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scarlettsandmaroons · 2 years

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she doesn't think of me | n. romanoff

about me | series masterlist | natasha romanoff masterlist

pairing: professor!natasha romanoff x collegestudent!reader

chapter two | chapter three: midnights like this

chapter summary: your professor is targeting you and neither you or your bestfriend are having it. she however, doesn't seem to care about you at all.

warnings: natasha is mean.

a/n: this was rushed, i'm sorry! should've posted this last night, but i was so busy i just decided to squeeze writing this chapter into my schedule. it's really short too, rest assured, the next one will be better!

you were on natasha romanoff's radar. and you want so badly to get out of it.

"oh i'm sure she'll soften up! mrs. romanoff is nice!" billy insisted, but you carried on basically dragging yourself into yet another dreadful hour with mrs. romanoff.

"it's been three months, billy! i don't know what to do," you threw your arms up and then caressed your face with your hands, wanting so deeply to cry into it.

the two months being mrs. romanoff's favorite student hasn't exactly been the easiest. after handing off a couple of late assignments, which you had stacks and stacks of from her, you were surprised she hadn't pulled some strings to suspend you.

she would very often tear your paper in front of you. she would call you into her office just so you can watch her tear the last 15 hours you spent in pieces before throwing it away. she never lets you off of class without calling you at least 3 times. never leaving out some commentary after you answer that would make you embarrassed to the core. she pointed out your shortcomings in class. she made sure to always always let everyone know what and when you're doing wrong. and after all that humiliation, what aggravates you is how she doesn't, at all, acknowledges your existence outside of class. you would pass her by the halls, you would see her near the gate, never once would she make eye contact, or even look in your direction. she wouldn't even do so much as breath in your direction!

to her, it's nothing.

"do you want me to talk to her?" billy asked. she's been the subject of almost all your conversations with billy. and he has so patiently listen to your every rant about her.

"how would you even," you were hopeless. you would leave, but you're already too far into it. she had humiliated you way too much to back out now. you didn't go through months of torture just to leave. to her, you're not even relevant. you're just another student who couldn't withstand her. leaving would hurt your pride more.

so you straightened your back, and marched like someone truly eager to learn. "i'm sick of her nonsense. i'll show her what i'm made of."

you certainly didn't show her what you were made of when as soon as your name rolled off her tongue with strength and almost anger, you folded. you curved. you balled. whatever one might call it. you caved. you gave in. all sense of even an ounce of bravery was washed away by trembling fear. intimidation. you'd come to learn of that feeling the very first time you met her, it still surprises you how you've yet to get accustomed to it.

you stood up, slowly. here it comes. you know it’s coming. you have a visual bulleted list of everything you could’ve possibly done, everything you have done that she has yet to shame you for. just yesterday, you bumped into her in the hall. literally, bump into her. the moment you felt the impact of her shoulder against yours, you made sure to avoid her eyes at all cost. you walked away like your life depended on it. you weren’t going to be subjected under one of her condescending gazes again which sheer sharpness of will have you begging for her forgiveness in seconds. you didn’t acknowledge her, or that it happened, not out of pride, but out of fear. she was already scary enough, and until yesterday, you hadn’t really done much to piss her off.

before that however... you've done a few. for example, in class a few days ago. you know she saw you. you hadn’t slept in so long that day, you couldn’t keep your eyes open. billy was there to offer you his car to sleep on the moment you got off mrs. romanoff’s class. he fixed the back seat; set up his air bed and everything. that was the best sleep you had in days. the only sleep you had in days. you were surprised mrs. romanoff had yet to give you shit for that though. especially, when you’ve made eye contact with her the moment you woke up.

somewhere last week, you also handed a late assignment. the very first one she hadn’t called you to watch her tear off and throw away. you also have an overdue paper you hadn’t even got the privilege of a free time to start doing. and you’re sure she hated the heels you wore two days ago from the judgmental look she shot your way after getting a glimpse of the maroon stilettos.

mrs. romanoff is like a ticking timebomb. one that could go off over something so obvious yet unforeseen you’d hate yourself for not thinking of. that’s what created your visual bulleted list of everything you had done for her to humiliate you, everything that she might embarrass you for, everything that you can choose from as to why she must hate you that very moment. it helps to have a list. to be able to predict what’s making her mad again. what about you today infuriates her? it’s like a game.

today, you’re guessing one of those three. of course you had done more. some you know, some you hadn’t realized she hates you for doing, some you don’t even realize you did.

she stood up and crossed her arms. you were so far from her; so many people in between. yet the way she stared at you made you feel like it was just the two of you. not in a good way. in fact, in the worst way. it’s like being left alone with a beast.

“you’re failing my class.”

you weren’t in high school anymore. that much was clear when she announced it to the whole class where a high school teacher would never go so far as too doing. but the line between high school and college became a blur when what were a few snickers became a full blown laughter of which mrs. romanoff only basked in. you wouldn’t be surprised be there was some kind of pride in her as the class erupted in laughter over her embarrassing you.

that was very on-brand of her. but it hurt you nonetheless. your heart dropped continuously until you can feel a dragging weight on your chest. to even make it out of the classroom was such a challenge as you could barely carry the weight that pulled at your heart. you held in your tears as you walked down the hall. you needed billy. it was an hour before lunch, billy’s in mr. barton’s class but you texted him nonetheless.

‘sos’, you sent him.

it was barely ten minutes later. by then, you were already sitting on a bench just outside of your campus building when he came running to see you forcing everything in until he was able to sit beside you and pull you to him. “i got you, y/n.” he says as he held your head against the crook of his neck where you just exploded in tears. you cried heavily against his shoulder; the three month worth of pent up frustration over your studies finally breaking free from your system. “let it all out.” he whispers while a hand rubs over your back and the other plays with your hair.

muffled words escape from your lips; complete incoherent. billy pulls you off of him, holding your shoulders and taking a good look at your face; red nose, eyes, and lips, all puffy and plump from crying, snot on your nose, tear stained cheeks, and wet eyes. he hadn’t seen you cry like this since you failed math in junior high.

“okay, now tell me. what’s wrong?”

you sniffled hard before running the back of your hand against your nose. you were looking past his shoulder as tears continue to pour from your eyes. “i failed english…” you cried.

“what?! but you’re an english lit girlie!” he says. “remember? and i’m a math wizard. how can you possibly fail english?!”

that made you cry much harder, pushing through the arms that held your shoulders so you can return to your place with your head against the crook of his neck. crying all the much more. “mrs. romanoff failed me…” you cried, lifting your head slightly so your words doesn’t come muffled. “but she tore off my homework! she refused to accept anything i submit her—"

“okay, that’s it.” billy stood up rather abruptly, holding you by the hand and marching off back to the campus.

you sniffled, trying to clear your sinuses. “what are you doing…?” you ask. he was holding so tightly on your hand, you could barely feel it as he drags you through the hallways and straight into mrs. romanoff’s office.

you weren’t able to stop him—you didn’t even know what he was going to do! and by the time everything was finished processing in your mind, billy had already started yelling at your professor who only watches intently from behind her desk. “how could you fail my friend!” he yells at her.

you were taken aback. you didn’t know what to do. you’re already in here, he already yelled at her, knowing mrs. romanoff, you both would suffer the same consequences as if you would have stopped him.

“goodmorning to you too, mr. maximoff.”

her chin was resting on the back of her hand. she was looking at him so intently, as if she was interested in everything he has to say—as if she’ll hear him out. you were getting the strongest sense of déjà vu. you’ve been here before. you knew how this was going to end. you knew how much this would amuse her. you knew because this happened to you.

“y/n doesn’t deserve that.”

you can hear it in billy’s voice. he was infuriated. he hated her perhaps maybe more than you did. it’s always been this way—the two of you. he’s always been the man who protected you; who shielded you; who fought for you. and you were always there holding his hand as he does so, ready to back him up.

“how come?”

but with mrs. romanoff, against mrs. romanoff, it was different. her eyes were trained on him and him only. she did nothing to acknowledge your presence—you wouldn’t even be too surprised if she hadn’t realized you were here. but from the slightest chance that she might be watching you, from the slightest chance that your hand holding billy’s were caught from her peripheral, you slowly withdrew your hand, and took just the smallest step away from him so your skin doesn’t touch.

you know billy noticed this but he seemed to not have given it much thought. he was in here fighting for you knowing full-well he’s risking his future, and yours, in this university. you holding each other’s hand and being mistaken as a couple is not going to help your case. you deserve to be here. and you don’t deserve what you were given. and billy knows that. the last thing you want is for mrs. romanoff to further disregard your efforts, or any of the very little chance you have of winning this because she thought billy’s only doing this because you’re “his girlfriend”.

“she was the best in our grade!”

“i think you mistake this university for a small-town public school in west view,” she fixed her posture, straightening up when she pushes her chair further into the table and her hands rest on her desk.

“she doesn’t deserve this, and you know that! she worked day and night for your subject,” billy insists.

“i fear for her future if that’s the best her entire day’s work is worth for.”

you shrunk. you slowly hid behind billy though you were aware they both noticed. you wanted to cry. to scream into a pillow. she belittled you. and she did so without even acknowledging you at all, your presence to her was nothing. if you couldn’t see the way you hand was trembling, you would think you were invisible. from the way they were talking about you, to the way they were exchanging arguments as if you weren’t there. the very sole reason they’re even arguing, they almost pretend to not be here at all.

“that’s unfair. maybe you’d see how it’s worth if you’d even take the time to look at what she gives you before throwing it off.”

“why would i even give time for an output worth nothing more than what i throw in my trash can?”

“you are unfair! you give her all these work—,” billy’s voice raised to an extent you’ve never heard of, and even you were almost scared, but of course, mrs. romanoff wasn’t even fazed, if anything, she seemed to be getting bored of this whole thing.

her hooded eyelids dropped halfway, and her eyebrows tightened by the smallest bit. her patience was growing thin. and from the way her jaw clenched, you knew she was over it.

“and you are being disrespectful, mr. maximoff.” she said sternly.

“you’re biased. you humiliate her in class, you embarrass her, you pick on her. i don’t see you doing that to others. at least not to the same extent you do her. you’re wearing her off!”

by then you knew this shouldn’t go any further. he was blatantly disrespecting a professor, who as much as you hate, shouldn’t be disrespected by a student. at least, not to the extent billy was going for.

“and you, come in here accusing me; questioning me, a professor, with absolutely no regard for the inconsistencies and rather meritless of your argument.”

“i demand to see your grading sheet, because i assure you, you are making a mistake.”

mrs. romanoff abruptly stood up, placing both hands on the surface of her desk as she leaned towards it with anger painted across her features. “and i demand!... mr. maximoff,” her voice raised, and something about it, the coldness, the sharpness, the loudness, the entirety of it, almost made you cry. you were scared, your rapid heartbeat was evidence of that. “…that you leave. you have exhausted my patience. and i assure you, you will have no office of mine to barge into, or a university to attend if you further push your luck which i guarantee you is not more than what you’d have when you’re standing on very thin ice.”

“you wouldn’t…”

you put a hand on his shoulder. he was really pushing it. and mrs. romanoff wasn’t someone who you should be pushing it with. mrs. romanoff follows through. that much is evident as she consistently tore off your paper, without fail, every time you submit it.

“oh i’m sure you wouldn’t love to see me try.”

billy gave into her warning, but more so into you. you tolerated him—this, to a certain extent, especially since he was only fighting for you. but there’s a line, and with mrs. romanoff, it’s not something you should ever dare cross. billy listened to your implied warning too. he always listened to you. so with a scoff, he took your hand and prepared to leave, but as he was approaching the door, you pulled your hand from him to look at mrs. romanoff who, for the first time since you came in, finally was looking at you.

“are you going to continue being like this?” you asked. you weren’t as mean as billy was. you weren’t demanding. you were just sad. hopeless, almost.

“being what, miss y/n?”

“unreasonable.” you whispered but you know she heard you.

“if you see a reason for me not to be, then i wouldn’t.”

“don’t you think about how that might affect my future?” your voice was soft, kind.

“oh, i don’t think about you at all.”

her voice wasn’t. she was cold, almost proud; condescending.

a feeling inside you brewed. something about her eyes. how delicate they are. how enchanting. it couldn’t possibly belong to what a wretched-hearted woman she seems to be. she’s inviting, enticing. something about her pulls you in. intrigues you. now more than ever. now since ever.

you want to break mrs. romanoff. you want to see who she really is. not for revenge, not to hold it against her. simply because you’re curious. you’re aching to see mrs. romanoff—natasha. she couldn’t possibly just be that. mean.

she is not just that.

#ath: natasha romanoff #ath: natasha romanoff series (wasn't midnight rain)#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff series #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel smut #marvel imagine #mcu #mcu fanfic #mcu smut #mcu imagine #billy maximoff #billy maximoff fanfic

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studentinpursuitofclouds · 4 months

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Hello there~! I dunno what happen, but I'm in a mood for some angsty stuff, so here we go.

Imagine if the Farmer and the SVE Adventurer were surrounded by monsters / ruffians / etc. Suddenly, a surprise attack aimed towards the SVE Adventurer. But, instead stricken by it, the Farmer shielded them. Now as the Farmer laid injured (probably even unconscious), what would they do? How would they react?

Thank you for giving me your time reading my question! ^^

Hey hey 👋

Sure thing! 😊 And have a good day! 💕

_________________________________________

Isaac:

Depending on the situation itself and what kind of enemies have surrounded the two of them, Isaac's actions and reaction will be different. If Farmer is lightly wounded and the two of them are surrounded by simple milksuckers and weaklings (some young and stupid adventurers), Isaac will quickly break their noses and look at Farmer over his shoulder.

"Tsk..." Scratched, so what? They're an adventurer, so stop whining, Farmer. Ugh, so annoying... "Next time, don't play brave if you can't even stand up for yourself. I didn't ask for your help."

In a situation where the opponents are dangerous monsters in Crimson Badlands, Isaac immediately takes an olfactory stance, protecting the unconscious Farmer.

"Idiot! Found a time to make a hero out of yourself! Get up, you hear me!? Get up!"

The scarred adventurer is angry at Farmer, who has put themself and Isaac in a dangerous situation. Once both are safe and the Farmer comes to their senses, Isaac pours out not-the-most-flattering words on their head, calling them a stupid fool. Behind those words, however, was just as much Isaac's concern for them and their wellbeing. But Farmer doesn't need to know that.

Lance:

Lance, of course, thanked the Farmer that they had shown such a willingness to protect him from a bunch of bullies, but Lance himself is no damsel in distress. After all, the gallant adventurer is a second-of-command of The First Slash Clan, and is accordingly a very skilled warrior not only of the sword, but also of magic. Therefore, the bunch of hooligans didn't stand a chance either. Lance have no time to find out why they decided to harass him and Farmer, as the losers cowardly ran away. Well be it, the important thing now was to see if Farmer was alright.

"Thank you for your help, my friend, but I must assure you that I could have handled it myself. I wouldn't want you to suffer because of people who had a problem with me personally."

However, when the battle with the monsters became so dangerous that even Lance found it hard to retreat (what to speak of defeating the monsters), here he was not so confident in his abilities anymore. Farmer who had protected him from the sudden blow from behind, was a shock to him, but Lance quickly recovered and teleported himself and Farmer out of the battle. Thankfully their wound wasn't fatal, but the pink-haired man was riddled with worry.

"I'm glad you're ok, my dear friend. But let's not do it again, agreed?". He certainly doesn't want his friends dying for him, especially if the situation is Lance's own fault. Please don't do this again, Farmer.

Alesia:

"Bravery and courage are the traits of a true adventurer, but you shouldn't get into a fight if you can't even stand up for yourself, let alone someone else." Alesia cares for her young charges, and she certainly had a few young warriors that were always getting into fights for their mates, but didn't know how to fight at all. How can you save a drowning man when you can't swim yourself? So the sniper took the responsibility to teach the youngsters how to fight, but also to remind them that they should not get into any fight if the dispute can be solved peacefully. That's what she wants to teach the Farmer as well, even if they aren't officially her student. Still, she is grateful for the bravery they have shown.

When Farmer will protect her again, but already on the battlefield with shadow people, the girl will not be so restrained in her emotions. She... had lost many comrades, and Farmer, the young adventurer she had grown attached to as well, could become another victim. The situation could have become very nasty, but luckily everything was handled. And after making sure that nothing threatened their lives, Alesia would scold them so badly that Farmer would still be sitting red as a tomato for a long time.

"What in the Yoba's were you thinking! Didn't I tell you that earlier?"

Farmer will have nothing to answer here, and Alesia will then think about the possibility of taking Farmer under unofficial tutoring. Or convincing Marlon to teach Farmer so they think rationally and don't throw themselves under the monster's claws the first chance they get.

#sve #stardew valley expanded #stardew valley #sdv #sve lance #sve isaac #sve alesia #sve headcanons #thanks for the ask!

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 5 months

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Flight of the Sparrow (part 2)

Young!Elendil x reader. This is part two of two.

An arranged marriage fic. Also starring Raumos, the (assistant) Sail Master!

Sexual themes are touched but not elaborated upon.

*****

“So, what do you think? I hear I have missed a performance or something of the sort?” Raumos asked. The assistant Sail Master had just returned from his moment of intimacy with the blonde prostitute, several pieces of silver lighter but in an excellent mood, a sign his coin had been well-spent “And why are you alone? Do not tell me none of the girls present strikes your fancy.”

Elendil shrugged; he had returned to the first room following the other attendees only a few minutes before, and his mind was still focused on the match he had witnessed - on the bravery and fighting ability the Sparrow had demonstrated, her resilience and cleverness in facing a much bigger, stronger opponent. He was happy she had won, and since all seemed to suggest she would fight a new opponent in a month, he would have to ask his friend to procure another coin for him, because he wanted to see her again.

To see her, and maybe even to talk to her.

“That is not it; I am simply… not in the mood for it.” he explained vaguely; Raumos looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Forgive me for saying it, but given what awaits you, I’d indulge in the pleasures of the flesh whether I was inclined or not. At least you will have something pleasant to think back to if the woman your father has chosen for you is not of your liking.”

The assistant Sail Master was right, Elendil reflected as he took a cup of wine -of a considerably lower quality than the one he had tasted soon after his arrival at the arena; it was to be expected, probably, since most of the attendees were by now too drunk to appreciate the difference, or more interested in other types of pleasure- from a passing tray and looked around him. That was not exactly his last night of freedom, but his marriage would take place before the end of the month, and he ought to make the best of the time he was left - specifically, making good memories and enjoying the company of women of his choice, if only those whose company he would have to pay for. Even if he were not expected to remain faithful to his wife, Elendil did not want to regret the evening he had wasted, especially considering that Raumos had brought him there chiefly to distract him and cheer him up.

“Forgive me, my friend. It is not that I do not appreciate your effort, but…”

“Elendil, you know this sort of concern is not necessary between us.” the assistant Sail Master reassured him with a smile “I am worried for you, and in any case spending an evening here is a sacrifice I am more than willing to make. I am sorry if you do not like it.”

The young soldier rushed to say he was more than enjoying the evening, whether he did find a woman to spend a moment of intimacy with or not. Around him the feast seemed to have reached his peak, with men and women coupling on any surface available, including the table from which most of the food and drink had already been taken; a symphony of moans and curses filled the air, and suddenly Elendil felt himself suffocating.

“I need air; I am going outside for a minute.” he said, passing his cup to Raumos, who seemed enticed by the graces of the girls once more; his blonde friend had been joined by a raven-haired colleague, and the two of them were now standing together on a chair, kissing as if their lives depended on it “And when I return I will look for a girl that I like, I promise.”

“You do not have to do it to please me, Elendil.”

“I know, I know. I will be back soon, I promise.”

Leaving the room, with its thick and hot air, made him feel better quickly. The armed men were still standing watch outside the door, and Elendil wondered whether he would be allowed in again, since he did not have another coin to present; he soon realised he did not care. Rather, he thought, it would be a relief.

The rain had stopped falling, its distinctive scent still permeating the air. Elendil walked slowly around the perimeter of the arena, enjoying the peace and relative quiet of the night as a gentle wind stirred the branches of the trees. He decided he would allow himself a brief pause before returning inside and making good on his promise to Raumos but, he realised, he felt indifferent to the prospect at best. Even if it turned out to be the best sex of his life, that did not change the fact that in less than a month, he would pledge the rest of his life to a woman who he had never even met.

This was what vexed him the most. Not the prospect of having to renounce meeting other women, or the possibility his wife was unattractive, or bad-tempered, or vapid; rather, it was the knowledge of such an important choice being made for him, without his approval or even just the consideration of his feelings, and there were worse destinies than having a spouse one did not love, especially if one had a promising career he could focus on and find satisfaction in, but he could not help it, he hated it, he felt trapped and exploited and unloved, and while he could not renounce his future and life packing a bag and running away to a place where no one would find him, Elendil could not help detesting the state of affairs he had been forced into…

He was so busy brooding on the not enviable future that awaited him, that he noticed he was not alone only a moment before walking into the other person. A stone bench stood at the centre of a small patch of grass at the back of the arena, under the leaves of a century-old holm tree; a person sat on it, completely unmoving if not for the gentle ripple of the wind through their clothes, and the fact they had never formally met did not stop Elendil from recognising the person who, alerted by the soft sound of his footsteps, had turned to look at him, piercing him with as intense a look as the one received by the challenger who had only a few minutes past left the arena in disgrace… and only slightly less hostile.

“Unlike any other woman present here tonight I am not interested in male companionship.” the Sparrow said when Elendil was still a few paces away “So if that is what you are looking for, I suggest you return inside.”

“No, that is not it!” the young soldier exclaimed; he advanced a little more, and when the moon’s soft light allowed them to actually look at each other, Elendil knew she had also recognised him “I was simply… well, enjoying a little peace. There is too much noise and confusion there.”

“There is indeed.” she agreed; Elendil saw her shoulders sag imperceptibly, and the hint of a smile appear on her lips, as if the young woman was reassured he would not bother her. The last thing he wanted was to change her mind, but the impulse to talk to her was overpowering.

“I… err, forgive me, but I was really impressed by your prowess as a fighter.” the young soldier said, forcing himself not to stammer “You were truly exceptional, worthy of fighting in the arena - I mean, in the main one.”

“You… really believe so?”

“I know so. I have witnessed many fights here, and I do believe you would not look out of place among its champions.”

The woman bit her lip, clearly flattered. “Well… that is very kind of you to say. Had you… bet on me winning?”

Elendil said he had lacked the opportunity, but he clearly should have. “Do you need… I mean, would you like a goblet of wine, or something else? I can… go take it…”

He was sure he was making a fool of himself, like a boy half his age who had never spoken to a girl before, but fortunately the Sparrow did not seem to share his opinion. She smiled. “Thank you, but I have drunk enough for today.” she said; she hesitated for a moment, and then, almost shyly, she added: “You may sit, if it pleases you.”

Elendil quickly decided he did, and a moment later he was sharing the space on the bench with her; she was now wearing a cape, and she must have had the chance to visit a washroom, but her hair was still in disarray, her clothes wrinkled and damp with perspiration, the dark bruises around her eye and on her neck not covered by cosmetics. She did not seem upset or embarrassed at being seen in those conditions; Elendil decided he liked that, and for a few minutes they sat side by side, not speaking, content with enjoying the beauty of the star-lit sky over their heads.

“Is this your first time here at the arena?”

“It is; my friend led me. I had no idea such a place existed!”

“It is surprising.” she agreed, and smiled “Of course, no one joins this secret society to see me fight.”

He would have; Elendil felt himself blush. “Well… I do know it is against the law, but…”

The woman laughed gently, gesturing at him not to worry. “I am not your wife, which means I have no intention of judging you.” she pointed out “Worse crimes than paying for sex exist; and at least there are guards here who intervene if a client becomes too violent.”

Elendil agreed; for a moment he considered clarifying he was not married, but what difference would it make? After all, even if the vows were yet to be spoken and the dowry paid, he was spoken for, and he probably should not have been in what was for all purposes a private brothel in the first place. The young soldier had no honour to defend that night and he was bitterly aware of it.

“The Sparrow is a good name for a fighter.” he commented, making her giggle.

“When I arrived the previous champions were known as the Scourge of Romenna and the Bone-breaker. My fighter name is slightly less menacing.”

“And you beat them?”

“It was not easy, but I did.”

“Then I do believe no one will make fun of you.” Elendil stated; he liked conversing with her, he realised, much more than he did witnessing the debauchery taking place in the room under the arena “Who taught you?”

“A… friend. He was a career combatant, before changing professions; not many would think it was possible, let alone proper, for a girl to learn to fight, but he believed differently… even if we both knew I would have to keep my interest secret.”

“As far as I know there are no rules forbidding women from fighting in the arena. And while some would probably consider you nothing more than a novelty, I’m sure you would quickly change their mind if they saw you fighting just once.

“I know; and believe me, I would give half of my blood to compete there, or in any other real venue, just once, without having to hide. Sadly, my dream will never come true.”

“Why?” Elendil asked, captivated despite himself, and the young woman by his side turned to regard him; for a moment she seemed torn, as if she wanted to answer truthfully but deemed it inappropriate or unsafe for some reason.

“Let us say my father would not approve.” she said in the end, which Elendil supposed made sense; no matter how much trust they had in her strength and resilience and how sincerely they wanted to let her pursue her ambitions, no parent would lightly allow their daughter to take part in such a dangerous endeavour, considering the fighters in the arena would not be gentle with her on account of her sex.

“I am sorry.” he said; he was sincere, and she smiled, as if she had perceived that.

“I appreciate it. Thank you.”

They smiled at each other, at ease as if they had been acquainted for years, at ease as if a deep friendship -or an equally deep rapport of another sort- existed between them. Elendil realised he had not introduced himself, and was about to bridge the gap when he realised he must not: after all, even though they were doing nothing wrong and he was still unmarried, it would have been highly embarrassing -and his father would have killed him- had the news of his presence at that event spread in the city. The Sparrow seemed to be a decent person, she would probably keep his secret if he asked her to, but he had barely met her, could he really trust her with such a delicate issue?

In his heart, Elendil decided he could; still, he found out he lacked the courage to do it.

“Look! It is the Swordsman.”

“Excuse me?”

“The Swordsman in the Sky.” she repeated, a finger of her right hand raised to point at a particularly bright set of stars in the sky above their heads “It is my favourite constellation.”

Elendil nodded. “Yes; the Menelvagor.” he added, almost unconsciously translating the name in Sindarin; the Sparrow looked at him curiously.

“You speak the language of the Elves?”

“I do. I was taught it since I was a child; Elves love stars, so it was deemed important that I learnt the names of the most important constellations.”

“And you do know them?”

“I think I do.” he admitted with a smile; the young woman next to him sighed in evident envy.

“Oh, I wish I knew them as well…”

Elendil decided he did not like seeing her unhappy, no matter how inconsequential the reason. He taught her the names of the stars they could see from their point of observation, and the Sparrow learnt them quickly; when Elendil complimented her pronunciation she smiled, clearly flattered.

“You like stars, I seem to gather.”

“I do. My… mother was an astronomer; she spent nights staring at the sky, drawing maps and consulting some enormous books. Sometimes, even though I should have been in bed, I sat next to her, and she would tell me all the names and their characteristics, and even though I was too young to understand I’d listen avidly and try and remember…”

Bitterness touched her smile. “I like to imagine she is there now; among the stars.” she confided, looking at the hands resting on her lap “We do not know exactly what happens to our dead, and it comforts me to know… well, that even if she left me, she is now surrounded by the things she loved the most. Forgive me, I… I should not bore you with my ravings…”

“You are not raving; and even if you did you would be allowed to, if it brings you comfort.” Elendil argued; he did find her belief moving, certainly better than knowing the people they loved were decomposing in a casket underground “I… I also lost my mother, years ago. She had been sick for years, and… well, I do like to think that wherever she is, she is at least free from any ailment.”

“I am sure she is.”

They smiled at each other; the bench was more than wide enough, but their knees were almost brushing against each other. The night seemed to sing around them; Elendil saw her open her mouth to speak, but he never knew what she was about to say, since a moment later they both heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and without a real reason both hurried to put as much space between them as they could.

“Sparrow? I was looking for you.” the man who had joined them said; Elendil recognized the match’s master of ceremonies. He looked curiously at the young soldier before focusing on the woman “We have your reward, and your companion is looking for you.”

She sighed. “I better not leave him waiting then; thank you.” she said, and stood, clearly reticent to leave. She smiled at Elendil, but waited for the man to have left before speaking.

“Will I… see you again next month?” she asked “I… enjoyed talking to you, I would like to do it again.”

He had enjoyed it as well, just like he had enjoyed seeing her fighting; too much, probably, given what awaited him in a few weeks. “Nothing would make me happier.” he answered sincerely, standing as well “Truly. But I cannot.”

“I can ask the patrons for a coin; more than one, if… if you wanted to return again…”

She wanted him to return; Elendil felt his heartbeat accelerate, and for a moment -for a brief, precious moment- he felt ready to throw caution to the wind, and follow his instinct, and his feelings, to make that night worth it, maybe even unforgettable…

And then the moment passed.

“I am sorry.” he said, and hated himself for the way the Sparrow’s face immediately fell “Believe me, I would give anything to be able to return, and see you again, but… but I really cannot. I… I am not allowed.”

“I see.” she said; she clearly did not, and how could she?, but she smiled, taking a step back. “So this is good-bye; thanks for keeping me company.”

“It was my pleasure. Good-bye, woman of the stars.”

He looked on as she turned and walked away, and despite the warmth of the night Elendil suddenly felt cold.

“Compliment her. Tell her she is beautiful - I do not care if she is not, flattering words never hurt when you are talking to a woman. You can hold her hand to help her descend stairs or climb on a carriage, but nothing else; you do not want to be too forward, even though the marriage pact has already been signed. You have the gift? Be careful not to lose it, and please, Elendil, try talking about something other than ships and your training with the Sea Guard…”

Lord Amandil’s warnings and reprimands had accompanied him ever since they had left their home an hour earlier, and for the hundredth time in that interval Elendil bit his lip, forcing himself to listen and nod or shake his head when appropriate, without uttering a single word; he was already nervous without his father breathing down his neck, and his feet felt heavier with every step he took. At least, he attempted to comfort himself, the moment had finally come, and in an hour he would be home again. His marriage would take place in a month, not even an intervention of Eru himself could spare him the destiny his father had planned for him, but at least he would soon know what exactly awaited him, which was an improvement, he supposed, however small.

His father and soon-to-be father-in-law had decided the first meeting between the two future spouses would take place on a neutral ground, a garden in one of the city’s most elegant neighbourhoods. Elendil felt uncomfortable wearing the rich clothes his father had chosen for him, wishing he was instead at the harbour, busy with whatever task his captain had entrusted him with, free to forget, at least for the rest of the afternoon, of the burning injustice he was being subjected to. As they walked along the cobbled path, surrounded by the lush vegetation many of Armenelos’ citizens had decided to enjoy in that warm, sunny morning, the young soldier forced himself to straighten his spine and at least attempt to present himself well; it could not hurt to make a good impression.

He wondered what the state of mind of his intended was at that moment. Arranged marriage were often more difficult to deal with for women than for men; given the fact his future wife would still be untouched at the time of the wedding -Amandil’s trusted physician would examine her on the day before the ceremony; Elendil found the whole matter barbaric, and had asked his father to waive it, but even though his son, and not he, was the interested party, Amandil had refused to listen- she was perhaps nervous at the prospect of her first intimate experience being with a person she barely knew, or perhaps she had wished to share it with someone she had had to part from. Whatever the case, Elendil promised himself he would try and make the encounter as painless for her as possible; theirs was not a love match, or even just something they were taking part in willingly, but perhaps in time they could become friends, or at least learn to coexist without making each other unhappy.

“You look tired.” Amandil mentioned, glancing at his son, as they delved into the least crowded area of the garden “And pale.”

“I am fine, father.”

“I should hope so. No woman wants to meet a groom who looks like he has spent the night carousing and drinking.”

Elendil bit his lip again, refraining from what would have been a very disrespectful answer. The truth was, he had spent the night carousing and drinking; in the end, he had kept his promise to Raumos and had spent some time alone with one of the prostitutes after she had led him to a tiny secluded room. It had been pleasant, in a vaguely impersonal and mechanical way, and while the girl’s compliments for his body and prowess as a lover would have probably been given in any case, he had to admit his heart had not been completely involved. She had been his last partner as an unmarried man, and Elendil could not even remember her name - assumed she had been sincere in telling him.

Elendil looked at the small chest in his hands and wished desperately the whole affair would be worth it - at least a little.

“Ah, here they are!” his father said, an arm raised in greeting, towards a small pavilion, its iron-wrought dome covered by an elegant white tent, inside which three people were waiting; an older man who had quickly stood to return his father’s greeting, a younger individual who judging from his clothes and sword worn at the belt was a bodyguard, and a woman, who also stood slowly.

He could not see her face yet; but there was something in that simple and brief movement -the way she carried herself, the slow rising of her head to regard him, the colour of her hair- that had Elendil almost trip over his own feet.

“Do not lag behind.” his father instructed; the young soldier did not answer, and a moment later his future father-in-law walked to meet them, and was exchanging a formal embrace with Amandil before being presented to Elendil, who bowed low, still shaken.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

“The pleasure is all mine, my young friend. My daughter is eager to meet you.” the older man, tall and elegantly but sensibly dressed, answered; there was kindness in him, Elendil decided, and a sort of trepidation, as if he was also nervous about that meeting “Allow me to introduce the two of you.”

The woman had climbed down the few steps leading to the pavilion. Elendil felt her utter an odd sound, halfway between a cry and a moan -that voice- quickly silenced by a hand on her mouth, but as he covered the short distance, he found himself unable to raise his eyes to meet hers; blood was rushing in his ears, his heart beating twice as fast. It could not be. Or could it? Please… oh, please, if there is some justice in this world, if I have done something in my life to earn a stroke of luck…

“My darling, these are lord Amandil and his son Elendil.”

By now they were face to face, the armed guard hovering protectively behind the woman, but all Elendil could see were her delicate shoes, and the hem of her dress. He could feel his father tense beside him, ready to elbow him in the side. He had walked to that encounter without any expectation whatsoever, already bitter and angry at the whole affair, but now he realised there was an emotion he had not considered, and that threatened to make him feel worse than ever…

Disappointment.

He looked at her; the chest with the betrothal gift almost slipped from his grasp.

“My name is (name).” the Sparrow said, her tone firm; despite the strength and resilience he already knew she possessed for a moment Elendil feared she was about to swoon “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

There were stars on her dress, a delicate embroidery on the neckline, sleeves and hem; it was very pretty, and she was as well, and Elendil found the courage to tell her as they walked side by side in the gardens, followed by (name)’s father’s bodyguard, Almaran, from a distance.

“That is… very nice to say so, my lord.” she answered, openly flattered; she looked shyly at him before averting her gaze once more “My father wanted me to buy a new dress especially for this occasion, but I was able to convince him it would be appropriate for me to wear one of my mother’s old dresses.”

“It is an appropriate dress for an astronomer.”

“It really is.”

She walked slowly, her eyes kept demurely low, wringing her hands until she realised Elendil had noticed, and then she stopped, keeping them clasped in front of her.

Her behaviour could not have been more different from the frank, open and friendly attitude she had kept on the previous night, when the two of them had spoken outside the arena, and Elendil thought he knew why; the Sparrow -(name), he corrected himself; he had to be very careful when addressing her in public, but the young soldier did not doubt she would always be the Sparrow to him, at least in the privacy of his heart- feared he thought less of her now that he knew of her passion for fighting, and that he would share her secret with their fathers, shaming her and ruining her reputation.

Nothing could be farther from his intentions -and his feelings- and Elendil knew he needed to tell her as soon as possible, preferably while they were safe from prying ears; fortunately their fathers had conceded them a little time to get to know each other, and that was exactly what he wanted to do.

“Shall we sit?” he offered as they walked past another bench; he saw the woman next to him tense, and swallow, her gaze quickly moving to the man shadowing them ten paces behind as if to reassure herself. The bodyguard smiled at her, and then looked meaningfully at Elendil, his hand resting on the short sword hanging from his belt.

“Of course, my lord.”

He brushed away some leaves from the bench to allow her to sit; Elendil sighed, wondering how to best broach the subject, and then he decided straightforwardness could not hurt.

“I am not going to tell them.” he started softly, looking straight in front of him “I believe there is nothing inappropriate and shameful in what I saw you doing, but even if there was, I would keep my mouth shut.”

Slowly, she raised her gaze to look at him, unsure, as if not daring to believe. “Are you serious, my lord?”

“Elendil, please. I think we should call each other by name, given… well, the circumstances.”

Another smile, still shy, but still beautiful. “Elendil is a lovely name.” (name) commented “Does it… have a meaning? In the language of the Elves?”

“It has two, actually. It means either Elf-friend or One who loves the stars.”

“Oh, that is a name I would love to carry…”

“Well, I can lend it to you, if you wish, sometimes.” he offered, perfectly serious, and they both giggled. “I was serious.” he added softly a moment later “Your secret is safe with me, whatever happens. I swear.”

For the first time since they had been introduced, (name) looked openly at him. “You might change your mind one day.” she warned him; most of the bruises she had received during her match on the previous night had been covered by cosmetics, but the one of her neck was peeking out of her dress’ neckline “Especially considering I have been told you have been forced into this marriage just like I have, and telling our fathers what you have seen me do would probably be enough to force yours to rescind the pact, and mine to accept it.”

Elendil had not thought about it, but she was right. Even though (name) had not been one of the women selling her body at the arena, and an unsanctioned fight did not exactly qualify as a crime, the whole situation was embarrassing enough Amandil would not consider her a worthy bride for his son. Could it be the way out he had desperately been looking for? The young soldier briefly considered it, and then he attempted to imagine the consequences the scandal would have on (name) if the truth became public.

“Would… your father be angry with you, if he knew about the arena?” he inquired.

(name) sighed. “He would not beat me if this is what you are afraid of; but he has been looking for a suitable husband for me for years, and he is the sort of man who thinks a woman does not need ideas or interests of her own, if she can share those of her father or husband. Knowing what you saw me do, and where… he does love me, but I do not think he could ever forgive me, or respect me any longer.”

“But there was nothing wrong in what you were doing.”

“I agree; but a man of his age, who has received a certain sort of education, is bound to think in a certain way. It is not like I enjoyed performing in the arena, for a crowd of debauchees who sometimes promise to pay my opponents more if they can tear my clothes off; and I do not do it for the coin either, since Almaran makes sure it goes to an indigent family we are acquainted to.”

Elendil supposed Almaran was the friend who had taught her to fight, and who had been looking for her on the previous night, when he and (name) had parted. “Why do you do it, then?” he asked curiously; (name) looked at him for a moment before answering, as if to make sure he was actually interested in the matter, and was not simply humouring her.

He was not.

“Because it makes me feel strong. Worthy. Alive, even.” she confessed; she seemed almost relieved, as if she had never shared those secrets with anyone “I have been interested in fighting arts since I was little, dreaming about competing in a great arena -in the main stage, obviously- and winning acclaim for my strength and resilience; but as a young girl, once my father saw Almaran teach me how to throw a punch, and he immediately told me to stop, because such activities were not appropriate for a highborn young lady, and I best focus on my embroidery and harp lessons. My mother knew Almaran kept teaching me to fight, and she liked knowing I was able to defend myself in case of danger; but as you know she has passed, and after my father decided we would move here in the city to find me a husband, he told me he expected me to behave respectably, so as not to bring shame on our family. I know it was dangerous and reckless of me to go to the arena, but I could not help it. I do enjoy needlework and music and other feminine occupations, and would like to get married, one day; but those moments on the ring, when I can forget about appropriateness and rules and the need to impress a suitor and focus on simply punching my opponent as hard as I can and avoid his blows… in those moments, and only then, I feel life is worthy to be lived.”

“I know what you feel.”

“You do?”

“Of course; I have always aspired to join the Sea Guard, but I must admit an added value to spending days and even weeks at sea is that I do not have to deal with my father, and his expectations for me as his heir.” Elendil admitted “I do love him, and I know he wants what is best for me, but sometimes I feel myself suffocating. This is why I enjoy being a seaman: when you are on a ship, surrounded by the waves, no one cares if you are a nobleman, or wealthy or from a good family; you still need to hold the rudder, unfurl the sails and carry out whatever task the captain gives you. At sea, no one is given special treatment; when you are on a ship you have your own duties, but you are free from all others.”

(name) grinned; she seemed much more at ease in this company already, which Elendil considered a victory. “Then perhaps we should both steal a ship and sail as far from here as we can.” she suggested.

“It would be nice. Unfortunately even the largest ship has to dock, sooner or later.”

They both reflected on that truth as they sat side by side, not touching but both aware of the growing closeness between them, a sort of unexpected, chaste intimacy that had blossomed on the previous night as they became acquainted outside the arena, a moment both of them had carried in their heart after they had parted. Elendil wanted to ask (name) what would be worse, having her father know about her secret activities or being forced to marry him, but he found that once again his courage was failing him.

Still, he felt he could be honest with her; it was easy, even, as if they had known each other for a long time. He had never felt anything like that, but he liked it, and he felt grateful for it.

“I am happy I met you.” he murmured, regarding the woman next to him “I mean… before today. I was very nervous, and I know there is still so much we do not know about each other, and we only spoke for a few minutes, but…”

… but those few minutes had been important; precious, even, and while neither felt able to utter the words, it was a feeling both shared. (name) smiled; she was pretty when she did that, Elendil thought.

“Tell me, the reason why you told me you would not return to the arena… is because you are going to get married?” she asked after a while.

“It is. Yestereve was meant to be… well, a last night of freedom; and I must confess I… did pay one of the ladies for her time.” Elendil admitted; he felt embarrassed, even ashamed, but he knew she deserved to know “But nothing of the sort will happen once we get married, you have my word.”

“I would never ask you that, Elendil; not since I know you have not… chosen me.”

“I know; but I would not be able to live with myself if I spoke the marriage vows already planning to break them. Also, you have not chosen me either.” he pointed out “Do you… have someone?”

“No. You?”

“Neither. I admire your honesty, and have also always considered adulterous affairs squalid, but that does not mean…” she sighed “You seem a good man; and I enjoyed talking to you last night, I wish we had more time for that. But that does not mean an eventual marriage between us would be successful; my father told me I would not have to spend all my time with you, at least once we have had a child or two, but perhaps naively, I have always thought there was more to marriage than conceiving an heir and hosting dinners together. I have always wished for a spouse I could respect, and even like; for a spouse who cared for me beyond the advantages our match could bring him.”

She looked so sincere, open and unashamed as she shared her most intimate desires with a person she barely knew, Elendil felt a surge of affection filling his heart. She did not need protecting, he was sure of it, or to be taken care of, but he promised himself she would never have to regret being forced into that marriage; a marriage, he realised in his heart, he suddenly felt, if not happy, much less nervous about than an hour before.

“I forgot; this is for you.” he said suddenly, offering her the chest he had carried with him up to that point “A gift, to celebrate our first official meeting. I hope it pleases you.”

(name) smiled shyly as she accepted the chest and opened it; resting on the tiny cushion was a bracelet, a heavy, sumptuous jewel, the bright red of the gems almost blinding. It had belonged to Elendil’s grandmother -a kind and generous woman, but not known for her good taste- and had already been out of date when she had worn it. Elendil, who knew nothing of jewellery and feminine tastes, was ready to bet no young woman of his time would ever wear it, no matter how precious the bracelet was.

“Oh! Well, it is beautiful!” (name) exclaimed as she regarded the jewel in her hand; amused, Elendil saw clearly how desperately she was attempting to look more impressed than she actually was “It is so… so…”

“... gaudy?”

“Well, I was going to say striking, but…”

They shared a smile, and they both started to laugh. “I am sorry.” Elendil said “This is a terrible gift, but my father chose it, and he thought the larger and more ostentatious the jewel, the more impressed you would be. You hate it, do you not?”

(name) admitted that while hate was too strong a word, the bracelet was as far from her tastes as it could be. “But I do appreciate the gesture, and I will make sure to thank your father for it.” she promised “He looks… very stern; proud of you, of course, but not the sort of man who would suffer being gainsaid.”

“You are an excellent judge of character.”

“So if we did attempt to break our betrothal, in the way we have already discussed, you would suffer the consequences as well.” (name) pointed out, and Elendil nodded; Amandil would not blame him for his intended’s actions, but admitting he had been to a brothel, a formally outlawed sort of place where anyone could have recognized him as his father’s son, would have had significant, even tragic repercussions.

“It seems like we both have a lot to lose.” he summed up softly, and the woman next to him nodded sadly “Which is why I was wondering… do you think our fathers would accept, if we asked them to prolong our betrothal?”

“You mean… do not attempt to break the pact, but avoid having to marry within the end of the month?”

“Exactly. I… I enjoy spending time with you, and I do believe any man would be fortunate to be your intended; but we know so little about each other…”

“... and becoming man and wife now would only make us unhappy.” (name) finished for him; she had started wringing her hands again “I agree. Maybe if we both asked them, our fathers would relent; and then we could… do something together another time? There are so many places in the city and its surroundings I still do not know, and maybe in a few weeks or months we will… well…”

… we will have time to decide if we do want to go on with this betrothal or not; whether we like each other enough for that or not, and if we could make each other happy. She had to be too embarrassed to utter the words, but Elendil perceived her intentions nonetheless, and more importantly, he shared them completely.

“I would like that.” he murmured; shyness and nervousness had disappeared, and now his heart was filled with an emotion that was, if not exactly eagerness, at least hope - the hope of discovering living in a cage could be pleasant, with the right cellmate “In fact, it would make me very happy if I could see you again, and… well, I would not say no if you could provide me with another coin for the arena.”

(name) smiled; joy seemed to blossom on her face. “To meet the ladies or…?”

“No; I want to see the Sparrow fight again, and best another opponent.”

“Then I do believe that can be arranged.”

Elendil nodded; he reflected for a moment, then he turned to the man waiting a few paces away, still vigilant even though he had noticed how at ease (name) seemed in his company.

“May I hold your lady’s hand for the remainder of our time together?” he asked courteously.

If Almaran was surprised to be consulted, he did not show it. “I have nothing against it, my lord.” he answered “If my lady permits, that is.”

He nodded, he stood, he bowed. “May I have your hand as we walk, my lady?”

“I would like that, Elendil.”

She took his hand; their fingers intertwined, and there was no need to say more. They started along the path, leaving the chest with the bracelet on the bench behind them.

This fic is dedicated to two of the best people on Tumblr: @hippodameia and @montyc. Thank you so much for asking!!

#The Lord of the Rings #The Lord of the Rongs: The Rings of Power #The Rings of Power #Rings of Power #Elendil #Elendil x reader #Elendil the Tall #Lloyd Owen #Bellona's stuff

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yutopia-eleftheria · 4 months

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Hero Partner Week 2024

I guess this Prompt made me change my mind about the post for today. When I saw that, I instantly decided to participate with my Explorers of Sky Duo, Gwladys and Tonbee, which is still my favourite game of the franchise to this day ! ♥ But since I coulnd't post them separately, I put them all in one post instead (if only I knew earlier... I'm so dumb...)

The original Prompt List of the Event held by @heropartnerweek

There are 3 different prompts for each day so you can choose what you prefer to do. I chose for each day :

First Meeting

Evolution

Morning/Night

Hidden Land (this one only changes depending of the game you chose)

Favorite Scene

Farewell

Previous Prompt

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Day 1 / May 19th : First Meeting

After leaving the entrance of the Guild without being able to enter out of fear (again), Tonbee decided to go to the beach to see the beautiful dusk and bubbles dancing at the sunset. He will there see an unconscious Pokémon near the ocean. Heavily worried, he goes to check on this little Pokémon that seems to be a female Eevee.

Day 2 / May 20st : Evolution

The Duo, who was at first unable to evolve, finally has the chance to see if they can reach a new form. They head to the Luminous Spring, with an immense hope in their chest. Surprisingly, Tonbee could reach a new stage of evolution. Gwladys witnessed the pretty impressive Evolution of her teammate Tonbee. She could barely recognize him, not because of his evolution, but rather how his personality, determination and bravery changed for the better (This scene takes place post-game).

Day 3 / May 21st : Morning / Night

The more they spend time with each other, the more the Duo realize how they complete each other : "Tonbee is the Morning Light that warms Gwladys' memory up", and "Gwladys is the Quiet Night that helped Tonbee reach his Dreams".

Day 4 / May 22nd : Hidden Land

Gwladys and Tonbee teamed up with Grovyle, Gwladys' Pokémon friend from the future who tried to stop Dusknoir and Primal Dialga from paralyzing the World. After retrieving all the Time Gears, they reach the Hidden Land with the help of Lapras, the only Pokémon that knew where it was and could reach it without any difficulties. When they finally set their feet on these lands, they knew they could not head back once their duty is fulfilled.

Day 5 / May 23rd : Favorite Scene

On their way to reach the Time Tower, the Duo remembers all the moments they spend together, good or bad. The best moment they had ever experienced was when they witnessed this mesmerizing scene at Fogbound Lake, one of the 3 lakes that had a Time Gear in it, and protected by Uxie. This moment will forever stay in their heart. ♥

Day 6 / May 24th : Farewell

She knew. Ever since they last faced Dusknoir and Grovyle sacrificed himself to bring Dusknoir back to the future, Gwladys knew that her fate was sealed. When they will bring the 5 Time Gears to the top of Time Tower, she knew she would disappear, as she is part of the future just like Grovyle, Dusknoir and Celebi. She was afraid, she didn't want to leave her friend Tonbee, but she had to. It was for the sake of the World. So when the time came, she told him everything that was on her mind. She told him that he changed her life for the better, and that she will never forget him, even if she disappears. Tonbee watched as tears were falling down his cheeks : he was grateful for everything, but he didn't wanted to say Goodbye, but had to...

Day 7 / May 25th : Previous Prompt : Crossover

They may be strong, determined, brave, but they can have some funny moments together too. After becoming a gracious Glaceon and an intimidating Luxray, Gwladys and Tonbee became one of the strongest Explorers team ever made. They share some moments together too, and one of them is cosplaying of some sorts. In here they are cosplaying as Grey Fullbuster and Laxus Dreyar from Fairy Tail, because they basically have the same power.

Thank you very much @heropartnerweek for creating this Pokémon Mystery Dungeons Prompt List. It was amazing participating in it, and I hope there is more of that to come ♥

#pokemon #pokemon mystery dungeon #explorers of sky #pokemon mystery dungeon explorers of sky #hero and partner week #eevee #glaceon #shinx #luxio #luxray #grovyle #hidden land #fogbound lake #time tower #procreate #digital art #artists on tumblr #artist unity

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dragonnwriter · 5 months

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Inviolable Bindings

Aemondxfem!OC and Aegonxfem!OC

All Chapters Here!

Chapter 42

The limitations of her body and the binds around her wrists were the first thing Viserra noticed when she regained consciousness. The dark canopy overhead blurred into focus and she suddenly realized that she was bound to a bed. Attempting to somehow sit up, her body protested with a sharp pain splintering through her ribs. She let her sore muscles relax again and closed her eyes, letting out a cry of frustration as she realized she was someone’s prisoner.

An amused chuckle filled the room. “I thought you might be joining us soon. You have been quite restless for the last hour,” said the voice of a man she did not immediately recognise.

Viserra shifted in that direction, her blood turning cold when she laid eyes upon the face of the very man who should have been dead by Aemond’s hands.

Daemon was arrogantly lounging in a chair with an ease that did not match her own panic. He met her eyes with a wide and unnerving smile. “I would not move about so suddenly, my dear. Your ribs took the brunt of your fall,” he remarked, slowly rising to his feet.

The realization that Daemon was very much alive in her presence sent a wave of nausea to her stomach. She only let the feeling linger for a moment before it quickly morphed into an uncontrollable surge of rage. Aemond, she thought, her teeth clenched and feeling hot tears fighting their way to her eyes. “I will kill you.” The words flowed from her mouth as if they might do the job right then and there.

Daemon's laugh filled the room once more. He seemed to find amusement in both her words and her suffering. “Such fire. It’s a shame, really, that you chose to waste it on a usurper and his kin.” He did not divert his eyes even once as he approached her. “Though I do not know if it is bravery or stupidity to threaten a man’s life when you are the one bound and imprisoned in his castle.”

His words made her realize that she would need to play her next moves carefully. Her initial reaction was impulsive, raw, and reasonable for the circumstances she found herself in. But if she wanted to come out of this not only alive but ahead of her captors, she needed to change her approach.

“My loyalty was never a choice,” she growled as her demeanor softened slightly. “I was locked in my rooms when the King passed and threatened. I was given no freedom to choose where to place my allegiance if I cared for my life.”

Daemon’s face contorted from amusement to consideration as he seemed to weigh her words. “Quite interesting,” he finally responded. “If you choose to behave yourself, things will go much…smoother for you. Attempt anything foolish and you will most certainly end up paying for it. You can understand the precautions.” He gestured to the binds on her wrists.

“And where is my dragon?” She asked, not willing to let him leave her there without knowing if Rhyn had survived the fall.

“He is in the Dragonpit,” he informed her, willingly giving her the information. “He will heal, just as you will. But do not hold onto hopes of reuniting with him, we have no intention of letting you near each other.”

Viserra felt his words tear into her heart. Of course Rhyn had been injured by the fall, in fact, she was surprised that either of them came out alive. Things were becoming much more clear. Both the depth of this situation and the stakes involved were extremely high. She was being forced into a corner, recognizing that her survival and the possibility of escaping depended on her ability to gain any sort of trust of those around her. Though this too, might come with consequences if Aegon had successfully fled the city and word reached him that she had sympathized with their enemies.

“Someone will be by in a few hours to help you dress,” Daemon explained. “Somehow, even with my attempt at dissuading her, the Queen has requested you attend dinner with her tonight.” He did not wait for her response, turning to leave her to the silence of the room.

Viserra’s thoughts raced with the overwhelming amount of unknowns and horrible things she had imagined had happened to those important to her. Each time Aemond came to her mind, she had to fight back the fear that he had been killed at Harrenhal. She did not know it for fact and she would not let herself believe it until getting confirmation.

Yet, carefully running over the interaction she had with Daemon, it dawned on her that his appearance was relatively unscathed. If he had not only encountered but killed Aemond, he would most certainly come out of it with some sort of injury. Daemon’s excellent wellbeing was a puzzle piece that did not seem to fit into the aftermath of them battling in the skies.

The next few hours passed by slowly and dusk eventually dimmed the light that had been coming from the windows of the room. A woman and two guard escort arrived at her door as promised, making her realize that she was actually expected to attend dinner that night.

The woman wore a loose shawl around her head and a scowl on her face to match. Though dressed head to toe in finer fabric, she seemed aged or at least had lived a life hard enough to make it appear so.

“I would advise you against any attempts at an escape or violence,” she warned, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Viserra met her gaze squarely, her own expression just as unpleasant. “I assure you I am not one who would make such foolish moves when I am at a disadvantage,” she retorted, allowing a bit of the sarcasm to show in her words.

The guards chuckled, clearly amused at the exchange. They took their time loosening the bindings on her wrists and she had hoped for a moment that this had been the end of the physical restraint. Unfortunately, it appeared that they would not let her off that easily.

Bracing herself and slowly making her way onto her feet, Viserra was reminded just how bad her ribs hurt. The pain soured her mood even more and the mere presence of the men only made it all more irritating. She would turn her disdain towards them in hopes of it making her feel even just a little bit better.

“Did you only happen to be assigned to accompany this woman? Or did you both jump at the opportunity in hopes for a chance to watch me undress?” She taunted. She did not have high opinions of Westerosi guards in the castle, especially ones who were properly paid and most likely enjoyed their fair share of brothels.

The taller one laughed and leaned in with a mocking smile. “We weren’t aware of exactly what we would be doing but I can tell you neither of us are disappointed,” he quipped, bringing a snort of laughter from the other guard.

Viserra’s frown deepened but in that moment she was thankful to have been raised in a city where modesty was not nearly made to be such a big deal as it was there in King’s Landing. “You are both pathetic men to find such amusement in a damsel’s misfortune. It shows insecurity and weakness and is most unbecoming.”

Turning her back to them, she let the woman help her in changing. She was happy to rid herself of the dirtied leathers and the silk dress slipped easily over her head. Noticing the many bruises and scratches littered all over her body, she was pleased to realize that the worst of her injuries seemed only to be her ribs. Looking down and smoothing out the dress, she was surprised at the quality and details it had. However, remembering that she was to attend dinner with a queen it did make some sense.

Without warning, the woman cinched the dress with unnecessary harshness but Viserra caught the pained yelp before it left her mouth. She would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that the action had indeed hurt. While her hair was combed and braided, she stood there in silence. She would not show weakness to someone who did not deserve to see it.

After turning back around, Viserra’s hands were tied once more. Though this time they were bound together for the escort to dinner. Following in between both of the men, she observed the familiar corridors and realized that many of the tapestries had been torn from the walls. The journey was pleasantly silent as they made their way and it was only once they stood at the doors that she opened her mouth to speak.

“I will remember this poor treatment if I ever come across you again,” she spoke quietly, shooting the guards a cold look. Both men let out another laugh before opening the doors and shoving her in.

A voice came from the end of the table. “Untie her.”

Viserra looked over to see the Rhaenyra and realized the woman appeared much more hardened and cold than the last time she saw her. What was even more unsettling, was that they had been in this very room when Alicent had introduced them, though the dynamic now was much different. She watched carefully as the bindings were loosened, flicking her wrists and enjoying the relief that she felt.

“Please, be seated.” Rhaenyra spoke, gesturing to the table setting a few chairs down from her.

The request made her feel like she was being led into some kind of trap, yet Viserra did not hesitate to comply. Moving to the chair, she was acutely aware of the guards that stood back at the walls, a precaution to be sure if she were to try anything foolish.

A cup of wine was filled as they waited for the food but she made no move to drink from it. She noticed that Rhaenyra was watching her closely, but without her instigation, she felt no need to begin conversation.

“It is not poisoned.” Rhaenyra spoke, motioning for the cup.

Viserra watched as the cup was passed down to her and she did not hesitate in taking a sip. Only feeling slightly reassured, she nodded. Yet as soon as it was back into her hands, she took a large drink, desperate to eel the cool liquid pooling into her empty belly. In the least, she hoped for some relief from her aching ribs.

“You must wonder why you are here, seated at my table.” Rhaenyra coaxed.

Viserra let out a long exhale before answering. “I am sure you have your reasons.”

The room held still as they seemed to be gauging each other.

Rhaenyra gave careful thought to her next words, looking down at her hands then back to Viserra. “I do have my reasons,” she finally admitted. “And they involve more than just a simple invitation.”

Viserra turned to meet her eyes. It was obvious that she was quite familiar with both the workings and manipulation here at court and it seemed as if she was already involving her in her own plans.

“We are all pieces on a board,” she sighed. “And each of us influences the game that is being played.” Her gaze did not waver.

“What exactly do you mean?” Viserra asked.

Rhaenyra took a drink from her own cup before continuing. “I have heard quite a few different rumors of your role here in court,” she began. “But the thought of a highborn woman from the great city of Volantis coming here to only be a paramour to a usurper, continues to puzzle me.”

Viserra furrowed her brow at the question.

“Do you not desire the throne for yourself? Perhaps knowing that keeping whoever is ruling close would grant you access to some of that power?” Rhaenyra did not seem like she asked the question maliciously, truthfully wanting to know her reasons.

“I do not desire the throne,” she insisted with irritation in her voice. This had become such a common accusation as of late and she was tired of being questioned about it. “I have always desired to come here with the hope of securing a place with those who share my blood. My only desire has been to connect with other dragonriders. But the alliance here was born of circumstance, not of my own ambition.”

For a long moment, Rhaenyra carefully considered her words. “I was surprised to hear that you were attending Small Council meetings, but it is my understanding you were not instilled in the council itself,” she spoke, seeming to think it through out loud. “My half brother and his family do not believe that women should have a place in ruling, unless she should stand as queen consort.”

There was truth in that statement and Viserra silently stared back at her.

“You would have never been given a real place at the table under their rule, yet your reputation and respect would quickly dwindle as the Realm perceived you as only a paramour. Your skills and experience would eventually be forgotten.” She leaned back in her chair, waiting for Viserra’s response to her curt words.

“What is it exactly that you are offering?” She asked, wanting to hear it come straight from her mouth.

“If you were to reconsider your loyalties, bend the knee to your rightful queen, and work diligently at proving your allegiance, I would be willing to entertain a discussion about a place for you here in my court,” she confidently proposed.

This woman was either foolish or she truly did not know the extent of the rumors that had reached her on Dragonstone. Viserra thought it must be the latter, that she spoke like she knew more than she really did.

“Are you offering me a place at your side?” She pried cautiously before drinking the last sip of wine from her cup.

“Positions are not simply given. They are earned through loyalty and service to the crown.” Rhaenyra bantered with a smile on her face, though the expression seemed more calculated than genuine. “I do not need your answer in this moment, but do consider it carefully.”

The offer was not made from kindness or from the good of her heart. It was a ploy for more power that was disguised as empathy for being a woman. Viserra knew that her loyalties would not falter, but she also needed to consider that her response here would determine how easily she would escape this place.

“I will consider your proposal carefully,” Viserra replied, setting down the now empty cup.

“Do consider this,” she explained further. “We will continue to take the lands one by one across the Seven Kingdoms. Each city who does not bend the knee to me will be burned. We now have King’s Landing, the North, the seas, and eventually we will retake Harrenhal for control of the Riverlands. Think of what it will be like for the falling side and if you decide to be any part of that.”

Viserra listened attentively, feeling that Rhaenyra’s statement was rather bold. Though something stuck out to her. Retaking Harrenhal? It was all that she needed to hear to realize that it could only mean one thing. Aemond had indeed made it to the Riverlands. And if that was true, Daemon had somehow known of his plans and took the opportunity to seize the capital instead.

A few moments of silence passed between them before her thoughts shifted to wondering about Helaena’s wellbeing. Carefully, she approached the topic. “And what of Helaena and the children? And Aegon as well?”

“You have concern for my sister?” She asked with a hint of surprise in her voice.

“Yes, of course.” Viserra nodded. “I have found her to be a dear friend. She is another woman who was thrown into a situation she has no say in. She also shares my interests and my blood.” Her hopes were to portray herself as less of a threat by the comparison.

“I do not intend to hurt my sister,” she assured her, her tone softening with the mention of the girl. “She has not ever posed a threat to my crown.”

“But the children? And Aegon?” Viserra pried, feeling relief for confirmation that Helaena was safe.

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened again. “Aegon and the children were not here when we arrived,” she remarked, studying Viserra’s reaction to her words. “Daemon said you were also found attempting to flee on dragonback from the tunnels.”

Sensing that she was trying to gauge her knowledge of their whereabouts, she met her eyes sharply. “If you are accusing me of knowing where they have fled to, you are mistaken.”

It was not a lie.

The suspicion continued to linger in Rhaenyra’s face yet she chose not to respond..

“I was shown the tunnels many moons ago,” she explained. “I used them to meet my dragon at the edge of the city instead of allowing him to be chained in your Dragonpit.”

Rhaenyra still seemed somewhat suspicious but did not continue to question her. “Let us enjoy the meal and our wine this evening. We have spoken enough of things to almost ruin my appetite.”

Viserra nodded, more than happy to focus on something else and the remainder of the meal was spent in silence. When Rhaenyra stood, indicating that would be the end of the dinner, Viserra followed in suit. The pain in her ribs was much less bothersome after finishing two cups of wine, the relief being more than welcomed.

“I will escort you back to your rooms,” she announced as the guards moved to restrain her once more, but Rhaenyra raised her hands to stop them. “No need, she will not attempt an escape.”

Viserra eyed her for a moment but gave a quick smile. Starting the walk back through the castle walls, no one attempted to continue their conversation until they reached her doors. It was Rhaenyra who broke the silence as Viserra stepped back into the room.

“You are being watched far more closely than you realize, please do not try anything foolish,” she warned once more.

“That is what I have been told,” she replied with a sigh.

With that, Rhaenyra nodded to the guards who closed and barred the door behind her. She pursed her lips in frustration at the sounds that truly did indicate that she was being held against her will. While she should have been grateful to not be bound to the bed once more, the whole situation still burned a certain frustration within her.

Over the next fortnight, Viserra remained at the mercy of captors. She was limited in her activities and still remained heavily supervised. She was pleased to find that the injuries from the fall healed quickly and soon they only caused minor discomforts.

One thing that seemed strange was that most of the faces there in the castle were unfamiliar. It did not stop her from studying those around her in hopes to find one that she knew. Specifically, she had been hoping to find one of her old chambermaids, but with each new face she was met with disappointment.

Rhaenyra had summoned her frequently. She was made to sit with the woman, listening to her speak idly but also pry curiously into her own knowledge of things. She was careful to navigate these interrogations by giving her just enough to appear cooperative but still protect those who she remained truly loyal to.

Viserra also found that she did not like being in Daemon’s presence. It was clear that he did not trust her but there was still a dangerous curiosity he had towards her as well. This unpredictable behavior made her especially antsy around him and she tried her best to avoid him at all costs.

On a morning that started just as the others had before, Viserra found herself interrupted while breaking fast alone in her locked chambers. The doors opened without even the consideration of a knock and the last person she had wished to see filled the doorway with his arrogant demeanor.

“Glad to see you are awake,” Daemon greeted with a smirk as he flung a heap of clothing in her direction. “I have arranged a little something for us in the courtyard, being quite curious to see you wield a sword in the flesh.”

Viserra’s initial impulse was to recoil, but she held back and attempted to maintain a composed expression. “Now?” She asked, taking a look at the clothing now in her lap.

“Yes, now,” he replied impatiently, his eyes rolling briefly before turning on his heels. “Get changed, I will wait outside.”

Viserra did as she was told, changing quickly into the provided breeches and tunic. This sudden interest Daemon had in seeing her fight felt like more than just curiosity. Mayhaps a test or possibly even some kind of setup? Slipping into the clothing, she was comforted by the freedom that wearing pants always seemed to give her.

She stepped out of the room to see Daemon and two guards just outside the doors. Following him without another word, her senses were heightened and alert to every detail around them. As they walked out to the training yard, she thought it eerie that even though it looked just as it had a fortnight ago, it felt quite different.

“You have gained quite the reputation since coming here to King’s Landing,” Daemon taunted. He walked over to pick up a sword from the rack, tossing it to her without warning. Her eyes narrowed as she caught it skillfully.

Looking up and down at the blade while balancing it in her hand, she found the weight to be slightly heavier than she was used to. But it was the least of her worries and she did not think it would put her at a disadvantage.

Daemon pulled the Valyrian blade from his hip, the smirk never leaving his face. He did not hesitate to make the first move and Viserra quickly blocked his blow defensively. Each move he made felt both chaotic and controlled at the same time, something that made familiarizing herself with his moves difficult. At the first opportunity, she attempted to land a strike but he continued to block her blows effortlessly.

Daemon was not only an extremely skilled swordsman, but he was also able to manipulate the flow of the fight to his advantage. Somehow he seemed to always be a half a step ahead of her and it made it impossible to even attempt gaining the upper hand.

It was not long before Viserra realized with both the depth of his skill and his brute strength she was completely outmatched. Still, she pushed herself forward while trying to learn the way he danced. She had hopes that she would find a lapse in his defenses and in turn find the chance to land a hit. Daemon, however, seemed as if he were amused by her efforts, enjoying the challenge and how he continued to push her so hard.

The turning point came suddenly. It was just the slightest miscalculation on Viserra’s part that gave him the opportunity he was looking for. Daemon swept the blade from her hand with his sword, the weapon flying from her grip and well out of reach.

In an instant, he closed the distance between them, his own sword now pointing at her neck as he backed her up against the cool stone wall. Both fought to regain their breath, the sweat dripping down into their eyes, yet Viserra met his gaze with boiling fury.

“Such a shame,” he taunted, probably referring to her choice of allegiance once again. He let out a tired chuckle, bringing the tip of his blade closer to her skin.

“What are you after?” She seethed, her voice stead despite the adrenaline pumping through her veins. “Do you wish to kill me?”

Daemon’s amused demeanor suddenly dropped, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at her. “No,” he admitted. “I do not plan to kill you. But tell me, would you have tried to kill me if you had bested me just now?”

Her response was measured as she had anticipated this might be his question in return. “Only a fool would attempt such a thing here, in one's own castle. It would mean a swift end for me, no doubt,” she retorted.

Daemon dropped his sword, his next comment catching her off guard as he shifted things onto a much more personal note. “I can see what my nephew sees in you,” he mused. “A kindred spirit, perhaps? How refreshing that must have been for him.”

“You know nothing of what you speak,” she countered quickly, her voice firm as she tried to mask her surprise at his insight. The mention of the similarities between herself and Daemon’s nephew made her realize that he was not referring to Aegon, but to Aemond. This was not something Rhaenyra had mentioned as if she had known. Perhaps there was some sort of breakdown in the communication between them, something she would put in her mind for future reference.

Daemon laughed, his response both rude and dismissive. “Perhaps,” he spoke with a shrug. “But what I do know, and as was my original task, was to let you know that the Queen wishes for you to join us for my nameday feast this evening. You will be no less watched, of course, and will be expected to be pleasant with your manners and presentation.”

Viserra wrinkled her nose in disapproval. They intended to use her presence at the feast as a political statement, likely to show that she had turned and now supported Rhaenyra as queen. “If the Queen requests it,” she obliged, her reluctance placed in agreeing only if it was Rhaenyra’s request.

Seeming moderately satisfied with her answer, Daemon smiled at her. “Good,” he approved before turning around on his heels.

Viserra watched the distance increase between them with narrowed eyes. Looking around, the weight of the guard’s attention was impossible to ignore, ready in case she made a rash decision not to follow the man. Closing her eyes for a brief moment before following behind, she felt as if each step was heavy with the realization of how tightly she was being controlled.

The room that she had been held captive within somehow felt like a safe place to be in that moment. As the doors closed behind her, she caught herself on the chair and let out a shaky breath.

Daemon was not only skilled, but so wildly unpredictable, chaotic, and had his own interests in mind. If he had wanted to kill her there, he would have succeeded. It felt as if he had summoned her to make a statement, to show her who she had chosen to make an enemy with. Aemond had been right to deem him the biggest threat of the Blacks, and truthfully, she felt more than ever that underestimating him would be a fatal mistake.

Alone in the room, she found herself dreading the upcoming feast. The parallels to the day of Aegon’s coronation were ironic as she realized how influential one’s compliant presence was for those who observed the moves of the crown.

After a few minutes, she heard the sound of the doors unlocking once more. She took in a deep breath, rising from the chair to dreadfully turn and see who now would invade her space. Her heart skipped when the familiar face of her old chambermaid was revealed there in the doorway. Cassella’s expression was serious, her lips pursed as if to warn her not to speak of their familiarity. Viserra looked next to the girl who came with her and then behind them to the guards that stood ever present outside her rooms.

“We have been sent to ready you for this evening, m’lady,” she explained.

Viserra smiled as she fought back so many unasked questions. The unexpected arrival at her doors could not have been coincidental and for the first time in many days, she began to feel hopeful.

#fanfiction #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond x aegon ii x oc #house of the dragon aemond #game of thrones #house targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x oc #hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fic #houseofthedragon #aemond x oc #aemond smut #house of dragons #aemond one eye #aegon ii

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heronchildlove · 9 months

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45 and 98 combined? :3c

kdhskldkjhs nonnie, this was so difficult you have no idea. I'm not quite sure I managed to balance the 2 out well, but I tried and I hope you like it!

The tone and style of this were inspired by the fic Mustang kids, by WhimperSoldier on AO3, a fic I read in 2016 and was never able to forget from how amazing it is. The style seemed fitting for the content of the songs chosen!

Send me a number from 1 to 100 and I’ll write a drabble based on my Spotify Wrapped playlist - Accepting!

~~**~~

Number 45 - Hallelujah - Panic! at the Disco + Number 98 - What's up people?! - Maximum the Hormone

They were dangerously ruined and beautiful ruination. They were the fire, the scorch, the broken glass, the balsam to heal the Earth. They were demons, and angels, and forgotten, and eternal. They were young, they were immortal. They believed in nothing aside themselves, they believed in the good of the world, they believed they were doomed, they believed they could make a difference. They were nothing, and everything.

James was chiaroscuro lit by the fires of hell, molotov cocktails and warning shots ringing through the night. He was their leader, name coloured either by adoration or fear at his mere sight. The police couldn't stop him, had been trying for years, but it was impossible to catch a shadow among shadows, specially one protected by the people. Murderer they called him, but behind closed doors the people called him saviour, and the violent cops he was accused of killing were not mourned, and the patrol cars he was accused of burning were not missed.

Cordelia was the glint of a knife pressed against a throat, bruised knuckles and the fury of an avenging angel. She was slashed tires, smashed windows, and the screams of an abusive husband turned into shrieks of terror. The women idolised her, the weak revered her. She was passion and kindness and revenge. She walked under walls plastered with pamphlets of a missing daughter and cut them in half, disgusted by the weak thing in the picture there. She knew she would never be weak again.

Matthew was riots and protests and a broken bottle turned deadly shard if necessary. He was a sweet honeycomb, finding his way into the beds of rich people at night, dividing his spoils with the poor after he snuck out in the morning, never to be seen again, leaving behind only the absence where gold and jewellery used to be. He was parties and loud music and endless drinks that dulled everyone's pain but his.

They hadn't been kids in a long time, they were criminals, and vigilantes, and they were themselves and they were free, and they belonged only to each other. Their destinies entangled, their lives meshed, their bodies on the verge of becoming one, their hearts clamouring for each other.

They had always been together, as far as anyone knew, though they hadn't always been like this. From the moment James and Cordelia had laid eyes on each other they had been passion, beds banging against walls and screams echoing in the night, but Matthew's fire had once burned in a different tone, one of jealousy and rage of one cast aside - Cordelia had been his finding, after all, and James had just always been his -, a tone of split lips under fists and angry words, but always too entangled, too dependent on them to exist to be anywhere but by their side.

They were a nuclear bomb, and Cordelia had found the key to diffuse them. Her lips on Matthew's mouth had been as searing as James's hands on his skin, their breaths and moans mingling beautifully, until Matthew had felt alive for the first time in his life.

So of course he had run.

And for a while they were pain and emptiness and a wound ripped apart at the seams. They were lost and aimless and their bravery got timid and pale. But it was better, he reasoned, to be blue than to wait for the moment they realised he didn't fit in with them and cast him aside like a broken toy. He couldn't handle it from them, not from them.

But they had found him, as they always did. He could never hide from James. He had turned his honey words into poison, trying to cast them away, claiming drunkenness and disinterest, that they hadn't meant a thing as no one ever did. But they had cradled him and wiped the poison away. We love the things you hate about yourself, they had said.

And he had crumble and they had all crumbled and they had been reborn, together. They were a supernova, and they ruled over the streets since unscathed, untouched, as no one ever could. The queen and her kings.

They were infinite and they would never disappear, rising above the worries and anxieties of humanity, they would watch the civilisation fall and be remade as they wanted it. It seemed possible, when they were together. There was no god above, and only them on Earth, and they would say their prayers only to each other as they were the only thing they believed in, invincible.

They were damned and they were holy, too loud laughs and songs, voices and tears, they were gods and nothing, they would take what they wanted and protect those that needed, but they would love only themselves.

They were them and they were theirs, and they were everything.

#heronchildstairs #heronfairstairs #james herondale #matthew fairchild #cordelia carstairs #tlh #the last hours #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #fanfiction #original #nanda writes #ngl this is one of my favourite things I've ever written

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ohwynne · 1 year

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All That Cake // Teagan & Wynne

TIMING: Early June PARTIES: Teagan @closingwaters & Wynne @ohwynne LOCATION: Teagan's home. SUMMARY: Over shared Welsh cakes, Wynne and Teagan bond and reflect on their respective families. This could be the start of a lasting connection. CONTENT WARNINGS: None.

The sweet smell of currants filled the house, the Welsh cakes just about done. Teagan tapped her fingers on her counter as she waited for the last of the bakestones to finish up. She had made entirely way too many, but that was fine. A few of them could be gifted to Arden, or maybe even that Alex lass. It really depended on how many Wynne would eat considering they hadn’t had the treat in quite some time. The two of them could very well eat the whole batch.

“Hmm…” Teagan hummed to herself and pondered on what to do. Bringing a few treats could be a good excuse to see the journalist again. What was she doing? She groaned, dropping her head onto the counter. The coolness did well to soothe her mind, making the decision to box up a few of the treats that much easier. With that done, she plated the final cakes and sigh, plopping herself down into a chair.

All there was left to do was wait. It was only a matter of time until Wynne arrived. About five minutes or so, give or take. They sounded like the type to care about punctuality. At least, Teagan hoped they were. Welsh cakes were best eaten fresh and warm.

The prospect of having pice bach again was something strange, something that made Wynne equally giddy and sad. They were a piece of home they had been unable to recreate themself, somehow feeling like it wasn’t something they ought to. It had been their mother, after all, who had always heated the bakestone. They lacked the right utensils and maybe the bravery too, to make them.

So this invitation had them arriving a little early, heart fluttering a little in their chest. Meeting people they had gotten to know online was always a bit scary, what with all the warnings people gave and monsters roaming around town. When they rang the doorbell, they rocked back and forth on their feet, drumming their fingers against their leg.

Once the door swung open, however, it was becoming clear that this wasn’t a complete stranger they were meeting. Wynne’s mouth fell open, slightly, and they only closed it when remembering this might be a bit rude. They had seen this woman before, in their own apartment, roaming the halls at night — Wynne had even offered her some water, which had apparently not been entirely appropriate. “Oh!” They tried to look very normal. “Hi again. It’s me, Wynne. Sorry that I’m a bit early.”

Teagan blinked. Then, she blinked some more. Words clustered in her head, yet none were willing to spill out. Fates, she had a way of working her magic. Who would’ve thought that the strange roommate who’d offered Teagan water would’ve been the very same person she’d invited over for tea and treats. She really needed to stop being so nice. Why was she anyway? She disliked people. Then again, she was trying to be different.

“Hi. Yes, again. Wow. S-sorry.” Rubbing her eyes a little, Teagan finally managed to form an actual sentence. “Wasn’t expecting Arden’s roommate to be on my doorstep. Small town, I guess, eh?” She chuckled lightly, shoulders loosening as she forced herself to relax. “Well, come in.” Teagan opened the door fully and waved Wynne inside. “Like I said online, I’m Teagan. Welcome to my home.” Her smile was small, but still had a hint of excitement. It was refreshing to have someone in her home who knew what bach was and could fully appreciate it.

“The kettle is hot and I just finished making fresh bakestones, so let’s go on into the kitchen. Best to eat ‘em while they’re warm.” Teagan all but danced to the kitchen, joy bouncing off every step now that the anxiety was swept away. She practically jumped into her chair when they both got to the kitchen. “Sit, sit. I’ve got all the fixings.” Teagan pointed at each one on the table. “Butter, jam, raw honey, and creamy honey. The works!”

There were strangers over at the apartment aplenty, and while Wynne knew somewhere that it was not etiquette to always greet them the way they wanted (especially in the middle of the night), it was a habit that they had yet to unlearn. Hospitality was an important trait of Proterians after all, who opened their doors to all willing to receive and belong. Besides, it felt good to be welcoming, did it not? Still, it had been a little awkward when they had eagerly offered to get Teagan a drink, and now they relived that embarrassment.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be Arden’s …” They frowned a little. “Friend. But yes, it’s a small town.” And Wynne did trust Arden’s judgment, as she seemed to be a very levelheaded person and, most of all, one of the smartest people they’d come across outside of the commune. “It’s so nice of you to have me, though. And you live here very beautifully, too.” Complimenting where people lived was part of the routine, now, whenever Wynne visited others.

Teagan’s energy was contagious and soon enough Wynne was smiling brightly. The scent that hit their nostrils was familiar and brought a sense of comfort as well as nostalgia, but it was easier to let themself be picked up by the other’s energy than get sad over the fact that there no longer was a home with freshly baked pice bach any more. “That’s amazing. It smells so good.” They sat down, tucking their legs under them on one of the kitchen chairs and looking at Teagan with a hint of awe. “I don’t meet a lot of other Welsh folks. So this is great.”

The pause between Arden’s name and what Wynne was going to deem Teagan made her throat go dry. She’d gone on one date, which ended in Arden’s room, and the last time she had visited the Worm Row apartment, she was falling apart. Being called a friend seemed justified, and if Teagan were honest, she was relieved that was the word Wynne used.

“Yes. Friend.” She understood that the girl meant no harm—hell, she offered Teagan a glass of water when she was sneaking out of the apartment—but the last thing she wanted to be mistaken for was someone’s significant other. “The beauty here is all to do with that magnificent lake out there.” Teagan jutted her chin toward the body of water, getting out a few spreaders to accompany the items she had out for the bakestones.

“You and I have that in common then.” With a light sigh, Teagan picked out the butter and spread a healthy portion on her cake, quickly adding the creamed honey on top before taking a bite that was a bit too large. She chuckled, covering her mouth as she spoke with a muffled voice. “Where abouts is your family from then? We’re from Hay, like I said. Miss it every damn day, but I think I’m finding a new home here.” Her tired eyes locked with Wynne’s and she swallowed, yawning soon after. Fates, she needed to get more sleep.

Wynne wasn’t very familiar with the lingo used to describe romantic relationships. They had read a few articles on extremely pink websites that attempted to explain it to them, but even so it all seemed a bit backward to them. They were glad, then, that Teagan didn’t correct them and that they hadn’t called her Arden’s lover or something of the sort. (They wondered what Ariadne was to them for a small second.)

They let their gaze drift to the body of water, smiling a little. This, too, brought some kind of nostalgia to them. The commune had sat on the edge of Moosehead lake, after all, using its water for plenty of things. So many fond memories were connected to that body of water. “It’s very beautiful.” They were quiet for a moment. “I used to live near a lake, too.” There were thousands, if not millions of lakes in the world. That hardly seemed like a dangerous detail to share.

They reached for a cake and spread some butter on it too, but nothing more. That’s how Wynne had preferred them back at home, too. They chewed and swallowed before answering. “My family comes from Llyn Brenig, but we’ve been in the States for quite some time.” For about a century, even. “I’ve never really been. There’s just always been a … stark grasp on our Welsh culture back home, you know? Didn’t really mingle with the Americans.” They hoped that explained enough. “These taste very much like the ones I used to have.”

“Oh ya did? I bet it was magnificent! Haven’t lived by a lake in a great many years, so I’m happy at this change of pace.” Teagan took another bite of her stone, already preparing another on her plate. “Maybe you and I can go for a dip some time. This side of it is usually pretty quiet–which I prefer. Less people means less pollution.” She smiled, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her as she adjusted her seat. Taking a sip of her tea, plucked the honey from the table and lathered her stone in it, giggling all the while.

“Can’t get enough of sugar. ‘Specially local honey. Oh…it’s delicious!” Teagan licked her lips and quieted down to listen intently to Wynne. It was a shame they’d never gotten to visit their family’s hometown. It made the cakes that much more special. “Llyn Brenig…believe that was about three hours north of Hay. Beautiful place–but really, what place isn’t in Wales? Gwenny little place that you can get lost in with friends during a ling-di-long. Specifically in the woods. Lots of trouble we got in–my siblings and I.”

The smile on Teagan’s face began to slowly fade, but she shook the heaviness in her chest away, hiding the hint of grief with a bite of her cake and Wynne’s compliment. “Oh, that’s so good to hear, lass. Family recipe. My mum taught me. They’ve always been my favorite treat.”

“It was very nice. I loved the first warm days of the year, to go swimming when the water was still so icy. Or even in the winter, when there was ice? Warm up by the fire.” They looked at Teagan with a look of preemptive excitement. “That would be very nice. It’s getting so warm out, so a dip in the cool water … And I like quiet and less pollution.” Wynne did miss the lake and the times they’d have with their peers, but maybe there could be new lake-based memories created.

They smiled. “I definitely have a sweet tooth, I get it.” But they’d just never had their stones with honey, was all. Wynne listened to Teagan speak somewhat melancholically. It reminded them of the way some of the people had spoken — all of this reminded them of home, almost in a way that made them want to turn their back and run off from this too. “I have seen pictures and paintings, and they are very beautiful. I really like it here too. The woodsy areas are gorgeous. Do you have many siblings? My brother and I definitely liked getting in a bit of trouble.”

The other looked somewhat sad, though, Wynne thought. They hoped they didn’t look sad and that they were infecting the other. They chewed slowly on their stone. “My mam would also make them. She wasn’t Welsh, though, but she married into it when she was very young, you know? She learned from my father’s mam. And she from her mam before her.” But their mother had never really taught Wynne with the intention of the recipe being handed down again. They had both known that wasn’t in the stars for them.

“Well then, Wynne, you’re absolutely invited as long as you respect the water. I take care of it as if it’s my own.” Teagan had a look of fondness in her eyes, the mismatched hues landing back on Wynne. She knew there was no harm in saying she took care of the water she lived by. Hell, people managed their lawns and ensured their community was neat and tidy.

Teagan could pretend she was just a caring citizen of Wicked’s Rest. Besides, Wynne gave no indication that she was anything but human. And now, sadly, the subject of family grew deeper than the nix would have liked. “I, uh…” Teagan tried to breathe, but the ball in her throat made it sound more like a choke. She took to taking a rather large gulp of her tea, the warmth soothing her enough to speak again.

“Sorry, lass. Bit of a touchy subject. Does a tidy job of making my heart heavy.” She shrugged, “Lost a few of ‘em, but that’s all I wanna say.” Offering a tired smile, Teagan shifted the conversation back toward the cakes, hoping to move on quickly enough before tears were able to form. “How ‘bout I teach you, eh? Get you all sorted and you’ll be a master in no time. Teach you all my tricks on how to get them perfectly fluffy. Make a day of it. Start with some baking and then end it with a splash in the water.”

They were beaming a little at Teagan, who spoke with such ease and warmth that Wynne wanted to be embraced by her way of speaking. “Of course I’ll respect it. The fact that so few do is very sad, I think. And so it’s good that you keep an eye out.” The sight of the beaches had been so special to them, up until the fact that they’d seen the litter spread over its shores.

But that warmth dissipated and turned into cold regret the moment they saw Teagan’s features twist. There was some sorrow there and Wynne had brought it up, had pressed into the wound and made their kind host sad. They felt heavy with guilt. “No, no. I’m sorry. Didn’t want to bring up anything that was hard to talk about.” They gave a little awkward smile. “I get it, I think. It’s hard to think about my family too. I’m not in touch with them any more.”

They fiddled with their cake, rolling a small bit of it between their fingers before popping it in their mouth. The change in topic was welcomed, slightly. Wynne didn’t want to make Teagan sad, but they did want to talk of their mutual families, if some comfort could be found there. “That sounds like a lovely idea. A great way to spend the day. Do you wanna do it now, or another time?” They looked at all the cakes in front of the two of them. “Might be a bit of a cake overload, though.

It was endearing the way Wynne felt sorrow for the lake despite being human. Well, probably human. Regardless, it was rare for anyone besides a nymph to care much deeper about an aspect of nature. “Good, good.” Teagan smiled, waving away the apology Wynne offered for the topic brought up. It wasn’t their fault there was always a twinge of pain with the mention of family. They even shared the sentiment, having been estranged from their own family themself.

“Ain’t the easiest, is it? Even if it is for the best.” Teagan took another bite of her stone, offering a sympathetic smile. This wouldn’t be the last time the two would connect, she wouldn’t let it be. “Perhaps we should save it for another day.” A flutter consumed Teagan’s stomach and she bit the inside of her lip at the idea in her head. “Arden could join and it’ll be a small party. In the meantime,” She leaned in, “Why don’t we find a movie to watch on the telly, eh?”

It was as if Teagan could read their mind, or at least their history. Because she was right: it wasn’t easy, but it was for the best. Every day separated from their family was a day lived longer than expected. They just wished they could have lived while still being with them, that there could have been a reality where their family had tried to find a way to keep them alive. They let their eyes travel, something heavy in their chest but something warm, too. Because they weren’t alone. Even Teagan, who Wynne had only known for a short while, was making them feel better. “Yeah. Even then, it’s hard.”

They smiled a little at the mention of Arden, beaming at the other. It would be fun if Teagan and Arden got closer, they thought — it would widen their circle a little, but Wynne also thought that they could be a good match. “Yes! That sounds glorious. We will have to do it.” They smiled at Teagan and nodded, stuffing the last bit of their muffin in their mouth. “Please. You pick, though, I’m very bad at decision making.” And with that, they made it into the living room where for a few more hours they’d reside, comforted by the film flashing on the telly and each other’s presence.

#teagan.#threads.#all that cake.

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inkabelledesigns · 2 years

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second question: how does age work? You wrote that Auran found the gateway to the human world in "modern times". That implies that he's really really old? Same thing came into my head when I read through the stuff on your Odette doll. Idk if it was intended and maybe I'm just overthinking but the way everything was written felt very "unaging folk" to me. Also pardon the weird phrasing in the last ask, 1) character limit 2) it's 1am I should definitely go to bed

You are a-okay Rubin, this makes sense and I'm happy to answer! So this is one of the details that I really love diving into. This may get a bit long.

What if I told you the flow of time in Equinox was dependent on someone's lineage?

Equinox is a land of fairytales, and as such, it is very magical. The original story of The Nutcracker happened here hundreds of years ago, and Hans and Clara inherited the land to rule and care for as their own. And they were happy doing so for many years. But along the way, there was a horrible coup against the royal family from the mice that resulted in the deathof Queen Clara and her two daughters, and when this happened, the world fell asleep. Clara is important to Equinox, it was her bravery and love for Hans that broke his curse and brought the land back to life in the first place. With her gone, there's no more wonder, no more magic.

That is, until someone new comes along and finds the entrance to the kingdom. I don't have a name for this character yet, but she finds herself stumbling into this magical realm much like Clara did in her youth, and her touch wakes it back up and starts the flow of time again. For as long as she keeps the doors between worlds open, time will pass, and the same goes for her descendants, all self proclaimed guardians of the realm. Some keep it open for just a short time, a few hours, maybe days, whereas others keep it open for months or years. One descendant, Thilda, keeps it open for a significant amount of time, as she falls in love with a doll who lives on the other side and visits him often. Thilda is the grandmother of the newest guardian, Marigold Sycamore, Marie for short. By the time Auran and co. end up meeting Marie, time is a bit screwy, I don't know how old he is exactly by then.

But this also lends itself to a very interesting note about aging. Dolls don't age the same way humans do. A doll is built to look a certain age (usually an adult since doll children are illegal in this world), and they look that age forever. Granted, when a doll is first brought to life, they do need some time to adjust and develop mentally, but the way you see a doll's age has more to do with their maturity and the condition of their pieces than their appearance. Dolls also live a lot longer than humans, but they can and do die. A doll's memory is stored in the different parts of their body, and the more you replace your parts, the more memory you lose, so there isn't much incentive to keep replacing your pieces unless you want to forget everything. When a doll reaches the end of their life, they tend to go somewhere where nature can reclaim them and their spirit is preserved. The Forest of the Forgotten is one such area where this is commonly the case.

Odette is trickier, because she used to be human before entering Equinox, but her curse has changed her. She has the shape of a human, but she is both part swan and part magical lake, as is her husband, Siegfried. While not immortal, the two are frozen in time with everyone else, so it's very unclear how old she is once we get to modern times. I know she's still around though, Marigold meets her at some point.

To be hones there's a lot of timeline stuff I need to work out. But I know that Clara dies within Auran and Loraine's lifetime. Because the second adventure they go on together, about six months after they're created, is with the royal daughters, who are close to ten and twelve years old respectively. And I know that they're about preteens/teenagers by the time disaster strikes, meaning Auran and Loraine haven't been around for all that long before the world falls asleep. Sorry, this was musing for my own sake, I haven't thought about this in a while. X'''D

#auran dulce #auran nutcracker #chronicles of equinox #odette #passage of time #aging

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bluskye-27 · 2 years

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Hi my fellow pirate :) Can I please request headcanons for Sanji, Shanks, and Ace having a crush on a tough, dominant, intimidating woman and after figuring it out, she pounces on them for a kiss and is like "Finally you're all mine."

Here's a reference for the pouncing part:

Sanji, Shanks & Ace crushing on Tough & Intimidating! Fem! S/O

Summary: To think a tough pirate like him would fell in love with an equally tough and intimidating woman like you.

Blackfoot Sanji:

- When Sanji first met you, he was like 😳

- He thought he would never meet any dominant and intimidating women in his entire life yet you clearly proved him wrong

- Sanji will try to be a gentleman to you but you just dismisses him, telling him that you're not one for chivalry n' stuff

- The cook was in awe of your strength and bravery, not depending on men to protect you which confuses him at first but accepted it for some time

- For once, Sanji will try not to treat you like royalty, instead he'll see you as an equal (much like Zoro to girls)

- "Ah, thanks for the food, Sanj!" You smiled at the blond man, ruffling his hair as you walked off with the dessert he made for you.

- Gurl, you just successfully made the pervert/gentleman/cook fell for you~

- And when the marines attacked you guys, Sanji was entirely mesmerized by the way you fight, tough yet graceful at the same time. He was so caught up with gawking at you when an enemy sneaks up behind him

- You noticed immediately and proceeded to tackle Sanji while Zoro slashed the enemy

- "Watch your stupid back, Curly Brow!"

- Yet Sanji was not paying attention to the green haired swordsman, instead he was laying down on the floor with you on top of him. Gosh, those eyes he just love staring at was currently looking down at him in concern, flustering him greatly

- Before he can stop himself, Sanji blurted out a quick "I love you."

- You just grinned of course, swooping down to kiss Sanji on the lips.

- "Yeah, I know. You've never been discreet with your staring before, so yeah, I would know."

- Sanji was a blushing mess that day, letting you carry him to the infirmary to treat his injuries.

Emperor Shanks:

- One day, you met Shanks and his crew. You were intrigued by them so you asked Shanks to join his crew

- The red haired emperor just laughed, smirking at you in his drunken state (you guys were at a bar on your island)

- "Sorry, lady, I can't see a beautiful and delicate woman such as yourself be a rowdy pirate like me and my crew."

- Having been looked down upon your entire life, you snapped at Shanks by grabbing his only arm and flipped him on his back, twisting his arm behind his back painfully.

- "How about now?" You smirked down at the surprised emperor.

- "You know what? You're in. Though you're gonna pay for my spilled booze." Shanks pouted while his crew-well, your crew- cheered.

- Everyone in the crew was very happy to have you with them. They knew how tough and intimidating you are, not one of those girlie girls, so they treat you equally on how they treat each other.

- Shanks, who can't see the difference between prim and proper ladies and tough and manly women, treated you like a royalty.

- Which you clearly despises ofc

- Everytime Shanks called you "Princess" "My Lady" "Cutie-Patootie" and other cutesy nicknames, you would flip him off or literally flip him

- And no, the idiot would not care about the pain but just to see your "sexy" strength. After all, he has loving feelings just for you, no matter how many times you flip him on his back.

- For once he's sober, Shanks decided to tease you once more, ofc you flipped him on his back again, but this time, he quickly changed your position with him on top instead, smirking down at you.

- "You know how much you flip me, I will always love you~" He chuckled

- You huffed and grabbed Shanks by the back of his neck and slammed your lips on him, shocking the red haired pirate.

- "Yeah, and I love you no matter how annoying you are."

- Shanks is in love~ 🥰

Portgas D. Ace:

- You've always been with Ace ever since you guys are still the Spade Pirates and until now when you guys joined the Whitebeard Pirates.

- You were one of the toughest and strongest fighter so WB put you under Ace's division which the latter clearly liked

- Ace has been forever crushing on you ever since he met you at your island, where the two of you ran into each other when the male is running from angry restaurant staff (yeah, he committed dash-and-dine once again)

- And now in the present time, you, the WBP and other allies are fighting to save Ace from getting executed.

- You learned about Luffy from your dear commander so you quickly knew it was the strawhat-wearing boy when you saw him. You and Luffy quickly teamed up together and fought every marine on your way to the execution podium.

- "LUFFY! Y/N! TURN BACK! I DON'T WANT YOU TO SAVE ME!" By this, you snapped.

- "SHUT THE FUCK UP, PORTGAS!"

- Everyone around you looked at you in utter disbelief. Even Ace was stunned to silence

- "I DON'T GIVE A SHIT IF YOU DON'T WANT US TO SAVE YOU BECAUSE WE'RE GONNA DO IT ANYWAY! ALSO, DON'T EVEN THINK YOU CAN JUST CONFESS YOUR FUCKING FEELINGS TO ME ON THAT DAMNED LETTER WHILE YOU WERE AWAY HUNTING FOR THAT STUPID BITCH TEACH!"

- (Somewhere, Blackbeard sneezed.)

- Fast-forward to the time when Akainu is about to punch a hole on Ace-

- "GET THE FUCK OUTTA MAH WAY, YOU MAGMA ASS!" Using your wind powers, you blew Akainu away to the sea, saving Luffy and Ace.

- "Y/n, I-" Ace started but you cut him off with a rough kiss, pulling him by his necklace to meet your height.

- "I love you too, dumbass. Next time, don't even think about leaving me again, ya hear me?" And you put his cowboy hat on his head, grinning at his flustered face.

- "Mhm. I will!" He smiled back at you.

Hello, @sacredwarrior88 ! This is your long-awaited request, hope you like it~

#vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #one piece sanji x reader #red haired shanks #akagami no shanks x reader #one piece shanks x reader #portgas d. ace #portgas d ace x reader #fire fist ace x reader #one piece ace x reader

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coochiequeens · 2 years

Text

Only an AGP would think miniskirts are part of a camping outfit.

17 May 2022

An Autogynephile in the Wild

"You are trapped in the wilderness with a man who won’t stop talking about his penis. This is not good. This is not normal."

Susi Quinn

“Atthe big spa in town, you have to shower naked,” says our guide, Helga, with some relish. “The tourists don’t like this, especially the American women, and sometimes they try to shower with their swimsuits on. Now, I’m a big lady, and I put on my deepest voice, and I bellowed at them to take their clothes off. You should have seen them scurry away!”

Helga and Jackie burst into raucous laughter. There are some polite chuckles from the men in the group. I say nothing and look away.

Helga is not a big lady. Helga is a tall, rugged man who has had his eyebrows plucked and his penis cut off. I don’t need to speculate about this with terfy prurience, or perform the fabled genital inspections, as he has told us all about his operation a great many times already. It’s day two of a wilderness expedition in Scandinavia, and we’re reliant for our safety on a man who will not shut up about the contents of his pants. I grit my teeth and give thanks once again that the group is small enough that we don’t have to share tents.

There are five of us on the trip—two youngish men so far removed from gender discourse that they don’t even recognize the trans flag; Jackie, an older lady full of Not Like The Other Girls energy; and Claire, a fellow fortysomething who hadn’t followed gender issues closely, but whose discomfort with the situation almost matched my own. All we were missing was a beardy bloke to tell us ladies what to think about the issue, and it would have been an almost perfect reflection of society in microcosm.

Iwasn’t quite sure what to make of Helga at first glance. He picked us up from the bus station wearing tight capris, a tight shirt, and a ponytail under a baseball cap, and I didn’t catch his name; was this some unfamiliar men’s Euro-fashion or was he trying to dress “as a woman?” Were those eyebrows just a bit too neat and unnatural? Is he wearing foundation or just sunblock? Regular moobs or the estrogen variety? Is he making that weird pouty face on purpose? I didn’t have to ponder for long; within about ten minutes, he had declared his identity as “a transgender woman” and started telling us about a local documentary that had been made about his bravery and unconventional life.

Quite likely he’d misinterpreted our scrutiny as a form of “Is that a man or a woman?”, that proverbial bad-faith question asked by homophobic grandparents in the 70s and 80s during Top of the Pops. His sex, though, was never in question; even Jackie, who tried her hardest to “validate” him at every turn, first greeted his appearance with “Oh, I was expecting a woman!”.

I made some quick calculations about the male/female numbers in the group, and set to worrying about what the sleeping arrangements might be, and whether I’d need to make a fuss. The travel company had promised we’d be sharing rooms on a “same-gender” basis—did they mean same-sex? I hadn’t even thought to check.

In the back of the minibus, the group made introductory small talk. Is this your first time in the country? Have you been on this type of adventure before? The two men were quiet and conventional; Claire was friendly and asked more questions than she answered; Jackie was talkative but mostly about herself. More than the rest of us, she looked the part of a rugged adventurer, and I was hoping she’d make a fun travel companion, but there was an edge to her conversation that gave me pause. As if her identity depended on being The Most Rugged Lady Adventurer In The Village, she always had to top our tales with a boast of her own. Only mine and Claire’s, of course. She deplored the existence of “women’s” outerwear, and was proud that she bought hers from the men’s section. She mocked Claire for needing to check in with her teenage son on the phone. Had Jackie been forty years younger, you can bet there would have been pronouns.

“Back at the camp, Helga has changed back into his miniskirt, which he wears around the campfire while cooking.”

She wasn’t the only one to keep talking about herself. During the long drive to our destination, Helga spent less time telling us about the sights and scenery than about himself, his life and his achievements. Not his genitals, not yet—those conversations would wait until we were a genuinely captive audience. For the moment, there were enough nuggets dropped for me to piece together a picture of almost textbook autogynephilia—there was an ex-wife somewhere, and a child or two that he’d ditched to follow his fetish; an ultra-macho hobby and an obsession with how he was perceived. A litany of dull, dull boasts, me me me me me. I looked at the blonde ponytail coming out the back of his baseball cap. Dollars to donuts there was a bald patch under there. He never took the cap off.

Helga’s adventure-guide credentials clearly hadn’t prepared him for some of the less rugged aspects of guiding, such as knowing the itinerary, communicating unexpected changes, or remembering that we needed to eat. Instead of the central hotel and restaurant meal we’d expected for our first night, we were eventually dropped off late at a remote self-catering lodge, petrol-station hotdogs in hand, to ponder the events of the day. The five guests gathered in the corridor to chat before we turned in; all of us had been on small-group trips before, and this one was unusually amateurish. And Helga himself? Awkward silences, awkward platitudes. We’d all been on enough small-group trips to know that it was a bad idea to alienate your companions by spouting political opinions; we were diplomatic and guarded. This was no time for terfing. Tiptoeing around the trans question, we gave him much more leeway for his failures than we otherwise would have; there was an eggshell brittleness to the topic, and nobody wanted to put a foot wrong.

The organisational failures continued well into the next day, but it was with great relief that we were eventually issued with a tent each, and there was no question of anyone being asked to share. As we packed up the last of our equipment, Helga reappeared, brandishing a small plastic bottle with a large hole cut into the side. This, he explained, was his homemade she-wee. If you make one yourself, remember to sand down the edges, or you might get a nasty cut in an unfortunate place, haha! We nodded politely, really not wanting the mental images. Why was he telling us this?

To reinforce how convenient this device was, he wandered a few yards away, turned his back, and made use of it. We hadn’t even left the depot yet; there was a real toilet just indoors, and there he was, pissing out in the open, with a flimsy excuse that stretched “plausible deniability” to its breaking point.

“Was he taking advantage of our isolation and dependency and general British politeness to override our obvious discomfort with the subject?”

Several strenuous hours later, we’d reached our campsite—beautiful, wild, bleak, and utterly, utterly remote. In other words, we were now a captive audience. Helga ramped up the trans talk almost immediately, dropping in references to his castration wherever he could manage it. Often this took the form of jolly anecdotes that we were clearly expected to laugh along with.

“Some old men were complaining about how women make all the drama, but I told them that all the drama in me was taken away with my balls!”

“The first time I wore a drysuit after the operation, I forgot I no longer had a penis, and when I unzipped my fly to pee and went to grab it, there was nothing to grab!”

“After my operation, the doctor told me that in some cultures, trans people were considered to be almost gods!”

He approached Claire, walking alone on the beach, and told her how, as a teen, he’d hated his penis so much he almost cut it off with a knife. Uh, good for you, I guess? How do you even respond to something like that? Why should anyone have to?

Early in the Trump administration, commentators had exhorted us to keep hold of our expectations of “normal,” so we would see how far from normal things had become. This trip had started strange and become stranger; I had to dredge out my memories of other tour leaders to realize how abnormal this behavior was.

No other tour guide I could think of would have so much as mentioned their genitalia, not even once. They wouldn’t have told us all about any other medical treatment in such detail. They wouldn’t have pissed in front of the group. Nothing about this was normal. And yet nobody was saying anything. I wasn’t saying anything. Did Helga move in circles, online or off, where this topic was so normalized as to have become regular small talk? Or was he taking advantage of our isolation and dependency and general British politeness to override our obvious discomfort with the subject? To override it and even enjoy causing it? I felt grubby, all the time.

Look at what’s in front of you, don’t be distracted by the glitter. You are trapped in the wilderness with a man who won’t stop talking about his penis. This is not good. This is not normal.

Day 3. Jackie has now become openly hostile towards Claire, with mean-girl behavior quite incongruous from a woman in her 60s. We find jellyfish washed up on the beach, which Claire deems rather upsetting and disgusting; Jackie picks one up and throws it at her, she and Helga squealing with laughter. And there it is again—dominance and power plays, using our discomfort to jostle for status and reinforce their own perceived superiority. Towards Helga, Jackie now affects a chummy gal-pal sycophancy, which Helga quite laps up. Except on the very frequent occasions when Jackie slips and calls him “he,” far more often than anyone else does, a hilarious Freudian slip which serves to illustrate which dynamic is really in play here.

Back at the camp, Helga has changed back into his miniskirt, which he wears around the campfire while cooking. The rest of us are still wearing the grubby hiking trousers and multiple woollen layers that we’ve been sleeping in for two nights. I can’t tell if he’s touched up his makeup again, but his performance of femininity still includes that peculiar expression that I noticed on the first day—a sort of wide-eyed, open-mouthed pout that is familiar from the many selfies and avatars I’ve seen in the trans regions of Twitter and Reddit. Is this what they think women look like? Do they think we also laugh alone at salad? He obviously missed the memo about how women don’t typically blow snot out of their noses into the bushes, or how we generally go behind a rock to piss. Even the men in the group go behind a rock to piss. Helga still just takes his she-wee a few yards away and turns his back.

In the evening, he gets us to watch the documentary he’d mentioned on the journey up. It’s on a small laptop screen, subtitled in English; we strain to read the captions. The adventurous scenery sections are thrilling and beautiful. The interspersed discussion of his life and his transition are not. In equal measure tawdry and uncomfortable, a string of family and friends pop up in well-worn talking-heads format to offer support, astonishment, bewilderment, praise, to a stirring stock-music soundtrack. It’s all very Lifestyle Channel.

“Do they think we also laugh alone at salad?”

I tick off my day-one assumptions as they are confirmed, one by one. Yep, there’s the bald patch. There’s the poor ex-wife, love-bombed into a quick marriage and then gaslit as he resumed his teenage obsessive crossdressing habit. The secret meetings with other crossdressing men. The eventual divorce, leaving her to raise their child—seems that his fantasies of womanhood didn’t include the boring babysitting parts. He was quite handsome as a man. No weird pout in those older shots. Onscreen, he complains bitterly about an extremely mild “misgendering” incident, and swears he will leave the country.

He wasn’t harassed in the incident, he wasn’t discriminated against, he wasn’t obstructed. He was merely observed to be male, and that was enough to provoke a tearful meltdown. As if we weren’t already walking on eggshells enough, monitoring our own language to avoid naming the obvious fact that we could all see! The sight of this burly man having an onscreen tantrum at his inability to control others’ perceptions… it was a reason to tread even more carefully.

Claire and I go to gather firewood; away from the group and out of earshot, she makes tentative reference to how strange this all is. I sense a proto-terf, let rip a full stream of gender-critical invective, and the relief is glorious. It’s like a touchstone for reality. She’s already been having her doubts about the ideology, and can recognize odd compulsive behavior from having a diagnosed OCD family member; we compare notes on the weirdness of the trip, and reassure each other that we are not imagining it, that our discomfort is merited, that this is really not normal. It was the trans widow in the documentary that really did it for her; we both feel for that poor woman.

Having a woman ally makes it so much more bearable, but also throws a harsh light on how we’re being used to validate the fetish of this penis-obsessed man. We vow to ditch the rest of the group as soon as we’re able and try to salvage some joy from this bizarre situation we’re currently trapped in.

“We’re being used to validate the fetish of this penis-obsessed man.”

On the final day, Claire and I manage to wangle a shortcut, and beat the group back to town by a few hours. In clean clothes at last, we find a restaurant, fill our faces with pizza and wine, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh. We spot Helga through the window, driving the minibus to a fast food place over the road, and we hide behind the curtains, peering at him through a gap, hoping he won’t spot us. Is he just getting hotdogs for the rest of the group again? No, he’s getting a kebab for himself, because he just seems to subsist on junk food and energy drinks. Where are the others? We don’t care. More wine please!

We befriend the waiter and a German documentary maker at the next table, and regale them with tales of how utterly strange our last few days have been. There are no taxis to take us back to the lodge, so the waiter flags down some boy-racer mates of his in a passing car, who give us a lift. They have a tampon dangling from the rear-view mirror. We stumble back to our rooms, still laughing.

The journey back to the capital is uneventful. Helga greets an old acquaintance at a gas station, and makes a point of telling us how they had previously met—apparently he had told her that he used to be a man (apropos of nothing?), and she had been ever so surprised, much to his delight. Cool story, bro. Just a couple more hours and we never have to hear about your penis ever again. At least this is one holiday where going home is less of a wrench than a relief.

Back home, I’m still walking on those eggshells. My friends hear a heavily redacted version of the tale, where Helga is merely a creepy bloke and an incompetent tour guide. The power of pronouns becomes very apparent—consider the vastly different threat perceptions between “she kept talking about her genitals” and “he kept talking about his.” My friends are in the “be kind” camp, and would have attempted the mental gymnastics to frame this as a strange but harmless woman.

“But what did he say about his penis, exactly?”

“Oh, you know, just finding excuses to mention it all the time…”

I think about how we feminists are popularly assumed to hate trans people, to treat them far worse than we would “cis” men. And yet here I am, playing down my deeply uncomfortable experience, hiding Helga’s trans status in my anecdotes, and watching an entire tour group allow him to get away with dangerously unprofessional behavior on that basis. Even when I wrote a complaint to the company, the penis-talk was only a footnote beside his other incompetencies, rather than the front-and-centre issue it would have been from a regular man.

I think about Grace Lavery, about Owen Hurcum—these men who spend a vastly disproportionate time talking about their parts. I think about the power dynamic, of how Helga used us as a captive audience to talk about and demonstrate his castration fetish, ostentatiously brandishing that she-wee. I think about Jackie, cosying up to the man with the power and pretending to validate his delusions to gain a share of that status for herself. I think about the pall this cast on my first holiday since a year and a half of lockdowns. But mostly I think about how Claire and I escaped, our drunken pizza escapades, and the joy of making a female-only space to laugh about the whole ridiculous business.

4W provides paid writing work for over 50 women in countries spanning the globe. This work is made possible thanks to your support on Patreon.

I think I would rather live through an episode of “These Woods are Haunted” than this. Cheap shots aside how many articles like this have to be written before gender cult allies accept that people don’t hit peak trans because J K Rowling said sex is real. We hit peak trans because we see this behavior in trans people in person and the community doesn’t want to acknowledge that they have a problem from within.

#scandinavia #there are man like monsters in the woods #Peak trans

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nyxirrationalstories · 2 years

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the athena x child reader hcs were so good! (I'm the same anon who asked btw) can you do more athena x child reader hcs but with a fem child reader this time if possible?

Hello again; hey, I'm not going to lie to you, if you keep this up you're going to make me write my "Gods of War" fanfic with more enthusiasm.

Hahaha, well, let's start, a girl?! Oh my God, this just got more interesting!

--- If being a boy, Athena already had the little one super protected; when it's a girl… that's it, it's over; if the little one wants to start a war, she's already won it.

--- And I'm not only speaking for Athena, who will guide her little girl to become a great priestess, but also for Ares.

--- Yes, it's true, it's up to Ares to be the voice of reason here; but what if someone hurts his little girl? Troy burns for the fifth time and counting.

--- Here Cotys I cannot even see the infant, he only knows that Athena asked him for a place in the forest and to send some maidens to take care of the place. In this scenario he is literally Athena's ATM; although on second thought Cotys is more like a casino: this relationship is like "money laundering". Athena gives things to her daughter through Cotys and so the gods do not detect her.

How illegal was this point.

--- Mind you, if the goddess was already strict, here she is more so. The disobedience was better "analyzed"; being a male Athena would not fully understand the disobedience of the child and would attribute it to things more of… hubris or foolishness or even being a brute (to which Ares would only shake his head). But being a woman, Athena could know better and what her daughter was thinking if she disobeyed. Which is why mercy only depends on age or if Ares butts in.

--- Speaking of the god of war, Athena knew she had gotten herself the best watchdog and protective father. What if something were to happen to her daughter? A powerful ally in the war.

--- Demeter with Persephone? that's already amateurish, it's a thing of the past baby, and here comes Athena to break barriers.

--- Although she can never surpass Hera, I think no one could.

--- But that only happens if the girl disobeys, if she doesn't, she'll have some freedom.

--- The little girl knows that she has and had siblings (on both "parents" sides) but the only one she "knows" (she has only heard about) is Sofia, the goddess of wisdom.

*Curious fact: Athena is the goddess of knowledge and strategy, over the years she was awarded the wisdom. But, the goddess Sofia is the goddess of wisdom, hence the word "Philosophy" philo= love, Sophie = wisdom. And beware, wisdom and knowledge (although they seem) are not the same thing.

**In my lore, at least from my story and these headcanons, Sofia is the daughter of Ares and Athena.

Athena watched with pride as her little girl gracefully arranged the offerings in her little temple. It wasn't something so ostentatious, it was quite simple and done that way on purpose.

The goddess could hear the girl's prayers: intelligence, grace, skill and bravery… wait a minute. This last one, she was not asking her… but Ares. A slight annoyance she would allow, after all, the god of war seemed that he would not betray her.

--- you have replaced my brother's place --- Sofia looked at Athena, who was more attentive to the human girl than to her words --- but instead of the love you once gave him, now you give something twisted to someone else. Your sadness has become a plague that has even infected my father --- but no matter how many words the goddess of wisdom uttered, the goddess of war ignored her --- Will you stop ignoring me, what I am telling you is important!

--- I don't rule Ares, I just asked him for a favor --- finally answered the Hellenic woman who looked sternly at her daughter --- he does as he pleases as long as he doesn't bother me.

--- The lament of Argenis, the lament of the loss of his son --- declared Sofia looking at her mother with seriousness --- a pain, which although he will have to live with it, has returned with great force. My father had already overcome it, but, what do I see yesterday, he is once again trying to find the soul of Argenis. Stop this madness, Athena!

--- If you have nothing more to say, leave now --- Sofia held back her angry crying, knowing that it would come to nothing, she decided to leave the place. If Athena was not going to help herself, Sofia would take matters into her own hands before something happened to that little girl, her father or her mother that not even repentance could cure.

Bonus: A little continuation of yandere Hades

--- The gods are capricious --- Asier looked out the window as the moon began to rise --- I once knew of a girl that the goddess Athena held captive. I think she died like canaries when a cat looks at them: confinement drives them mad and they eventually die in their cages.

--- Okay, it's too dark and impossible --- commented the nanny as she made dinner --- the goddess Athena would never do that.

--- Zeus did what he wanted, like a king; Hades stole a daughter from her mother, like death; Ares was impulsive and bloodthirsty, like violence --- said the little boy while he drew something --- Eros has no goal, like love; and I can go on with many more examples. So, it is neither improbable nor impossible, but it is quite rare.

--- Where did you get that comparison? --- said the nanny, finishing cooking.

--- That doesn't matter, not when something else is going on --- commented Asier finishing drawing a rune --- I would tell you to be careful in the spring, but autumn and winter are more dangerous… the trees speak --- commented the little boy as he handed her the drawing --- this will protect you, Freyja still owes me a favor.

--- What --- asked the girl as she looked at the drawing and the boy --- is this some kind of game?

--- Yes, and this is my gift… from a fallen one --- Asier said in a more relaxed tone, lying as he had learned in one of his lives --- you are someone I want to protect and I will be your hero.

--- I'll be your princess? --- joked the nanny serving dinner --- or do you have some important role for me?

--- You will be… --- "like Agnes" he wanted to tell her, but little Asier… knew that that was long gone, along with that former name: Argenis --- my friend, whom I want to protect.

#yandere athena #implied ares x athena #athena #ares #athenares #yandere greek mythology #greek mythology

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the-atlas-sister · 3 years

Text

First Kiss (Luca x reader Preference)

Luca:

Ages: Both 17

"So this is your hometown," you said as you and Luca sat on the beach. It was vacation and he had invited you to join him.

"Sorta," Luca shrugged. "This is the human town closet to my home."

"Cool," you said, turning to look at the stars. "Let's play a game." Luca looked at you curiously. "You go into the water and I'll try and find you," you explained, getting up and approaching a beached rowboat.

"That doesn't sound fair," Luca said as you pushed the boat into the water. "I'm a sea monster and it's dark."

"Don't underestimate me Seaweed Head," you smirked, hopping into the boat.

"Are you sure?" Luca asked, pushing the boat further into the water.

"I'm positive, cutie," you teased, leaning on the railing of the boat. Luca blushed at the nickname before diving under the water. You chuckled before leaning back and beginning to row farther into the ocean.

(Grammar *awkward thumbs up*)

After about a good 10 minutes of searching, you still couldn't find Luca. "Fine Luca!" you called into the water. "I give up! You win!" It was silent for a few seconds. "Luca?" you tried again. Nothing. "Luca!" You leaned over the rail, looking into the dark water.

"I win!" Luca said, bursting out of the water in front of you. You screamed and fell back

"Jesus! Luca, don't do that," you exclaimed, clutching your chest.

"I'm sorry," Luca said, though a faint smile was still on his face. "But I did win! Does that mean I get a prize?"

"We never said anything about prizes," you defended.

"Just a small one please," Luca continued, climbing into the boat with you.

"Depends on what it is," you said, pulling your legs into a criss-cross position.

"W-well," Luca began, sitting in front of you on his knees. "I wanted to- I was wondering if I could-" He began messing with his hands, twisting the ends of his shirt. "Silenco Bruno," he mumbled to himself. "Can I kiss you?" His head snapped up, staring at you with a red face.

You were silent for a second, surprised at his boldness. "Yea-yeah," you said. "Yeah, of course."

"Oh... okay," Luca grinned. He leaned forward, not knowing what exactly to do. You smiled at the fishboy's timidness. You leaned forward, gripping his face in your hands gently. You pressed your lips against his in a quick peck. It was short- but enough to make Luca's heart flutter. "Again?" he asked shyly as you pulled away.

Alberto:

Ages: Your 16 and he's 15

"Are you gay?" you asked, relaxing on the boat you and Alberto sat in.

"I- what?" Alberto exclaimed, dropping the net he hung over the boat in shock. See, Alberto had to go fishing for Julia's dad, and you decided you wanted to go with him- not to fish but to annoy the hell out of him. Like any good girlfriend.

"I mean, you did seem pretty friendly with Luca when you first met," you shrugged, playing with the necklace Luca had given you before he left for Julia's school.

"Because he's my friend?" Alberto scoffed. "Also, you are I are literally dating!"

"I know," you stated, not looking at him. "I was just wondering if that's why you never kissed me."

Alberto was silent. "No I'm not gay!"

"Are you bi?"

"Possibly! But that's not the point," Alberto continued.

"So you won't kiss me because you don't have the balls?" you teased.

"I have plenty of balls!" Alberto defended. "Baseballs, basketballs, footballs."

"Not those kind of balls," you said, laughing to yourself. "It means your not brave enough."

"I'm plenty brave!" Alberto exclaimed, looking at you with furrowed brows. "Why haven't you kissed me? Is it because you have none of those bravery balls?"

You held back a laugh. "I'm brave," you defended. "I just... haven't wanted to kiss you yet."

"Then why are you complaining about it?" Alberto scoffed, glaring at the net that had sunk to the bottom of the ocean, due to you scaring him.

You felt yourself flush in embarrassment at his words, looking away. "I- whatever," you grumbled.

You felt Alberto's gaze on you. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to be... rude." You stayed silent, still slightly embarrassed, but Alberto took it as anger. You felt him kneel in front of you, grabbing your chin between his thumb and index finger. He pulled your face to look at him before pressing his lips against yours. Your eyes widened in surprise before, leaning closer, your eyes fluttering shut. "Happy?" he ask quietly, still holding your chin. You nodded gently. "Good," he stated, walked to the edge of the boat. "I've got balls of steel," he mumbled, before he dove into the water.

Julia:

Ages: Both 14

"Y/N?" Julia said, making you look up from your- well, her book.

"Yeah?" you asked, smiling kindly at the red-head you'd known for years.

"Have you ever... kissed someone?" Julia asked, twiddling her thumbs and sitting up.

"No," you stated. "There's no one worth kissing here."

"No one?" Julia repeated.

"Well, there's you," you shrugged, looking back at the book. You peaked over it to see Julia blushing.

"Do you wanna try?" she asked shyly.

"Me and you?" you asked, flushing at the thought.

"Y-yeah," Julia stated, pulling on her curly hair.

"Sure," you said, putting down the book. You got off her bed and walked towards her. You knelt down and kissed her lips gently. "Nice," you hummed before getting on the bed once more and reading the book, not noticing Julia's red face.

#pixar luca #luca #luca x reader #alberto scorfano #alberto x reader #guilla #julia #julia x reader #pixar #aged up #kiss #romance #x reader #preferences

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oitommothetease · 3 years

Text

Invisible String (6/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Description: James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?

Word Count: 2.1k words

Bucky couldn't recall the last time he had a genuine conversation with someone who wasn't his best mates, Sam and Steve. He enjoyed your company and as much as he hated to let his guard down, he wanted to do just that with you. You were everything that Bucky thought he would find repulsive, but he couldn’t help but be attracted towards you. And for the first time he wanted more, he didn't want a one-night stand or a fling with you, he wanted to know you. He admired your courage and bravery, but mostly he admired you. You, with all your stupid yet funny jokes and spontaneity; he liked you more than he would like to admit.

But there was this thing that you were his employee and one meal doesn't count as a date. It was just a meal. But yet, Bucky wanted it to be more. He had never been so intrigued by another person, but it was also clear that you didn't reciprocate his interest. And Bucky would have all of his 206 bones crushed out rather than giving his heart to someone only for it to be not requited.

So, when you walked into the club the next day, pretending as if nothing had changed, Bucky knew where your relationship lay with him, and he was content with it. Okay, he wasn't content with it, but he knew he couldn't force something that wasn't there. He would choose to be in your life as your boss, acquaintance, or maybe even a friend if he's lucky enough than to not be in your life at all.

***

When you got settled behind the counter, your mood wasn't that great. It could be because you weren't drunk this time, or maybe because you enjoyed your meal with your boss a little too much for your liking. You wouldn't call it a date, but it sure as hell was a lot better than all the dates or meals you've had with people.

Your good mood was definitely not because of the fact that your mother called only to inform you that this family friend's son is not going to wait around long, and you should at least find a stable job if you can't find a suitable boyfriend. Then she started boasting about your sister and her amazing profession and how she and her husband save lives every day. And you might have had enough of her bullshit and lied that you indeed have a stable job and relationship. None of which is true.

Bartending only pays the bills, and you haven't had a relationship in years and none of them were serious. You always ran away from any sort of commitment because you knew you would eventually have to introduce your partner to your family and nobody deserves to see that circus, and you told yourself that you're doing a favor to those previous partners by leaving them or as your friends like to call ghosting them. In your defense, dealing with you and your family is more horrific than any scary movie.

Well, until now because tomorrow your sister and her family are coming to meet your partner and take you back to your parents' place for the weekend. The only problem is that you lied to them about your job and your partner. The worst part is that both of them are pretty non-existent.

"Hey, How are you feeling? " Peter asked you, noticing how you still weren't paying attention to the customer in front of you.

“Great, not drunk, if that's what you're wondering.”

“I'm fine," you retorted, glancing at the concerned look Peter was giving you. You quickly took the customer's order and proceeded to make the drink.

"The last time you said you were fine, you threatened to kill a dude," Pietro interjected, enjoying the faux disbelief that landed on your face. You looked over to Wanda for help, but she just chuckled at her brother's antics.

The rest of the night at work went by as it usually did. Pietro making a sarcastic remark here and there, Wanda countering her brother with a snarky response, you were laughing your ass off watching the duo and Peter awkwardly tried to suppress his amusement. In a weird custom, these three coworkers were the only thing that felt normal.

By the time you were done, it was mostly you left like always, with the addition of security guards that James added since Rumlow. You wanted to talk to him, especially after the wonderful not date you had, but the situation with him was not under your control anymore and it released from your grasp which scared the shit out of you. If James and you had met under different circumstances, then you would have tried to date him, but with him being your boss and the whole Rumlow thing made everything so complicated, and you didn't have time for any sort of relationship complication in your life. At least that's what you kept telling yourself.

When you were done with your shift and were about to leave, a very familiar voice called for you. You've been trying to ignore him all day and just when you thought you've succeeded, he catches up to you.

The thing that scared you with James was that you felt safe, too safe with him. You were scared that you were going to become dependent on him for your security, and you hated that. You always despised women who weren't anything except their husband's wife, as if their whole identity was being a man's property. Furthermore, you knew the only thing to be blamed here was patriarchy and men, but you decided that you weren't going to be someone's property, you were going to be your own person.

And you rebelled a lot to reach here, dyed your hair blue just because your mom told you not to, pursued your dream just because your dad told you to follow a secure nine to four job, left ex-partners because they told you what to and what not to wear. And some part of you knew that James wasn't like that. He wouldn't exploit you and your weaknesses.

But what you didn't realize was that these were merely excuses that your brain mustered up because you were too scared to be dumped. A long time ago, you decided that it is better to leave than be left. And James — well, James made you feel things that you didn't want to chase. You feared commitment and abandonment too much to go after a guy.

Your thoughts were brought to a halt when he held your wrist gently and called your name again. Reluctantly, you turned around, pretending to be surprised as if you didn't see him.

He obviously caught on to you. "Why are you ignoring me?"

"What?" You scoffed in feign disbelief, taking your hand away from his grasp and setting it on his shoulder. "Why would I ignore you, bud?"

Bud? What the fuck? , both of you thought at the same time.

Carefully, he eyed your hand and then you, "Okay, come on, I'll drop you home."

"No, James, it's fine, I can go on my own."

"Yes, yes, you are an independent, strong woman but come on," He teased, but you didn't seem to pick up the glint of mischief in his eyes.

You heard that as a taunt, a taunt your father has told you an ample number of times, that you indeed can never be anything on your own if you don't have a man beside you. While you were lost in your thoughts, James was moving towards his car, assuming that you were following him.

"But I am," you argued.

Your voice sounded distant to him, he turned around and walked towards you. "You are what?"

"I am strong and independent."

"Yes, you are," he agreed as a matter of factly because it was the truth. He had never met someone so strong who would leave behind their whole life to pursue their dreams. He, being the mob boss, and filthy rich couldn't do the same, and he may not tell you this, but he admired you so much.

Once you got the assurance you needed, you started walking towards his car. "Are you coming or not?" and he followed you.

Of course, you knew you were strong, but your life had not been going as smoothly as you anticipated. You're stuck in writer's block, your family interference and lack of trust in you hurts like a bitch. You were somewhat crushing on your boss, and you blurted random embarrassing stuff in front of him without thinking. You know, normal crush things.

When you reached the apartment, he insisted on dropping you to your floor. The car ride was spent in peaceful silence, but the time spent in the elevator was everything but that. No, the fifteen seconds were spent in James fidgeting beside you because he wanted to say something but didn't know how to.

After you unlocked your door, he finally spoke up. "Um, I was just wondering whether, you know, - I had fun last night and I don't have smooth conversations with people - um, I don't know, I'd like to go out with you again," he didn't finish, but your eyebrows shot up to your forehead and he quickly backpedaled. " Not as a date, if that's what you want. It could be a meal shared between you and your boss. Not that I'm implying that you are obligated to go with me just because I'm your boss. I'm asking this as a stranger, well, not as a stranger but as a friend, I think."

"James,” you spoke softly, and he could feel the denial coming his way.” I had fun too, but you're my boss. This is highly unprofessional."

He signed in defeat and looked at you one last time. There was so much he wanted to say, he wanted to tell you that he enjoyed your company more than he should. He wanted to tell you that he liked you. He wanted to tell you that he wanted to see where this thing would lead with you, but he knew better than that. At the end of the day, you were his employee and if you were to get involved with him in any form, it would only end in your tarnished reputation. So, he nodded, not trusting himself enough to speak much after the clear rejection. "I understand."

"Y/N! “

Both of you turned towards the source of the voice and frowned. He frowned because he was confused, whereas you, oh, you weren't confused, you were furious at the person standing there and at yourself for forgetting about their arrival.

"Hi, Carol. I thought you were coming tomorrow," you stated, faking a smile, and everyone in the area could see your distressed attempt at looking excited.

Well, everyone except your sister because she shrieked with happiness and ran towards you to throw her arms around you. Her husband followed behind and gave you and James an awkward smile.

"I just couldn't wait to meet my baby sister and we'll take you guys back for the weekend."

You guys, James and you thought at the same time. James looked at the side of your face for an explanation, and you kept looking forward at your sister, avoiding his gaze.

Fuck, you forgot about that. How can you forget about that? You mentally cursed yourself and didn't say anything because you didn't know what to do.

Your sister picked your silence as her cue to talk and pointed her index finger at James, who was standing beside you now. "Is this him?"

Your sister looked at you, expecting an answer, your brother-in-law looked at you with something called, please hurry up, I just want to go back to the hotel. James looked at you with bewilderment.

You sighed and took your boss's hand in yours, who also happens to be the most dangerous person in the town. He complied, holding on to you tightly, running his thumb on the back of your hand in a soothing manner. It felt like the most obvious thing as if your hand was made to be held by him. The thought sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, but you were too stubborn to accept it.

"Yes," you finalized. "This is James, my boyfriend."

TAGS: @bananapipedreams @akkinda10 @rivers-rambles21 @emmabarnes @goodcleanfunsis @valsworldofcreativity @boofy1998 @marvel-3407 @priii

#mobster bucky #mob bucky #mob!bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky #bucky barnes series #bucky barns fanfiction #mob!bucky x reader #mobbucky x reader

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alyoshka-karamazov · 3 years

Text

Les Mis Characters: Quotes from the Musical and the Book that I think define their characters:

Yes, I know this is absurd, but I’m rereading the brick again- because I do what I want- and the idea came to me. So, without further ado:

Jean Valjean:

Musical:

God on high, hear my prayer/Take me now to thy care/Where you are, let me be.

So, Valjean’s whole mission is to be close to God. (And, eventually, to take care of Cosette.) All he wants is to be near, and he is close now. At this point in the show, he is close to death. He has done all he will do, and he’s ready. Cosette is married and now Valjean also has his lies off his conscience: he’s told Marius who he is. He can go to God now, which is all he wants.

Book:

“… He [Valjean] lived in peace, reassured and hopeful, having henceforth only two thoughts, to conceal his name and to sanctify his life; to escape men and to return to God.” (I.Vll.lll)

This is essentially Valjean’s character summed up. He wants to escape who he used to be, (which he can’t, as he eventually accepts) and to be holy. To summarize, he wants to be good, to find redemption.

Cosette:

Musical:

Of a world that I long to see/Out of reach/Just a whisper awayWaiting for me!

So, as is remembered, Cosette has lived almost all of her life alone. She’s too young to remember Fantine, then she’s kept by the Thénardiers, then she’s with Valjean. Who, while someone who loves her, isolates her. As is seen, Cosette wants to see the world. She is thrilled to dress up and parade around Paris, she is excited to be a baroness, etc. Cosette wants to see the world, to live her life.

Book:

“Moreover, Cosette was not very timid by nature. There flowed in her veins some of the blood of the bohemian and the adventuress who runs barefoot. It will be remembered that she was more of a lark than a dove. There was a foundation of wildness and bravery in her.” (IV.V.II)

(Yes, I’m aware everyone uses this, but it’s a good damn quote.) As is repeated in the text, Cosette is brave. When she and Valjean are escaping Javert, she doesn’t cry out. Remember, this is a child who was abused for the first few years of her life. She is passive, yes, but she isn’t timid or a coward. Cosette not only keeps a relationship with a man without her father being aware, (scandalous in 1832, even looked down upon now, depending on who you talk to) ventures into a garden that she thinks might have been broken into while alone, and runs through fields barefoot at fourteen/fifteen. I think the two quotes are a good example of Cosette’s two sides: the lady and the girl. But people only focus on the lady, which is rather sad.

Javert:

Musical:

My heart is stone but still it trembles.

(Yes, I know in the Brick it’s established Javert’s heart is wood, give me some leeway. I have reasons.) Javert wants to be stone. His heart might be wood, but Javert wants it to be stone. He feels nothing for no one- no sympathy, no remorse, nothing- until Valjean. He thinks himself a statue, but he’s a man.

Book:

“Javert’s ideal, was not to be human, to be grand, to be sublime; it was to be irreproachable.” (V.IV.I)

To add onto what I already said above: So, Javert’s goal is to be the perfect cop, essentially. To be the law, to protect ‘good’ people from those like him. He wants to be practically inhuman, to feel nothing. Which is why it is so jarring to him when Valjean shows him mercy. It totally destroys his worldview, who he is. It shakes him and he can’t go on. He wants to be this pinnacle of his definition of righteousness. Everything he does is because he wants- nay, needs- to be perfect, essentially.

Éponine:

Musical:

We [Cosette and Éponine] were children together/Look what's become of me.

Okay, I’ve said this a hundred times, but Éponine’s Errand is such an underrated song. And I think this song, but this line in particular, showcases Éponine’s character so well. Éponine was once this beautiful happy child, and she’s fallen from grace, so to say. She wants to be beautiful and happy again. And, as is seen, Éponine can’t help disdaining Cosette a bit for it. Shown when she glares at Cosette during Valjean’s philanthropic visit to her family, or when she basically sneers ‘pretty girl’ when mentioning Cosette. She doesn’t hate Cosette, but she envies her. Because she is all Éponine wants to be. Which is why she falls for Marius; in him, she sees all she was/can be again.

Book:

“God will bless you,” said he, [Mabeuf] “you are an angel since you take care of the flowers.”

“No,” she replied. “I am the devil, but that’s all the same to me.” (IV.II.III)

This scene shows so well how Éponine views herself. To add onto what I said, remember, Satan was an angel that fell from heaven. Éponine has fallen from Grace herself. She has no illusions about who she is. Shown later, when her only response to her father and the Patron-Minette calling her a bitch is ‘as you like.’ Éponine is selfish and she knows it. And I love her for it.

Fantine:

And I will sing you lullabies and wake you in the morning.

It’s a simple thing, to put a child to bed. But for Fantine, who never really got to be a mother, it’s all she wants. To hold Cosette, to be her mother. It’s why she does everything: so that one day she may hold Cosette again and be her mother. Which makes it all the sadder that she dies before she ever can.

Book:

“Fantine, as we shall see, had the fierce bravery of life.” (I.IV.I)

Fantine is brave. It’s definitely one of her defining character traits, something her daughter inherits. Fantine is no timid maiden. She spits in the face of a mayor, stands her ground, and gives up everything for her daughter. Fantine, as is pretty much said, is a bit of a prude. But after it all, she sacrifices pretty much all that is left to her: her modesty. Is that not brave? Standing up for yourself and making yourself miserable so someone you love may not be? (As far as Fantine knows, anyway.) Fantine never cowers, even until the end.

Enjolras:

Musical:

The people have not heard/Yet we will not abandon those who cannot hear/Let us not waste lives/Let all the women and fathers of children go from here.

Enjolras is a paradox in and of himself. He is logical sometimes to a fault, but he is also so, so loving. This shows that. At this point, they know they’ve been abandoned. The rational thing to do is to find a way to evacuate all of them or surrender, which would undoubtedly save lives. But Enjolras won’t. Because the glorious, loving future he envisions needs him. And Enjolras will stay until the end. On the other hand: his logical side. As he says, why waste lives? It’s illogical, so let those who can go. Enjolras is not needlessly cruel, despite how he is often headcanoned.

Book:

“It is a bad moment to pronounce the word love. No matter, I do pronounce it. And I glorify it. Love, the future is thine. Death, I make use of thee, but I hate thee… The day will come, citizens, when all will be concord, harmony, light, joy, and life; it will come, and it is in order that it may come that we are about to die.” (IV.XI. VIII.)

This is after Enjolras has killed Cabuc. It’s an intensely logical act, and Enjolras’ earlier words of ‘condemning himself’ shows just how he feels about what he’s done. But Enjolras is so, so loving. He kills Cabuc so others don’t have to, so only he may be condemned. It’s Combeferre who says they will share his fate; Enjolras was ready to be condemned alone. (I have lots to say about the choice of the word ‘condemn,’ but I digress.) But back to Enjolras, not only does he basically spend a whole chapter gushing about how much he loves his friends, but in his ideal future, the world will be happy and peaceful. This also shows Enjolras’ low-key disregard for his own life; (you could even call it suicidal ideation) he doesn’t even bat an eye at using his life as a tool. Enjolra ‘glorifies’ the word love. Enjolras understands that death can be used, but he still cares so deeply. This is the man who is willing to trade a police spy who has the ability to damn them (they don’t know how much Javert’s heard) for Jehan; the man who gives Grantaire a chance, even when he doesn’t deserve it; a man who sheds a tear when he has to do someone harm because he is good; a man who is, as Bossuet puts it, “as cold as ice and as bold as fire.”

Marius Pontmercy:

Musical:

My place is here/I fight with you.

Okay, so I know the character trait Marius is most known for is his dorkiness, but Marius is a brave guy. He sees something is going to happen to Valjean at the hands of Thénardier/Patron-Minette and- although he has his suspicions about Valjean- he goes to get help. Also, after Cosette leaves, Marius does go to the barricades. Granted, he’s prompted by Éponine, but he still goes. Because Marius is a good man. He thinks his life is not worth living, so if he’s going to go down, it will be at his friends’ sides.

Book:

“Aunt Gillenormand made repeated attempts, and sent him the sixty pistoles several times. Marius returned them on every occasion, saying that he needed nothing.” (III.V.I)

So, this is right after Gillenormand (Marius’ grandfather) finds out he’d taken the title of Baron. Marius, offended and upset at the slights again this father, leaves. I think this shows the honorable man Marius is. He’d rather be poor than live in Gillenormand’s home and take his money when their ideas are so drastically different. Marius has morals, and while some of his ideas are not so great, Marius is a staunch defender of them all the same.

(Lyric credits to Herbert Kretzmer. Quotes from Les Misérables by Victor Hugo.)

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