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hops-hunny · 3 years ago

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What’s in a Name?

Pairing: Blaise Zabini x Chubby!Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3.6k

Request: N/A

Summary: When two beautiful people fall in love, everything can go right. Or, the one where Blaise gets the girl of his dreams.

Warnings: None?? Mentions of past self hate, positive use of the word fat.

A/N: I had so much fun writing this. Enjoy!

Fat. It was a word (Y/n) had thrown at her from a young age but had grown to become neutral with as she got older. See, the (y/h/h) was fortunate enough to grow up in a household with her dear aunt Marlene who brought her up on the principle that ‘fat and ugly were not synonymous’ which she found herself quite fortunate of. You see, Marlene herself was an extravagant woman. She never stepped out of the house unless she was runway ready, long acrylic nails, hair curled in the prettiest of waves, and a face of makeup that could put anyone to shame. Marlene found her niece to be reminiscent of herself when she was younger. But, she also knew no matter the great example she showed her and the encouragement she’d give her, the world around her would affect the way she viewed herself until she reached a certain age.

However luckily for (Y/n), that age was when she hit the ripe age of 14. She was sick of it. Sick of feeling like a prisoner of her own body. Sick of hiding from mirrors, sick of wearing clothes that fit her like potato sacks just to hide the figure that she was naturally born with. Why should she have to feel bad because the world wasn’t ready to accept her for who she was? Why should she have to hide away due to a bit of extra weight and fat? So, after a long night of crying she decided from that day forward she would do her absolute best to at least accept her body for what it was. She didn’t wanna skip meals anymore just to make everyone around her comfortable. She didn’t want to avoid clothes that made her figure less of a figure. She wanted to live and be free in the body she was currently in.

If she could go back to where she was when she was 14, she’d tell herself she had exceeded that limitation. She was far beyond just accepting herself for who she was, she loved who she was. (Y/n) found herself falling in love with a new thing about herself every time she found herself blessed with the fortune of time to look in a mirror. Whether it was the way the rolls of her back reminded her of the ocean or the bumps and lumps around her hip area that were reminiscent of clouds, she loved every bit of herself. Even though it took her time to get there, she didn't regret it one bit.

Her confidence and demeanor attracted a lot of positive attention wherever she went. Her friends adored her and so did many other people around the castle! There was always a few wronguns here and there but that goes without saying. Even if you change your outlook on life, in a society where fat is a sin there will always be your self proclaimed saints. The more popular opinion shared throughout the castle though was ‘if she could find love in herself, why shouldn’t I be able to as well?’. Although it’s hard for one girl to change the world, she came quite close to it, always offering a shoulder to anyone in need and a helpful word of advice to anyone on the path of self acceptance and love.

There was one person who noticed her much more than that. Some would say it was a crush but no, it went quite deeper than that. He found himself being absolutely enamored by her. Her confidence, her positivity, her ever radiant beauty. All those things he found to be addicting, entrancing. Never had he come across a woman of any sorts who was so sure of herself, so proud to be in the skin she was born in. (Y/n) knew who she was and honestly? It was fucking hot. Blaise Zabini wasn’t one to make wild claims which is why when he thought about how he felt, he was very sure of the feeling. He absolutely adored the goddess that was (Y/n) (L/n). So why was it so hard to say it to her?

The way she made him feel had him in a whirlwind of emotions. A lot of the times, he was infuriated. Not by the way she made him feel, but the way she made him act. Blaise was always a hit with women from all houses around hogwarts. Why wouldn’t he be? When you’re a tall, dark, and handsome man with oodles of charismatic charm and yes, a fat load of cash, who wouldn’t wanna be yours? He could have any woman he wanted wrapped around his finger before he even opened his mouth. But around her, around her? His mouth would close as soon as it opened. He’d feel a rush of heat move to his face and his ears would start ringing. What was this feeling? This feeling that made him act so idiotic. This feeling that had him awake late at night, wondering what it would be like if he only said-

“Hi.” his head snapped up at the sound of a familiar warm voice. The same voice that made his heart race wildly, the same voice that made him act like one of those stupid fucking Hufflepuffs. All nerves and scurrying to find something, anything to say. There she was right in front of him, looking uncharacteristically shy. She had her arms behind her back one hand gripping at her other wrist as she looked up at him through thick lashes. “Have I wronged you in any way?”

“Hm?” he hummed out, still dazed as he looked down at her with a soft look present on his face. He cleared his throat slightly, pulling at the collar of his shirt that was suddenly too tight. Too constricting, too-

“Have I wronged you? I always see you staring at me quite a bit.” she repeated, gaining her confidence back some. God was he always this bloody gorgeous? Well, to her he was. She had her eye on him ever since she’d ran into him on the train back in first year. “I know I’m quite pretty, but I don’t think your girlfriend would appreciate that. No?” she questioned, taking a step closer to him. She felt her hands grow sweaty at the smell of his aftershave, a sharp smell in comparison to her own strawberry body mist.

Was she flirting with him? He couldn’t tell. Why couldn’t he tell? He always could tell. Many upon many times he found himself rejecting women before they could even get the chance to confess how they felt. So why now, why with her could he not? Was this- was this nerves? “My girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate that. I-I mean I don’t have a girlfriend!” he stumbled out, cursing under his breath slightly. He felt himself grow quite warm as he heard her giggle. He looked up at the sound once more wishing he hadn’t. She looked radiant in the glow of the late evening sun. Her round cheeks prominent as her face turned up in a smile before she quirked a brow at him.

“Ah I see then. You don’t have a girlfriend but you were staring?” she questioned, feeling a bit guilty about how she was enjoying the usually calm and collected boy lose his composure. His face fell straight before processing what she said. (Y/n) could see a whirlwind of emotions happen behind his eyes in such a short period of time. ‘Isn’t it funny that only a few years prior this would have been me? I can’t wait to tell Rose-Marie about this later.’

“I-I.. you know what? Yeah I do stare at you quite a bit. More often than not, I find myself staring at you.” he closed the distance between them, her soft frame pressing against his tone one. He lifted two of his fingers up to her chin, lifting her head softly. “How could I not? You’re an absolute work of art. Only the most worthy of men should be able to gaze at such a rare beauty and I find myself to be very worthy.” he whispered softly, his dark umber eyes staring into the (h/c) haired girl’s (e/c) ones.

It */was crazy how with such few words, he could make her feel so breathless, so woozy. Was she awake right now? The moment she had been waiting for since first year was currently right in front of her. The years spent dreaming, pining from a distance all gone in a few words. She smiled up at him, placing a soft hand on the man’s toned chest. Even through his clothes she could feel that he had a nice build to him. “I suppose you’re worthy. I mean look at us, we’re both beautiful. Imagine the gallery of art we’d be together.” she said, confident in her words as she bat her eyelashes. (Y/n) would be damned if she was the only one left breathless and flustered after this exchange.

“Well, why imagine dear? I’ll be taking you to Hogsmeade this weekend.” He said, turning around as he began to walk off. She was stunned. Was this the infamous charm she had heard him having? As much as (Y/n) had heard about how charming and suave Blaise was, she had never heard of him asking anyone out for a date. Knowing this gave her her own boost of confidence.

“You will be? What makes you so sure I’ll be there?” Blaise froze, turning his head back at the girl’s teasing words. He smirked. She really was something else.

“Oh I know. I wasn’t the only one staring all this time, I saw you too.” he winked laughing some before turning around walking off. (Y/n) felt herself smiling some as she shook her head before her eyes widened.

“Wait, what am I gonna wear?!”

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There was exactly 30 minutes until Blaise was meant to arrive and (Y/n) was nowhere near ready yet. See, she had planned on being ready early, even going as far as to get up at the time she usually did for class. However, after an impromptu dance session in her underwear her luck had run out. She wasn’t completely unprepared though, her hair had been done the night before and her makeup not taking much time, the main cause of concern was her outfit.

The problem wasn’t a lack of clothes, it was quite the opposite. She had so many clothes that she had absolutely no idea of what to wear! She frustratedly slammed her fist on the pile of clothes in front of her letting out a few choice words. In a moment of defeat, she looked up at her empty wardrobe- wait a second. (Y/n) quickly scrambled to her wardrobe, slipping and sliding on the sea of clothes that lined the way before quickly yanking out the clothes covered hanger. On the hanger was a two piece set.

The top was a wisteria purple crop top with puffy short sleeves, the skirt the same exact shade with a ruffle hem. “This is perfect! Where did this come from?” she said, checking herself out in the mirror. The outfit clung to her plush body, every curve visible and apparent. The girl smiled, smoothing her hand over the outline of her stomach that was apparent through her skirt. Years ago she would’ve been bothered by the entire concept of the outfit but now the outline of her figure made her smile like an old friend. She quickly put on a pair of white chunky sneakers, accessorizing the outfit with a few necklaces and rings as well just in time to hear a knock on the door. She did another once over in the mirror before quickly running to the door pulling it open to reveal Blaise standing there. She felt her face grow warm at his appearance.

He wore a form fitting maroon sweatshirt that he had rolled up to his elbows, a pair of jeans that weren’t skinny but fit to his figure in the most flattering of ways, and a pair of expensive shoes from some brand she couldn’t even begin to try and pronounce. In his hands were a bouquet of flowers composed of forget me nots, baby’s breath, and daisies. Blaise was in awe. He had seen her outside of her uniform a plethora of times but knowing that she had dressed up so nicely just to go on a date with him made his heart soar. “Wow, you look breathtaking. Look at you!” he hyped her up, grabbing her hand. He held their entwined fingers above their heads, signaling for her to spin around. “Lovely, absolutely divine. I can’t believe I’m going on a date with a deity.” he said, smile growing more as (Y/n) grew shyer.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Zabini. You look great, maroon is definitely your color.” she gushed, closing the door to her room. She looked down at their still entwined fingers, squeezing his large calloused hand with her small chubby one before bringing her gaze up to his face. Unsurprisingly, he was already looking at her.

“Thank you, dove. Let’s get going shall we? I’ve got a ton I wanna do with you and such a short amount of time. Let’s get to it, shall we?”

“We shall.”

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The first place they arrived at was a building she had seen many times during her visits to Hogsmeade but had never been in. It was an old brick building with a paintbrush on an old rusty sign above it.

“An art store?” she questioned, looking up at him confused but not against his choice. They both walked in, a sound of a bell dinging as they did so. She looked around in awe at the abundance of supplies. The store was sort of stuffy and crowded but that was a part of its charm. Blaise scratched at the back of his neck nervously as he watched her roam around.

“Yeah I don’t know if I mentioned it before but I enjoy doing art in my freetime. I thought I’d take you to one of my favorite places first.” He said, walking up behind her as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “A-and well, everytime I imagined going on a date with you, I always pictured the two of us showing each other our favorite hidden gems. We can leave if you wa-”

“That won’t be necessary. This is really cool and I’ve always wanted to learn more about art! I’m more of a reader and writer myself.” she said, grabbing his hand. Blaise let out a huge breath that he didn’t even know he was holding in in the first place before dragging her off in the direction of his favorite brand of oil paints. The two walked hand in hand, exploring his favorite parts of the store. When he’d see something he used himself or was familiar with, he’d explain it to her, rambling off about it excitedly.

Blaise wasn’t normally the type of guy to speak many words but being around (Y/n) brought out that side of him. It wasn’t that his friends were bad per say, they just weren’t very fond of listening to things that didn’t pertain to them which he was more than fine with. However, it was nice having an outlet to share his interest for once. He loved that she would ask questions about things and even let him talk about his own work. Most girls he talked to never really cared to listen to what he had to say, often spending more time kissing him breathless than listening to the words that flew from his lips. But (Y/n) was very attentive, listening to everything he had to say, eyes full of the same excitement he held.

“Alright, I think I’ve bought everything I’ve needed from here. Your pick, where do you wanna go?” he questioned, grabbing the girl’s hand again as they walked out of the small art store. He offered the old man behind a small smile before turning his attention back to his date. (Y/n) thought about it, humming as she tried to figure out before her eyes lit up.

“I have the perfect place! Come on Blaise, you’re gonna love it.” she exclaimed before taking off down the street, dragging him along with her. He smiled fondly at her letting her lead the way.

“This something I could get used to.” he muttered, trying his best to keep up with her pace.

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About 10 minutes later, they arrived in front of what looked to be a bookstore. Blaise looked around, swiping his fingers across the dusty books. “Welcome to the place where I spend most of my time when coming to Hogsmeade. It may look like just a bookstore but you’ll see why it's not in just a minute.” she said. Blaise watched as the girl got on her hands and knees and began to crawl making a ‘spspsps’ noise. He was confused, rightfully so but he didn’t question her actions. All of a sudden, a floof of white fur came crawling over to the girl purring as she scratched behind its ears.

“It’s a cat bookstore! How cool is that? There’s a bunch of these little guys just running around here.” she said, standing up with the kitten in her hands. Blaise’s heart beat wildly at the sight. She looked too cute with the kitten in her hand, holding it gently against her soft chest. He was brought from his thoughts as he felt something brush against his leg. He had to stop himself from losing it at the sight of the little calico cat brushing against his leg.

“Hi there little guy.” he cooed softly, reaching a hand down to pet the cat’s head. The cat jumped up to meet his hand before it could land, nuzzling its fuzzy little head against the boy's head as he purred loudly.

“That’s not the only thing. They also carry some muggle literature too! Don’t tell anyone though, it’s a secret.” she said, placing the kitten down as she began to browse the books on the old wooden shelves.

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” he promised, eyes never leaving her curvy figure. She looked right at home in the book store, reading the titles like they were old friends. “I’m a bit of a muggle literature fan myself. Ever heard of Shakespear?” he asked. (Y/n) looked at him with wide eyes before nodding. She would’ve never expected that from the man, knowing how against all things muggle related purebloods slytherins were. He walked over to her tilting her head up as he looked into her eyes. “ What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” he whispered, dragging his thumb along her bottom lip. Her breath hitched slightly as she began to scowl as he walked off laughing some.

“Jerk! That was not funny.” she said, punching him in the arm as she glared up at him.

“Wasn’t supposed to be, love. You just look too cute when you’re nervous!”

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It had been a few weeks since their date and (Y/n) was starting to grow nervous. She and Blaise hadn’t been on another one and it confused her deeply. She had an amazing time on their date, in fact it had been the best one she had ever been on! Did he not feel the same? Maybe he had commitment issues? It couldn’t have been her. No, she had done everything right. She spoke well mannered, bantered back and forth with him, and she looked bloody amazing.

She sighed, opening the door to her dorm. It had been a long week. She threw off her robes before turning to her dresser before gasping. On top of the dresser laid a huge painting surrounded in a beautiful antique golden frame. She hesitantly walked over to it, brushing her fingers along it before looking at the note attached. Opening the wax sealed envelope she began reading the note out loud.

“My dearest rose, how are you? I apologize deeply for my lack of presence. Not being near you for so long deeply hurt me so but it was not in vain. You see, after spending such a lovely time with you that day, I felt extremely inspired. Your beauty deserves to be captured in something far more grand than a simple photograph so I painted you this. I hope to see you soon. To my greatest muse, Blaise Zabini.” she smiled as she read the words, goosebumps going up her arms. Blaise was indeed a talented artist. In photo realistic detail was a large painting of her smiling with the white kitten from before in her hands. She was lost for words. Never had someone done something so amazing for her. “Do I really look this beautiful? Is this how he sees me?” she asked no one in particular.

“It is and you are. You’re absolutely gorgeous.” she jumped at the sound of the deep voice. Turning her head she saw the man she had been thinking of for weeks. Slowly she walked over to him, smiling before wrapping her arms around him hugging him tightly. Blaise froze for a bit, not used to receiving such gentle forms of affection. He pulled back before placing a soft peck on her lips.

“Let me take you out again tomorrow, yeah?” he asked her in a soft tone. She simply nodded before standing on her tiptoes initiating another lovely kiss. Blaise wrapped his arms around her soft waist, bringing her closer to him.

“I really am one lucky bloke.”

#blaise zabini #blaise x reader #blaise x y/n #blaise zabini x reader #blaise zabini x you #blaise zabini x y/n #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #plus size reader #chubby reader

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shirbertshitposts · 4 years ago

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10 Shirbert Moments from Anne of Green Gables series I think about a lot

In honor of Valentines Day I thought I would post a list of some of my favorite Anne and Gilbert moments. It was hard to narrow it to just ten as I have been going through all nine books and trying to queue posts about all their iconic moments through the series; However I decided to pick the ones that I remember even when I haven’t read the books in a while. I didn’t have the heart to rank them properly so they’re just listed in chronological order.

1. His future must be worthy of its goddess

In the twilight Anne sauntered down to the Dryad’s Bubble and saw Gilbert Blythe coming down through the dusky Haunted Wood. She had a sudden realization that Gilbert was a schoolboy no longer. And how manly he looked—the tall, frank-faced fellow, with the clear, straightforward eyes and the broad shoulders. Anne thought Gilbert was a very handsome lad, even though he didn’t look at all like her ideal man. She and Diana had long ago decided what kind of a man they admired and their tastes seemed exactly similar. He must be very tall and distinguished looking, with melancholy, inscrutable eyes, and a melting, sympathetic voice. There was nothing either melancholy or inscrutable in Gilbert’s physiognomy, but of course that didn’t matter in friendship!

Gilbert stretched himself out on the ferns beside the Bubble and looked approvingly at Anne. If Gilbert had been asked to describe his ideal woman the description would have answered point for point to Anne, even to those seven tiny freckles whose obnoxious presence still continued to vex her soul. Gilbert was as yet little more than a boy; but a boy has his dreams as have others, and in Gilbert’s future there was always a girl with big, limpid gray eyes, and a face as fine and delicate as a flower. He had made up his mind, also, that his future must be worthy of its goddess. Even in quiet Avonlea there were temptations to be met and faced. White Sands youth were a rather “fast” set, and Gilbert was popular wherever he went. But he meant to keep himself worthy of Anne’s friendship and perhaps some distant day her love; and he watched over word and thought and deed as jealously as if her clear eyes were to pass in judgment on it. She held over him the unconscious influence that every girl, whose ideals are high and pure, wields over her friends; an influence which would endure as long as she was faithful to those ideals and which she would as certainly lose if she were ever false to them. In Gilbert’s eyes Anne’s greatest charm was the fact that she never stooped to the petty practices of so many of the Avonlea girls—the small jealousies, the little deceits and rivalries, the palpable bids for favor. Anne held herself apart from all this, not consciously or of design, but simply because anything of the sort was utterly foreign to her transparent, impulsive nature, crystal clear in its motives and aspirations.

-- Chapter XIX, Anne of Avonlea

2. For the first time her eyes faltered under Gilbert’s gaze

“What are you thinking of, Anne?” asked Gilbert, coming down the walk. He had left his horse and buggy out at the road.

“Of Miss Lavendar and Mr. Irving,” answered Anne dreamily. “Isn’t it beautiful to think how everything has turned out . . . how they have come together again after all the years of separation and misunderstanding?”

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” said Gilbert, looking steadily down into Anne’s uplifted face, “but wouldn’t it have been more beautiful still, Anne, if there had been NO separation or misunderstanding . . . if they had come hand in hand all the way through life, with no memories behind them but those which belonged to each other?”

For a moment Anne’s heart fluttered queerly and for the first time her eyes faltered under Gilbert’s gaze and a rosy flush stained the paleness of her face. It was as if a veil that had hung before her inner consciousness had been lifted, giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities. Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps . . . perhaps . . . love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.

Then the veil dropped again; but the Anne who walked up the dark lane was not quite the same Anne who had driven gaily down it the evening before. The page of girlhood had been turned, as by an unseen finger, and the page of womanhood was before her with all its charm and mystery, its pain and gladness.

Gilbert wisely said nothing more; but in his silence he read the history of the next four years in the light of Anne’s remembered blush. Four years of earnest, happy work . . . and then the guerdon of a useful knowledge gained and a sweet heart won.

-- Chapter XXX, Anne of Avonlea

3. I just want YOU

“I have a dream,” he said slowly. “I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends—and YOU!”

Anne wanted to speak but she could find no words. Happiness was breaking over her like a wave. It almost frightened her.

“I asked you a question over two years ago, Anne. If I ask it again today will you give me a different answer?”

Still Anne could not speak. But she lifted her eyes, shining with all the love-rapture of countless generations, and looked into his for a moment. He wanted no other answer.

They lingered in the old garden until twilight, sweet as dusk in Eden must have been, crept over it. There was so much to talk over and recall—things said and done and heard and thought and felt and misunderstood.

“I thought you loved Christine Stuart,” Anne told him, as reproachfully as if she had not given him every reason to suppose that she loved Roy Gardner.

Gilbert laughed boyishly.

“Christine was engaged to somebody in her home town. I knew it and she knew I knew it. When her brother graduated he told me his sister was coming to Kingsport the next winter to take music, and asked me if I would look after her a bit, as she knew no one and would be very lonely. So I did. And then I liked Christine for her own sake. She is one of the nicest girls I’ve ever known. I knew college gossip credited us with being in love with each other. I didn’t care. Nothing mattered much to me for a time there, after you told me you could never love me, Anne. There was nobody else—there never could be anybody else for me but you. I’ve loved you ever since that day you broke your slate over my head in school.”

“I don’t see how you could keep on loving me when I was such a little fool,” said Anne.

“Well, I tried to stop,” said Gilbert frankly, “not because I thought you what you call yourself, but because I felt sure there was no chance for me after Gardner came on the scene. But I couldn’t—and I can’t tell you, either, what it’s meant to me these two years to believe you were going to marry him, and be told every week by some busybody that your engagement was on the point of being announced. I believed it until one blessed day when I was sitting up after the fever. I got a letter from Phil Gordon—Phil Blake, rather—in which she told me there was really nothing between you and Roy, and advised me to ‘try again.’ Well, the doctor was amazed at my rapid recovery after that.”

Anne laughed—then shivered.

“I can never forget the night I thought you were dying, Gilbert. Oh, I knew—I KNEW then—and I thought it was too late.”

“But it wasn’t, sweetheart. Oh, Anne, this makes up for everything, doesn’t it? Let’s resolve to keep this day sacred to perfect beauty all our lives for the gift it has given us.”

“It’s the birthday of our happiness,” said Anne softly. “I’ve always loved this old garden of Hester Gray’s, and now it will be dearer than ever.”

“But I’ll have to ask you to wait a long time, Anne,” said Gilbert sadly. “It will be three years before I’ll finish my medical course. And even then there will be no diamond sunbursts and marble halls.”

Anne laughed.

“I don’t want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want YOU. You see I’m quite as shameless as Phil about it. Sunbursts and marble halls may be all very well, but there is more ‘scope for imagination’ without them. And as for the waiting, that doesn’t matter. We’ll just be happy, waiting and working for each other—and dreaming. Oh, dreams will be very sweet now.”

Gilbert drew her close to him and kissed her. Then they walked home together in the dusk, crowned king and queen in the bridal realm of love, along winding paths fringed with the sweetest flowers that ever bloomed, and over haunted meadows where winds of hope and memory blew.

-- Chapter XLI, Anne of the Island

4. Gilbert, I'm afraid I'm scandalously in love with you.

"Gilbert darling, don't let's ever be afraid of things. It's such dreadful slavery. Let's be daring and adventurous and expectant. Let's dance to meet life and all it can bring to us, even if it brings scads of trouble and typhoid and twins!"

Today has been a day dropped out of June into April. The snow is all gone and the fawn meadows and golden hills just sing of spring. I know I heard Pan piping in the little green hollow in my maple bush and my Storm King was bannered with the airiest of purple hazes. We've had a great deal of rain lately and I've loved sitting in my tower in the still, wet hours of the spring twilights. But tonight is a gusty, hurrying night . . . even the clouds racing over the sky are in a hurry and the moonlight that gushes out between them is in a hurry to flood the world.

"Suppose, Gilbert, we were walking hand in hand down one of the long roads in Avonlea tonight!"

Gilbert, I'm afraid I'm scandalously in love with you. You don't think it's irreverent, do you? But then, you're not a minister."

-- Chapter 9, Anne of Windy Poplars

5. Suitable Places

"(Are you sure you kiss me in suitable places, Gilbert? I'm afraid Mrs. Gibson would think the nape of the neck, for instance, most unsuitable.)”

-- Chapter 12, Anne of Windy Poplars

6. He narrowly escaped bursting with pride

"Anne, this is Captain Boyd. Captain Boyd, my wife."

It was the first time Gilbert had said "my wife" to anybody but Anne, and he narrowly escaped bursting with the pride of it. The old captain held out a sinewy hand to Anne; they smiled at each other and were friends from that moment. Kindred spirit flashed recognition to kindred spirit.

-- Chapter 6, Anne’s House of Dreams

7. Queen of my heart and life and home

"Gilbert, would you like my hair better if it were like Leslie's?" she asked wistfully.

"I wouldn't have your hair any color but just what it is for the world," said Gilbert, with one or two convincing accompaniments.

You wouldn't be ANNE if you had golden hair—or hair of any color but"—

"Red," said Anne, with gloomy satisfaction.

"Yes, red—to give warmth to that milk-white skin and those shining gray-green eyes of yours. Golden hair wouldn't suit you at all Queen Anne—MY Queen Anne—queen of my heart and life and home."

"Then you may admire Leslie's all you like," said Anne magnanimously.”

-Chapter 12, Anne’s House of Dreams

8. Annest of Annes

But the best of all was when Gilbert came to her, as she stood at her window, watching a fog creeping in from the sea, over the moonlit dunes and the harbour, right into the long narrow valley upon which Ingleside looked down and in which nestled the village of Glen St. Mary.

"To come back at the end of a hard day and find you! Are you happy, Annest of Annes?"

"Happy!" Anne bent to sniff a vaseful of apple blossoms Jem had set on her dressing-table. She felt surrounded and encompassed by love. "Gilbert dear, it's been lovely to be Anne of Green Gables again for a week, but it's a hundred times lovelier to come back and be Anne of Ingleside."

-- Chapter 3, Anne of Ingleside

9. I couldn’t live without you

Anne felt like a released bird . . . she was flying again. Gilbert's arms were around her . . . his eyes were looking into hers in the moonlight.

"You do love me, Gilbert? I'm not just a habit with you? You haven't said you loved me for so long."

"My dear, dear love! I didn't think you needed words to know that. I couldn't live without you. Always you give me strength. There's a verse somewhere in the Bible that is meant for you . . . 'She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.'"

Life which had seemed so grey and foolish a few moments before was golden and rose and splendidly rainbowed again. The diamond pendant slipped to the floor, unheeded for the moment. It was beautiful . . . but there were so many things lovelier . . . confidence and peace and delightful work . . . laughter and kindness . . . that old safe feeling of a sure love.

"Oh, if we could keep this moment for ever, Gilbert!"

"We're going to have some moments. It's time we had a second honeymoon. Anne, there's going to be a big medical congress in London next February. We're going to it . . . and after it we'll see a bit of the Old World. There's a holiday coming to us. We'll be nothing but lovers again . . . it will be just like being married over again. You haven't been like yourself for a long time. ("So he had noticed.") You're tired and overworked . . . you need a change. ("You too, dearest. I've been so horribly blind.") I'm not going to have it cast up to me that doctors' wives never get a pill. We'll come back rested and fresh, with our sense of humour completely restored. Well, try your pendant on and let's get to bed. I'm half dead for sleep . . . haven't had a decent night's sleep for weeks, what with twins and worry over Mrs. Garrow."

--Chapter 41, Anne of Ingleside

10. Old love light

DR. BLYTHE:- “The old, old love light that was kindled so many years ago in Avonlea ... and burns yet, Anne ... at least for me.”

ANNE:- “And for me, too. And will burn forever, Gilbert.”

-- Page 189, The Blythes Are Quoted

Feel free to respond to this post with any of your favorite shirbert moments that I missed!

#Shirbert #Anne Shirley #Gilbert Blythe #aogg #anne of avonlea #anne of the island #anne of windy poplars #anne of ingleside #anne's house of dreams #the blythes are quoted

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borkingbarnes · 4 years ago

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Control

Goddess of Lightning!Reader x Geralt of Rivia

Summary: A man of power and dominance, the Witcher does not give up control. But when he does, it’s oh so sweet.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: smutsmutsmut (18+ only!)

A/N: It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written a full length fic- as in about 2 years, really. Apologies for the lack of introduction of backstory/powers. Believe it or not, this was originally supposed to be a chapter in a series I was going to write, but I have commitment issues so here we are :) I hope you enjoy! 💕

The trio sit at a corner table, a mostly empty pitcher of ale situated between them. A roof over their heads and a designated night off a rarity. In true Jaskier fashion, conversation had primarily consisted of his ramblings, the other two content to sit back and listen to his wild tales, occasional quick rebuttals from the Witcher when the stories became too embellished. Tall tales of the bard’s many conquests– though he quite preferred to call them “nights of passion” –had the Witcher rolling his eyes.

“Come on Y/N, tell me, a pretty woman like yourself, you have men falling at your feet. Surely you must have had some luck yourself.” the bard prompts, nudging her elbow with his.

At this she smiles slightly. Throughout the time she had traveled with them, she had shown no interest in the men that strolled up to her, armed with corny pickup lines and empty promises of their performance abilities, no man having yet to prove themselves worth her time, let alone even be consider-worthy of bedding.

“Men are simple creatures, dear bard.” She says, finger trailing the rim of her stein. A slight quirk of the Witcher’s brow across from her tells her he’s now paying attention.

“I wouldn’t call any of it luck. It’s much too easy to pull a man completely undone in mere moments if you know what you are doing. See, men are both completely enticed, yet terrified of a confident woman.”

Pausing to take a sip of her ale, she doesn’t miss the way the Witcher’s eyes follow the movement of her tongue when she swipes it across her lip.

“They’re all the same; driven mad by lust in the presence of beauty. They think they’re in control, flirting and charming their way through, but really, they don’t control a damn thing. Bat an eye and say just the right words and practically watch as they become putty. And you can tell when they want you. You can tell when they want to fuck you.”

Her eyes snap up to meet the swordsman’s gaze. “Don’t you want to fuck me, Witcher?” she asks, watching as he takes a sip from his cup, her tone low and sultry.

Her laughter rings out across the tavern as the Witcher inhales sharply in surprise, air along with his ale, coughing as the liquid makes its way down the wrong pipe, glaring daggers at her. Jaskier joins in on her laughter, leaning into her arm resting on the table.

“My gods, Y/N, never in my months travelling with this grump, have I ever seen a Witcher blush!” He chokes between fits of laughter.

“Watch yourself, bard.” the Witcher growls, wiping drops of ale from the corner of his mouth, continuing his steely glare.

The cackling laughter stops when the broad man slams his cup down, “I’m going to bed.” He says gruffly, getting up from his seat.

“Aww come on, Geralt! It was just a bit of fun!”, the bard yells after the Witcher’s departing form, to no avail.

“His loss.”

A soft tap against his door brings the large, brooding man out of his thoughts. Her voice drifts through the thick wood.

“May I come in?”

A grunt in response, and she takes that as answer enough, knowing the Witcher to be a man of few words.

The door creaks as she opens it, stepping inside to find the Witcher sitting in front of the window, his back to her. He’s stripped of his armor, wearing dark trousers, back bare.

Upon her entry, he turns to look at her, inhaling sharply as he takes her in.

Clad in a red slip, the silky material hugs her body in a delicious way. Her hair is down, lips tinged the same shade of red that outlined her form, legs bare, and his mind wanders briefly what else may lay exposed beneath.

She smiles softly, though there was nothing soft in the way she looked at him.

He watches her hips sway as she crosses the room to stand before the bed on which he sat, leaning down on it across from him, offering just a peek.

“You never answered my question, Witcher.” She says, voice barely above a whisper.

His jaw clenches, brows furrowed as his mind tries to comprehend what hell was happening. His gaze drops to her lips when she takes it between her teeth teasingly, quirking an eyebrow at him.

A hand reaches toward his face tentatively, giving him time to move away. When he doesn’t, a finger rests beneath his chin, tilting it up, the atmosphere seeming to change. “You know, for such a strong fighter, you sure are little bitch when it comes to taking what you want.”

With that, a growl emits from the large man, calloused hand moving to grasp her by the throat. She holds his gaze as she blocks his movement, pinning his with one, the other grabbing his own throat harshly.

He stares at her, hardened gaze, his breathing now audible.

She pulls him to her by his neck, “If you want this darling, you’ll play by my rules.” She whispers in his ear, feeling him swallow harshly, her scent filling his senses.

Pulling back to look at him, the corner of her lips tilt up when they meet the Witcher’s face, amber irises swallowed by dark pupils, lips curled into a snarl.

The smirk is disappears as she tilts her chin up at him, breath fanning across his own lips as her hand tightens around him, “Now, this will be the last time I ask. Do you want to fuck me, Witcher?”

He stares at her for a while, searching her eyes for any indication that she was purely just fucking with him, the joke from earlier extending to now. When he finds none, his eyes close briefly. When they open again, “Yes, Princess” is ground between clenched teeth before he’s shoved backwards, onto his feet.

“Turn around and strip”, she commands.

A long, riled exhale before he obliges, turning away from her as he pulls at the laces of his trousers until they pool at his feet. He steps out of them and a clinking sound makes her turn back to her, brows furrowing.

She had moved away from the bed, now holding thick chains, swirling the end in a circle beside her.

“Arms out” she all but snarls, wicked grin on her face.

She pauses slightly to admire the man. Thick thighs with a cock to match.

His jaw sets in place, a growl rumbling in his chest, but he obliges to her command once again, holding his wrists out together in front of him, part of him intrigued by what was to come.

He hisses through his teeth as cold metal clashes against his fevered skin, the chain wrapping around his wrists and forearms tightly. Links pinch skin and he stumbles slightly when she yanks them towards her.

“Look at you Witcher, so obedient for me.” A dark chuckle escapes her pretty little mouth, and he can’t help but stare at her lips, breath heavy, chest heaving. She steps towards him to properly secure the chains, and his eyes go to her chest, her newfound closeness allowing him a proper look.

His hands twitch, fists clenching, teeth ground together.

“Onto the bed”, she commands, admiring the view of way the muscles in his shoulders tense and flex as he walks. She all but purrs as she watches him lay onto his back, cock straining, begging to be touched.

“Now now now, what shall we do with you?” she tsks, a hand sweeping up his thighs before nails dig into the flesh, causing him to flinch, dick twitching, a forced breath through his nose.

He watches as she walks toward the headboard, grabbing the thick chain, bringing his arms above his head. Her breasts come down to graze his face briefly as she bends down to secure the steel links to the metal bars of the headboard, the moment too fleeting for any movement from him before she pulls away.

She steps back, small smile on her lips, admiring her handiwork. She doesn’t miss the feral look in his eyes, amber flashing in the dim light. Teeth slightly bared.

Carnal. Exactly how she wanted him.

“Spread.” She commands from the foot of the bed, a slight shock emitting from her hands to the inner of his calf.

As she situates herself between his legs, she flashes him a smile, devilish and sinful. Open mouthed kisses are trailed up his thick thighs, muscles tightening. Higher and higher, so close to where he wanted her.

Chains rattle against the metal bars where they’re anchored, and she watches the ripple of the muscles in his arms, straining against their confines. When she meets his eyes, she almost shudders at the hunger in them.

Her path diverges slightly at his hips, cheek brushing against his dick. The valley of her breasts follow and he growls lowly at the slight pressure, metal bars creaking against the strain that he puts on them as she crawls up his body, leaving a searing trail in the wake of her lips. Her hands roam the toned muscles, electric tingles from her fingertips sizzling across his burning skin, finding their way to his core.

Her eyes flick up to his face, a devilish smirk, before her teeth scrape against his nipple. She tilts her chin to the side as his hips buck up, desperate for any sort of contact.

He growls in frustration when she moves just out of reach, eyes glaring, teeth clenched and bared. His breathing comes in heavy pants, and despite having obeyed her previous orders, he refuses to submit.

“Eager, are we?” She purrs, grabbing his jaw roughly with one hand, twisting it to the side so that his neck was exposed to her. Silky fabric meets his chest before the weight of her breasts drag against him as she slowly lowers her body onto him before placing an open-mouthed kiss onto his neck, sucking and nipping.

A deep moan rumbles in his chest and he can almost feel her smile against his skin. Without the chains, he would surely have flipped her over and fucked the damn impudence right out of her. Show her who really called the shots.

She suddenly ceases her ministrations and a sharp slap stings against the skin of his inner thigh, drawing a snarl from the Witcher.

“Those hips don’t move unless I say they do” she growls, millimetres from his face. He hadn’t even noticed that he had rutted up again, rational thoughts disappearing, leaving only carnal instinct in its wake. His teeth are bared at her and she looks up when the metal groans yet again, his resolve bending along with the bars he was tethered to.

His mind feels hazy, the edges of his vision seeming to blur, save for the woman in front of him, who is all too clear and focused to his eyes. His chest feels tight, whole body wound, and his brain barely registers the fatigue in his arms from straining against the chains. Never had he felt like this; so capitulate, his pleasure at the mercy of her hands, and hers alone.

“Y/N…” he growls. A warning. But a dark chuckle in response tells him that she’s taken his empty threats and squashed between her agile fingers, control coursing through her veins. Any hope that he’d have any say in his current fate vanishing.

A sharp grunt escapes him, head jerking forward as she moves back down his body, grinding herself along the shaft of his dick before settling between his legs once more.

There’s no warning before she takes him into her hand, long and thick, slight squeeze making him hiss between his teeth.

“Is this where you want me, Witcher?” she taunts, lips so close to the tip that he could feel her warm breath. A growl in response.

“Words, big boy.”

A sharp jolt to his hip when he ruts up in her hand. Bristling at her, she mirrors his intensity, silently challenging him with a quirk of her brow.

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, attempting to calm himself, “Yes, Princess”, ground out low through clenched teeth.

“Very good” she says sweetly, giving no warning before her lips wrap around the tip, a loud clank of chains against metal in response.

He watches her hungrily as she moves her lips off of him with an open-mouthed kiss left at the tip. Moving down to the base of his cock, lips grazing the shaft on the way down, a low groan escapes him as she presses her tongue flat on the underside, licking a broad stripe up before capturing him in her warm mouth again.

Taking him back in, she slowly sinks her mouth lower and lower, until her nose touches his skin, feeling him throb at the back of her throat. She lets him thrust into her mouth, wild snaps of his hips; a string of curses falling from his lips. He snarls once she pulls back up, unable to control the desperate need that festered in the pit of his stomach.

Her hand returns to the shaft, pumping the slickness of her spit mixed with his leaking pre-cum. When she meets his gaze, he swears for a moment they flash before a sweet electric tingling along his cock takes the air of his lungs momentarily, eyes squeezing shut.

He watches her with parted lips, eyes focused as if in a trance as she takes him back into her mouth, her pupils blown wide as his cock moves between her lips slowly, hand in sync with her movements.

His hips rise sharply when he feels her flick her tongue on the underside of the tip. Nerves ignited, each passing of her lips spreading pleasure through him like a wildfire and he begins to feel the familiar squeeze of his lower abdomen, his breath coming in pants as she continues to work him with her mouth.

In an instant she ceases her ministrations, a loud frustrated growl sounding from the Witcher.

In the next moment she’s straddling his hips once more, hand wrapping around his throat.

“You thought it would be that easy, Witcher?” she sneers, fingers tightening. She relishes the feeling of his strong pulse under her fingertips, the usual slow beating of a Witcher’s heart now erratic through the delicate skin.

He snarls at her in response, the sound turning into a low moan as she grinds herself against him.

She leans down, warm breath against his ear, voice low and wicked. “Don’t you want to play, darling? Don’t you want to fuck a Princess?”

Wiggling her hips slightly, she grasps him again in her free hand, before sinking down, guttural groan leaving him as he arches against the bed, sharp clang as one of the metal bars snap.

Delicious warmth envelopes him, squeezing, beckoning. And gods in the century that he had lived, never had he felt anything like this.

Her movements are precise, skilled passes of her hips as low grunts escape him, “fuck, Princess” growled between clenched teeth when nails sink into his chest, the burn they leave only fueling the sensations, his lower abdomen tightening, muscles straining.

His own hips snap up to meet hers each time, the soft moan escaping her lips setting his senses ablaze.

A loud laugh from outside of the door snaps their heads in its direction. It doesn’t cease and soon she joins in with it. His brows furrow as he stares at her, the image of her beginning to sway slightly.

A loud snort jolts him awake, reaching quickly for the knife beside him. Amber eyes scan the room, focusing on the form of the bard crumpled on his own bed in hysterics.

“Geralt! You–! HA!” The bard all but screeches, “Did you – did you have a sex dream?!”

The low growl and blade whizzing past his head to land in the wall behind him only seems to spur the minstrel on, howls of laughter ringing out as he clutches his stomach.

“Oh! Oh princess!” He mocks the Witcher in a high-pitched voice, another round of hysterics rendering him incapable of forming coherent words once more as he babbles uncontrollably.

However, the cackling soon stops when a pillow is pressed roughly against his face, arms and legs soon flailing as his air is cut off.

When the Witcher deemed Jaskier was on the verge of collapse, the pillow is lifted, only to be replaced by his face, mere inches from the bard’s, “Speak a fucking word of this and your head shall roll with the kikimore I slayed in the forests of Pontar.”

A knock at the door saves the minstrel, Y/N’s voice sounding from behind the thick wood.

Great. Just what he needed.

“Come!! Come in!” Jaskier exclaims, using Geralt’s diverted attention to quickly slip out from his position, scrambling to the door. Throwing it open to reveal Y/N, chipper and looking as if she had been up for hours, unlike the men inside.

Closing the door after she walks in, Jaskier stands behind her, chin tilted to his chest, smug smile spread widely across his face in the direction of the Witcher, eyebrows wiggling up and down.

His ministrations are not acknowledged, but the clench of the Witcher’s jaw lets him know that he had gotten under the broad man’s skin. Triumphant, he moves to stand beside the warrior.

“What do you want?” Geralt growls, words coming out harsher than perhaps he meant them to.

He took in the sight of her, clad in fitted matte black armor, the metal and leather conforms to her figure, showcasing the body of a fighter, sword on her hip.

The images of her from his dreams flash in his mind, red silk behind his eyelids when he blinks, and he shakes his head slightly to clear it, the motion not going unnoticed by Jaskier.

Rolling her eyes slightly at the Witcher’s snappiness, she pulls out a knife which had been strapped to her thigh, twirling it between her fingers.

“While you lazy buttocks slept, I got a contract, and for this one, I require your help.”

Taglist: @cap-n-stuff @itsjammin @sgtjbuccky-main @silver-starburst @chrevastan @boopboopbarnes @goldenkillmonger @just-add-butter @1xxmrsalphaxx1 @sadbhabie2020 @coal000 @dewy-biitch@part-time-patronus @jamesbbbarnes @frostygilbert@jitterbuck @buckybarneshairpullingkink @slytherincoven @omegaalex1998 @nsm-shitposts @part-time-patronus

#Geralt of Rivia #Geralt of rivera #geralt x reader #Geralt of Rivia x reader #Henry Cavill #Geralt x y/n #Henry Cavill characters #the Witcher #the Witcher Netflix #Geralt smut #Witcher smut #Geralt fanfic #witcher fanfic

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mountphoenixrp · 3 years ago

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We have a returning citizen in Mount Phoenix:

Persephone, the Goddess of Spring & Queen of the Underworld, whose origins stem from Ancient Greece. She is now the owner of Blossoms of Yggdrasil.

FC NAME/GROUP: Park Minha / 9MUSES GOD NAME: Persephone PANTHEON: Greek OCCUPATION: Owner of Blossoms of Yggdrasil DEFINING FEATURES: Her beautiful, porcelain-like features are accentuated by an exuberant aura, a refreshing floral scent, and long, wavy locks that dance at every step. Tall, toned and gracefully built.

PERSONALITY: Sweet and charming, Persephone’s presence can light up any room. She exudes youthful, warm vigor akin to springtime sunshines and breezes, as well as true beauty from within. A lover of all things beautiful, she is drawn to crafts, art, fashion and other trinkets, and holds workshops at her shop to reach out to fellow gods and demigods with her infectious energy. As Queen of the Underworld, she is perceptive and fair, and co-rules alongside her husband Hades with mercy and compassion; this trait was acquired from the love of her life, who despite holds a dreaded, feared title, displays nothing but kindness and thoughtfulness.

HISTORY: The story of Hades and Persephone didn’t exactly promote good images of them both. While the obvious being Hades named a selfish, abusive predator who robbed a woman who did not belong to him, Persephone, too, was portrayed as a naive, unassuming prey destined to fall captive. But who really knows the true story behind their union?

Overprotected and sheltered since birth, Persephone longed to see wonders she had never seen before. Her journey with Hades was a dream come true, a dream she chased after with all her might. Her world of bright neons and iridescence was one she was proud to call home, a home she chose in her own free will.

Their love story continues now as they embark on another new adventure, at Mount Phoenix where what was supposed to resemble a holiday home might just be a place they’d like to settle for a long, long while. She wakes up in a vessel blessed by the Goddess of War with wisdom and bravery, and sets off to live a fruitful life on the island with her husband in the place of her elder sister.

POWERS:

Chlorokinesis - As Goddess of Spring, Persephone has absolute control and divine authority over flowers and plants. Her powers include transforming anything into flowers, tracking beings with flower activity, as well as all other forms of manipulation.

Olympian Physiology - As an Olympian goddess, her strength and vitality is phenomenal, and beyond simply superhuman.

Shapeshifting - Persephone, like other gods in her pantheon, possesses shapeshifting abilities, being able to physically transform herself at will.

(Limited) Necromancy and Umbrakinesis - As Queen of the Underworld, Persephone can communicate with the dead and manipulate darkness and shadows to a certain extent.

STRENGTHS: Forgiving and fair, possesses wisdom and qualities of beings who have aboded in both worlds, witty and creative with ideas to solve every problem WEAKNESSES: Vain and overly concerned with beautiful and orderly things, prone to mood swings and bold displays of emotions, difficulty navigating through colder seasons

#kpop rp #krp #9muses #park minha #9muses minha #mp; welcome

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Top 12 Three Caballeros Moments: Ride of the Three Caballeros Epilogue!

Salduos Amigos...and Adios, as this is the FINAL part of my 20 part look at those happy amigos, those snappy chappies in matching serapes, those birds of the feather, THE THREE CABALLEROS, THE RIDE OF THE THREE CABALLEROS! Yes after 19 other articles, all paid for by megafan and patron of the blog @weirdkev27, it’s time to bid our boys a fond farewell. And what a ride i’ts been... we’ve had trips to Bahia, animaton sequences requiring a LOT of 1940′s cocaine ,Jose reinacting the plot of “Come a LIttle Bit Closer” by jay and the americans but ironcially not in the Badman Jose roll,, a less happy reunion where Donald went full vanilla ice for a few moments, Panchito giving us his long and storied family history in song form, Donald needing a vacation after his girlfriend punched him in the face and instead getting eaten by a giant snake, FLAMENCO MASTER HORACE HORSECOLLAR, Soccer with super cars, and our heroes having a warm and fun reunion and having to admit their lives didn’t turn out so good while Dewey jacaksses around in the subplot.

And all of this lead into their very own series where our heroes met a goddess and wayne knight all in the same day, defeated THE MIGHTY MINOTAUR, got into a giant robot fight on the fucking moon, meeting the roman gods who live on and tend to the norse world tree for some reason, preventing a stupidly started lava apocalypse, going to goblin jail via song, meeting some literal dead presidents, chasing a bear around a fancy rich people town, getting into the ch-ch-chalk zone, fighting a wrestling match against the respresntive of the god of death, dying and coming back to life as a result of said wrestling match, going to camelot to train with king arthrus’ self helf book, going to a yeti spa and finally returning for one last battle with an evil wizard, his pet monkeybatdonkeyrat, and wayne knight, and have to put up with Donald’s shrill abusive ex girlfriend through about half of it. All in all good stuff and i’ll always be greatful for kevn funding this and giving me the chance to both finally watch legend and in general cover these wonderful characters. While i’m sure Panchito and Jose wil lbe back for the big finale of Ducktales, I’m gonna miss these guys and hope they get another shot at the big time one day.

But Kevin had a great idea, one I decided to do for free since this thing cost 100 dollars together as it was a movie, and 20 episodes of television, so it was a LOT to do. Fun but a lot of work. A top 12 list of the best moments from across the works covered for this retrospective. From the movie to the series, these are the best of the best moments of the best boys around. So without further adeu join me under the cut as I throw one hell of an after party for one hell of a ride.

12. The Cold Blooded Penguin (The Three Caballeros (Movie) )

This one is low because it doesn’t exactly involve the boys at all as this was a short in their movie. But what can I say, I love penguins, especially Opus.

And the charming tale of a pengy named Pablo who has trouble with the cold and wants to head off for warmer climates just never ceases to entertain me. It’s adorable, pretty funny and just a nice little start to the film every time I watch it. Especially his friends with the sleepy, depressed eyebrows. Really relate to them, especially the tall one with a ponch, aka me as a penguin. Not much else to say hence why it’s so low, but I really enjoyed this short and can’t help but put Pablo on the list.. and wish he’d gotten a nod in Legend, but then again given we weren’t given a second season they were probably just saving him.

11. Charon’s Fabulous Cruise (Legend of the Three Caballeros) Another Cabs free entry but I Just love this concept: Charon, ferryman of the river sticks.. deciding since he’s not getting as many customers to turn it into a cruise ship complete with add. IT’s low both because it dosen’t involve the boys and it dosen’t take up much of it’s episode.. but damn if it ain’t funny. And Jim Cummings just brings his all to it.. granted HE always does, the man’s a legend for a reason, but dosne’t make his performance any less lovely. WIsh we got a second season just so we could see this guy again among other reasons.

10. You Don’t Get a Vacation You Take it (Legend of the Three Caballeros) Wayne Knight as Sheldgoose.. was easily one of the best parts of Legend of the Three Caballeros. While the show itself was fairly high quality it’s other main villain Feldrake eventually fell into just calling Sheldgoose a moron and hitting him as his only character. IN contrast while at first apperance Sheldgoose was just a rich asshole with hair that looks like a bad toupe but apparently is his actual hair and what he choose to go with and a hell of a moustache.. and while that’s all true, he’s also cunning and manipultive, often making Feldrake’s plans work simply by using clever manipulations. He’s funny, enaging and the sadest part of no second season is not getting more of this guy. Hopefully he’ll show up in another.. even the comics using him without Wayne Knight’s Dulect Tones would be nice. He’s a good villian and would fit just as well in the classic comics being either a snooty nuisance to donald in some way, or being a rival fro scrooge, also being rich but his family having earned it by stealing from others. But for now what we got ain’t bad and hte best example of just what sheldgoose is capable of is also his first bit of contirbuting more than as a set of hands for feldrake, phrasing. His vilian song. Yes Wayne Knight FINALLY gets a villian song. Your very welcome.

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The song is just fun, a Luau type song with a sinster undercurrent and wayne knight just having a hell of a time, alternating between speaking and singing> It’s low on this list because i’ts an OKAY song, i’ve seen better villian songs, I just really liked this one, and because it dosen’t exactly involved the boys, but I still hold to my convictions in putting this one on here.

9. Panchito Romero Miguel Junipero Francisco Quintero González (House of Mouse) Only House of Mouse entry, and suprisingly it’s not Donald squeaking “And i’m donald duck!” , which has been burned into my brain for a few decades. No it’s the groups OTHER song in there second apperance on the show Not So Goofy, sung by the incomprable Rob Pauslen. While I sitll think he was easily the worst Jose of the bunch, and that the roll never should’ve been given to a white man to begin with, credit where it’s do: he wasn’t a have bad panchito. He only voiced everyone’s faviorite rooster, suck it Foghorn Leghorn, once, for a song, likely to capatalize on the fact Paulsen was famed for Yakko’s World and other songs where he sang a lot at once, but boy did he make a meal of it. Observe.

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The song is lightly hampered by the fact it also uses his version of Jose which is probably the worst work i’ve heard from Rob. And given it’s the only roll i’ve heard of his that wasn’t very good and he’s still VERY CLEARLY trying his best, that says a lot to the guy’s quality. And im not saying all this to avoid backlash, I stand by what I say and how I say it.. i’m saying it because I truly love and respect the guy this just was not his best work. This song however is Rob on full blast, using his ablitlity to talk fast no matter the voice to give us one heck of a lively performance and name for Panchito, one that was reused for Ride of the Three Cabs though sadly minus the song, as I would’ve LOVED to hear Jamie Camill belt this one out. But the lively animation and liveleir performance earn this one a spot.

8. Baia, Donald (The Three Caballeros) For this one i’m squishing three different but related parts of the movie together: The “Have you been to Baia, Donald” song, the train trip there and the awesome musical number at the end. But all three flow together as one great sequence with the frist two serviing as a fun prelude for a fun sequence as Donald and Jose try to woo a lady named Yaya, played by Aurora Miranda, and get into a big and fun dance number that for the time is AMAZINGLY blended with the live action work. The song is an utter ear worm, the seqeunce is fun and it lacks some of the creepiness Donald’s later session of flirting had and the colors are vibrant as hell. Wonderful, beautiful stuff. It’s really hard to talk about as not a lot happens in it other than a fun bit of song and dance.. but sometimes tha’ts just waht you need: a bunch of actors, two of which were animated, moving and groving to a heckuva beat.

7. I Love You Guys (Legend of the Three Caballeros) This was just a very sweet moment but one I treasure. The Cabs beat a giant horrifying rage beast.. by genuinely apoologizing to donald, telling him they love him then having a group hug. After a full episode before this of them just kinda ignoring what he cared about, Xandra and the boys genuine apologies and Donald genuinely telling them “I love you guys” and realizing for the first time in his life he’s genuinely loved and appricated. It just feels so fucking nice. Shame they didn’t you know.. end the Daisy plot with him realizing he dind’t need or or that he wasn’t angsiting over a selfish goldigger in the first place but hey, you take what you can get sometimes and the getting is good here.

6. The Cabs Song .. in Comic Form! (The Three Caballeros Ride Again!)

Another fairly quick one to talk about but one’s that damn impressive. The Three Cabs ride again is a wonderful story that reunites our birds of a feather for an adventure in mexico.. and one of it’s two best moments, the other one way further up from Don Rosa’s classic, seriously check it out it’s good, is when the boys, to distract their enemy for the story, play their classic song. Musical numbers.. are hard to pull off in comics. As Linkara, comic critic and one of my inspirations check him out on youtube he’s really fantastic, has mentioned quite a bit not having the sound to go with it is an uphill battle. But i’m not as against this as he is.. as long as you can convey the ENERGY of said song and perofrmance in the page. As long as you got that, you can pull it off and boy oh boy oh boy did Rosa ever. While it’s only about a page and a half long it’s just a fun, wonderful litlte sequence, from the crowd that has no reaction til lthe end when our big bad clubs them with the guitar, to our heroes swipining tablecoths to seve as serape to Donald falling outside, it’s one of the highlights of an alreayd impressive story.

5. Jam Session (Ducktales, The Town Where Everyone Was Nice!)

Only one Ducktales moment but it’s a keeper to be sure and now I HAVE seen Legend... I can say as I did there Jamie Camil REALLY shoudlv’e been kept as Panchito but “The Town Where Everyone Was Nice”.. really was still ag reat version of the characters and still kept them true. It wasn’t AS good as the Legend versions.. but honestly that’s fine. Not every version HAS to be good as the others and they were still wella cted, wonderfully animated and the story was great. And the moment that shows it off best is the boys quite moment after lunch, where they remincse, have fun, think about old times.. then hear a radio and slowly but surely have a fun dance number together, playing like old times. It’s this moment that makes me REALLY question why people hated this so much, as this one tiny moment captures the cabs chemistry and comrander in just two short minutes, Donald getting angry, Jose defusing int with a dance then him joining in, the three just jamming iwth whatever’s on hand and jose magically playing the fluit with his umbrella. I’ts all just so charming I love it. The end version of the three cabs IS really awesome, it just didn’t make the cut. Still liked it though.. but this.. this is better. Sometimes less is more you know?

4. The Three Cablleros Song (The Three Caballeros (Movie) ) Look you knew this was coming, I knew this was coming, we all knew this was coming. But the song is no less awesome, with fluid animation, wonderful vocals and lyrics, and an unberably catchy tune. It’s iconic to the characters, having popped up in four different renditions during this retrsopective, all of them pretty damn good, but no one tops the original. Even the two more dated bits, some latin baby and Panchito having a gun solo, somehow don’t hamper what’s otherwise an iconic moment. It’s fun, it’s fancy free, and it establishes the boys dynamic perfectly, one that as we’ve seen would last a few lifetimes and probably will last forever.

3. We Say So! (The Three Caballeros Ride Again) While Ride again is a VERY good story, it’s best moment is ironiclaly it’s end despite leaving you wanting more and more. After a fun adventure and a laugh over it being for nothing really, our friends return to Jose’s job at a night club, which his manager, who understandably has issues with Jose choosing wooing ladies over actually doing his job sometimes, only gives him back because it’s a big night but needs a big act. The first touching moment here is the fact the boys pitch in without being asked because hteir friend needs them. But the real moment is what happens after: The Triplets return from the hotel, still bemoaning as they did ealrier in the story that Donald has no friends and assume when they see him on stage and see him crash off it that he incited a riot.. only for his friends to assure him he’s a very fine fellow and they say so.. and in an instnat the boys realize donald DOES have friends.. and the best friends a duck can ask for. And after a lifetime of being spat on and barely winning.. Donald gets an unquestioned victory, stnading proudly with his friends for a packed house who still want more while his nephews look on proudly. I say so.. and what I say is that this moment is one of Rosa’s finest and one of the most touching thigns the man’s ever written.

2. This is Just Where I Came In (The Legend of the Three Caballeros) The Legend of the Three Cabs was excellent and it ended on one hell of a high. After a heck of a fight via callbacks that barely didnt’ make the list, our heroes rush in to stop Feldrake. their sorcerer nemisis, from reviving.. only for it to be too late. He’s back in full and soon warps reality around him leaving the boys hometown of the New Quackmore insitute as a series of rubble, buildings and people clinging desperatly to both floating in a hell of a starry backdrop, the only chance to stop this from happenign to the world resting in our heroes. And it’s so we catch up with where the seires began: our three heros decked out in truly awesome armor, though why Panchtio’s is roman I have no idea, fighting a giant and mosnterious felldrake and while his deisgn in that form is eh, his threat is palpable and the fight is goregous and pitch perfect.. and only gets better when we catch up, as Xandra swoops in to save htem from the cliffhanger the series started with. It only isn’t up top because of tow reasons; I like the first moment better.. and the boys do fall in a magic pool of amulet juice and emerge with powers due to a character we just meet when they do so. It’s a bit of a cop out.. but even with it being a cop out and a dues ex machina of the HIGHEST order.. it dosen’t stop it form being awesome when our heroes emerge merged with thier amulets energies, in their signutre colors and whoop felldrakes ass with a revivied Xandra’s help and then nearly reseal feldrake before his being resealed, but in Sheldgoose, resotres everything and our heroes get a WELL earned bout of praise from the town and a fancy mansion and in donald’s case a new job. A specatuclar, tense and gorgeous finale to a wonderful series.

1. Ride Em, Vaquero! (The Magificent 7 (Minus 4) Caballeros) Look I know it sounds like a bit of a downgrade to go from a battle for the fate of the world to our heroes fighting a spoiled prince and a giant anaconda just to make it out alive.. but frankly this battle is more tense, has all boys showing off even better, and has a climax so awesome even saving the unvierse with suddenly gained magic powers can’t top it. For the setting our heroes end up trapped in a lost city with the bad guy of the comic, Don Rosa’s second to last and his second of only two cabs stories, prepared to get away. But then Donald snaps, spurred on bya ll the shit he had to put up with back home,and TACKLES the fucking guy in his boat getting into one hell of a scrap. And if that wasn’t enough, what brings this to true glory is a giant Anaconda who shoed up earlier, popping up.. leading to Donald fighting our big bad.. WHILE BEING TANGLED UP IN A FUCKING PYTHON.

What truly clinches this as the best of the best for me though is Jose and Panchito’s actions, with Jose fighting the guy off off donlad, and actually having his umbrella WORK this time, and while the bad guy gets the raft from our heroes.. he falls off a cliff. So how do our heroes escape.. simple .. PANCHITO LASSOS THE FLEEING SNAKE AND THEY RIDE IT OUT AS SEEN ABOVE THROUGH A POND FULL OF DANGEROUS CREATURES WHO ALL STARE IN AWE AT THE SIGHT OR FLEE. You.. you just can’t top that. The awesomness, the teamwork, the sheer balls on panchito..i t’s all just so beauitful and sums up what the boys are about: Deft teamwork, camradire.. and doing utterly insane shit as only best friends can.

So with that.. this ride has come to an end. As I said before and will say again, it’s been fun, easily the biggest project i’ve done so far, and easily one of my faviorites. I love these guys and geninely hope we see them again real soon. So before I go, i’d like to say some thank yous. I”d like to thank ALL of the talented people involved in the making of the original film, as there are way too many to mention as it was a package movie but without you lovely and mostly deceased people we’d never have these wonderful guys. I’d like to thank Don Rosa for bringing the boys back and better than ever and beautifully so AND returning to them again. I’d like to thank Henry Gilroy and Phil Walsh, who wrote the first and second house of mouse cabs episodes for bringing the boys back to the screen, as well as series creators Robert Gainway and Tony Craig and the MASSIVE pile of storyboarders for both episode. I’d like to thank the people behind mickey and the roadster racers, while your episodes were not very good I am glad the boys got more screentime, i’d like thank Frank Angrones and Matt Youngberg for their wonderful versions of the boys and total respect to their legacy, and i’d REALLY like to thank Matt Danner for giving us a wonderful series and finally giving the boys a starring roll again.

I’d also like to thank the MANY voice actors who voiced these wonderful characters, your beautiful all of you. To Donald’s voice actors for this retrospective i’d like to thank Clarence Nash, you absolute legend may you rest in peace, Tony Anselmo, may you keep on living please god we’ve lost a lot of good people lately don’t be one of them, and even Daniel Ross, who might not be the best Donald but he’s one of only five and you can’t take that way from him.

For Jose i’d like to thank Jose Olivara, without you I don’t think we would’ve even gotten to the Cablleros as a group, Rob Paulsen, you tried your best and your still a winner in my heart, Eric Bauza, you genuinely were the best, and Bernardo Del Paula, who gave Bauza a run for his money and I hope returns in the role in the future.

And finally for Panchito we have Joaquin Grey, again wouldn’t of had the rest without you man nice job, Carlos Alarzqaui, did the job and did it well, Rob Paulsen, gave us one hell of a song, Jamie Camill, the best around no one’s ever going to keep him down, Arturo Del Purto who while I prefer jamie.. still was excellent and I wouldn’t be mad if he returned again.

And last but not least I’d like to sincerly thank @weirdkev27. These reviews have GENUINELY helped me finacially since i’ts hard for me to find a job since I cannot drive and have a disablity, and thanks to htem i’ve been able to live comfortably and thanks to you in general i’ve been able to do what I love and get paid for it. You got me to do this wonderful restrospective, have been a genine support to the blog and a treasure to work with. Thanks man, your the best. So with that, it’s time to ride off into the sunset. If the cabs get another apperance outside of ducktales, I will pick this up again... and wether it’s in a year or ten you bet your bottom peso they’ll be back. Who says so? I says so.

#the three caballeros #the three cablleros ride again #don rosa #jose carioca #donald duck #panchito romero miguel junipero francisco quintero gonzalez #panchito pistoles #ducktales #the legend of the three caballeros #house of mouse #xandra goddess of adventure #charon #wayne knight #baron von sheldgoose #lord feldrake #duck comics #disney ducks #disney #disney plus

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realityhelixcreates · 4 years ago

Text

The Mystic Garden: Sowing

Chapters: 1/5

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG

Warnings: death

Characters: Loki(Marvel)

Additional Tags: Infinity War Doesn’t Exist, Everybody Lives, Mutants Exist In The MCU, The Reparations Of Loki Of Asgard

Summary: Despite S.H.I.E.L.D. becoming a smaller and more selective organization, Loki still finds himself assigned to them upon Asgard's arrival on Earth. Required to perform a kind of specialized community service, Loki is paired up with another outcast, of a kind he is not familiar with: A mutant named Iris.

Loki of Asgard was a very beautiful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very powerful man.

Loki of Asgard was a very dangerous man.

And that was about all that anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. could agree on about Loki of Asgard.

To some, he was an asshole. To others, perfectly charming. To yet more, he was polite, but distant. Funny. Serious. Sarcastic. Aloof. Morbid. Morose. Intimidating. Shy. Threatening. Angry. Flirty. Each person Iris asked described him in a different way.

To Iris, he was a looming presence, staring her down with searing intensity. Her shiny, brand new partner. Joy.

“So you're the unfortunate one.” He grumbled. “Winner of the worst lottery this organization has ever thrown.”

“I'm Iris Devereaux.” She said, holding out her hand. “Pleased to finally meet you.”

He glanced at her hand with a sneer. “No you aren't.”

“Beg pardon?”

“No one is pleased to meet me.”

“Oh. Well. Here's the thing: you don't decide that for me.”

He raised one perfect eyebrow, tilting his head back.

“I don't tolerate men telling me what I do and don't think or feel. Only I can know that. Now, you gonna shake my hand or not, Mister 'of Asgard'?”

Loki harrumphed. “As you demand, Miss 'of the Riverbank'.”

“What?” Iris took his hand and gave it a firm shake. He allowed it, but drew his hand back the instant she released it.

“Your surname. It means 'riverbank'. Didn't you know? Named after a goddess, and yet you seem to have lived humbly.”

“I'm named after a flower.” Iris corrected.

“The flower was named after the goddess.” He re-corrected. “The personification of the rainbow, a messenger of the gods. She who waters the clouds with her ocean-filled pitcher, flying on glowing, golden wings to carry the pleas of mankind to the gods they prayed to. As she connected the sea and the sky, her rainbows connected mankind to the gods. Just as our Bifrost connected Asgard to Midgard with the beauty and magnificence of the rainbow.”

“Oh, please.” Another agent groaned from their nearby work station. Loki glared.

“Well, that's...informative.” Iris said. Was this what Loki was like? Standoffish, unless given something to talk about? He was certainly well-spoken. “I'm pretty sure my parents just had the flower in mind though.”

“A delicate goddess, an ephemeral rainbow, or a nodding blossom on the riverbank: it all paints a pretty picture, does it not?” He asked.

Iris narrowed her eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

“I wonder.” Loki said.

“Will you two just go get some coffee or something?” the other agent snapped. “I've got to finish this by ten hundred.”

“Fine, jeez, keep your vest on.” Iris said. Loki glared once again. “C'mon, there's a thousand break rooms on this old boat. We can take one over for ourselves.”

*****

“Who was that cur?” Loki demanded as Iris programmed the coffee machine for two cups. “Who does he think he is talking to? I am still a prince of Asgard, and a god! No pencil-pushing desk monkey speaks to me that way!”

“Hey, cool your chops.” Iris said, getting the mugs. “The pencil-pushing desk monkeys keep this whole show running. Who do you think runs this boat? Where does our intel come from? Who finds out if it's any good or not? Who does the budgets, communication, tech, cleanup, triage, programming, and supplies? The heroes get the fame, sure, but we're ultimately expendable. These guys own this shindig. Do you like caramel?”

“I...might?” He said, and Iris added a squirt of syrup to each steaming mug, then handed him his. “And you might be expendable, but I most certainly am not.”

“Cheers, bro. I'll drink to that.” Iris raised her mug in his direction and took a long gulp of fresh, caramel coffee. Oh boy, this was gonna be fun.

Loki seemed perplexed, either by the flavor of the coffee, or her casual acceptance of his declaration.

“Not that it will come to that.” He backtracked. “As my partner, you will have the advantage of my protection.”

“Joy. So, your highness, what's landed you here? You aren't exactly known as a friend to mankind. Why join S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

He harrumphed as Iris took another long pull from her mug. “You say 'join' as if I was given a choice. This is penance, nothing more. It was decided when Asgard had to relocate here, that I would work for a 'humanitarian' organization. Save lives equal to those whose deaths I was responsible for. Work towards paying off the cost it took to rebuild. And so I perform the Reparations of Loki of Asgard, defending this realm from itself. Once I have accomplished this, I will leave.”

“Mhm. And how far have you gotten?”

“It's only been a few months.” He huffed. “So not nearly as far as I'd like. How did they lure you in?”

Iris shrugged. “Job's a job. This one is steady, has good benefits, and it certainly keeps me engaged. It's no daily grind, that's for sure.”

“But with your power, could you not be a leader of some sort, rather than in a subservient 'expendable' position?”

“Ah. You've read my file.”

“Of course I did. As I assume you've read mine. Prying things. Why do they need so many personal details? But yes. It mentioned that you have an unusual power, beyond others of your type? Why are you not in charge?”

“Hoo boy.” Iris took a seat across from him. “You don't know much about human social structure, do you?”

Loki frowned. “It was never supposed to matter.”

“Well, it matters now. And it's mattered to me my whole life, because I can't just run off home to fairy tale land, so it looks like we both have no choice but to deal with it. You know what a mutant is?”

“I know what the word means, but I don't know how it applies to you.” Loki said, perplexed. “You look like any other human to me, so I assume it is something internal?”

Now it was Iris' turn to harrumph. “Well, you look like any other Asgardian to me, so I guess we've both got something going on under our skin, don't we? Tell you what: you explain to me what a 'frost giant' is, and I'll explain what a 'mutant' is in this context.”

“And if I refuse?” Loki sneered.

“Then I do too.” Iris said simply.

Loki stared at her across the table, the intensity of his gaze as hot as the coffee, and Iris tried her best to pretend to be unaffected by it. It wasn't that he wasn't intimidating, but an unfortunate lifetime of bigotry and constant background danger had given her a skin as thick as wood. Well, her mutation had done that as well.

“I can do this all day.” He warned.

“Alright.” Iris shrugged.

A few very awkward minutes passed, a silence spent sipping coffee, until her supervisor, Chris Timmitz, interrupted.

“Iris! Loki. There you are! I've been looking for you two. Lucky to find you in the same place, you've got a job coming up.”

“Oh yeah? Lay it on me boss.” Iris said. Loki grimaced.

“We think we've got another possible HYDRA shelter, kinda out in the open this time. We need more intel. That's where you come in.”

“It's located next to a forest, isn't it?”

“A meadow, actually.” He said a bit sheepishly. “We need you to, uh, plant some bugs on the property.”

“Ha ha.” Iris said flat-voiced.

“Aw c'mon, I didn't come up with the terminology.”

“Was that some kind of insult?” Loki asked darkly. “Do you degrade your employees?”

“Well, it wasn't meant to be.” Chris explained. “It's not my fault the language is what it is. And what about you? Iris may act tough, but she's really sweet and sensitive, so you'd better act right-”

“Or what?” Loki challenged.

“Chris. Cut it out. We don't have to be chummy, we just have to get the job done.” Iris said. “So give us the details.”

“Right, right. We're starting Tuesday. It seems to be when the fewest people are there...”

****

Iris crawled through the tall grass of the meadow, the plants moving naturally around her, so as to not alert her enemies that she was there. The shelter was an old schoolhouse apparently, that HYDRA agents had taken over, ostensibly to restore the historical building and turn it into a museum...all the while sheltering their agents from the law, and pushing revisionist history in an effort to spread their doctrine through yet another small town. They had done this so many times before, changing the narrative, changing the perceptions of the people.

HYDRA had many heads. It was the symbolism of the thing. Some of those heads infiltrated governments, and worked to influence world policy. Other heads overran small towns, influencing the vote, which served to make the jobs of the others easier.

Some people in S.H.I.E.L.D. likened them to a virus to be quarantined, cut out, and destroyed. Iris saw them as a sickness to be cured. Anyone could change their minds, given reason. The trick was to find the reason. That wasn't her job, and she didn't think she'd be good at it, but she knew that there were anti-radicalization support groups popping up here and there now, and no wonder, with the state of the current administration. Iris knew HYDRA must have gotten their voice very well entrenched into the government.

But Iris was more directly concerned with these little heads, with blocking their progress, slowing them down, and just generally inconveniencing them.

She'd gotten the usual stares and glares, upon entering the little town, but it was hard to tell if it was HYDRAs influence, or just typical American small town prejudice when faced with a dark-skinned stranger. Either way, she wouldn't want to live here.

She settled down in the grass, stretched out on her belly, and the sod began to part beneath her. Loki, who had simply made himself invisible with his alien magics, and crept along beside her, was clearly capable of sneaking with the best of them. He barely displaced a blade of grass. He crouched down beside her.

“We are stopping here?” He whispered. “How shall you place your devices? Will you throw them?”

“No, My aim isn't that good.” Iris said, ignoring his smug “Mine is.”, and beginning to sink into the newly exposed soil.

“Uh...Miss Devereaux...are you aware that the earth appears to be swallowing you?”

“Don't worry about it, it's fine.” She wriggled her feet out of her flimsy sandals and into the dirt. She was positioned to just be able to see the old schoolhouse over the edge of the trough that had been excavated beneath her. That was all she needed.

“Certainly. Nothing out of the ordinary here.”

“You're one to talk. Hand me the bugs.”

There were only three of them: tiny things, no larger than the creatures they were named after. Iris took them, then tore a packet of seeds open with her teeth, pouring the contents into her hands.

“This is going to take me a pretty long time. Couple of days, probably. What I'm going to need the most from you is tending. Every hour, give me something to drink. Every four hours, give me something to eat. Make sure no one sweeps through here with a lawn mower or a fire. I'm not going to be able to move, and will likely be in something of a trance. Sorry I won't be better company.”

“That's a lot of orders coming from one little human.” Loki grumbled.

“My life is in your hands.”

“That's...a bit better.”

She pressed her hand against the earth in front of her, and concentrated.

For some minutes it didn't appear to Loki that anything was happening at all. Then the first of the thin, white roots began squirming out from between her fingers, roping around her hand.

Loki stretched out in the tall grass next to her as the roots slowly formed a ragged, grasping ball of pale worms against her chestnut skin. He remained silent for hours alongside her, dutifully holding a small bottle of water to her lips every hour or so. As she had said earlier, Iris lay very still, and very trance-like, drinking without acknowledging that she even knew he was there.

“Hmmm.” He whispered. “I hate being ignored, you know. I wonder if you can even hear me? Could you explain what it is that you are doing, or are you so far away that you cannot even answer? What would happen if I touched you right now, Goddess-Flower of the Riverbank? Would I break your concentration? Would you even notice?”

He opened one of the little ration packs, half of which were specifically labeled with Iris' name. Within were little brown cubes that smelled deeply unappetizing to Loki, formed from a slurry of many mysterious ingredients.

“A special recipe, just for you? S.H.I.E.L.D. must value you more highly than you have previously stated. Here you go, Bright Blossom.” He held the little cube to Iris' lips, which parted automatically to accept the cube. “And so I have become no more than a nutrient dispensary. How far I have fallen.”

He fed her the cubes, one by one. Every brush of her petal-velvet lips against his fingers tempted him to push them into her mouth, a temptation that brought a chuckle to his own lips. There were only so many games he would be allowed to play, before S.H.I.E.L.D. kicked him out entirely. He wasn't attached to S.H.I.E.L.D., or anyone within the organization, but working for them kept him active, kept him relevant, kept him engaged, and most importantly, kept him out of prison. Community service was infuriating, but he had experienced the soul-crushing torment of solitary confinement, and this was much preferable.

A cold, uncomfortable cell? Or laying in the grass on a warm, sunny day, hand-feeding a pretty girl?

He was very tempted to lay his hand on the small of her back, where her uniform had ridden up just enough to show a strip of glistening skin, but it wouldn't have the proper punch with Iris in this deep trance. Without reaction, there was no fun.

The roots winding their way up her arms were somewhat unsettling. Was this what her file had meant when it noted that she was a 'mutant'? That she could cause plants to sprout? Could other humans do that?

Hours later, when the sun had set, and the roots had wriggled into the soil all around her, and crawled their way up to her shoulders, Iris stirred.

“Mph. Man, I'm sore.” She complained.

“Ah, welcome back. There is a powerful desire I need you to fulfill.”

“Not on company time. There's trees over there, go behind them and, uh, work it out? Also, for next time, I really don't need to know.”

“You flatter yourself, or you underestimate me. What I want, is for you to explain what you are doing. Are you making those plants grow?”

“Oh. Yeah, basically. You read my file; you know I'm a mutant.”

“Yes, but I do not know the significance of the term.” Loki admitted. “Is it this? This magic you wield?”

“It's not magic, it's just...it's genetic. I was born this way. At first it was just little things. Gardens grew better wherever I went, I didn't get hungry as much when there was sunlight, I didn't need to drink as much as long as there was water on the ground. I grew up in a way rural community tucked away in the Everglades. We were real poor, so being outside and having wet and muddy feet was just normal for all the kids.

As I got older, the signs got more obvious. I can do things that plants can do. I can direct their growth, and I sorta...change with the seasons, depending on where I am.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eh, stick around long enough and you'll see. Anyway, people aren't too fond of mutants, and it got...tough. To live at home, I mean. So I went out into the wild, and I did pretty well there, but S.H.I.E.L.D. found me and offered me something else. Not every mutant is like me. There's a lot of different ways to be a mutant, it's unpredictable. Some folks can fly, others can turn their bodies into metal, and some can heal wounds to their body in seconds. I manipulate plants, and am, in some ways, like them.”

“I see. And you are causing these plants to grow for what purpose?”

“Spying purposes. It's gonna take a few days, but these vines will tunnel through the ground, all the way up to the school house. When they break ground, I'll send one of them up that tree there, another one around the frame of that window there, and the third down the chimney. You saw those little devices? They're holding those in packets of leaves, and will position them so that they remain hidden, but they consist of audio, video, and heat signature recorders. Once I've gotten them in place, we'll leave. That's all this mission is; bugs on plants.”

“Then why am I here?” He wondered. “You seem to have this well in hand.”

“Someone's gotta feed me. And make sure I don't get found out. There's rumors you can make magic illusions. That's probably why. You can hide us both from any eyes or cameras.”

“And I have.” Loki said proudly. “And fed and...watered you, Little Blossom. What else do you need from me?”

“To do it all again tomorrow.” Iris said. Then she dropped her head into the nest of roots, and settled down to sleep.

*****

Iris was awake and in her trance just as the first light of dawn kissed the horizon. Loki had been awake even before that, every swish of grass or crackle of leaves grabbing his attention.

“Rest.” He commanded her. “I have not the need of it that you do. Never forget: I am no weak mortal. You require a large amount of sleep, but I am all the greater.”

Iris had snorted at the bravado, but accepted the cubes he fed her, and fell into her trance, the roots curling further and further around her body.

Loki idly wondered how far the roots would go. Would they cocoon Iris entirely, prompting her to 'hatch' into a new form? Would they drag her down into the earth, entombing her away from Loki forever? Or would they just die back?

He watched people come and go to the old schoolhouse, working on its restoration. They looked for all the world like normal workers; he didn't even believe any of them to be armed. Not all HYDRA agents were combatants, after all. Just as many of them were spies, thieves, politicians, PR specialists and spin doctors.

Ever since what the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents called 'The Big Reveal', both organizations had been frantically rebuilding. S.H.I.E.L.D. more slowly, taking only the best, only the most trustworthy. Loki supposed he should be proud, even though he knew he was only there as a glorified prisoner.

HYDRA's recruits seemed to be skyrocketing, as they took to the internet in search of easily radicalized young men-mostly men, and boys-to bolster their numbers. They found plenty of them, and quickly, but they were sloppy and unpredictable. All too often, one let their ego overcome their loyalty to the cause, an event that almost always led to public confrontation and violence. But the news media-already infiltrated, most likely-was always quick to exonerate or sympathize with a young white man.

HYDRA disgusted Loki, even back when he had 'convinced' a small cell to work with him. No one group knew what the others were doing. There was a severe lack of communication between cells. Yes, Loki supposed it kept them safe from discovery, but he found it inefficient. A waste of potential by people more invested in the pageantry of a secret society, than by the end goal they hoped to achieve.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was little better, in his opinion, but at least its people were more serious about their work. Communication was more open, their goals more achievable. It felt like they made a difference, whether they really did or not. And they didn't waste potential. HYDRA would simply kill someone like Iris, S.H.I.E.L.D. found her valuable enough to spend resources on her. Under Loki's regime, had he succeeded, Iris, and all people like her, would have been of personal interest to him. All of these so-called 'mutants' would have been given places of high honor. Loki did not waste potential.

But that wasn't worth spending more time dwelling on. It was never meant to happen in the first place. When and where he would rule was yet to be discovered, but it would not happen until he was finished with his penance.

He provided Iris with her water, barely able to see her under all the roots. It was no wonder that she could not go into the field without a partner; she could not be ready for combat, couldn't even eat on her own! If they had to run, was he just supposed to tear her from the root wrapping and toss her over his shoulder? Would disconnecting her like that cause her harm?

He would have to ask next time she woke.

A young man approached, wielding an unfamiliar device. Loki was immediately on high alert. Was that some kind of weapon? He wandered all the way up to the verge of the grasses, gazing placidly out over the meadow. This was a HYDRA agent? He was barely out of adolescence! But from what Loki remembered of his brothers youthful declarations of hatred towards the Jotunn, radicalization did indeed start young.

“Naw, I think it must have been a glitch.” He said into his lapel. “There's nothing out here, not even trails in the grass.” He paused, listening. “Naw. Maybe it was a coyote? There's plenty of wild animals that wander around out here. My bro swears he saw a puma last year. Anyway, I'm gonna trim the grass, since I'm here anyway. If you're really worried, come out and check your cameras. I ain't gonna do it for you.”

With that, the young man yanked a long string, attached to a pod on the device, causing the thing to roar to life. Its loud snarl effectively covered Loki's startled gasp, his invisible eyes wide at the noise and the fact that everything within a six inch radius of the device's head was shredded and flung in all directions.

He had to maintain the illusion. But Iris was right in the horrible things' path. It would rip right into her face.

Unacceptable.

Loki rolled over on top of her, covering her body, roots and all, with his own. He ducked his head just as the device passed by. The force was like a high speed whip, tearing at his hair. It would have lacerated his scalp, possibly to the bone, had he been human. It would have certainly injured Iris, whom he kept safely tucked under his body, protected by his armor and tough, godly flesh.

The young man made a few more passes, working his way down the edge of the meadow, leaving Loki with a stinging scalp from his impromptu haircut, eventually leaving after finishing a rough, sub-par job.

Loki kept still, concentrating on maintaining the illusion, now including fresh cut grass. He feared it had wavered under the assault he had suffered, but the young man hadn't seemed to notice. Hours passed with no movement from Loki, just watching as various people came and went, doing their jobs. Eventually they all trickled away.

The sun had grown low in the sky before Loki felt Iris stir.

“Um. Loki? What are you doing? Did something happen?” Iris asked, her voice muffled by his body.

“Pardon me.” He rolled back into the grass as Iris shook her face free of the grasping roots. “Some boy came through here with a horrible device that tore up the grasses. It was necessary to cover you.”

Iris sniffed the air. “Someone cut the grass. Geez, did he hit you? Your hair!”

“Is it bad?” He asked, then covered his vanity. “It doesn't matter. I made good on my word. Here, eat.” He held food to her mouth. It would be almost too bad when this was over. Feeding her was so easy, so satisfying, and his hair would grow back anyway. If only all missions could be this easy.

Iris ate, watching the sunset, Loki laying on his side in the grass next to her, just watching her. Roots and shredded grass decorated her body, cube after cube passing her lips.

“Miss Devereaux, how will you remove yourself from those roots? If I must tear them, will it hurt you?”

Iris shook her head. “No, the roots aren't attached to me. If we pull this off without a hitch, I'll direct them into the soil. But if we have to get out in a hurry, you can tear them; it won't hurt me.”

“That's good to know.” Loki rolled onto his back, hands behind his head. “There is much still to learn about this realm. What is this that you are eating?”

“You sure you wanna know?” She asked.

“I am suddenly less curious, now that you have said that.” He admitted. “They do smell incredibly unappealing.”

“It's fertilizer, essentially. Fish emulsion and seaweed, blood and bone meal, fermented vegetables, all mashed together. Sounds super gross, I know,” She said at his disgusted expression. “But it's really good for me. My body absorbs it so efficiently that there isn't even any waste. Like roots inside me that absorb everything.”

“Are there? Roots inside you, I mean.”

“Sometimes.” Iris said quietly. “Maybe.”

“It bothers you? I see. It removes you from humanity. Sets you apart. And yet, you think that makes you inferior, rather than the other way around?”

“I'm not better than anybody else.” Iris said.

“You think not? Is there anyone else in this world who can do what you can do? How many people have your S.H.I.E.L.D. actively recruited? They came to find you specifically, why would they do that? Because you were completely average? You are a valued agent of a semi-clandestine organization bent on world improvement. You have been partnered to a god. You are above-average, Iris. Why is that difficult to accept?”

“Are you 'above average' in Asgard, Loki? Have you always been celebrated for it?”

“Mostly.”

“I haven't. I've been despised. I've been misunderstood. I've been coddled and hidden away by my parents in an attempt to protect me. I've been discriminated against by strangers, and teachers, and employers, and neighbors whose kids I grew up with. By those same kids.

I walked out into the wild one day, and didn't come back. I never planned on coming back, never planned on seeing another person ever again. But S.H.I.E.L.D. weren't the first to find me. There were two others. There was a man, a strange old man who could fly. He floated down from the sky, and told me that as a mutant, I was naturally superior to all other humans. He wanted me to come with him, said he was building some grand future for mutantkind, as if we were a different species.”

“Who was this man?” Loki asked, intrigued.

“No idea. I told him to leave. It wasn't long after I had left home, and I really didn't want to go back to any kind of civilization. I was kinda fantasizing about becoming some kind of cryptid, you know? The Everglades Swamp Witch, or something like that.

Then the botanists came. A whole group of them, trying to catalog Ghost Orchids. They're endangered, and people keep stealing them, and wrecking up their habitat. But I knew where they were. All two thousand of them. And I convinced them that I was in contact with all the remaining plants, so if any went missing after their expedition, I'd know, and come hunting for them.”

She grinned. “Like I said, Swamp Witch vibes. They even believed me!”

“So you cannot actually do that?” Loki asked. The stars had come out, forming unfamiliar shapes in the night sky. His eyes could pick out fainter lights than a humans could, and he admired the active beauty of this part of the universe while eating from one of the non-specialty ration packs.

“Well, I can, but not automatically. And not that far away. I have to be closer to a plant to really sense it, and I have to be trying really hard. Like, if I wanted to figure out where the nearest maple tree was, I would have to concentrate on that, and block out all the grass. But a maple has a different...I guess you could call it a signature? A different signature than grass does. A Ghost Orchid grows on trees, and is basically just a ball of roots when it's not blooming. Kinda like this-” Iris nodded at the roots tangled around her. “But way smaller. It looks like nothing, almost. They're very hard to spot. But they have that different signature than the tree they grow on, and I can follow that to where they are.”

“So you found all their plants, as if by magic.”

“Yeah, and they paid me pretty well for it, and I sent the money home to my parents, and then the botanists went home and blabbed. Next thing I know. S.H.I.E.L.D. is on my tail.”

“Because you were friendly to botanists?”

“Well...I might have also...sabotaged a development project.” Iris said sheepishly. “But it was right on the edge of the National Park, and I didn't let anybody get hurt! And I'm pretty sure it was dubiously legal anyway.”

The edges of Loki's mouth curled, even as his eyebrows lifted.

“What's this? You're 'shy and sensitive' I was told. Was I sold a bill of goods? Are you, in fact, a naughty little mutant?”

Iris rolled her eyes. “Ugh, don't joke. Naughty little mutants end up dead.”

The amusement drained from his face.

“You would be celebrated in Asgard.” He said.

“We aren't in Asgard.” She answered. “The only thing that matters is where we are now. Those guys in there? They'd kill us both just for being born. They'd make it so that no one like us could ever be born again. When S.H.I.E.L.D showed up, in their black uniforms and started introducing themselves as 'agents', I thought that's what they had come for. The government was there to kill me.

At that point, I'd been off the grid for over a year, and I didn't know anything about the S.H.I.E.L.D./HYDRA internet explosion. But when they started talking about rebuilding as a humanitarian organization, dedicated to the protection of people-marginalized people-from, like, terrorist groups and hostile aliens, I realized they weren't there to kill me or arrest me, they were just there for me.

So I didn't make them disappear, and went with them instead. I still send money home to my parents. They don't know where I am, or what I do. They don't know the true extent of my capabilities. I'm not sure I do either. The thing about being a mutant is that a lot of these powers don't get replicated exactly, so we each have to figure ourselves out. There's no training regimen or curriculum for this.”

“So all of this is self taught?” Loki asked, impressed. “I'm not even entirely self taught.”

“You were taught? This all didn't just come from being a god or whatever?”

“No, of course not. The power is there naturally, but it needs directing. Like you, I suppose. You're born with it, but need teaching to use it. I had the best teachers the universe could offer, and was exalted and encouraged. You had only yourself, and adversity. I've seen but little of you, but this seems a great feat so far.”

“A compliment?”

“An acknowledgment. It's good to know S.H.I.E.L.D. has become more discerning in its recruitment. I hear it was more than a little disastrous for them last time.”

“Like I said, I didn't find out about that until after. Though, I guess it's not all that surprising that it happened. There's a lot that can go wrong inside an organization that big, and with that much reach. There's just too much going on; there can never be enough oversight.”

“I know.” Loki said. “I used that against them when I attempted to bring down the planet. Somehow, they still didn't notice the traitors among them.”

“You worked with HYDRA?” Iris asked defensively.

“No.” Loki said. “I used them. I didn't...make many distinctions then, in my interactions with mortals.”

“Kinda seems like you still don't.” Iris pointed out. Loki took a breath and hesitated.

“Moreso than I did then.” He said slowly. “Then, you were just tools. A means to an end. Disposable. Interchangeable. There are so many of you, so it wasn't like any of your could actually be important.”

“Right up until barely six of us beat the tar out of you and blew up your entire army?”

Loki scowled. “That is a misstatement. The plan was always to lose.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“No, I'm serious. Earth was the weakest link in the Nine Realms, and it needed to be awakened. And you were. Spectacularly. Look what it's lead to. S.H.I.E.L.D. was purged, HYDRA exposed, and your world made ready for the arrival of Asgard. You've been opened to higher interactions, as a progressing member of the Realms.”

“Uh huh. That was totally the end goal, right? Inter-species altruism? That was what filled your heart while you blew people up?”

“Norns, no!” Loki snorted. “I hated every last one of you. I took a special delight in destroying that which was weaker than myself, never think I didn't. It's just...It wasn't entirely up to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...I mean that losing was an act of defiance that sparked off the strengthening defense of Midgard, which I continue to participate in. Doing small jobs for S.H.I.E.L.D., rubbing out the likes of HYDRA and A.I.M., all of this contributes to this strengthening.”

Iris regarded him suspiciously through her framework of roots.

“You sound like you're running some sinister, behind-the-scenes shadow plan.” She accused. “You wanna explain?”

Loki smiled, a wan, false thing.

“Do you want some water?” He offered instead.

Iris rolled her eyes. “You're not gonna distract me.”

“And I am not going to elaborate further. Your curiosity will have to remain unsatisfied, or supplemented by your own imagination.”

“Hmph. Why'd you even bring it up then?”

“I? I think you'll find our conversation naturally meandered in this direction. That does not mean it must come to the conclusion you desire.”

“So this is what Abby meant when she said you were a pain in the ass to talk to.” Iris grumbled.

“I was not put here to satisfy Abby.” Loki said airily. “Who is Abby?”

“She asked you on a date.” Iris said. “You don't even remember her? Harsh.”

Loki shrugged. “She sounds frightfully dull. I may have to play nice for now, but I needn't entertain every persons sordid fantasies. Do you leap through every hoop set before you? Or do you also tell unimportant people that you aren't interested in entertaining them?”

“All right, that's fair.” Iris craned her head back to look up at the stars. “Which one is Asgard? Can you see it from here?”

“You can't.” Loki said. “The star is too far away, too small. And it doesn't matter now anyway. Home is gone, and we must rebuild from scratch. But that one, right there-do you see? Another realm orbits that one, the Frozen Realm of Jotunheim. They were our enemies once, and yours, but no more. Partly because they are under 'house arrest' as it were, trapped on their own planet. My father drove them off your planet over a thousand years ago. Your world actually warmed up without their influence, at least for a little while.”

“There were aliens here a thousand years ago?” Iris asked, incredulous.

“There have been 'aliens' here for ages.” Loki said. “Visitations and experiments, and failed colonies, and raids. Your ancestors were still getting the hang of fire, and there were 'aliens' visiting your lush and beautiful world. Making plans. Then your lot discovered agriculture and metal, and ruined a lot of those plans.”

“Seems like we're good at that.”

“Yes, yes, I was defeated by mortals. I am aware. I was the first to know.” Loki grumbled.

“Wait, does that mean the aliens really did build the pyramids?” Iris wondered.

Loki snickered. “The hubris of humanity is not universally shared. You are known for several things, and your inexplicable drive for monument building is one of them. Visitors did not build your great buildings; you did. They did come to see them though, like tourists. Some of them even took artifacts back home with them. Hopefully they weren't too historically important.”

“That's so rude.” Iris said.

“And you would never have known to take offense if I hadn't told you.”

God of Mischief indeed.

“What other realms are there? Just the nine?”

“Eight now, I suppose. But no. There are many peoples out there. The Nine Realms were just those places that were somehow related to Asgard. Allies, protectorates and...penal colonies, you might call them. But all interconnected, and all at least a little dependent on the others, at least some of the time. That has come to an end. There is a very powerful spot now empty. I fear there will be a great deal of turmoil before things even themselves back out. It would be interesting to see how that all plays out, but alas, I am trapped here for now.”

“Where would you go?” Iris asked.

“Alfheim first, I think.” Loki said. “They like me there. They are much less dour than the Dverguar, less serious than the Vanir, not so boastful and bombastic as Asgardins, not vicious as Jotunn, and nowhere near as hectic and anxious as Midgardians...humans, I mean. They like jokes and pranks, and value magic...perhaps I should have been Alfar? If only I could have chosen.”

“Yeah, I think we all feel that way sometimes. But I guess even gods don't get that choice. Hey, how do gods work, anyway? I mean, I stopped believing in any all-powerful force a long time ago. About when the only answer anyone could really give me as to why God would make someone like me was that I was put here to test faith. My own, or other people's maybe. It made me sick. What kind of 'father' puts a burden like that on a little kid?”

Loki scoffed. “The first mistake that humans make is in thinking that anything can be all-powerful, all-knowing, or infallible. It is a ridiculous fantasy notion, immature and irresponsible. That kind of thinking can only lead to two things: complete disillusionment, or harm to the self or others. I am a god, because I have a singular connection to a certain aspect of the universe, as does my brother, but neither of us are any of those things. How boring, to be all-knowing! How banal, to be all-powerful. And I have known people who seemed to think they were infallible, and the amount of misery and suffering they caused is unspeakable.

No, gods were never supposed to be all that. Greater than others, yes, but omnipotent...no, that's only for people who are overcompensating I think.”

“What's that about a special connection to the universe?” Iris asked.

“The universe is ridiculously unstable. Did you know that? I believe it was a human that posited that reality destroys and remakes itself fairly often in the scheme of things, but by the nature of it, it's impossible to ever know if that's true. Because if reality is destroyed, so are you, and so, you would never know. And if reality rebuilds itself, then that is the only reality that exists, so you would never know.”

“Oh hell, I don't like that.”

“Well just don't think about it. In any case, this instability seems to be occasionally expressed through individuals of particularly resilient and long-lived species, by connecting them to certain random forces. For my brother, it is the natural occurrence of thunder and lightning, those two things being directly connected. For me, it is an expression of sophisticated behaviors. Those forces are ours to deploy and manipulate to our will, and we affect them in the world around us, even as they effect us.”

“So you're just born with it too, huh?”

“So it seems.”

Iris settled back down into her swaddling roots to sleep, leaving Loki to stare up at the stars. The grass-cutting human had mentioned cameras. Loki had shielded them from that kind of surveillance on the way in, just in case. They must be hidden somewhere out in the trees. Could Iris detect such things? Would it be worthwhile to disable any, if suspicion was already on them? Or would that merely draw even more suspicion?

Perhaps while Iris remained incapacitated, actions that might bring more enemies out should be avoided. She did not have his durable skin, after all, nor his speed or strength. But with her unusual and largely unexplained powers, he hesitated in thinking of her as weak. More like...a specialist.

He felt her stir, just as the sun was lifted into the sky, and he fed her her morning cubes. She settled into her work trance almost immediately. Perhaps she was put off by the previous nights conversation, and didn't want more of the same. Perhaps she simply wanted to finish this mission quickly. Surely she too found it boring to lay in the same spot for days.

He watched the people come and go about their work restoring the schoolhouse. How many of them were just regular workers, and how many were enemy agents? Impossible to tell by looking, especially if even the youth were involved.

The sun had not risen particularly high when he noticed a difference. The roots that wrapped Iris' body were thinning; as he watched, more and more broke away from the tangle to bury themselves in the dirt at her sides. It was like watching worms escaping danger.

Finally, Iris pulled her hands from the soil, and pushed free of the roots.

“Alright.” She said. “Bugs are in. Now it's time for us to bug out.”

In retrospect, Loki could admit that he had been too eager to leave. He simply didn't do well with long periods of inactivity. So when he walked into the trees surrounding the meadow, and found himself face to face with a shotgun-wielding hunter, he wasn't too embarrassed. No, what really made him kick himself was when the one behind them held Iris at gunpoint. How could he have let one of these yokels get behind him?

“Who the hell are you freaks?” The one in front demanded. Loki recognized him as the youth with the loud grass cutting device who had ruined his hair.

“Gaw, this one stinks!” The other one exclaimed. “Well what do ya expect? She looks like mud, of course she smells like it.”

“We were just out looking for a...private place, if you catch my drift.” Loki said smoothly, getting ready. “Nothing to get worried about. It's just such a nice day, and we couldn't help ourselves.”

“Gross.” The one behind Iris said.

“We don't want you degenerate types around here.” The one in front of Loki said. “Now hands up, freak. You're way too close.”

“To what, pray tell?” Loki said. Almost ready.

“Don't talk about it, dumbass!” The other one hissed.

“Look, let's just kill them, to be sure.” The one in front of Loki said. “World ain't gonna miss a few freaks. And then nobody knows, and we don't get in trouble.”

Loki lifted his hand in a gesture he knew humans considered to be rude. Both men fired their guns.

Neither of them saw the illusions of Loki and Iris fade away, sprawled as they were one the forest floor, bleeding from the bullet wounds they'd inflicted upon one another.

Several yards away, Loki took his hands from over Iris' ears, and approached the HYDRA recruits. One of them was still alive. Loki carefully wrapped his hand in a cloth he manifested from seemingly nowhere, and casually suffocated him.

He then led the horrified Iris back to their rented car, and got back onto the highway as quickly as he could.

The silence stretched on for several hours, Loki watching the road, Iris gazing out the window at the scenery.

“Why didn't we sneak off as soon as you put up those illusions?” She finally asked. “We were invisible. We could have just left.”

“They had seen us.” Loki said. “They could not be allowed to go and inform their superiors. If there was suspicion that we had been snooping around the school, the entire point of the mission would be moot. Besides, they were extremely rude.”

“Don't joke.” Iris said sharply. “You killed that man in cold blood.”

“I killed him on cold practicality.” Loki corrected. “He could not be allowed to live, and let others know that he and the other one hadn't actually accidentally shot one another. Once anyone had seen us, that had to be the end for them. It is understandable that you might not like that, which is why I would not ask you to participate. But if I am sent on a mission as a protector, then that is what I will do. These were men who wanted to kill you just for being born, remember?”

“They were radicalized. They could have been deradicalized.”

“And how do you propose we were to do that?”

Iris huffed. “Damnit.”

“Sometimes we aren't afforded the choices we would prefer. But don't fret. I will take full responsibility in the report. I know the Director isn't keen on too many work-related killings.” It was part of why Loki took such delight in reporting work-related killings. Just to remind them of who he was, and what he was capable of.

Once they had reached their destination and returned the rental car, Iris called their contact agent for extraction. She wasn't exactly distant, but with other things to focus on, and other people demanding their times, the closeness of the last two days was fading fast.

Oh well, Loki thought. It had been nice while it lasted. But nothing was forever, and all affection was fleeting; he knew that well enough.

But it was a little odd to see her so preoccupied with her phone.

“Have you a Tweety account, or some such?” He asked, trying to strike up a conversation once again.

“Since that doesn't exist: no.” She answered, distracted. “No, there's just...I'm seeing someone, and he wants to meet up as soon as I get back.”

Loki frowned. For some reason, he didn't like that sound of that. “You need rest, don't you?” He suggested.

“Yeah, and it's a little last minute, I admit. But he's an agent too, and our schedules don't match up very often, so we've got to meet when we can, or not at all.”

“That sounds like a difficult arrangement.”

Iris shrugged. “I'll take what I can get. At least he doesn't seem to mind the whole mutant thing. That's kinda important when you're in my shoes.”

“You do not sound entirely enamored of this man.” Loki probed.

“Well...I'd like to get to know him better, but he's very private. Mostly, I just don't want to be alone. It's hard for people like me, you know? I can't just throw a relationship away because it's not some perfect storybook romance. Gotta be more realistic than that. But I sure hope I get a few days rest before I get sent out again.”

It sounded...practical. She had to take her opportunities where she found them. It wasn't as if Loki had never been there. It was perhaps a little sad, since it sounded like she really did want that storybook romance.

Perhaps it was none of his business. It was absolutely none of his business. He followed her anyway, curious about what kind of man made this little flower bloom.

The man in question was not impressive, in Loki's opinion. Not much more than average. Maybe that didn't matter to Iris.

“Bet you're glad to be done with all that, huh?” He asked. “Dealing with that creep couldn't be easy.”

“It wasn't really all that bad, honestly. He-”

“I don't really want to hear about him. C'mon, we have the whole evening! Let's not waste it!”

Loki decided then and there that he did not like this man. Not in small part because he wanted to know what Iris had to say about him.

She took him to what must have been her apartment, and there Loki left. There were a few things he didn't want to know after all.

#themysticgarden #loki (marvel)#loki x ofc

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jbbarnesandnoble · 5 years ago

Text

New Girl: Part One

Pairing: Bartender!Bucky Barnes x Teacher!Reader

Chapter Summary: after signing the agreement to your new loft, you head out to a local bar for a small celebration with your best friend.

Chapter Warning(s): grumpy bucky and awkward first encounters

Word Count: 1,865

Prompt: Roommate AU

A/N: this is my entry for @sourpatchkidsandacokecan Little Darlin's Birthday Celebration Writing Challenge. All of the excitement everyone seems to have for this fic. It kinda freaked me out at first, I'm not used to one of my fics getting so much attention. However, after my brief moment of panic -and a chat with a lovely friend. I decided to use it as motivation:) i hope this this lives up to everyone's expectations!! This is a little shorter than I hoped it would be. But I just couldn't bring myself to combine this part and the next. I would love to hear what you think of it/how you like it:)

(I don't own this photo)

Tuesday night's were never meant to be spent in a bar. At least not for you, not when you know you have work bright and early the next morning. But tonight you couldn't care less. It was a night worth celebrating. You had just signed the agreement to your new loft. Sure it wasn't located in the best part of LA and it came with three roommates. But it was a fresh start, one that you were more than ready for.

"Hello dear." Peggy, your best friend says from behind you. A smile forms on your face before you turn to look at her. You greet her with an equally enthusiastic hello, pulling her into a warm hug. She orders a drink from the young women behind the bar; while sliding onto the barstool next to you.

No more than a minute later does the bartender place Peggy's drink in front of her; exchanging a smile in thanks. "So," the tall brunette next to you says, drawing out her word. From the look on her face, you know exactly where she's going. You keep your face as neutral as you can; all while fighting against a smile. She continues, "What is the big news you had me waiting all day to hear?" She clasps her hands together, you can tell she's been on the edge of her seat since you messaged her this morning.

She watches you with her big brown eyes. You stare off towards the opposite side of the bar in pretend thought -really you're watching one of the bartenders make a fancy looking drink. Another short minute passes and you answer her, "You know, it actually isn't that big of a deal." You sip your drink, waving her off with your free hand.

Mouth hanging open, she quickly narrows her eyes at you. "I see what you're doing, you're trying to make me guess. Well it isn't going to work." She states confidently, you shrug in return. "You never drink on school nights. That alone means it must be something big." She adds, her British accent drawing looks from other customers sitting at the bar.

"I signed an agreement for a loft not too far from this bar." The words slip out before you can stop them. Your excitement taking over you completely. One minute you're sitting at the bar calm and collected, then next the pair of you are a squealing mess.

"Are you serious? This isn't one of your jokes, right?" Peggy asks you, her drink clinks against the oak bar splashing onto the wood. You nod and the spilt drink is now forgotten. "I'm not messing with you this time Pegs, this is real." You're giddy, practically bouncing in your seat while you go on telling her the story of your new apartment.

"You live with three other girls?"

"Well," you wince, drawing out the Ls at the end. To which she gives you a look, one you know all too well. "Two of them are guys and I never actually met the third. But they called them James, so maybe that's a nickname for Jamie." The words spill out of your mouth much faster than you expected them to. Your hand reaches for your almost empty glass, you down the remaining liquid in one sip. Melting ice swirls around at the bottom, water mixing with leftover alcohol.

Peggy's eyes burn holes into the side of your head. "Hun, that's not how that works." She finally says, there's a hint of amusement in her eyes -which you don't notice. You let out a nervous breath. You had been worried she wouldn't be fond of the idea of you living with guy roommates. Turns out your fears hadn't been too far off.

Nevertheless, that isn't her choice to make, besides you are more than capable of taking care of yourself. And if you're being honest, they seemed more like overgrown children than anything else.

She continues to watch you carefully, you sigh saying. "I'll be fine Pegs, really." You smile at her, hoping to offer some reassurance. She laughs in response, properly confusing you. "It's not you I'm worried about dear. It's them, you'll destroy those boys if they aren't careful." She says through bursts of laughter and you can't help but join her.

She has one of those laughs that intoxicants the people around her. That's one of the many reasons people are constantly pooling around her. Her British accent and laugh alone cause heads to turn every time you're out together. What earns people's second glance is her goddess-like height and beauty.

"So now that you have a job and a place to live -after only a week of living in LA. I believe it's time you find a new, dare I say, better man." Peggy says, your laughter dies being replaced with an eye roll. But the amusement in your eyes stays. "Don't misinterpret what I mean, I know you do not need a man. But wouldn't you agree, it would be nice to have someone by your side when you take over Los Angeles?" Peggy states keeping her tone causal. Though there's a glint in her eyes that you know all too well. She continues to watch as you order another drink for the bar; before turning your full attention back to her.

"I can set you up, I know some decent-"

"Peggy, no! You can't set me up." You say a bit too loudly, earning you glances from a couple of single men at the bar. The two of you share a disgusted look, rolling your eyes in unison. "At least… not yet, okay?" Your words bring a small smile onto Peggy's face, one of understanding.

"Not yet, but eventually." She says with a wink coaxing you to giggle.

"I have to use the little girls room. I'll be back. When I come back there better not be any men waiting for me." You tell her, while sliding off of your seat. Of course in heels, such a simple action is more than enough to make a girl lose her balance; which sends you tumbling towards the ground. You put a hand out to catch yourself, what you didn't expect is for someone to catch you.

"I'm so sorry, I'm such a klutz." You're a rambling mess before you have a chance to see the face of the person who caught you. When you do, the wind is knocked out of your lungs. Never in your life have you seen such pricing blue eyes, specks of grey swirl around in his ocean eyes. Long locks of brown hair perfectly frame his beautiful face. He's the most handsome man you have ever seen, there's no way he can be human. No one just looks that pretty and for free.

Cold liquid soaks into your dress, snapping you out of your daze. Bringing you to notice the mess your small trip had made. Glass and alcohol cover the red carpet of the bar. You grimace at the sight. Your eyes move from the floor back up to the gorgeous man. Who doesn't look pleased.

"Oh my stars, here, let me help." You tell the handsome stranger, grabbing a couple napkins from the bar. When you notice his shirt soaked in alcohol.

You're panicking, you know it. All of the judging eyes from other customers doesn't help either. Shaky hands fumble with small square napkins, trying their best to wipe away the whiskey. Somehow your attempts to fix this mess of a situation, you manage to only make it worse. The frown on his face deepens. "Don't touch me." Is all he says, voice deep and gruff. His tall figure moves around you, leaving you standing there. Wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

Wiping wet hands onto the extra napkins, you reclaim your seat next to Peggy. Who's hiding a grin behind her wine. "Don't say anything." You tell her plainly.

She snickers, "I wasn't going to say anything, love."

"Sure." Your head falls into your hands that still reek of whiskey. That's the least of your concerns, when you see the man from seconds before standing in front of you behind the bar. Of course he works here.

"Hey Wanda, bring two whiskey's neat to booth three." He yells to the women who had served you earlier. His eyes never break contact with your own. A small smirk rests on his pink lips, teasing you. His smug look leaves a feeling of rage in your chest. You and Peggy watch as he disappears into the back.

"He is definitely the one, you should go for him." Peggy teases you, poking a finger into your side. Your head falls onto the countertop with a thunk. "Let me die in peace." Her warm hand rubs your back. As she says, "It's okay, I'm sure he thought you to be charming."

"Maybe you should just kill me, it would hurt less. I'll never be able to leave my apartment again. I'll just confine myself there for the rest of my days." You complain to Peggy who can hardly hear you, because your face is pressed against the bar.

"That was so embarrassing, maybe I should go- crap he's back." You cut yourself off, head falling back into your hand, elbows propped up against the wood. Peggy turns her head to find the tall man walking back around the bar, a broom and dustpan in hand, a few rags draped over his shoulder.

"Can we go?" You whisper to your friend, careful the man, who is now behind you, doesn't overhear. She watches you a moment before nodding. "I want to sit home and watch cheesy rom-coms anyway." The pair of you laugh before getting off of your seats.

You're about to move around the mess, caused by you. When the blue eyed man says, "Careful, someone made a huge mess. You wouldn't wanna get a scratch." He has the audacity to wink at you. It only adds to your anger. You don't care if it's irrational, he doesn't have to tease you about it.

You decide against saying anything, instead you swallow your embarrassment and anger. Walking past him, ignoring his comment. Peggy does the same.

"Since it's my last night in this hotel you wanna have a sleepover, like old times? It'll also help me forget this horrible night." You ask once out of the bar, Peggy drapes an arm around your shoulders. "Just as long as you don't break anything. I'm more than happy to stay with you." You laugh with her, walking down the busy streets of Los Angeles.

"At least I'll never have to see him again." You say joyfully.

"You mean we aren't coming back here?" Peggy asks her nose scrunches and you know she's joking.

"Never again." The two of you laugh again.

"I don't know, y/n. He seemed like he was the one for you. I still think you should ask him out." She teases you once again. You laugh telling her it will never happen. All while being unaware of what cruel joke tomorrow held for you.

>>>>>

Well, that it's, the first part of New Girl is here. I hope you all liked it, and I just wanted to say a huge thanks for all the love this has already gotten! Yall are really inspiring me to write, thank you, i love yall!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bartender!bucky x teacher!reader #bartender!bucky #teacher!reader #roommate au #new girl au #bucky series #marvel fanfiction #rae writes #new girl part one #my fanfiction

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mrs-takami-keigo · 4 years ago

Text

Baked Lovin’

Parings Hawks X Quinn (OC)

Rating: EXPLICT! 18+

Warnings: Recriational drug use, fingering, oral sex

Description: Quinn never thought that Hawks meeting her old college friends would end up with him being as high as a fucking kite off of a few bites of an edible. Quirkless AU

Word count: 4.6K

Taglist: @katsukikitten, @honeytama, @prismaroyal, @hawks-senseis, @tui-lah

Notes: This is my fourth tile off of my BINGO sheet for the @bnhabookclub event! The tile prompt for this was High Sex and honestly this was freaking fun to write and use my OC Quinn for more than my SERIES she’s in.

At first, she was hesitant, her friends were on the wild side when they all got together. It was like they were all twenty or twenty one again, partying before an exam, and never getting a hangover.

“I don’t know Hawks. I’m not sure they are your kind of crowd.” Quinn said to him two weeks before the gathering. They were at home in their shared apartment, her and Hawks just having finished a hard day of work. Their schedules were perfect, Quinn worked as an executive for her uncle’s clothing brand called Todoroki Threads. While Hawks was the model and co-owner for Hotwing's, an alternative clothing brand made by her cousin and him.

When her uncle found out she was dating the ‘enemy’ he was livid but Quinn knew how to handle her uncle. Over time he gave up trying to break them up, seeing how she wasn’t letting go of her beloved boyfriend.

“I want to know the people that were around you during your roaring twenties.” Hawks crept up behind her as she prepared their dinner. His large hands ran down her sides, stopping when he reached her hips.

“Hmmm if you were to meet that Quinn, she would eat you alive little dove.” She pushed her plump ass against his sweatpants clad lower half, feeling his semi-hard cock brush against her.

Hawks let out a low groan as he nuzzled his face into the side of her neck, tentatively giving it a lick.

“I’m sure she would, firebird.” His grip on her hips tightened as he ground himself against her. “Why don’t you show me, baby?” He growled against her ear. And just like that dinner was put on hold while she had to show him just what she was capable of.

After continuous begging and just being plain out annoying, Quinn gave in and allowed Hawks to come with her and she was slowly regretting it. Having him in the states let alone in New York City was a mistake. He wanted to go to every tourist attraction, eat at every food cart he could find and on more than one occasion he got lost when he decided to venture off on his own.

“Hey, are you sure you still want to do this?” Quinn asked from the bathroom as she finished putting the last touches of her makeup on. Fluffing up her curly hair, she took a good look in the mirror.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Well hello there beautiful.” Hawks walked into the large penthouse bathroom, leaning against the sink as he eyed his girlfriend. No matter how many times he saw her dressed up, she looked like a fucking goddess in his eyes.

The way her tight high waisted jeans hugged her thick thighs, showing off every curve perfectly. Her hot pink bustier pushed her full breasts up, the color emphasized how beautiful her golden sun-kissed skin looked. She wore her hot pink wedges that matched her top, her manicured toes peeked out from the tip of the shoe. A simple look of a winged liner and glossed lips only enhanced her natural beauty.

“What? You’ve been staring at me for like five minutes and it's creeping me out.” Quinn walked up to him. She was only about two inches shorter than him, but whenever she wore heels of any kind Quinn would end up being an inch or so taller than him.

“Just thinking about how fucking perfect you are.” Hawks lazily wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in. “How the hell did I get a woman like yourself to fall for a bastard like me?”

Quinn let her hands run up his chest to the back of his neck, where she played with the soft short hairs on the nape of it. “Because I have a thing for arrogant bastards who are gorgeous and have some good dick.”

“You do love it when I dick you down don’t you?” Hawks brought his face closer to the woman in his arms, the tip of his nose brushing against hers. His breath was mingling with hers as he spoke, those golden eyes she fell in love with were filled with desire. “Maybe we have time for a little demonstration.”

“I don’t think so dove, not when I’ve spent so long to get ready.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips, stepping out of his embrace and into the bedroom. “We have to leave now and get a cab. Everyone should be at Chris’ place soon.” Looking back at the bathroom door, Quinn got a full look at her boyfriend.

People would think that Hawks was a fashion-forward kind of man, seeing as how he was a model and had a clothing brand. But in fact, it was the exact opposite, Hawks was a simple dresser. Like tonight he wore a white slim fit v-neck t-shirt, a silver pillar chain hung from his neck. Black jeans with frayed holes on his knees and black vans that had red wings painted on the sides of them. Thick silver rings were on some of his long fingers, and a red braided yarn bracelet that was accompanied by some random black metal bracelets. It may have been simple but god was he sexy.

Hawks walked up behind her as she put on her golden hooped earrings in the mirror of the bedroom. Moving her thick burgundy and black curly hair to one side he kissed her shoulder.

“We’ll just have to have a full-on ride test when we get back.” Hawks locked eyes with her through the reflective object, her hazel ones were just as dark and full of lust as his.

“You better remember that promise baby boy.” Her voice was low, sending shivers down his spine. Hawks opened his mouth slightly on the junction of her neck and shoulder, biting it. That was his way of letting her know she was gonna get fucked tonight.

When the two finally made it to Quinn’s friend Chris’ house everyone was already there. Music was pumping through the large apartment, drinks in everyone's hands, and friends catching up with each other.

Quinn and Hawks were at the bar getting their drinks when she felt her body be lifted from the ground and spun around.

“If it isn’t Q!” Just hearing the voice Quinn knew exactly who it was.

“Mocha! Still as loud as ever!!” She giggled as he kept spinning her around while her confused and amused boyfriend watched.

Gently putting Quinn down Mocha pulled her in for a bear hug. “It’s been too long.”

“It really has, Mocha, it really has.” She heard Hawks cough behind her. “Oh Mocha, this is my boyfriend Keigo, but he goes by Hawks. Hawks this is Mocha, one of the best people to ever grace this earth.”

Hawks shook his hand, glad to meet such a good friend of Quinn’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You did good Q, he fine as hell.” Mocha winked at Hawks, causing the shorter male to laugh.

“Hearing that coming from someone as beautiful as you are a blessing in its own.” Hawks wanted to make a good impression on Quinn’s friends, he knew how much they meant to her.

“Now that’s a man! Come y’all let's go to the balcony, the rest of the dance team is over there.” Mocha grabbed Hawks’ hand, leaving Quinn to grab the drinks as she ran after her friend and her giggling boyfriend.

“Wait so you're telling me, Quinn, like MY Quinn, used to dance?!” Hawks was sitting on the edge of his seat, Quinn had a hand over her face as her friends decided to tell him every little detail about her college life.

“Yeah, and she had a stage name.” One of her female friends said digging Quinn even further down the rabbit hole.

“Wasn’t it a bird of some sort. Oh, wait I got it, wasn’t it Phoenix?!”

“Shoot me now please.” Quinn sunk lower into the chair, trying to just disappear as Hawks looked at her.

“Yup! Everyone called her Phoenix, she even had a Fanclub on campus.” Mocha was enjoying seeing his friend like this. “Broke a lot of hearts too.”

“Oh really?” Hawks raised an eyebrow at Mocha’s statement, glancing over at Quinn. “You were breaking hearts instead of doing your studies huh?”

“Fuck off, I will not be slandered like this.” Quinn got up from her seat, grabbing her drink. “I’ll be inside talking to my real friends.” She heard the group chuckle as she stormed into the living room.

Quinn had been hanging out with some of her other friends when Chris came up to her.

“Well well, if it isn’t Ms. Phoenix.”

“Hello, Chris.” Her voice was monotonous as she took a sip of her second drink that night.

“Still the ice queen I see.”

They both stared at each other before bursting out laughing. “Ice queen, how original.” Quinn pushed him on the shoulder, the tall dark-haired man rubbed the spot she pushed.

“Damn Quinn, what do you do for a living fight crime? Why are you so strong?”

“I hate you.” Chris was her best friend in the entire world. She would kill for that man, and he would do the same for her.

“Would you really hate the man that brought you a present?” Chris reached into the backpack he had, pulling out a neatly wrapped lucky charms cereal bar.

“Is that what I think it is?” A wide grin spread across Quinn’s face as she reached for it.

“It sure is, all two hundred milligrams of it.” If there was a guilty pleasure of Quinn’s it would be weed. Back in her college days, she was what the media and police would call a pothead.

“And you brought it for me?!” She pretended to have tears in her eyes as she took the cereal bar from his hands.

“Anything for my favorite girl.” Chris smiled at his best friend while she ate half of the illegal treat. Wrapping it back up in the plastic, Quinn put it in her small purse, continuing her conversation with Chris.

The night had passed on, Hawks was introduced to more of Quinn’s friends and before she knew it people started to leave. That’s when Quinn noticed she hadn’t seen Hawks for about an hour now.

Walking up to Mocha who was helping Chris clean up she asked, “Have you guys seen Hawks? Last I saw him was when I asked for him to hold my purse while I used the bathroom.”

“I saw him sitting outside.” Mocha nodded to the balcony. Turning over her shoulder she saw Hawks lying on the lounge chair staring at the sky.

Stepping through the sliding glass doors, Quinn squatted down next to her boyfriend. “Come on baby let’s go back to the room.” She was already feeling the edible she ate from before, it was finally kicking into her system.

“Have you ever been able to feel every nerve ending in your body?” Hawks kept staring at the sky, his body still, except for his chest moving up and down.

“Huh, what are you talking about?” Quinn moved his legs over so she could share the chair with him.

“I can feel every nerve in my body, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.” That’s when he looked at her, his golden eyes were glossed over, with a slight tint of red where the white was.

“Oh fuck!” She grabbed her purse, ripping it open. Digging around her purse she couldn’t find the other half of her edible. “Keigo, baby did you eat the cereal bar in my bag?” Her hands were pressed against the sides of his face, making him focus on her.

“I was hungry, speaking of hunger can we get something you eat? I’m starving.” He had a goofy grin on his face as he spoke to her. Quinn could only hang her head as she realized, she had gotten her boyfriend high for the first time.

“What do you think this sauce is made of? It's amazing!” Hawks shouted through the hallway of the hotel.

“Shhh! What did I tell you about being quiet?” Getting Hawks back to the room deserved to be an Olympic sport. He wanted to talk to every person he came in contact with, kept asking Quinn for kisses, and when she did he would scream “I won! I won!” to the sky. She had finally got him to quiet down when she bought him some Halal from the cart down the block.

“Oh yeah, we have to be like ninja’s.” With his white container full food in his hands, Hawks pressed himself against the wall, tiptoeing as he walked.

The two finally made it to the room, where Hawks plopped on the couch and rubbed his belly.

“That was amazing!” He kicked off his shoes, sending them flying across the room.

“Good, now I’m going to go take a shower, so behave.” She didn’t want to leave him alone to his own devices but she had to. “Keigo promise me you’ll behave.”

“You got it, baby, anything for you.” He sent her a wink before he threw his head over the back of the couch.

Sighing Quinn walked over to the bathroom, not shutting the door all the way just in case. She peeled the tight clothing off of her body unaware a pair of dark golden eyes were watching her every move.

The shower was quick, seeing as Quinn opted to not wash her hair. Walking out of the steaming bathroom, wrapped in nothing but a towel, Quinn had expected to see Hawks laid out on the bed or on the small couch passed out. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Panic started to run through her body as she thought the worst.

“Did he walk out for more food?’ Oh god, please just don’t get arrested!”

Quinn was about to go for her purse to grab her phone when a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her towards a hard chest.

“Where are you going firebird?” Hawk’s growled in her ear, his tongue coming out giving the shell of her ear a soft lick. She could feel his rock hard dick pressing against her.

“Hawks what are you doing?”

Hawks didn’t answer her right away, he let his hands travel down her stomach, to where the small slit of the towel was, slipping his fingers inside. He grazed his fingers against her sunkissed golden skin, shivers ran up her spine. Hawks nuzzled his nose into her neck, exhaling gently against it.

“God you feel so good, just let me feel you.” Hawks opened the towel, letting it fall to the floor, pooling around their feet. “It’s like I can feel every single nerve in my fingertips. It’s like electricity shooting through my body.”

Quinn let her head fall back against his shoulder, the effects of the edible were still coursing through her body. She could feel every nerve as well and right now with just his touch she was ready to cum for him.

“Wait until you feel this.” She grabbed his hand, bringing it down to her wet pussy. Hawks' fingers immediately started to play with her slick folds.

“Oh fuck, your so fucking wet for me.” She could feel his lips kiss along her shoulder, his hips involuntarily bucking against her.

She reached up to cup the back of Hawks neck, her delicate fingers played with his hair. Hawks continued his slow torture on her pussy, his fingers would just slide against her, going between grazing her hardened clit and her pulsating entrance.

“Get on the bed for me, on all fours baby.” Quinn was so lost in his touch that she hadn’t heard him speak to her. Getting frustrated Hawks used his other hand to grip her jaw, forcing her to look at him. His lips brushed against hers as he growled.

“On the bed now!” Quinn could only moan in response, with the way he was making her feel right now, words failed her.

Doing as he asked Quinn climbed on the bed, hands and knees pressed against the soft white bedding, back arched and ass up and in full view for Hawks. She could hear the rustling of clothes behind her, glancing back she watched as Hawks pulled his shirt over his head. His arm muscles flexed as he started to undo his belt.

Quinn bit her bottom lip as she watched him, she always knew he was sexy and so goddamn good looking but right now, he looked like some kind of god. His messy blonde hair was sticking up everywhere, those golden eyes that kept looking over at her were still glossed over. She couldn’t help herself, reaching one of her hands under her, she started to play with herself.

“Keigo.” She moaned out his name when she slid two fingers into her wet pussy. Hawks was down to his boxers about to take them off when she called out his name, stopping his movements. His eyes darkened as he watched her slide those fingers in and out, pleasuring herself in front of him.

“AH!” Quinn looked behind her to see Hawks down on his knees, his teeth digging into her ass. Releasing his teeth, Hawks looked her in the eyes as he licked the wounded area.

“I couldn’t resist, your ass just looks good enough to eat.” He peppered kisses along her cheeks. He had each hand full of her ass, eyes closed. He was enjoying feeling her against his lips. That edible made him feel like he was on top of the fucking world, with the love of his life face down and ass up of him, he felt unstoppable.

“You better get to eatin’, baby boy.” Quinn pulled her fingers out of her soaking wet cunt, pressing the side of her face against the bed. Her hands reached around, spreading her cheeks to present herself to him.

Hawks felt his mouth water as he eyed her glistening sex. He’s eaten her out more times than he could count but never like this. Running his hands over her ass, up her back, his pink tongue came out, swiping it across her pussy. He moaned against her, her juices hitting every taste bud on his tongue.

“Fuck!” wrapping his arms around her thighs, Hawks brought his lips back to hers, lapping up all of her juices. He made work of his tongue, between flicking it over her clit and then gently sucking on it.

Quinn’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, her mouth open as soft whimpers came out of her. If there was one thing Hawks knew, it was how to use that sinful mouth of his. The way his tongue felt on her, the slurping sounds he made when he sucked on her clit. His grunts and moans against her were nothing but vibrations that made her toes curl and her thighs shake.

“Do that again Keigo.” her words came out as a moan when he stuck his tongue inside of her. Hawks loved to please her, he had a pleasure kink. He wanted to make sure she knew it was him doing this to her, making her scream his name in pure ecstasy. So if Quinn said to do it again, he was going to.

“Yes just like that, don’t fucking stop.” Her arms were stretched out across the bed, gripping at the comforter. She could feel the tightening in her lower abdomen, knowing if he kept that up she wouldn’t last much longer.

Just as she felt it building, Hawks pulled away from her. Lifting up her torso from the bed she looked under her to see Hawks turn himself over, the back of his head rested on the bed, his face directly under her pussy. Using his legs he propped up his lower half, a large hand jerking off his hard cock, his other hand playing with her folds.

“Arch that back for me.” lowering herself back to the bed like before, Quinn felt Hawks slip a finger into her entrance. “So fucking tight.” After a few pumps in and out of the wet entrance, Hawks added another finger, stretching her out.

“Bring me that pussy, baby girl.” Spreading her legs further apart, Quinn lowered her bottom half, her pussy was back on his lips. He went back to what he was doing before, sucking on her now extra sensitive clit while he fingered her.

“Oh my god please don’t stop! I’m so close.” Quinn planted her face against the soft material, biting it. Hawks stopped moving his hand that was around his cock, instead he wrapped it around her waist, holding her against him.

With two fingers inside of her, Hawks curled them up, hitting her bundle of nerves. Quinn was positive it was because of the edible she ate that it made her extra sensitive. She felt that tight bundle in her lower abdomen release itself as she came on Hawks fingers.

“Holy fuck Keigo.” Her body convulsed ever so slightly as he kept licking her clean, making sure to get every drop of her essence.

“I’m not done with you yet.” He bit her inner thigh, making sure to leave a mark in his wake. Sliding out from under her, Hawks walked over to his luggage to grab a condom. Quinn took this moment to try and catch her breath. Moving to the middle of the bed, she laid on her back with her hazel eyes closed, legs slightly spread apart. She was too fucking high for this, between the edible and the way Hawks made her see cloud nine she wasn’t sure if she could keep up.

She felt her body slipping into sleep mode when she felt hands wrapping around her ankles, pulling her to the edge of the bed.

“Don’t you dare sleep firebird, I’ve got a raging hard cock just for you.” He was kneeling on the bed, her legs over his hands while his arms locked them in place, her ass slightly off the bed. Her thick thighs were touching but she could see Hawks’ cock resting in between her slick folds, his hips rocking gently, brushing against her sensitive clit.

“The way you have me feeling right now is fucking insane.” He continued to move against her, as he watched her squirm. Soft plump lips were slightly agape as she purred for him. Her beautiful curls were fanned out around her, her baby hairs sticking to her sweaty forehead. Those breasts he loved so much moved with each grind he did against her. Hazel colored eyes staring right at him as he looked over her body.

“Fuck Quinn you look so beautiful right now.” Pulling back Hawks aligned himself with her entrance. Slowly he eased inside of her, watching as she took every inch of him.

Hawks let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, once he was fully inside of her. Her walls were constricting around him. Her small hand reached out to cup his face, her thumb brushing against his swollen lips. Closing his eyes Hawks leaned into Quinn’s touch, kissing her thumb.

“You have no idea how much I love you.” It was a whisper but Quinn heard it and she felt her heart quicken its pace.

“Move Keigo, please I need it, I need you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, slightly pulling back he thrust his hips forward, back into her. Quinn’s eyes rolled back into her head, as a moan slipped past her lips. Hawks thrust were slow and deep, making sure she felt all of him. But he was slowly losing and uphill battle.

Quinn knew he was sensitive because of the drug and she wanted him to cum just like she had.

“Come here.” She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, bringing him down to her. Letting go of her legs, he put them over his shoulders, bending her in half. His nose brushed against her rounded one, breaths mingling with each other, his hips never stopped moving.

“No one has made me ever feel the way you do Keigo. The feeling of your dick inside of me, my walls stretching around you is the best feeling in the world baby.” Their eyes were locked, his hips moving faster. Yes, he had a pleasure kink, but he also had a praise kink.

“That’s right baby fuck me. Make me scream out your name while I cum for you and only you!” The grip she had on his neck tightened and he moved faster and faster. The position had him going so deep inside of her, pushing against her soft bundle of nerves.

She could feel his hips stutter in their movements, he was about to cum. “That’s right Keigo Cum. I want to feel it, I’ll cum with you, just don’t fucking stop.” Moving her face to the side her lips met his in a kiss that was messy and full of tongue.

“Fuck Quinn!” Hawks broke the kiss, closing his eyes and his forehead rested against hers. The sound of skin slapping against each other and their moans filled the room. Hawks felt like he was flying through the sky, the stars were right in his reach.

Quinn felt it too as if she was flying along with him, not caring about anything but the man on top of her as he brought her to a new kind of high.

Hawks opened his eyes and he felt his heart stop. She was looking right at him, her eyes full of love and lust for him. He was sure his own mirrored hers. Mouths were opened, only shuddering breaths were coming out with each deep thrust. Quinn’s hands traveled to his back, raking her nails across his skin, leaving red marks behind. She was so close and so was Hawks, with one final thrust, they both felt that white-hot flash run through their body.

“FUCK!” They both screamed as their release hit them at the same time. Slowly they rode out their orgasm, Hawks moving slowly and Quinn’s body going limp. Pulling out of her, Hawks took off the condom, knotting the top and tossing it in the trash can.

Slowly he let down her legs, moving next to her, he placed one arm under her shoulders and another under her knees. Gently he moved her further up the bed to where the pillows were, moving the comforter so he could wrap her in it.

Once Quinn was snuggled into the bed he walked over to the light switch, turning it off. Climbing onto the mattress next to his beloved, Hawks placed an arm over her waist, his head resting on her chest. Quinn moved her free arm to rub her finger through his soft hair. Lulling him into a deep sleep. The love between them didn’t need words, they knew that they had something different, something real.

Quinn opened her eyes to the sound of a water bottle being crushed. Her mouth was dry as if full of cotton and her lower half was sore. Sitting up she saw the white containers of what looked like Halal food and Hawks clothes thrown around the room. Flashes of last night flooded her mind.

“Baby why am I so thirsty?! What was in that cereal bar?” Hawks was sitting in front of the minibar, opening his fourth bottle of water.

Quinn couldn’t help but laugh at him. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

#bnhabookclub #bnhabookclub bingo event #bnha hawks #mha hawks #keigo takami x oc #keigo takami #bnha smut #tw: drugs #bnha #bnha x oc #mha x oc #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x poc

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agent-cupcake · 4 years ago

Text

Beastie and the Bard

Fire Emblem Three Houses - Dimitri x Reader (Chapter 7)

Yes, it’s been over a month. Unfortunately, I’m beginning to think this monstrosity is going to be a lot longer than I ever intended. Anyway, there’s some Sylvain in this one... Damn I love him.

Opus 5, No. 1 Dramma giocoso Act I. Apertura di Domani

Morning came. With it, awareness. A far off clanging of the hourly bells and the cold light of the winter sun slanting in through the thin window by your door, landing across your face and painting your vision with the red of your eyelids. Disgruntled and groggy, you moved away from the harsh beam, but it was too late. Coherent thoughts teased at the edges of your mind, the discomforts of a cottony mouth and a foot half-frozen from sticking out from your blankets. You fought it but even as you buried your face into your pillow and snuggled more comfortably into your blanket cocoon, distant recall was unearthed from the half-awake sludge of your brain. Each second ticked by with a more firm sense of lucidity, and eventually, you could no longer avoid reality.

The White Heron Ball. The Goddess Tower.

Dimitri. You and Dimitri.

Your stomach flopped at the idea, all remnants of sleep wiped from your mind. Even as you tried to convince yourself it must have been a dream, that you were still half asleep and dazed, your eyes opened. Sure enough, evidence of the truth that surrounded you. The torn dress on your floor, candles melted to drippy stubs, a used handkerchief cast uncaringly aside. Other things, too. Bruises, sore feet, a twinge in your core. And memories, lingering feelings. Unrestrained desire upon seeing the fully revealed expanse of Dimitri’s body, his fair skin marked with scars and deceptively slim frame muscular and firm. A dizzy, shivering sensation when he looked at you with eyes half-lidded with lust, your reckless arousal to see his expression drawn with feral desire. The taste of his kiss, cider; his skin, salt. The masculine musky scent that filled your lungs when you were close, the sound of his groans rumbling in his chest. Dimitri’s lips on yours, his hands holding your hips, your bodies joined together, his touch unraveling you, sensation, stimulus, pleasure-

Dimitri, overwhelming you completely.

Memory rolled down your spine like a chill, urging action. Pushing off the comfortable blankets, you rolled out of bed and stood. It was too fast. The sudden shift nearly knocked you back down, head spinning and vision filled with spots. Pains that had been less noticeable while laying down demanded your attention. Without cover, your skin was exposed to the cool air of your room and prickled with cold. But you remained upright, blinking your vision clear. You had to see.

Reflected in the mirror was the truth entire. Bleary eyes, skin marked with bruises, and surrounded by a halo decidedly unruly hair. It was the appearance of someone who, last night, had given herself fully to a man. Studying your reflection, you tried to determine if you could detect a change. You were, after all, a virgin no longer. A girl made woman, unfit for the pure marriage your father had so carefully planned for. What would he say? You could almost imagine it. His anger, his disgust. His darling daughter ruined by a man she could never hope to keep. In that, at least, he would have been right. Shaking the thought from your mind, you took an even breath to steady yourself, watching your chest rise and fall with the action, following the trail of naked skin towards to find a change. Nothing.

Meeting your reflected eyes once more, you realized that the songs and stories were all wrong. Nothing had changed. Not you, not your feelings. They had been set as surely as if they had been carved into stone for far longer than last night. A dozen moments could have been the genesis; the night Dimitri happened upon you playing by the lake, that first battle when you were a puppet to the elation of victory, the stories he shared in the shadow of the stables; although you couldn’t entirely believe it was any of those moments, cherished as they were. The truth was far more simple, a cliche. Love at first sight. Twice over. It had always been Dimitri, even when he had been little more than an ephemeral dream in a dreary childhood. You would have had greater luck asking the wind to stop blowing than to stop your heart from loving him truly, to stop last night from being an inevitable consequence of your feelings.

You hadn’t changed, it was still the same you in the mirror.

As the memories continued, that thought lost its painful sense of charm. It was just you. Alone.

Dimitri’s goodbye finally came to be considered. It was an unbearably bitter aftertaste to the sugary sweetness of your coupling. As his final words returned to you, doubt followed, anxiety about the consequences of your thoughtless actions. Not for your sake, but his. For what it meant for him. To your love, you were powerless. But he was powerless, too. Dimitri was powerless against the goals he so desperately strived for, the drive that be belonged to so completely that his future was not his own. Last night had been a wish granted, and a reminder. No matter what you wished for, what you felt, Dimitri was not yours.

Despite the finger-shaped bruises on your hips, the soreness between your thighs, the red marks pulled to your neck by his overeager mouth. Despite the intoxicating and incomparable intimacy you shared. He was not yours.

Maybe you did worry about the consequences of your actions for your own sake, maybe you could only pretend to be selfless.

You looked away from the mirror and covered the evidence of his affections by getting dressed, pulling the collar of your uniform coat snug against your neck. With the same rigid efficiency, you wiped the makeup from under your eyes and brushed away the knots in your hair, tying it back. How frustrating that, despite your attempts in ignoring it all, your eyes burned with the threat of tears, your chest clenching on an empty feeling of loneliness.

It was silly, stupid. From the very start, you’d known that you couldn’t want for something more. You had to do as you told him last night, reject expectations of the future and live for what you had. Cling to these fleeting memories of perfection, moments to hang on your wall when the night was too dark and the silence too loud. You could do that.

The pain would pass.

Washing your mouth and smoothing down your hair for a final time, you rubbed the burn from your eyes and set out for the day, not wishing to linger in your lonely room with your circular thoughts. There was no class today, but that didn’t mean you could spend it wallowing.

The cool wintery sun that had woken you up blazed above. It brought light to the bright blue sky stretched above the monastery, although did little to warm the academy grounds. Clouds gathered on the horizons, bringing a faint mugginess made the chill air that much cooler. Judging by that, the hour was later than you usually woke up, although you could see similar grogginess among your fellow classmates. The ball had been quite the excitement.

At first, something akin to paranoia ran like bugs across your skin as you made your way to the dining hall, fear that everyone would see past your uniform to the memory of Dimitri’s touch littering your skin, that they would notice the odd gait you adopted as a result of the soreness nestled between your legs. But nobody gave you a second glance as you crossed the monastery grounds. They didn’t know what had happened, what indulgence you had committed. And even if they did, would anyone believe that you had lost your virginity to Dimitri, the crown prince of Faerghus? The only one who knew was you.

And him.

Even knowing it was a slim chance considering the hour, you couldn’t help but scan the crowd to find a familiar face. A splash of blue, of gold. Then again, during the day it was just as easy to find Dimitri by looking near the unmistakably tall figure of Dedue. You knew the poor odds, yet you found yourself disappointed in his absence. You wanted desperately to speak to him, to know what he felt. Not that he would discuss such things during the day, when other people were around. Normally he was too preoccupied for much of anything during the day. Training, studying, lost in thought. You wanted to see him anyway, to settle for simply being near him. Silly Thoughts. Your stomach grumbling was hardly an appealing trait to present in your misguided wooing attempts.

Half lost in your dramatic thoughts, you entered the dining hall and cut through the crowd. Waiting in the line, being served, and turning with your tray to find a place to sit were all done with automatic movements, your mind wallowing disconnected stream of worry and wishful thinking as you followed routine. Preoccupation kept you company with its bland ignorance, but not even you could zone out so thoroughly to miss the familiar voice.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Sylvain said, greeting you with his ever-popular smooth voice and easy smile, falling into step at your side. “I can’t help but notice that you look lonely. Care for some company?”

You nearly stumbled at the shock of being pulled from your thoughts so abruptly, head jerking sideways to look up at him. Sylvain looked as good as he always did, red hair messy but not unkempt and his uniform sloppy but not slovenly.

It was strange, but not altogether surprising, that seeing him would be such a happy relief. “Good morning,” you responded a beat too late to be entirely natural. Your voice was raspy, dry from disuse.

“Whoops, I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Sylvain said, clearly unrepentant. “You looked like you were really lost in thought. I’ve seen that look before, you know. You were thinking about someone, right?”

“Uh, yes…” you said before thinking. Sylvain’s smile grew at getting such an easy confession, urging you to quickly clarify, “Well, not exactly. I was thinking about how I wished I had someone to eat with.”

“Really? That’s strange, I was just thinking that I’d love to start my day by enjoying the company of a cute girl,” Sylvain said. “Having us meet like this must be some act of fate.”

Some part of you still felt embarrassed by his casual flirtations, even after all the months past. Another tugged a smile onto your face, feeling a sort of comfort in the familiarity of Sylvain’s slippery charm.

“Must be,” you responded. “Is right here okay?” You paused at the uninhabited end of one of the tables situated on the opposite side of the glaring sunshine slanting in through the windows. It was difficult to not hold a grudge against its rude awakening.

“Here? Are you sure?” Sylvain offered, half-raising an eyebrow. “We could always go somewhere with a bit more privacy.”

“Maybe some other time,” you responded, shrugging off the flirtatious question.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Sylvain responded, smiling as he set down his plate and took the seat across from yours. “You know, now that I think about it, it’s pretty late for you to be getting breakfast. You’re usually up early, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I slept in a little long. Not that I meant too, but..” You shrugged, frowning at the reminder.

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Sylvain soothed. “Personally, I think it’s pretty cute that you’re finally learning to loosen up a bit. I was worried His Highness had rubbed off on you.”

Well, that was one way to put it.

You made to sit, only to freeze when a pinching sort of pain between your legs caught you off guard, pulling a half-stifled squeak of surprise from your mouth. A not-so-subtle reminder of the strenuous activities of last night. It was impossible to cover for the reaction, so you opted to keep your head down as you sat, ignoring the unfamiliar pain and his curious gaze by grabbing your fork and picking through the pile of rubbery eggs on your tray.

You willed the blush on your cheeks to cool. Sylvain couldn’t possibly know what you knew, or have been tipped off to what had happened by such a minute response. The reaction was no different than if you were sore from training, he would have no reason to suspect it was anything other than that. Yes, absolutely no reason-

“Sore?” Sylvain asked you knowingly. You stiffened, even more blood pooling in your cheeks as you looked up to his playful grin.

“What?” you asked.

“I guess I was right to worry,” Sylvain said, leaning in as if to conspire. “Did Dimitri work you a little too hard? His Highness isn’t really one to take it easy on people, I take it you’re no exception.”

Your stomach dropped low, the words only furthering the flush burning your skin. “How… How did you know what we….” you stuttered, physically unable to find coherency as you gaped at the man. “Did Dimitri tell you?”

“Wait, what?” Sylvain asked, his eyes wide in surprise. Genuine surprise. “I was kidding, but…” He leaned back, shock resolving into a thoughtful expression. “So you and Dimitri. Huh.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I mean, he asked me for advice, but… Damn, I didn’t think he had it in him.” Sylvain’s head tilted upwards, a smirk curling his lips. “Or, I guess, had it in you.”

A burst of indignant embarrassment was quick to ignite within you in response, your brain sputtering as it tried to think of a reaction other than the desire to melt out of existence. At first it was just shock that he would go that far, but then came the burn of regret that you had been tricked into admitting the truth right away. Anger invited itself as a quick rebuff of the crass joke to finish it all off, but after a second of facing Sylvain’s mischievous expression with your own disastrously flustered one, you decided to give it up.

“That was a joke- Huh?” Sylvain’s reflexive explanation cut off abruptly when he noticed the fact that you were clearly trying to swallow down a fit of giggles. His expression changed from overzealously apologetic to confused, the look doing nothing to help you from stopping yourself from the first bubbles of laughter. It was just too awful. Embarrassing, not to mention juvenile. Prying into something so personal and attacking the very thing you were most self-conscious about. Even still, the joke was a little funny. In a crude way. Completely awful. So you laughed. “Uh… Are you okay?” he asked nervously. “I was just trying to be funny, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Something about his tone of voice only made you laugh harder.

You nodded in response to his concern, breathless and unable to speak, waving your hands as if to deflect it. This was the wrong reaction, you knew that. Maybe you were more tired than you thought, exhausted by everything that had happened. There was no other explanation for why you were laughing. Certainly not at the joke, such as it was, and especially not at the fact that you’d just accidentally revealed a disastrous secret to him. Perhaps it was therapeutic. Laughing was good, cleansing, wasn’t it? Medicine of the same strain as music.

Eventually, you got yourself under control, wiping tears from your eyes and taking a heavy breath. “Sorry, that was… I don’t want to be rude, but your jokes really are terrible, Sylvain,” you said, still smiling.

He chuckled, although there was an awkward pinch of uneasiness to the sound, like he was still waiting for you to berate him. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Can’t say I’ve ever heard that from someone who laughed so hard, though.” “Sorry,” you said again, shaking your head to clear it. Like a leaf caught in a stiff breeze, your mood shifted, laughter no longer fighting off the embarrassment of before. “You, uh, you won’t tell anyone, right? About me and… And Dimitri.”

“Huh? Of course not.” Sylvain laughed casually, although there was an abashed quality to it. He still eyed you cautiously, ready to be rebuked. “But…”

“What is it?” You asked when he didn’t continue that thought, eyebrows furrowing at the discomfort of his continued staring. Maybe you would have to yell at him after all.

Luckily, Sylvain’s gaze dropped as he shook his head, bewilderment crossing his expression. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for him. Dimitri needs a reason to loosen up more than any of us but… Wow.” He let the thought end there, picking up his fork to pick through breakfast. You let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah… Wow,” you echoed. If you stopped to think about it, you felt just as much surprise as Sylvain about the turn of events, the vertigo from the morning returning. Considering all you knew about Dimitri, perhaps it was all more shocking to you. But, having nothing else to add, you followed suit in digging in.

The food, cold as it was, didn’t taste half as bad when you had company. Odd how that worked. Even the quiet between the two of you wasn’t so bad. In fact, you half wondered if you were actually glad that one other person knew your secret. That made it more real, somehow. And besides, as much of a reputation as Sylvain had, you were certain that he was a good person. Out of any of your other classmates, you imagined he was probably one of the best. He wouldn’t judge and could keep a secret.

“I guess this means I don’t have a chance with you,” Sylvain suddenly said, before the silence could get too stale. From any other man, those words could have been uncomfortable, but a line was a line and Sylvain was a phony philanderer to his core. It made you smile, set at ease by knowing that things would be the same. That was good. Normalizing. You were still you, just like Sylvain was always Sylvain. And Dimitri… He would always be Dimitri.

“Sorry,” you replied, smiling with an apology you didn’t feel.

“Figured as much. That’s a shame, I’ve always wanted to date a musician, you know. Well, if he ever breaks your heart, I’m more than happy to be your shoulder to cry on,” he said, winking.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“But if you break his…” Sylvain continued, his tone losing that playful sound in favor of a hard edge. “I’ll never forgive you.” His expression had become serious, eyes intense. Through a veneer of pretend, you saw the truth.

“You really care about him,” you said, feeling impressed at the revelation rather than intimidated by the threat. After all, the idea of you breaking Dimitri’s heart was more devastating than any threat.

Sylvain blinked, surprised by your reaction. Just as quickly, that was casually shrugged off, his easy demeanor returning. “Yeah, I guess I do. Someone’s gotta look after him, he’s hopeless when it comes to girls.”

“You’d be surprised,” you replied without thinking.

That made Sylvain laugh. “He might have you fooled right now, but just wait. Do you know what he gave the first girl he fell for?”

The first girl he fell for? For a reason you didn’t like, you felt more curious about that than the gift, but you forced yourself to play along. “No.”

“A dagger,” Sylvain said, leaning in on his elbows to properly emphasize the answer. Then he hesitated, head tilting as he fixed you with a worried look. “He hasn’t given you a dagger, has he? I swear, I keep telling him that girls are delicate, that they should be showered in candy and flowers. Unfortunately, Dimitri is as stubborn as ever. He doesn’t understand girls like I do.”

“He hasn’t given me a dagger,” you replied, slightly amused by the idea. How utterly Dimitri. But from him, that didn’t sound like such a bad gift.

“Heh, maybe there’s hope for him yet.”

Sylvain seemed satisfied with leaving things at that, but you were caught up on what he’d said before, trying to think of a way to ask about the girl Dimitri had given said dagger to. But, before you could speak, you were cut off by an abrupt interruption to your table. He came to a loud, halting stop above you. A Knight of Seiros, slightly winded. He was armored in standard Garreg Mach guard fashion, red faced and anxious. Youthful, maybe only a handful of years older than you.

“You’re Professor Byleth’s students?” he asked without introduction or preamble. While inciting a fair share of startled curiosity, the question also made your heart sink. It could only mean a select few things, and none of them boded well for the easy morning you had hoped for.

“We are,” Sylvain said, looking from you to the knight with a curious hesitance.

“There’s been an... Incident,” the knight said, his voice lowering with the last word. “Arm yourselves and report to Captain Jeralt and Professor Byleth in the front hall right away.”

“What was the incident?” you asked in an equal hush, cool panic coming to life in your chest in place of the concern, squeezing your heart.

The knight looked around, hesitating as he eyed the dining room. He had caused a commotion, drawing the attention of nearly all of the surrounding students. This was bad news, and everyone could tell. Bad enough that he worried about the reaction. “I can’t say here,” he told you both with a softer voice. “But it is absolutely vital that you hurry.” He leaned down, his voice lowering further, somehow. “There are lives at stake.”

“Understood,” Sylvain responded firmly, his playful expression wiped clean in favor of one of determination. The knight bowed, then moved on, his pace a panicked rush.

You let out a heavy breath to steady yourself, closing your eyes for the slightest second in an attempt to collect yourself. To become the knight you needed to be. When they opened, you nodded to Sylvain. No longer was he your playful, flirtatious dining companion, but one of the most formidable combatants you knew.

He stood. “Let’s go.”

Dramma giocoso Act I. Coro della Pioggia

Students trapped in by monsters within the so-called safety of the monastery walls. If you were given any time to contemplate the mission before the Blue Lions were marched out alongside a handful of knights to deal with the issue, that idea would have terrified you.

As it was, there was no time for thinking. The things that greeted you in the chapel square weren’t normal demonic beasts, if you could ever consider a demonic beast ‘normal’. Somehow, these were worse. Horrific creatures wrapped in bandage-like black skin, their narrow heads eyeless and jagged-toothed mouth’s foul. They were strong, too. Far more than any of beasts you had fought before.

You, Felix, and Annette had been sent to the western side of the square while everyone else moved on to take care of the beasts further in. Not great numbers, but there were too many of the things to have the entire class fight them one by one. Besides, Professor Byleth had trained you well. Even without your beloved pegasus Siobhan, you were deadly.

That was good because although the monster you faced was bleeding in a dozen places, the wounds hadn’t done anything to stop it from rearing up and rampaging forward, swiping at any in-range victim with enough force to break on impact and belching flames. Cold and humid air, blackened with smoke from the fires, wheezed in thick bursts through your lungs as you jumped out of the way again, avoiding the swipe of demonic claws by no more than an inch.

Too close! You were getting sloppy, panicking as the fight dragged on.

Hitting the ground in a hard roll knocked the breath from your lungs and would certainly leave you aching later on, but you were on your feet in seconds, moving in a fluid, battle-fueled frenzy.

Still too slow.

The demon whirled, finding you easily despite the lack of eyes and hacking out more of its noxious flames, sending you into a mad dance out of the way. The scent of singed fabric coiled around you, although there was no time to check if you were burned or not. Any pain was ignored, as was the way your eyes watered and nose ran from the smoke. All you could do was blink rapidly and try to breathe in as little as possible as you pitched forward, still the subject of the beast’s focus. As much as you disliked it, that was apart of the plan. Being the fastest of your team, using you as bait was the best possible short-term strategy for this vile, violent creature. Hopefully it was enough, you weren’t sure how much more you could- The monster wailed as Felix took advantage of the distraction you created by deepening the large gash on its neck into a mortal wound. Beast blood sprayed from the slash in a dramatic arc, painting the cobblestones and splattering over you. The smell was a disgusting mixture of acrid ammonia and hot human decay. A butcher house under the summer sun. A back alley running with the urine and blood of sleazy violence. The monster twisted around, letting out a horrific screech of agony, but Felix was too fast for its enraged and clumsy movements.

Following him, you scrambled away from the demon as it thrashed about, sputtering blood and weak flames, thick strings of saliva and bile dripping from its teeth as it struggled to breathe. Air pushed out from its mouth as if from a giant pair of bellows, but its inhale yielded nothing but a strangled gurgle. It reared up. For a moment, you worried that it would land a final, dying attack, rampaging towards the both of you in one last act of destruction.

Magic beat against its legs in a quick succession of blinding power. Annette stood at a dozen foot distance from the creature, her hands outstretched and face a pale mask of focus as she shot spell after spell at the thing.

And that was it. The monster lumbered around to face her, but it was too weakened and disoriented to move more than that. Felix had cut at exactly the right place, cutting off its flow of oxygen as well as catching a major artery. Blood gushed from the wound out at a rate you could hardly believe and air wheezed out as a chilling death rattle. Annette’s magic had ruined its legs, working into the gashes and hobbling it.

The demon toppled, a final attempt to scream echoing against the ruins.

Inky, bandage-like skin unraveled from the beast’s form, dissolving into the smokey air like powdery ash with each of its writhing, thrashing movements. The smell was revolting, the sight confusing. By the time it was over, the hulking creature had vanished.

Its body never came crashing to the ground.

Although noise raged all around you; the shouting of students, of knights, the crackling of flames, and the general chaos of battle; cold horror formed a chrysalis of stillness in your head. The beast was gone. A human body laid where the monster’s corpse should have. Shock swept through your veins, long-ignored nausea pulsing at the back of your throat. Monster blood was drying on your skin and puddled on the ground, the stones at your feet were charred by flame, and rampaged destruction surrounded you - all of it proof of the beast’s existence. Yet there was no longer any beast.

A student, one of those you had been helping rescue from the rampaging monster, rushed to the broken body, shouting a name. Some instinct wanted you to stop her, to save her from the beast, but there was no longer any danger. Just a body. Your ears rang with the beast’s great wail, masking the girl’s cries as she pulled the boy’s corpse into her arms, uncaring of the beast’s blood that stained her uniform.

A human corpse.

A beast.

“Like Miklan,” Felix noted darkly, standing close enough for his voice to cut through the static in your ears. Recognition came to life with his comment, understanding of why this scene felt so morbidly familiar. Miklan. Sylvain’s brother, the one who had been consumed by the awesome power of the Relic weapon Ruin and turned into some inhuman monstrosity. In death, he had been nothing but more than a man, the monstrous trinket of House Gautier’s blood-bound weapon at his side.

But… That only happened because of the Relic. Ruin, one of the weapons of the Ten Elites. Professor Byleth had told the class to keep what had happened in Conand Tower a secret, to never speak of Miklan’s fate to anyone lest fear spread discord among the students. He said that it was not going to happen to anyone else as long as they didn’t misuse the relics.

“How is that possible?” you asked Felix, turning away from the sight of the corpse. “Without a Relic, how could he…?” The question fell unfinished, the thought made incomplete by your fear of the answer. Even Felix, ever stoic, looked troubled. He was much better at pushing aside his personal feelings, however, and adopted a look of focus.

“It doesn’t matter. We should push on to Professor Byleth,” he said. “The knights will see to the students here.”

Right. No time to slow down and think. Swallowing down the sick feeling in your throat, you turned. “Annette!” you called, your voice raspy and throat singed by the smoke. She looked up at your call, her face ashen as she stood above the student’s body. Knights and other students had congregated there, confused and disoriented and scared. Of course they were, it didn’t make any sense. Even to you, to Felix and Annette, the sight was incomprehensible. When she met your eyes, you saw a reflection of the feelings you were trying to ignore. For a moment, her wide eyes spoke of a doe-like panic, an animal before it fled. But she was strong. Her expression hardened and she nodded, resolute as she hurried to you and Felix.

“That was... Kinda awful,” she said, playing off her anxiety with awkward casualness as she approached. Something more was hidden in those words, the questions none of you wanted to ask about what you had just witnessed.

“We don’t have time to talk about it,” Felix said. “I can’t hear any more beasts, they might have already taken care of the rest. Either way, we should go.”

“You’re hurt,” Annette said, her eyes fixing on your left arm. You followed her gaze. Oh. The fire had gotten you after all. Burns were such awful wounds, but these weren’t terrible. Relatively. Your sleeve was worn through from the flame in several spots, revealing bright red and blistering skin. As if to make up for the time you’d been able to ignore it, pain swept through you. The terrible stinging, insistent bite of heat. Burns were nasty, constantly vying for your attention, refusing to be ignored.

“I’m… I’m fine,” you said, looking away from the sight and pulling a vulnerary from your belt, downing the contents with a wince. The liquid was bitter, doing nothing to help with the nausea invited by the scent of the demon’s blood and smoke, but it was better than lingering on the pain. “We should hurry.”

“Yes. Let’s go,” Felix said impatiently, without concern. All of you had sustained worse injury and pulled through. That was the price of battle.

“I’m sure Mercy will help when we catch up with them,” Annette said helpfully, adopting a forcefully positive tone.

“That’s true,” you agreed, although the thought of getting to Mercedes was not your drive to get to the chapel. Even in the midst of a battlefield, you longed to catch up to Dimitri, to Professor Byleth. They would make things right, drive away your fear and worry.

Annette looked back a final time as you left the western area of the square, but you did not. You couldn’t bear to see the destruction or chaos, to think again about the implications of that vulnerable human body laying where a monster should have. The three of you moved quickly towards the chapel, at the ready for any indication of danger. Just as Felix had said, there were no longer any resounding roars of beasts echoing through the muggy air. That was a good sign.

At the same time, you couldn’t help but feel there was something off. Clouds filled the sky above, crowding in to hide the sun and condensing in the air. The promise of rain stuck the scent of smoke to your skin, the chill of it an uncomfortable sensation against your sweaty skin. Your arm throbbed. People passed, but no faces you recognized. Students escorted by knights who gave your little group curt nods of recognition. Other than that was an eerie sense of quiet, the pressure of a coming storm. Did it seem to have gathered too quickly? Too strangely?

The three of you finally rounded the corner of one of the destroyed structures, having to weave around massive chunks of rubble to get to the chapel.

And you saw him.

Blue, first. A blue so intense it drained all else of the spectrum in the area surrounding it. Golden hair, a lance in hand, speaking with Alois in a voice you could almost hear. The sky was darkening, the daylight drained away by the promise of storm, but Dimitri was brilliant. He was battle worn, but unharmed. It seemed everyone else had made it out all right, too. Mercedes was seeing to the wounds of an unhappy Ingrid, Dedue stood at Dimitri’s side, and the others were nearby helping the remaining students and knights get free of the rubble and tending to the very worst of the wounded. Every face was ashen, troubled. They had all seen the same horror.

The deep unease within you faded somewhat when Dimitri saw your group, his eyebrows unfurrowing just slightly. “Ah, we were beginning to grow worried,” he called, his expression one of relief as he turned from Alois. “I was about to leave to find you.”

Felix made a sound of derision, approaching with a casual gait. “As if we’d need your help,” he said coldly.

Dimitri nodded in easy acceptance of Felix’s rude behavior, his eyes scanning each of you. He lingered on the burn on your arm, a feeling that made you squirm in a way that had nothing to do with the pain. The burns didn’t hurt very badly after the vulnerary, but his gaze most certainly had an effect. As did the worry in his expression.

“We took care of the beast,” Annette said, her forcefully friendly voice offsetting Felix’s sour tone. “All of the students are safe in that area.”

Dimitri looked away from you quickly, clearing his throat. “I’m glad to hear that. We were successful over here as well. Professor Byleth and Captain Jeralt are investigating the chapel.” He gestured to the giant edifice across from the group. Destroyed. Utterly so. The main entrance, or whatever remained of it, was on the other side.

“Alone?” you asked.

The sky grew darker still. The storm was setting itself up to be a frightening thing, fog beginning to rise in the cool air. Something about that didn’t sit right with you. Reflecting your thoughts, Felix’s shoulders were still unnaturally tense, his sharp gaze roaming the area restlessly. Then again, that wasn’t uncommon behavior for him.

“Captain Jeralt asked that we ensure everyone involved was okay before joining them,” Alois said in his usual boisterous manner, although you couldn’t help but feel that it was strained, an act put on to set everyone at ease. “Hah! Leaving us to do the cleanup while he gets to play investigator, how very like him.”

“Now that everyone is here, perhaps it would be wise to check on their search,” Dedue said, looking towards the chapel. His voice was as unmoved as ever, but you could see the signs of worry in the way his eyebrows furrowed and lips drew tense.

“I’ll go,” Dimitri said.

“Me too,” you volunteered without thinking.

“You’re injured,” Dimitri pointed out, frowning.

“It’s nothing,” you said, frowning at him. He had to feel it, too. Something was wrong. The storm, the monsters. Cold crept up your spine, tingled over your sweaty scalp. A wet breeze made you shiver, a dull ache rolling down your arm. The clouds swirled in smears of steel, of slate, the forboding hues of charcoal darkening where they were the thickest. “We need to get back to the monastery before this storm gets too bad anyway.”

“Right,” Dimitri said with only slight hesitation, giving a resolute nod before turning to Alois. “Alois, can you see that everyone here is taken back to the monastery?” Dimitri asked.

“Sure I can,” Alois responded. “Although I was hoping to enjoy this fog. Last time I mist my chance, although I suppose I can just dew it later.” He smiled at everyone in turn with expectant eyes, trying so brazenly to relieve the tension. A tittering, vapid sort of giggle left your mouth without thought, a sound born of anxiety. It only highlighted the resounding silence following his terrible joke. At the very least, Alois brightened slightly at the reaction. “Right, yes. I’ll see that everyone is safely back to the monastery.”

“Thanks. We won’t be long,” Dimitri said. He looked at you. “Let’s go then.”

You nodded, trying to smother some of your worry with logic. Dimitri set out and you followed, pushing yourself to keep up with his long-legged stride. It was not surprising that Dedue fell into step as well. Some part of you felt bad for leaving the group to themselves, for shirking your duties to your class. But the first beasts had been found in the chapel. Beasts that were students that were monsters without Relics. Something was wrong.

The three of you rounded the broken down structure that once was the grand chapel. Now it was grand ruins. So much history destroyed in a single afternoon, it was nearly tragic. The artist in you mourned the beauty.

Thick fog was settling the dust of destruction, but it was also making the stone and grass slippery. Not only that, but the foggy darkness lessened visibility. You restlessly searched your surroundings as you walked, unease growing by the moment.

“Did something, um… Strange happen? When you killed the beasts, I mean,” you asked the two of them in a lowered voice. You scanned the terrain once more, trying to see past the trees, into the shadows created by fallen pillars.

“We can discuss that later,” Dimitri replied. That was a yes.

You wanted to push it further, if only just to offset the tension, but a raindrop hit your face. Then another. One, two, three. Heavy and wet, cold like ice.

“What’s with this weather?” you asked, half speaking to yourself. Like an ill omen, your words beckoned the storm. Just as soon as the rain had appeared, it was pounding down. The clouds created the darkened cast of night, the intensity of it sweeping in far too fast to be natural.

“Something’s wrong,” Dedue said, his low voice carrying. Your breath caught, but he wasn’t looking at you. He stared straight ahead, his face drawn tense.

“I agree,” Dimitri said, hurrying the last few paces to round the corner.

A grassy field sprawled in front of the destroyed chapel. You had seen it in the daylight before, the verdant grass swaying with the breeze, but now it was darkened by the storm into a gloomy, intimidating court of fog and ruin. Rain grew heavier by the minute, it pounded against the remains of the chapel with a furious hammering of sound, its icy fingers crawling beneath your clothes. Through the dark, through the veil of rain, a figure in the center of the field. Fog swirled, tumultuous, and you saw Professor Byleth with more clarity. He knelt on the ground, holding something. Someone.

“That’s Professor Byleth… and… Captain Jeralt?” Dimitri asked, his voice hushed. Your heart lurched, reality pulling inwards and freezing the air in your lungs as fear of possibility and dread overwhelmed you. And then Dimitri was running, calling out to Professor Byleth in a voice weakened by the aggression of the storm. Far off thunder rumbled uncertainly.

“Your Highness,” Dedue called, following behind. You couldn’t move at first, held in place by a dissonance of the mind. But you didn’t want to be alone. Blinking raindrops from your eyes, you ran. Wooden legs carried you forward as you followed Dedue across the field, your feet coming close to slipping on the wet grass with every step. His looming figure stopped before getting too close, hesitant to cross some unseen barrier created by the dead.

The dead.

Professor Byleth knelt on the ground with his back bowed against the assault of the storm. Below him, Captain Jeralt was absolutely still. A crimson bloom of blood stained his middle, running thin and pink with rainwater. Professor Byleth looked vulnerable in a way you had never seen him, drenched by rain and despair.

Acting on some weak, childish instinct, you reached out your hand. Seeking desperately, you found Dedue’s hand. Clinging to it. You were shaking, but he was steady. The large, calloused hand that you gripped was warm. Where you were weak, Dedue faced death with the steadfast and patient familiarity of a man long denied the comfort of ignorance. He had every right to shake off your grasp, but while his reaction was stiff and uncomfortable, he didn’t.

“Professor,” Dimitri said, slowly kneeling to at eye level with Byleth.

You held tighter to Dedue’s hand. His fingers curled around yours.

Professor Byleth didn’t raise his head, still staring at Jeralt’s face. He said something you couldn’t hear, his voice lost in the sound of rain. Whatever it was made Dimitri go rigid. His answer was spoken at an equally quiet volume, but the intensity was clear. It made Professor Byleth finally look up. His expression was unlike you’d ever seen, cracked with pain and emotion. Dimitri said something else, and Professor Byleth nodded. The pain didn’t ease, but it was masked over with grim determination.

Dedue took a step forward, your hand falling free from his. “Your Highness. We need to return to the monastery,” he said. “Whoever did this could still be nearby.”

Dimitri didn’t respond to Dedue, his eyes not straying from Professor Byleth. He asked a question, motioning towards Captain Jeralt. Someone would have to carry his body back, you realized. That was the question. The burden Dimitri was ready to bear.

Professor Byleth looked down at his father’s face a last time, a foreign tenderness in his expression. Pain. His gloved fingers traced Captain Jeralts cheek, but he nodded, standing up. Dimitri pulled off his cape to cover Captain Jeralt’s face, a late attempt at providing him dignity in death, then gathered the corpse and stood. Dimitri did it all unflinchingly, taking both the physical and emotional weight in stride. No, that wasn’t true. His expression was dark, drawn with pain. You wanted to say something as Professor Byleth passed you, but there were no words. Just the rain and the squelching footsteps as your group marched a twisted funeral procession away from the destroyed rubble of the chapel.

It was deafening.

RUH-ROH!

Haha, just kidding, Jeralt dying is like Martha and Thomas Wayne dying, at this point it’s far more about the aesthetic than the tragedy itself. There are 20,000+ words left of this little opera, and trust me, the finale is worth it. Maybe. Hopefully.

Tell me if you enjoyed it. Or just leave a cheeky like. Or literally anything because otherwise I’m screaming into the abyss and it��s just embarrassing for everyone. I got a slapdash method of editing so if you notice mistakes I am sincerely sorry and it’s probably not going to get better.

#fire emblem three houses #FE3H #dimitri #fe dimitri #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fe dimitri x reader #dimitri x reader #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x reader #beastie and the bard #my writing

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abizarreyodelingincident · 5 years ago

Text

(LU) Ridiculous Optimization: The Art of Finding the Right Tool for the Wrong Situation

Chapter one: They're big pots, really

Wild's Hyrule was, for lack of a better word, a pain.

Now, if you were Warriors, who regularly tangled with nobles and their ilks as part of his duties, you might describe it as 'a temporary yet persistent sort of agony, so scandalous, good sirs and ladies'. Or, if you were Sky, who serenaded his Zelda with loving devotion, the description might resemble 'a land broken but resisting, a primal kingdom for the ambitious to remake'.

But the average Link was neither, and the general sentiment came out as 'Wild's Hyrule is a giant pain'. (One should recall that both Legend and Wind existed in the general sample and drastically lowered the ability to describe Wild's Hyrule in polite company.)

The weather conditions were, all in all, quite tolerable outside of the occasional lightning storms which threatened to violently roast them all (Time especially). Wild's one recurring grip being the rain making it impossible to climb cliff sides and barely-standing-towers – which, in all honesty, had become Twilight's favorite weather for this exact same reason.

The few tribes of monsters could provoke violent swearing, in good part after the Links had assimilated the color system that ruled Wild's Hyrule. (Four could never look at golden monsters the same way now.) No, no, a Link knew to adapt to their circumstances and would learn all the right tricks to fighting any sort of monster that showed up in his path.

In fact, Time had gone on record to say that he'd gone on an adventure in a much more stressful kingdom, because at least the moon was only red and not looming.

The real challenge was so many of his enemies being outright mini-bosses at least. Wind's Hero's Charm had confirmed their health being far superior to the average roaming monster, and, to the general disbelief, added that no, Lynels did not count as minibosses for some goddesses-forsaken reason.

“That's three!” Warriors called out, slashing away at one twisting limbs. “One to go!”

“Get down!” Hyrule shouted just in time for Warriors to duck under a blue-ish laser.

The two heroes felt air woosh over their backs, cold and sharp despite the explosion that ravaged a rock formation down the hill. Despite the sheer damage done, none of them gave the ruins even a passing glance. Normally, some Link like Four would wonder out loud about the marvels of technology that had led to the creations of robots as powerful as the Guardians. That would, unjustly, earn him a slap upside the head from the others who just wanted them all exterminated.

But, if anything, their mechanical structure should be glorified, as unlike almost every other enemies the Links met in their travels, the Guardians could not be further enhanced by black blood.

No, the Guardians were a special pain in the Links' anatomies all on their own.

Legend had already written down the tirade he reserved for the Sheika elders that had thought beamos weren't mobile and powerful enough in his journal. One day, he would travel to the past of Wild's Hyrule and give them all the dressing down they deserved and it would be beautiful.

Three grappling hooks latched onto the last Guardian's limbs just in time to stop it from running over the downed Warriors and Hyrule. Now, against, say, a Lynel or an Hinox, pulling such a maneuver might have given the monster pause, but the Guardian's head merely rotated and aimed its tracking light at Time.

He alongside Twilight and Sky dispersed to avoid the lightning quick retaliation and even then, Sky felt the flames lick at his heels.

Rolling away, he ended up in a huddle close with Legend and Four, behind a large, mossy rock. "You know," Sky said, nervously chatting instead of saving his breath, "they kind of remind me of pots."

Legend's eyes twitched. “Ah, yes, they're tougher than most of my bosses, faster too, shoot laser beams, but they are a little round-ish. I see the resemblance.”

"Oh!" Four exclaimed, thunderstruck. "I've got it! Cover me," he shouted to the others.

Without even a moment's consultation, Wind and Wild both rushed out of their hiding spots and pelted the Guardian with bombs, their supplies of arrows depleted during the ambush. It only made the Guardian's base tilt slightly, though, a few seconds were all Four really needed. His hands found the handle of the cane with the ease of many adventures' worth of practice.

Not a second too soon either, for one of the Guardian's limbs had snaked through the barrage and swept Wind aside. And now threatened to grab the little rolling pirate.

Four swung the twisted branch. A staff, Wild realized as a glittering ball of energy flew off its head and struck the guardian head on. For a split second, he allowed himself to hope that it would have a bit of an effect on the thing. He'd seen (schemed for, though he never admitted it to Twilight) a Guardian struck by lightning before, and it had shrugged it off as easily as a breeze. Those things just wouldn't-

The Guardian flipped over.

Wind's shocked cursing translated the general gobsmacked bafflement of the eight heroes over five feet tall.

The Guardian landed on its head, its top carvings digging into the soil. The legs frantically expanded to try and right it, but could find no purchase. Their articulations had not been created to allow the legs to reach the head area. Combining those facts effectively condemned the feared contraction to reenact a flipped turtle's dying moments, with half the dignity.

Wild staggered backward into Time's waiting arms. “Wh-what, I don't… how?”

“Magic,” Time replied with the air of a wise old man, “you never know what kind of stuff it can do. Also,” he cleared his throat and spoke louder, “watch out for the laser beam, boys."

Hyrule and Wind flinched back from the upside down Guardian, like kids with their hands down the cookie jar. The eye turned from blue to red.

"It only shoots in a straight line," Wild said, recovering from his shock.

The dreaded red dot stuttered in place, stuck in a very narrow margin.

“Yeah, but can't it turn its head?” Hyrule asked hesitantly, not looking away from the dot.

They distinctively heard the noise of some gears inside the thing turning, like a low-humming buzz of energy. Where the head met the body, the whirring flashed in rapid succession.

The head remained unmoving.

The other half of the guardian span.

“It's going to start flying now,” Wind said with clear apprehension.

Twilight nodded to that. The motion was eerily similar to a mad peahat preparing to soar the skies.

Legend shot them both an annoyed look. “With those legs?”

“It's a Guardian!” Wind protested. “They don't just fucking flip over and die?”

As if to punctuate the point, the Guardian's beam shot out of its frantically beeping eye. And, as if to immediately contradict itself, the beam missed them all by a mile, roughly, though it did strike on a stray lizalfos.

“Huh, didn't notice that one,” Warriors mumbled, as Legend burst out laughing at the madness of it all. “What kind of item is that anyway?”

Four gave the twig a twirl. "The Cane of Pacci. It flips things over."

Legend scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "What kind of wizards gives their name to a staff that's good for flipping things over? I know magic-users can be lazy bastards, but that's a bit much, even for me."

Four shrugged, unfazed. "Who knows? It came in handy surprisingly often. Case in point," he waved an arm toward the flipped guardian.

A shrieking noise caught them off-guard, momentarily.

Wind had lodged a giant broadsword in the guardian's eye up to its hilt. The whirring machinery slowed, smoke leaking out of its gears and plates. If it hadn't been made completely helpless before, it certainly was now. Warrior looked inordinately fond of their young and bloodthirsty pirate for finishing off a helpless killing machine.

“Four,” Wild said, his face frozen in the most serious expression any of them (except Twilight) had ever seen.

“W-what?” Four replied, startled by the hands grabbing his shoulders.

“Name your price. Do you want rupees?” Wild asked, pulling out his slate. “Because I will bury you under more rupees than you've ever seen before.”

“Anyone else feels like that came out vaguely threatening?” Hyrule pondered.

“Vaguely?” Legend snarked, prompting Twilight to facepalm.

Wild apparently heard nothing but the silence Four was shoving his way. His voice hiked up in pitch. “Armor? I've got more sets of armors than I know what to do with them? Ancient Sheika armor? It's super mechanical, you like mechanisms, right?”

Four raised an eyebrow. “I like understanding how they work. Can you imagine me wearing your stuff? I would have trouble moving.”

“My recipe book?” Wild tried again, desperation creeping in his voice. “It's not written yet, but I can do that. Four, please?”

Twilight gasped. Hyrule's stomach loudly growled. And the rest nodded sagely. Wild truly was pulling out all the stops to get his hands on that cane, besides outright theft (which none of them were exactly strangers to).

“… No.”

The fingers let go of his shoulders, now aching from the grip.

“I thought we were brothers,” Wild whispered, leaning against Twilight for support. “Backstabbed like nothing.”

“I do actually need that item, you know?” Four replied, halfway between amused and annoyed.

"Alright, boys, no fighting," Time announced, his mouth struggling not to stretch into a smirk, "and new strategy. If we run into a guardian, we let Four handle it. All in favor?"

The surge of agreement ranged from 'mildly sorry' (Sky) to 'gleeful' (Legend, of course, and Wild).

"Oh come on!"

BONUS:

The eight Links stared at the Guardian stumbling over the fields of Wild's Hyrule whilst Twilight mimed around like a drunk puppeteer. Wind's pictograph was out and flashing the moment the herd of bokoblins shrieked in panic and fled for their lives from the clearly malfunctioning monstrosity. Wild's Sheika Slate had been given to Hyrule for the task of recording the moments whilst he mourned yet another way the Goddesses had seen fit not to help him fight off Guardians.

“Anyone else feels a little sorry for them?” Sky asked, scratching his head as the camp was bulldozed through.

“Not as such, no,” Hyrule replied without skipping a beat. He might also have a few bruises on his shoulder from their last encounter.

“How do you laser with this thing?” Twilight grumbled, face scrunched up in concentration.

“Pfft, it had to be the bumpkins that gets the power to control ancient automatons,” Legend snarked, his hat still fuming from where he had dodged the Guardian's first beam.

In the distance, the bokoblins suddenly exploded.

“Ah, unbridled rage,” Twilight deadpanned. “That'll do.”

The Links carefully took a step back. And didn't get closer until Twilight had driven the Guardian off a cliff. You never knew with the quiet ones. The second the possession was over, however, Wild broke through the ranks with a determined look, opened his mouth-

And Twilight beat him to the punch. “Your recipe book.”

“Deal.”

“YES!”

“Wait,” Four called, narrowly avoiding the death glare Wild sent him, “are you sure you won't need it when this is over.”

Twilight shrugged. “I mean, I've used it all of once after I finished the dungeon with it? My Hyrule's not exactly big on statues and contraptions to magically possess. Good food though? Not like I'll ever stop having to need that.”

“Spoken like a true bumpkin.”

Poor Legend never saw Wild leap through the air with the righteous fury of an avenging angel to defend the honor of his mentor, the best man he ever met and the soon-to-be recipient of a great deal of cakes.

NOTE:

The thought process went like this:

Tumblr post noting that Guardians look like an ancient pottery art from thousands of years ago. TLDR: The Guardians are Elder Pots awakened to take revenge on all the Links for their fallen brethren.

Guardians can't touch Link if he climbs on their head.

Minish Cap includes an item that flips pots over (to open minish gates, but shh, who cares?)

Ergo, Four can one-shot guardians.

Twilight's just there, because I took pity on Wild and the Dominion Rod is absolutely useless after its dungeon. Not like Twilight would miss it.

#Linked Universe #Linkeduniverse #Fun with magic items #RO:ART

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hdsflowergarden · 4 years ago

Text

“The Wise Sappho”, H.D.

“Little, but all roses” is the dictate of the Alexandrine poet, yet I am inclined to disagree. I would not bring roses, nor yet the great shaft of scarlet lilies. I would bring orange blossoms, implacable flowerings made to seduce the sense when every other means has failed, poignard that glints, fresh sharpened steel: after the red heart, red lilies, impassioned roses are dead.

“Little, but all roses”—true there is a tint of rich colour (invariably we find it), violets, purple woof of cloth, scarlet garments, dyed fastening of a sandal, the lurid, crushed and perished hyacinth, stains on cloth and flesh and parchment.

There is gold too. Was it a gold rose the poet meant? But the gold of a girl-child’s head, the gold of an embroidered garment hem, the rare gold of sea-grass or meadow-pulse does not seem to evoke in our thought the vision of roses, heavy in a scented garden.

“Little, but all roses.” I think, though the stains are deep on the red and scarlet cushions, on the flaming cloak of love, it is not warmth we look for in these poems, not fire nor sun- light, not heat in the ordinary sense, diffused, and comforting (nor is it light, day or dawn or light of sun-setting), but another element containing all these, magnetic, vibrant; not the lightning as it falls from the thunder cloud, yet lightning in a sense: white, unhuman element, containing fire and light and warmth, yet in its essence differing from all these, as if the brittle crescent-moon gave heat to us, or some splendid scintillating star turned warm suddenly in our hand like a jewel, sent by the beloved.

I think of the words of Sappho as these colours, or states rather, transcending colour yet containing (as great heat the compass of the spectrum) all colour. And perhaps the most obvious is this rose colour, merging to richer shades of scarlet, purple or Phoenician purple. To the superficial lover—truly—roses!

Yet not all roses—not roses at all, not orange blossoms even, but reading deeper we are inclined to visualize these broken sentences and unfinished rhythms as rocks—perfect rock shelves and layers of rock between which flow- ers by some chance may grow but which endure when the staunch blossoms have perished.

Not flowers at all, but an island with innumerable, tiny, irregular bays and fjords and little straits between which the sun lies clear (fragments cut from a perfect mirror of iridescent polished silver or of the bronze reflecting richer tints) or breaks, wave upon destructive passionate wave.

Not roses, but an island, a country, a continent, a planet, a world of emotion, differing entirely from any present day imaginable world of emotion; a world of emotion that could only be imagined. by the greatest of her own countrymen in the greatest period of that country’s glamour, who themselves confessed her beyond their reach, beyond their song, not a woman, not a goddess even, but a song or the spirit of a song.

A song, a spirit, a white star that moves across the heaven to mark the end of a world epoch or to presage some coming glory.

Yet she is embodied—terribly a human being, a woman, a personality as the most impersonal become when they confront their fellow beings.

The under-lip curls out in the white face, she has twisted her two eyes unevenly, the brows break the perfect line of the white forehead, her expression is not exactly sinister (sinister and dead), the spark of mockery beneath the half-closed lids is rather living destructive irony.

“What country girl bewitches your heart who knows not how to draw her skirt about her ankles?”

Aristocratic—indifferent—full of caprice—full of imperfection—intolerant.

High in the mountains, the wind may break the trees, as love the lover, but this was before the days of Theocritus, before the destructive Athenian satyric drama—we hear no praise of country girls nor mountain goats. This woman has still the flawless tradition to maintain.

Her bitterness was on the whole the bitterness of the sweat of Eros. Had she burned to destroy she had spent her flawless talent to destroy custom and mob-thought with serpent-tongue before the great Athenian era.

Black and burnt are the cheeks of the girl of the late Sicilian Theocritus, for says he, black is the hyacinth and the myrtle-berry.

But Sappho has no praise for mountain girls. She protrudes a little her under-lip, twists her eyes, screws her face out of proportion as she searches for the most telling phrase; this girl who bewitches you, my friend, does not even know how to draw her skirts about her feet.

Sophisticated, ironical, bitter jeer. Not her hands, her feet, her hair, or her features resemble in any way those of the country-bred among the thickets; not her garments even, are ill-fitting or ill-cut, but her manners, her gestures are crude, the bitterest of all destructive gibes of one sensitive woman at the favourite of another, sensitive, high-strung, autocratic as herself.

The gods, it is true, Aphrodite, Hermes, Ares, Hephaistos, Adonis, beloved of the mother of loves, the Graces, Zeus himself, Eros in all his attributes, great, potent, the Muses, mythical being and half-god, the Kyprian again and again are mentioned in these poems but at the end, it is for the strange almost petulant little phrases that we value this woman, this cry (against some simple unknown girl) of skirts and ankles we might think unnecessarily petty, yet are pleased in the thinking of it, or else the outbreak against her own intimate companions brings her nearer our own over-sophisticated, nerve-wracked era: “The people I help most are the most unkind,” “O you forget me” or “You love someone better,” “You are nothing to me,” nervous, trivial tirades. Or we have in sweet- ened mood so simple a phrase “I sing”—not to please any god, goddess, creed or votary of religious rite—I sing not even in abstract con- templation, trance-like, remote from life, to please myself, but says this most delightful and friendly woman, “I sing and I sing beautifully like this, in order to please my friends—my girl-friends.”

We have no definite portraits from her hands of these young women of Mitylene. They are left to our imagination, though only the most ardent heart, the most intense spirit and the most wary and subtle intellect can hope even in moments of ardent imagination, to fill in these broken couplets. One reads simply this “My darling,” or again “You burn me.” To a bride’s lover she says, “Ah there never was a girl like her.” She speaks of the light spread across a lovely face, of the garment wrapped about a lovely body; she addresses by name two of these young women comparing one to another’s disadvantage (though even here she temporizes her judgment with an endearing adjective), “Mnasidika is more shapely than tender Gyrinno.” We hear of Eranna too. “Eranna, there never was a girl more spiteful than you.”

Another girl she praises, not for beauty. Though they stand among tall spotted lilies and the cup of jacynth and the Lesbian iris, she yet extolls beyond Kypris and the feet of Eros, wisdom. “Ah,” she says of this one, beloved for another beauty than that of perfect waist and throat and close-bound cap of hair and level brows, “I think no girl can ever stand beneath the sun or ever will again and be as wise as you are”.

Wisdom—this is all we know of the girl, that though she stood in the heavy Graeco- Asiatic sunlight, the wind from Asia, heavy with ardent myrrh and Persian spices, was yet tempered with a Western gale, bearing in its strength and its salt sting, the image of another, tall, with eyes shadowed by the helmet rim, the goddess, indomitable.

This is her strength—Sappho of Mitylene was a Greek. And in all her ecstasies, her burnings, her Asiatic riot of colour, her cry to that Phoenician deity, “Adonis, Adonis—” her phrases, so simple yet in any but her hands in danger of overpowering sensuousness, her touches of Oriental realism, “purple napkins” and “soft cushions” are yet tempered, moderated by a craft never surpassed in literature. The beauty of Aphrodite it is true is the constant, reiterated subject of her singing. But she is called by a late scholiast who knew more of her than we can hope to learn from these brief fragments, “The Wise Sappho.”

We need the testimony of no Alexandrian or late Roman scholiast to assure us of the artistic wisdom, the scientific precision of metre and musical notation, the finely tempered intellect of this woman. Yet for all her artistic moderation, what is the personal, the emotional quality of her wisdom? This woman whom love paralysed till she seemed to herself a dead body yet burnt, as the desert grass is burnt, white by the desert heat; she who trembled and was sick and sweated at the mere presence of another, a person, doubtless of charm, of grace, but of no extraordinary gifts perhaps of mind or feature—was she moderate, was she wise? Savonarola standing in the courtyard of the Medici (some two thousand years later) proclaimed her openly to the assembled youthful laity and priests of Florence—a devil.

If moderation is wisdom, if constancy in love is wisdom, was she wise? We read even in these few existing fragments, name upon curious, exotic, fragrant name: Atthis— Andromeda — Mnasidika — Eranna— Gyrinno—more, many more than these tradition tells were praised in the lost fragments. The name of muse and goddess and of human woman merge, interspersed among these verses. “Niobe and Leda were friends—” it is a simple statement—for the moment, Niobe and Leda are nearer, more human, than the Atthis, the Eranna who strike and burn and break like Love himself.

The wise Sappho! She was wise, emotionally wise, we suspect with wisdom of simplicity, the blindness of genius. She constructed from the simple gesture of a half-grown awkward girl, a being, a companion, an equal. She imagined, for a moment, as the white bird wrinkled a pink foot, clutching to obtain balance at the too smooth ivory of the wrist of the same Atthis, that Atthis had a mind, that Atthis was a goddess. Because the sun made a momentary circlet of strange rust-coloured hair, she saw in all her fragrance, Aphrodite, violet-crowned, or better still a sister, a muse, one of the violet wreathing. She imagined because the girl’s shoulders seemed almost too fragile, too frail, to support the vest- ment, dragging a little heavily because of the gold-binding, that the same shoulders were the shoulders of a being, an almost disembodied spirit. She constructed perfect and flawless (as in her verse, she carved from current Aeolic dialect, immortal phrases) the whole, the perfection, the undying spirit of goddess, muse or sacred being from the simple grace of some tall, half- developed girl. The very skies open, were opened by these light fingers, fluffing out the under- feathers of the pigeon’s throat. Then the wise Sappho clamours aloud against that bitter, bitter creature, Eros, who has once more betrayed her. “Ah, Atthis, you hate even to think of me—you have gone to Andromeda.”

I love to think of Atthis and Andromeda curled on a sun-baked marble bench like the familiar Tanagra group, talking it over. What did they say? What did they think? Doubtless, they thought little or nothing and said much.

There is another girl, a little girl. Her name is Cleis. It is reported that the mother of Sappho was named Cleis. It is said that Sappho had a daughter whom she called Cleis.

Cleis was golden. No doubt Cleis was perfect. Cleis was a beautiful baby, looking exactly like a yellow flower (so her mother tells us). She was so extraordinarily beautiful, Lydia had nothing so sweet, so spiced; greatness, wealth, power, nothing in all Lydia could be exchanged for Cleis.

So in the realm of the living, we know there was a Cleis. I see her heaping shells, purple and rose-edged, stained here and there with saffron colours, shells from Adriatic waters heaped in her own little painted bowl and poured out again and gathered up only to be spilt once more across the sands. We have seen Atthis of yester-year; Andromeda of “fair requital,” Mnasidika with provoking length of over-shapely limbs; Gyrinno, loved for some appealing gesture or strange resonance of voice or skill of finger-tips, though failing in the essential and more obvious qualities of beauty; Eranna with lips curved contemptuously over slightly irregular though white and perfect teeth; angry Eranna who refused everyone and bound white violets only for the straight hair she herself braided with precision and cruel self-torturing neatness about her own head. We know of Gorgo, over-riotous, too heavy, with special intoxicating sweetness, but exhausting, a girl to weary of, no companion, her over-soft curves presaging early development of heavy womanhood.

Among the living there are these and others. Timas, dead among the living, lying with lily wreath and funeral torch, a golden little bride, lives though sleeping more poignantly even than the famous Graeco-Egyptian beauty the poet’s brother married at Naucratis. Rhodope, a name redolent, (even though we may no longer read the tribute of the bridegroom’s sister) of the heavy out-curling, over-lapping petals of the peerless flower.

Little—not little—but all, all roses! So at the last, we are forced to accept the often quoted tribute of Meleager, late Alexandrian, half Jew, half Grecian poet. Little but all roses! True, Sappho has become for us a name, an abstraction as well as a pseudonym for poignant human feeling, she is indeed rocks set in a blue sea, she is the sea itself, breaking and tortured and torturing, but never broken. She is the island of artistic perfection where the lover of ancient beauty (shipwrecked in the modern world) may yet find foothold and take breath and gain courage for new adventures and dream of yet unexplored continents and realms of future artistic achievement. She is the wise Sappho.

Plato, poet and philosopher in the most formidable period of Athenian culture, look- ing back some centuries toward Mitylene, having perspective and a rare standard of comparison, too, speaks of this woman as among the wise.

You were the morning star among the living (the young Plato, poet and Athenian, wrote of a friend he had lost), you were the morning star before you died; now you are “as Hesperus, giving new splendour to the dead.” Plato lives as a poet, as a lover, though the Republic seems but a ponderous tome and the mysteries of the Dialogues verge often on the didactic and artificial. So Sappho must live, roses, but many roses, for tradition has set flower upon flower about her name and would continue to do so though her last line were lost.

Perhaps to Meleager, having access to the numberless scrolls of Alexandria, there seemed “but little” though to us, in a cheerless and more barren age, there seems much. Legend upon legend has grown up, adding curious documents to each precious fragment; the history of the preservation of each line in itself a most fascinating and bewildering romance.

Courtesan and woman of fashion were rebuked at one time for not knowing “even the works of Sappho.” Sophocles cried out in de- spair before some inimitable couplet, “gods— what impassioned heart and longing made this rhythm.” The Roman Emperor, weary to death, left his wreathed drinking cup and said, “It is worth living yet to hear another of this woman’s songs.” Catullus, impassioned lyrist, left off recounting the imperfections of his Lesbia to enter a fair paradisal world, to forge silver Latin from imperishable Greek, to mar- vel at the praises of this perfect lover who needed no interim of hatred to repossess the loved one. Monk and scholar, grey recluse of Byzantium or Roman or medieval monastery, flamed to new birth of intellectual passion at discovery of some fatal relic until the Vatican itself was moved and deemed this woman fit rival to the seductions of another Poet and destroyed her verses.

The roses Meleager saw as “little” have become in the history not only of literature but of nations (Greece and Rome and mediaeval town and Tuscan city) a great power, roses, but many, many roses, each fragment witness to the love of some scholar or hectic antiquary searching to find a precious inch of palimpsest among the funereal glories of the sand-strewn Pharaohs.

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