath and Phil rights the bucket. Techno leans in again for more water.

After drinking his fill, Techno leans back and wipes his mouth with his arm.

"All done, Techno?"

Techno swings his arms up knocks the bucket out of Phil's hand, dumping it on his head. The gush of water cools Techno, drenches the bed, and spills all over the room. Phil can't help but laugh. He picks up the bucket and scoops up the water source. He puts the bucket back in his bag.

"Had enough of the water?"

"Philza--I gotta be honest with you, Philza I haven't felt this good in weeks."

Phil laughs again even louder. The two friends are now in a good mood.

"Well now your stew is probably cold too." Phil tastes it. "Actually it's a bit warm still. Not too hot, either."

Techno scoots towards the wall and leans on it. He reaches for the bowl.

"Oh, no you don't."

"Phil, I'm a grown man-pig. I can hold a bowl."

"Maybe on a good day, Techno, but three minutes ago you couldn't sit up by yourself. No offense mate, but I don't think your arms have enough stamina right now. Now come on and eat."

Phil lifts the bowl to Techno's lips and lets him sip at his own pace. He pulls it back.

"How does it taste?"

"Pretty good but could maybe use a little salt."

"Eh, you probably need electrolytes as well after sweating through your clothes and drinking all that water."

Phil put the bowl on the downstairs counter.

Phil found salt in the downstairs chest and stirred it into the cauldron.

He heard the bowl fall to the floor behind him. It fell facedown and spilt on the floor.

Phil swore quietly.

He got a new bowl and more stew from the cauldron.

"How is it?" Techno inquired.

"Try for yourself," Phil said. He smiled as he held the bowl to Techno.

Techno looked at the bowl, then up at Phil. He took a sip.

Techno pulled back and looked at the bowl.

Phil thought he may have tainted the stew somehow. "Is it bad?" he started to say.

But he didn't quite get out anything after "Is" because Techno cut him off.

"It's delicious." Techno looked up at his friend. "Philza Minecraft, you should be a chef. This is the most wonderful thing I've ever tasted."

Phil chuckled. "All I did was add salt, what ya mean?"

"Phil, you have to sell this stew to the rest of the SMP. We could get rich!"

"Techno, I think the sickness may have gotten to your head a bit."

"Phil, I've never been more serious about anything in my entire life. We could be the the most powerful people on the server!"

"We already are. We just blew up a country. Down to bedrock."

"But we could get even more rich and powerful!"

"Well I'll be happy to listen after you eat. And rest. And bathe."

"I don't need to bathe."

"You're not getting out of it. You reek, mate."

"You can't judge me by the smell!"

"I'm not worried about the smell so much as what the smell tells me about your body. I don't know when the last time you washed was but it was definitely before Doomsday and I can't have you laying in your own sweat and filth for much longer. It's sh-t for your health, Techno."

"Philza--"

"Please just eat, Techno."

Techno leaned his head forward slightly and Phil pressed the bowl to Techno's lips.

Techno closed his eyes and savored the flavors. They were so pleasant, so soothing, so comforting. They reminded him of a time when he was safe and there was no betrayal. No war. No need for violence and bloodshed and destruction.

Phil, being a good Dadza friend, made sure that Techno ate an entire bowl. He brought Techno another bowl upon his request, of which he ate half, then left the other half bowl on the table in case Techno got hungry later.

After changing Techno's bed to clean, dry sheets and tucking his friend back into bed, he went downstairs to clean up the spill. He told Techno he would be back at sunrise to check on him. Though he might come earlier just in case. Sunrise was just the latest. Phil had decided that since Techno had gotten through the brunt of his hibernation and was now waking up sick, he should check on him at least twice a day.

Phil scrubbed the dried stew off the floor. He wondered what could've made Techno love it so much. Mere salt couldn't have made it so delicious, could it?

Phil finished cleaning the floor and the bowl and put everything away. As he was about to leave, he stopped. Eyes locked on the cauldron. There was something about it.

I can't leave that there, he reasoned. It will go to waste. If Techno like it, I can't let it waste or burn. I should freeze it outside.

Phil took out a bowl and knelt in front of the fire place. He scoop up big, full ladels into his bowl. Could it be that the soup was really that much better with something as basic as salt?

Phil dipped his finger in the bowl and sucked the stew off of it. He was instantly transported to his childhood. His mind played out feelings of safety, of healing, of comfort, of rest.

He heard his family laughing, remembered learning how to fly, the first time he soared high, feeling the wind beneath his wings. He remembered when Wilbur was born, holding the tiny baby in his arms, filled with love. "I'll always protect you. I'll always be there for you." When he met Techno, when he built the bee farm, and so on.

Phil was moved to tears. He felt loved. He felt like someone loved him no matter his flaws, his mistakes. Phil cried.

It was not out of pain but rather emotion. He wiped away his tears and drank the rest of the stew in his bowl, but it only caused more tears to stream down his face.

Techno was right.

Outside, watching through the window was the one who made the soup what it was. It wasn't Phil's salt.

He stood on his hind legs, paws pressed against the wall of the house.

He had been listening to the two friends talk, had been watching protectively as the wind ruffled his thick white fur.

He was Technoblade's guardian.

Soon he would be called Steve.

2ble this is literally amazing hello????

[totallynotafetishblog]

Privacy

I’m super into The M/andalorian right now and couldn’t resist writing some sick!D/in.

1.7 k. Set some time in the first half of S2. There are some minor mess mentions. Enjoy!!

Din was startled awake at the helm of the Razor Crest by a blaring alarm and flashing red lights. His eyes jumped from scanner to scanner trying to determine the source of the malfunction, and his grip tightened around the controls, bracing for a crash landing, when the beeping and flickering stopped. Turning his head to the right, he watched the Child sheepishly remove his hand from a switch.

Din sighed. "I told you not to do that."

Though the alarm had gone silent, it still echoed in Din's head, and he could feel a headache budding. "I'll be right back. Don't touch anything while I'm gone." The Child leaned towards the switch again, looking at Din the entire time. "Hey. No." Din tried to sound his sternest, but a tenderness in his throat which hadn't been there before he dozed off prevented him from speaking as loudly as he would've liked. 

"Here. You can have this." Din unscrewed the shifter knob and tossed it to the Child who cooed excitedly and rolled the silver ball in his hands. Now satisfied that his kid wouldn't cause mischief, Din proceeded to his quarters and pressed a button to shut the door behind him. He glanced back, confirmed that he was alone, and removed his helmet. He downed a pouch of water hoping to relieve some of the scratchiness in his throat and clear his head, but his symptoms persisted. 

To make matters worse, an obnoxious prickling teased his sinuses. Din did nothing to stave off the expulsion, well aware by now that he was coming down with something, and he sneezed openly toward his chest. "GSHHHHuh! hh...h'EKSHHHoo!" He grabbed a rag to blot his nose. "Ugh. Dank farrik."

The Mandalorian didn't get sick often, and when he did, he always hid himself away in his ship for a few days so he could cough and sneeze without his helmet on. Now that he had the Child, that would be impossible. The thought of keeping his dripping nose in his helmet was disgusting, but the thought of showing his face to another living being was unfathomable. There was no convenient solution.

Resigned, Din blew his nose a final time and put his helmet back on before returning to the cockpit. The Child was in the same place Din had left him, laser-focused on his ball. 

"Hey, kid. What do you think about spending a few days with Cara and Greef on Nevarro?" Din asked. The Child tilted his head curiously. "I have to take care of something on my own, but you should be safe there, and I'll be back as soon as I can."

The Child responded with a gurgle that Din took as an agreement. He sent a vague message to his friends on Nevarro stating that he needed help with childcare while he took care of a personal matter and left it at that. They were already in the correct sector, so the journey to the planet was quick and Din was able to keep his symptoms in check by breathing shallowly through his mouth, knowing that any attempt to breathe through his nose would be disastrous. 

When the ship landed on Nevarro, they were met by Cara and Greef, the latter of whom squatted and held his arms out towards the Child. "There's the little guy!" As fast as he could, the Child waddled over to Greef and allowed himself to be scooped up.

"Thank you for watching him," Din said. "I should be back in a few days."

Cara put a hand on her hip. "I'm surprised you're letting him out of your sight."

"I don't want to, but I—" Din paused as an annoying itch spidered through his nose. Though wearing a helmet while sick was mostly a hindrance, it did allow him to covertly scrunch up his face, attempting to quell the sensation in any way possible. "I... hh! need to be alone for thi-IH!-s."

Greef frowned. "You okay, Mando?"

"I'm f-fine. hxtCH! ngx'CH!" Din stifled as well as he could, but he knew he would have to give the inside of his helmet a good cleaning. 

"Yeah, that doesn't sound fine," Cara said, giving him a quick head-to-toe inspection and noting his tired posture. "Are you ditching the kid to take a sick day?

Din sighed, deflating. "Yes. I'll be staying here in my ship, so I'll be nearby if anything happens."

"Why don't you come stay in town?"

"A nice bed and a warm meal should heal you right up," Greef agreed.

"I need privacy," Din explained. Urgently, he wanted to add as mess dripped on to his lip. 

"You'll have privacy," said Cara. "You can stay in the back bedroom at my place. I just use it for storage."

The Mandalorian relented. "Fine. Let me grab some things."

He frankly didn't have much worth grabbing, but he was desperate to blow his nose before heading into town. He did so, and while it granted him momentary relief, the congestion was persistent. Aware that he would be fighting an uphill battle against his dripping nose, Din filled a satchel with clean rags that would surely be sullied by day's end.

*******************************************************

"You can bunk in here." Cara drew back the curtain to her guest room, a cramped space filled with old shock trooper gear and unlabeled boxes on either side of a bed. The bed was small, but no doubt softer than the sleep mat in the Razor Crest. "Greef'll keep watch outside in case anyone tracked you here. I'll be hanging out around the house with the kid." She bounced the Child on her hip, and he giggled. 

"Thank you," Din said. "Will you be okay watching him?"

"As long as he doesn't try to choke me again." The Child blinked at her with his big eyes and tilted his head.

Din knelt down so his visor was level with the Child's eyeline. "Hey. Be good. Cara has very kindly agreed to help us out, and I want you to be on your best behavior, okay?"

The Child made a gesture that Din took as a nod, and Din patted him between the ears.

Steadying himself with a hand against the wall, Din stood back up despite his muscles' protests. He felt utterly drained. Given his constant travelling, it was impossible to say where he'd picked up this illness which made it difficult to know what exactly it was, but it was hitting Din hard and fast. He turned away from Cara and failed to suppress a chesty coughing fit.

"Go rest," Cara said. "That sounds disgusting." 

"Are you sure you can handle—?"

"Yes, Mando. Now get in that bed, or I'll make you get in." 

Cara walked off with the Child in tow, and Din closed the curtain at the room's entrance behind him. Finally alone, he set his helmet on some boxes beside the bed and let himself collapse into the mattress. 

*******************************************************

Din was startled awake by a knock on the wall outside of the room. Unsure whether he'd been laying there for minutes or hours and head heavy with congestion, he hastily redonned his helmet.

"Mando?" Cara called. "I'm leaving some food outside if you—"

The curtain opened, and Cara raised her eyebrows upon seeing the Mandalorian out of bed and in full beskar armor. 

"You didn't take your armor off?" she asked, giving him a once-over.

"It's—" Din cleared his aching throat. "It's easier to leave it on in case something happens. I slept without my helmet, though."

Cara gave him a half-teasing, half-affectionate grin. "Nothing's going to happen. I promise. The kid is safe, and Greef and I have been keeping an eye out for any trouble. Just rest, okay? We've got your back."

Din nodded and accepted a bowl of soup from Cara. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. I'll let you have your privacy now, but I'm not far if you need anything."

Closing the curtain and setting the soup aside for the moment, Din debated the pros and cons of taking Cara's suggestion. On the one hand, he would be much more comfortable without the weight of cold metal encasing his body, but on the other hand, trouble was drawn to him like a flea to an Ewok. As a faint buzzing settled in his nose, Din decided to take the risk and remove his armor. 

He tried to keep his hitching breaths at bay as he took off his helmet and tossed it on the bed. He brought a lazy arm up to his face, keeping it far enough away that he wouldn't accidentally slam his nose into his gauntlet if he pitched forward, but this rendered the attempt to cover was more symbolic than effective. 

"ih-hih... IHhh’GYZSHHHuh!" Droplets gleamed on the smooth beskar. His armor had certainly seen worse, but nonetheless, Din felt a little gross. His mild disgust only served to increase the relief he felt as he stripped his armor off piece by piece, revealing his skin to the cool air. Though the sensation of anything other than metal against his body was welcome, it sent a chill through him that reignited the urge to sneeze. Din tented his hands over his nose. "hihh'IKshHHuh! hh'ATShHOO! hihhh-ih... G'SHHUHH!"

Din sniffled wetly against his fingers and bent over to grab a rag from his satchel. He blew his nose unceremoniously, and his head felt five pounds lighter. Tossing the rag aside, he fell back into bed and idly sipped the soup Cara had prepared, savoring a rare moment of quiet. He knew that Cara was right: he and the Child would be safe here, and his friends would be there should anything go awry. It was unusual to find non-Mandalorians whom he trusted so completely, but it was a pleasant feeling. Holed up in Cara's back room, Din felt more at peace than he had in ages, even with the obnoxious itch in his throat and stuffiness in his nose. 

Maybe, mused Din, I should take a sick day more often.

[the-prince-and-the-smith]

The Ball (Logan POV)

Word Count: 1637

Logan looked around the room at all the dignitaries and members of the court that thronged in the ballroom. Not many people were dancing, most were just standing around and talking. Still, he kept scanning the crowd for the one person he most wanted to see. He knew it was a long shot and that he’d most likely be coming later when he had to talk with the king. Still, Logan kept his eyes trained on the entrances and occasionally the crowd so saw when the doors opened.

Virgil stepped into the room and Logan felt time stop. The smith had cleaned up nicely, wearing a coat of a rich purple. His shirt beneath was just as dark but in a blue hue that almost matched Logan’s own coat. His pants were as black as the coal he worked with. Virgil’s hair was done up as a crown around his head with delicate looking chains weaved into it, little flyaways catching the light and giving him a soft halo.

Logan took a breath and time seemed to start again as Virgil descended the stairs, scanning the room for him. The elder prince briefly looked around the room to lock eyes with his younger brother, finding him deep in conversation with both his suitors, before making his way to meet the Smith at the bottom of the stairs.

Logan smiled as Virgil met him at the bottom. ‘The Master Smith cleans up nice,” he said, trying to hide just how good he thought Virgil looked.

Virgil smiled, looking down slightly. “The coat was made by a customer who had some left over fabric and the shirt is on loan from my neighbor.”

Logan laughed lightly, linking his arm with Virgil’s and gently tugging him deeper into the room. “Well, at least you came.”

Virgil nodded. “That I did.” Still, he seemed slightly nervous as Logan led him to the back wall. There, they were able to stand with their backs to the wall and the floor in front of them. It seemed to calm him down some as he was able to lean back and not have his full guard up. 

Logan stood nearby, close enough to be within hearing range but still far enough away to be considered acceptable. "So, tell me about yourself, Mr. Arrowwood."

Virgil looked over at him, fingers of one hand running over a chain at his belt. "What do you want to know?"

Logan shrugged. "Life's story, every favorite thing you can think of, how you deal with emotions, what your job is like, who you are as a person. Just . . ." he trailed off uncertainly, "I just want to get to know you better. If it helps, we can trade facts. You tell me one thing and I'll tell you one thing?"

Virgil thought about it for a moment before agreeing. Logan learned a lot about him in that next half hour. He learned about both his favorite flavors and food as well as which one he despised. He learned which were his favorite tools and techniques to use. Virgil told him about his favorite places to go, promising that he might take him there one day.

Logan offered the same information about himself. When he got to his favorite place, he smiled. “It’s easier to just show you if you’ll let me.”

Virgil nodded. The crowd was getting a bit overwhelming for him as he was used to only a few people trickling in and out at a time. Logan offered his arm for Virgil to put his hand in the crook of his elbow and led the way. They left the ballroom and made their way down a few winding corridors before they reached a door to the outside. They kept going, around the building and down a small hill until they came to a small building made almost entirely of glass.

Inside, there were plants on every available surface. Some were on the floor in the shade, some were hanging from the roof, all of them looked healthy and many of them were blooming. Virgil spun in a slow circle as he took it all in. “What is this place?”

“It’s my personal greenhouse.” Logan leaned against a shelf as he watched Virgil explore. “I commissioned the local glass blowers and the royal Smith to make it and the shelves and I imported each plant myself. Every one of them is under my care and are my responsibility.” He shrugged. “It’s a nice stress reliever when I don’t feel like riding or sparring. It’s also just nice to be able to be alone and have someone listen to you.”

Virgil slowly took a turn around the building, looking at each and every plant. “Why are some on the ground?”

“I’ve found that they require a significantly less amount of sunlight than all the others, thus they’re on the ground in front of the shelves to help them with that.” Logan answered as many of Virgil’s questions as he asked, spending the next hour just talking about the plants.

When they’d exhausted the subject and the sun was setting behind a stand of trees, Logan led the way back inside. He subtly changed the topic from the greenhouse to Virgil’s occupation by asking him what he thought of the metal work and about his daily routine. Virgil talked about his work for the trip up and even longer as they sat on one of the benches that lined the ballroom, just rambling away.

Eventually, the band gave the signal that another set was about to start and Logan asked Virgil to dance with him.

“I don’t even know how.” Virgil responded, staying seated while Logan stood and held a hand out to him.

Logan laughed. “Just follow my lead and you should be fine.”

Virgil sighed but gave in, letting himself be pulled onto the dance floor. It was a swift, fast-paced dance, one that left little room for talking or even thinking as Virgil did his best to keep up with Logan and the other dancers. If he was to be the prince’s partner for the night, he was determined not to embarrass him in any way. The second dance of the set was only slightly less upbeat, each consecutive dance getting more and more stately until the last one was a slow turning in a circle, the pair’s left wrists crossing before changing direction and crossing their right wrists.

They danced another set together before resting. Logan was drawn away to talk with a visiting dignitary about trade. Virgil stood near a pillar and examined a nearby sconce. The craftsmanship was quite nice and Virgil got lost in thoughts of how he could learn from this and how he could have done it better. A tap on his shoulder brought him back to reality.

“Greetings. Would you happen to be Virgil Arrowwood?”

Virgil nodded. “That’s me. May I ask what your name is?”

He bowed slightly, his black coat fluttering behind him. “My name is Nate Brassard. I’m the son of the royal Smith.”

Virgil nodded. “I’m terribly sorry to hear of his illness. Is he coming back to work or are you assuming his position?”

Nate smiled. “I’d love to take over but my work is nowhere near as skilled as his is. However, I’ve heard that your work is beyond compare.”

Virgil smiled graciously. “I too have heard that. Having never met another smith besides my father, I have yet to test that.”

Nate nodded. Their conversation carried on as they swapped trade secrets, Virgil explaining how he got certain textures for the metal and how he made such detailed pieces. Nate explained the technique he was taught to do swirls without damaging the metal and how he did simple shapes with such complexity. Logan came back after a while, coming to stand by Virgil as they finished their conversation.

Nate looked at Logan before dipping into a bow. “You’re Highness.”

Logan nodded back at him. “How is your father doing?”

Nate’s smile was tinged with sadness. “He’s fading by the day. The physician isn’t expecting him to last the week.”

Logan hummed sympathetically. “I’m saddened to hear that.”

Nate nodded. “Will you be seeking his replacement soon?”

Logan glanced at Virgil. “Possibly.”

Virgil furrowed his brow and tried to figure out what that meant. Nate just laughed. “Well, I’ll leave you two to talk. Have a pleasant evening.” Virgil tracked his movements, watching him talk to one of the visiting princes at the refreshments table.

Logan leaned over, speaking softly so only Virgil could hear. “Would you like to dance some more? Or see the library?”

Virgil smiled. “I’d love to see the library, if it’s permitted.”

Logan nodded and opened a door close by. They entered a large room with bookshelves lining each of the walls, going above the doorways. There were cushioned couches in the center of the room with chairs scattered throughout. Logan stayed near the door as Virgil roamed, taking in the book titles and the covers being displayed. When one book caught his eye, Virgil paused to gently run a finger down it’s spine. He kept going but heard footsteps behind him and the soft shushing of a book being removed.

“The Queen and His Knight. A fantastic choice.” Virgil turned to see Logan leafing through it. He shut it with a snap before handing it to Virgil. “You can borrow it if you want.”

Virgil raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, as long as you return it, I don’t see the harm in allowing you to read it.”

Virgil smiled and took it. “Thank you.”

Later that night, Virgil kept a candle burning longer than he normally did as he began the first few chapters of the book.

Last ask | Next story bit

[consumeconstantly]

Small Buff Girl Sightings Ch. 2

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | ao3

It’s now the end of Damian’s first week in Paris, and everything is ready for him to transfer into Francois Dupont. He really thought he had dodged the pointless education bullet by coming to France, but of course his father wouldn’t let that slip. However, if he has to continue getting an education he doesn’t need, he will at least get something productive done during the hours of his experience; he will explore the so-called akuma class that he has read up about. One Caline Bustier’s class, the same class that the Ladyblogger is in. The same class that Marinette is in.

He hopes it’s the same as it was in Gotham, or at least similar enough. He expects his reception to be a little different, since his last name has been changed to Grayson to avoid any unwanted attention. Maybe this means that his classmates won’t try to talk to him solely for the purpose of connecting to his family. That doesn’t mean that he wants to talk to any of them. Unless they’re all like Marinette; his brief interactions with her have been bearable, bordering on pleasant. He doubts her class will be similar, though, judging by the quick sweep that he does on all of the student’s social media accounts and the hours that he’s spent on the Ladyblog. From what he has gleaned, the social situation in the akuma class leaves much to be desired. Lila Rossi, who appeared on the Ladyblog multiple times two years ago in rather ridiculous interviews that have since been taken down, seems to be the crux of the class currently. The rest of the class, other than Marinette, who hasn’t appeared in most of the group pictures that her classmates take for the past two years, seem to have little common sense.

When he walks into the classroom, there is a huddle around Lila Rossi, who sits near the front of the classroom and looks astonishingly bored as her classmates talk to her. The members of the class don’t even look up at him when he comes in, instead looking at Lila with almost cult-like devotion, despite the awful shade of lipstick that did not look good on her-- seriously, who wore orange lipstick on a day to day basis? He spares them a moment of observation, decides that he’s not going to get along with his classmates at all, then takes a seat in the back. There is only one desk that has both seats empty-- or is at least currently unoccupied, judging by the lack of items on it. The desk in question is near the back of the classroom next to an exit. He prefers this to sitting in the front, at least.

Right before class starts, a girl drops into the seat next to him, the one that’s closer to the aisle instead of the exit, but the way that she pauses for a moment makes him think that she typically sits where he is, now. 

“Damian?” 

What luck. Marinette is his seat partner. One of the only people in Paris that he’s talked to that seems to be fairly tolerable. With the added bonus of her being fairly intelligent and able to hold her own. There isn’t much more that he could ask for in a seatmate. 

He is confused as to how such a girl is still in this seemingly god-awful class, but small blessings. He’s not going to complain about having Marinette by his side.

“Oh, you must be the transfer from America.” She pulls out a binder from her bag, sends a quick glance sent to Lila, then settles into her chair. Lila sends Marinette a look that Damian can’t quite decipher, but it’s not unfriendly. “If you want to get acquainted with the school, you can ask Lila or Alya. Lila’s the one with orange lipstick and green eyes. Alya’s the one in plaid with glasses. They’re the class president and deputy this year.”

Damian takes a few more moments to observe the class dynamics, particularly how Lila and Alya interact with those around them. The former holds a blonde boy that Damian is fairly sure is Adrien Agreste, and while he seems accustomed to having Lila hang off his arm, he doesn’t exactly look comfortable either. Lila’s eyes unsettle Damian. They look eerily similar to his mother’s, though there is much less ill intent held within them. Alya looks spineless and clingy, clearly uneducated about topics that she brings up one after another. He can’t hear what they are saying clearly from this distance, but he is certain that the small blonde girl was asking Lila to tell the story of how she saved Jagged’s kitten one more time, even though that story’s years old because Lila’s just so humble and modest and amazing. Surprisingly, Lila turns down the girl’s request, and continues to barely interact with her classmates while she continues to hold onto Adrien’s arm.

Jagged as in Jagged Stone, Damian assumes, and though he’s no fan himself, factoids about the rock star’s life have been shoved down his throat by Tim and Dick for the past five years, so how the hell could he not know that a) the star’s manager was deathly allergic and b) the star said that Fang was the best pet that could ever be and he could never want for anything more. 

“You can tour me around instead.” To be completely honest, he doesn’t need a tour around the school at all; Damian did do reconnaissance before starting this mission. He knows the school’s layout like the back of his hand after pouring over maps and information about Francois Dupont. However, he is particularly interested in the dynamics of the akuma class, and he might as well get insider information while he still can.

Marinette looks at Damian appraisingly. “I don’t know about that, Damian. Lila and Alya are fine at giving tours. You’d be in capable hands.”

“Hands capable of what?” Damian can’t imagine that Lila’s claws are good for anything except skewering people who tried to disprove her seemingly outlandish tales. He almost feels bad for Adrien, then thinks better of it; he doesn’t seem that uncomfortable with Lila, he just doesn’t seem to like her hand on his arm.

Marinette laughs, softly, focusing on the group. She moves her mouth so little that if anyone looks, it will appear as though he is talking to her without response. “Very funny. Seriously, if you want a tour, ask Lila or Alya. I’m really not the best person for the job.”

The teacher comes into the room, and the students slowly disperse back into their seats. 

#

When lunch comes around, Marinette packs her stuff up and gets out of the classroom so quickly, he wonders if she’s not some sort of athlete. 

“You’re Damian, the transfer from America!” Lila puts a manicured hand on his arm, and Damian almost thinks that he sees her lick his lips as his forearm flexes at the unexpected contact. He restrains himself from his initial thought to deck her, but barely.

He takes a deep breath and gets his disgust under control. He can control himself. Alfred and Dick have spent years ensuring that he knows what a normal reaction is to someone touching him. When his eyes aren’t seeing red anymore, he turns his attention back to the hand on his arm. Her nails are the same garish orange as her lips, and it’s the case of the chicken and the egg all over again. No matter which came first, though, the color looks bad on both. Jason will say that Damian can’t criticize the girl because of his own awful sense of color coordination, but there’s a reason why he doesn’t have any color in his wardrobe besides his Robin suit. 

“Come, sit with us.” Orange’s voice is nauseatingly fake.

Damian doesn’t outright refuse, but he does shake off the girl’s hand. She feels too similar to Talia up close. Her eye shape is eerily similar. She must be manipulative and cunning to have such a hold on the class. But, he might as well see exactly what the akuma class is all about.

He is escorted into the cafeteria, pushed next to Adrien, then given a lunch tray that has foods that look decidedly less than nutritious and possibly stale. At Gotham Academy, the food was always prepared by the best, so this is unusual for him.

“My name is Adrien. It’s nice to meet you.” Damian thinks the blond boy is nice enough, but he sounds tired and worn out. 

Moments later, Lila comes back from the bathroom and squeezes herself between Damian and Adrien, looping her arm through Adrien’s and then attempting to do the same with Damian. But his arms are so tightly at his side, that it’s impossible for her to wiggle her hand through. Damian is glad that he trained himself to eat with both hands, and quickly takes up a fork with his left. Her laugh is high and breathy, like she’s changed her voice to sound different.

He has to say that it feels disgusting, because it feels like she’s treating him as some sort of arm candy. For the first time in his life, he actually thinks about his gender and is very glad that he was born a boy. Had he been born a girl, there is no doubt that this kind of situation may have happened more often; Damian knows he’s attractive. His mother and father both have very good genes both look wise and talent wise.

Not even ten minutes go by, and Damian sees why Marinette high-tailed it out of the classroom so quickly. He wishes that he went with her instead, though he gets the feeling that he isn’t welcome to do so. 

The stories that Lila weaves for her life as of late are more convincing than the ones that his classmates have told him of her heroic deeds in the past. Damian can almost believe that they’re true-- helping out with food drives, volunteering with the Red Cross occasionally-- but he doubts the validity of any statement that comes from her mouth after finding the cache of interviews from three years ago. She’s focusing more on friends, she says as she tries to catch his arm again. She leans closer, and Damian can smell the floral perfume on her so strongly that it makes him nauseous. His mother never wore perfume. Nobody from the League of Assassins did. Perfume is something that’s traceable. After he was introduced to Gotham City, all of the women he came into contact with rarely wore perfume and when they did, it certainly wasn’t this floral fruity-fresh fragrance that Lila was drenched in.

She leans on him, and Damian’s pretty sure by the curve of the girl’s smirk and the glint in her eyes that he’s supposed to find the slight touch of her cleavage on his arm attractive. This paltry attempt at seduction is laughable. Even as a nine year old, his mother had him training against attacks like these. He was taught never to give into lust, and after living in a family like the Waynes, girls and boys alike threw themselves at him. If he wants a relationship, physical or otherwise, he can have one. He certainly doesn’t want a relationship with this Lila Rossi. Still, he doesn’t see why she has so much control over the classroom and certainly doesn’t see why Marinette is so excluded from their class. 

It’s the longest hour of his life, but Damian makes it through and nearly flees for the safety of the back seat in the classroom. Nearly, but not quite.

#

By the time Damian gets into the room, Marinette is already sitting at the desk again. She looks up, looks at Lila who has looped her arm with Adrien’s and is smiling at Damian like a cat who got the cream. Damian reads sadness and maybe a touch of concern when she looks at Adrien.

“Lunch was awful.”

“Was it.” It’s phrased like it should be a question, but it doesn’t sound like Marinette is curious.

“You could have told me.”

Her lips purse. She’s copying notes from the last class over again, making them neater and more organized. “That’s not my place.”

“You’re my seat partner.”

“So?”

“Somehow, you seem a lot more morally righteous when you’re out on the streets.”

“That’s different. Paris is Paris; class is class. There’s a time and place for everything.”

From the cacophony near the front rises Lila’s high pitched voice. Damian thinks that she’s modulated it in order to seem more innocent, more believable. “Oh, Adrien, I’m so happy that we’re going to have dinner together with your father tonight.” 

Marinette’s eyes raise from her paper. They search for Adrien. Adrien, whose shoulders are hunched in a way that speaks of tiredness and defeat. Adrien, who has eye bags that even concealer cannot fix. Adrien, who looks down at his hands and refuses to meet Marinette’s eyes and their soft, sad questions. 

Slowly, Marinette’s eyes lower. She blinks at her paper, then continues copying her notes. 

At the very least, Damian is glad that he’s sitting back here with the only sane person in this class. It isn’t like Damian is here to make friends anyways. It might have been helpful, but he doesn’t need other people’s help. He can manage on his own.

#

Scratch that, he could not manage. 

Damian now understands why Hawkmoth had not been captured even though it had been three years since his appearance. Magic is really annoying. 

He reports back to the Justice League that yes, the reports were true and no, he did not think it was a good idea to send anyone in yet and yes, he would continue to work on reconnaissance and figuring out who Hawkmoth was.

Despite three more akuma attacks(of increasing intensity) and hours prowling the internet, clues about Hawkmoth’s identity are few and far between. Early on in his mission brief, he was encouraged to not make contact with the Paris superheroes unless the situation got really bad and not to go patrolling the rooftops as Robin at all. They didn’t want to destress the Parisian heroes who had, at first, asked them for help, and then pleaded with them to not send anybody. All of the lack of information and lack of action gave him undue stress, more so than when he was back in Gotham. At least back there, the high stress situations he encountered would promptly be worked off by fighting a villain, sparring his brothers, or patrolling. He can’t do any of that here. 

The coffee he ordered finally arrives, and he downs it in one shot, surveying the streets in front of him. Parisians are weird. His classmates have one collective brain cell that resides with the orange monstrosity, Lila, and the people he meets on the streets are way too open and friendly for people who have been terrorized by a supervillain for three years. They should be more like the citizens of Gotham-- keeping their heads down, minding their own business. Instead, he’s been approached by countless people as he wandered around the city-- unsurprisingly, mostly from girls sent by a larger pack in attempts to get his number or ask him on a date-- and also by random people who want to cheer him up. What kind of person tries to cheer up random people on the streets? Apparently it’s something that many Parisians have taken to doing, in attempts to prevent more akumas. Damian doesn’t think it’s very successful on that part, and is more just an excuse for people who want to stick their noses where they don’t belong.

Marinette is the only Parisian who was better than decent at holding her own Damian’s seen so far; in the past week, he’s stopped three bag snatchers, two stalkers, and two random fights. It’s surprisingly lively for a city that is plagued by a villain who takes advantage of strong emotions. He asks one of the people he saves why this is so.

“Well, it’s been three years. For the first year, yes, we very much lived in fear. But Ladybug and Chat Noir always come to save the day, and they told us that holding in our emotions is even more unhealthy.” This, a man he saved from his stalker. “That talk came after they fought off a stream of very strong akumas that totalled the city, all because they had been repressing their emotions until the breaking point.”

That is useful information. It definitely explains why the city is the way it was, though with the number of tourists that Paris has, he’s surprised that this hasn’t become headlining news internationally. He finds a few threads on Twitter talking about it, but most people are convinced it’s some ongoing stunt for attention. Apparently there’s a movie out about Ladybug and Chat Noir? Damian knows that Mayor Bourgeois put an initial block on information about the akumas from getting out, but that shouldn’t have stopped the Justice League from getting their hands on information about the situation in Paris. However, the teams that have been looking into the situation since they found out have had very little luck finding anything other than conspiracy theories. If Damian hadn’t seen an akuma battle with his own eyes, he’d have thought he was sent on a wild goose chase. 

Damian feels a cross of pity for the Parisian superheroes and a brief moment of anger at Hawkmoth. From what he’s gathered, the Ladybug and Chat Noir are largely on their own. In that first year, there were a few other heroes in the mix-- a fox, a bee, a dragon, and a snake-- but their appearances became sparse and after a mass akumatization, they never appeared again. Ladybug and Chat Noir definitely stepped up their game in that second year, with Ladybug taking the lead so strongly that Damian isn’t sure that he can call them a pair of superheroes. 

Sure, the battles end more quickly with Chat Noir there, but there are plenty of occasions where he doesn’t show up at all and other fights where he stays out of the battle entirely. Oftentimes, in the second year, both heroes looked extraordinarily tired and peaky. Then, something had changed, and Ladybug no longer seemed to be bothered. That was when Chat Noir started staying out of more and more battles, and the few times that he showed up, he always ran off first. Their media appearances, which had been rather heavy in the first year, dwindled down to a few periodic and important announcements. Other than that, they never gave more interviews to smaller blogs, like the Ladyblog. He has to say that he’s not surprised; even though Alya has taken them down, Lila’s interviews were still riddled with lies and she had posted them. Ladybug must have felt that the blog's integrity decreased. 

All of this meaningless information leads him nowhere. The Ladyblog and several other news sources have contemplated Hawkmoth’s identity and purpose, but they all seem far fetched. Motivations include everything from world destruction to believing that this is all just a ploy to get Ladybug and Chat Noir media attention. There’s not even any concrete conclusion on Hawkmoth’s gender, though the majority opinion holds that he is a man.

He sees Marinette from the coffee shop windows. It’s amazing that this girl seems to be everywhere all at once. She always ends up near the akuma attacks, but he never spots her during them, which is curious. There’s only so many reliable places to hide. Today, she’s facing down some adult while holding a child behind her. The lady looks furious, red-faced and spittle flying. In contrast, Marinette looks calm and cold, and addresses the woman cordially, though not with respect.

A crowd gathers, but as in all things that might be dangerous, they form at a distance, with phone cameras at the ready. Damian joins them and watches the situation unfold.

“He’s my child. I get to decide how to discipline him.” The lady is wearing an expensive looking suit that is a little over the top. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, and her handbag costs at least two thousand dollars. 

“Even if he is your child, that doesn’t mean you can hurt him like this. Mademoiselle, I suggest that we go to the police station now.”

“I don’t have time for that. This brat already cost me an hour of my time to pick him up from school because he was misbehaving, and I have to get to the office now.” The lady hisses, draws closer, ready to push Marinette and grab her child. Marinette side steps, pulling the child behind her. 

“You’re a mother. Make time for your child. We are going to the police station, Mademoiselle, or I will call the police here.”

“I am one of the head managers of Silverstein and Company’s Paris branch. You are just a teenager. You have no place arguing with me over parenting tactics.”

“I am only a teen,” Marinette conceded, “But even a child knows when something is wrong and should be stopped. And abusing your child, Mademoiselle, is very clearly wrong.”

Marinette brings out her phone-- she must have the station on speed dial. Now, the woman approaches Marinette with a heavy hand, ready to slap her. The kid is hiding behind Marinette and quivering, very much afraid of his mother. He’s holding Marinette’s hand so tightly that Damian can see her fingertips have begun to turn blue. 

Damian figures this is as good a time as any to intervene, so he puts himself between Marinette and the lady. Marinette backs up a little more, bends down to the kid and pats his shoulder. 

“It’ll be okay,” Marinette says to the kid soothingly. She seems like the type to babysit. Good with kids, creative enough to keep them out of trouble, but with enough of a backbone to make sure they grow up right. 

The police show up in record time, and Damian wonders whether Marinette has Special Privileges that make officers show up more quickly. It would make sense, since she always seems to be getting people out of trouble. Too bad she seems too much on the side of the law to ever become a vigilante. The world could use more people like her, active in helping others.

The four of them are instructed to go the police precinct; the woman says that she’ll take her car, and looks expectantly at her child, thinking that he’ll come with her. Marinette pushes the boy even further out of the woman’s view and meets the lady with a glare. 

“Do you mind if we ride with you in the back, Officer?” 

The three of them pile into the back of the cruiser, and Damian feels like this is some sort of twisted irony. He’s sent many a villain to jail, but he himself has never been in the back of such a police car. In the back of a high security one, once, when he was on an infiltration mission, but the back of such a normal one? Never. It’s an interesting experience to say the least; there’s mesh between the officer and themselves, and no way to get out from the back themselves. It’s also decidedly hot in the back, with plastic seats and no air conditioning. 

Marinette is cooing at the child now, who is gripping her hand only slightly less tightly. “Don’t worry, Renee, we’re going to make sure that you don’t get hit like that again.”

The kid’s eyes are glassy, then he’s all tears, and he’s crying into Marinette’s shirt. She just pats him on the back, slowly, and lets him cry it out. It’s very different from the approach that Batman, the Nightwing, Red Hood and Robin take with their victims. Most times, they just let the victims be ushered wherever the police need then to be, and then, they never see them again. Damian justifies this with the fact that fundamentally vigilantes and regular people are different. It makes sense that Marinette has a more human touch to her. She’s not wearing a bodysuit. It’s all Marinette, and that makes the whole situation more powerful.

It only takes a few more moments for the boy to cry himself to sleep. 

“I want to file with Child Protection Services.” Her voice is soft, low. She speaks carefully so as not to wake the kid up. 

“Yes, we should file with CPS, but if this is just a one time thing there’s not really much that we can do about this.” The officer sounds sad, like he’s dealt with situations like this before.

“As long as we have proof that this isn’t a one time thing, we can make sure that Renee doesn’t go back with her unless he wants to?” There’s a flash of steel determination in Marinette’s eyes, and it almost makes Damian uncomfortable. It’s the look Barbara gets when one of them get really badly injured. 

“Yes, but that kind of proof is hard to get.”

“I see,” she says, like she really does see all of the situation and knows exactly what needs to happen next. She says it like she’s going to make Renee’s mother go to jail if it’s the last thing she does.

They arrive at the precinct, and Marinette carries the boy like its nothing. Damian offers to help, but he’s shaken off. Renee is already asleep in her arms, after all, and she doesn’t want to risk waking him up. She’s sure that he's tired, after all this. It’s a curious thing, how softly and lovingly she looks down at the boy, even though Damian suspects that Marinette has never met the boy in her life before this fiasco.

Their party arrives more quickly than the mother, so they take seats in a small office, Renee still on Marinette’s lap. She’s now scrolling through her phone, assessing whatever’s on her screen with a clinical eye. Damian pulls out his phone as well. To be honest, he’s not quite sure what he’s doing here. He only stepped in at the last second, though he doesn’t have any real complaints about being here. His father would say it’s an experience, and his siblings would joke that he finally ended up in the hands of the police.

When the lady arrives, she looks nothing like that woman he saw on the streets earlier. She looks every inch a professional. Her makeup has been touched up, and there is a smile plastered on her face that screams dealing with an unpleasant situation. 

“I’m so sorry about that,” she says to Marinette like she’s an old friend. “You know how it is-- sometimes it’s really hard to keep a level head with all that goes on in the city. I was so scared for my little boy-- I heard there was an akuma attack near his school, and rushed out to get him, but he wanted to stay with his friends.”

Marinette has a polite smile fixed on her face as well. Her face doesn’t show the slightest bit of reaction to the lady.

“Kids, am I right?” The lady tries for a joke, tries to sway Marinette and the officer and Damian to her side. “So just let me pick up Renee here, and I’ll bring him back home.”

The lady reaches for Renee, and Damian stops her because Marinette has both her hands full with Renee, who has woken up with shuddering sobs. 

“Officer, is it possible if Renee can wait outside of the room while we talk? Surely there’s somebody who can watch him out there.” Her voice is still kept soft and soothing. She looks at Renee and smiles, doesn’t bother looking at the rest of her surroundings. “Is that okay, Renee? Do you mind waiting outside for a little?”

The little boy nods, and he is swept up by some other person who works at the precinct, and then it is only the four of them in the room.

The lady looks frustrated, but she keeps her mouth shut as the officer goes through the proper procedures that they must follow, and that CPS is getting involved. 

“But officer, there’s no need to get CPS involved. I take very good care of my darling Renee. He gets to go to all the classes he could ever want to and I love him very much. I’m so sorry that he got bruised. I’ll make sure that it never happens again.”

Marinette’s hands are carefully laid on her pants. Her fingers are splayed open and the entirety of each palm rests on her thighs. A gesture that makes her look relaxed, were it not for the slight tremble that Damian detects. She is holding her hands in that position so tightly that Damian has good reason to believe that she is withholding herself from hitting the woman. 

“Madame DeVries.” Marinette’s voice is clipped. “CPS must be involved. I insist. It’s very clear to me that this is not the first time that you have hurt Renee, nor will it be the last.”

“How can you say that?” The lady wails. She is an okay actress, but not able to fool any of those present in the room. “I love my darling boy. I would never hit him. Never!”

“Regardless of whether this is the first time you hit him, there are more ways to hurt a person than just physical abuse. Renee’s fear of you makes it clear that you have induced some sort of psychological trauma on him.”

The lady’s face contorts into a sneer when she realizes that nobody in the room is on her side. “You have no evidence. You can’t accuse me like that. I’ll call a lawyer.”

“Go ahead and call a lawyer, Madame. I think that would be for the best. Don’t worry about the evidence. There’s plenty.” She turns to the officer. “Please call someone from CPS here. I don’t want Renee going home with her until the trial is over.”

“You can’t do that to me.” The lady is standing now, towering over Marinette and trying to intimidate her. “I have a reputation to uphold. You will not sue me for child abuse. You cannot.”

“Any parent who truly cares for their child would care more for their child’s well being rather than their own reputation. I wonder what that says about you, Madame. There is no reason why I can’t sue you and too many reasons that I should.”

She lowers herself to Marinette's ear, whispers in soft tones that she’s certain will not be caught by any recording devices. “You will not take me to court, or I’ll make sure that you are blacklisted wherever you want to work. You underestimate how much power I have.”

“Madame, please move away from me. I was only going to attempt to remove Renee from your custody, but please be assured that I will now pursue you for threatening a minor, abusing a child, and whatever other charges that I can come up with. I will refuse to settle. The trial will go public, and the reputation that you care so much about will be ruined, even if you win.”

Celia Devries’ face shifts to an almost cattish grin. It looks like she’s won. “Please, I understand that you’re distressed, but I haven’t threatened you at all.”

Marinette simply pulls her phone out again and plays back a recording of the exact threat that Celia just made to her. 

She splutters. “I never agreed to be recorded! It’s illegal under French code.”

“Madame DeVries, when you come into the precinct, you agree to being recorded. This recording might be from my personal phone, but it is still within legal jurisdiction. In addition, the code is different for gathering evidence against a crime. Everything that is said and done in this office can be disclosed during trial, and there are cameras and voice recorders in here. Please, return to whatever you had to do, and you will be served your court orders soon enough.” Damian is impressed. Has Marinette done this before? She’s too prepared to know this just by spending a few minutes on her phone.

Celia pales, then storms out of the room, frightened that she’ll say something else that will incriminate herself. 

“At least Hawkmoth has already filled his daily quota,” the officer jokes. 

“There’s that much, at least,” Marinette smiles, but there’s something frigid behind it. 

“You’re always getting caught up in something,” Damian says.

“I really am. Some day I’ll become a recluse.”

“And let the world’s horrors move without you?”

Marinette shrugs and all of the tension that was holding in her hands and shoulders dissipates. 

“Since this is a child custody case, it will be the government against Mademoiselle DeVries. The two of you can come to testify, and if there’s any evidence that you have, you can go ahead and give it to me now. If you want to sue her for threatening a minor, you can do that as well; I’ll get you in contact with a lawyer.”

“I don’t have any evidence.” Right now, at least. When Damian goes home, he’ll do a little digging about the woman, see what he can find. 

“I do. I was recording the whole encounter on the street, and I also have several eyewitnesses who have recorded as well. Let me send them to you.” Marinette fiddles with her phone. “And if it’s possible, I think it would be a good thing for Renee to talk to a psychiatrist. In the interim before he goes home, who will he be staying with?”

“He can choose to stay with his next of kin, or can stay in a  temporary foster home.”

“Please email me the date that I should come in to testify, and give me the lawyer’s contact information as well. I’ll email him any additional evidence that I can get.”

“I’d like the email address of the lawyer as well.” Damian might only have a moral conscience because his family beat it into him, but Renee seems like a sweet kid. He’s willing to help.

They’re out of the precinct in another half hour, after Marinette pulls the person from CPS in so they can talk to Renee about what’s going to happen next. The kid takes it surprisingly well, saying that he doesn’t want his mom to get hurt, but that he’s excited to see his Nonna and Nonno again. Marinette tells him that he can contact her any time he wants to talk at her cell phone number, and if he ever wants him to visit, just call.

#

All the buzz of the world seems to die down when they get out of the precinct, and Damian asks whether she’s done this before. 

“I haven’t done anything like this before, but I’ve certainly dreamed of it.” Her eyes look off to a distance. “Abusive parents are the worst.”

“Yours?” Damian can’t imagine this girl’s parents as being abusive, but he should have known better to believe that. Just because someone is stable and competent doesn’t mean that they have a good family-- just look at him and his brothers. They’re competent and stable on good days.

She gasps and looks shocked, verging on offended and embarrassed. “Of course not! My parents are both very sweet people. I love them so much-- I can’t believe I gave you that idea! No, I was talking about a friend’s parent. Anyways, thank you for stepping between me and that woman. You always seem to help me right when I need it.”

Damian doesn’t really think that Marinette needed his help much in any of the situations that he’s seen her. He doesn’t mind the false gratitudes, though it does irk him that he’s never actually helped her. Odd, considering that what little morality he had mostly pertained to life threatening situations, and Marinette’s issues were more in line with everyday annoyances. “And yet you refuse to help me out with Lila.”

Her face immediately sours. “Like I said; class is class. It’s different at Francois Dupont.”

“And why is that?” 

“If you want help catching up or something, I don’t mind helping you outside of class, but you can’t tell anyone. It’s better for you if you’re not seen with me.” Her hand is tight on her purse.

At the risk of feeling like a whiny child, Damian asks again. “But why shouldn’t I be seen with you?”

Marinette sighs, heavily, then looks around at the people on the streets, almost like she’s looking for somebody. “Let’s just say that Lila and I have come to an agreement. The rest of the class isn’t the fondest of me, and if you’re seen talking with me, that will be bad for both of us. I don’t want any problems.”

“Tt. I see.” It seems as though he will also spend some time tonight looking into the history of his class. 

[narrans]

The Poisoned Fey | Chapter 1 | The Poisoner’s Apprentice

It was dark; not yet dawn, but there was no better time to rise on a northern fall morning. Rothrem was completely still on these mornings. No birds or creatures of the Hhatu Strip disturbed the air as it chilled before winter. Never were there insects saturating the air with their swarming forms. The mammals were either preparing their seasonal migration or hibernation, not that they were too much of an issue in the first place. It was mornings like this that Tal’el woke especially early to begin his work.

Tal’el turned over under his sheets, inhaling deeply as he stretched and clung the warmth around him. He reached out to the candle at his bedside table and grabbed the wick. Even in his dazed state of early consciousness, he was able to focus his mind enough to produce a small flame in the palm of his hand and lite the tip of the candle.

The light in his room slowly grew from dark to dim, and continued to glow brighter as the flame danced on the wick. The room itself was simple in its design and decoration, needing only enough room for his bed and a bedside table. There were a few shelves along the wall for his books and a curtain covering a small closet where he changed and stored his clothes.

The rest of his home echoed the simplicity of his bedroom. There was a table and two chairs, an area for cooking, a washroom, and numerous bookshelves lining every wall. There was only one place not completely concealed with books, and that was a place with a cushioned inset bench next to a window. The wooden floor revealed the spirals of the interior tree

Tal’el sat up and threw his sheets off of him. Rarely did he dedicate an exorbitant amount of time on his appearance. He knew that he was required, by station, to dress appropriately and did so accordingly. Still, he did so willingly. He pulled on a pair of thick brown leather pants and a simple white shirt along with his working vest and a coat. He fitted these things over his faintly tinted green, dragonfly like wings before running his fingers through his dark brown hair tipped in white in the back and slinging his pack over his shoulder.

He unlocked his door and opened it, the early morning air immediately saturating his senses. The poisoner’s apprentice inhaled deeply, his wing tips fluttering in anticipation. Successfully clinging to the bark of the tree and locking the door behind him, Tal’el pushed off of the tree and went into a free fall for several seconds. His heart leapt into his throat and the breath caught in his lungs. It was exhilarating.

The wind whipped through his hair and across his wings before he sprung into action. Wings beating furiously, Tal’el barely grazed the tall grass clumps at the base of the oak tree as he curved sharply and flew barely a foot above the ground. He passed by the grove and the gathering places. The trees of the community rustled, their dying leaves chattering like teeth with the chilling breeze. In no time, Tal’el reached his final destination, a very large black oak tree. He turned his attention upward, his wings naturally propelling him up to the top of the tree.

Years ago, before Tal’el’s mentor was even an apprentice himself, a decision was made to keep the poisoner’s place near the tops of the tree. Though it seemed counter to logic, the decision was backed by many. There was an instance when many powerful land tremors shook loose several potions and poisons from the shelves and storage places. They shattered and leaked into the roots of the tree, killing it within minutes. The tree uprooted and many in the Sprite community were injured and a few were killed because of this incident. After many discussions, placing the poisoner’s place at the top of the trees gave time to evacuate the tree should another incident occur. The place was also reinforced with spells of protection. No such incident occurred again, but the poisoner’s place remained at the tree’s top.

Tal’el arrived, fluttering near the entrance before landing and folding his wings against his back. Wafting heat greeted him as did the smell of dried or drying herbs and minerals and stones. There were a few quartz like crystals at the entrance which, upon contact with Tal’el’s hand, illuminated the workspace.

The space itself was rather large, the entire interior of the tree’s diameter in fact. There were several brewing tables along the edges of the walls filled with beakers and bottles. There were also a two mixing benches in the center of the room with scales for weighing and measuring. There were also mortars and pestles of varying sizes hanging aloft on hooks by wash basins. Also along the ceiling and other free spaces between the drying herbs and stacked stones were dozens of journals and books bound by sturdy leaves and fine, thin leathers.

To Tal’el, the sight was a pleasant one. He remembered his first day working with his mentor, and nothing had really changed within this space nearly thirteen years later. The moment of nostalgia was brief as the senior apprentice placed his belongings in their rightful place in a small cupboard at the back of the room and slid his leather apron over his head. Tal’el also retrieved a set of protective goggles made of precisely forged glass before retrieving his own journal and beginning his work.

Hours of undisturbed work filled his mind. There was a rhythm to his work. Selecting the correct herbs. Grinding, chopping, squeezing them for each concoction. There was a list of various requests and orders from the Boarder Guards, the ones who protected the Sprite villages such as Rothrem against exterior forces and intruders. Boarder Guards from many villages sent word to the Poison Master of Rothrem since there were so few true Poison Masters in the area. Simple potions such as venom and anti-venom to coat the tips of arrows and spears. Poisons to make predators ill. Any number of things to help keep the Sprite villages safe from intruders.

It wasn’t until the two suns, Targarius and Una, were cresting over the horizon that there was additional sound in the poisoner’s place. Without turning, it was clear who it was – the Poison Master himself, Drake Woodsand.

The elder Sprite, Drake Woodsand, had deep set crevasses in his brow and cheeks, giving him a kind of wise look if he didn’t have a semi-permanent scowl creasing his features. His silvery hair, which was slicked back, still possessed flecks of red at the tips near the base of his skull. His shoulders were often drawn forward as he worked, and this generally persisted as he walked or flew about Rothrem. His dragonfly like wings were a misty grey like a fog filled morning and glowed similarly as he landed and tucked them against his back.

He said nothing as he entered and grunted in partial acknowledgment of Tal’el and his work. Drake set he things into a separate cupboard, placed the apron over his head, and perched a pair of spectacles onto his nose as he began stripping some flowers and separating the interior stems, scraping the insides and placing the viscous material into jars. The sounds of the knife pressed into the flesh of the plant and scraping against the rim of the jar combined to the natural noise of the bubbling and mixing.

They worked in silence until well past midday until a messenger arrived with a sealed note. Naturally, Drake took the note from the girl and sent her away with a brisk but polite nod. She smiled, returned the nod, which was exponentially friendlier than his, and fluttered away with her bag of messages. Tal’el, who hadn’t looked up from his beakers of anti-venom, finally reached a pausing point and set down his tools and removed his goggles. His bright green eyes picked up on his mentor’s behaviors over the years, and this was no exception.

“Can you believe this?” Drake grumbled after taring open the seal and skimming the note, his gravely voice blending with his tenor timbre. Tal’el stretched, arching his back and flaring his wings before standing and walking toward Drake. The apprentice knew he would need to see for himself if he wanted the straight-forward answer.

“What is it?” Tal’el asked habitually as he extended his hand just in time for Drake to slap the note into his outstretched hand.

“As if we didn’t have enough to do around here,” grumbled Drake, who slipped into an overexaggerated impression of whomever wrote the note. “‘Excuse me, but would you be so kind as to lend us twenty vials of your most potent anti-venom.’ Really! I mean, what are they doing with the vials we send? Are they getting hurt on purpose? Provoking snakes and the sort just to earn the queen’s fool pendant? I just want to go out there and see how they are pouring through anti-venom like this. You know, maybe if they used their wings and stayed off of the ground, they wouldn’t need the anti-venom. ‘Oh. How fascinating. I didn’t think of that.’”

Tal’el felt a smirk curl onto his face, his head shaking from side to side at Drake’s continued grumbling as his eyes traced over the scrolling Sylvan letters. Indeed, it was another request for anti-venom from not one, not two, but three villages. It was a massive request which was not to be taken lightly. Instantly, Tal’el’s mind worked at lightening speed and his pondering mind began asking questions.

“It’s the cold season,” Tal’el muttered to himself. There’s no way the villages should be using this much anti-venom unless they’re stockpiling. The venomous creatures should be preparing to hibernate and sleep the winter away. New recruits? Creating a tolerance to the venom and requiring vials as a precaution? Or have they noticed something and are hesitant to say anything. “It is a hefty request, but nothing we can’t handle. I’ve been working on harvesting the insides of our Eclipta Pros for some time. Keeping them dried for too long…”

“Naturally dries them out and they’re at peak potency now,” finished Drake, his heterochromatic eyes flaring with energy. “Don’t quote me while I’m standing right here boy. I’m old, not dead.” Tal’el nodded an apology. The elder Fey, despite working with Tal’el for just over ten years, had earned every right in calling him boy; and Tal’el knew better than to quote his mentor. Still, his jest seemed to be taken in good favor as Drake shuffled to the nearest bench to retrieve his tools. Tal’el wordlessly set himself to the task of retrieving the sealed jars of scraped and boiled Eclipta Pros. He organized the jars by age and size near his workstation while Drake continued to mumble and prepare scrapings from other elements and flowers.

The began to work at simmering other herbs and plant elements to combine with the scrapings and boiled Eclipta Pros in beakers and containers suspended over open flame. The smell, herbal yet neutral, carried through the air for the hours they worked.

It wasn’t until much later in the day, just at the very end when the two suns were preparing to set, when the sound of another pair of fluttering wings grew louder. The impact of two light set feet stepped over the threshold. Tal’el took that moment to glance over his shoulder to see his longtime friend Vin Hollardrel.

The slightly gaunt Sprite, with his coal black eyes, crossed into the Potion Master’s space and bowed politely. He presented himself well and formally, but the smile on his lips and gleam in his eyes told another story entirely. He adorned the armor of a guardsman, which consisted of brown and green leathers and folded leaves reinforced by enchantment. His jet-black hair was cut close to his scalp on either side of his head and slightly longer on the top, which was slightly informal given he was in the Guard.

“Vin, pleasure to see you my friend. How went the day?” asked Tal’el as he poured the remaining contents of the simmering jar he held into another set of vials to complete his work.

“Hasn’t begun yet. I only just woke up, but that’s what happens when you’re assigned to evening patrols,” Vin shrugged while peering through some of the bubbling potions. His coal black eyes were distorted as he blinked at his friend several times. Drake rolled his eyes before retrieving his belongings.

“I am leaving. I will most likely be in tomorrow early to check the vials.” With a curt nod of his head, Drake walked to the ledge and flew away. Tal’el continued to organize and bundle the unused herbs before prompting his friend.

“Evening? This wouldn’t be a consequence of some action you took, would it?” Tal’el knew his friend long enough to understand this was exactly the case; however, coming forth and asking about the circumstances or event directly would be rude. Besides, this allowed Vin to elaborate and spin off into one of his embellished stories as Tal’el tidied up the remaining herbs, and Vin did just that.

The dark-haired Guard began an energetic reenactment of the events that transpired beginning with why he had acquired the infraction to the conversations leading to his inevitable punishment. In Vin’s defense, he was covering for a fellow Guard, but he should have known to tell his superior since they were relying on Vin’s presence to run drills and patrols. Regardless of circumstance, Vin’s story was a way to pass the time as Tal’el successfully packaged the last of the supplies.

Now, at the end of the evening, the two departed from the poisoner’s place at the top of the tree, each going their separate ways. Tal’el watched his friend vanish among the trees. There were a handful of times he wished he had chosen a similar lifestyle, but they were fleeting. The life he currently led tested his mental limits rather than his physical ones. He possessed freedom to experiment and create as necessary while also keeping to a predictable schedule.

There was the expected that came with this position, but also the unexpected. As Tal’el entered his home and placed his belongings in their provided place, the unexpected letter requesting significant amounts of anti-venom peaked his curious mind. Why did they require such a substantial amount? And three different villages simultaneously? He was still unable to answer the question and hadn’t had a chance to compose a letter to inquire why.

Tal’el spent the remainder of his night taking notes on inventory, listing potential necessities, and contemplating theories as to why he was so perplexed about the anti-venom situation. By the end of the evening, he had curled back into his bed, eyes drooping. His bright green eyes stared unfocused at the flickering flame before he brought his hand up by his face and concentrated while closing his hand into a fist. The flame, without so much as a sound, snuffed out and left the Poison Master’s apprentice in the dark abyss of sleep.

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