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darkblueboxs · 5 years ago

Note

Au where Neil is the Avatar who was born as a fire bender.

anon i lost all control and accidentally wrote a 30k fic for this

...thank you?

anyway here’s the prologue

Iron and Ember

Read here or on AO3 (Check AO3 for content warnings)

The sting of Nathaniel’s latest burn has faded to a dull yet persistent scratch, hissing at every movement of his shoulder despite the layers of bandaging and balm. The court officials avert their eyes as they pass him, arms overflowing with the paperwork of the war machine which spares them no time for little boys who can’t keep their firebending in check. Few still take his parents�� excuses at face value – that point passed six or seven “incidents” ago. Those who have made a connection between the Butcher’s volatile temperament and his son’s ever-evolving array of burns are not foolish enough to direct their accusations towards righthand man of the Fire Lord himself.

It is rare for Nathaniel to be left unattended in the inner courtyard, which is usually reserved for liaisons between high-ranking diplomats and generals. Today is not a usual day; the talks his father is holding with the Fire Lord concern Nathaniel directly. If all goes to plan, he will be sent to the Fire Nation’s most exclusive military school, the Raven Academy, where he will train with the future admirals and councilmen of the empire. Nathaniel doesn’t have much of an opinion on the subject beyond relief at escaping his father’s fiery temperament.

Failure to qualify for the Academy is not an option for the Butcher’s only son, and the Academy only accepts firebenders for students. As the years dragged Nathaniel closer to adolescence with no sign of bending abilities, his mother’s panic grew, and his father’s patience faded. Lola spent several fruitless months terrifying Nathaniel with crackling demonstrations which left Nathaniel’s skin raw and red. It was only after a weekend trip to Ember island, during which Nathaniel and his mother sat on the beach toying with a smouldering campfire until sunrise, that Nathaniel succeeded in summoning flickering sparks to his fingers for the first time. His father sent a messenger hawk to the capital to schedule his assessment as soon as they were home.

He stands before the central fountain, letting his mind fall into a deep, cooling blank carried away by the ripple of the water. Nathaniel’s assessment had been a grilling affair, watched by his mother (white-knuckled), father (stern-faced), the head of the Raven Academy, and a dozen other members of the Fire Lord’s inner circle that Nathaniel did not care to put names to. Two of the Academy’s current students, each marked with a tattoo denoting their place at the top of the Raven hierarchy, each watching his movements with a kind of hunger that Nathaniel would rather forget. The few moves Nathaniel knows are sloppy and self-taught, but he didn’t need to display expertise. Just potential. He gave them everything he had; all he can do now is await the verdict which will arrive at any moment.

Nathaniel hates firebending as much as he loves it. He loves the passion, the energy exploding through him, loves the heat and the intensity, but the power is as terrifying as it is invigorating. Nathaniel has spent too much time on the receiving end of that power, has seen the way his father’s face is transformed by it, as passion turns to fury and hatred and pure, white pain. Nathaniel hates to think of his own face doing the same.

The fear sends heat trickling through Nathaniel’s veins, and he banishes it the only way he knows how. His mother had been teaching him meditating techniques, ways of putting himself into a trance to keep the terror from setting his hands alight. He sways, matching his movement to the ripples of the fountain, his breathing falling into rhythm until he feels the pain and the panic dissolve like meltwater. The movement reminds him of the dancers that performed at the Fire Lord’s birthday celebrations, Southern Water Tribe captives forced to perform for the amusement of tipsy Fire Nation elites. His mother had watched the display with haunted, distant eyes. Nathaniel had been too afraid to ask whether she knew any of the prisoners from her homeland.

Still swaying, Nathaniel copies what he remembers of the movements, raising his arms and rolling them in time with his body. Faintly, he hears a gurgle of movement from the fountain at his back, but his eyes have slipped close of their own accord, so he doesn’t turn to look. A strangled noise snaps him from his trance.

He opens his eyes to see his mother standing before him, her eyes round and wild and burning with something between fear and fury. Nathaniel has seen that fear in his mother’s eyes many times, but never before has he been the source of it. He stops dead. The ball of water hovering over his head collapses, crashing down upon him.

“Mum, I don’t – I didn’t-!”

She slaps him so hard that Nathaniel swears he hears his teeth rattle. “You can’t – You didn’t - If anyone had seen-!”

The sound of approaching footsteps cuts her short, and she straightens, sliding seamlessly back into her public persona. “Silly boy fell in the fountain!” she says brightly, gesturing to Nathaniel’s plastered hair and sopping clothes. “I told him to leave those turtle-ducks alone. Can’t let this one out of my sight!”

The harried diplomat casts a disinterested eye over Nathaniel’s dripping form before turning back to his mother. “The master has accepted your proposition. Your son will be joining the Ravens from tomorrow.”

His mother nods, her lips pressing together into a tight smile as she grips Nathaniel’s shoulder. She has forgotten about Nathaniel’s burn, which feels like fire under the press of her fingers, but Nathaniel knows better than to react.

That night, his mother packs a bag, and they leave under cover of darkness. Nathaniel offers to create a flame to light their way, but his mother slaps his hands away.

“As long as I live,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “You will never firebend again. You hear me? No fire, no water, nothing. You are not a bender. Understand?”

He does. Nathaniel and his mother disappear into the dark, and they are not heard of again for a long, long time.

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought here or on twitter.

#andreil #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg #atla #anon #my asks #my fic #iron and ember

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otonymous · 6 years ago

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hiii, could you possibly do some "first times" HCs with Ikesen Masamune? (obviously both him and MC have prior experience, but just their first time together!) I loved the one you did for Yuki! Thank you! 💕💖💞💘💗💝💓

Hi lovely Anon! Thank you so much for this ask! Masamune is so much fun to write for and I always have a blast doing it. Happy reading!

Warning: NSFW/18+: explicit/graphic language - reader discretion is advised

First Times With Masamune (Ikesen Headcanon)

Your relationship in general:

CHEMISTRY 101

You and Masamune together is like fanning a flame, adding fuel to fire: both of you burn brighter in each other’s company

Masamune is already rowdy to begin with — he gets downright unmanageable in your presence (Hideyoshi doesn’t know what to do with him and is ALMOST on the verge of giving up)

The other warlords all remark that the more time you spend with Masamune, the more of his qualities you take on (especially Ieyasu, Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide)

What they don’t realize is that you’ve always had a wild streak, it was just tempered by what society expected of you (e.g. growing up feeling like you had to be an obedient child, respecting authority figures, conforming to society’s image of what constitutes a good student/employee/etc.)

They never could do away with your smart mouth though, as Nobunaga can attest to

Masamune, who gives zero f-cks about what anyone else thinks about him (aside from you) and does what he pleases, is only drawing out from you what was already there to begin with

You were initially scared out of your wits in his presence, but then soon realize that it all just feels so…natural

Of course, you still have a very different stance compared to Masamune when it comes to physical violence and war

But rarely have you ever felt such simpatico with another human being, whether back in your own time, or here, 500 years in the past

All the other warlords, while supportive, are secretly envious of Masamune’s relationship with you (except Mitsunari, who doesn’t really know what’s going on): it’s almost criminal for a couple to have that much fun and look at each other with such smouldering passion in their eyes

Of course, all of this translates into HOT SEXY TIMES…

First kiss:

Were you always this turned on from a kiss alone?

Masamune is a skilled kisser - knows how to make you melt with just the soft press of his lips against yours and his tongue will bring you to your knees…literally

The moment you feel him slide that tongue into your mouth, you are gone, putty in his hands

Cocky bastard knows he’s good at this. He’s had enough experience with women swooning in his arms from his kiss alone

What he didn’t expect was how affected he would be by yours

Once your lips meet, he’s suddenly ravenous, hungrily exploring every inch of your mouth and sucking your tongue into his. He’s gently sinking his teeth into your lower lip and tugging playfully

The rest of his body responds in kind: he’s grinding into you, hands freely roaming over your clothes (is that his erection you’re feeling against your thigh through his hakama?!)

Masamune can’t quite put into words why he’s responding so fervently to you, he just knows he never wants to stop

Perhaps it’s the grip of your fingers on his hair, tugging gently as if to tame a wild animal. Or perhaps some hidden note in the warm fragrance of your skin that he detects at the base of your neck. Or the way your moans are reminiscent of a kitten’s purrs before he greedily swallows them into his mouth. There’s just something about you that brings out the beast in him

”I love you.”

The first time Masamune tells you he loves you, it will be completely spontaneous

You find yourselves in another near-death situation (no surprise there), the two of you looking wild with ripped clothes, disheveled hair and dirt on your faces

And when you each finally catch your breath to take in the sight of the other through wide eyes, you crumple against one another in belly shaking laughter, both trying not to embarrass yourselves further by becoming incontinent as well

When the laughter finally dies down, he’ll suddenly reach out to gently brush the mud away from your face, softly saying, “I love you, kitten”

You are dumbstruck, frozen in place. Never once did you think he would be the first to say it. You love him to death, but were afraid to tell him because he just didn’t seem to be the type to ever settle down with a single partner

Masamune surprises even himself when the words leave his lips as naturally as breathing: he’s never made this kind of declaration before nor even had the inclination to do so. But then again, he’s also never met someone quite like you before.

The man has had his share of women, but they’ve been a rotating door of one-night stands with the sole purpose of sating a physical need

The thought that you could be the one to “tame” him actually frightens Masamune a bit: suddenly his reckless behaviour on the battlefield can have consequences. What if he never returns to see you again?

But it’s already too late. If the words didn’t seal his fate, the passionate kiss you give him in return does.

The first night:

OH. MY. GODS.

While neither of you are virgins, your first night together makes you wonder what the hell it was that the two of you were doing with other partners in the past, because it certainly never felt like this

You didn’t know sex could feel this good: the two of you are so physically compatible, the chemistry is insane

We are talking hot, sweaty, wild sex

All inhibitions fly out the door and nothing is taboo. There is no room for self-consciousness when you are making hot, passionate love with Masamune

Your nails leave crimson trails down the length of his back, while his fingers dig a bit too deeply into your hips as he’s thrusting passionately into you from behind. You won’t notice the bruising on your skin until dressing in the light of the afternoon sun the following day, having needed to sleep in after an entire night of going at it

As things usually are with Masamune, your first time together will be unplanned: the mood is right, the stars align, and you fall into each other’s arms as naturally as the seasons cycle

Once again, it all begins with laughter. And then, in the midst of shoulder-shaking heaves, you catch a glimpse of something in that cerulean eye, an instance where he’s completely serious, earnest…and irrevocably in love with you

He says your name. Not “kitten” or “lass,” but your name. Whispered like the word itself is sacred and powerful, and perhaps it is, because in that moment, held in the sway of whatever magic was conjured up by that spell, you fall on him, lips hungrily seeking Masamune’s, hands working feverishly to tear open the collar of that blue kimono, needing to feel the heat of his skin beneath your greedy fingers

Masamune is taken aback for all of 2 seconds. You’ve never been this forward before, and he is used to playing the role of aggressor, especially when it comes to amorous activities. But he finds that he quite likes the change and is open to becoming your prey for the evening

Sex with Masamune feels like some animalistic courtship ritual, cycling between periods of playfulness and passionate solemnity, with your naked bodies naturally finding themselves in a myriad of different positions where both of you will have the chance to experience what it’s like to dominate and be dominated

Some of the many positions/activities encountered on this first night together include: face-sitting, 69, doggy, cowgirl, missionary, lotus, reverse cowgirl… god, there are so many - some positions aren’t even named yet (now you know why it took all night)!

This man will leave no stone unturned when it comes to the pursuit of pleasure

Oral skills are top notch (the guy loves to cook, so of course he’s going to have some kind of oral fixation) and he enjoys giving as much as receiving

Your blow job is the best one he’s ever had, hands down. The entire time, when he’s not moaning and groaning, Masamune is trying hard not to entertain fantasies of cutting down the lucky guy you got to practice on with his katana

Speaking of moaning and groaning, the man is loud and doesn’t care. In fact, he would like nothing more than to turn up the volume so that everyone knows what a good time the both of you are having

You won’t mind swallowing: the man eats his fruits and vegetables and has healthy, home-cooked meals

Magic fingers. Masamune has had ample experience mixing, kneading and shaping culinary delicacies by hand. Finds that G-spot like its got a GPS tracker. You never knew you were capable of squirting before

Dimensions: a beauty to behold, his cock is long and thick, curving slightly upwards to hit just the right spot when he’s plowing deeply into you from behind. Nice.

Energizer bunny: Masamune can go all night…and he does the very first time he’s with you (you can bet he’s making up for lost time)

Loves to cum on you (and later on as your relationship progresses, in you). The first night, he paints your stomach, breasts, inner thighs and ass cheeks during four separate rounds of love making

Best aftercare ever: Masamune will wipe you clean, bring you water and whip up something delicious in the kitchen to help you revive (hard core sex does tend to make one ravenous, after all). Prepare to drift off to sleep with your head on his chest, the steady beating of his heart the sweetest lullaby

Thanks for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen headcanon #ikesen smut HCs #ikesen masamune #date masamune #my writing #q&a #all request line

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crazyrapunzel · 4 years ago

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New fanfic: Alicia Doreen and the werewolf professor

Hi peeps!

I just wrote a new fanfiction with RemusxOC. Read the first chapter here and the rest here.

Chapter 1: first impressions

Remus John Lupin was incredibly nervous for his first class as a teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts. Well technically this wasn’t his first, because earlier that morning he had started with the second years of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but that seemed to go by so quickly and easily. He wondered whether the young students were so quiet because of his teaching skills or because of the scars that decorated his face. Hardly a day went by without someone staring at him.

No, but he counted the second period of the first day of the schoolyear as his first class, because he needed to teach the seventh years next. It was quite the switch in subject matter and level of expertise from the impressionable second years to the rebellious and clever seventh years.

He woke up from his trance when the door opened and the students entered the room. He stood to say a polite ‘good morning’ here and there, waiting for them all to settle down. He already heard the first whispers mentioning his scars and placing bets to how he got them. The students had the idea that they were discreet and quiet enough, but they didn’t know that Remus Lupin had a heightened sense of hearing. However those words didn’t bother him. Soon enough the initial shock of his physique would die down and they would have to listen to his teaching.

When the last student closed the door he took out a parchment and started scanning the names. ‘Good afternoon class. My name is Professor Remus John Lupin. I will be your Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for this year and hopefully many to come. I would like to start by checking the attendance sheet first. William Boot?’ After a ‘here’ from William and a couple of others he grew confident that his class was all present, until he heard a pause after asking for ‘Alicia Doreen?’

‘She isn’t here yet professor,’ a girl in the back replied. Remus looked up from the list, as if to hope that the missing girl would suddenly appear. ‘Well do you know where Miss Doreen is?’ The girl with the raven black hair was about to open her mouth, when the door slammed open. Remus looked up to see a seventeen-year-old girl standing in the opening, her hair tangled and wild, her chest heaving from running up the stairs. She leaned in the doorpost with her hands and her legs stood wide with her toes facing inward. The sight was so comical Remus nearly forgot he was supposed to be the adult in the room. He forced down his chuckles and cleared his throat.

‘Sorry I’m late professor. There was an incident I had to deal with,’ the girl replied. She started to walk towards the empty seat next to the raven haired Ravenclaw. Remus sniffed the air, and smelled something unpleasant. He looked the newest arrival over again and realised that her hair wasn’t just tangled, but also scorched. He smelled burnt hair.

‘An incident? Is that why your hair is smouldering?’ He asked. The class seemed surprised by his reaction. Sure enough some teachers would call bullshit and straight up deduct house points. The girl was suddenly aware of her hair and started running her fingers through the scorched parts. ‘Whoops. Thank you for telling me professor.’ Once again, Remus had trouble containing his smile.

Alicia hoped she didn’t miss any of her hair still smouldering away. Suddenly she noticed the smell and apologized to Michelle sitting next to her. Her friend looked half-amused half-annoyed at her silly friend and patted out a small burn mark in her robes.

‘What did I miss?’ Alicia asked. Michelle shrugged. ‘Nothing. He literally just asked where you were and then you stormed in like a lunatic.’ Alicia chuckled. ‘You know I like dramatic entrances.’

Professor Lupin continued down the list and once he was done, he addressed the class once more.

‘Well, now that we are all here,’ Alicia noticed the professors green eyes looking at her for a second ‘we can start the class. I understand that last year went quite different than usual. Your professor, Mister Lockhart was send to St Mungo’s and your exams were cancelled due to the Chamber of Secrets being opened. So am I to understand that you are a bit behind?’

Half the class started talking at the mentions of last year. When professor Lupin had shushed them he chose a Ravenclaw to inform him. ‘The exams being cancelled was a blessing. Professor Lockhart was a complete fraud. He taught us nothing all year.’ There were noises of agreement from the class and the professor pressed him on. ‘So we might need more than a little extra aid to catch up with the material from last year.’

The professor sighed. ‘I was afraid the situation was regrettable, but to catch up on an entire year…well don’t worry. I’ll work on a new schedule. For now I want to catch up on the nonverbal spells. Have you practiced those last year at least?’ Some people nodded. ‘Alright then. I’ll talk them over for half an hour and after that we will practice them. Sounds good?’

The excited noises from the students seemed to lift the professors spirit. Alicia watched the curious new professor. He wasn’t like any of the other teachers. They were all so strict, so…inhuman and distant. But this man, he seemed a lot closer to the students. He felt for them, having a moron for a teacher the year before they graduated. He seemed to want to be liked, because he looked for confirmation of his lesson plans. And lastly, he hadn’t said anything about house points or detention to Alicia. For that alone, she felt already in his dept.

‘What do you think?’ Alicia asked Michelle as everyone was getting out their books. Michelle looked up with a questionable look. ‘What you mean the professor? I guess he is okay so far.’

In front of the two Ravenclaw girls sat two more Ravenclaw girls. Elena, the ever bubbly and naïve friend, turned around to join in. ‘He looks weird though. Those scars. What do you think did that?’

Alicia sat back in her chair and started ticking off her fingers. ‘Dragon, Wampus cat, pixies, werewolf, regular wolf, cat, bowtruckle-‘ she gained a giggle at that last one from Elena. ‘All plausible options. More options possible depending on where he travelled. Or maybe the most dangerous one of all…a crazy ex-girlfriend.’ She added a dramatic look for effect and successfully made all three girls laugh.

After the lecture the tables and benches were moved aside so they had place to stand around in pairs and practice their non-verbal spell work. Alicia didn’t have too much trouble when performing them, but she did have trouble aiming at her friend. She tried to aim for her legs as she used the Jelly-Legs Curse, but they kept ending in her face. Elena looked more and more distraught at the wild flying curses and jinxes. ‘Come on Alicia. Aim for the legs.’ Alicia sighed in frustration. ‘I am! Look.’ She aimed once more at Elena’s legs but at the last moment she was distracted by a moving figure. Her curse went wide again but instead of hitting Elena, she hit someone in the back of the head.

Of course it had to be the professor.

‘I am soooo sorry about that!’ Alicia exclaimed, her hands covering her face. Professor Lupin turned around slowly, rubbing the back of his head. ‘Are you trying to get detention today, Miss Doreen?’ he said. It was supposed to sound threatening, but she couldn’t help but notice some amusement in his tone. Nevertheless she dropped her eyes to the floor. ‘No professor. I am just bad at aiming.’ She dared to look up to see him looking with a curious expression. ‘Well I guess that would be your first task to master then.’ The girl nodded quickly and the professor moved on to the next pair.

Elena shook her hand as if it had been burned. ‘That was close Nessie. I think he really likes you to go so easy on you.’ Alicia shook her head at the nickname. In her fourth year she saved a fellow student from being drowned by an overgrown kelpie and now she had a reputation and a nickname around the school. It wasn’t the real Loch Ness monster though, mind you. ‘Shut it. It’s your turn.’

The class was about to end, the furniture back in place, when Alicia heard her name being spoken. She looked up at her new DADA professor. ‘If you wouldn’t mind staying for a moment,’ he said shortly. Michelle, Elena and Sophia waved her goodbye as they left for lunch in the Great Hall. Soon everyone had gone except the new teacher and the student that was late to class on her first day.

She looked down at him sitting behind his desk. It suddenly felt weird being alone in the room with him. She did actually look at the scars on his face properly for the first time and decided that whatever did that, it were deep wounds when inflicted. His sandy-brown hair fell over his forehead in a feeble attempt to hide a part of his scar. There was light stubble on his face. His wizarding robes looked old but recently refreshed. A dull shine came from his buttons and the small tears in the fabric of his sleeves were darned with a secure hand.

He leaned forward on his desk and looked directly in Alicia’s eyes. ‘I would like to know why you were late today.’ It was a simple request. It made sense. However, Alicia’s mind had already found herself thinking he was going to ask something way more personal. Why would he do that you idiot? She reprimanded her own thoughts.

She exhaled with a shaky laugh. ‘Well, you noticed the scorch marks, right?’ He nodded and his eyes flickered to her long blonde hair before returning to meet her gaze. ‘Uhm…there was an incident in the dungeons near the Slytherin common room. Somehow a fire crab had gotten inside the castle and it was wildly attacking students and sending fireballs from it’s a-rear,’ she confessed.

The professor’s face froze in place. ‘There was a fire crab in the dungeons.’

‘Yep,’ she said, plopping the P.

He stared at her for a moment, maybe expecting her to say more, but she was really distracted by this man. He shook his head and chuckled. The sound of his laughter made Alicia feel warm inside. Wow girl, get your act together will you? ‘And obviously when a fire crab enters the dungeon, you have to deal with it. Is that right?’ Alicia blinked out of her daydream and realised why he found this so peculiar. ‘Ah, right! I forgot to mention a bit about me. You see, professor, I have a passion for magical creatures. I seem pretty good at taming and handling them. This is something the entire school knows because of the famous Leprechaun invasion,’ she noticed his incredulous look but simply replied with, ‘not important. So anyway, the answer is yes. When the Slytherins faced this problem they asked me to deal with it. So I did.’

‘You did?’ he asked, even more surprised than he already was.

‘Yes. Brought it to Hagrid. He knows what to do with them. He might even be featured in his Care of Magical Creatures lessons. Hagrid is so excited to be a teacher this year. The fire crab had quite a temperament though, maybe not so safe after all.’ That last sentence was added as an afterthought.

The professor stared her down for a moment longer before deflating a bit in his chair. Now he really couldn’t stop the smile on his face as he recalled how ridiculous this school could be. ‘Well I guess you were actually quite quick then. You were found by a Slytherin, brought to the dungeons, dealt with the beast and brought it to Hagrid, and in the end you were mere minutes late to class.’

‘It happened during our previous free hour,’ she replied simply.

‘Of course it did,’ the professor said just above a whisper.

Alicia raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you calling me a liar professor? I have many witnesses that can tell you the truth.’

‘No! No I wasn’t implying that. I just think…you are incredible.’

Alicia started blushing at that remark. She cleared her throat and shuffled her shoes. ‘Thank you, Professor Lupin.’

He didn’t seem to realise what he had said. ‘Okay, well thank you for telling me. I will remember it. Next time I face something interesting I will call for you.’ Alicia chuckled at that and looked at the professor again. With that dashing smile on his face she suddenly realised that she found the professor attractive. Oh no. ‘You should. I will be there!’

The professor chuckled once more and started collecting some papers on his desk. ‘Alright, you are dismissed. You should get some lunch.’ Alicia turned to leave. When she walked past his desk, she noticed a book on top. It attracted her attention because it was familiar. ‘Oh this is a good one! I didn’t think it was on the recommended reading list for this year,’ Alicia said.

The professor looked up from his papers to see the girl hovering over his current read. ‘It isn’t. I’m reading it now. Did you read it?’ Alicia turned to see the bookmark already halfway. ‘Yes I did and there are some great plot twists yet to come for you. But chapter five was my favourite part, I see you already read that. When you finish it you should tell me and we can discuss it. There are some holes in the story that I would like to talk with someone about. I want to see how someone else interpreted it.’

The professor looked at her for a moment before replying. ‘I will. That is the second time in our first meeting that you astonish and surprise me.’ His gaze didn’t leave the Ravenclaw girl. Despite her warm cheeks she tried to reply lightly with a joke. ‘Always here to surprise you,’ she said while making a theatrical bow. After another moment of eye contact that send warm shivers down Alicia’s spine she turned to leave the classroom.

#fanfiction #remusxoc #Remus Lupin #prisoner of azkaban #harry potter fanfic #teacher/student #rated m #Marauders

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ask-thefiftystatesofamerica · 6 years ago

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Can we get more writings please??

Maine Discovers Massachusetts

The foreign aroma of blazing wood filled her nose, almost causing her to sneeze, but the feeling of the light reflecting off her skin and sharing it’s warmth distracted her as she edge closer and then peacefully settled by the fire, the cold night no longer trying to choke her.

A sigh of content passed her lips as she brought her legs up to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. Her sooty nightgown bunched up, but she paid no heed to it as she stared at the flames in wonderment, completely entranced by the ever-changing colors and shapes. It was fascinated her and her childlike mind.

Hearing something shuffling from close by, her thoughts were scattered, grey eyes snapping to some sort of lump figure that was under a brown quilt.

This new discovery caused her to pause, completely lost in what to do. What was the lump? Was said lump alive? It did move after all so it was not a rock. Hopefully, it was not a creature of the dark. The little colony feared the vicious sons of the dark that would howl and snap their ravenous teeth at her. The very thought of them made her shiver.

Moving cautiously now, the small tot edged her way over to the lump and then ever so careful reached one hand out, hand clasping onto the soft fabric that obscured the lump from her vision. Ever so carefully she pulled it back, seeing that the lump was not covered in fur. Well except for his head. It was like hers and she it caused her to shape her mouth into an ‘o’ out of realization. This lump was like her.

And so immediately the small colony got to work. She first checked for sharp teeth in the person by carefully lifting up his upper lip with a twig, unwilling to sacrifice her fingers to do so. Relief, started to spread through her as she saw that this person’s teeth were indeed flat, and as for his hair… After touching few of the the locks without waking the slumbering person, she safely concluded that it was a reasonable amount of fluffy and soft and quite liked the feeling of it.

With that all done, she knew that this person wasn’t a son of the dark, but it would be quite a while before dawn. The little colony had learned the hard way that it was better to sleep during the day, and stay awake at night so that she could always be safe with predators on the prowl, making her nothing more than prey.

For those reasons, the personification stayed feeling safe by the warmth of the gleaming fire. And as time started to mindlessly pass, she started to mindlessly decorate the young man’s hair with flowers, decorating his soft locks with the enticing colors of blooming flora.

Hours must have passed before this person’s body was completely covered in hundreds of flowers tiring the young girl. She yawned slightly as the sky started to turn into a gentle blazing yellow with the rise of the sun, bringing dawn in its wake as night was left behind. The fire was now nothing more than smouldering but the toddler didn’t seem to care as she carefully placed a Beach Rose behind his ear, a satisfied smile resting carelessly on her lips.

The small colony was not sure what had happened next, but what she did know was that the person’s eyes were suddenly open, staring directly at her with what appeared to be confusion as they started to sharpen as he woke. She had meant to leave before he woke but it appeared her initial plan had been foiled as the young man suddenly sat up, the flowers on his upper body falling off, her floral arrangements ruined causing her to gasp out of horror.

“No.” She spoke rather sternly as she pushed the man back down and then started to fix the flowers, carefully placing them over his body again.

The man stared at her, looking a bit clueless on what to do having never before experienced a situation like this before but he felt something. A sort of invisible tug that made his eyebrows scrunched together out of bewilderment. He had felt this before, but that was with other colonies. A tell tale sign that a personification was near, but this tug was faint. Weak. The strongest tug he ever felt though was with the personification of England but this...this was different.

“There.” The young colony sighed happily before she laid on top of her own assortment of flowers, and therefore on top of him and the young man let out a small sound of surprise.

He was at lost for words, but had a sneaking suspicion what this was. “Hello…” He spoke, not sure how else to start a conversation with this young child and he certainly didn’t want to scare her off. Something that too often with the other colonies of British America. “Do...Where are your parents?” He asked carefully, as he moved his head trying to get a better view of the girl that was on top of him. And that was when he noticed that the girl was actually sound asleep…

On top of him…

He was stuck unless he wanted to rudely awaken the innocent and oddly adorable child.

“...fuck.”

The End.

Note: This is how Massachusetts first discovered Maine and met the baby colony for the first time.

Also, if you want to request any specific writings just ask! I’ll happily fill your request.

#aph maine #aph massachusetts #hetalia #statetalia #aph states #one shot #my writing #personification #how massachusetts met maine #writings #maine discovers massachusetts

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adrienzviaguine · 6 years ago

Text

SPMR! Fate of Rome's magical lines.

Chapter One: the Lion cub of the Julia.

"Master Hades... The envoys you sent to the Gauls of the Po valley have returned."

A tall man with a long cloak and beard. That was Master Hades for all of his followers. No one is allowed to see under the sacred shroud.

To this young Roman aristocrat, it was incredibly irritating to have to answer to this faceless overlord.

More so to be his poster boy.

"Ah. I saw. I heard. I felt that news would reach us soon. Alas, I do not think it will be an agreement. Rome is still too strong for them to be a good enough jar of honey."

The fact that he spoke in cryptic and nonsensical idioms was also pretty high on the list of aggravating things about him.

"..." the young Roman stayed silent.

"Go to them and sends them to our ally in the two senate. It is time that we brought some change to this oligarchy of old fool."

"Yes master hades."

And he left.

-----------------------------------------

"This is an outrage! A crime such as this has never been committed before!"

"A Magiarch! Killed in the sacred space of the Senate Curia!"

"An investigation must be undertaken!"

The brouhaha was hurting Lucy's ears. She hated this pretence of appearances. The truth was that most of the other Magiarch would have gladly stabbed Igneel if given half the chance.

Igneel. He really was one of a kind. Even in death he inflate all passions. Thought Lucy with a secretive smile.

Looking on her left from her chair was the throne for the chairman of the Magical Senate. Empty since her mother fell ill 25 years ago.

Lucy looked next to a tall man with shaggy blue hair and an intricate tattoo. He was reclining in his uncomfortable straight wooden chair, one leg crosses over the other under is toga.

Lucy noted that he seemed almost bored out of his mind.

Then her brown gaze found another young man. This one had raven hair and grey eyes and was yawning theatrically as if mimicking a play of Aristophane.

Finally there was the Claudia son. Young Natsu Claudius Dragneel. A very powerful and volatile magia who was more in the business of flaunting the law rather than making it.

She sighed and placed a hand on her forehead. If they kept arguing by agreeing they would be here for a long time.

She let them scream at each other and the world for fifteen more minutes before standing up.

Instantly all voices were cut and all attention was riveted on the young Lucia Julia Heartfilia.

"Much esteemed and venerable Magiarch. While I concur that such a heinous and blasphemous crime as the assassination of one of our own, in our own sacred ground is a matter of grave importance, I will remind you that I did not call the meeting into cession."

Many looked abashed when her traveling stare met them. She sighed again.

"I call this cession of the Magical Senate of Rome today the fifth before the ides of Mars in the year of the consulat of L.Papirius Cursor and C. Junius Bubulcus Brutus. The first order of debate is the actions that must be taken regarding the event of the past night. We will also induct a new member in our rank. Does anyone has a business he wishes to be added to the discourse of today's meeting?"

She looked around the room. No one was moving to step forward until her gaze stopped on the young Natsu who had stood up and was watching her intently.

Lucy was slightly unnerved by the intensity his eyes seemed to possess. Like smouldering inferno raging behind a carefully crafted veil of peacefulness.

Lucy arched brow still.

"Young Claudius Dragneel. As you are not yet a recognized member of this respectful body, you do not have the right to pass a motion to be seconded."

Natsu's masked showed for the briefest of moment something akin to an emotion, but it was gone too fast for Lucy to fully decipher.

"I do not wish to pass a motion to be seconded. I would like to do something wholly different." He replied with confidence.

Lucy's gaze narrowed a fraction but she nodded and made a move from the hand to encourage him to speak.

"Ladies and Lords of the esteemed Senate." Began Natsu, his eyes sweeping across the whole of the hall before finding Lucy's again.

"I know who killed my father."

And chaos descended once again in full swing withing the walls of the Magical Curia. Lucy sat back and sighed again. A long, weary and tired sigh.

When some semblance of calm had reinstated itself, Lucy stood up.

"The cession officially begins. Mister Dragneel. You know of the murderer?" At Natsu's nod she continued : "Then pray tell us who the criminal is."

Everyone watched and payed attention to the not yet inducted noble.

"His name, is one well known to the people of this assembly. He names himself Hades."

A split second of silence. The blinks of most eyes. And then...

"This little kid is mocking us!" Cried an elderly man with few hairs remaining on his head.

"Hades was killed centuries ago by King Romulus after the battle at Alba Longa!" Cried another.

And a cacophony of voice and yells echoed in the halls of the Curia magica. Lucy sighed wearily, sitting back on her chair of willow. Her tired gaze found the earnest and smoky eyes of the young Claudii.

A man stood up. His shaggy blue hair a strange things among the mostly white hairs of the senators.

"The chair recognize Jellal Fabius Fernandez."

Silence came then. Many had a nothing but looks of loathing directed at the young Fabii. Yet no one interrupted him; for at the young age of 65, basically 19 for a normal human, he had proven himself the most powerful magia of his generation after the young Lucia Julia Heartfilia.

"Esteemed colleagues." Many bristled at that. "I know that it seems difficult to believe. I myself, does not give much credits to the words of a man who has such a record of... misadventures shall we say." Some snickered at that. "But one thing you seem to be forgetting, is that young Natsu here does not have any reason to lie or misdirect us. If he has any substantial proof, I say let's leave him the benefits of the doubt." Natsu looked at him. Jellal sat back a smirk on his face. "But that is if he has any proof to give at-"

His voice was cut short by Natsu dropping an metallic object on the ground with a wild clatter.

Many looked shocked at the said object.

"Is it proof enough?" Asked Natsu.

Everyone. Everyone from the young populist to the old conservator, passing through the neutrals party, stared in wide eyed fear at the spear head laying on the sacred floor.

It was immaculate. The deep black blade shinning with a sinister gleam. Just below the piercing edge was the emblem of a stylized heart made by two dragon.

Such a weapon had not been seen since the time of King Romulus. For this was his spear that he used to kill the black wizard Hades centuries ago. Most of the older wizard recognized it immediately, and wee shook to their core.

For the spear had been used to keep Hades body sealed to the ground by piercing his heart for eternity in his hidden tomb.

Lucy was staring at it with a deep shiver.

"This weapon!" Exclaimed Natsu. "Is the weapon that was used to stab my father! I have gone to Hades tomb and found none!"

All of the senator turned to him, a very clear terror deep in their eyes.

"Now I ask of you; when was his tomb last checked? Because from what I'm seeing, either he returned from the dead. Or he was never fully dead."

A deep, unobstructed silence fell like the first snows on the Senate. No one spoke. No one moved. Even the proud and confident Fernandez was rooted to his seat at the sheer implications.

Lucy stood. Recovering first.

"This is a matter outside of our sole power. We need to call the Senate Universalis. For now, I pose to vote the levying and improvement of the city's magical wards and defenses. Tomorrow we will meet with our normal homologues. Natsu Claudius Dragneel is officially inducted in this body. Meeting adjourned."

Everyone left with barely any word being spoken. None of the senators were able to bring themselves to reality.

Once everyone was outside, Lucy fell in her chair and levied her head to the roof on which a starmap was painted.

"Gods protect us..."

#fairy tail #nalu #lucy heartfilia #nalu fanfiction #natsu dragneel #natsu x lucy #jerza fanfiction #gajevy fanfiction #gruvia fanfiction #gale fanfiction #adrien's works

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ohthathurt · 7 years ago

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Bring Me Home

Prompt: You were away for a while and I missed you so much that I kind of tore up the house in your absence like a dog with separation anxiety…sorry?

Also inspired by this art

Heaving up his shoulder bag, Liam absently rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie, digging into a travelling bag in front of him on the trolley for his water bottle. Flying sucked balls. Obscene as that description may be, it was God’s honest truth and he couldn’t wait to get out of the airport and into a private car that took him to their flat. His and Zaynie’s flat in New York.

He had just landed a few minutes ago and thankfully it being a late flight there weren’t as many people milling in and out, which always set Paddy on edge, sticking to Liam like Velcro. Baggage claim done, he followed his security out towards the arrivals gate and out of the airport’s exit sliding doors.

This time, no paps were present to document his entry into New York because of obvious reasons but Liam was grateful for them, he was sure he looked a mess. Face wrinkled with however little sleep he could manage and hair sticking up on all ends thanks to the residual hair wax, he was surprised no one gave him the stink eye.

He dropped heavily onto the soft seats of the car, a black sedan with tinted windows, and immediately curled up to go back to sleep. From the front passenger seat, he could hear Paddy look back at him and scoff but Liam ignored him for the sweet call of slumber and dreams full of happy amber eyes.

It was much later that he jolted up as he heard a sharp rap against the window that his face was currently smushed up against, haphazardly wiping off any drool that may have accumulated.

He looked around in a daze and he found the car was parked in idle in a narrow alley behind a building. The flat’s back entrance, then.

It was already beginning to be sunrise so he pushed himself out the car door and walked towards the building’s back entrance, an inconspicuous looking door with matte black paint on it. Liam wobbled his way through the door and robotically made his way towards their flat. A quick swipe and the security checks were sorted as he finally stepped into his home.

The smell of vanilla and dog food welcomed him as he sleepily chuckled, so Zayn was sneaking Rhino in behind his back. Their dogs, more like babies, weren’t always allowed in the flat whenever they lived here, due to Rhino’s tendency to run in open areas and Loki loved the gardens at their LA mansion.

But Liam stopped short of their living room, the coffee table a mess of comics and coasters, sheets of paper strewn around no doubt filled with mindless lyrics or wordless melodies. His heart ached to hear the soft pads of feet across their plush carpet, a wide grin with a scrunchy nose and lively eyes. He longed for those thin, wiry arms to wind around his neck, his husband a light weight in his arms as he jumped up to greet Liam.

All he wanted was to bury his nose in the soft, raven hair and breathe in the familiar but still intoxicating scent of Zayn.

God, he’s such a sap, if his husband was here he’d get a roll of the eyes and a scoff but still with a hint of rosy cheeks. Even after all these years, Zayn still loved to hear how much he meant to Liam.

With a shake of his head, Liam forced himself out of his head. Right, first things first.

He took long strides towards their bedroom, the door half open with the king sized bed in view, and all clean white sheets. Unlacing his shoes, he kicked them off in a hurry outside the bedroom’s entrance and made his way towards the wardrobe room. Of course, they had a wardrobe room; where else would Zayn keep the innumerous clothing items he received on the daily.

Liam flicked on the dim orange light of the tiny space and made his way towards the far left corner, where his own drawer of things was situated. Swiftly sliding it open, he reached in for a small velvet pouch. He shook its contents out onto his palm with a small smile as he finally slid on his wedding band.

Now he felt complete. Now he felt like Liam, just Liam, or as Niall called him, Mrs. Zayn Malik.

With a huff at the memory of his best friend taking the piss out of him, he exited the small room and his eyes zeroed in on the bed. Finally, his own bed.

After a quick use of the washroom, he took his cellphone out and sent a customary reached text to his husband, before shutting it off. He planted himself face down on the bed, practically groaning at the memory foam as it hugged his body. Blindly, he reached for Zayn’s pillow and cuddled it close to him, the scent of his husband still a remnant on it.

With a small sigh, he switched onto his side and curled up into a foetal position, before finally drifting off.

***

Light danced across his eyelids and Liam groaned as he absently remembered he forgot to shut the blinds. He fluttered his eyes open carefully, the sunlight almost blinding him and found that he was in the same position he slept in.

With a loud grunt, he shifted onto his back, only to find a dull ache present in his left shoulder and his back. He’d probably have to call his trainer in to check that over before he went back to his weight training.

After an agonizing hour of moving himself around for enough blood flow to ease his pain, he was perched on a stool at the kitchen island, a bowl of oat bran cereal in front of him and his thumb scrolling busily through his twitter mentions.

He chuckled at the few memes, apparently him and Niall were fodder for ‘1d memes’ nowadays, and smiled at the warm yet manic compliments left by his fans.

He exited out of his own twitter page and typed in a name he’s not ashamed to admit that he Googles more than his own. Zayn Malik.

Switching to an update blog on Tumblr, he found a flurry of new pictures of Zayn who was currently in Milan attending a Louis Vuitton show. His husband was holding several poses, dressed in a sleek, aubergine-coloured tux with black trims, shiny black shoes and hair an artful mess of inky black.

In each picture, Zayn held a similar pose, the achingly familiar smoulder and the mandala-covered hand on the lapel of his suit jacket. Liam’s heart threatened to burst with affection as he scrolled through more pictures of his husband, in every angle possible. God, but he was beautiful. And God, did Liam miss him terribly.

He also longed to see the familiar black ring on the left hand, right above the mandala tattoo. The same ring that he had purchased back in 2013, with the help of his and Zayn’s sisters. The same ring he had then presented to Zayn with a tear-filled speech that neither of them could get through.

But there was no use longing for something that was well far off in their future. He heaved a huge sigh and shoveled the last few spoonfuls of his breakfast, dropping the bowl in the sink to wash later.

He looked around the lonesome flat, figuring out what to do. The comics on the coffee table looked inviting so headed over to pick a few up.

Evening approached quickly and Liam found himself utterly bored and surrounded by crumpled up white papers. Lyrics scrawled down and scratched over, a funny looking doodle that was supposed to be Watson and Loki playing in the grass and just Zayn’s name signed over and over again.

The flat now looked a bit of a mess; the couch was obviously stained with a large yellow spot from where he had accidentally spilled some beer earlier in the day. His crumpled up papers littered the living room floor and a few reached across to the entrance of his bedroom, from where he had lobbed it in frustration, when lyrics and melodies escaped him.

He was pretty sure there were dirty dishes piled up in the kitchen sink and a flurry of crumbs on the kitchen floor and counter from when he had dropped the box of cereal clumsily. He’d mostly cleaned it up but there were still some obvious signs of trauma.

His dirty clothes from the airport were lying half in and out of the laundry basket and their washroom a mess from when Liam took an hour long hot shower without bothering to clean up the steam stained windows of their shower.

So he was a bit of a mess, but his husband’s absence was getting to him. He couldn’t even call him because he didn’t want to bother Zayn and worry him with the fact that he couldn’t even handle a few weeks alone.

Thick scruff was now growing freely over his jaw and he hadn’t changed into any proper clothes for two days now. He was still in the same pajamas and shirt that he threw on after the shower yesterday.

Liam thought of a way to pass the time when a framed picture of a family on the far left wall in the room caught his eye. He grinned widely, jaw cracking due to lack of use.

He checked the time and it was just past dinner in the UK so he whipped his phone out and dialed Safaa on Skype.

It was answered quickly as a familiar wide grin filled the screen and a screeching “Bhai!” from none other than Walihya.

Liam grinned, “Hi monster, what are you doing on your sister’s cell?”

Walihya only switched to a smug grin, “I got to it first so I get to talk to you first.”

“Alright, smart arse, how’s it going there? You get the contract yet?”

His sister-in-law bit her lip nervously before answering, “No, but I’m scared I’m not gonna get it.”

Liam scoffed, if there was someone as persistent as her on a project, it would surely get done. He told her so and watched in amusement as she blushed lightly and switched back to her scream-talking.

But soon a scuffle broke out and Liam could make out heated girlish whispers as the phone jerked around violently before a sweet smile on a serene face greeted him. His little one.

“Hi Saf,” Liam all but cooed at her and watched her scrunch her nose up, just like her brother.

Safaa giggled, “I’m not 8 anymore, Bhai. You still greet me like I’m a child.”

“You are a child! You’re my itty bitty little widdle cuddle monster.” He teased her relentlessly, enjoying the sweet smile morph into a more sarcastic and deadpan look. She looked every bit as unimpressed as Zayn does when Liam wants him to wash his own socks.

“Excuse you, I’m a teenager!”

“Yeah, only sixteen!”

“Yeah, and sixteen is pretty grown up.” Safaa looked smug as she stated.

Liam laughed, “Is it really? So tell me, O wise one, what all can you do at sixteen?”

She put on a mischievous smile, “Didn’t Bhaiyya fall in love with you at sixteen?”

Liam sobered up, “Safaa, don’t go looking for that now, you’re way too young!”

But the little shit grinned widely still, “Oh so now I’m too young for this when you two were probably off shagging at – “

“Safaa!” A shout resounded from behind her and she instantly cringed as the phone was passed and Trisha appeared on the screen beside her.

A small, “Sorry, Mum” was quickly whispered as she scampered somewhere off screen, probably to her bedroom to sulk in shame. Liam felt guilty for teasing, she was a sensitive one, his Safaa, and he didn’t want to see her shamefaced like that.

He quickly greeted his mother-in-law who was smiling gently at him before he addressed the issue of his youngest sister-in-law.

With a tinkling laugh and a hand wave, his protests soon died down as she continued, “Don’t worry, darling, she’s the spoilt one, you and Zayn never let me or Yaser scold her.”

He relaxed as their conversation soon took a turn towards Liam being alone and Trisha tutted quietly at his dejected expression.

“Do you want to catch a quick one over to Bradford, jaan? You can keep us company until Zayn is done.” She offered gently, an invitation that made him feel warm in his gut and a strong sense of belonging in his veins.

He thanked her but rejected the invitation politely, he wanted to stay here and wait until his husband came back. Besides, Zayn was supposed to be here in two days.

Soon, he was hearing lectures on his unkempt appearance that he accepted with a winning grin, all the while wondering if she’d faint at the sight of the flat.

After a while, he was saying his goodbyes, a whispered, “Bye, Maa, love you” that made Trisha’s eyes shine suspiciously with tears.

The sight made him miss his own parents, who were barely a call away for Liam but he didn’t want to disturb their time at Ruth’s house, where they were probably busy doting over Ashton.

He slumped down onto their cream coloured couch, appreciating the feeling of drowning in the cushions before his stomach rumbled uncomfortably.

With a pained groan, he heaved himself up off the couch, rubbing a hand at his sore back, and made his way towards the refrigerator.

Expecting a mostly empty fridge with suspiciously old take-out food, he pulled it open and gaped in surprise at the number of Tupperware containers.

He took one container out and edged it open, sniffing at the contents and smiled surprisingly at discovering it was Zayn’s homemade Karahi chicken.

He excitedly ducked back into the fridge to find a wrapped package that turned out to be naan and moved towards the stove where he hurriedly heated everything up.

Soon, he was sat on their couch in the living room, tearing up at the taste of the familiar food. God, now he was crying over a plate of Karahi chicken. But he couldn’t help it; he missed his husband too much.

***

Liam was about to burst into tears; he was currently sat on the carpeted floor with crossed legs, facing the flat’s main door. A blanket, which Zayn favoured during cold nights, was draped over him, covering his head, shoulders and arms, pooling out onto the floor around him.

In his right hand, he clutched a well-worn shirt of Zayn’s , which used to belong to Liam but didn’t fit him anymore. In his left hand, he gripped at his cellphone, willing it to ring so that Zayn could inform him that he’d landed. He took turns every few minutes, alternating between smelling the shirt and checking his cellphone.

All he had gotten was a “On my way to the airport :)” text and in the next few hours Liam had worn a dent into their lovely carpet and had messed up the flat some more. He was pretty sure his bottom lip was threatening to wobble at this point.

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he heard an electronic beep come from the door, as the red light on the door turned to green and door knob jiggled and twisted.

An excited yelp left Liam as he sat up straight, eyes wide and trained on the door as it swung open to reveal a tired but beautiful Zayn. His head faced the floor as he edged his way in, a bag on his shoulder swaying heavily that he dropped unceremoniously on the floor.

But he soon looked up and stopped short in his tracks, mouth agape at the sight of Liam on the carpet.

For some reason, Liam didn’t have the energy to get up to greet his husband because his limbs weren’t cooperating, so he stayed on the floor and continued to stare hungrily at his husband, seeing him after so long.

Zayn finally snapped out of his shock and moved towards his husband, a concerned expression evident on his face. He kneeled down in front of Liam and cupped his cheeks before whispering, “Liam, you okay, jaan?”

But Liam only made a noise that sounded a lot like ‘meep!’ and leaned into Zayn’s touch heavily, his eyes closing at the touch.

A dozen thoughts whirled through Zayn’s mind, almost all of them concerned and worried for his husband, as he stood up again, heart wrenching at the noise Liam made at the loss of touch. He reached down to hook his arms under his husband’s armpits and pulled him up and with a bit of difficulty, Liam was upright but swaying dangerously.

He nuzzled sweetly into Zayn’s neck, who accepted the warm touch but continued working to get Liam to the bedroom. It was only when he stepped aside that Zayn got a view of the flat.

It looked like Loki had run through it without supervision. The little hyper dog was privy to such behaviour which is why they only isolated him to their LA mansion or his in-laws’ house in London.

Now, Zayn gaped at the mess, couch cushions thrown on the floor, days-old dishes lining the kitchen counter and what looked like a trail of dirty clothes leading up to their bedroom.

What in the world, how did this - ?

He turned his head slightly to look at his husband who was now endearingly staring back with a dreamy expression. Liam blinked slowly at him, his eyes looking unfocused and feverish but a beautiful smile graced his soft features.

Oh no, thought Zayn as he realized he had found the culprit at last. Liam James Malik (as of 2014) was the one who had made an absolute shit of a mess of their flat, their house.

Zayn groaned internally at the sight but his worry for his husband overwhelmed any other thoughts. He needed to sort Liam out first.

Avoiding the mix of clothes and crumpled papers on the floor, he led Liam to their bedroom, kicking aside the mess to avoid either of them stumbling. He pushed Liam towards the washroom, tutting at the sight, and undressed himself before doing the same to his husband.

Liam realized in his half-sleep daze, that he was being undressed by a very naked Zayn. He giggled and patted his husband’s cheek limply before slurring out, “I like where this is going.”

Zayn huffed at him, before he bent down to slip Liam’s joggers off, before quickly leaning over and turning the hot water tap on. He gently guided Liam towards the spray who hooted adorably at the feeling of hot water touching his skin, before joining him in the spacious shower.

What was supposed to be a quick wash and rinse became a battle of limbs as Zayn continuously batted of Liam’s wandering hands and groping fingers that frankly made him blush a little. After a soapy victory, he rinsed himself and Liam off, before reaching out for the towel on the handle bar – only to find it used and slopped over near the laundry basket.

He groaned under his breath, and awkwardly hobbled his way towards their linen closet (something his mother absolutely insisted on them having) and blindingly grabbed a few towels for him and Liam.

When he went back to the washroom, he was greeted to the most adorable sight of Liam, sopping wet with hair dripping on his forehead, body leaning against the wall of the shower, seemingly asleep.

Zayn laughed gently before draping Liam with soft, fluffy towels, drying him with gentle touches and loving pecks all over his face.

Deciding to forego clothes, it was only the two of them, he all but dropped Liam onto their bed, who bounced comically once and twice on his front before going still, breathing deeply.

It was only now that Zayn finally looked around and was reminded of the mess Liam made. God, and he was the slob?

A quick text to for housekeeping to visit them the next afternoon, he too dropped heavily onto the bed, the exhaustion from the flight and taking care of Liam getting to him. Throwing a careless arm over Liam’s waist, he murmured a quiet, “Love you, jaan” (a goodnight tradition they insisted on since being married) and buried his face into a pillow, falling fast asleep.

Clearly Zayn was underestimating just how grateful Liam was for taking care of him and his mess, as he lay staring at the ceiling, panting heavily in the aftermath of his husband waking him up with a phenomenal blowjob. His husband lay smugly beside him before he bounded up towards the washroom, all too excited to start the day.

Zayn laughed a little hysterically before chasing Liam into the shower, intent on finishing what his husband started.

It was nearing noon in New York as deliciously golden rays of sunlight splashed across the floor of their living room. It bounced off the glass of the coffee table and lit up the hints of yellow in Zayn’s eyes. Liam stared intently at him, taking in the light scruff littering a delicate yet strong jaw, nose ring glinting in the sunlight, and eyelashes fluttering prettily as he looked down at his art pad on which he scribbled and scratched distractedly.

He sighed as he continued admiring his husband’s beauty, hands and arms artfully decorated with carefully chosen tattoos. The black ring sat snugly on his ring finger on the left hand, complementing the mandala. He was wearing a shirt that belonged to Liam, the neck of which was stretched out due to years of use and loose Batman boxers that were a gag gift from Niall on Liam’s 20th birthday.

Joke’s on you, Niall, he wore the shit out of them.

Zayn continued sketching oblivious to Liam’s staring, a fact Liam loved about him; whenever Zayn sat down to sketch something, anything, he was always so absorbed in his activity that he often forgot that he was maybe sat in a radio show where he was supposed to participate in an interview or even at Ashton’s Christening where he had sat for hours in front of the baby’s crib, sketching out the soft features.

Finally, Liam urged his body to move, his need to be close to Zayn overriding any other thought. He crossed the span of the living room in long strides before dropping to his knees, ignoring the little jolt Zayn gave as he finally noticed Liam.

Before he could figure out what Liam was doing, his husband lifted the loose shirt gently before unceremoniously shoving his face under it.

Zayn jumped at the sudden move, gawking at the round shape of Liam’s head under his shirt.

Okay, he had finally lost it, his darling, beautiful, intelligent husband had gone off the –

But Zayn’s internal ramblings all ground to a halt, as he felt soft lips reverently kissing the skin on his stomach, and strong, tattooed arms wound around his waist to grip possessively and hold him in place. Liam breathed in deeply as Zayn sat frozen, unsure of how to proceed.

When a minute passed and Liam’s breath stuttered as he felt those lips purse and tremble dangerously against him, Zayn laid a careful hand on his husband’s shirt covered head.

A mumbled ‘Missed you’ on his skin didn’t go unnoticed by Zayn as he finally relaxed, letting Liam do what he had to, to deal with the unnecessarily constant and painful distances between them. He hummed lightly, cherishing the feeling of lips quirked into a smile as Liam felt more than heard the vibrations of Zayn’s voice.

Yeah, he was gonna be fine now.

#ziam #fanfiction #my fic #ziamfanfiction

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shannaraisles · 7 years ago

Text

Yours

A birthday gift for the amazing @star--nymph. Happy birthday, my dulcet darling!

Read on AO3

Yours

In this place, at this time, there is only him.

The joyful sound of the clan gathered all around fades into nothing more than a hum in your ears, the sense of oneness with the hold forgotten as whiskey-warm eyes, darkly bright with hopeful longing, lock with your own. Though the eyes of the hold are upon you, you see only him, tall and broad, rippling with purpose as he take his place before you.

Firelight dances over his form, illuminating the reds and browns of his fur mantle, casting the toned plane of his bared chest in flickering gold to match the shining hue of the tousled curls that crown his head and trail down into the fur at his shoulders. The twisted braids set there to tame the fall of that mane end in the glint of true gold - for you, for this night, he has twisted the precious metal into his locks, a golden god to match the soft silver that adorns your own garb. His only concession, it seems, to the solemn joy of this occasion, though he comes to you unarmed. The only weapon he needs on this night is the simple fact of his being; he is your choice, you are his choice, this decision you made together to make this night a reality.

Though the eyes of his clan are upon you, you only have eyes for him. Your fingers twitch, aching to touch, to skim your palms over the definition of his form; your breath catches in your throat as his mouth quirks into a lion's smirk, the faded imperfection of the scar that mars his upper lip pulling taut and tempting in the dancing glow of the bonfire that crackles so close by. The dry heat of the flames is nothing to the smouldering embers buried deep inside; embers that leap and spark each time his eyes skim your form, his tongue touches his lips, his fingers curl and stretch at his sides. He wants you and, for all his patience in past days, you know that tonight will be one you will never forget. He has promised you will never know a husband like him again. A common boast among warriors of the Avvar, but in his case ... you believe it.

The hempen rope feels rough in the clench of your fist, the knots you tied so carefully this morning the only barrier now between your quiet hope and the reality standing before you. There were no visions to guide you in the tying, no warnings from Rilla or the Lady to impede this ceremony from becoming a true commitment. Your gaze falls to his fingers - thick, long, strong. Are they nimble enough to untie your knots while you sing of Rilla and her gifts? Will your voice falter to see his dexterity brought to bear before your eyes?

You swallow, trying not to think too long on those fingers, those hands, that form, forcing your thought to focus on everything else he is. A good man, a strong warrior, a fine hunter, a capable leader; all attributes you hoped for in the man that chose to pair with you. But you cannot deny that he is so much more than you hoped for - handsome, fierce, gentle; courteous and respectful, yet infused with a thrilling sense of danger. His is not a spirit that can be tamed, his wildness held in check by his loyalty to hold and kin. A loyalty that will soon be yours to call upon, should you ever need it.

A strong hand rises, casting shadows in the firelight; a gentle thumb touches the fullness of your lower lip as your breathing staggers, caught in his gaze, the willing prey of this longing predator. Fingers skim your chin, barely brushing the supple leather that molds to your form as his hand drops to take the knotted rope from your own unresisting grasp. And there, a single word ... a command to complete what was begun when he asked and you accepted, when you allowed him to steal you from your birth hold only two nights ago.

"Sing."

For the briefest moment, you close your eyes, drawing in a slow breath as you send a silent prayer to the gods for the fortitude to sing with strength. Your voice rises to the dark sky above, all other voices around you falling silent to watch your chosen partner determine how long he will have you for. How long you will have to utterly ruin Cullen Lionsbane for any other that might seek to lure him away from you.

Before you, those clever fingers are already at work, picking at the knots you tied just last night while offering your prayer to the Lady. You prayed for courage, strength, patience, the lessons learned from the tale of Seddra and Virmik ... courage to see you through this first step taken to becoming one with another hold, to bear the pain of renouncing the hold of your birth; strength to endure whatever might come, to stand strong and proud beside your man, united against all enemies; and patience, for love will not come instantly, and time will be your friend. The gods do not give happiness or mercy, will not gift a supplicant with love just for the asking. They are harsh, like the world around you; what is given must be earned.

One knot undone, one verse complete, the flicker of his gaze to yours as you grow in confidence. One year already, given over to sharing your life with him, and still more verses to go. A second knot, a second year, and this time his lips, so temptingly pursed with concentration, part in a wild grin as the third knot comes undone in his fingers. And there begins the challenge.

As is the custom of your former hold, you tied only ten knots yet, in a mirror held to life, the four that make up the middle of the rope are tied tighter, harder. A shared life is not all warmth and simplicity; there is hardship and differences to overcome. One who gives up at this first challenge may enjoy their three years of beginning, but no more than that. You may have given up your former hold, but this custom is one you will hold to. No one who cannot endure the challenge of your fourth knot and beyond with grace and calm will ever have the chance to untie more at a later date.

Your gaze settles on his face, watching the play of frustration over the handsome features that first caught your eye. The grin is gone, his brow set in a fierce frown that is not angry but challenging, rising to the challenge you have set for him. His fingers work more slowly now, testing each loop of the knot that has stalled him, seeking out the coil that will allow him to loosen it and move on to the next. There is a gentleness to his ferocity, a calmness in the midst of his frustration. He growls under his breath, yet does not swear nor waste his energy in displays of impatience. He tests and he considers, and as his eyes lift to meet yours, he raises the rope to his mouth and drags the knot loose with his teeth.

Approval lightens your voice as you sing, as your smile colors your song with something torn between amusement and admiration for his method. This is not a man who will fall at the first hurdle, or give up before all paths have been walked. This is a man who looks at a problem and finds a way; a man who is prepared to try anything to achieve his goal, within reason. He did not draw a blade to slice at the knot, as you have seen others do only to have their mating called off for their disrespectful reaction to a simple problem. He found a way, and your life is bound to his for four years as the last verse of your devotion finds its way to the air from your lips.

And as the last note fades, leaving the gathering in watchful silence, Cullen raises the rope in his hand for all to see. Five knots remain of ten that were made by your hands; five years are promised as husband and wife, to rise or fall as the gods will it. The augur nods, notes the promise, the drums begin to sound once again, and you find yourself suddenly caught into the arms of your husband, no longer his captured bride but his wife by right and by choice.

His grinning lips find yours, a soft pillow that tastes, touches, takes what you offer, your own laugh forgotten in a low groan that tells him all he truly needs to know tonight. His hands, warm and confident on your back, pour over the leather that hides your form from his eyes, gathering you closer, enveloping you in the heat that radiates from him as his lips part to enrapture, ravish, to share the ravenous eagerness of a hunger that wants more than to be sated. This is his desire, sparked from the first moment of your meeting, the first warning that told you without words that to be this man's wife was the wish of a lifetime, not simply a year. No other has set you on fire like this, with barely more than a kiss; no other has ever asked to capture you so bluntly yet so gently. He may not be the first, but as you curl to him, warm to him, pour your fingers through the spun, braided gold of his hair and thrill to the wakening beast in your belly, you feel sure he must be the last.

In this place, in this time, there is only him. Cullen Lionsbane; hunter, warrior, husband ... yours.

#star--nymph #cullen rutherford #cullen x reader #gift fic #avvar au #avvar cullen #female reader #wedding #fluff

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idkanythingblog-blog · 8 years ago

Text

A Song of Ice and FIRE CONSUMES

In many instances where the description of fire consuming is used, it is in comparison to or compatible with the preservation qualities of ice.

Fire is often describes as “consuming” whatever happens to be on fire in a given scene, and sometimes it is more pronounced than others, (especially if mentioned in the same few sentences as ice), but this passage from Arya VIII in A Storm of Swords with Beric and Thoros always stood out to me the most, just because Beric’s behavior is so alarming and he just comes out of nowhere and starts rambling like a madman.

"Fire consumes." Lord Beric stood behind them, and there was something in his voice that silenced Thoros at once. "It consumes, and when it is done there is nothing left. Nothing." "Beric. Sweet friend." The priest touched the lightning lord on the forearm. "What are you saying?"

"Nothing I have not said before. Six times, Thoros? Six times is too many." He turned away abruptly.

- Arya VIII, A Storm of Swords

Then when I read this line from Bran’s second chapter in ADWD, it made me think back to Beric. It also reminded me of the way that wights very clearly are destroyed by fire, as is evidenced by Sam and Jon at the very least. Anyway, all these instances are using fire’s properties of consumption to destroy the wights, not reanimate a corpse.

Meera nodded at the girl. "It was her who saved us, though. The torch...fire kills them." "Fire burns them. Fire is always hungry."

- Bran II, A Dance With Dragons

From Samwell III, A Storm of Swords:

Small Paul was big and powerful, but Sam still outweighed him, and the wights were clumsy, he had seen that on the Fist. The sudden shift sent Paul staggering back a step, and the living man and the dead one went crashing down together. The impact knocked one hand from Sam's throat, and he was able to suck in a quick breath of air before the icy black fingers returned. The taste of blood filled his mouth. He twisted his neck around, looking for his knife, and saw a dull orange glow. The fire! Only ember and ashes remained, but still...he could not breathe, or think...Sam wrenched himself sideways, pulling Paul with him...his arms flailed against the dirt floor, groping, reaching, scattering the ashes, until at last they found something hot...a chunk of charred wood, smouldering red and orange within the black...his fingers closed around it, and he smashed it into Paul's mouth, so hard he felt teeth shatter. Yet even so the wight's grip did not loosen. Sam's last thoughts were for the mother who had loved him and the father he had failed. The longhall was spinning around him when he saw the wisp of smoke rising from between Paul's broken teeth. Then the dead man's face burst into flame, and the hands were gone.

And of course the first instance, back in A Game of Thrones, Jon VIII:

Truly, the gods had heard Jon's prayer that night; the fire had caught in the dead man's clothing and consumed him as if his flesh were candle wax and his bones old dry wood. Jon had only to close his eyes to see the thing staggering across the solar, crashing against the furniture and flailing at the flames. It was the face that haunted him most; surrounded by a nimbus of fire, hair blazing like straw, the dead flesh melting away and sloughing off its skull to reveal the gleam of bone beneath.

Interesting he references the gods answering his prayers, as he is surely referencing his own gods, the old gods of the North, which apparently right now is mostly Bloodraven living as a tree, and in this scene he, communicating as a god, quorks "fire!" via Mormont's bird to remind Jon to act.

Davos knelt, and Stannis drew his longsword. Lightbringer, Melisandre had named it; the red sword of heroes, drawn from the fires where the seven gods were consumed.

- Davos IV, A Storm of Swords

R’hollor uses fire to combat the Great Other who is too evil to be named but is probably Bloodraven and/or Brandon Stark. But most of it is just glamours and tricks, such as the whole deal with Lightbringer. If it needed to draw strength from the Seven “false” gods to make the sword truly Lightbringer, then it would probably have all the properties of Lightbringer - you know, the fact that it is actually HOT like fire instead of just bright like the sun (which is noted by Maester Aemon, and passed along to Jon Snow via a passage in The Jade Compendium). Speaking of Aemon saying interesting things...

Aemon chuckled softly. "Or I am an old man, feverish and dying." He closed his white eyes wearily, then forced them open once again. "I should not have left the Wall. Lord Snow could not have known, but I should have seen it. Fire consumes, but cold preserves.

- Samwell III, A Feast for Crows

The “fire” he is referring to here is simply his fever which he got from getting pneumonia while sitting out on the deck of the ship en route to Braavos in a downpour (and then being over 100 years old). The fever is consuming him and killing him quickly, although this is also as he is learning from first hand witnesses about Daenerys’s dragons and confirming, in his mind, that Dany is the Prince That Was Promised - you know, the guy that Stannis supposedly is. Back in the day, Aemon and his uh...great grandnephew?...Rhaegar Targaryen thought TPTWP was Rhaegar, then changed their minds to Rhaegar’s son Aegon, then Aemon remembers that dragons do not have gender, so Dany can be THE Prince that was promised, despite being a princess queen.

Back to R’hollor and the use of fire - in regards to Beric and Thoros and LS, this ability to bring people back to life with some sort of flaming kiss seems to be only around that particular flame passed from Thoros to Beric (six times) then from Beric to LS once. That is unique to R’hollorism and their fire obsession. Their literal bloodlust for fire is usually used to kill, so that they can have more fire to scare off the darkness. Burning people alive is common sacrifice, and despite the fact that it is basically confirmed Melisandre set Varamyr Eagleskin on fire from a great distance, just HOW she did it is never explained, except for Melisandre’s elusive comment about R’hollor empowering her.

Mostly this passage stuck out because it not just emphasized the outstanding pain of burning alive, but it’s in direct comparison to freezing to death. From A Dance With Dragon’s Prologue:

Varamyr Sixskins would know the truth of that soon enough. He could taste his true death in the smoke that hung acrid in the air, feel it in the heat beneath his fingers when he slipped a hand under his clothes to touch his wound. The chill was in him too, though, deep down in his bones. This time it would be cold that killed him. His last death had been by fire. I burned. At first, in his confusion, he thought some archer on the Wall had pierced him with a flaming arrow...but the fire had been inside him, consuming him...

- Prologue, A Dance With Dragons. I wonder if she can make human spontaneously burst into flames from within and if she can, she probably wouldn’t prefer that way because it does not involve the big ceremony, or something. I don’t know. Anyway, we know Stark = ice and Targaryen = fire and we know that R + L = J so we know that Jon has to be some part of the answer to this balance between the jealous, greedy pyromaniac R’hollor and his supposed nemesis, the Great Other, and whatever role these “gods” have in the existence of the Others, who are immune to fire but NOT immune to “frozen fire” aka dragonglass/obsidian.

I just had to double check that was actually said in the text, and it was, in Samwell V from A Storm of Swords:

“Dragonglass.” The red woman's laugh was music. “Frozen fire, in the tongue of old Valyria. Small wonder it is anathema to these cold children of the Other.”

So I guess R + L = dragonglass.

As cold winds hammered the city, King Aerys II turned to his pyromancers, charging them to drive the winter off with their magics[...]With the coming of the new year, the crown prince had taken to the road with half a dozen of his closest friends and confidants, on a journey that would ultimately lead him back to the riverlands. Not ten leagues from Harrenhal, Rhaegar fell upon Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, and carried her off, lighting a fire that would consume his house and kin and all those he loved—and half the realm besides.

- The World of Ice and Fire

Perhaps, after Jon is killed at the end of ADWD, he is kept in an ice cell for a very long time. Long enough that his second life inside Ghost has changed the nature of his consciousness when somehow returned to his body, which we will assume will be resurrected by Melisandre. I’m guessing she won’t go the kiss of fire route like Thoros did, because that doesn’t appear to bring them back fully. It could be that her knowledge that he is a warg is what will enable her to do whatever necessary to bring him back to life the “right” way?

Coldhands is essentially a wight controlled by Bloodraven, not an Other in control of Bloodraven or anyone else, because the Others look so spectacularly different from the corpses they can reanimate. They don’t have black hands of a dead body, they have like, beautiful icy armor and super awesome weapons. Although the language they speak (referenced in the Prologue of A Game of Thrones) is the same unknown language that Coldhands speaks before slaying the elk.

Compare from Bran’s POV in ADWD:

It had been twelve days since the elk had collapsed for the third and final time, since Coldhands had knelt beside it in the snowbank and murmured a blessing in some strange tongue as he slit its throat.

To the Prologue of AGOT:

The Other said something in a language that Will did not know; his voice was like the cracking of ice on a winter lake, and the words were mocking.

When Bran later hears the “Children of the Forest”/The Singers speaking in their language, the True Tongue, the one that ravens also speak, I don’t recall if he makes any connection to the words spoken by Coldhands. I don’t think so. Language aside, the ice-blue eyes seem to be the only thing they have in common with the wights, I think.

After much pondering about nothing, I suppose the question I am left with, for some reason, is: if dragons are “fire made flesh”, then are the Others “ice made flesh”? No, that’s not the question. Did any of this rambling spark any interest for anyone?

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #spoilers #a song of ice and fire

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