#not long since started her hive training so shes taken to wearing a lot of stripy stuff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

all-things-fic · 4 years ago

Text

Somewhere Only We Know

A/N - Hello, you lovely lot! Hope you are all keeping well in these utterly shit Covid times. Who would’ve thought that we would still be here in December?! Please see my offering for @goldenbluesuit‘s Christmas Fic Challenge. Hope I’ve done a bit of justice with this piece.

I can remember Katie texting me telling me about the challenge, and I’ll admit I was given first dibs and now I’m absolutely shitting myself because I’ve seen all the brillaint entries so far and I’m not sure I really cut the mustard with this piece but I’m proud of myself for being able to put a solid 70% of this together in just one day (that one day being today).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Katie has done a brilliant job and I know how grateful she is towards anyone who has joined the challenge or supported by reading/sharing etc.... I need to stop rambling... Okay, thank you for sticking with me as always and happy reading! .x

***

The last thing you remembered actually reading in the group chat was “make sure you have your wellies”. You were glad that you remembered that part at the very least.

Winds whipped around you as you buried your face further into your cream roll neck cable knit jumper, all but hidden underneath your tobacco borg teddy coat that someone had already likened to Macklemore.

Nothing like being back home with your closest and oldest friends.

Mud squelched under your feet as you walked in line with two of your oldest girl friends, eyes looking over the four males in front of you as they led the way over the grassy hills.

There had been zero planning on what today’s events would bring. It was quite clear that the seven of you just wanted to be reunited with the country air and wind bitten cheeks.

It was nice. How simple it was. On the surface at the very least. That was until you zoned in on the little things.

Like his laugh. The same laugh that always carried somehow and it seemed like the wind was making it that much more prominent than usual today.

There was no denying, he had this glow about him. Even from the back of him. You felt silly for thinking it, but it was true. It was in the way he held himself as he attacked the grassy hills with his feet clad wellies and brown trousers.

Life had changed a lot in over a decade. Christ, had it been that long? You’d all gone from baby teenagers to fully fledged adults. The age range of your friendship differing slightly, the odd person here and there slightly older than a couple of people in the group.

Nonetheless, many of the experiences had been the same. The big job offers, and the even bigger promotions. The heartbreaks, regardless of their prominence or lack of, had been the felt the same. The flirtation between some of you sparked probably a bit more so now with a finesse that didn’t have you rolling your eyes but rather leaning into it.

Four out of seven of you were single. Jack and Jonny were virtually married off, however neither of them were with their partners this year with both deciding to spend Christmas at home and New Years with their significant others. Alice was still loved up and going strong with her fella, as was Grace who you hadn’t heard a peep from as she constantly checked her phone to see when the person she was besotted with finally arrived up North thanks to West Midlands Trains pulling into Crewe.

So that left Will, you and Harry. Harry who had quite publicly made it known that he was single. Well, according to your Mum he had, in several interviews. Including the one that she had described as an ‘incredibly relaxing watch and nice background noise to my Sunday evening brew and ironing session’.

That was a strange one for you, his honesty. In earlier years of friendship, he always seemed quite aloof. Like he was keeping his options open. Guarded in a way that frustrated at least 75% of the friendship group, in the nicest way possible. You knew that was a contradiction but any annoyance came from a good place.

You remembered one night in 2014 when he wouldn’t quite give you a straight answer over tequila shots whether he was shagging someone or not. You also remember the way he’d been pulled away from you tactfully by Alice that night when she sensed how you were about to blow up at his lackadaisical attitude.

The same had been felt in 2016. Not so much in 2018, but you weren’t single then so maybe you just didn’t care.

2019 was significantly different though.

See the thing was, you knew him now. Like, knew knew him.

Some would think it was a lapse of judgment, a reading that you would agree upon given what had happened two days prior if ever prodded about it publicly.

Others would vehemently disagree. Stating how long any sort of energy between the two of you had been bubbling for a number of years.

Looking back you couldn’t even understand why you’d attended his show. You lived in Camden and it made sense, but that’s where the sense stopped. Even the ways he had reached out had been one of the most random messages you’d received from him

There was no context, just a simple ‘I’m playing the Electric Ballroom and there’s tickets waiting for you if you want ‘em.’

And the thing was, you loved that venue. The grungy-ness of it all. The way you had stuck to the floor while trying to dance along to the likes of The Hives and Kings of Leon when seeing them playing there, basking in your sweaty happiness.

But the stickiness of the floor and sweatiness of the room didn’t compare to the stickiness and sweatiness you later found yourself partaking in as Harry took you from behind over the side of his couch.

A shiver rolled through you at the thought, one that you would blame on the December bitter chill because it was a secret. One that neither of you had mentioned since it happened on Thursday night, or to be technically correct the early hours of Friday morning.

He’d been good. Of course he had been.

He had that way about him that night that pulled you under a false sense of endeared security. From his dimpled smile to gleaming eyes. He was happy.

And the way he had shone as he found you on the balcony had warmed you like nothing you had known in the longest time.

It caused you to forget about the worry that had laden you limbs as you turned up at 9.13pm to the wooden doors of the building, wondering how many songs he was in to the set as you convinced yourself he would start at 9.00pm.

As you’d been ushered over to a clear box window and uttered your name to a dorky looking man wearing a tracksuit pull over and watched him handover a white envelope through the circle hatch.

You stood in the dark, next to two much younger girls who enjoyed the way his glances lingered over at their side. Eyes had found Gemma in the opposite corner of the balcony, her dancing and singing with some recognisable faces mainly more so because you had seen them on social media.

You, however, kept yourself to yourself. Until you were anchored in the tightest hug from Gemma that you had ever felt from her and swayed from side to side as she made it known how pleased she was to see you once the concert was over.

That familiarity had been nice. The vibrancy of nostalgia consuming you in your entirety.

Watching him work a room when he finally entered the after party was a sight to behold, in his navy blue pinstripe suit and yellow ‘I’m gonna die lonely’ t-shirt.

He wasn’t. Gonna die lonely, that is.

He glided so smoothly from one person to the next, spilling a drink down himself in the process you’d seen (and later felt when your hand clung to the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed), making time for everyone in his own unique way.

Big eyes followed you over Gemma’s shoulder when he had finally found himself within your circle and hugged his sister once more that evening. They were hard to read but also openly filled with a glimmer of hope as he dropped his gaze to see what you were wearing.

And when he approached you, he hugged you in a way that managed to pull you into the darkened corner of the dingy space. Spinning your body to keep your face concealed from any prying eyes.

He revealed to you how he didn’t think you were going to turn up, scanning you with his gaze as he spoke. You did the same, a bit taken aback by just how attractive you were finding him. He had always been handsome but the aura he gave off, made your fingers itch to have him closer to you.

Words ran away from you that night as he begged and pleaded with you to tell him what your favourite song had been. Based on first impressions, which the show has been, then Canyon Moon and Watermelon Sugar had smothered you and given you no other option but to pick them.

If he were to ask you now you’d probably say To Be So Lonely, thanks to the drive home being longer than originally thought and said album being your choice of road trip music.

Forget Driving Home For Christmas, nothing slapped more than one of your closest friends admitting to being an arrogant son of a bitch.

After your chat, he mingled some more but Harry was always tactile and that night had been no different. He veered conversations with people you had never seen before to take place by the zone that you all occupied.

He actively kept his back against yours, allowing the faintest of touches and brushing of arms - sometimes hands too if he dropped them down heavily enough with his arms as he spoke - to entice and create a spark.

You were kept late enough to miss the last tube. Battery dangerously low on your phone that you didn’t know if a transaction with Uber would be worth a try.

Jumping into the same car as him had been easy. His soft and tired eyes findings yours in the cab as he leant his head back against the headrest in the back seat and let his lips tip upwards in an expression of tenderness that had you melting in your seat.

“‘S been a while since we’ve both been a bit pissed in the back of a taxi,” he mused, pushing his fallen locks out of his eyes to ensure his view of you wasn’t obscured. “Come an’ cuddle me like you used to do when we went out a’ home and were worse for wear.”

Falling into his side was almost second nature, eyes closing as you let your forehead rest against his jawline and let his worn in cologne fill you senses and scatter your judgment.

You don’t even remember how you ended up kissing that night. A mixture of confessions about missing each other and praise of how good you both were in your own ways. The sound of his whispered, “are you coming home wi’me?” against your lips an offer too good for you to refuse as you sat pressed into his side and half in his lap.

The giggles that night, around dramatic shushes as you tripped and shuffled from the car to his front door were almost haunting in your memory as he tried to chastise you around spluttered laughter about being respectful of his neighbours.

Getting the key in the lock proved unchallenging - one of the better analogies aligned to your memories and latter sexual endeavours - as you slipped into the house. He enjoyed watching the way you walked ahead of him into his home, not realising how much he needed that visual of seeing how well you fit in.

While time seemed to slow in that moment, movements desperately sought the opposite. Hands gripped and clawed like their lives depended upon it.

Looking back now, both he and you wished it hadn’t happened the way it did. Skirt lifted and over the side of his couch. Teeth clashing and hips knocking.

It had been every inch a drunken fumble. A first meeting slightly cheapened but wanted nonetheless. Only made even cheaper by the hush-hush concealing of it ever occurring.

But a secret it was and a secret it would remain.

And oh how you wished you had a pillow you could press you face into right now and scream, this time for an entirely different reason. Unlike that night.

“Not seen a sign of any deer yet, mate,” you heard a voice break you out of your indulgence of recollecting past events. Harry was the worst at wanting to get a reaction.

“Christ, have a bit of patience would yer?”

You smiled at the bickering, just like it always was as the River Dane could be heard in the distance somewhere as you walked. If you listened really close, that is.

Lifting your eyes, your smile lingered as you watched Harry spin his body around and let his hands get lost in the massive pockets of his parka. He walked backwards holding your gaze softly with his eyes twinkling before he gently rolled them at the overreaction and impatience of your friends.

He seemed pleased that you’d enjoyed his teasing as you once again hid you smile into your jumper.

You’d be alright.

***

You heard giggles and screams ahead of you as your friends stumbled in the dark and messed about as you got closer to the viaduct. This place or the people didn’t change, and at times while it filled you with a warm nostalgia, it could be heavily jarring.

A soft and lazy smile pulled at your lips as you felt his heavy forearm lightly tug you closer to him, his lips finding your hair. And then there was Harry.

“Think we should go this way m’self,” Harry mumbled, the nudge of his hips against yours had you stumbling slightly in your heels away from the direction of your friends and somewhere completely different.

“And why’s that?” You turned your face slightly, cheeks warm and flushed thanks to the mixture of alcoholic beverages; eyes glazed as they lifted up to look at him.

“Cause you never would’ve let me when I was sixteen,” he admitted.

“You didn’t ask.”

“‘M askin’ now.”

With slow blinking eyes, you looked at his own unfocused vision. A soft shine to his skin, hair blowing gently against his forehead. The softest of smiles tilted at your lips.

“On yer go,” he nudged you forward, this time more so with his crotch and his hands, which wrapped around your hips to help steer you. Harry was met with only a small amount of resistance from you as you split off from your friends and turned in the different direction.

You bit back your laugh, dropping your head slightly as you felt your heels started to sink into the grass as you walked. Harry was level with you when you sunk down noticing the way you legs slightly gave way, a soft chuckle omitting from his throat as he asked, “You alrigh’?”

“I’m sinking in these bloody things,” you grumbled, pulling your heel from the grass and trying to place the sole of your shoe onto the ground beneath you first.

“So much for no’ being able to take the country out o’ the girl. London’s changed yer, swear it.”

Shaking your head, you cut your eyes to give him a harsh stare for his wind up. His amused expression lit a fire in you like no other. He really wasn’t one to talk though, was he?

“Gi’me your hand ‘ere,” he held his out to you, quickly cupping it when you handed it over and pulled it under his bent elbow. “Remind me again who’s idea this was, eh?”

He didn’t need reminding, he had been one of the keen instigators for the whole jaunt down Twemlow Viaduct. It usually was him, or Jack. The two of them often reminiscing on times they had both raided their parents' alcohol cupboards and managed to sneak out with some dusty bottle that held a liquor that tasted out of date and stale, and if not that then, cheap.

“‘S still fucking freezing down ‘ere, in’it?” He asked, lifting his left hand up to his mouth and blowing against it to try and get some feeling back into his fingers.

“We’re so close to the river, I don’t know why you’d expect anything different?”

“Is this why everyone was always so insistent on necking anything with over 11% alcohol in it when we came down ‘ere as kids?”

“Probably,” you softly laughed.

“‘S a bit different now though innit?”

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” you started to correct him, shrugging your hand out from under his elbow and reaching for your bag. Quickly fumbling with the clasp, you lifted up the quilted flap and managed to pull out the stainless steel hip flask.

Harry cackled a harsh laugh, his eyes crinkling as he slowly let his laughter die down and softly let his joy wash over his features. “Impressive. Gone all proper on me.”

“You know I haven’t,” you held his eyes watching as he nervously cupped at the back of his neck for a short while, a gentle bite down of his bottom lip, as you quickly uncapped the item and held it out to him. He looked like he needed the courage. You continued, “We’re just a bit more refined, that and we earn a good living. Some more than others, and by some I mean you.”

He held his hand up towards you with an amused grin at your comment. “You first, ‘s yours after all.”

Lifting the item and knocking back your head, you swallowed the whiskey with a small grimace, before offering it to Harry once more. This time he accepted, his right hand making light work of taking the item from your hands and sipping at the contents.

His face wasn’t as contorted as your’s when he swallowed, a fan of the chosen beverage if needs must. “‘S the proper stuff, tha’ is,” he commented with a quick lick of his lips before continuing, “Come a long way from sneaking the bottles of dusty Blossom Hill from the back of the cupboard.”

“Don’t know about that,” you smiled, taking the item and pushing it back into your bag. “I’d still drink if, if it were on offer.”

“‘M sure Mum’s got a bottle or two going at home?”

“Is that your way of asking me to go home with you?” You paused. “Again.”

Harry remained silent at your words. Both you and he knew it was going to happen. A mixture of sparks and lovelorn, lingering glances was enough to make anyone both want to give up, while also giving a burning confidence usually unknown.

Neither of you expected it would be you who started the conversation, however.

“It is, ‘f it’s gonna work. ‘M not sure I could wait any longer t’be’onest wi’yer.“

Laughing, you reached up to push at his shoulder. He always knew exactly what to say, but no way was he going to make a laughing stock of the whole thing. “Oh, give over,” you spoke, harshly swallowing when he kept your hand against the thick cable knit black jumper he had on. “You’ve made it this far, thus far just fine.”

“‘M not playin’,” he whispered, hand gently curling around your own and lifting it up to press against his face. His cheeks were warm underneath the cooler hands, despite the cold night whipping around you both and your mind quickly wondered if he was just as embarrassed for his lack of acknowledgment as you had been. “Homes nice, you’re nicer.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it,” you let your soft voice get taken by the wind.

“An’ what gave you tha’ impression?”

He did. He gave you that impression. By not mentioning it. By treating you how he always did.

“You.”

“Me?” Harry responded, indignantly, blowing out a sigh that had his cheeks puffing out underneath your hand. “‘M not doing a very good job then am I? I can’t keep m’eyes off o’you. ‘S not my fault you don’t bloody notice ‘em.”

But you had noticed them.

His eyes, gaze following your every move, near enough. Stupid little touches. Glances of approval. Not just now, but from years before.

Treating you how he always did.

Oh, treating you how he always did.

Bringing your eyes back to his figure, you saw the way his gaze darted and nervousness dragged at his features. A frown began to set itself between his eyebrows from worry.

“Changes everything.”

Running his tongue along his teeth, Harry pursed his lips. “Everythin’ has changed, changed a long time ago an’all.”

You dropped your hand down, it now massaging against the back of his neck and shoulder as you felt the tension of his body radiating through his clothes. Under the dim moonlight and the odd spotlight that had been added to the viaduct with each passing year for safety, Harry exhumed everything anyone would want in a boyfriend. He was soft, and so bloody gorgeous. Not just because he was personification of an almost six foot tall string of handsomeness, but his character did the talking for him.

He knocked the door before he walked into a room, for example. Who really did that kind of thing anymore?

But you could also still see the heartbreak that lingered, albeit not as strong as it once was, it was still there. And that was problematic and scary. To be on the receiving end of it. Not that you would hold it against him, because you had been him at one point too. At many points in fact.

When the two of you had shagged, because let’s face it that is exactly what it had been, while a sense of familiarity in the person was prevalent it was definitely overruled by the desire to just hit a euphoric high that if hit right could not be topped.

Familiar overruled in other aspects, and it wasn’t to be brushed away. But was familiarity a mask that would slip sooner rather than later? Was it the start and the end?

The both of you experienced similarities in your life that could not be matched by the friends in your friendship group. London had chewed you up and spat you out, ruthlessly so. While rewarding you with long hours but fat pay cheques, careers that catapulted you to new heights and enabled you to see parts of the world that two country kids (which in one way you were) could never have imagined.

Sure Harry’s had been on a much, much larger scale - you would not ever deny that - but you no longer fit in.

And neither did he.

This was a place that only the two of you knew. A place where you watched those around you fall in love and have the time to do so. A place where your friend's happiness was created a lot easier than it wasn’t and allowed a sense of success to weave its way in, through the most unexpected of happenings.

Not a place where you found happiness in your work because there was less of a space for happiness to blossom elsewhere. Not really. Not like you; both of you.

Understanding was vital.

This had been a place you knew like the back of your hand. A place that had you feeling the earth beneath your feet, fresh air in your lungs and had at times made it so you found yourself sitting by a river and finding yourself feeling complete.

Yet looking over at the almost 26 year old, that just wasn’t the case anymore.

And for once you didn’t feel alone.

The sound of the odd piece of cobbled pavement underneath Harry shoes, buried beneath overgrown grass and plants, broke you from your thoughts, as you watched him kick at the ground and scuff his shoes.

He sighed, head tilted back before he knocked it to the side and caught your eyes. A small scoffed laugh left his lips as he shook his head and dropped his gaze to his feet.

“‘S it fucked?”

You hummed, a small frown lacing your features.

“Fucked it, haven’t I? Fuckin’- idiot-“ he breathed out a noise as he clenched his teeth, one that wasn’t quite a growl but enough to let you know he was agitated. Only strengthened by how tight his jaw became.

Before you could even think, the back of your hand gently brushed against the pulsing hinge of his jaw. Muscles taut as you tried to soothe him in a way that your mind was screaming was far too intimate.

You didn’t want him having any internal battle about right and wrong. Not when you had both taken the same steps to get here.

“Thought it was just meant as a one time thing,” you admitted. “Like you needed it, and I needed it. Was what it needed to be at the time. Bit rough, bit sloppy-“

You cringed are the use of the word. Wanting the ground to swallow you in a weird fashion. You should be able to talk open and honestly with someone who you had known longer than hadn’t.

“Rough?“ Harry swallowed audibly, his face fallen. “That’s not-“

His eyes held an emotion similar to sorrow at the mention of the word. “That’s not the impression I wanted to give you.”

“We were both drunk, it happens.”

“Not with me it doesn’t. Not when it’s me, wanting to be wi’you.”

“I mean I was into it if that helps anything?”

“Were yer?”

You looked at him from the corner of your vision, watching his lips try to fight a smile as you rolled yours into your mouth to not give yourself away. You knew what you were trying to do by speaking those words aloud but you wished you hadn’t. Awkward breathy laughs were shared by the two of you as you held his eyes.

“Was I?”

You hummed in agreement to answer his question, letting your smile dance along your lips now and watching as Harry’s dimples started to show. His expression was youthful, slightly smug.

“Good t’know.”

***

Finishing saying your goodbyes to your friends and ignoring their suggestive expression because ‘Harry was stopping as an extra pair of hands’, you shut the heavy wooden door and reached up to close the deadbolt lock at the top. Shortly after, you let your feet drop as you stopped standing on your tiptoes and pressed your forehead against the door.

The silence of the pub was always a strange one to you. A place that was usually thriving, whether it was just your friends, or your parents friends. When the lights were turned out, it was actually quite a lonely place. Regardless of growing up around this sort of industry your entire life and having parents as publicans nothing was more depressing than an empty bar, lifeless and nothing like it was intended.

A suggested lock-in from Jack, who managed to interrupt both yours and Harry’s conversation earlier had not been a bad shout after all. You knew it meant that you would have to deal with the fallout with it being Christmas Eve, but it wasn’t very often that you found yourself in the setting.

Turning to move from the door, you almost jumped out of your skin when you heard the opening of a familiar Lily Allen song start to play over the speakers.

Harry emerged from the corner of the pub that housed the jukebox, slowly rubbing his hands together before he wordlessly picked up the scattered pint glasses that had remained on one of the tables that had been missed by the staff on the evening shift. His eyes glanced over at you, as you stood with a hand to your chest.

This wicked smile and gleam washed over his face as he paused his movement. “Did I scare yer?”

“Do you not think it’s a bit loud?”

He wrinkled his nose at you, a soft shake of his head no, to answer your question.

“‘S your fave innit?” He asked, head nudging to where the jukebox was now hidden.

With a small smile you nodded, “Prefer the Keane version in all honesty.”

“Don’t have it in the bloody jukebox though, d’yer? Can’t like it that much.”

Your smile deepened at his exclaim and how prominent his accent sounded as he spoke, the small clink of the glasses he was holding only heard if you really zoned in.

“Where d’yer want these?” He asked, holding up the five pint glasses he had collected. “Behind t’bar?”

Humming, you nodded and watched as he weaved his way through the tables to you. You frowned as he got closer, not understanding why he hadn’t bypassed you completely.

Once he was close enough to you, you watched as he reached for what you knew to be your own glass of wine that was almost finished.

“Fancy the rest of this or can it go too?”

Looking at him and down to the glass, you gently wrapped your hand around it and brought the lip to your mouth. You knocked the item back quickly, swallowing the rest of your wine, before handing over the now empty glass back to Harry.

“Good girl,” he joked, light laughter lacing each word. “Sit yourself down.”

Wearing an amused and quizzical expression, you let yourself sink down into the wooden chair. Resting your chin on your hand, you spun slightly in your seat to keep your eyes on Harry as he placed the glasses down and lifted the hatch so he could step behind the bar.

With your free hand, you started to tap the worn beer coaster labelled with the Cheshire Brewhouse logo against the table. Part of you hated how Harry had a knack for anything, including knowing his way around a bar.

He busied himself with collating the glasses once more as you let your eyes take in the surroundings you had known, loved and even grown out of.

Your parent’s pub was cosy and friendly. A truly

classic and quintessential British village pub, featuring open fires, bookcases found in the very far corner or the jukebox in the other, lots of old oak and a really pleasant garden with benches for the summat and heaters for the winter. You know the kind that had its regulars that had kids who had seen each other grow up.

The bar was the centre of the pubs house, with an extensive array of whiskies amongst many other delights. A nice range of local ales and a well-balanced, great quality list of wines on offer designed (which you would be taste testing if the service hadn’t decided to take a break) to complement the food menus designed daily by a team of chefs who all have a passion for great cooking using fresh, seasonal and local ingredients.

It looked as Christmassy as Christmas could get, with a real tree which was locally sourced from one of the many surrounding farms and traditionally decorated with golds and reds. Twinkly lights shone, not only on the trees but as part of the garland that was hung above the bar each year, much to the annoyance of your Dad and the delight of your Mum.

Slowly dragging your eyes back to the bar, you watched Harry as he poured you another glass of white wine and started to recap the bottle. He must’ve felt your eyes on him, his gaze meeting yours almost immediately.

“Service is a bit slow,” you jibed, once you knew he was with you. “Going to ruin the reputation of a fine establishment.”

His chuckle was breathy in response, but warmed you through as he turned his back and pushed his tumbler glass up against the device at the bottom of the Glenfiddich distilled malt whiskey, not once but twice going for a double.

“Helping yourself to the stock now, as well.”

“‘M sure your Dad won’t mind,” he responded, twisting his body back around to reach for your own glass and place it onto a tray that sat along the bar top. “In fact he’d probably make a comment about how it’d put hairs on m’chest.”

You laughed, unrestrained, knowing just how right he had been with that comment.

Over the otherside of the room, Harry smiled and shushed you as he walked closer, easily holding the tray with your drinks upon it. “Being a bit loud,” he taunted as he slid the tray down to the oak table.

“Oh, now you’re concerned about the noise.”

With his hand against the back of the chair which was currently housing your outstretched legs, you felt him start to wobble the seat to give you a warning.

“Hang on,” you said, “Plenty of other chairs.”

“This one’s mine,” he responded.

Wanting to roll your eyes but deciding not to, you let your legs drop down and gave the seat back to Harry. Once he was comfortable and he’d taken your drink off the tray, he gestured with his right hand.

Not entirely focused, he had to do the ‘come hither’ motion a couple of times before you finally cottoned on. He was willing to let you put your legs on his lap instead, while he may have taken the seat it didn’t mean he wanted to take away your comfort.

No sooner had your legs been raised to rest against his tan washed velvet corduroy trousers, was he fiddling with the buckle of your stiletto sandals.

“Got mud everywhere,” you commented, wiggling your toes that were painted a festive red and inspecting the little dots of dirt that were splattered against your skin, as Harry dropped the first shoe to the floor and quickly worked on the second. “Dread to think what they smell like.”

“Smell alrigh’ from ‘ere,” he mused, smirk faint but glaring obvious in his tone of voice as he threw a quick and mischievous glance at you. As you elongated your foot against his thighs, the tips of your toes were just about able to press into his thick jumper to try and jab at him for his comment.

Before you were able to put any sort of force behind your action, Harry’s hand clamped down around the top of your foot causing your eyes to snap up away from his hand and up to his eyes.

There he sat watching you, top two teeth pressed into his bottom lip keep his smile at bay. Releasing his lips slowly, his whispered threat left his throat, “I will tickle.”

You tried to fidget away but to no avail. With a whined laugh, you frowned as Harry goaded you by slowly raising his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

You had tried him.

Truth be told you wanted to again.

If he wanted to.

Reaching for your wine, you took a hefty sip and let the silence swallow you both. Harry, who kept his hand on your foot and his fingers dancing gently against the top, let his head fall back awkwardly against the hardwood. His head dropped to the side taking in his surroundings and their familiarity.

“Do you ever get tired of coming back?”

You hummed, sure you had misheard due to the way the blood was rushing around your ears. He turned to look at you, all double chin and puffy cheeks.

“Of everything being the same, but different?”

His whispers captivated you, hushed confessions not quite meant for anyone else but his own mind yet spilling from him with such an ease that he did nothing to fight them.

“I’ll admit, I come home for other people. Not for me.”

“People?”

“Mum, Dad,” you paused. “You.”

His smile deepened. His chin knocking down to his chest, his eyes looking up at you from underneath his curling hair from being caught in the moist winter evening just hours before.

“You can stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you did three nights ago.”

Harry breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring and his chest expanding. A lick of his lips, before his mouth dropped to sit slightly agape.

“What if I don’t wan’to? What if I want t’look at yer like this all the time?”

You found yourself unable to respond, nose burying itself into your wine glass as you pressed your lips against the cool outside to try and hide your burning smile.

His lips curled lightly, before he breathed a laugh once and gently shook your foot with his hand. “Eh? Come ‘ere-“

“Harry,” you breathed.

“C’mon, c’mere. ‘S room for more than just your feet.”

If it wasn’t for the creak of your chair as you slowly started to push yourself out of it, you wouldn’t have consciously been aware of how you were making your way to him.

His body relaxed, somehow managing to become closer to horizontal than sitting upright in his seat, as he peered as you walking the short distance over to him.

With his legs widened, he pressed his face into your side now that you were close enough. His nose inhaled the familiar scent of your perfume which was only faint now due to the other senses and scents it had mixed with throughout the evening.

Rolling his face out of your body, he knocked his head back and pressed his chin where his face had been. The face you showed him was worn with worry, an expression he did not want to meet.

“‘S wrong?”

His ask was lazy. Not wanting to dig deep and know. What if he didn’t like what he found?

“We know how this is going to end.”

“Do we?” He prodded. His eyes moved over your features quickly before they partly disappeared to him, thanks to your curtain of hair which slowly fell down.

His hand reached up, desperately brushing it away and cupping at the back of your head as best as he could while he remained seated.

“How’s that? Tell me.”

“Same, but different.”

You knew you shouldn’t use his words, not in a way that could be considered against him, but they - in the most ambiguous of ways - described everything perfectly.

“Not if I have my way.”

His words were almost lost against your stomach as he pressed his face against you once more and wrapped his hands around you; sweaty, nervous palms pressing to the backs of your thighs.

“Same, but better.”

Harry guided you down to his lap, his lips somehow managing to remain pressed into stomach, or your chest, or your clavicle, as your face became level with his.

“Different, but better.”

He kissed against your cheek slowly, nose nudging at your skin as he willed for you to relax against him. “I don’t know how you like it, like this,” he whispered in confession. “Show me?”

A puff of air left your lips as you turned to look at him with hooded eyes. His mouth was closer to yours than you originally thought, corners of lips brushing as you slightly pulled away.

When your lips met, it was in the softest of pecks that trembled under your nerves. Both sets of eyes looking back at each other as you innocently engaged.

If you were to take your eyes away from him in any way, you would notice those fluffy curls of his falling over his forehead and the lightest dusting of red blush making itself known against his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

He felt like a school boy, lost and clumsy. The kid who was once again flicking paper at you in science class just so he could pull a face at you over something your teacher was saying to get you to laugh.

Mouths hovering over each other, your breathing mixed, as Harry nodded to you slightly. You pressed your lips to his once more, feeling the way he gradually opened up to you, warmed and softened underneath the puckering of your mouth against his.

His hands, that slightly trembled, smoothed over your hips trying to pull your body so that it was more so flush against his. You moaned softly, your hands running over his jumper covered shoulders, fingers digging and pulling at the material just below the nape of his neck.

The chair beneath you moved lightly against the floor, not quite a scrape but a dull drag. Neither of you broke the kiss, but his hands against you allowed fingers to dig in to hold you steady to him so if you were to fall from where you were sitting, he still had you.

His lips slowed, moving to press against your cheeks again as he panted and his warmth breath bounced off your skin. “Think I got it,” he heaved.

“Do you?”

Harry hummed his ‘yea’, before pressing his lips so tenderly to your chin and the underside of your jaw. He felt how you swallowed heavily, throat dry from the way your mouth hung open and your neck further exposed itself as you lolled your head back.

You were falling further and further back, finding it hard to stay upright as he devoured you and made you weaker with each pulling kiss. His groans were needy, muffled and making your ache. While yours were silent and making his desperate to pull something from you. To build is confidence in that he was doing something right, you liked it this way too.

Hands fumbled and dragged upwards at your skirt, faintly aware now how it was similar - if not the same one - to the garment you wore to his show.

“Gonna take this off properly,” he mumbled, feeling the way your hips moved slightly from his hands to roll over him.

“You don’t have to-“

“No?”

Your voices were rushed as you spoke to each other, barely audible but loud enough all the same. His head was knocked back slightly as you hovered over him and you found yourself admiring his blissed out face even only in the lead up.

This was a sight that you hadn’t received last time, and if you had your way it was one you were going to greedily enjoy in all its glory.

Like watching the way his eyes closed and he softly grinned, the left side of his teeth started to show as the one side of his face reacted first while your hands blindly moved to lift up his jumper and the white tee he had on underneath, to allow you to find the button of his corduroys.

“What ya doing?”

“Nothing,” you mused.

He pulled a face, the kind that down turned his lips, eyebrows raised and head slightly tilted to the side. The kind that had you smiling.

“Not trying to get m’trousers around m’ankles for a second time within a week then?”

You giggled. “No.”

“Please do.”

A low moan left you as you pressed your forehead to his jaw and dropped your eyes. Your hands slowly started to pull at the brass button and pop it open before seeking out the zip thanks to his desperate plea, encouraging you to continue.

Hands quickly sought out the waistband of the trousers and gently pulled at the item. From the way that you were sat, you knew there was no way you were doing to make them budge.

“Stand up fo’ me,” he mumbled, quickly helping you get off his lap so that he could make light work of his clothing and pull down his trousers and underwear.

His bare bum made easy contact with the cushion leather beneath him, eyes carefully watching you as your hands moved to underneath your skirt.

The fabric of your underwear slipped so easily down your legs, his eyes just about caught the sight of them as they pooled against your ankles and you kicked them away.

Legs pressed together, you slowly untucked the v-necked blouse you had chosen and pulled it over your head. Wearing nothing but a fancy black bra, and a tight little skirt you hastily snatched for your wine and took a hefty gulp.

You could feel his eyes on you, a gruff groan catching in the back of his throat and when you finally turned your eyes from where they had been looking down at your heaving chest and how great this bra made your boobs look, causing him to move his hand down to start playing with himself.

His name left your lips in a breathy gasp, causing you to look up quite surprised at the find of his right hand gently tugging at his hard length.

“Keepin’ me waitin’,” he groaned, his left hand sloppily reached for the back of the collar of his jumper and tee, pulling the item roughly over his head.

“Fuck sake,” he mumbled under his breath, agitated that he was unable to get both items of in one go.

“Smooth.”

Harry stared up at you with a playful squint, before he gently fell back and moved the chair as he did so, the dull scrape heard once more.

And if you didn’t know he was flushed before, when you first kissed, you were definitely aware now. His eyes were blown out and hungry as they devoured you. Hair wildly haphazard before he let go of himself with a soft slap of his skin and harshly pushed his fingers through it.

“‘S it still a couple of quid for a strip of three,” his words brought you back to him. This smugness radiated off of him as he groaned and leaned forward to push his trousers down all of the way. Over his vans and socked feet, before he toed them off as well be harshly pulled at his white sport socks.

You didn’t even need for him to explain what he meant, staying silent as you watched his hands tug at his corduroys from the floor and retrieve his wallet. As his fingers moved around to find a couple of quid, the jangle of the coins was taunting.

One leg crossed over the other, you swayed and found yourself blushing when he looked up at you once he’d managed to find enough money and then some. With his wallet thrown on the table, he stood proudly from the seat and closed the short gap between your both.

Leaning forward he easily took your lips with his own before pulling away. With his face still close to yours he whispered, “Promise not to look at my arse.”

He didn’t hang around long enough for your reply, instead turning away and brazenly giving you all the time you would ever need to admire him, his fantastic bum and his hairy legs before he opted for a jog-walk type of thing, suddenly conscious that he was absolutely walking around naked from the waist down in a pub owned by your parents.

While you waited you took a quick pull from his whiskey, needing the heftier burn for Dutch courage. Nervousness returned when you heard the endings of what you believed to be Harry whistling.

“Machine ate all m’fuckin’ change,” he grumbled, regardless of the twinkle in his eye at the strip of overpriced condoms he had managed to score from the men’s bathroom. “‘S Durex. Business must be booming, your Dad’s definitely gone up in the world.”

“Please don’t talk about my Dad.”

He smiled brightly before he reached for your face with one hand and pulled you towards him mumbling his ‘sorry’s’ against your lips as he gave you several kisses in quick succession.

His other arm loosely wrapped around your back and pulled you with him as he walked backwards and slowly lowered himself back onto his previous seat. The chair creaked as you joined him, slipping into his lap and feeling the way he was smiling now.

Pulling away from your kiss, he quickly tore away one of the condoms allowing the others to fall without much care to the floor. Teeth took a hold of the foil-like packaging and he tore it not so elegantly with his eagerness.

With his cock nestled in the crease of his own thigh now, the heat radiating from it matched your own agonising yearning. Scooting back to give him space, you heard him groan as he gently rolled the condom down onto himself. Eyes looking up just in time to see him knocking his head back and breathing deeply through nose. The foil-like packaging was back in between his teeth once more as his hands were otherwise preoccupied.

Slowly your hand reached up to take it from his mouth, feeling some playful resistance as Harry continued to hold it in his teeth. His eyes were open and boyishly sincere, as you tugged at the item and he finally released it when you lightly laughed.

“Gi’me a kiss.”

Obliging him, you leant forward and slotted your mouths together a lot easier than you had done at the start of the night. A heat built easily between the two of you, as Harry gave you his tongue and you felt the flex of his jaw under your hand as he worked your mouths together.

He was eager, his hands tightening on your waist before he growled when he understood he had to grab handfuls of skirt before he could cup your backside. But when his skin met yours and you ground down onto his lap, the groan that left him was the most animalistic sound imaginable.

The frown your face fell into showed your desire to whimper, as he kept you atop him and marvelled in the way you writhed, both from satisfaction and keenness at the pressure of his cock against you.

“Can I have you again?” He asked, the startings of sweaty hair being pushed off your face. His eyes peered at you, searching for his answer as you seemed to be able to do nothing but pant and look back at him yearningly. “Are you letting me?”

You dragged your fingers down his t-shirt covered torso and lifted it slightly just to see the quiver of his stomach as pulled you onto him once more.

“Like this?” you voiced, meekly.

“‘F this is what you like then, yea’”, he breathed into your mouth, hands shifting your pliant body. “Is this what you want?”

You wordlessly nod, mouth falling open in a breathy gasp when he managed to move you so he sat so enticingly at your entrance. He was teasing both yourself and him, wanting to keep you both on the edge.

Harry blinked a few times as he looked at you, and you revelled in the way he couldn’t seem to concentrate. His hands held your flesh tightly, fingertips dipping into the skin of your bum cheeks as he gently guided you down.

An unattractive and dull, quite strangled noise, left your throat as you let your forehead fall against his temple. Eyes falling down you see the cups of your bra fall slack, you felt his hands softly gliding over your shoulder blades and shoulders.

He rid you of your bra, hands moving to your chest to squeeze your breasts. His jaw fell slack when you found yourself sitting snugly on his lap - on him - settled and already feeling spent.

This was so different compared to the last time; if not overwhelming so because of the way you both appeared to be so present. Each movement of your hips, and the way they rolled and grinded and dragged felt too much. So much so that you had become nothing more than a mess of short, quick breathing and blushing, sweaty cheeks.

Slack-jaw, you were unable to find it in you to return Harry’s kisses, and his joyful, breathy chuckle seemed to lead you to believe he was fine with it. In fact he was happy to keep going as you were.

Your movements were frantic, and despite the build up, not entirely driven by lust either. Harry continued to encourage you to move as you were; slow, grinding motions on his lap that caused the filthiest of groans and dirtiest of laughs from the two of you. Laughter that was only made stronger as the chair that held you both started to creak too.

You couldn’t do much about it though other than to breathe into each other’s mouth, and rock your hips together with more fervour each time.

“Yea’,” he breathed against your lips, left hand at the back of your head holding you to him, while his right rested just above your bum. “‘S better. That’s better.”

It was better. Better than last time. Better than anything before.

And while it hadn’t been frantic before, it was now as your legs that were hanging down either side of the chair started to tremble and your toes started to dig into the worn carpet beneath them. Hips knocking and your clit dragging heavenly against his public bone, you grasped his name as you buried your face into his neck and dug your nails into his nape.

Harry hissed his approval which fell to a groan as your nails pushed up into his hair and lightly pulled as you sought leverage. There were so many things you were learning this time around and his penchant for liking his hair pulled from time to time, was one of those things.

“God, ‘m gonna come soon,” he admitted, gruntly as he forced your hips down as he anchored his legs and widened his seating position. “Are you close?”

“Yeah,” you whined. “Yes. Like this-“

And as you pressed your face to his once more, he was everywhere. Soft but hard, loving but commanding. Smelled like clean washing detergent but of country air. Inviting and alluring, allowing you your lingering kisses between grounding breaths that became staccato in unison with the movement of your hips.

You aren’t ashamed of the whines that escaped your throat as you squeezed down on his cock, praised by indecipherable works that left Harry but were nothing more to you than lips moving against your rough and dry ones. Word that made the burning feeling of your pending orgasm spread through your entire body, warming you and setting you alight.

It was long and deep, with your toes curling into the carpet they were pressed against now. Barely able to catch your breath, sucking in harshly and shaking.

And when you came to, thoroughly exhausted, you noticed that he was waiting for your say so. That he could let go and enjoy the pleasure brought about by your shared labour.

“Coming-“ was all the warning that you got and was enough to encourage you to watch him as he came, his face completely void of anything other than pure pleasure. Wrinkles and frowns fade, his mouth falling open with his pink lips glinting prettily under the dim Christmas lights around you.

His forehead gleamed with sweat as he wrapped his arms around you tightly and his hips bucked up one, two and three times for good measure. “Fuck me,” he heaved gruffly.

You were suddenly desperate to feel his lips on yours despite the way you both continued to fight to get your breath back, but settled for resting them against the skin of his cheek, which was hot to the touch.

When you felt Harry start to go soft, you reluctantly pulled away and let him slip out of you. He wasn’t so keen to let you get too far, holding you just that bit higher than before with his hand cupping gently but firmly at your hip. “Where’d you think you’re going,” he hummed, eyes still closed as he continued to heavily inhale and exhale.

You softly smiled, taking in his soft face and responded by nuzzling close to him again.

Nowhere. Somewhere. Anywhere with him.

A place where only the two of you knew, like the back of your hand. The same way you knew each other. Now and possibly forever.

#gbsxmaschallenge #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles x reader #harry x reader #harry styles x you #harry x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles christmas #harry christmas

567 notes · View notes

tirorah · 4 years ago

Text

Road to Berlin – The Strike Witches Magnum Opus?

Hello! It’s been a long time. I don’t plan on returning to Tumblr long-term—it simply stole away too much of my time and energy, and I had to do what was best for myself. However, I thought I’d pop in for a very special message.

You see, Strike Witches’ third season, Road to Berlin, has now reached its halfway point. And I need you to watch it.

“Strike Witches?!” I hear you say. “That weird show about girls with no pants that you’re obsessed with for some reason?”

Yes, exactly! Hold on, don’t run away yet! Sit with me for a spell and allow me to explain my boundless love for this silly, emotionally gripping show. Allow me to tell you why it might affect you in the same way, and why Road to Berlin may be the best offering yet.

Welcome to the 501st Joint Fighter Wing

If you’ve heard of this anime, you’ve undoubtedly heard of (or witnessed) its rather infamous claim to fame: a group of teenage soldiers fighting strange creatures in an Alternate Universe World War 2 Europe, flying around with guns and magic-fueled leg machines, and none of them are wearing any decent trousers.

That takes some getting used to, doesn’t it? I’m not going to deny that. But while Strike Witches’ rather peculiar design decisions are inescapable, there’s one thing you need to take into account: Season 1 aired all the way back in 2008. And over those thirteen years, it’s evolved into an experience unlike anything its roots would suggest.

Strike Witches has always been a strange beast. It has a large cast and divides its activities evenly between (light) war drama and slice-of-life shenanigans. And there’s fanservice, lots and lots of it! But the show’s emphasis on risqué camera work, and how that camera work is handled, highly depends on which entry you’re watching.

You see, Strike Witches is strangely ambitious. It could’ve easily taken its bizarre concept and pushed that to its limits, bringing in as much fanservice as possible and playing a simple story in the background as window dressing. But it was never satisfied with just that. Even early on in Season 1, the show deals with heavier themes like pressure, trauma and loss.

And then there are the characters, the undisputed stars of the show. Twelve strong and all with different backgrounds and personal quirks, they may at first seem like TV Tropes come to life. And certainly, sometimes they are. However, as the series progressed, things started to change. Even Season 2, arguably the lightest and silliest of all entries, featured material that built on character development and character growth earned in its predecessor.

With the movie and a trio of OVAs to round out the cast a bit more, the stage was set for Road to Berlin.

The Difficult Road Ahead

When this season was first announced back in 2018, two things stood out to me. First of all, the key visual and promotional video released along with the announcement were much more similar in style to the movies and the OVAs, featuring serious-looking characters and stormy clouds. Secondly, for the first time in Strike Witches history, an entry received a subtitle. Yes, the OVAs were named Operation Victory Arrow, but that was merely wordplay to spell out “OVA.” It wasn’t wholly serious.

Road to Berlin, however, is deadly serious.

Let’s start with an overall theme. The vaunted 501st Joint Fighter Wing has had some major victories, but much of the continent is still under occupation by the Neuroi. The Hive over Berlin is the Wing’s new target, but the journey there is fraught with obstacles. Plans are thwarted and delayed by Neuroi more powerful and far craftier than their 2008 counterparts.

And as the opening song tells us: “We all have flaws.” The Road to Berlin isn’t an entirely literal road; it’s also a metaphorical one. The push to Berlin is their hardest battle yet. Victory can only be achieved if the characters face and overcome their weaknesses. But they’re not alone.

Friendship Is Power

As the characters have long since been established, there’s greater room for growth not just in one character, but also in how that character interacts with others. Road to Berlin chose the best possible route and decided to emphasize character dynamics. Episodes don’t focus on a single character anymore; they focus on relationships, and those relationships are at their peak here.

There’s a newfound maturity to the writing in Road to Berlin, a gentle touch that allows the characters to breathe and be more than their foremost traits. You get a sense that the characters have grown from their experiences; they feel different, more well-rounded, but they still behave exactly as they should. This is difficult to get right, and while I’m sure there might be a few eyebrow-raising moments here and there, the overall result is a cast that continues to improve every week.

Chekhov’s Gun

Underpinning the character work is a highly intriguing execution. Road to Berlin delivers subtle setups and satisfying payoffs in every episode. The pacing is also seriously tight. No moment is left unused, every opportunity for additional development is taken. Even the script itself doesn’t like to waste time; it explains things here and there, but it rightly assumes you know who the characters are and what everything means, so it doesn’t bother with many unnecessary lines.

On top of all that, this season is reaching new heights in confidence and sheer audacity, and it uses that to deliver something truly special. There are interactions here that I never could’ve imagined, twists that genuinely caught me off-guard, moments where I had to sit back and digest what I’d just witnessed.

Not a single episode has been predictable thus far; I’ve had more surprises than I can count. In fact, before I started watching I made a bingo card on a whim, filling it with trends and running gags I’d spotted over the course of the series. Some of those bingo spaces have already been proven wrong, and others are in question. Road to Berlin has done such a spectacular job at simultaneously defying and exceeding my expectations that I honestly have no idea where this journey will take me.

The Fault in Our Stars

Okay, hold up, stop the hype train! I admit, I’m a massive sucker for Strike Witches. One could say this somewhat clouds my judgement. Shocking, I know. So, to make this enthusiastic recommendation fairer, let’s dig into something that I hope to see an improvement on.

There is some terrible imbalance in screen time going on here. I know I said earlier that the cast is great, and it is amazing, but some characters have definitely been favored over others. Yoshika is the main character, of course, so it’s not unreasonable for her to have a large role. Similarly, characters like Minna, Gertrud and Shirley have more experience and higher ranks than the others, which means they have an easier time fitting into scenes.

So, who’s gotten the short end of the stick?

Let’s start with Lynne. She hasn’t had as much of a presence as I’d hoped. The primary reason for this is Shizuka, who’s taken up the role of newbie to the squadron and is often paired with Yoshika because they’re working together. As each episode focuses on the relationships between a select few characters at a time, the others are often relegated to minor roles, and poor Lynne hasn’t had an episode to highlight her yet. I’m sure her moment will come eventually.

I don’t know if the same thing applies to Minna. She’s mostly stuck behind her desk again, it seems, and while she’s definitely had some scenes, her role as Wing Commander hasn’t allowed her as much wiggle room as some of the others. What I want to see from Minna is more time to be a nurturing mom to her girls. The thing is, I’m not sure how they’d accomplish a Minna-centric episode. I suppose they could pair her up with Mio, but even then, I’m uncertain where to take her. It seems redundant to have her be worried out of her mind over Mio again, and she seems to be keeping it together pretty well so far anyway.

In a trend so merciless it’s almost comical, Sanya and Eila seem forever doomed to the peanut gallery. They started out with few lines and have pretty much remained in the background since. Of course, a big factor to it all is their role as the night patrol, which naturally separates their activities from everyone else’s. It’s my current prediction that their relationship is next in line to be showcased. The quality of that episode will likely hinge on how their personalities are tuned, but there’s potential for something great.

And most shocking of all, Mio—She Who Has Practiced Plot Armor Ten Thousand Times—has had the most infinitesimal role of all. I’m of two minds on this. It appears that Road to Berlin has realized that having Mio fly into battle without a shield or Striker Unit is silly, and this is good. On the other hand, Mio is an iconic and beloved character. She deserves some screen time as long as she doesn’t overshadow the others. For now, she seems to be relegated to strategizing and logistics, although I have a hunch that a way to circumvent her newfound vulnerability has already been set up. Time will tell if this ends up being utilized.

Journey’s End

In closing, Road to Berlin highlights the best of what Strike Witches has to offer. It’s striding boldly forward, eager to dazzle us with its animation and audio, grinning as it challenges our preconceptions about where its characters can go and what they can do.

The path to this greatness can be tough. Watching Strike Witches means accepting a number of strange concepts, which can give quite a few viewers a rough start with the series. However, if you made it all the way here and haven’t given Strike Witches a try yet, I sincerely implore you to make the attempt. If you allow the characters to sweep you off your feet, then Road to Berlin could be the apex of a most satisfying viewing experience.

Especially if its second half is as impressive as the first. I, personally, have high hopes. There’s no sky this show can’t conquer.

#strike witches #road to berlin #anime #yes I made a bingo card in Excel #I'm a passionate fangirl with ample Microsoft experience #oh right #I should point out that I changed my name from NeandaFFnet to TirOrah #as I don't use that old handle anymore #sorry for any confusion caused

35 notes · View notes

barnesandco · 5 years ago

Text

Nikah: March

Story Masterlist

Nikah: noun, Arabic, meaning the contract of marriage.

Bucky marries Peter’s former tutor because her student visa’s about to expire and the government isn’t granting her a green card. Can she find a way to permanent residence by marriage, and if so, will it be at the cost of their hearts?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: None.

A/N: Written under the Arranged/Accidental Marriage trope for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s writing challenge. Thank you all for reading and commenting! (Picture below is mine, btw)

Bucky’s birthday arrives amidst blooming flowers and a pollen-scented breeze, the day marked by preparations for a party Sam is throwing for him at one of the hotels downtown. Avengers and close friends only, yet he’s spared no expense, insisting on a proper welcome back. The captain is unrelenting in matters of social activity, especially since he has been spending minimal time with his teammates since his marriage. Marriage. He shakes his head at himself in the floor length mirror as he straightens his cuff-links and moonlight catches on the gold band on his finger. It no longer feels like a burden.

Rather, it’s a seed that’s been planted on him, and it’s taken root inside him, growing, growing, growing into a steady feeling of friendship with the person he wears it for. An understanding, a companionship. He refuses to confess to anything more, even within the confines of his own mind. His heart, on the other hand, has no compunctions about making its opinion known, setting off like a hare being hunted whenever she approaches. Most dangerous assassin in the world, defeated by her smile.

She offers him one now when she enters, picture perfect elegance very nearly succeeding in concealing her nerves. Bucky’s nerves, meanwhile, are on fire at the sight of her, sensory overload short-circuiting his brain. He finally turns to look at her directly and the fox-hunt pace of his heart stumbles, stutters to a stop.

“You- you’re- jeepers,” Is all he can manage, the rosewater blush deepening on his cheeks. It has the opposite of the desired effect, and she steps back, mascaraed eyes widening, horrified.

“It’s too much, isn’t it. Oh God, I knew I should’ve-” She begins to reach for a tissue box on the dresser and Bucky stops her. Lowers her hand slowly and keeps a hold of it, as if she will float away otherwise.

“Jesus, doll, stop. You’re perfect,” He tells her, and she slips her hand away but smiles a little as she sits on the foot of the bed - their bed - to put on her shoes.

“Thank you. You look nice, too,” She says, lifting the hem of her black gown as she pulls on pearl white heels. The matching clutch - pearl encrusted - is on the bedside table, and he hands it to her as they leave the room and then the apartment.

“Hang on, your tie is loose,” She says the moment they enter the elevator. He can’t even press the button for the ground floor while she holds him in place. The split-second it takes for her to wrap her hands around the green silk and pull it tighter stretches into hours, the graze of her knuckles gentle in his cotton-covered chest. He has enough time to carve the shape of her cupid’s bow into his mind, the descent of her jaw to her chin into his lungs. After half an eternity, she puts distance between them again and presses the button while he tries to smooth his hair back only to feel the short strands tickle between his fingers, and he remembers cutting it last week.

The lobby is bustling, people coming and going like bees in a hive, and they nod their hellos and offer the doorman a Good evening before getting in the car Sam sent. The seats are cold and comfortable, and the chauffeur tips his hat once in the rear-view mirror before putting the Rolls Royce into gear.

“ ‘Possess ye, therefore, ye who borne about In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue’ ” She murmurs, letting her fingers trace the stitching in the butter-soft leather.

“Marlowe?” Bucky asks, turning away from the New York evening, that special, streetlights-reflecting-on-wet-asphalt evening, to look at his wife.

“William Cowper. The Task.”

“I think I’ve read that one,” He lies, fully prepared to come clean, and she looks at him curiously.

“Wow, really? Even I haven’t read all six books,” She says, dubiously verging on impressed, and Bucky drops the facade.

“I’m pullin’ your leg. I’ve read some of Cowper’s work. Don’t remember much, but bits and pieces of school are still there,” He explains, all cheeky smile. “What’s it about? And why in God’s good name is it six books long?” This - the conversation, letting her talk about her work, her passion for literature - this he can do. Playful questions intermingling with genuine intellectual interest is manageable. Her beauty, her grace, the cloud of perfume that bleeds into his veins and makes his lungs strive for air, is not. So he concentrates on what he knows. Or doesn’t know, apparently.

“Honestly, what isn’t The Task about?” She laughs, eyeshadow glimmering like stardust in the smile wrinkles in the corners of her intelligent eyes. “Cowper had a bit of a breakdown during his barrister training in London, and retired to the countryside. In 1781, he met his friend Lady Austen, who later gave him a task to write about, to cheer him up. He started, and then just followed that train of thought wherever it took him.”

“Which book is that line from?” Bucky asks as the car stops in the inevitable Friday night traffic jam. At least they accounted for it, leaving early on purpose to avoid tardiness.

“I don’t actually remember. I think it’s from an extract in which Cowper criticizes the superficial pleasures and unnecessary luxuries of city life,” She answers, opening her clutch. Her phone and a tube of lipstick peek out but she reaches deeper for a pair of earrings.

Closing her eyes, she fastens the first one on the side Bucky can’t see, the other crescent-moon shaped accessory in her silk draped lap. The flower made from pearls matches her bracelet, the two pieces of jewellery clinking together as she puts on the other one.

“City life, huh?” Bucky muses, trying desperately to calm his heart. The earrings dangle, contrasting wonderfully against her simple black gown, and he swallows. She looks like royalty.

“Yeah, many poets of the time wrote a lot about the beauty of nature. They had a lot more of it at their disposal, I guess,” She shrugs.

“Do you have any favorites?” “Nature poems? I don’t know. There are so many good ones. Wordsworth’s To the Cuckoo, Herrick’s Daffodils, Yeats’ Wild Swans at Coole, Tennyso-” She cuts herself off with a huff of a laugh at herself.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, no- I just-” She laughs again, trying to wave her hand like she’s shooing a fly. “I just have conflicting feelings about these poems by classical authors who write about nature. Poems that express a keen appreciation of beauty yet are fillled with sadness because so many beautiful things are short-lived and because human life itself is so short,” She says, twirling the ring around her finger, deep in thought. Bucky doesn’t know how he found her. This simple, wise soul, in the midst of all the chaos of the world. The chaos of resettlement.

The chaos of the kitchen, an hour before dinner as the Avengers prepare dinner together, is unholy. Sam’s panicking about dessert while Wanda stirs the marinara sauce for spaghetti in her signature demure fashion, while Peter’s pile of handmade spaghetti grows taller and the pasta dough shrinks. His phone lights up on the table, and Bucky - kneading more dough nearby - is the only one who notices. He calls for Peter and pushes it over to him, not knowing what the point of having a phone is if it’s always going to be on silent, but Peter holds it out to him after just a moment of conversation.

Bucky reads the caller ID on the top and sees who it is, closing the kitchen door behind him, flour on his black t-shirt, as she speaks.

“Hi, Bucky. I hope I’m not disturbing.”

“No, not at all. Have you decided?” He asks, pacing the hallway, staying out of sight of the others. Not that it matters, they’re still fairly busy. She had seemed unsure when they met, and he had given her time to decide it she wanted to do this.

“Yeah, but I just- this is a huge favor,” She says.

“Not to me, doll. I’m just helping a friend of a friend,” He says, and it isn’t entirely true. That isn’t why he’s doing this. Something in him wanted to help, wanted to repay the debt of kindness that he owes the world. This is how he wants to do it, although he doesn’t think it’s fair that he gets to choose his penance.

“I thought you said Peter talks your ears off.” Bucky cringes, grateful she can’t see his face, even though he can hear the joking lilt of her tone.

“He’s a good kid. And I want to do this. Do you?”

“Yeah.” A lengthy pause, heavy and tangible, even across the phone line.

“When do you want to get married?” She asks finallly, voice shaking. His hand is, too.

“We have a week-long mission right after Christmas. Boxing day arms deal in Sao Paulo,” He replies, cursing the Brazilian gangs who could find no other time do get up to no good. Evil doesn’t go on vacation, and neither do the Avengers.

“So… New Year’s Eve?” She asks, doing the math. He realizes that’s true. A week from Boxing Day.

“Yes. Shit, you don’t have a ring-” He begins to say, freaking out about the logistics. He didn’t even propose properly.

“It’s okay, we’ll figure it out.” “Alright, I’ll see you then.”

“Bye Bucky.”

“G’night.” He bids her farewell, then looks at the phone, asking himself what the hell he’s just gotten himself into. A knot builds and twists in his body, and he tries to loosen it. Breathes, and makes his way back.

“I’m engaged,” And the kitchen freezes in time as they all drop everything - not literally, Sam’s holding a knife - to look at him. The smile on Peter’s face is brighter than the Christmas tree in the adjacent common room, and the somersaults in Bucky’s stomach only settle at the sight of his relief.

It seems that his teammates gave him a later time on purpose, because they’re all ready, dressed to the nines and wine-tipsy, waiting for him when they enter. It’s a small ballroom, downtown Manhattan, quaint and graceful. A chorus of Happy Birthday erupts in the room, and he smiles and thanks them. The hugs pile on, and he begins to introduce his wife to his friends. Home away from home for the man who has never had one since the 1940s - until he met her, that is. She’s home now, though he wouldn’t tell her that.

Instead, he relishes in the grin she offers him between introductions, till Sam drags him off to stand him on a chair and sing a birthday song. The party commences in much a similar fashion, too much noise in the room for a couple of dozen people. He stays away from Thor’s alcohol, knowing she doesn’t drink, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

He’s just thinking about how she might be dealing with the hectic atmosphere when her hand slips into his while he’s talking to Harley Keener about letting him look at his arm. He’s shocked, looks at her to see her smiling and concentrating only on the conversation, but he can tell she’s tired. It’s been hours, and he knows he can’t leave early - it’s his party - but he just wants to slip those heels off her feet and sit and talk, still in partywear, for hours on end. Let her quote Byron and Cowper and Austen to him, poems and essays and books, until he falls asleep on their sofa. Instead, her voice says something he isn’t expecting at all.

“Is it possible to put some sort of temp regulation in it?” She asks curiously, head tilted to the side like a sparrow. Harley thinks it over for only a second.

“Of course, why?”

“It hurts in the cold. He rubs and rolls his shoulder a lot in the winter,” She answers, and the thoughtful observation astounds him. It’s accurate, but it hadn’t even occurred to him, the movements that she’s citing entirely subconscious. They talk to Harley for a while longer, and then dance to several of Bucky’s favorite songs. Billie Holliday is crooning in the background as the second-to-last guest exits, leaving only his wife and his captain and his deputy director. When the door shuts behind them, they break apart, and Sam and Maria approach, ready to call it a night.

The car ride home passes in complete silence, a comfortable weight resting like a blanket between them, so much so that she falls fully asleep on the way, her head resting against the cold window when they arrive. He doesn’t have the heart to wake her, so he goes around to her door, opening it slowly and lifting her into his arms, not caring what it might look like to onlookers. It’s late, and there are few of them, at least in the lobby, and as the elevator doors shut, her head curls against his shoulder, hair tickling his Adam’s apple.

Bucky looks down at her, her resting, easy expression, the chandni earrings still on, and thinks: what a way to turn 103.

Taglist: @suz-123 @mermaidxatxheart @buckyreaderrecs @shield-agent78 @corneliabarnes @readerandcinephileingeneral @stevieboyharrington @notsomellowmushroom @veganfangirl5 @mood-pancakes @lbuck121 @starnight-charmer

#ayesha writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes fluff #slow burn #bucky barnes x desi!reader #desi!reader

208 notes · View notes

aboyandhisstarship · 4 years ago

Text

Human are weird: The GTO/SICON verse Reboot

The GTO, Or Galactic Treaty Organization is a military and political alliance between a number of species in the alpha quadrat of the galaxy. The GTO is a rather new organization only founded nine years ago following the first contact incident, where The Klendthu’s crash landed on a small cold planet on the edge of a solar system at the edge of the galaxy, and encountered a small outpost, one mis understanding later, and The Klendthu’s spent 6 Terren months fighting the creature’s from the fourth planet.

Once diplomacy was able to be established through communications a cease fire was called, and the strange race who called themselves Humans started a dialog.

Over the last nine years the alliance has grown to be a massive power house in economics, Politics and Defense. They are 4 major races in the alliance

The Klendthu Congress: an insect race with a regional hive mind, but don’t let that fool you, they are wicked smart and industrious. They have developed some of the most impressive mining tech available. Their planets is ruled by a Queen there entire government by the high queen, the average worker has about the same level of intelligence of a human 6 year old, but when working groups then can easily compete with a genius level human.

The Kalbur Merchant Empire: a race that vaguely resembles the big foots of earth legend. They are the economic Backbone of the GTO, there race is built around the building and creating of wealth, money heavily influencing there culture. Their government is run by a council of officials elected from the top business and workers unions on their world. In terms of technology they tend to lead in interstellar coms and other commercial type tech, with their military tech sorely lacking…as such they maintain an allied Military presence on their worlds.

The Verkia technocracy: an Aquatic telepathically floating species that vaguely resembles the squids of earth, they are the most advanced species in the known galaxy in almost every way. As such however they tend to be stiff and follow a very strict social custom; it is considered taboo for a student to leave the sciences in exchange for another discipline, sometimes leading as far as disowning by family and friends, or worse case total exile from Varikan society. There government is run by a council of appointed top scientists that are generally the heads of top instuites within Verikan space.”

The Strategically Integrated Collation of Nations: The Humans, the youngest race in the group as well as the craziest, Hailing from a death world on the edge of the galaxy where everything can and will kill you they are a society still recovering from finding out aliens even exist and there conflict with them. SICON was formed after the Pluto attacks from several of the earths major nation states, pushing aside the last barriers to unification. SICON is a democracy, with each former earth nation state, and Human colony earning a seat in the SICON Parliament with the majority seat holder winning said election with the party head becoming the Prime minster, Underneath them is the Star Marshal, commander in chief of the SICON Navy, and the ODT’s or Orbital Drop Teams… highly trained and equipped soldiers who go through a strict selection process. The nature of the human world as well as their Military technique’s make them the leader in Military technology by miles, with standard issue power suits for ground forces, the entire concept of Orbital insertion, air support and deep space carriers being introduced by the humans. These advantages are only enhanced by their natural predatory nature and ability to hone their bodies into killing machines….

T’Las groaned scratching her fur groaning “Great I keep making the humans sound terrifying.” The Kalbur sat back in the far too tall chair. It was built for a human after all she groaned, she sat in a gray metal room, the thick bulkheads joined into a thick window showing the swirls of hyperspace outside the window.

T’Las was grateful to the human for letting her take his office as he called it, but honestly being on a human ship was scary…well the entire assignment she was given was scary. 18 terran months ago a Verkian science ship crash landed on a Pre FTL society and well the folk on the planet went crazy fighting over the tech they could barely understand, by now only two groups remained on the planet before the GTO sent an intervention team, well Humans falling from the sky into your main base would put the fear of god into anyone and the sides agreed to moderated peace talks, she had actually been invited to dine in the captain’s cabin with the Ambassador, the Captain and the ODT Commanding officer, and had to quickly get ready. She put on her formal fur clips and quickly moved through the ship.

The Valley Forge is what the humans called it and as human ships go it was on the small side, only 400 meters long and 600 across. The vast majority was taken up by the Chekov drive core and the small retrieval ship and drop tubes for the ODT team. She left the section of the ship past a group of humans joking about something called a date, before she left the ODT region of the ship.

It took her a couple of minutes and asking for direction’s before she arrived at the metal door. She knocked and a human voice called “come in.”

Inside were to humans before dressed in their formal uniforms, one had more bars across her shoulders and was a human female, T’Las was able to identify as she introduced “Hello, you must be the reporter joining us, I’m Captain Hernández.”

The male human who was also in Dress uniform had shoulder patches on the side of his jacket that looked kind of like the Human drop pods as he introduced “Lieutenant William Erickson, ODT senior officer.”

T’Las carefully took the offered seat “Nice to meet you Captain Hernández, Lieutenant Erickson.”

There was sound of something scraping and a robotic voice saying “May I enter.”

Erickson and Herandez stood up as the door opened, in stepped a creature that walked on four legs, it was armoured and had 4 side facing eyes, attached to its chest was a small box, Herndez smiled “your Majesty.”

The creature screeched before a second later the robotic voice spoke “Captain, Lieutenant…we have known each other long enough to dispense with the Niceties surely.”

Erickson laughed “I’m sorry to say its official orders, they don’t want us causing too much trouble.”

Herndez chuckled as she said “you’re Majesty Queen of Gamma prime, this is T’Las of the Kalbur.”

T’Las had never seen a klendtuian queen before and muttered out a “Hello…your majesty.” She quickly added bowing slightly.

The queen made a chirping sound that robotic voice translated to a disjointed human laugh before saying “there is no need we are all equals here.”

The three of them sat down as a small platform elevated the queen to the table, Erickson took a sip of water saying “the squad says hi, and Futuba was real bummed she could not join us.”

The queen somehow betrayed a guine response through the robotic voice as she responded “I’m sorry they were unable to join, it has been for too long since I last saw dagger squad.”

A couple of humans still in there dress best placed done four plates, for the humans it was a simple salad meal with Erickson grinning “SICON figured streaks were not a good look.”

The queen chirped again as a plate of strange green slush was placed in front of her and T’Las got a salad in the style of her people. T’Las asked “so how do you all know each other?”

Erickson smiled without showing teeth “long story, it involves a lot of explosives.”

The queen scratched “it was my vessel that crashed on Pluto, then private Erickson, and then flight Lieutent Hernández crash landed in my den, we were lucky enough to have gotten our…talk box open…they were the first to talk to us…they helped us build peace.”

Erickson smiled “we got a cease fire and spent 3 weeks talking, we had to live off my mom’s cookies.”

The queen chirped “I’m sorry you could not eat our food.”

Herndez grinned “I thought the food was ok, the company was awful.”

Erickson looked genuinely hurt as the conversation moved to a different topic.

17 hours later:

T’Las was sitting in her quarters/ borrowed office mussing about the nature of Human space travel. Most other GTO races have adopted the supercharged carrier system, where the engines have a certain particle run through it in an infinite loop that somehow results in faster than light travel; Humans on the hand adopted the Chekov hyper drive, named after the human scientist Anton Chekov who invented it. The Chekov drive punches a hole in subspace allowing the human ship to enter into another dimension allowing the vessel hundreds time faster than the speed of light.

T’Las did not pretend to be well versed on the subject of interstellar Star ships but she started to write “as I fly on the human ship I noticed something interesting about the difference in the FTL Technology employed by SICON as opposed to the employed by the rest of the GTO, but first some background, for any ready who is not aware Humans are pursuit predators, what does this mean? imagine for a second that you are a terran creature, you see a human coming and run away. The issue is you are faster than the human but the human can chase you as far as they need to, sometimes for kilometers and days at a time.”

T’Las read that and said “NOPE.” She quickly edited “Being a Pursuit predator means they chase their prey, sometimes for days and across vast landscapes, just about anything can out sprint the average (non -power suit wearing) human, but in a distance race…you lose every time. What is the relevance of what I’m saying? Well Most FTL tech we know of is faster than Human hyperspace, but the Humans can go farther and for longer…Example, A Kalbur ship and a human ship need to cross GTO space, the distance is say 15 Cubic light years, The Kalbur ship would rock ahead of the ship until about 5 light years at which point it needs to slow down to let the engines recharge, by contrast the humans will stay be coming and easily overtake the Kalbur, once the Kalbur engines re charge they will jump and yet again overshoot the humans until uh oh, they have to stop again, meanwhile the humans have being moving at a steady pace this entire time and easily yet again over take the Kalbur and hit where they want to be easily hours before the Kalbur vessel.”

T’Las read it over before nodding approvingly “that’s better.” Adding “now the logical next question, what about in combat and yes it is as terrifying as you would think, the humans with their massive over gunned ships firing hunks of metal at a quarter of the speed of light at you, so you make a break for it…and you think you are in the clear then boom, they appear out of nowhere (reminder that we have yet to have anyway detect someone in Chekov travel, and if the humans do they are not sharing.) You can’t run you can’t hide you can only that they are feeling merciful.”

T’Las re read the last paragraph saying “way to dark…” deleting the last paragraph she smiled sending the story off, as well as her other noted on the function .

7 hours later:

T’Las heard a small knock on her door, and opened it to see a human with a strange shape on her face the human grinned “Hiyo.”

T’Las blinked “uhh hi?”

The human smiled “Specialist Futuba Kurogane, Dagger Squad, intel and Communication’s.”

T’Las nodded “Pleasure…uhhh not to be rude?”

Futuba grinned “oh yea right, this came for you from your boss,” Handing T’Las a drive saying “have a good one.”

T’Las played the message and it was her boss telling her “that last story is a gold mine! We have re run it 4 times and they still want more! Keep up the good work!”

T’Las rewatched the message 4 times saying “people are really that interested?”

2 hours later:

T’Las backed up as the creature advanced towards her, it was on four legs and bore it’s teeth as it sniffed her, the humans office door had closed cutting off her escape from the predator, T’Las considered making a break for it when a human shouted in a language her translator did not recognize. The creature instantly stopped sniffing her and trotted back towards the human, the human was a female of darker complexion who smiled sheepishly, saying to T’Las “sorry about Porthos here.”

T’Las took a deep breath before yelling “WHY DO YOU HAVE A DEADLY PREADTOR IN YOUR INCLOSED SPACESHIP!”

The human rolled her eyes “she is a MWD.”

T’Las said “what!?”

Erickson rounded the corner saying with crossed arms “heard some yelling, what’s the issue Specialist?”

He reached down petting the creature as the other human said “Porthos seems to put the fear of god into our guest here.”

Erickson sighed “Abebi, you know we had aliens onboard who would be scared of Porthos.”

Erickson looked at T’Las before saying “come on, I will fill you in.”

Mess hall:

Erickson drunk a glass of water explaining “there is a creature on earth called a dog.”

T’Las nodded following, as Erickson sighed “these animals have amazing sense of smell so we train them to find things for us; Porthos for instance is a bomb sniffer….so if you ever see him sit run….Abebi, is his Handler she takes care of leads the dog on mission’s…that make sense?”

T’Las sighed “sure you humans have trained a deadly predator to find equally deadly explosives for you…great…”

Erickson glanced at his wrist “we are almost at the planet get ready.”

Clapping T’Las on the shoulder

Hanger bay:

The ship rocked as it dropped out of hyperspace, Ericson was dressed in strange 4 piece garments with dark lens over his face as he explained “this place was a warzone a few days ago, so stay close and do as we tell you, everyone follow?”

The queen squawked her affirmative and T’Las nodded awkwardly as they boarded the military drop craft.

4 hours later:

The conference had been going on for hours now with the creature Porthos and his handler walking around constantly as the rest of the humans eyed the assembled crowd, so far everything was safe and secure. The peace was signed But then the meet and greet and the glad handing with the all the ambassador’s started, and well T’Las was happy she had her camera drone on for what happened next.

The drone had been flying around the room for about twenty minutes when an alien stepped forward to speak to the ambassador’s, Porthos walked towards the alien sniffing before sitting facing him. T’Las remembering what Erickson said looked for something to hide behind as all the humans in the room stiffed, The queen knowing what Porthos was as well changed color, however the aliens on the planet did not know what was about to happen. A tense second later, small sliver looking weapons appeared in the humans hands as Erickson yelled “hands in the air!”

Porthos rose up barking as Erickson yelled “Abebi!”

The handler nodded “on it sir!” yelling something in a strange human language, the dog advanced on the now terrified alien, sniffing before looking at the creatures jacket and growling. The humans moved in as Erickson said “Futuba call for evac, Abebi.”

The handler interrupted “checking the entire room got it.”

Erickson threw the alien down pulling out a bomb he quickly defused he said “Valley Forge we are pulling out over!”

The delegation quickly moved out to the waiting drop ship, handing the would be bomber over to the locals they blasted off, the humans visibly relaxed and started chatting with each other and the queen like they all almost didn’t get blown up, leaving T’Las to come to the conclusion “Humans are weird. “

#SICON verse #humans are weird #humans are space orcs

16 notes · View notes

sweetness47 · 5 years ago

Text

The Bodyguard

Pairing Alpha!Dean x Omega!reader

This is for the following:

@spndeanbingo – fake dating

@spnabobingo – Alpha for hire

@spnkinkbingo – clothes sharing

@spngenrebingo – playing pretend

FINAL WORD COUNT: 5708

Warnings: MATURE 18+ READERS ONLY!!! Smut, knotting, heat, rut, ABO, mentions of arranged marriage, mob themes, dark themes etc… POSSIBLE TRIGGERS!!!

Summary: You have become a bargaining chip, and your Uncle expects you to arrive at the intended destination ASAP on your own, ‘intact’.

YN swallowed hard as she stood at the entrance of the tall building, wondering if she was doing the right thing. People travel alone all the time, right? Except most of them probably weren’t allergic to suppressants like she was. Without the safety of her home, she was pretty much doomed. And even though her heat was due soon, she wasn’t being given a choice in this trip, she had to travel across the continent just to marry some stranger, and saying no wasn’t an option. If she backed out or didn’t arrive on time, or if she wasn’t still a virgin when she arrived, then her younger sister would be sold to whoever she was supposed to wed, and YN would never let that happen.

She entered the building and walked to the elevator, pushed the button marked with 16, and waited. She’d heard of people hiring Alphas for lots of things, but not as a travel companion. Rumors were this one was the best, strong and more than qualified to handle any situation. She hoped he would accept the money she’d saved up, because it was all she had.

The office was easy to find, and the door said, “Come in”, so she did. YN gave a whistle of appreciation as she was greeted with bright yellow walls contrasted with rich mahogany flooring. Tasteful art pieces placed subtly here and there accented the cream colored sofa and the equally stunning mahogany desk. No one currently seemed to occupy said desk, or the office for that matter, which left YN wondering if she had gotten the office hours wrong, until she heard the whoosh of water behind the closed door on her right. She turned to see a tall man with sandy blonde hair exit the washroom, and heat crept up her face, staining her cheeks bright crimson. He stopped when he saw her blush and look downward to the floor.

“I’m sorry for just walking in,” she said.

“Don’t be. The sign does say ‘come in’. My name’s Dean,” he said, extending his hand to hers.

“YN.” She took the hand he offered. His grip was warm and strong, and his smile made her heart flip. She pushed the thought away, mentally scolding herself for the images that popped up in her mind.

Dean motioned for her to sit, then he joined her. “So, what brings a young, beautiful Omega such as yourself to my office?”

YN felt her cheeks grow warm once more. “I need an escort, well, more specifically, I need an alpha to protect me while I travel across the country. It’s a long, dangerous trip by train, and I don’t have suppressants.”

Dean raised a brow. “No suppressants?”

“I’m allergic to them. I’ve tried all different kinds, but never found one that didn’t give me hives or worse. My mother finally had to arrange with my school to keep me locked in a room for my heats. I need you to stay near me at all times, lend me your clothes, your scent, and your strength.”

Dean nodded in understanding. “Your heat is going to come on the trip.” She confirmed and he frowned. “Why can’t you do the trip after your heat is done?”

He swore he saw a tear blur her E/C eyes, so he stood and cut off whatever she was about to say. “Never mind, it’s none of my business. I’ll do it.”

She looked incredulously at him. “But we haven’t discussed your fee.”

He waved her off. “We can discuss fees after. I don’t have a set rate or anything.”

She furrowed her brow at the lie. She had struggled to come up with what she had to offer, and it wasn’t even close to his usual rate. Her sources had said he always took payment in advance. Here though, he was doing the exact opposite.

His voice cut into her thoughts. “When do we leave?”

“Is four hours enough time?” she asked.

Dean nodded. “We have to stop by my place to grab some stuff, then call my brother to come pick up my car and watch my office. Let’s get going.”

The drive to his flat was brief. He talked to his brother while he packed, then returned ten minutes later ready to go. They drove to the train station and were met by an equally handsome tall brunette, who YN assumed was Dean’s brother, since it appeared he knew the man. After some brief conversation, Sam took the car, and both Dean and YN headed to the train for boarding. YN had booked a private compartment, completely furnished with a large bed, sofa, and private washroom. Dean stored their luggage and took out some scent blockers, ones he could hang on the wall. They themselves were odorless, but absorbed other scents exceptionally well.

He watched her settle in as best as she could, her scent gracing the air, though faded, and it began to play with his mind as his nostrils took in the smell of apple pie. He fought to regain the control that threatened to slip from his grasp, even as his eyes flashed red. Fuck, if this was a sample of things to come, it was going to be a long, long trip.

“I’m going to get us some food and water. Wait here. Don’t answer the door for anyone. I will knock twice, then use the key. Do you understand? Don’t talk to anyone.”

YN nodded, and Dean left, making sure the door was locked tight before heading to the food car. He left her his jacket and shirt so she could have his scent, taking a fresh tee out of his bag to wear. He eyed the food choices before grabbing two bottles of water and two sandwiches. The cashier shot him a weird glance. “I’m really hungry.” He said to the girl at the till.

“Actually he bought that for me,” a voice interrupted from behind Dean.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” Dean greeted the other man warmly. “I didn’t know they let riff-raff on these things.”

His friend looked amused. “They must, how else would you be here?”

Both men laughed and made small talk as Dean paid for the food and walked with the other man to a smaller compartment. Once inside, they sealed the door shut, and the real conversation began.

“So, I got your message from Sam, now you need to tell me what the hell is going on Dean.”

Dean’s face grew serious. “I need your help with a case Benny.”

Benny chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, as was his nature. “Bit off more than you can chew eh? You know I don’t ‘knot’ around. My wife would kill me.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s not that kind of job. This more protection detail. But she’s not telling me the whole story, so I need extra eyes and ears out there.”

Benny nodded. “That I can do ‘mon ami’. What do we know?”

Dean shrugged. “Not much. She walked into my office 5 hours ago, said she needed to hire me for my scent, wear my clothes, like I was her Alpha.”

Benny’s eyebrows shot up as Dean relayed what he knew, and what he’d picked up from her reactions thus far. “Sounds like she’s being forced or sold to pay a debt.” Dean nodded.

“I need you to find out everything you can Benny, quietly. YN is scared and worried, considering she’s risking her life to travel during her heat. We need to help.”

His friend nodded. “I’ll start right away Dean. Be careful my friend. This reeks of mobster or Mafia business.”

Dean patted his friend on the shoulder. “You too Benny.”

They opened the door and kissed as lovers would. It was a common cover they used when working a case together. It allowed them to go around unnoticed. The two never did anything beyond kissing, but no one else knew that. Dean made his way back to the private compartment, knocked twice, then used his key to get in.

The overwhelming scent of apple pie assaulted his nostrils, fresh baked a la mode to be exact. Dean’s eyes went red, and he turned away so YN couldn’t see them.

“Need. Alpha. Please.” Her mind couldn’t form coherent thought as she struggled to relay her need.

Dean took a deep breath and took his jacket off the chair. He walked over to the young Omega, drenched in sweat, and placed it near her. He moved to leave when she grabbed his arm, her eyes glassy and filled with an unspoken request. He knew what she wanted, but he wouldn’t do that without her consent, consent given when she wasn’t struggling with fever and half dazed. Instead, he lay down beside her, and allowed YN to scent him, breathe him in.

She calmed down somewhat, falling asleep both from exhaustion and from the relief she got. The scent bond they’d just formed calmed her down for now, but Dean wondered if it would be enough, considering this was still day 1, and if today was any indication, this was going to be hell for him. They slept, mostly without incident, only disturbed by the occasional moan. The dawn brought a higher fever, and that was a concern. That usually meant one of two things: either her body was going into shock, or her body realized he was her soulmate. He closed his eyes and breathed her scent again, and sure enough, the fresh apple pie a la mode was still there.

Fuck!

Never, in a million years, had he imagined having another chance at love after Lisa passed. The never had any pups, and their life together had been taken far too quickly. She was the reason he never tried dating, never did anything even remotely related to finding another mate. He put himself out as an Alpha for hire so he could help people without the emotional attachment.

Until now.

Until this young Omega entered his life.

Dean left the bed and changed into fresh clothes, placing his used underwear on the pillow beside her. Yeah, it was weird and unsanitary, but she needed his scent, and his shorts provided the strongest source. He checked her fever once more before quietly leaving the room and seeking out food, and of course, Benny, who was a workaholic when not at home. He found his friend and bent to kiss him before taking the seat across from him.

“Morning sunshine, sleep well?”

Benny grunted. “Funny. Fucking hilarious actually.”

Dean chuckled. “Well, next time get a bigger room and I’d be able to stay longer.” He winked at Benny, smirking at his friend’s amused expression.

“Bite me, Alpha.” Came Benny’s reply.

They laughed and ate together, then headed to Benny’s compartment for some alone time. Once they were certain they were alone, and away from prying eyes, the real questions began.

Benny spoke first. “It’s worse than our original assumptions. YN is being sold to Castiel, yes that Castiel, to pay off her uncle’s debts. Her parents died some years ago, leaving her and her younger sister in the Uncle’s care. The bastards are using the younger sister as bait, saying if YN doesn’t hold up the deal, then the 12-year-old sister will be used to settle the debt.”

Dean wanted to throw up. His eyes went dark. “I knew they were scum, that’s low, even for Castiel. I assume the sister is being kept somewhere safe?”

Benny nodded. “She’s at Castiel’s mansion, so far unharmed, and will remain so as long as YN keeps her promise.”

Dean couldn’t hold back the low growl that escaped his lips. Benny shot his friend an amused look. “Thought you’d sworn off feelings Dean.”

“This is different man. YN is my soulmate.” Benny’s jaw dropped to the ground. “Yeah, I know. How often do you get a second chance at true love?”

“So you and she…?”

Dean shook his head. “No, she’s been ok with my scent so far, but she’s getting worse. Send word to Sam. I want him and Bobby to meet us there. Bring the cavalry. Plan B-12.”

Benny near choked on his drink. “Holy Shit Dean! You’re seriously risking war with Castiel?”

Dean all but glared at his friend, and Benny held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, you’re the boss. I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

Dean opened the compartment door as the two exchanged a deep passionate kiss. The four passengers in the hall at that moment seemed uninterested in the couple, which was exactly how they wanted it.

He returned to YN’s compartment to find the entrance blocked by two young bucks, and the scent of YN’s heat, the scent that had lured the two Alphas.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” Dean asked, firm but politely.

“Buzz off!”

Dean grabbed the collar of the first man and knocked him flat on his ass, out like a light. The second charged at Dean, but met the same fate as his friend. He sent Benny a quick text, then went in to check on YN. The moment he entered and shut the door, her eyes flashed gold, and she looked at him.

“Alpha!” she pleaded.

Dean’s eyes went scarlet as the scent of her heat broke through his defenses. In mere seconds he had crossed the room, removing his shirt and shoes along the way. He lay beside her and captured her lips with his, tongues dancing and mating. He made quick work of the buttons on his shirt, the one covering her small frame, and captured a nipple with his teeth. YN moaned, grinding her hips against his thigh, desperate for more. Dean had his jeans and shorts off in a blink of an eye, and her panties as well. Then he was there, seeking entrance, his hard cock sliding into her tight hole. He broke her barrier and bottomed out as the tip hit her cervix. Then he moved, pulling out, then thrusting back in, and she cried his name as her first climax slammed through her body. He wasn’t gentle, but he wasn’t a monster. His pace was relentless, drawing out three more orgasms from YN before he felt his knot swell, filling her with ropes of white hot cum. Her fever broke instantly as the knot stretched and filled YN, and for the first time since the train left the station, she visibly relaxed and slept.

Dean kept himself propped on his elbows so as not to squash her while he waited for his knot to deflate. Then he carefully got up and went to clean off. Once that was finished, he brought over a cloth for YN, who was beginning to stir, so she could clean off as well. She looked from him, to the cloth, then to her current state of undress, realization dawning as her hand shot to her apex, finding the evidence she feared most. Then her hand shot to her neck, but she frowned upon finding nothing there.

“No mark? You didn’t want me?” she asked, tears welling in her eyes.

Dean was immediately at her side, gathering her into his arms, both forgetting their lack of clothing for the moment. “Sweetheart, I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. But you passed out when your fever broke, and I’m too much of a gentleman to mark you while you’re unconscious.”

She blushed, then she let out a string of curses. “Oh no, my…” she started, but her eyes shot to Dean, then down at her body. “What have I done?”

She buried her face in his shoulder, Dean stroking her hair as she sobbed. “I know everything YN, who you are, why you’re going across the country, and I know about your sister.” She looked up at him. “I’m working to free her, thus freeing you.”

“But how? If anyone tries to interfere, he will hurt her or worse! I can’t let that happen!” she panicked.

“I won’t let anything happen to her. I promise. Trust me, ok? I’m very good at what I do, and this ain’t my first rodeo.”

She nodded and reached up to kiss his cheek. “I do trust you.” She said. “By the way, thank you for helping with my heat.”

“Your welcome YN. It was my pleasure.”

They laughed at that, but the moment quickly became heated as their lips found each other once more. Her tongue found its way inside his mouth, seeking its mate, and Dean was more than happy to comply. He felt his rut hit then, and knew he was done for. He growled as he shed his clean boxers, needing to be inside her once more. He slid in easily, filling her, and this time he drove hard, and she met him pound for pound. It was quick, and both Alpha & Omega came together, YN crying out as Dean’s knot filled her, swelling as it deposited ropes of cum into her belly. He lowered his head then and sank his incisors into her scent gland, claiming her as his, He dragged his tongue over the mark after, kissing it then kissing her.

She was his now. There was no way she would ever belong to Castiel. YN was a mixed bag of emotions, but happy and sated as she exchanged nibbles and small kisses with her Alpha. They rolled over, so Dean was laying with his back on the mattress, and YN was straddling him, and blanketing him with her body. They napped, waking a few hours later to beeping from Dean’s phone. His knot deflated, he gently moved her off him and went to check his message while YN cleaned up.

When YN exited the washroom, she came across Dean frowning. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Dean sighed. “My brother managed to get the layout of Castiel’s home, and it’s quite extensive. I also got a text from my associate, he’s on the train in a different compartment. He managed to get my team together to get your sister out, but they were detained while trying to leave for the rendezvous. I’m not sure how, but I’d swear that bastard found out my plans somehow.”

“But my sister…!”

Dean calmed her down. “I promised you and your sister safety, and I meant it. One of my team is an ex cop with lots of connections. She’ll get them to the meeting point. We just have to give her some time. Trust me.”

She did. She trusted him completely. She finished getting dressed while Dean sent a few messages back and then cleaned himself up and got dressed. About 20 minutes later, there was two knocks, a pause, then two more knocks on the door. YN looked worried, but Dean motioned for her to be quiet while he checked the peek hole. He put the safety on his gun and opened the door, then locking it once Benny was inside. He brought hot meals and coffee for the three of them, and the couple sat together on the small sofa, while Benny took residence in a small chair.

“Benny, this is YN. YN, this is Benny.” The two exchanged handshakes.

“Nice to finally meet you YN.” He turned to Dean. “I assume you got the same texts I did? Did you hear back from Donna yet?”

Dean shook his head. “No, but Jody’s also on it. Between those two, I’d be surprised if they didn’t beat us there.”

Benny chuckled. “True enough mon ami. I got confirmations from Charlie, Garth, Ellen, Jo, Jack, your mom, and Bobby.”

“Sweet. Plus, there’s you, me, Sam, Jody and Donna.”

YN looked between the two men. “Um, don’t take this the wrong way, but from what I’ve heard, Castiel is Mafia, and his is one of the most dangerous organizations in the world. And you’re going to get my sister out with 12 people? You guys are seriously insane, and possibly suicidal.”

Benny and Dean exchanged glances. “Insane, definitely insane.” They said in unison.

YN shook her head as she continued to eat, silently praying that Dean would stay true to his word.

~~~

The team met up in a small café, about 10 miles from their intended target. The café was run by Ellen’s family, and was a safe house location for his team when needed. Everyone that worked there was either related to Ellen by blood, or thoroughly researched and sworn to secrecy upon hiring. It came as no surprise to either man to find the team already sitting there waiting.

They all greeted each other like family, exchanging warm hugs and chaste kisses. YN just stood there in awe, her heart swelling with admiration as she watched her Alpha with his family. When he called her over to introduce her to them, they all greeted her with the same warmth, welcoming her into their clan, as Donna put it.

“Thank all of you for agreeing to do this for me. I just hope we can get to her before Castiel finds out what happened.” YN addressed everyone.

It was Jody who answered. “Honey, it’s what we do. Besides, your part of the family now. And we always take care of our own. Always.”

They spent the rest of the night talking and making their plans, eating the most amazing food YN had ever tasted in her entire life, and then resting for the night, so as to be fresh for the morning. When the sun was barely over the horizon, YN helped get them ready to go, cooking food for them and preparing light, easy-to-carry snacks for later. She wasn’t going with them, but had written a note for Dean to give to her sister, proof that Dean was going to get her back to YN.

Mary was staying behind to protect YN, just in case, and the rest set off. Her chest ached as her Alpha went with them, and Mary couldn’t help but notice her concern. It was written all over her face.

“YN, there’s no need to worry. This team is more than capable of getting in and out safely, with your sister alive and in one piece,” she said gently.

“How? I saw those specs. I know how locked down that compound is. I saw the thermal imaging Mary. That group of 11 is vastly outnumbered.”

Mary smiled. “I’d be more concerned for Castiel’s men. Trust me.”

YN grabbed some tea and sat down at the dining table, and motioned for Mary to sit with her. “Dean seemed to know Castiel, but he wouldn’t tell me anything about how he knew him.” She sighed. “I have only known your son for a couple of days, but I love him. He’s strong and so confident.”

“He’s always been like that, except one time, before you came into his life.” YN watched Mary with piqued interest. “Dean will probably tell you eventually, once he knows your safe, but you should be aware of this part of his past. Especially since it concerns Dean’s first wife, and it also concerns Castiel.”

YN frowned. Mary continued. “Dean fell in love with an Omega named Lisa. They were classmates in high school, and dated off and on for the next 5 years after, before finally getting married. Dean was beyond happy, they were good together. She was kind and sweet, a lot like you actually, but it didn’t stay happy.”

“What happened?” YN asked.

“Lisa followed her heart when she married Dean, and went against her family’s wishes for her. She was to marry Castiel, and unite their families. Cas didn’t take well to Dean’s interference, and arranged for a car accident, one that killed Lisa instantly while she was driving home from a doctor’s appointment. The autopsy found her to be 12 weeks pregnant. She and Dean were going to be parents.”

YN’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. That’s horrible. How does he know Castiel did it?”

“Dean is ex-military, and an ex-cop, as are his brother and his team, in some form or another. They met throughout the years, teaming up on various assignments, and eventually became a regular team. The team officially formed while Lisa and Dean were still dating.”

YN was officially wowed, at a loss for words, and could only stare as Mary continued. “Dean had done some ‘investigating’ and eventually tied everything together. Of course there was no official proof, so he couldn’t go to the police with what he’d discovered. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dean sought out and killed Castiel.”

YN nodded as she took another sip of her coffee, staring out the window and praying that her alpha returned with her sister, both in one piece.

~~~

The team arrived at the compound, gaining the high ground quickly, so they could scout the terrain. Garth, nicknamed the Ninja by the team for his stealth, went ahead to scout the area around the fortress. Jody, took count of all the visible guards, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that more could be hiding in the shadows, and made approximate calculations for hidden ones, based on the layout. Donna, or ‘sharpshooter’, set up her post, making sure her tripod was stable and her gun and ammo ready for anything. Gun wasn’t really an accurate description for ‘Junior’, Donna’s Mk 21 was a modern ‘bolt action’ sniper rifle, military grade, and completely badass. Her cartridges carried .338 Norma Magnum rounds, and she never missed a shot, ever.

Sam and Dean took in the view, each mentally pairing it with the schematics they’d seen, and mapping a route in and out based on that information. Everyone else locked and loaded their weapons, made sure they had lots of ammo, Jo having brought along her own special handmade ‘Molotov cocktails’, which were in a class all their own. They were better than any grenade on the planet, and had saved the team’s asses more times than anyone could count. Dean never asked what was in them, and Jo never volunteered the info. It was better that way.

Garth returned an hour later, reporting there were 8 guards outside the walls. He drew a small diagram pinpointing each one, and their routes. As dusk approached, the team began to make their way down to the west wall, where a storm drain awaited them, their way into the grounds. They made quick work of the two guards on that side, then slipped into the sewer system and proceeded toward the mansion. It was impressive in size, comparable to Windsor castle in England, but that wasn’t a deterrent, if anything, it was like an invitation to the team, daring them to break in, and they loved a challenge.

The waste tunnel brought them to the servant kitchen, which was thankfully empty at that hour, and the 10 team members regrouped there. They split into groups of two: Jo and Ellen, Garth and Bobby, Benny and Jody, Jack and Charlie, then Sam and Dean. The plan was to scout the interior for the girl and meet back at that spot in one hour, the meeting time was set in stone, even if they hadn’t found the girl. Should that be the case, they would set out a second time, widening the search parameters, and would continue to meet back at the same spot every hour until the objective had been completed.

Radio silence was a must, everything that needed to be communicated was done through sign language. The first hour went without any sign of the girl. All parties had been sent a picture of YN’s sister, so there would be no mistaking what she looked like. It was half way into the second hour that Dean spotted a young lady peeking out of her bedroom door, looking scared, but desperate. He motioned to Sam, and the two of them waited for signs of guards. Once they saw none, they approached the girl, who was now coming back from the washroom. She looked frightened at first, as if she thought she was in trouble, but Dean quickly motioned for her to stay quiet as he showed her the note her sister had written.

Hey sis,

These men are here to rescue you. They are good people, and you can trust them. They will bring you back to me, and we will be safe from the bad men. Go with them now. Love you lots. See you soon.

PS. My bear is bigger than your bear.

Neither Sam or Dean had any clue what the last statement meant, but one look at the young girl’s face told the guys she knew. YN and her sister had a code phrase that would let the other know they were safe. And it worked. YN’s sister nodded her trust to Dean, then took both their hands and pulled toward her room. They walked silently and quickly, and helped grab some shoes and clothes, then the girl’s favorite stuffed animal. After they had grabbed what they could, they made their way back to the servant kitchen. Dean motioned for Sam to go ahead and he’d catch up, which made Sam give Dean the glare of disapproval. He knew what Dean was up to, and silently voiced his displeasure.

But he was stubborn if nothing else, and the girl’s safety was of the utmost importance, so Sam obeyed his older brother, and took the sister to meet the others. Dean went in a different direction, running through the layout of the house in his head once more, searching for one specific wing. The one that had the master suite.

The one that had Castiel safely tucked away.

Dean was going to kill him.

It took less than five minutes to reach the targeted wing, and another two to dispatch the guards that roamed that hallway. Another minute found Dean inside the bedroom of his mortal enemy. He watched Castiel’s sleeping form, contemplating whether he should just shoot him now, or wake him first and make him watch as he put the gun to his temple. If he woke Cas, there would almost certainly be a struggle, and possibly more guards, which would severely decrease Dean’s chances of making it out of here alive. He knew his team would ensure the girl’s safety, and get her out quickly, so that was one less thing to worry about. But if he didn’t dispatch Cas now, then the bastard would find someone else’s life to ruin, or exploit, or just torment for fun.

He raised the gun, aiming for the temple. He would give him a quick death, hell, he wouldn’t even know it happened. Then Cas opened his eyes, sitting up as he realized what had happened, and what he now faced. His eyes met Dean’s, glistening with unspoken tears, of a time and place neither had ever spoken about since it happened.

“Hello Dean.” He whispered.

“Cas.”

“So this is it? The feud finally ends?”

“Guess so.” Dean replied.

“And the girl? You already got her out I assume?”

“Yeah, she’s safe. And so is YN.”

“Good.” Was all Cas said as his tears began to fall. “I’m sorry for everything Dean. I really wish things had turned out differently.”

Dean’s resolve waivered. “I do too Cas. If I could go back to not knowing who you were, and go back to that weekend, I would in a heartbeat.”

Cas gave a weak smile. “So would I.” He paused. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favor, and kill that bastard YN calls an Uncle. He was going to sell me an innocent 12-year-old girl as payment if YN failed to uphold the arrangement.” He cast his gaze downward to the bedcovers. “I wouldn’t have done that, you know, hurt a young girl like that. Just the idea makes me sick.”

Dean nodded. “I know. I promise to make sure that asshole never sees daylight again.”

“Thank you Dean.”

Drops of salty tears blurred Dean’s vision as he raised the gun once more and pulled the trigger.

~~~

The hour was almost up when Dean ran into the kitchen, meeting a group of relieved faces, and together they all high tailed it out. Running through the sewers, making sure YN’s sister was in tow, the group made their way back to the wall drain, then up and out to the fresh air. Benny offered the young traveller a piggy back, while Jody carried her things. Donna was all packed up and ready to go by the time the group reached the hilltop, and then they all made their way back to the café.

YN saw her sister from the window, and ran out to greet her. Anna ran to YN, tears of joy streaming down her face as they hugged furiously. Everyone watched happily as the two sisters embraced. Then YN moved to embrace her Alpha, meeting Dean’s lips halfway as he sought a kiss from her. He chuckled at the plaid shirt she wore, one of his, thinking he would let her wear all his clothes. They looked much sexier on her than they did on him. The entire group went inside the restaurant and shared a hearty meal together, relaxing and collectively congratulating themselves on a job well done.

~~~

Castiel hadn’t move much since Dean had left the room. He stared at the bullet hole in his pillow, then at his phone, waiting for news, any news at this point. It had been well over three hours, something must have happened. His panic mode was just surfacing when his phone dinged, and a text came through. Relief washed over Cas as he read the words.

“Made it back. Everyone’s safe. See you soon husband. xoxo Sam.”

@legion1993 @akshi8278 @alwaysdreamingforthebest

#spnabobingo #spngenrebingo #spndeanbingo #spnkinkbingo #dean x reader

149 notes · View notes

momestuck · 6 years ago

Text

Let’s read Hiveswap Friendsim, volume 13

I think I’ve got time for another one of these. There’s so much of this game!

This time, “Of Fate, Fortune and Fashion”. Usually there’s some intro narration. This time we just get...

Yeah. I know how it goes.

This time: olive and teal. It’s been a while since we had olive. Boldir looks like a detective or spy perhaps, while Stelsa must be the ‘fashion’ mentioned in the title.

We’re wearing a hoodie!

Boldir

Our protag seems to be feeling the fatigue.

Surely not, protag. Obsessively looking for friends is like your entire character trait! (The set here is the abandoned watchtower we’ve taken as our hive.)

So we get some coffee.

It seems that the narrator has been spending time with the trolls they’ve befriended, albeit offscreen. The narrator lists other gifts they’ve received from friends.

I know that feel T_T

We get a message from someone who declares the line is not secure, but it’s worth the risk to contact us. I quite like the music, ‘Old Secret’ by James Roach, which has a nice solo violin. I really need to start referring to the BGM by title. One of them is just an ascii image of Bowsette, and I can’t wait to see who it corresponds to.

Anyway, our mysterious interlocutor says...

Well, that’s worth getting out of bed for, I think.

They invite us to meet in... the good old lesbian coffee shop down the road. How convenient for the background artists!

Ardata makes a reappearance. The narration suggests we haven’t exactly been keeping in touch with this friend.

Friendly as ever. She hasn’t been thinking much of us either. At that point, before we can spend more time with Ardata, we find a note reverse-pickpocketed into our pocket saying ‘out back’. And here’s our first, obvious choice.

I’m kind of curious to see what happens if we stay in and talk to Ardata. I’m sure it’s going to end abruptly, so let’s do that before we continue this route.

Indeed, we get mind controlled (I presume? or maybe just ordinary social pressure) into carrying Ardata’s luggage home.

OK, now let’s continue with the route.

Anime club really is a step beyond.

Behind the coffee shop is... a nice garden.

At the centre of the spiral is... Boldir. Not dressed up in her spy getup this time.

She has a really good poker face.

Apparently the reason she sat in this circle was to see if we’d ‘follow the path or trample through it’, but we did neither...

It’s a metaphor!

We ask about the information she promised. She says something else cryptic...

Before the end. Does that mean she’s aware of the impending SGrub apocalypse?

She knows about paradox space, huh. (you know the frequently shitty webcomic)

“Paradoxes aren’t relevant, by their very nature.” she tells us. Apparently the “essence of this nature” that makes them “so integral to this story”.

So this troll is basically talking to the players directly at this point, huh.

The narration briefly mentions that the protagonist is an orphan.

We ask Boldir about the whole long range pickpocketing thing. She says it’s actually quite simple, while showing that she can apparently float about at high speed. Is she a god tier or something?

Anyway, we get a chance to learn.

Always crime, all the time.

The actual pickpocketing lesson is mostly skimmed over in a few narration boxes. An interesting note comes up...

So whatever supernatural shit is afflicting our protag, Boldir is able to ward it off. She offers us coffee.

We’ll sleep when we’re dead, we joke. “If only.” says Boldir. Yeah... about that... there’s kind of a whole thing there.

When we go back into the coffee shop, Ardata is still there. She sneers at our low-caste friend.

There’s an interesting contrast now they’re side by side between the two art styles. Ardata has thick, black lines and solid blocks of colour, while, Boldir is drawn more like a contemporary anime, with precise cel-shading, gradients in her pupils, and very thin lines.

Boldir gets under Ardata’s skin almost immediately with a dig about her subscriber count...

Ardata declares she has a new gimmick: poisoning a guest and hiding the antidote somewhere. Boldir grins and gives us a hint with her eyes...

Unfortunately, we fuck up and steal the antidote, not the poison. Boldir takes it in stride.

Then someone stabs her! Perhaps!

The troll who stabbed her books it out the door, and none of the strangers care to intervene. Worse, Boldir’s been poisoned.

And by sheer coincidence, we just nicked an antidote. The narrator wonders whether it will be the appropriate antidote for the poison...

Some treatments, such as activated charcoal, work in a way that’s relevant in a lot of poisonings (if administered quickly enough etc. etc. - I Am Not A Medic.) A large reactive surface area is a large reactive surface area, after all. To be honest, while it’s obviously important to know what someone’s taken, I get the impression that the whole like... fiction conception of a perfectly matched, very specific, instantly acting antidote probably doesn’t have a lot to do with real poisoning cases.

Anyway we administer the antidote and this happens...

Whatever that is, it cures her somehow. We hug her, which gets the lesbians’ attention.

In the commotion, the protagonist took note of the seeming ‘inevitability’ of a lot of what happened, and Boldir comments on our ‘inherent significance to this particular microcosm of causation’. Which kind of comes by virtue of being a videogame protagonist, but I guess that’s in the fiction too...

OK, now what if we don’t do crimes?

Instead, we go for a walk...

Come to think of it, the white robe she has does kind of resemble a god-tier outfit... but not of any of the god-tier colours we’ve seen in canon, to be honest. Particularly not any sneaky ones.

We start talking about like... metaphysics and specifically causality. Whether randomness is real, whether our choices matter. Fate, she says, would mean...

But she says that she doubts the universe is that simple. Having read Homestuck... it’s complicated! It turns out, at least some of our decisions create doomed timelines, whereas only one timeline - possibly carefully pruned by the agents of Lord English - is the ‘alpha’, ‘canon’ timeline.

Which Boldir calls attention to. The forces, huh.

We talk a bit about how the protagonist got here. Apparently the whole episode of vehicle theft - notably a rocket, possibly others - involved about 48 hours of drifting in space before reaching the Alternia system. If not for the fact we, the readers, know that we went to another universe, that would have to be some serious thrust and delta-v. But I guess the protag doesn’t know that.

As we walk about, taking care to avoid tails, Boldir receives a message by way of a large black bird. She asks us if there is anything we do like about Alternia...

Aww.

We end up rushing to a deserted lot filled with rubbish. Boldir waits for one of her contacts. And then... the assassin from the other branch gets her.

This time we have no antidote to help her with. The protagonist gets upset - so many of their friends have died because...

Then reality starts to break down.

So this is what being in a doomed timeline is like!

“There’s honestly too many of them.” Huh.

I guess being with Boldir in a doomed timeline lets us - briefly - perceive the other doomed timelines, all the little offshoots of possibility. That’s cool. It’s working the whole visual-novel-branching-path thing into the narrative.

But anyway. That’s it for this timeline.

And that means... our protagonist is some kind of temporally displaced agent. They, or at least some kind of mysterious ‘forces’, are within the narrative probing all the various timelines to see what happens in each one. Which goes some way to explaining why we remember stuff from non-canon offshoot branches.

And this time, the death screen is not the final screen of this branch.

Dun dun dun.

Unfortunately, I have made the mistake of scrolling down the list of chapters and seeing the preview of the final chapter, which wasn’t initially in the game. So I have some idea what this is hinting towards already. I guess like... if you were gonna play this yourself, you probably wouldn’t be reading a liveread first.

So... it’s Doc Scratch, right? The last chapter is called ‘Of Hosts, Excellent’, and he’s in there. Doc Scratch is, for some reason, manipulating the timeline to make us befriend all of these trolls. No doubt he’s the one who made sure we could get into this universe at all. Why? Well, that’s the question...

Stelsa

On that ominous note, it’s time for fashion.

This episode opens with a lovely rain backdrop. The BGM sounds like something that would go in a mall area in a pokémon game. Our protagonist has decided to walk rather than drive, and it’s happened to rain.

In keeping with this whole, like, ‘every branch is true’ thing...

We have mention of Tirona’s umbrella, which wasn’t given to us in the ‘true’ friendship route.

We get a first choice...

Break and enter or get back in our car? Guessing if we get back in our car we’ll just like, leave and that will be that.

No, much worse. We straight up die.

So, we’re set on breaking and entering... but then Stelsa turns up before we can try.

She’s talking on what the protagonist calls a Bluetooth headset. My guess is it’ll have some kind of ridiculous troll name.

She’s back from a jog, evidently immune to acid, so we take the chance to try to sneak into her house.

Apparently all-caps is just her quirk, not just when she’s on the phone.

For once, our reputation does not precede us..? No, it does, ‘the alien everyone is talking about’ indeed.

She introduces herself as an ‘auditerrorizer in training’. So another non-legal teal role. And immediately offers to help with our business (as well as asking about our stylist, even though we’re in a borrowed hoodie).

Apparently she knows ‘zizi’ - Tyzias? Huh. Wouldn’t have figured her for a revolutionary, but maybe she doesn’t know.

...oh huh. The protagonist recalls that this is Tyzias’s matesprit! This game has lots of lesbeans :>

We enter her office. There is a whole lot of Alternian text. Oh joy.

The motivational posters: ‘TENACITY: -ive up already, lowbloods’ and ‘SUNRISE’ but I can’t make out the caption on that one. A sampling of filing cabinet drawers: ‘A-Ab’, ‘Ab-Ac’, etc. The book spines are just squiggles.

Stelsa heads off to take a shower.

I always screenshot troll idioms.

The protagonist takes in the very organised office - except for one desk, which is probably Tyzias’s.

Tyzias emerges from the shower and immediately moves to end our meeting, to-do-list item done...

Apparently she urgently needs to replace a cancelled beautician appointment. We get a choice...

I’m very tempted to see what happens if our protagonist tries their hand at being a beautician... let’s do that.

Oh, we’re already off to a fantastic start.

We head to her respiteblock to help her clean up.

So we have to CYOA through this sequence. We get to choose whether to start by...

Let’s go with hair styling. We pick up a hair drier that may in fact have teeth, and get to work. We’re probably doing this right, since she starts thinking of her gf.

As the protagonist acknowledges, Tyzias isn’t one for elaborate beauty regimes.

We see that she’s reading a book about history of revolts, and try to talk about that. Stelsa is startled that we’d be so casual with infosec...

‘DEFINITELY NOT TO ANY MAN’

‘She sounds way too earnest for this to be a cover up’. Oh shit. We’ve done it now.

Thankfully she doesn’t press the issue. We get to work on her nails. She starts asking about an ‘acquaintance’...

An acquaintance, huh.

The protagonist fumbles around for a suggestion, and points to open communication. Stelsa says, wouldn’t that just cause unnecessary friction for her ‘friend’ and her matesprit, since she doesn’t share those views? The narrator reassures her that she - her friend - doesn’t have to agree with her matesprit on every particular.

We’re rather relieved. In game and out.

THEY SURE DO... which is why we’re playing this game, of course.

But anyway... more by luck than judgement, we’ve made our way onto the friendship route!

Which means it’s all downhill from here.

First of all, what if we polished her horns instead of styling her hair?

I’m guessing the whole ‘horns as erogenous zones’ thing is being confirmed here.

Yeah.

So now that leaves one more substantial branch... not pretending to be a beautician, and suggesting getting ready for the meeting.

Her client turns out to be...

Remele! Our artist friend. It’s getting hard to keep track of all these names, honestly.

She’s excited to learn that we’re friends, and asks what we can tell her about Remele as we drive our stolen scuttlebuggy. Not sure yet how this can go horrendously wrong.

Apparently, though, she’s a fan! We get a callback to Vriska’s famous irons in the fire...

Unfortunately, as we travel... we reach some road works. Turns out our scuttlebuggy’s map is out of date.

And we can’t drive. Stelsa puts the car into manual and we go careening off the road. Which messes up Stelsa’s hairstyle. Friendship: over.

One more dead timeline. Doc Scratch has his work cut out for him.

And that’s that! More tomorrow, or maybe later this evening, depending on how like... real work goes.

#momestuck #lets read hiveswap friendsim

5 notes · View notes

queenpersephonesgarden · 6 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 27

Prompt: “I can’t walk” Fandom: Young Justice Characters: Bart Allen, Wally West Words: 2407 Warnings: graphic injury, more than canon typical violence

The strange, geometrically structured hallways of the Reach’s central Earth base tended to twist in on themselves and loop around until you were right back where you started when you first entered the building if you weren’t paying very close attention to your surroundings.

Bart had been paying very close attention for the past thirty minutes, but it was pretty clear to him that if he hadn’t had Helena’s voice calmly chattering in his ear, he would have been lost five minutes into his trek.

“I think I finally found the elevator that should have been on the east side,” he whispered quietly into his comm, cautiously using one hand to phase through and break the activation panel beside the only door in the hallway that didn’t line up perfectly with a corresponding one on the opposite wall. Sure enough, as it slid open, he could very clearly see an open, empty shaft that went far off into darkness both above and below him. The abyss yawned below him, the occasional flicker of light from a wall circuit doing nothing to stop the unease pooling in his gut.

He’d found it, but it had taken an extra twenty minutes the Outlaws didn’t technically have. Things would have been a lot simpler if the Reach could design their bases less like giant hives and more like actual buildings.

But there would be time for complaining about mazes later.

“Good work. Doctor Light and Nightwing are in position along with Red Hood and Red Arrow,” Helena told him, sounding far calmer than Bart himself felt. His pseudo-sister’s training as Robin still served her well, nearly a decade after she’d been forced to leave the name behind. Bart heard her type a few keys on a holographic keyboard, and the display in his goggles zoomed in on the not-very-accurate minimap he’d been following since he’d arrived. The small, flickering signal he’d been searching for briefly lit a point on the map green instead of red. “Flash’s signal seems to be coming from about thirteen floors below you. You’ll have to be extremely careful; if that was the floor where they’ve been holding him, then it’s likely they have traps specifically designed for speedsters down there. Go slow, and keep an eye out for anything.”

Bart grimaced at the thought of going even slower than he already was, but didn’t try to protest. He’d seen what the Reach was capable of when they wanted to restrain a metahuman, and he wasn’t exactly eager to experience that himself. “Sure thing, boss. Anything else?”

He readied the small grappling hook stashed in one of his hidden cupboards as Helena sighed quietly. “You’ll be going pretty deep underground, so it’s very likely our comms won’t reach each other until you come back up. If you do need help, hit your emergency signal and get as high up as you can. Don’t worry; I’ll be heading to the main cellblock with Arsenal, so it shouldn’t take me long to get there.”

Bart couldn’t quite help a smile, even as he prepared to descend directly into the belly of the beast. “I know you’ve always got my back, so why would I be worried?”

The surprised chuckle he heard just made his smile grow wider. “Just try not to die before I get there, okay?” Helena’s voice took on a softer tone. “Good luck, Bart.”

“I’ll certainly try to find some,” Bart said with false cheer. Some good luck would be really nice right about now; he hadn’t had nearly enough of it, lately. “You be careful too.”

With that final farewell, Bart deployed the grapple and jumped into the void, rappelling down into the darkness of the Reach base.

This is not the first time he’s ever seen the deeper parts of an alien hive.

Many of the human labor force captured and used by the Reach to collect scrap and haphazardly throw together some semblance of working technology that could be useful to the Empire had been forced to carry their meager offerings from the camps all the way into the nearest mining colony, sometimes miles away from where they lived and often so quickly they collapsed on emaciated legs before they could even get there and back to where they were relatively safe.

Bart has been in and out of colonies and camps since he was nine years old, but the sheer size and complexity of this base is almost overwhelming. He��s never been on one of the science floors before, never seen the terrifying instruments of torture and dissection he’s catching glimpses of through broken doors and cracked windows, and the shapes of them in the gloom are making the hair on his neck stand on end.

His comm signal had fizzled out like Helena said it might, but his goggles’ HUD is still working, pinging helpfully off of disabled cameras and giving the already darker, dimly lit corridors some nice, eerie lighting to go along with the shattered security droids and debris littered throughout.

Not a cozy place, by any stretch of the imagination.

It looked as if some sort of hurricane had swept through.

It looked, Bart noted grimly, like a rather angry speedster had ripped through here. He’s never met Wally or his children before, but Bart knows Jai is capable of super-strength when he diverts his speedforce connection into growing the muscles in his arms rather than distributing it throughout his entire body. Bart doesn’t know if Wally or Irey are capable of the same thing, but as he watches the remains of one drone spark and fizzle spastically, he starts to think that might just be the case.

“Aw, geez. Helena’s family is scary. Maybe that’s where she gets it from?” He can’t quite keep from running his mouth, even down here in a potentially life-threatening situation. Damian would probably scold him for that if he could hear him.

The sharp crash of glass hitting the ground makes Bart zoom to one side of the hall, ducking into an empty doorframe. It’s incredibly thin, not proper cover at all, but it’s all he has at the moment.

He peeks around it, tense like spring, ready for anything to appear out of the darkness, but nothing comes charging out into the open, no new security bots start flooding the corridor.

The sound of glass sliding across metal, and a weak, muffled voice; cursing in English, not the strange, inhuman clicking of the Reach.

Wally, or Jai or Irey? Another Reach prisoner, also used for experimentation? Or a trap?

The haunted atmosphere of this lab is already making Bart paranoid, but his training with Damian is giving him even more of an edge than normal. His stomach churns in protest, but he heads forward anyway. Waiting around in enemy territory never tended to end well, in Bart’s experience.

He tiptoes carefully up toward the door the voice seems to be echoing out of and freezes at the corner, staring into the room.

His eyes slowly trail their way across the ruined walls and filthy ground before he spins around and promptly empties his stomach onto the ground.

It’s a damn massacre.

Remains of Reach droids and scientists alike are scattered across the metal floor in a macabre amalgamation of bluish gore and gears, bits of heads and legs suggesting that something had blown straight through their torsos too fast for them to react. The bizarre alien blood was making several of the droids spark weakly in the low light, casting odd shadows across the horrific display.

Several tables, filled with what once had likely been human bodies, now held nothing more than what could only be described as actual organs, some of them pulsating grotesquely where they were attached to some huge, otherworldly medical instruments.

And a single remaining intact humanoid body, slumped next to a table, breathing heavily and covered in a lot of blood.

Bart heaves once, twice, then clamps his mouth shut and swallows the bile down, tears pricking his eyes and body shaking.

He has a job to do, and he’s running out of time to do it.

God, he hates this. He wants to go home.

He shoves the childish thought aside and straightens back up again.

Bart enters the room quickly, forces himself to walk carefully over broken remains of alien bones and metal casings, tries not to think of what could be squishing underneath his feet, definitely does not let himself look at the lazily pulsing sacks on the tables as he approached the figure that isn’t as familiar as it should be.

Wally West is even paler than he was in all of Linda’s pictures, hair cropped much shorter and shot through with more gray than red. Worry lines have been etched into his face, scars just barely visible beneath the Reach clothing he’d apparently found trailing all the way down his throat and across the left half of his face, burns and incision marks that made him nearly unrecognizable and his left eye cloudy white rather than green. Shoulders that had once been broad were now bent inward by some invisible weight, a body that had once been lithe and agile now thin and emaciated far beyond healthy for a speedster with an accelerated metabolism.

He's slumped half over on his side, shoulders heaving with breath and one arm pressed hard to his waist, where Bart can see a deep red stain spreading lazily across the jumpsuit he’s wearing, slowly overtaking the blue blood of the Reach scientists, and Bart swallows hard.

This is a man about five minutes after an incredibly violent episode, injured and seemingly unaware of his presence to boot. He’s only seen a small handful of people brought back from the Reach’s science division, and none of them had been anything close to this level of powerful and dangerous.

He couldn’t afford to fuck this up.

Deep breath in, out. Once more, and again, the way Helena taught him.

Bart spots a sizable piece of glass on the floor and takes a heavy, deliberate step onto it.

The crunch that announced his arrival made Wally snap to attention, head coming up to glare straight at Bart from his hunched position, and Bart froze completely, hands open at his sides, trying not to let his terror show.

It’s been a while since Wally was back home with the rest of the Outlaws, and the light in the room is flickering and near useless; will the man even recognize the modified Kid Flash uniform in the gloom?

But he apparently didn’t need to worry; Wally blinks his eyes hard several times, scanning Bart from head to toe, evidently recognizing him as a nonthreat and slumping a little more to the side with a long, pained sigh.

“Wassup, Kid?” Wally asks, daring a bloody little grin, and Bart is so surprised he can’t answer for a second. He wasn’t quite sure if the man would lucid or coherent in the state he’s in, but apparently the older speedster’s accelerated healing is doing at least something to help his addled brain.

Bart still approached slowly, watching for any sudden movements, but he needn’t have bothered. Wally’s arm stays fixed firmly around his bleeding middle, and he doesn’t move to sit up until Bart is already beside him, hissing quietly in pain as his wound moves with him.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Bart says in as steady a voice as he can manage, and he means it, because as strung out and crazy as this man is right now, he’s been an inspiration to Bart since he was little and he doesn’t know what else he can say to a guy who singlehandedly ripped through an entire Reach lab. “Why weren’t you in the main cellblock? That’s where we were supposed to meet, right?”

Wally shakes his head too fast, listing a bit awkwardly to the side again when he apparently gave up on sitting straight. “Thought I could find Jai,” he slurred slowly, shakes his head again.

Bart feels something cold sink into his stomach. He doesn’t dare take a glance at the human remains displayed on the table above Wally’s head, and his hands don’t start shaking again when he reaches helplessly to press against the wound in his abdomen.

“Here.” A hand, slick with red red red, rises slowly so Bart can see what it’s holding in trembling fingers. A data card, like one of the fancy ones Roy had been looking for recently, some sort of super-secret Reach project that was going to change the tide of the war or something.

Bart barely spares it a glance, too focused on trying to stem the flow of blood because hell, what else can he do, but Wally practically shoves it under his nose with an impatient sound. “You gotta take this and go, Kid. Someone’s… probably noticed the cameras by now,” Wally’s voice is thready and breathless, but still holds as much authority as Damian’s does when giving Bart a direct order.

And that’s stupid, what the hell?

“I’m not leaving you here, dude! Helena would kick my ass if I let her grandpa kick the bucket in a place like this!” He tries to sound as convincing as he can, but he can tell by the old man’s face it’s not working. “Come on, we can still make it to the rendezvous point if we hurry-!”

“I can’t…… can’t walk, Kid,” Wally interrupts, and Bart’s limbs feel numb when the data card is clumsily slipped into one hand. He clutches onto it reflexively and looks down at the blood coating it, ears buzzing. “You gotta go.”

He should argue. He should tell him to hell with that, tell him Linda and Helena were waiting for him, tell him Damian had the schematics for the Reach warship hovering over Earth, tell him they finally had a chance in this war, tell him there’s finally something to fight for again.

There’s a lot of things he should say, but Wally’s eyes blink shut a little too long before the right one opens again, glazed over and unseeing, and he shakes his head one more time. “Run, kid,” Wally murmurs, before leaning back against the table holding what’s left of his son.

Bart turns and flees, because what the hell else can he do?

#Bart Allen #Wally West #Young Justice #DC comics #fanfiction #my writing #whumptober #whumptober 2018

7 notes · View notes

shewassoferal · 6 years ago

Text

about Jemma page for mobile

basic information

FULL NAME: Jemma Anne Simmons ETHNICITY: Jewish ROMANTIC AND SEXUAL ORIENTATION: straight (but demiromantic) and very confused by romance since she hasn't experienced it yet (and has trouble understanding what isn't spelled out to her, feelings-wise). Will be very into hook ups (even if I often fade to black). RELIGION: atheist SPOKEN LANGUAGE: English, British and American Sign Languages, Italian, some Spanish, Latin. (oddly good with accents) OCCUPATION: (genius) biochemist and field agent until the Monolith, then mostly consultant for the lab department and operative.

physical traits

TATTOOS: a small compass on her bikini line, on the left. NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: after the planet, two very large scars along her stomach and belly (wounds that she had to cauterize), an equally treated long scar around her arm, inches below her wrist. A scar left from a bite on her lower back. Her skin is black around her wrists because of a tentacle plant, she usually wears wristbands to hide it. Several smaller scars on her arms and legs. A scar from scoliosis surgery on her back. More burns on her torso from Giyera. After s4, a scar from a stab wound left by LMD Fitz, a smaller one over her hairline from him as well, and another robot programmed by fear!Doctor shot her other leg. And freckles.

phobias and disorders

PHOBIAS: see her about. MENTAL DISORDERS: PTSD and autism.

biography/about

The most important part to read because I'm very canon divergent, or at least you should read s3 and the effects of the planet and this page, especially if you don't know aos well. Crossovers can always happen and are welcomed (aus with those are in the verse page). After she comes back from Maveth, she'll always wear warmers to hide the scars on her arms or gauntlets and, on missions, when she might be still out at night she has goggles/glasses to see in the dark and not freak out, as well as weapons always hidden all over her clothes. Every now and then she might use more tech we have seen in the show, like a gauntlet that can create a shield (also worn over her arm). Keep in mind that while I tend to give as many flaws as they have qualities, how many weaknesses as they have strengths (you spend time bettering something, something else will be ignored), I write this specific Jemma as still a genius but also a fighter hard to defeat; she gets injured a lot around season 3, she's still learning proper moves, but doesn't let that stop her and in the next seasons she's getting better with training. She's pretty easy to put into lots of "cliché" plots we see on tumblr, where she's the muse who is beyond protective, grumpy at first and soft later, sassy, fighty, gets constantly hurt, takes everything too literally, she doesn't expect to be loved and feels like a bad person but will not make choices for others (she learned from past mistakes) and allow them to be close to her while warning them about the risks. When she melts, she's still extra cute and loving, though. Jemma considers her team a family. Often, but not much during season 3, I write her as a pretty sassy, gruff friend who is, of course, sweet and compassionate to people she loves, but also awkward, not too good at interacting with people appropriately, petty, vindictive, mean to people she doesn't like, cocky, yet full of self-hatred when it comes to her past mistakes, prone to guilt and hiding her problems, and, in a way, ready to be 'taken in' by your character and to form some strong bond in which she's protective and either openly supportive or hiding it behind a bickering exterior. She also lost lots of her impulse control and the filter between thoughts and words. She'll get in constant trouble as always, rush into danger, and scold her friends for doing the same. She'll react to things with her weird brand of humor, but also panic, temporarily lose hope, need comfort, just like an other normal person; she cannot be expected to give people constant hope and be optimistic since she has her own burdens to carry but she'll do her best to help. Season 1 is pretty much the same, bubbly scientist who needs to be reminded of what's creepy and inappropriate and likes following rules as long as she agrees with them, but since she has no medical training I headcanon that she wings it and is very proud of herself for making it work. She's not meant to be a doctor, however, and will be extremely freaked out whenever performing surgery; in season 1 and in every other season she will run away to cry right after. She has no idea that Lorelei did more to Ward than to just use him to find their Bus, or she wouldn't be joking about men being weaker than women. She did NOT have a crush on Grant Ward; she cleaned up her language to avoid an awkward moment with Coulson when interrogated in season 3, but Jemma simply felt sexual attraction for him. (She felt sexual attraction towards many men she met, since they were her type in one way or another). She's also not the extra nice and friendly person as she's usually mistaken for, but she hides mean comments or her cockyness behind a sweet voice. She was already vindictive and ready to fight in s1, as well as overconfident. She is a loving and supportive friend but only to either people she likes or those she just met who need a hand. Season 2 She trained before going undercover and never stopped; driven by PTSD, her vengeful streak, her distance from the team and her self-hatred, Jemma started believing that making hard calls and being the expendable one was her role in the team; that, and to protect her friends not only from threats but from becoming like her. They were the good guys, she was just trying her best. Killing Ward was an obsession that she had a hard time letting go of, and she was ready to give her life for several reasons, but it was still hurtful to be believed capable of hurting Daisy. She had a harder time forgiving Bobbi and Mack, she didn't blame Kara Palamas for her brainwashing - though she definitely still judged the couple Kara-Ward (when she hates someone she'll be biased and petty). From her point of view, Ward was probably using her. Either there was never a love declaration from Fitz or, if you are a Fitz rper, we can plot differently. There will be no Will so either way we'll skip that love triangle. disclaimer for who didn't read the previous pages and jumped to this: crossovers can always happen (aus with those are in the verse page). After she comes back from the planet, she'll always wear warmers to hide the scars on her arms, and on missions when she might be still out at night she has goggles/glasses to see in the dark and not freak out, and weapons hidden all over her clothes. Every now and then she might use more tech we have seen in the show, like a gauntlet that can create a shield (also worn over her arm). Keep in mind that while I tend to give as many flaws as they have qualities, how many weaknesses as they have strengths, I write this specific Jemma as a fighter hard to defeat; she gets injured a lot around season 3, she's still learning proper moves, but doesn't let that stop her and in the next seasons she's getting better with training. On the planet or season 3 Jemma has lived one year in Maveth, while it was six months for people on Earth, and has adapted to the place, responding to the constant threats and violence by turning just as feral as the beasts there. There was a red 'sun' and I have several headcanons on flora and fauna but it's something that can be told by Jemma if she's asked. A tentacle plant left her skin black around her wrists, and she has two large cauterized wounds along her abdomen, another cauterized cut on her arm, and a small bite mark on her back. She found a Kree staff and used it to hunt, becoming much better at fighting, but thinking too much meant hesitating and dying, so she had to rely on instincts and that impulsive behavior became a part of her. She also still talked to her friends as if they were there while aware they were not. After the planet, season 3 or the Big Change It's obvious right away that Jemma isn't herself after Fitz takes her home: her health is terrible, she clings to her closest friends, she hides in her room (a new one she asked upstairs, because windows are vital for her), the hypervigilant and aggressive state she's in. It takes her more than a couple of weeks to come out of her room and start talking again, cautiously at first, and asking for dr. Garner's help. She doesn't share much about the planet unless prompted by her fear of accidentally hurting her friends. Here are some of the most noticeable consequences of what happened: She sleeps in the morning after dawn because is terrified of falling asleep at night. She lost the filter between thoughts and words and between thoughts and actions and is trying to find it again. She cannot stand the smell or sight of meat. It’s not a problem with meat being ‘meat’ itself; if she can hide the smell or make it look different (like salami) she can eat it. But she also has trouble with vivisecting/dissecting human and animal bodies and can’t really see a solution for it. She's violent when startled or grabbed though it gets better with time. Depending on the verse, after some therapy and after more misadventures, she might choose to leave. Her fighting skills are not at 'May' level because she only had the basic training before the planet, but after a year of fighting she has learned how to use her whole body and objects around her as weapons. She became REALLY good at climbing things and at ignoring pain too (however she lacks of natural reflexes connected to self-defense like trying too instinctively avoid blows). Of course she kept training, even if she's more of a biochemistry expert + unofficial op. She's still captured and tortured because of Malick, too scared to go back to that planet herself and ready to die for it; Hive being real is a nightmare coming true, and she tries to stay away from everything related to him. When Lincoln goes to die, however, she tries to take his place but doesn't make it in time, stopped by Mack and Fitz. When Daisy leaves, Jemma can't say she blames her. She'll do her best to earn Mace's trust just like in canon even if not with stellar results, and be equally wary. season 4 goes a lot like in canon, with her working at the lab again as much as that's possible for her, going on missions too, and plotting against Mace. Her emotional health starts getting to a better place, the constant training when she's not supervising lab scientists helps her become an even better fighter, and she has a safehouse just in case things turn south with Mace. Having to kill a LMD that looks just like Fitz brings back all her fears of hurting the team and she's gutted, barely able to keep it together in the Framework, and she's back to bad reflexes and insomnia. In season 5 she's immediately in trouble with Kasius because she's unable to let him touch her without responding aggressively, and because she's scarred instead of 'perfect'. He doesn't kill her right away and enslaves her instead, only because he has a feeling that she might be important (as in a SHIELD member of sorts). He still keeps touching her face, but because of her violence his admirations is more about her resorcefulness in that area, since she failed against Sinara but still attacked them in surprising ways, and for that reason she's not given a light blue tunic like his special - and perfect - servants but a black one, and a collar is put around her neck because Kasius already sees humans as animals and Jemma behaves like one more than any other, so it's a mockery instead of part of the slave outfit we saw in canon. She does cut his throat later, and it's his brother who goes against the rest of her team. She can't handle the situation once back home and spends days locked in her room. It will be plotted how Deke's mother came to life but she will be showing her soft side to him (and possibly, instead of 'the steps you take don't need to be big', it's her speech about laws of thermodynamics and how she'll go on to be a supernova, monkey, fish, the same from the pod, is the one that Deke's mother used to say to people, to comfort them about the constant death in the Lighthouse). But this is where I diverge from canon again, and in this case it can be plotted differently with Fitz and Daisy rpers since it involves them directly, but by default it was Fear!Doctor and Fear!Fitz who operated on Daisy; Jemma gets herself shot trying to help her because she can't hold back, while Fitz has been locked in another room. The team is still divided by this, Fitz has his own issues with what happened (but not a psychotic break), Daisy is hurt, Jemma is afraid and guilty. At the end of the season Fitz doesn't die, cryo!Fitz doesn't need to be awaken because he 'will' wake in the version of the world that has ended and finish the circle that ends the timeloop. Jemma is free to either stay with the team but work on healing again or leave SHIELD for a while. This way I'm free to keep writing Jemma as I want, and with whatever plots I want for her after s5. By now, she became a skilled fighter and won't be losing many fights (but might lose control and kill) but for obvious reasons she needs time to heal again. However, any point in time after season 3 she can leave the team and that encourages crossovers, as well as her working from SHIELD with people from other universes not so differently from canon, or cooperating with other members of the MCU. Not necessary to read to rp.

relationships

PARENTS: Daniel and Grace Simmons. She's emotionally abusive and he's too submissive to help; Jemma was close to him until he started working more and being home less (around the time she was six and her sister Cat was born), and that's when her mother started pushing Jemma to work for them not long after. Her grandmother and the house staff are the people who took care of Jemma the most. SIBLINGS: older brother Marcus, who hates her out of jealously, and younger sister Cat, who initially was raised almost like a daughter by Jemma, then after Jemma left for SHIELD pushed her out of her life because she felt rejected, especially since Jemma lied about why she stayed in the US and told everyone she'd be a party planner; around s3-s4 will learn the truth and be close to Jemma again. BODY ENHANCEMENTS/SCARS: pre academy: -big burn on the right side of her torso, visible under bra, from torture -thick scar from waist to her belly - from surgeries and poking around -tiny scar over her heart - from her brother Marcus -other tiny stab scar on her thigh - same as above -burns and cuts on her back - discipline/teaching her to focus while in pain -replaced spleen - teach Jemma how to perform part of her surgery, also to start replacing parts of her body with tech because it's 'better', more organs will be replaced later on also so that they won't collapse under duress when she's given drugs to be stronger and smarter, and of course because she might need to fight, and her new tech parts will require other organs to be enhanced too. Can't have her dying of heart attack because her heart couldn't take what she just did with her 'enhanced' body -tiny explosive tech in her brain hard to remove -two scars, one for each side of her head, where there has been some poking around. -for now her heartbeat is faster than it should be, and blood pressure is high instead of her usually low one. PLANNED, SOON: -artificial eye and arm -two metal plates on her calfs, work in progress, so she'll have enhanced lower limbs too at the end -heart is going to be 'enhanced' soon. BACKSTORY: Jemma is the daughter of the CEO of Roxxon, Daniel Simmons, but it's her mother, Grace, who is the real pupper master, on the board of command and feared by everyone for her power and lack of soul. With Roxxon being the richest multicompany who owns more or less anything and has financed every evil activity in the past decades around the world, Grace considers herself already victorious, but she's not done: she wants to turn her genius daughter Jemma into a perfect version of herself, with no feelings getting in the way of what she wants but still the same intelligence and creativity, which means that simply operating on her brain to remove her ability to feel guilt and love would be impossible due to complication that would likely make Jemma 'less efficient'. Jemma has to keep her mind, but said mind should be exactly the way Grace wants it to be. So while she looks for a solution and she has been working on thoroughly breaking her daughter, Grace has started to at least perfection Jemma's body with surgeries, of making Jemma herself perform them. After years of experimentation, using her youngest daughter Cat, that Grace had Jemma raise, as leverage (every year Jemma had to choose if still be experimented on or let her sister be the new victim, and every year Jemma chose herself), SHIELD found Jemma; back then Grace's role in Roxxon was more hidden, but after Jemma's rescue it was clear that while her daughter felt no loyalty towards Roxxon, they didn't have the power to destroy the whole organization, much less take down the Simmons family, and SHIELD had to decide what to do with the sixteen years old. Fury felt pity for the girl, but also saw the potential, and since Grace had clearly no interest in SHIELD, not considering it a threat, they kept Jemma as their agent, hiding of course classified information from her. Grace allowed Jemma to be in SHIELD, not needing her home anymore and well aware that she could ask Jemma to do anything for her sister, and that her daughter believes her to be invincible and has no hope when it comes to her. Jemma didn't even know about Roxxon itself, she simply thought her mother and father worked for some evil laboratory, and that was why she accepted SHIELD's deal not to tell anyone about her situation, just try to leave a normal life while she still could. Her friendship with Fitz was an unexpected source of strength that her mother didn't see coming, since she doesn't understand the power of human relationships, she simply knows it and finds ways to use it, but Jemma kept the secret because she believed Fitz wouldn't be in danger even if he was her friend. She'd say she trusted SHIELD to finish the job some day, when possible, and that if they hadn't yet it's probably because her family is so rich and powerful that it's impossible to win in court, but deep down she already feels there is something very wrong going on and that there is no hope. In season 2 that Coulson got the toolbox and found out what Fury and May already knew, Jemma's past abuse and situation, but also the intel they have on Roxxon, how her mother can't be brought down yet because if she dies, as a failsafe bombs will go off all over the country, how she has illimited intel on everyone and everything and won't hesitate going after people's families, or talking people into doing things that will leave them destroyed, and he had to warn Jemma about all of this, since with the fall of SHIELD and the rise of Hydra everything was now up in the air and Jemma had to choose for herself. Jemma couldn't go undercover in Hydra because of this or she'd be too noticeable, as the daughter of Grace, and since she wanted to stay away from Fitz, for more than a reason, she started training to be an operative and went on missions as much as possible but also tried to find the right moment and way to explain the truth about her past and make sure he wouldn't endanger himself for her anymore. Depending on the verse/situation, since she obsessed over Ward and tried to find everything on his backstory, she can either hate him even more out of fear that in her future she'll betray the team just like him and end up in the same vault, or feel empathy and like she can relate. It's also up to her if to tell her team about her family or not, and how. To her, it still seems safer to not say anything unless she has to, so no one will try to be a hero and fight them for her, which would result in their deaths or worse. She's aware that one day, any day, her mother might call her and ask her to do something she can't refuse, or simply take her back home for more experiments and 'enhancements'. That also definitely put a 'nothing can ever happen' label on all romantic relationships, which was there even before she knew about Roxxon, and after finding out just how powerful her family is, and not only a problem for her but for everybody, she's not sure friendship should be in her future either, but at the same time she feels she owes people the truth and yet that she has to protect them from it. Potential Deathlok Jemma in s2 or at least she'll be in need of prosthetics at some points. Potential 'attempt to offer Jemma to Hive' in s3 Potential Evil LMD Jemma after s4, who will be given to her mother by Ivanov and be the closest thing to a 'perfect' Roxxon Jemma, ruthless, partly detached from reality, sadistic, wants to win at everything, feels no care for anything whatsoever except her mother.

#about jemma page #about jemma page for mobile #about page for mobile #about page

2 notes · View notes

toxoiddiamond · 6 years ago

Photo

T H E B A S I C S Given Name: Jonah Rodrick Bowden-Hendrix Nicknames: Jon (but only his parents call him that), Bowie (but only his surfing buddies call him that). Then there's Wyatt's names for him-- Jo, Jojo, Joey, and Sasquatch/Bigfoot, which he always gets a kick out of. Age: 35 Birthday: October 2nd Zodiac Sign: Libra Birthplace: Melbourne, Australia Current Location: Portland, Oregon Speaks: English, some French (enough that he could carry a simple conversation) Dominant Hand: Left Education: Studied Kinesiology at Western Oregon University Occupation: Personal trainer, also teaches swimming lessons twice a week. He loves his job because he can set his own hours, he makes good money, and he has a lot of time to spend with his family/to go surfing. He has considered going back to school to become a physical therapist, but hasn't made a decision one way or the other. Vehicle: Red and white 1970 VW Transporter. He loves it to death, and does as much work on it himself as he can. Worldly Possessions: A surfboard, custom-made for him from Blackfern Surfboards. Lots of arts and crafts projects that he works on with his daughter. Any gifts, notes, letters, cards, etc, that Wyatt has ever given him (he is a bit of a hoarder in that sense). Pet(s): Five chickens!

A P P E A R A N C E Height: 6'3" Hair: Light brown with hints of blonde mixed in. He used to wear it long and pulled back most of the time, but a couple of years ago he decided he needed a change and got it cut short. He wasn't too sure about it at first, but he likes it short now and has decided to keep it that way. Facial Hair: He hasn't been without facial hair since he was in his twenties. He likes to have a full beard, and he keeps it well groomed. Eye Colour: Gorgeous, crazy-blue eyes. Skin Tone: He definitely has a good tan going, since he spends a lot of time outdoors. Clothing: Maybe they’re nude Distinguishing Marks: Some scars from surfing mishaps/various other tumbles he's taken on hikes and such. A yeti tattoo on his right forearm, something he got for Wyatt. Face Claim: Chris Hemsworth

H E A L T H Physical Health: Healthy as a horse. He works as a personal trainer, and he likes working out/doing physical things such as surfing and hiking, so he is extremely fit. He's all about eating a good, balanced diet, but he also doesn't deprive himself of what he wants; he just goes for moderation in all things. As long as he gets enough protein, he's all good. Physical Abilities/Limitations: Jonah is very good at surfing-- not pro level or anything, but definitely skilled. He also has a lot of endurance on hikes, and is an adept climber as well. Basically, anything athletic is right up his alley. Addictions: None. He does like to smoke pot or have edibles every once in a while, but it's definitely not an addiction for him. Allergies: Latex-- it causes him to break out in hives. Mental Health: No problems on this front. He is a happy, well-adjusted, carefree person who has everything he could have ever wanted.

H I S T O R Y Summary: So far, Jonah has lived a very peaceful life. He grew up in Australia, where his life basically consisted of school, surfing, sleep, repeat. In high school, he had the opportunity to be an exchange student and go to Portland, Oregon for a year-- which totally changed his life. As much as he loves Australia, he was immediately taken with Oregon, and knew he'd want to move there someday, especially after meeting Wyatt and becoming close friends with him. Jonah did end up moving to Oregon and attending college there, and became even closer with Wyatt. Their relationship quickly became serious, and they soon moved in together and ended up getting married. They now have a child, Georgia. Jonah is ridiculously happy and considers himself to be the luckiest man on earth~ Job History: His first job was actually in Oregon-- he worked in a very hipster-y juice bar while he was in college. And then his next job was in a gym as a personal trainer. He eventually found enough clients that he was able to quit the gym and start just going to people's homes to train them or have them over to him and Wyatt's place for training, which he likes a lot better. Fondest Memories: Absolutely any memory involving Wyatt, especially their wedding. Adopting Georgia and bringing her home, and getting to watch her grow up. Worst Experiences: Jonah has dealt with small disappointments, and had a few bad experiences in his life. But he feels that the good in his life far outweighs the bad, and it would be hard for him to pinpoint an experience he would consider the worst.

C O M M U N I C A T I O N Speech Pace/Style: Confident, often loud and rowdy (though he makes an effort to be quieter if asked), not exactly a smooth talker but also not the type to stumble over his words. He has a very honest way of speaking, and it's very obvious that he doesn't fake any of his feelings or emotions-- everything is genuine. Accent: Very strong, distinctive Australian accent. Favorite Phrases or Words: He often says/exclaims "beauty!" if something awesome happens, or says "you beauty," if someone does something nice or kind for him-- he says it to Wyatt all the time, I'm sure. He also uses a lot of other Australian slang terms, but that's the most common one for him to use. Usual Curse Words: Fuck and cunt are the most common ones for him to use, though he's really tried to clean up his language now that they have a child.

P E R S O N A L I T Y, M I N D S E T, A N D B E L I E F S Personality Type: ESFP-A Sense of Humor: Jonah is definitely a big jokester. He likes to tease and play harmless pranks, and he absolutely loves making people (Wyatt) laugh. Making Wyatt laugh is his favorite thing. Habits: Rubs his hands together and snaps his fingers before starting a task. Sings whatever song is stuck in his head at the time, loudly, especially if he is at home doing chores or anything. Pops his neck/cracks his knuckles every so often. Fears/Phobias: Going to the dentist is his least favorite thing-- he still does it, but he absolutely hates having someone poke around at his teeth. He probably has to have Wyatt go with him whenever he gets a filling or anything because he'd need someone to hold his hand, honestly. He also thinks the idea of the Mothman is super scary, though he tries to act like it doesn't scare him. Strengths: Jonah is an extremely laid back, go-with-the-flow sort of person. He's not bothered by small problems and doesn't complain much, always willing to change plans or do something unexpected. He doesn't care what people think of him or have to say about him-- he just worries about himself and his family and lets everything else roll off his back. He is kind-hearted, and always very generous, whether it's with his time, his money or whatever else. He loves helping people, doing volunteer work, etc. Part of the reason why he's considered becoming a physical therapist is that he would love to help people work through their injuries. In social situations, Jonah is very good at drawing people out of their shell, and tries to make sure everyone feels comfortable/feels like part of the group, even if they're shy. He's very warm and basically just a big teddy bear, honestly~ Flaws: Jonah sometimes doesn't take things as seriously as he should, and also has trouble making decisions. He prefers to let others make decisions for him and is more of a follower in that sense. He also has a tendency to joke around even if the situation calls for him to be more serious; he always feels the need to try and lighten the mood, which is not always a good call. As generous and sweet as Jonah is, he is often too trusting for his own good. He has been taken advantage of many times in the past, and is trying to be a more skeptical person/critical thinker, but it's just not in his nature to distrust people. Jonah is terrible when it comes to confrontation/resolving conflicts. He prefers to just avoid it all together and pretend nothing happened, rather than deal with it head on, which often leads to him keeping his feelings inside. As laid back as Jonah is, he can be one to hold grudges if someone pisses him off or gets on his bad side (which, admittedly, is hard to do). Hopes/Desires: He wants to be married to Wyatt for, like, seventy years. He'd love to adopt another child someday if that's in the cards for them and if that's something Wyatt would also want. He wants Georgia to grow up healthy and find something she loves to do and be happy. He wants to have lots of time to surf and do things he likes to do and spend as much time with his family as possible. And that's pretty much it. He's a simple man~ Self-Esteem: Jonah is a humble person, but he also has good self-esteem and thinks he's pretty okay. He is definitely not lacking in confidence. Religion: He believes in the idea that you are your own god/being spiritual rather than religious. He likes to meditate, do yoga, etc., and he has a few crystals that he swears help him clear his mind, though he doesn't push his views on anyone else and he's not a weirdo about it.

R A N D O M Sleeping Position: His favorite way to sleep is cuddled up with Wyatt. He's a clingy sleeper, and likes having Wyatt pulled up against him. He also loves it whenever their daughter gets into bed with them-- he loves snuggling with her, especially because he knows it's only a matter of time before she won't want to snuggle with them anymore. Boxers or Briefs?: Boxer-briefs for sure. Day or Night?: Day for sure. He likes going out and doing lots of things, and by eleven at night he crashes hard. Top or Bottom?: I mean let's be real here. He's a top. But he's also open to whatever. Like, he's not super comfortable bottoming, but he doesn't dislike it-- it just takes a lot of foreplay to get him to feel comfortable. Partying or Relaxing?: As much as he likes being around other people, he's not much of a party person? He'd rather spend time with friends out hiking, or else at home with a small group of people, relaxing. And he will never pass up an opportunity to spend an evening relaxing with his family.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S Closest Friend: Without a doubt, Wyatt is his closest friend. Jonah has a lot of friends, a lot of buddies he can go out and do things with, but the one person he feels he can always trust, the one person he knows will always be there for him, is Wyatt. He has never felt so close to anyone else in his life. Relationship History: Before things got serious with Wyatt, Jonah was in a lot of relationships, some only lasting a matter of weeks or even days. He was very fickle and had a tendency to get bored easily, not wanting more of the same, always chasing after something new. Wyatt was the only person Jonah never got tired of, that he could see and talk to every day and never get tired of. Sexual Partners: Too many to count, honestly. Thoughts About Sex: Obviously, he enjoys it. He has had a lot of casual sex in the past just to get his fix, because he has a very high sex drive. He slept with a couple of women when he was younger, but quickly realized that he didn't care for sex with women-- it was a bit of a surprise for him to realize he was gay, but he's never felt ashamed of his sexuality and is very comfortable with it now.

P A R E N T S Name(s): Chloe and Edward Bowden Age(s): Both 58 years old Occupation(s): His mom was a stay-at-home mom until both her kids were out of the house. Now she works part time in a bakery. His dad is a psychiatrist. Religion: Both of them are atheists, but not hardcore about it or anything. Quality of Relationship With Their Children: Definitely good. They miss Jonah like crazy and wish he lived closer, but they're just glad he's happy. Their other son, Jessie, still lives closeby and they're glad for that. Living/Deceased: Living

S I B L I N G S Name: Jessie Bowden Age: 28 Occupation: He is a freelance photographer, and looking into getting into graphic design. Religion: He honestly doesn't care about religion. Quality of Relationship With His Brother: Good. They don't talk much, but when they do it's easy for them to fall into conversation, and they always enjoy catching up and are happy when they actually get to see each other.

D A I L Y L I F E Living Arrangements: Where they live

#character: jonah bowden-hendrix #ship: cryptids #character sheet

1 note · View note

words4bloghere · 7 years ago

Text

Villainous prompt

Flug shook as he waited in the empty interview room. His eyes darted around but he refused to look over at the mirrored wall, pointedly ignoring it and whomever might be watching him.

He had tried to explain, but no one seemed to care for his reasons. They only cared about the child that had been sent to the hospital and all of the red marks in his file.

Flug didn’t like people. He liked planes and he liked animals. He had found the kitten a few weeks ago, separated from her mother way too soon. So he had taken the kitten, hidden it in the supply shack, and managed to wean it on formula he had stolen from the pet store a couple of blocks away from his foster home.

Turbo Commander - as the kitten was named after a plane - quickly got better and bigger. She was playful and Flug had taken to using the scarf he wound around his face to get her to bat. It didn’t matter that she took up time he usually spent reading, because he ended up just telling Turbo about what he was interested in at the moment.

Then Grigorio had found her.

The supply shack never really held supplies. It was a place where Mr. Garcia kept a lot of broken junk that he insisted he would fix later. Pieces of plywood and the tatters of junked toolboxes could be found in corners and on shelves. Grigorio, new to the house that seemed to shuffle kids in and out the door, decided he wanted to build a ramp for his bike.

When he went into the shack, he found Turbo Commander.

He decided that the hammer he found could be used to a better purpose.

Since Flug spent so much of his free time with Turbo, it was not a surprise or luck when he found Grigorio.

He wasn’t just in time, he arrived just as Grigorio had picked up the middling kitten by the scruff, the hammer held in his other hand.

Flug picked up the small charcoal grill - abandoned after it lost a leg and had it’s coal grate stuck closed - and chucked it at the other boy. Turbo and hammer dropped and the kitten went bolting out the open door.

Flug picked up the hammer.

Animal cruelty has a sign of a future serial killer. So was bed wetting and a history of trauma. Flug had tried to explain that not only had he saved an innocent kitten, but also had definitely outed a psychologically damaged child. Really, Grigorio was the one who needed to go to the Boys’ Home and not Flug.

The door to the interview room opened and Flug nearly jumped out of his seat. He began to twist the ends of his large scarf as the social worker sat down across from him. The social worker looked tired, and his suit was heavily wrinkled.

“So you know you’re being moved Flug.” The social worker said, not even looking up from the file he now opened. Flug nodded anyway.

��There’s the Boys’ Home, which is practically jail.” The man said and then finally raised tired eyes. “Flug, you’re a messed up kid.”

Flug looked down at his lap and nodded once.

“But you’re smart.” Flug snapped his head back up. He had been in seventeen foster homes since his parents died. Two teachers, his music instructor, and now this social worker had called him smart.

“Thank you, sir.” Flug said quietly.

“I’ve taken a side job, finding special children for a special school. If you make it through a semester, I get a pretty nice commission.”

“A school, sir?”

“I’m pretty sure no one dies. But the whole organization backing the school is pretty sketchy.” The social worker took a paper out of the file and turned it, sliding it to Flug.

“Apparently, they’ll set you up pretty well. Intensive classes with practical applications. Boarding options. And it feeds directly into a fast growing industry.” Flug took the paper but the social worker kept a hand on the table so he looked up at the man. “But it takes a certain type of person.” Flug held the man’s gaze for a few seconds, long enough to absorb the severity of the man’s words.

He looked back down at the paper. The center of it simply had a large black hat.

“Flug, how do you feel about villainy?”

The buildings for the school’s campus where all large, square bunkers made out of cinder blocks. The dorms were all cells that held a bed, a dresser, and a desk. On each floor of the dormitory was a large public bathroom and one lounge. There was a cafeteria at the center of campus, but many of the students who lived in the dorms would keep a stash of food in their rooms.

The beds were a thing mattress on a metal frame constructed during one of the first set of world wars. There was a etched manufacturer’s mark that named a country that hadn’t existed in over seventy years.

There were no parks, no places to hang out, and very little free time.

He didn’t like the other students, or the teachers who refused to acknowledge his intellect. But he knew what he could do here.

Kids like Grigorio would grow up to be a waste of carbon. They would beat their wives, their kids, and their dogs. They would do nothing and be nothing and ultimately die as nothing.

At this academy, Flug was informed that his only way to leave was to succeed. If he didn’t, he would be removed.

On his first day, wearing his uniform, Flug had thrown up twice before he got into the main building. He had been forbidden the large scarf, the mismatched gloves, and the hunter’s cap that was two sizes too big. Entering the building, Flug felt exposed. Everyone was looking. People started to whisper.

Panicking, Flug picked up the recycling bin that had sat by the door - what misguided soul had thought that recycling would work in a place like this - and pulled it over his head. Mostly empty soda cans, fruit peels, and lengths of clean toilet paper tumbled over his shoulders but Flug felt himself relax regardless. It wasn’t garbage per se, and it didn’t smell.

But now he could hear the laughter.

Reaching into his pocket, his hands shook as he grabbed the small remote. Pressing the sole button, he heard the high pitch whine of the machine in his backpack as it powered up. It shifted and he could feel it moving up and out of the backpack, popping open the teeth of the zipper.

The students closest to him gasped as the machine skittered onto Flug’s shoulder.

It was as big as his face and walked on nine thin, spider-like legs. The legs were fully articulated and could bend in unnatural ways. The body was fat and there was a large, red eye on the underside. A neck protruded from the top front of the body, and it held a pair of iron jaws. The neck whipped around, mindless and blind, gnashing its teeth. As Flug walked, it snapped at anyone close by. Children yelped and scattered.

When one complained to a teacher, they were told that if they were dumb enough to get close to the thing then they deserved to lose whatever the machine bit off.

What unnerved the children more though was when it would cling to Flug’s back, the legs bent over the wrong way so the belly was exposed. The one red eye staring out, unblinking, while the neck curved under like a scorpion’s tale. The iron jaw clashed together, searching for something to clamp onto.

As the students got older, there were certain unofficial markers of success. Plots and counter-plots were enacted, factions created and betrayed, schemes made and foiled in the matter of a class period.

Many had taken up the challenge of Flug. Everyone saw him as a meek pushover at best, a sniveling suck up at worst. It wasn’t intentional, but Flug usually picked out the worst, harshest teacher each year and tried to get them to like him. Occasionally it worked, and Flug felt like he was invincible. Occasionally it didn’t, and Flug took out his frustrations on the rest of the student population.

This behavior earned him a number of enemies.

Nicole Senicourt was the most physical, often managing to blow past his barriers or bodyguards to beat on him before Flug was able to deploy counter measures.

Other students tried to outsmart him.

They never got as far as Nicole.

As graduation approached, they entered scouting season. Villains looking for henchmen or shadowy figures-slash-governments-slash-organizations looking for a new villain to bankroll descended on the school. It was even rumored that they were being monitored by the Black Hat Organization for potential job opportunities.

Flug wanted that job. To work for the best villain, the most evil, the one who owned their school, that would show everyone that he was the best. It would prove once and for all that he would succeed where everyone else failed.

He had taken on a junior-counselor position when he began his final year, working with incoming freshmen to help them achieve their villainous goals. He successfully pitched two inventions that increased the school’s productivity: a robot that chased students through the obstacle course for hero avoidance training, and a directional sound frequency gun that kept students from sleeping in class.

And after Nicole dropped out, he made sure no one got close to him.

On the day of their final examinations, one particularly gutsy group of students decided they would have the best chance of landing a good job if Flug didn’t show up.

They couldn’t break into Flug’s dorm, but they could ambush him when he went to breakfast.

Two of the more physically impressive students literally jumped Flug when he walked into the cafeteria. They fell in a heap as they passed through the hologram. The other three members of the group were frozen, locked in a static ray. Using the controller, Flug lifted the three up into the air before releasing them. They fell onto the two others just as they were trying to rise.

The rest of the day, while Flug sat for examinations in chemistry, psychology, and applied physics, he rebuffed countless attacks.

In the end, he graduated as the class valedictorian. The Black Hat Organization rumor was only that, a rumor, and the students all accepted some job or other. Flug interned at a consulting firm that eventually launched the HIVE Academy, and he also took some time to get his pilot’s license.

For a brief time, Flug moved from consulting to teaching at the HIVE Academy, working for Slade, who he believed to be a capable villain. The teaching was easy, as Slade made a point of brainwashing all of his students, so Flug was able to concurrently finish his doctorate. His job was easy, but Flug quickly grew bored and irritable working for a man that kept losing to teenagers. And, to make matters worse, the man insisted on purchasing from the Black Hat Organization despite consistent issues with the orders. and after the third shipment in a row contained faulty equipment, Flug snapped and sent back an order.

Sure, the adverts all said there were no refunds, but there was no excuse for such a prestigious organization to be distributing sub par tech.

The day after Flug rejected a delivery, he was called into a meeting. The large conference room was nicer than the interview room from his childhood, but Flug still felt trepidation as he sat at the large mahogany table. It was quiet in the room, save for the subdued rushing sound of a white noise machine. No one moved outside of the closed doors since the assistant had shut Flug in.

Flug shifted in his chair to look at the door, watching it for a few moments. Then he turned back and let out a truncated shriek.

A man made from shadows sat across from him, scowling.

“You are the one who rejected my shipment?” The man asked accusingly, his voice dripping with scorn and mental venom. Flug flinched, thankful for the mask that covered his features.

“Well, sir, the surveillance bots didn’t even have bluetooth...” Flug started but drifted when he realized that the man - creature? - had begun to glare at him. He paused, but the man said nothing, so Flug hesitantly continued. “There was no way to use the bots since they couldn’t broadcast a feed.”

“And you think you can do better than my scientists?” The man asked.

“I know I can. Sir.” Flug quickly added. The man sneered.

“Fine. You will report to my villa in the morning and we will see what you can do, doctor. The man stood and a card appeared on the table. Flug stood as well, about to escort the visitor out, when the creature melted down into a shadow, which promptly faded away. Flug stared at the spot where the shadow had been, then shook himself. He turned to the table where the card lay.

On the center was one black hat.

#jax writes #hey-needle #villainous #prompt request #i'm getting there

11 notes · View notes

zoebechtle-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Unlikely Chapter 12

“You know what my favorite thing about your face is?” Random thoughts from Zoe. Niall turned his eyes from the football match on the TV (against my own will, he had turned me into a Derby Rams fan). It was late on a Saturday night. Willie and Hannah were out of town and Deo had been relocated for the weekend. We hadn’t seen much of one another over the last week - he was finishing things for his upcoming charity golf tournament and gala, and sliding into the studio to write as often as he could. He claimed he'd had a stroke of inspiration lately and wanted to get back to making music. I was busy finishing up work on a big research project with a few other therapists, and hadn’t been home before 9:00 anytime recently. As of next week, his schedule was the most insane thing I’ve ever seen for an unemployed musician (as I liked to remind him): golf tournaments, fundraisers, charity games, concerts and festivals, and an extended trip to the U.S. to write and record more. Therefore, we had sequestered ourselves in his house and were having a grownup sleepover. Last night I’d insisted we make a fort out of cushions to eat pizza in - once I’d convinced him it was an amazing idea, he’d gone in with full gusto, choosing blankets that were sturdy. He fancied himself a fort engineer by the end, and was a little pissed when we knocked it down after the dinner during more active pursuits that resulted in an impressive patch of rug burn on my back. We took a long bath, with bubbles that I’d smuggled in, and I’d dozed off with my back resting on his chest, at ease with pretty much everything. He turned on some late 90s dance music this afternoon and we danced around like idiots, then tried (unsuccessfully) doing the tango (I have two left feet). I was trying to convince him to let me braid his hair, but he wasn’t there yet. It’d been the best 30 hours ever, and I was kind of buzzed off my love of him. Well, and the bottle of wine I’d been sipping on.

“What’s that, baby?” He took a long drink of his beer and I watched him swallow, enthralled. “Z?”

“Huh?”

He started laughing. “You have the attention span of a mouse. What’s your favorite thing about my face?”

“Oh yeah!” I was sitting on his left side on the ginormous sectional sofa in his living room, my feet across his lap. I scooted my butt closer until I was almost sitting on him, and turned his chin so he was facing forward and I had a perfect profile shot. “This. This is my favorite.”

“You’re poking my cheek!”

“No! I’m poking your eye dimple. It’s the cutest thing ever.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about - don’t have a dimple on my eye.”

“Right under, not ON your eye.” I rolled my eyes for emphasis. “Here.” I grabbed my phone from behind me and pulled up a picture of him I’d taken that morning. He was sitting on his countertop in his tightie whities, laughing at my impressions of various Food Network chefs while I made French toast. He looked so utterly perfect, laughing so hard he ended up getting the hiccups when I discussed Wonder Bread and Egg Beaters as Sandra Lee, his hair falling over his brow and fingers grasping the overhang of the counter. Who knew the members of One Direction loved cooking shows? I’d promptly walked over the kissed the living hell out of him after I snapped the pic. Such opportunities could not be wasted. “See? It’s a little dimple and it only shows when you’re genuinely smiling. Everytime I see it I want to buy a house and retire there because it’s the most perfect place on Earth.” Okay, maybe I’d had closer to a bottle and a half of wine. He looked at me with wide, adoring eyes, and caught my lips with his own.

“Know what my favorite part of your face is?”

“I’m guessing my lips because, blah blah, sucking you off,” I gave him a cheeky grin, expecting the usual male answer.

“You underestimate me, Zoe,” he replied, wrinkling his forehead and pushing his pretty lips out into a tiny pout. He actually looked a little hurt.

“I’m sorry, boo.” I traced his chin dimple with my thumb, pacifying him. “What’s your favorite part?”

He kissed my brow bone. “This. Can tell everythin’ you’re thinkin’ by your forehead and brows. You can’t hide a thing. Explains why you can’t play poker for shit.”

“I’m not THAT bad.”

“Babe, Nick took forty quid off you in one hand.”

“He cheats.”

“Sure he does.” He’d pulled me back against the cushions with him and I cuddled up to his side. “Love you. Bad poker face and all. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

I felt my emotions bubble up as they always did when he said something like this. “Love you more.”

“Impossible.”

“So possible.”

“Nope.”

“Shut up, shamrock.” In order to ensure his silence, I climbed over his lap and kissed him stupid. He upped the ante by slipping my t-shirt over my head, and I won by pushing his shorts down and sliding down on his cock.

His stylist, Ellie, and her favorite tailor showed up Sunday early afternoon to fit Niall for his fundraiser suit one last time. He was leaving soon for a golf tournament in Northern Ireland so all final preps needed to be now. I adored Ellie-she’d helped me find a dress (not even a dress, a fabulous creation of nature that was the most perfect item of clothing I’d ever had on my body) for the upcoming Horan Rose event. And to Niall’s chagrin, I’d paid for it myself despite his requests otherwise and whines to the stylist. I would be there not only in girlfriend capacity, but also representing the clinic and its autism research efforts. Luckily, my boss was coming as well, as Niall’s guest, so he could field all the tricky questions. An administrator I am not. When I’d shown Hannah pictures of the miracle dress, she’d been shocked.

“It’s pink.”

“‘tis.”

“You don’t wear pink. Ever.”

“I like pink!”

“I know, but 90% of your wardrobe is black! And it’s light pink at that!”

“Because pastels make me look dead. But this looks good.” I showed her the next pic in the roll of me modeling for Ellie.

“Holy shit.”

“Right?”

Hannah sat back, obviously proud of herself, “Love looks good on you, Zoe Jane.”

I threw a shoe at her, intentionally missing. She wasn’t wrong.

I laid on the bed while Niall pranced around in his underwear. His good mood was infectious, and Sam the tailor was having none of it. The older gentleman who had twice whacked him on the back of the thigh for screwing around. He’d earned my adoration quickly.

“Zoe, will you look at these ties?” Ellie had plopped down next to me, holding up a large box. “I can’t decide which one.”

“Lord, she’ll put me in a bow tie, don’t let her choose, El!” I stuck my tongue out at Niall as I sorted. Damnit. He was right. I loved bow ties. They looked dapper.

“How about this one?” I held up a navy one for Ellie’s inspection.

“The peaches? You think?”

“Yup. In honor of his little peach bum.” He shook said bum at us, earning another smack from Sam. Too cute for words.

I was nervous about the fundraiser. Besides it being my first official event as Niall’s date, I was also going to meet the whole Horan clan - he was flying a boatload of people over from Ireland for the party. In negotiations with him and Kim, I’d gotten out arriving with him and doing the red carpet thing (the mere idea gave me hives). He wasn’t aware that I wasn’t going to be “arriving” at all - at my request, Kim was going to arrange for me to come in the back door of the facility. I knew I’d be photographed at some point or another, but I wanted to avoid it as much as possible. I agreed that I’d sit at his table and be on his arm instead of eating with Willie and Hannah nearby or my boss and his wife in the back of the room. He knew I was terrified of the attention, and tried to talk me down as much as possible.

“I know it’s a lot, babe.” We were FaceTiming as he got ready to head off to a rugby match with Rory.

“No, it’s fine. I just don’t want people paying attention to something that isn’t a the reason for the night,” I tried to explain. I started playing with my bracelet, twirling it around my fingers.

“Put the bracelet down, ya liar.”

“What?”

“Get on me about my nervous hands, and ya do the same damn thing.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “Kate is next to Justin, so why wouldn’t ya be with me?”

“Um, because she’s his wife.”

“Is that all it takes then? Ok? Wanna get married? Let’s go.” Wha? I knew my mouth was gaping.

“No! I mean...no, shut up.”

He knew he had me and smirked. “Just gotta say the word.”

I rolled my eyes. “They’ve known one another more than three months. They weren’t outed on the The Daily News and Sun out partying. Twice. The fangirls of the world don’t hate Kate. I don’t want to cause problems for you.”

“Z, are ya ever gonna realize that I don’t give a fuck? Yeah, I try to keep as much of me life private as I can, but I’m not going to hide ya. Ever. And I’ll protect you.” By this point he was pointing his finger at his laptop in a rant.

“God you’re a pain in the ass.”

“Likewise, pretty girl. I gotta go, car is here. Love you.”

“I love you, too, Nialler.”

Niall got home late Thursday night, and the Irish contingent starting arriving by the planeload Friday afternoon. I’d stayed late at work to get ahead since I’d be off Monday and Tuesday for the golf tournament and the inevitable aftermath-I’d been training my liver for this weekend since I was sixteen. After work I’d planned on going home, leaving Niall to his own devices with his guests. But in true Niall fashion he had his dad text me that he expected to see me when he landed. The little bastard had pulled out the Bobby Horan card. When I finally left, a black Range Rover beeped at me from the curb and Basil waved. I let out a sigh and muttered to myself. “So much for taking the tube like a normal goddamn human being.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Picking you up, obviously.”

“He really doesn’t know how to take no for answer, does he?” I buckled into the passenger seat as Bas tossed my bag in the back.

I wasn’t one hundred percent on board with this uncomfortable hour drive and silently shook my fist at my boyfriend. I was still trying to figure out where I stood with Bas. While I was sure he didn’t hate me, my relationship with Niall and what it meant for his security (and heart) were still unknown. We both routinely got some nastygrams, and lately he’d been getting his phone hacked on the regular and spammed by little shits. I was anxious and had skipped lunch today because my stomach was going nuts with nerves. I was facing an entire long weekend filled with people who loved Niall and were going to be watching me. I didn’t work well under pressure. So I filled the car with awkward conversation until Bas’s eyes basically begged me to shut up. Rightfully silently chastised, I leaned my seat back and closed my eyes until we arrived home (shit, did I just refer to Niall’s house as home?). I didn’t even get my buckle undone when the door was opened.

“Ni, Jes-,” Oh. This was not my blonde bombshell. The older man with rosy cheeks beamed at me.

“Zoe! Aw, love, it’s a pleasure!” The legend himself, Bobby Horan, pulled me out of the car and into a gigantic bear hug. Unlike when I met Harry, however, I didn’t mind. I may have squealed a little bit.

“Back off, old man!” Niall elbowed his dad. “I haven’t seen my girl all week.”

“Whose fault is that, youngster?” Bobby gave me a grin, and I squeezed him again.

My quick confidence shot from Bobby quickly diminished when I walked into a house full of strangers. I knew it was coming but still was not prepared. Before I could blink, I’d met Eoghan, Bressie (hello...I was never going to be able to make eye contact with him), Bobby’s girlfriend Aoife, another Niall, and various other guys whose names I was going to spend the whole weekend trying to remember. I was passed from person to person - the Irish were huggers. Sensing my discomfort, Deo slid a Jameson in my hand. I mouthed a thank you to him and downed it only to have it replaced by a beer. After being appropriately introduced, I excused myself to go to the bedroom and change. And have a minor panic attack in the bathroom.

“Babe?” Shit, I’d been gone for almost half an hour.

“In here.”

“Decent?”

“Totally depends on your definition. But no, I’m not pooping.”

His head poked through the door, giving me a look. “Hiding, huh?”

It was useless, he’d figured out my M.O. “There are just so many of them. And they all love you. If you haven’t noticed, I tend to make an ass out of myself when I’m nervous.”

“I know. Still waiting for those strokes you promised me.”

“I hate you.”

“C’mere.” He pulled me up to him, wrapping his arms around my middle. “I missed ya. Didn’t even get a proper kiss. My da’ cock blocked me.”

“I’m assuming not for the first time.”

“You have no idea.” He’d finally worked a smile out of me and gave me a warm, gentle kiss that I felt down to my toes. The beer he’d been enjoying was obvious, but there was a slight mint to his taste as always. “Missed you, pretty girl.”

“I missed you, too.” I rested my head on his collarbone as an someone beat on the window in the closet, causing us to both jump a foot.

“Quit molesting the lady, Horan, and get your ass out here!”

“Fuck you, Eoghan!” he shouted back. “Hey,” he whispered, pulling my attention up to him. “Everyone out there is so excited to get to know you. You’re all I’ve talked about for months. Babe, they love you already. I promise.”

The Irish could party, let the record reflect. Aoife, Hannah, and I ventured out late Sunday morning for manicures and to get last minute supplies, including buy a new tie for Eoghan, who had insisted his could double as a headband the night before, requiring me to cut him out of it. None of Niall’s ties matched the intricate pattern of his suit, he claimed (Niall was positive he just wanted me to feel the fabric) and I’d been tasked. Once I’d gotten over my initial shyness, I realized why every one of these people were special to Ni. It made me feel even closer to him, and pondered introducing him to my family eventually (then promptly took a shot to chase that crazy idea away). The only stone left unturned was Maura. She and her husband were meeting us at the event. Willie and Deo privately had told me that she’d guilted Niall into the invitation - something she routinely did when there was something she was interested in. In the time we’d known one another I had never witnessed her interacting with him in any way. I had developed an attitude about her, and he was aware of it. I didn’t know Niall as a small child, but the idea of willingly leaving him was foreign to me. I didn’t know her side of the story, it was true. But even how she treated him now pissed me off. Plus, I’d bore witness to the affects of her abandonment, and that made me pull out my momma bear tendencies.

Over the last two months I’d observed Niall pour over details with planners and Justin, his co-host. He’d really put his heart and soul into it, and I was full of pride. So proud that I’d risked my perfect hairdo (okay, so it was Hannah and her masterful use of a flat iron and bobby pins) to give him a blowjob in the closet before he’d left. Right against his perfectly organized hat collection, near the mirror so he could watch in full detail as I swallowed him whole wearing nothing but a strapless bra (ouch) and lace boyshorts.

“Christ, if that’s the reaction I get for helpin’ people I’m gonna sign over my whole bank account.” I’d just nuzzled my cheek against his thigh and cleaned him off with a satisfied sigh. Then I did something so positively dirty that when my rational brain returned I couldn’t believe it. I dipped my finger in a tiny trickle of come on his thigh, and, eyes locked with his, and dabbed it behind my ears like perfume. Then licked my finger.

“So I have a little bit of you with me all night.” I loved philanthropic men, what could I say? He hauled me to my feet and was about to maul me when his phone rang. “That’s your car.”

“Fuuuuuck. I’m going to think of that all night.”

“I know. That’s why I did it.” I kissed his lips pertly and rubbed his nose with mine. “Go, I’ll see you in a bit. I’ll be the one falling down in heels.”

“Don’t worry,” he turned to grin at me as he picked up his suit jacket, “I’ll catch ya.”

The ballroom at the private golf club was madness. Ellie and I had ridden from the house together, and were both bouncing with excitement. Swanky events weren’t my thing, but I knew the night promised to be amazing. We had shuffled in through the kitchen, and observed Jamie Freakin’ Oliver yelling out directions. El didn’t give me time to adequately fan girl. Probably for the best. I’m sure I would have ended up stealing a carrot. We spotted Bressie and Eoghan and huddled with them. My inner matchmaker decided that Ellie and the single Bressie would be adorable, and I made a mental note to mention that to Niall later. He was still working the green carpet, and would be for a while. I’d spied him outside of the ballroom doors and felt giddy inside - he looked amazing (god, Ellie was good at her job) and in his element.

We sipped Horan Shamrock Spritz cocktails and the obvious jokes about Niall being in our mouths were shared. I privately gloated knowing he was more than just in my mouth. Eoghan eventually made a face, “Of course she’d show up to this - rich and famous folks.” We all turned in unison and Bres groaned. I recognized the tiny (seriously, I’m short - I would tower over her) woman as Maura. Not wanting to be obvious and being a huge fan of avoidance, I excused myself to go to the charity section and spend some time mingling and discussing the clinic with guests, most of whom had no idea that I was anything other than a practitioner attending the event. My feet ached by the time dinner was announced, the royal blue shoes that matched some of the gem detail on the top of my cocktail dress not being designed for long term wear. I mentally patted myself on the back for tossing a pair of flip flops into my bag.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” a familiar Irish voice interrupted my conversation with an older couple about vaccines (for the nine millionth time in my career). Niall put his arm around my waist, “I need to steal this one to meet a few people. Have you all seen the silent auction tables? We’ve got some great prizes. Glenn,” he patted the man’s elbow, “there’s a package to play with Rors this fall. It’s got your name written all over it.” Like that he slid me a way.

“I owe you. So hard.”

“Your eyes were screamin’. I know when my girl needs help.” He kissed my cheek as we navigated the crowd, being stopped by every other person for Niall to chat. “You smell fuckin’ amazin’.” We raised our eyebrows at one another.

“Musk.”

“You’re going to kill me, woman.”

We were interrupted by a high pitched, loud voice, “There’s my baby boy!” I knew I couldn’t avoid her all night.

“Mam, I was lookin’ for ya. Wanted to introduce you to Zoe, my girlfriend. Zo, this is my mam, Maura, and step dad, Chris.” I could see Maura eyeing me up and down, and I felt everything from my hair to my toes being judged. I slapped on a huge smile and reminded myself that he loved her despite the shenanigans she’d caused, so I owed it to him to try.

I extended my hand, “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

“You, too, dear. I didn’t know you had a young lady, Niall.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, for a couple of months.” The tension was thick and I was uncomfortable.

“Did the two of you have a nice trip?” It was lame, but it was something. We stood and talked awkwardly (Niall had his arms crossed over his chest with his hands tucked, a sure sign he was uncomfortable) until dinner was announced. We were all at the same table, but luckily were joined by Bobby and Aoife as well, and Deo and Martin. Willie, Hannah, Eoghan, Bressie, and other friends were behind us, and at the next table were Justin and Kate (whom I had grown to quickly adore) and their family members. There were plenty of people to chat with so I could avoid direct conversation with Maura, who, to be fair, didn’t seem all that interested in talking to me. Luckily, the wine was flowing.

Shortly after dessert was served, some big shot came over and Niall introduced us all. As they left to start the speeches, the gentleman complimented Bobby and Maura on raising such a fine young man. Having sat back and watched her bask in Niall’s glory all night (and watching his jaw tense and him clench his fist when she did), including claiming him auditioning for XFactor was her idea (it wasn’t, and any fan with internet access knew that) and how she always knew he’d be special, my irritation grew, I couldn’t control myself. The cat was out to play.

“Yes, Bobby, he’s right,” I reached over and grabbed “the father-in-law” (as he’d dubbed himself the night before)’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “You really did a fabulous job with that one. Thank you.” I knew Maura caught what I’d done, and frankly I didn’t care. She glared at me and I gave her the eye right back. Deo watched us in amusement.

“Zoe, would you like to go to the powder room with me?” She was throwing down a challenge, and emboldened by liquid courage, I took it.

“Certainly.” Aoife looked at me with wide eyes, and stood to come along. I waved my hand at her, and she grabbed it. She had my back.

“Aoife, I think this needs to be a talk between Niall’s mother and his fling,” Maura said, giving her a withering look. Oh fuck no. Those were fighting words. I pushed my chair in with a little more force than I’d intended, and the table shook. She might be little, but I had rage and a little country in me. I would take her on for insulting me, her ex-husband’s girlfriend, and abandoning her sons. With pleasure.

“Well, let’s go have this talk, shall we?” I turned on my heel and walked off to the private toilets, not looking back to see if she’d follow me. I knew she would. And I knew whatever I said would be turned around to make her the victim. We all knew women like her. I leaned against the toilet wall and waited.

“Listen, missy,” she’d barely cleared the door. Normally I hated confrontation, but this was different. This was standing up for Niall. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I am his mother and you will not undermine me. I am just as responsible for his success as his father!” She was feisty, I’ll give her that. “You don’t know anything about me and how dare you embarrass me in front of these people. You’re just a slag using him for his money and connections.” I just let her rant. Also, project much?

My voice was much more calm than I’d anticipated. “You’re right, Maura, I don’t know you. I don’t know what you went through when you abandoned your sons, but I’ve seen first hand the damage it’s caused. I’ve had to deal with the complex Niall has about women leaving him, and it almost ruined our relationship before it started. Forgive me if I underestimate your contribution to his life beyond birthing him.”

“You have some nerve!” The door opened and Aoife and Hannah walked in just in time to hear her shriek at me.

“I do. You’re right. But, I’m not ‘some fling’. If you were an active part of his life, you’d know that. Everyone else from Ireland knew. I love your son. Desperately. And I apologize,” that hurt to even say (sorry not sorry), “if you feel that I haven’t adequately respected you. But please quit taking credit for something you had very little to do with. Niall is the amazing person he is in spite of you, not because.” My peace being said, I brushed past her and walk out of the bathroom, my hands shaking and went straight to the bar.

The night proceeded on, but I felt uneasy. It probably wasn’t my place to tell his mother off, even though she richly deserved it. Especially on a night like this. I tried to put it out of my mind, but I couldn’t. My stomach rebelled against me and I was anxious as hell. I’d seen her approach Niall afterwards and the two of them venture outside, their heads bent towards one another. Shit. Before I could check with him, however, the performances started.

Hannah had shared the highlights (greatly exaggerating, as to be expected) with the boys, and Eoghan had declared me his hero. Bressie jokingly offered to pay my tab for the evening. Bobby very obviously called me daughter multiple times in her earshot. At least some people were on my side.

“Hidin’ so I can’t have a dance with ya?” I’d be standing at the bar, sipping another Horan cocktail, and his hands rubbed my hips. He dipped his mouth close to my ear and whispered, “Gotta be careful kissing your neck tonight. Not big on the taste of myself.” I laughed and turned around, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Hi, bugaboo.”

“Hi.” He kissed my nose. “Heard you’re causing trouble.” My stomach dropped and my face flamed even more. I bit my lip, hard.

“Sorry, I ran of-”

“Don’t apologize,” he stared at me. “No one has ever called Maura on her bullshit before. No one ever stood up for me like that.”

I exhaled, the weight of the world lifting off my shoulders. I pulled on a little piece of hair on his neck. “I could have picked a better venue, though.”

“Probably. But this is twice you’ve proven you’re a fucking bad ass in public.” He kissed me and lead me onto the dance floor as “Fix You” by Coldplay blasted. Appropriate.

9 notes · View notes

shazyloren · 7 years ago

Text

Lustful Affair: Chapter 2 - Frog and Parrot

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13083426/chapters/29954562 ------ You look ridiculous. Rey had caught the sight of herself in a reflection off of a shop window as they walked out into the night. The bar that Rose had suggested they go to was a casual drinking bar, so Rey had decided to wear a crochet black crop top with wide leg black and white striped trousers. A leather jacket accompanied it. Rose had said she'd looked good, but she secretly wondered if she was questioning her taste in fashion. Blowing the idea off as ridiculous she continued to follow Finn. There was students about everywhere, but they all seemed to be walking in the direction they'd just come from. Rose was right, the bar Finn loved so much was a lot quieter than the centre of the city in which Students lined the street to get into the big clubs. The bar itself was called the Frog and Parrot. It had an almost indian vibe in it's decoration and the booths had drapings over them for privacy. It was a real charming place. Purples and pinks and oranges and yellows streamed the room, and two big bay windows let it light during the day but it was illuminated by fairy lights at night. "I've never seen a bar like this before" Rey spoke in a sort of trance with the place. "The one and only Frog and Parrot" Finn grinned. "Watch out for Lenny, the bartender. Speak to him for too long and he'll start showing you photos of his eight dogs" Rey just laughed him off initially, but in her eye line, she caught sight of some photos on the wall behind the bar of various dogs. So she decided to take his word. They walked over to the only spare booth and while she and Rose climbed in, Finn went to the bar to get drinks. "Warning, he'll come back with shots" Rose stated. Rey's eyes went wide. She'd never done shots before. In all fairness, she'd only ever drunk three times in her life. Her eighteenth birthday, christmas last year and her nineteenth birthday. And she'd only ever had a gin and tonic and some wine. But she knew that University meant heavy drinking nights, she was prepared for anything! And Rose was right. Finn came back to the table with not only three Gin and Tonics but three shots of Jager. Wanting to rip it off like a bandaid she did the shot straight away. Initially she didn't feel anything, but then, suddenly it hit her like a train. "Jesus Christ!" Rey gagged. "That was not nice" "Have you never had Jager before?" Finn asked in shock. "Remember, Jakku" Rey implored. Finn just nodded in understanding. A few hours past and some more drinks and conversation flowed. Rey didn't think she could have started university life off any better. When it turned to ten, the music came on a little louder and Rose decided to wanted to Dance. So she and Rey got up into a space on the floor and started to boogie away. Finn was trying to get a clap going but everyone else in the bar was too sloshed to join in. The song in particular, a Michael Jackson one that Rey recognise, was perfect for Rey's shimmy she had going on. "Man those trousers look so good on you" Rose stated. "I'm too short for maxi trousers like that" "Thank you" Rey smirked, the alcohol in her system meant she was a little on edge. "And no you're not" Many of the men in the room kept eyeing her and Rose up. Finn was having to act like a bodyguard at some points. Men not being able to keep it in there pants was nothing new to Rey. Jakku was a hive of sexual activity, you couldn't get away from it sometimes. Rey had only recently discovered sex however, a handsome-ish farm boy who's name escaped her. It hadn't really been anything special. The song finished pulling Rey out of distance memories and she all of a sudden got the giggles. Wow I do not mix well with shots. She was in a funny mood when Rose's eyes widened and her mouth went slack. "Rey" She nearly choked. "Dreamboat at three 'o'clock" Rey turned her head, and she too felt a choke in her throat. Jesus fucking christ. He was tall, very tall. Possibly, six three. His hair was black, thick curls and waves. His eyes were dark and ageless, they held such a mystery to them. He wore a black jumper on jeans combination and when he pushed his hair out of his eyes Rey felt something awaken inside of her that she had never felt before. He was absolutely divine. He was with two others, a slightly shorter ginger haired and bearded man who gave the impression of being better than anyone else. And a very tall blond woman who seemed to walk like a goddess through the pub. Rey suddenly felt very self conscious of herself and staggered over to the bar, dragging rose with her and demanding several shots of vodka. "Let me get you your drinks ladies" Rey felt her innerd curl in want. American. She felt her breath leave her chest. Curse this attractive voice. She turned slowly, preparing herself to face him. His eyes caught hers straight away. "That's not necessary" Rey replied curtly. Rose was wide eyed at it all, she made a small mewing noise all the while Rey spoke to him. This man was... Divine. He was possibly the most attractive man she'd ever seen, and he wasn't even classically handsome. He was... different. His eyes darkened at Rey's response, it toyed with her, making her chest feel heavy. "I insist" He said deliciously. Rey, felt her mouth water at the ease of which words rolled of his tongue. It was rich and deep, like honey and melted butter. "You win" Rey rolled her eyes, anything to distract herself from the attractive man that had just taken over every fibre in her body. Rose mewed again beside her and that was the cue to get back to Finn. She and Rose accepted the drinks and said their thank yous. They returned to the booth with Finn but all the while Rey could feel eyes burning into her head. "Jesus that man is attractive" Rose said when she sat down as if she was coming out of some sort of trance. "Tall, mysterious and white... god you women are so predictable" Finn rolled his eyes. "Easy now tiger, you're still the one for me" Rose warned with a raised eyebrow. "But damn..." Rey wasn't listening. She was too busy making eye contact with the guy across the room. The man and woman next to him were chatting animatedly but he was just gazing at her. Rey knew he was undressing her with his eyes, but she didn't mind. She drank her drink as she connected with this man without words. It could've been minutes. It could have been hours. But she didn't speak, she just stared at him, and her her. Suddenly, her drink was empty. "Does she know she's been staring at him for twenty minutes?" Rey distantly heard Finn's voice. "I don't think so" She answered back. "But his friends haven't noticed he's been doing the same" Rey was entranced. She needed a breather. She closed her eyes and turned to face Rose. Suddenly the lights felt too much and the music too loud. "Rose, do you feel... fuzzy" Rey was worried her drink had been spiked. "No, he's just a man" She cackled. "I don't mean that... I feel roofied" Rey struggled to speak. "Won't happen, Lenny has a keen eye he would've noticed" Finn implored. "Go to the bathroom or something" Rey scrunched her face up. "What? Women always go to the bathroom when they worried about something. Actin' like the mirror is going to give them a talk back" "Finn you're an idiot" Rose sighed. Rey got out of her seat. "Er, are you going to the bathroom?" "I do actually need a wee" Rey shrugged. Rose and Finn shook their heads with smiles on their faces. Rey just got up and hobbled off on her heels to the loos. When she entered the women's toilet she closed the cubicle and did her business. It was hot in the bar so coming to the loos she managed to clear her head. Although, she only thought of the attractive man who she had not so subtly been eye fucking. Rey thought that perhaps she'd gone mad, so when she was washing her hands, she was angrily muttering to herself about not falling for the first sexually attractive guy she's seen since arriving in the city. Get yourself together Rey. Shaking her head she grabbed the handle of the door and left the loo, only to be greeted by the very thing she'd been moaning at herself about. He is stunningly attractive. "Er, hi" She said awkwardly. She notices his mouth tugs into a small smirk. "Can I-" His mouth was on hers, slow at first but furious after a few seconds. She was shocked, aroused and confused all at the same time. Her brain was telling her to stop this mad kiss that was happening, but she didn't want to. Her heart was having too much fun. And so, she kissed him back, with vigour. He tasted like Red wine, and mints. An indulgent mix. Their tongues collided as he had her pinned against the wall outside the loos. It wasn't exactly private, anyone could walk in any second... He read her mind and broke the kiss apart, panting as their foreheads touched and she felt her lungs catch fire. "I'm Kylo, by the way" He breathed raspily. "Rey" Was all she could say in reply. "Rey..." The way he said her name made her moan. She'd never heard it spoken so erotically before. "Rey, do you wanna go somewhere more private?" Her brain was screaming at her to be reasonable. But her body was aching to feel that sort of kiss all over. She was in a tussle as this man was in a close proximity to her. She followed her heart. "Yes"

#rey #kylo ren #reylo #Ben solo #college au #au #fanfic #Star Wars

15 notes · View notes

whydoyouthinkileft · 7 years ago

Text

okay, honestly, I don't want to complain here and risk ruining someone's mood, but since I write Jemma Simmons and my way to see the show influences this blog, I have to say that I don't like how her storyline is going now, especially from the moment she was reunited with Fitz; I feel it's going to follow the same cycle it followed every other time. I also don't extra-ship FS canon-wise as much anymore, not for any super strong reason, it's just not my kind of OTP the way it's written and I need to explore it in writing to feel in love with the couple again. In my blog I adore my ships (and when in some verses they don't work as well that's also 100% acceptable and enjoyable for me because at least it's in a way that I can appreciate, because we write them as real with real issues) In the show I ship them, I want them to be happy, I'll make gifsets, I love the concept of them, but I only love them in roleplay when we work through their problems together, and going a bit au or rewriting parts of their pasts. It's still an OTP in fanon, it's the canon that I'm... detached from and I just enjoy it as general audience, taking what I get and loving the episodes; when I have to write Jemma and focus on them in a deeper way, I can't just follow canon. I wouldn't know how to write a human being like that.

more specifically under the cut because it's me complaining and therefore some rare negativity to explain what I don't like/don't want (no one *has* to read it to understand, you'll just see me going on a different direction in my threads, with for example a reasonably traumatized Jemma) (no hate against characters)

to sum it up quickly: when I write Jemma, she'll be more short-tempered, moody because stressed out, prone to lose hope every now and then, though still loving and protective. I will obviously keep writing FS. But I might want to rewrite some things or discuss some parts instead of simply considering 'good' what has happened up until now. I also want to write more of Jemma's interactions with the rest of the team and with people checking on her too (which my rp partners already do, tho, so this is just in general for potential new ones, it wouldn't be exactly like in canon with Jemma shrugging everything off). I’m also not opposed to threads where they broke up and it wasn’t... as devastating and life ending as it was in other verses I wrote (obviously when it’s starting there, if they broke up in verses we wrote she’d be destroyed)

but with the ‘cycle repeating’ I meant how she goes through something horrible while alone (Maveth, torture, kill/resurrect May, the super traumatic fight with LMD Fitz that left her 'malfunctioning', literally waking up in her grave like one hour later to start her first terrible day in the Framework, every trauma there, and now being enslaved - and we have seen how much of a big deal that was) and then... a couple of jokes, literally, about how she had it kinda bad (same way she joked about Hive touching her face while wearing Grant Ward's body and using Will's memory, now she joked about being enslaved) and that's it, she's normal, she's giving hope, she's being supportive of Fitz and... she's just moving on, she's somehow either okay or magically repressed everything because the plot requires her to be okay and work, no payoff after what happened either. Literally, even when she joined the group again, group that didn't know where she was since Daisy wasn't able to communicate with her anymore, nor May, the surprise because Fitz and Daisy were there meant only Elena touched her arm as a way to say hi, after she came back bleeding from her ear. I was expecting a far nicer reunion with the team, since she disappeared taken by Sinara. Also apparently she got that thing removed from her ear, could barely stand and walk because of vertigo and nausea, but not long after she reached the Zephyr and was so okay she was thinking about making out.

I just don't find it realistic: not that she'd be so okay emotionally and physically, nor that she'd keep travelling and being so willing to take more risks after every single time there is no time to process, not that she can just repress that much, all in a row, no sign of it, just joke around and be able to work And this is coming from a person who is always super hopeful as much as humanly possible, but you need breaks and you need to vent if you want to also support others.

it's always: she and Fitz get separated, and either Fitz travels through space and time to save her and then she has to put her trauma aside because everybody else was dealing with something huge in the meanwhile and she has to support them, or it's Fitz who is taken, she goes to bring him home and ultimately fails ? and then someone else saves him.

I don't like it. Fitz's storylines are mostly about how to save Jemma, Jemma's storylines are mostly about encouraging Fitz. I haven't really seen Fitz feel that much better, I haven't really seen Jemma react to anything that happened to her once she has left the site of the trauma. There is a lot that doesn't work for me. If I write the ship, it will be with Jemma traumatized, not always ready to see the positive brighter side anymore, needing just as much help and affection as the others not just from Fitz but from the whole team, and while she will stay as part of shield in verses where she's there it's going to be different. (Also hey, I'm all for women and men not having to be fighters to be good characters, but at the same time if your work involves constantly getting beaten, kidnapped, saving people, almost dying or having to be saved, you do have to learn to defend yourself and others as much as possible, so I don't think she'd be only relying on brute force and little gadgets like in the show, where, fair enough, every character has their thing, but she'd have trained to avoid feeling even more guilty for needing to be rescued again) Like, in the last three episodes, I totally get the excitement of being reunited to Fitz, the new wave of energy and strength at seeing him, and wanting to make out with him because she also expresses herself physically, but making jokes about having been a slave that are a one-liner and forgotten, and already in this episode encouraging everyone about the Zephyr, encouraging Fitz about changing the past, it just made me think: can she realistically have all that energy, hope, patience, after the horrible time she spent under Kasius' control, powerless, silent, the very opposite of Jemma Simmons, and this right after the mess of the Framework, which was right after the LMDs' horror? Even repression can only go so far, and not for 854894 traumas one after the other, and from there to being so nonchalant and hopeful it takes a lot

As much as I love the general idea of characters staying hopeful and playful and happy, in her context I just can't see it happening in a realistic way, not when it comes to her right there and then, so when I write I will write her differently and she might even break under stress, doesn't matter if she *has* to keep her head on, because sometimes it's just not a choice.

#very long rant because I wanted to explain for once in a post what I don't like about this #like it's seriously long #I was worried about posting because I don't want to insult anyone but... I'm just pointing out the kind of plots I don't like and why #not saying they are objectively bad but only the way they feel to me. And I think it's clear I still adore all my rp threads #this is disconnected and about my problems with canon and what they make me want to write about instead or what I need to write differently #imagine if your canon character did several things you can't imagine a real person do and you cannot come up with the thoughts #and emotions behind those actions. what do you? you stop writing or you need to change something.I want to change the actions.#ooc #aos negativity #I'll probably only post about this now to let it be out there #aos wank #I don't know what to tag it #but with me having been such a big FS fan since s2 and so vocal in the rp community even back then about loving them #it seemed time to just say it and also accept that this is how it is and if I want to write them I have to make changes

2 notes · View notes

mirkwoodshewolf · 8 years ago

Text

You are mine, mine to me pt. 2

Here is second part of you are mine, mine to me. Here is where we’re introduced to our LOTR/Hobbit characters and where the crossover truly begins. Be prepared for angst feelings, minor hints of malnourished but I promise you they end in fluff all things work out in the end :)

Taglist:

@evyiione

______________________________________________________________

When we landed I took notice that we were surrounded by nothing but green landscape and a huge forest was just ahead of us. Soon I could hear the sound of horses’ whinnying coming close to us, then riding up to us was a male elf with long blonde almost whitish hair, blue eyes and wearing elvish riding clothes. He had on a quiver full of arrows and a bow strapped to his back, his face stern as he rode up to me and Thor which made me feel even more scared especially since now I didn’t have daddy to comfort me. Along with him were what I assumed to be the guards uncle Thor spoke of back on Asgard.

“Is this the child you spoke of?” The male elf said.

“Yes Legolas Thranduilion, this is her”. The elf known as Legolas whom grandma claimed to be the name of my big brother skillfully and was grace got off his white horse and came up to me softening his eyes as he began to observe me.

“May I see your right hand young one?” I turned to Uncle Thor for approval and he nodded and said.

“Go on”. I slowly moved my sleeve up and shyly showed him my right hand. He took it with the most gentlest of touches and he turned my hand over palm facing up revealing my star birthmark on the underside of my wrist. Legolas’ eyes seemed to widen then he looked into my eyes and he muttered.

“You have her eyes, and the same mark”. He then revealed that he had the same birthmark I did on the same hand, same place. He and I locked eyes with each other and I heard one of the guards say as I was taken by my supposed older brother.

“But it can’t be—”

“But it is Feren, this is my sister”. Soon the Elvish guard placed their right hand over their hearts and kneeled before me. Even though I’ve been raised as a princess in Asgard, seeing these Elves bow before me felt a little weird almost not right because I had been raised in Asgard my whole life, and now I’m suddenly taken from the comforts of my own home and placed into a new place as a true princess from an isolated realm. “Thank you Thor Odinson, we’ll take her home now”. Thor nodded his head then he turned to me.

“It’ll be alright (y/n), never forget that I’ll always still see you as my little niece, whenever I can I’ll come to visit you soon”. He gently rubbed my head and kissed the top of my head and soon he called Heimdell to open the Bifrost and soon the only family of Asgard I had left was gone.

“Guards, tolo, let us return my sister to her true home”. Legolas stated. I was soon put on the back of my brother’s horse and he skillfully hopped behind me and he whispered. “Hold on tight sister”, he then urged his horse onward and soon we were riding off towards the forest with the guards following us on their horses.

As we rode deep into the forest, we soon came across a bridge leading into a great stone door with two guards at their posts. Legolas got off the horse and he lifted his arms out toward me and he helped me get off the horse but still held me in his arms. We walked over the bridge where just ahead a water fall stood proud and a river ran below the bridge, he then said in Elvish for the guards to open the doors which they did and soon we were inside the palace.

Weaving trails were all over the place, it looked more like a cave and a tree combined into one rather than a palace, if too many people walked along these winding paths, they’d drop thousands of feet into who knows what. Light dangled down from lamps made of tree and sap, and light from the sun came in and out from the cracks in the trees. We kept walking along the winding path until we stood before a large tree-like throne with branches extended outwards from the crown almost like very large antlers. Sitting on the throne was a male elf that almost looked exactly like my so called brother but his features were more dangerous almost like he could snap at any moment if I wasn’t who everyone thinks I am.

“Is this the girl, Legolas?”

“Yes adar, and I’ve confirmed it myself, not only does she have mother’s eyes and looks, but she bares the mark of our kin on her right wrist.” The elf king stood up and walked down from the throne slowly with grace but also pride. He then stood before the two of us and held out his hand for me to take. I just looked up at him then down to his hand and the back up again and again frightenedly.

“Don’t be scared dear one, I just wish to see if what my son says is true”. His voice confused me, it sounded warm and velvet like honey dripping from its hive but it also held great authority and commanding like thunder. I looked up at his eyes to see they were alluring blue like the sky and the ocean met to form his color or eyes, but he expressed such comfort assuring me that nothing bad was going to happen to me (at least I hope not). I gave him my hand slowly and already had it palm up so that he could see my mark and when he did, his eyes widened in shock. He looked up at me and took me away from the Prince and just looked up and down at me and stared into my eyes.

After awhile in nothing but complete silence, it was finally broke by his whisper.

“You are her. By the Valar you are her. Look at you—you’ve grown so much”. He brought me close to him, my head resting on his shoulder and I could hear and feel him crying. “You’re alive. I can’t believe you’re really here”.

So it is true.

I really am the lost daughter of the elf King of Álfheimr. I soon then felt what I assumed my brother hugged me from behind resting his head on my back as both he and my father cried tears of happiness.

But why wasn’t I?

I just felt empty inside and my head was full of questions that didn’t make sense, I also felt this great deal of pain in my chest right around my heart. Even though I was with my real father and big brother, this didn’t feel right. Not like it was back on Asgard, with my dad—Loki.

I was then escorted to my room by Thranduil and when we got there I took notice that I had all the normal stuff a bedroom should have. A dresser, a mirror, a large bed with dark green silk sheets and the bed rails design was curved and twisted around exactly like everything else in this tree palace.

“This was and always has been your room. Anytime I could I would always come down here to see you, even if it was during meetings or political matters, the council was never happy about it but I didn’t care. But after you were—well when I thought you had died, it became harder and harder to come into this room without feeling the most agonizing heartache. Soon it came to just not coming in here at all, but I still ordered the maids to keep it clean, hoping by that some miracle that you would soon return to me, and would want to sleep in a clean room and not one filled to the brim with dust”. I walked in slowly and then sat on the bed. It was nice and soft but it still didn’t feel like the bed I had back on Asgard, but I guess I can’t think about Asgard anymore since this is my home now.

“King Thranduil, sir—”

“Oh pen tithen, there’s no need for formalities around me, we are family after all, but if you still need time I understand. This seems to be quite a lot to take in, isn’t it?” I nodded solemnly. “But don’t be frightened, your brother and I shall answer any questions you need, I’ll have him bring you up a nice Elvish meal before bedtime, is that alright? You are hungry, aren’t you?” Now that he mentioned it, my stomach did softly growl. Embarrassed, I wrapped my arms around my stomach trying to hide the sound only to hear Thranduil chuckle softly. “I will take that as a yes” he stood up and then walked out of the room leaving me to my thoughts.

A few minutes later, my brother came in with a tray of food. Salads, bread, fruit, and a cup of water.

“Father asked me to bring dinner to you, we’ll give you some time to adjust before we ask you to join us at the dining area where we normally eat”. He set the tray down and when I only took notice of the food the elves eat. I started to miss all the things I ate back on Asgard. Many different kinds of the meats, the unlimited amounts of fruits while on this tray I only see apples and grapes, and this bread was small and in the shape of a square, not long foot rolls that seemed longer than my arm. “I know it’s going to take some time to getting use to our customs, but you’ll soon see the light of your true heritage. Tomorrow I’ve cleared my schedule with training the guards to show you around the kingdom. Also so that I can spend some time with my little sister”. I remained silent for a bit just staring solemnly at the food.

Realizing I didn’t really want to talk, Legolas got my message and said as he stood up.

“Anyways, the food will give you strength, and get some rest afterwards, I’ll check up on you in a couple of hours to see how you’re getting along”. Just before he reached the door I asked him.

“What was my birth name?” I looked up at him and he turned to me as he had the door opened and he said.

“Estel, father named you Estel meaning hope, shortly after mother died giving birth to you, you were his light and hope from falling into despair and dying of a broken heart”. I looked down and soon heard the door softly close signaling that the prince had left the room.

I looked hesitate at the food and just couldn’t even think about eating anything. I set the tray on the dresser by my bedside and covered myself up with the sheets. My stomach was empty and my mind was full, and the saying of when your stomach is empty and your mind is full, it’s always harder to sleep. Along with that my heart felt heavy as I began to remember that by now back on Asgard, daddy and I would be in my room right now, with him reading a story to me, showing me some last minute magic, or just simply being there with me until I fell asleep

I miss daddy so much. I miss Asgard. I miss my room, my toys, everything. Even though I’ve been told the truth by grandma—I mean Queen Frigga, I still don’t know why I can’t accept this fate. My chest began to hurt and tears fell down my face as I whimpered and sobbed into the soft white pillow until I had cried myself to sleep

*Meanwhile back on Asgard*

Loki had stayed isolated from everyone ever since (y/n) left, he hasn’t spoken to anyone and seemed to be walking like Hel itself had gotten ahold of him and sucked out his soul. As he was walking through the halls of the palace, he decided to go into a room but the room he went into wasn’t his own.

It was his daughter’s.

His heart grew heavy as he came into the room hoping to see his precious starlight asleep in the bed, but all he got was a made up bed, fully ruffled up pillows, and a doll leaning against the pillow. He sat down on the bed and picked up the doll and began to break down softly hugging the doll close to his chest.

He had wished that he had never allowed her to be at the Bifrost, he wished that he could’ve snuck into her room and told her to pack up her stuff and the two of them could’ve ran away together, somewhere far, far away from Asgard, he could’ve concealed them both in a magic barrier so that even Heimdell’s eyes could not see them. He had the power to take them away, so why didn’t he stop this from happening?

Loki continued to sob softly right through the night, never once letting go of the doll.

*A few days later*

I had been given the tour of my new kingdom, I was granted into the Elvish heritage and had a celebration in my honor for my return to the throne of Álfheimr. But through all the celebrations, the feasts and getting reacquainted with my real father and brother, the ache in my heart never ceased, in fact every day it seemed to grow worse. I don’t sleep, I barely eat, and everyday unless I’m forced to come out I’m in my room lying on my bed crying just like now.

The pain in my chest was agonizing that I could barely even get out of bed without it hurting so much. What did I do to deserve to feel this pain in my chest? Why me and not anyone else? I heard my door opening and I felt a gentle dip by my bedside and a voice said.

“Estel, please you must get up and stop this mopping. It is not good for you to stay like this forever”. It was Thranduil who had come to see me. I moaned in pain and cried out.

“Why does it hurt? Why does it hurt so much?” Suddenly without warning the pain felt like Uncle Thor’s lightning as I screamed in agony and cried. My father sat there in shock and tried to comfort me but I just kept thrashing and screaming in agony about the pain. Then my vision went black.

*Thranduil’s POV*

As I held my daughter I couldn’t help but feel powerless of what to do for her, I could only hold her and tried to whisper comforting words into her ear as I rocked her but when she went still, my heart sunk.

“Estel? Estel? No, no, no pen tithen you can’t leave me again. Guards! GUARDS PLEASE HELP!!!!” Her doors opened and two of my guards came in and took my daughter to the medical wing of the palace. My healers were surrounding my daughter who was as still as a statue, her small, frail body showing me the self-abuse she had done to herself. Her lack of eating had made her almost skin and bones and her normal pale skin had become deathly pale white and dark circles were under her eyes from lack of sleep.

“Adar! Adar! What’s happened?” My son Legolas soon came up to me asking what was wrong with our Estel but all I could answer was.

“I don’t know, they haven’t told me yet of what’s wrong with her”. Soon our head Healer Elrond came out and I begged to him. “Elrond, mellon what’s wrong with my daughter?”

“I am sorry to have to tell you this Thranduil, but I’m afraid your daughter is dying”.

Those words. Those three words are one think a parent never wants to hear about their child.

“What do you mean?” Legolas demanded.

“Based on her self-malnourishment and the pain she’s been claiming to have, she’s dying of a broken heart. Probably due to the fact that she misses her family on Asgard”.

“But she belongs here, she can freely visit them and we’ve already agreed to that”.

“But it won’t be the same, I’m sorry Prince Legolas but even if she were to visit her family there, the minute she comes back here it’ll start all over again, I’m sorry”, but there’s nothing else me or any of my healers can do for her. Elrond then walked away and I just kept staring at my daughter through the glass begging to be by her side and hold her telling her I was there, but I knew deep down it wouldn’t matter to her.

I then left for my bed chambers without another word on the matter.

My thoughts began to battle against each other, I couldn’t lose my daughter again. Not after I had finally found out that she was alive after all these years, but I don’t want her to suffer while she’s here. I just want what’s best for her, and I can’t stand to see her suffer because of me.

I guess it’s clear now for what I must do.

*Time skip TO ASGARD!!!!*

The suns of Asgard had just set over the horizon and nightfall came upon the city of gold. Loki as usual was in his daughter’s room lying on her bed when a knock came at the door.

“Go away!” Loki croaked from the brokenness of his voice from crying.

“My Prince Loki, it is urgent”. Knowing that it was a guard and not his witless brother he slowly raised up and said.

“What is it?”

“Heimdell requires your presence”. Loki wiped away his tears and tried to make himself more presentable for the gatekeeper then went out to the stables and rode off along the rainbow bridge to the Bifrost. When he unmounted, Heimdell stood there with a cloaked figure standing before the gatekeeper. Heimdell said not a word but just left his post and walked out of the Bifrost leaving Loki alone with the cloaked figure. The figure turned to Loki and hands raised up to the hood and when the hood was taken down, Loki now stood in the presence of King Thranduil of Álfheimr.

“King Thranduil”. Loki said with a slight bow of the head.

“I come on behalf of one whom I love.” Loki looked at the Elf king in confusion before Thranduil stated again, “(Y/n) is dying”.

Loki’s heart stopped and his eyes widened as Thranduil continued,

“She will not survive the pain that is in her heart. The more time she’s away from Asgard, the more the pain becomes for her, she will not long survive in my homeland. That is why I’ve come to the ultimate decision, she must remain here with you Loki of Asgard”.

“But Thranduil, she is your daughter. You helped create her and give her life—”

“But you Loki of Asgard were the one to raise her. You saw her first steps, heard her first words, fed her, bathed her, and comforted her anytime she felt alone or afraid. Every milestone she ever had, you were the first to see it, and she’s grown to see you as her true father. To her, I’m just the elf King who took her away from you. Please, from one father to another, to save the life of the child we both love so deeply for, take her and continue to raise her as your own. Save her from Hel’s touch before it takes her away from the both of us forever, please. I would rather have her be happy than to see her at the hands of death”.

Loki looked into the Elf King’s eyes and saw that he was telling the utmost true, the Elf King for the first time in centuries had tears forming in his eyes and his facial expression was one of brokenness and a father’s desperate plea to save the life of his child.

Not wasting another minute, Loki summoned Heimdell back in and he then took the God of Mischief and the Elf King back to Álfheimr.

At the palace everyone was gathered around the princess who was lying in a silver glassed casket. When Loki saw the sight of his little starlight, he couldn’t believe that this was what had become of her. He turned to Thranduil and the Elf King nodded. Loki then slowly walked up towards the casket and knelt down beside her. All the Elves sorrow-filled that they would lose their returning princess and fearing that there was no hope left to bring her back.

Loki softly stroked a strand of hair away from her face and whispered to her.

“I love you (y/n)”. He then kissed her forehead lovingly as tears fell down his face. As he separated from me, something happened.

Suddenly a bright wave came out of (y/n)’s body and the wave seemed to give everyone some hope, and their hearts only grew when the princess opened her eyes and took a quick gasp of air.

*My POV*

I opened my eyes to see daddy kneeling beside me.

“Daddy?”

“Oh starlight!” He cried my nickname. I leaned up and raised my hand up to see if this was a dream, seeing my hesitation he chuckled softly and brought my hand to his cheek and he said. “This isn’t a dream darling, I’m really here”.

“Oh daddy!” I hugged him and he hugged me back and repeatedly kissed me all over my face. We separated from each other and I said to him “the pain in my chest is gone, what caused it daddy?”

“Well darling, you were feeling very, very sick. Thranduil came to Asgard and brought me here hoping that I could help, and it turns out I did. You’re gonna be just fine now”.

“Does—does this mean you’re going back to Asgard now?” I asked tears forming in my eyes thinking that this would be the last time I would see daddy again.

“No darling, Thranduil and I talked, and he feels that it’s best you come back home with me, in case you get sick again”. I looked at him surprised and said.

“Really?”

“Really, really”. He kissed my forehead and held me close to him and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders as tight as I could. I then saw Thranduil and Legolas looking at me with empathy eyes but they still looked sad at me leaving them again. I began to think of an idea and when it came to me, I tapped daddy on the shoulder and whispered in his ear of my plan. “Oh darling, you’re kind heart never ceases to amaze me”. He stood up with me still in his arms and he followed Thranduil and Legolas who were walking away.

“Thranduil” he and my brother stopped and turned to us and daddy said again, “firstly I would like to thank you for allowing me to continue raising (y/n), she has meant the world to me, and helped me find my old self after a very long time”.

“She does have that effect on people, and please as I said before, I would rather see her happy than be forever bound to her grief. Take care of her Loki of Asgard”.

“Hold on, there’s another part of the deal I would like to add,” Thranduil and Legolas looked at us confused then daddy continued, “I will continue to raise her as my own, I will love and care for her just as I did before. But what I would like to add, is in return on your end of the deal, you and Legolas come to Asgard every once in awhile to visit, and the same vice-versa and allow us to come here to Álfheimr just so that (y/n) can still remain close to her Elvish heritage”. Both the Elf King and Elf Prince looked at us in shock and Legolas said.

“Really?”

“Yes, even though I didn’t show it at first because I was missing Asgard and my daddy so much, I just want to thank you both for trying to make me feel as comfortable as possible. And I know I didn’t say it as much but I do love you Adar and Muindor”.

Hearing me call them father and brother, it made them smile and bring tears to their eyes. I had daddy set me down and I walked up to them and I was then picked up by my brother and I solemnly said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make things easy for you guys or the people of Álfheimr”.

“You don’t need to apologize for that pen tithen, we understand. You had grown accustomed to living in Asgard and to suddenly be thrown into a whole new lifestyle with a new family was too much for you to handle. We will always still love you, our little Estel”. Legolas said as he gently kissed my forehead and held me close to him as Adar joined in wrapped his arms around his son and leaned his head against mine kissing my hair. We stayed that way for a bit then Adar took me back to daddy and he said.

“Make sure you honor your end of the bargain God of Mischief”.

“I maybe one of mischief and lies, but this deal will never be broken by my silver tongue, so long as you hold your end of the bargain”.

“It shall be held, from one father to another”. My daddy and Adar nodded to each other then daddy said to me.

“Hold on tightly sweetheart, Heimdell open the bridge!” Soon we were surrounded by the bright colors and once again I stood on the Bifrost looking out at the kingdom that was and will always be my home. “Come on darling, let’s go home”. I nodded and leaned against my daddy’s shoulder and he walked towards his horse and we both rode off back to the palace.

In the years to come, my daddy and Adar both kept their promises and Álfheimr and Asgard were once again allied realms. I learned and grew to be both Asgardian and an Álfheimr elf learning how to wield a bow and arrow thanks to my big brother and a sword thanks to my Adar. I grew up on both heritages and I will never forget that while I was born an Álfheimr elf, I was raised as an Asgardian.

For Loki of Asgard is mine, mine to me just as I am to him.

#loki x child reader #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson #fluff #angst #thranduil x child reader #thranduil #legolas greenleaf

441 notes · View notes