#there’s something so… obscene about playing with the name of our Lord | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blueprint-han · 4 years ago

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stay tonight — bang chan.

↪ why, you must be in love, then. oh trust me, i know.

— new years’ with Chan is spent confessing known feelings to each other and getting back at him for what he did to you on your first date.

pairing: chan x (gn) reader [while this was written with a fem reader in mind, i do think this can be read with a gender neutral perspective]

genre: fluff.

⇥ warnings: nothing at all! a little bit of kissing here and there, but this is completely sfw.

word count: 2.6 K

type: drabble.

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not represent the activities of the real Bang Chan, nor is associated with JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

song: this was inspired by Stay Tonight by Chungha! Highly recommend listening to it when reading this fic <3

↯ note: This is actually shit™ because I was very writers blocky with this fic and had to rewrite it many times to develop a decent plot </3 still, hope you have a lovely Christmas! 🥰 Happy reading <3 this isn’t very well edited so please excuse any errors <//3 ⇥ dawn.☀️

“You know you’re not supposed to be sitting there, right?”

You straighten up and turn around at the familiar sound that rings through your ears, content when it’s exactly who you wish to see standing there. The smile exchanged between the both of you is simple, sweet and relaxing as you get off where you’re seated on the compound of the building. Walking towards him, your hands go around his waist and he chuckles in response. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You revert back. “I was just about to call you.”

Chan quirks a brow at you, silently grabbing your hand and leading you to the two random chairs placed at a convenient angle — one where you can both bask in each other’s presence and do some stargazing at the same time.

“Why? Did you miss me that much?” His tone is very cocky at the moment, and it makes you want to kiss that stupid grin off his lips. Sadly, he knows you well enough to know that such comments only fluster you when spoken — and that’s exactly what happens — you feel yourself go warm from the inside, a dizzy expression taking over your face as you sit next to him.

Love. The first time you’d encountered the term was in first grade — yet you’re almost certain it’s nothing like what you feel when he’s around you. This kind of love is different — it’s special. It’s the kind of love that causes a fiery sensation to bubble through you when you spare as much as a glance at him, yet it’s also the kind that keeps you calm and running like the waves washing against the shore of a golden beach.

You can’t put words to explain what love means after you met Bang Chan. It’s more than just a feeling or sensation — it’s like the warmth that flows through your insides when you sip on hot chocolate during cold winters, it’s when your whole life turns into shy smiles, delicate giggles and nervous glances exchanged towards each other. That could perhaps, only outline what you felt around him.

A small tug on your lips and flutter of your eyelashes is all it takes before Chan places his warm hand over your own, lacing fingers together as his thumb runs over the soft skin of your hand. There’s no need for words right now — just soft gazes lingering on each other and the chill air that clouds itself around you, making you yearn for the warmth that you know only Chan can provide.

You take a brief moment to let your eyes quickly run over Chan’s features — his black hair falling over his temples, his eyes peering into your own, his lips slightly parted open. He hasn’t taken the face chain off, yet. He looks like he’s taking you in too, and you want this moment to freeze right here. Because the way Chan’s looking at you right now almost sweeps you off your feet.

But of course, there’s your goofy side coming out when the feeling gets to the point where all you wanna do is just lean in and close the gap between the both of you.

“Close your mouth, mister.” You give him the most obscene-looking pout ever. “I know I’m too pretty to resist.” That (very cringy statement), paired with a wink thrown with each eye causes Chan to break eye contact from you and start laughing, hysterically.

“Y/N.” You can’t even see his eyes because of the tiny™ crescents that have taken their place. “What, in the name of lord, was that?” Chan clutches his stomach, his loud giggles very prominent in the quiet surroundings around you.

“Oh, come on, it’s the end of year. There should be harmony—” The last word is in a singsong voice, spreading your arms out to enhance the dramatic tone. “— everywhere possible. You just can’t appreciate my comedy.”

Chan only coos at you, leaning in to kiss your cheek ever-so-lightly before giving you the most beaming smile you’ve ever seen. He pinches where your cheeks feel hot. “Yes my little comedic genius, you’re adorable.”

“You love it.”

You pout at him, and Chan immediately leans in, cupping your cheeks and squishing them together before kissing the pout right off your face. He pecks lightly once, twice, thrice before pulling away, eyes glittering under the stars — you could see a whole universe in his orbs, and they seemed to be dragging you in.

You’d met — no, you’d properly seen Bang Chan for the first time when you passed by him in the MNET Countdown for their Miroh comeback. You’re forgetful enough to not remember what song you were promoting at that time, but you do remember bowing down at all the members of Stray Kids multiple times as you exited the stage. It was also the time you felt that tug on your heart’s strings, all because Chan’s lips pulled into a smile when his eyes fixated on yours.

You’re again, forgetful enough to not remember anything about your surroundings, but you do remember staring off into his brown eyes, even if it were for a mere second — yet it felt like you were swept off your feet. You do also remember when Chan reached out for your shoulder, and you froze. You weren’t capable of words as Chan brushed off a piece of tinsel off your top; throwing you a beaming smile.

“T-thank y-you,” You remember saying, stuttering, rather. You could feel his radiance clouding your brain as you scrambled along your route, trying to calm yourself down of that unfelt rush of emotion you’d just felt. The loud applause and the bustling crowd, the members singing their parts of the song, the other groups making their exit — you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on anything except that smile. Those eyes that crinkled into the finest of crescents, that flash of his dimples that softened your heart and then that final brush of his fingers against your shoulder, enough to take your breath away.

Call you lovestruck, but Bang Chan had you in his grasp the moment he laid his eyes on you.

The second time you met Bang Chan was again, at a show, but this time. You were an MC instead of a performer. You don’t need to dwell on the lot of details again, but you can still feel that shock wave that ripped through your fingers when Chan borrowed the mic from you. Your fingers only barely touched, yet you could feel all the blood rush to your face in that very moment, biting your lip slightly as you allowed him to do the talking.

You did pray and hope that he, or anybody else for that matter, didn’t notice how red you were, because hell that was embarrassing.

“You look at him like he’s an anime character come to life.” Ah, typical friends. Using your love for anime boys to tease the way you kept blushing every time Chan even so happened to walk past you.

Of course, by the third week of this happening, you were almost certain you’d fallen head over heels for the man — that man who you’d never talked to before, if you didn’t count the awkward hellos and bows you’d shared. You didn’t understand why or when or how he managed to catch your attention so much — all you knew was that you were hurled headfirst into the vortex of love, and you were only plunging deeper and deeper in, with no way out.

But did you want a way out?

“I can feel you staring.”

Oh shit. You awkwardly straighten yourself before shifting your gaze two degrees to the side. Chan’s dorm (he’d made sure all the boys were out) was a less-than-ideal-location for a first date, but being an idol has its own repercussions, you like to believe.

“Y/N!” He exclaims, giggling at you as he shakes your arm, like he’s trying to pull you out of a trance or something. It only makes you very obviously shy of the fact that he’s caught you red-handed.

“I have something for you…” He drags, his eyes looking curiously into yours, scanning for a response. Your own widen and a smile takes over your lips — you don’t care about the gift in all honesty, just the fact that he thought of getting you something for something like a first date warmed you up.

“What could that be, hm?”

“Wait here.”

He runs into his (shared) room and you hear sounds of him rummaging through something, and he returns with a small object in his hand. You try to get a glance at it but his hand is covering it up majorly, and he cheekily smiles as he sits in front of you.

“Close your eyes.” He says in that adorable, pouty voice that can have you do almost anything for him. Sure, this is your first date, but it took you two weeks after the confession to clear up your schedules and set a timing and place for you to meet up.

“Channn, just show it already!” You counter, groaning at his secretiveness.

“Nope, you’ll have to close your eyes.”

If he wasn’t so freaking adorable, you’d have snatched that thing from his hand, owing to the amount of curiosity you had.

“Ugh, okay fine.” You squeeze your eyes shut, sighing when you feel Chan’s soft hand engulf your own before placing something cold and… is that plastic?

You open your eyes to look at the small, rectangular object in your hand.

“A cassette tape?” You raise an eyebrow — not mockingly, but rather in a questioning way. As far as you remember, cassettes weren’t something used regularly to play music.

“Mhm, we had a lot of time before our first date, you know? So I thought I’d try to make it special.”

“Awh, how are we gonna play this?”

“Behind you.”

You frown, turning behind you to look at the massive, ancient cassette-player sitting on a table.

“How did I just notice that now?” Chan shrugs.

“Let’s l-listen to it then.” A small smile graces your lips.

And of course, you were crying by the end of the tape.

You do remember the contents of the tape. It had four songs — all of which were supposedly written for you — you didn’t bother to ask, but the mere thought of him going through all that to record and immortalize them into a tape had you touched.

The thought invokes a heavy feeling of nostalgia — suddenly you wanna go back in time, one year ago on your first date, just to relive the experience. Looking at Chan has always made you want to give everything you could to the man — yes, he was handsome, he was pretty, but moreover you could never, ever get over how much of a kind hearted and empathetic man he was. He’d pulled you out of your most vulnerable state and shown you how the true world was really like — filled with love, joy and exhilaration.

“Hey.” You hear the whisper and shake yourself out of your thoughts. “It’s thirty seconds to midnight. They’re gonna release the fireworks.”

A nod, and the both of you rush to move to the edge of the compound and gaze at the night sky.

“Don’t you think they’ll be looking for us below?”

“Nah, I told Hyunjin and Jisung where I’m going, they’ll take care of it.” Like usual, he intertwines your fingers together once again, looking up at the sky and then at his watch. You only giggle at his words, nodding before leaning to rest your head against his shoulder.

“Twenty seconds.”

This was it. In twenty seconds, the year would come to an end — while all the memories you’d made with Chan, and everyone for that matter, would remain, a small part of you would miss this year and all it’s days. Yet, you could be either excited for the year that was to come, or be sad that an amazing one was going to end — and you were leaning towards the former.

“You know,” You feel a sudden burst of emotion cutting through you — almost like you’re starting to tear up.

“Yeah?”

“I’m-I’m really glad I met you.”

The bustling of the city grows louder, and you can hear the collective chats echoing throughout the space.

Chan isn’t amused, but you can tell he’s taken aback by the sudden vocalization of your thoughts, especially when you tend to keep yourself on the more silent side.

“O-Oh…”

You smile, still holding his hand when you turn to face him and he does the same, eyes filled with curiosity, a hint of confusion, but he nonetheless let’s you speak.

“I don’t know, every time I look at you, I just think about — how grateful I am to have you standing next to me like this. And I might sound a little cheesy or dramatic here, but I’m really, so happy when I’m with you — you really make me smile without doing anything, you make me feel safe and it’s just… you’re so special to me.”

Perhaps it’s just the sudden surge of emotion you feel when you look into Chan’s eyes, but you can’t seem to stop yourself from saying anything. The words just spill out and string themselves into a confession that leaves Chan breathless.

A soft sniffle leaves your lips and Chan’s eyes gloss over too, he silently brushes his thumb under your eyes to collect the tears that fall out.

The loud sound of ringing resounds throughout, signifying that there’s only ten seconds left. The chants pour in, one by one. Ten, nine, eight, seven…

Chan really doesn’t know why he’s gotten emotional over a small confession, but to him it feels like a weight lifted off his shoulders. Not that he had any doubt in the first place, but the reassurance you give him is more satisfactory than anything he’s ever felt. While Chan knows you’re happy being with him (and vice versa), moments like these are what make your relationship lively and exciting, joyous.

Six, five, four.

“Why, you must be in love, then, Y/N.” He feels himself say. You look up to him and your eyes meet and it feels like a world’s united together. You love him, he loves you, and tonight, that is all that matters.

Three, two…

“Oh trust me.” You say, and at that moment, you hear nothing, except for the thudding of your quickened heartbeat and Chan’s voice catching in his throat. “I know.”

One.

You barely notice the luminescent firecrackers that start bursting behind and all around you high up in the sky when Chan’s gentle grip on your cheeks tightens and he pulls you in, chest crushing against yours as his lips engulf your own in one of the warmest, softest kisses you think you’ve ever received.

Because in the end, this is where you like being the most — in his arms, feeling his presence beside you building your confidence. You think it’s destiny, it’s fate how the both of you seem to click so much and fit with each other so well — indeed, you’re in love with Bang Chan. Because with the start of the new year, you can feel yourself forgetting about everything negative, everything except the light of your life, him. Your thoughts are fuzzy but still coherent, and you want to drown yourself in everything Chan, Chan, Chan.

When you pull away and rest foreheads against each other, finally, it all seems peaceful. There’s the distant chattering from below, but you and Chan are trapped in your own world to notice that.

“Happy New Year…” It’s a tiny whisper, yet you catch it quite easily.

“Happy New year,” you say, smiling at him lovingly before pecking his lips, leaning into his chest and humming when his hands wrap around your shoulders, engulfing you in warmth. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

You smile to yourself. In your head, you know what you’re gonna do is half to revive past memories and half because you want to get back at Chan for almost making you cry on that first date with his dimpled smile and his thoughtful gift.

“I have something for you.” You playfully word, feeling that wave of nostalgia hit you when Chan raises an eyebrow.

“I thought we didn’t get each other gifts for new years.”

“Yeah, but this is special. Close your eyes.” Chan does as you say, though reluctantly, holding himself back from tangling his fingers with yours again. You snicker at how he bites his lips and stiffens his fingers, leaning to press a soft kiss into his palm before placing the gift.

Chan frowns and opens his eyes to peer into your own, fiddling with the cassette tape in his hand.

“A cassette tape?” he probably doesn’t remember in explicit detail, but you try not to laugh at how he mimics the exact same way you acted on the first date.

“Yeah, it’s something I made for you.”

“Oh,” He looks at you sweetly, making your heart swell as you nod in agreement. “I’ll listen to it when I get home, we have the cassette player there.”

You shake your head. “Mhm, nope! Lucky for you, I contacted the right people so you could listen to it.”

Chan raises both his eyebrows in amusement, chuckling to himself as he turns in the direction you point.

“Behind you.”

And just like the old times, that cassette player was still there. It had taken you a whole two trips to McDonald’s to convince Minho to help you sneak it in, but if it all worked out, everything was set.

“How did I just notice that now?” Chan seems amused at the level you’ve gone to present your gift, and a tiny bit mellow at your actions.

And this time, you were the one who had him tearing up by the end of the night.

*:･ﾟ✧ find the other fics here !

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subbing-for-clones · 4 years ago

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The New Apprentice Part 12

Maul x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

WARNINGS: mentions to sex, FLUFF, the fluffiest chapter by far. Enjoy it cause I’m gonna hurt your feelings in the next one NGL

PREVIOUS NEXT MASTERLIST

True to both parts of his word, Maul demanded that your suggestions be carried out; with little resistance from the government that Almec put together it didn’t take long for your plan to come to fruition. While the gears were turning Maul continued your training, an expansive space in the court yard was repurposed for sparring. To your delight, several members of the Death Watch accepted your invitation after promising to keep it purely physical, no ‘force magic’ as they put it. Their addition meant that Maul could continue to work with the syndicates and members of Mandalorian government to further his desires for power and you didn’t have to wait for him to be free to train. Of course, he made time for you every morning; discussing Sith philosophies and history while every evening you meditated together.

It didn’t take long for the tabloids to gather information about the Manda’lor’s generous gesture to restore farm lands to their original clan and to seed them; not with tax money but straight from the purse of the woman who had seized them to begin with. He practically gushed to himself in the privacy of his office at the praise from the people. He wasn’t even finished with your original plan and already he was coming up with more to gain the citizen’s loyalty. Maul was nothing if he wasn’t thorough in his scheming and when he discovered that the Mandalorians as a people had a long and strenuous relationship with the Jedi, to put it lightly, he resolved himself to arm every man and woman once again. By the end of his precise forty step plan, he would have not just an army but an entire planet up in arms should the Jedi come for him, his brother or his love. The last article he read ended with a question, a call to the Mand’alor to be present for the relighting of the oldest forge on the planet. Knowing good publicity when he saw it; he made the call to Almec to schedule it for as soon as possible and he made his way to go find you.

He smiled at the sight when he walked out onto the courtyard. You and Savage were back-to-back with your sabers twirling wildly and your stances shuffling. Several Death Watch surrounded you on foot while more flew around you with their jet packs, firing blaster bolts that, he hoped, were set to stun. He took a moment to watch you, admiring how far you’ve come with your saber skills while recalling how truly terrible you had been just a few months ago. Just a few months ago. That’s all it took to steal his heart and change his life. What a fickle thing time was. He spent a decade alone and distending into madness, accomplishing nothing, but in a matter of months. Months, his brother had rescued him, he had fallen in love and he was now a ruler on his way to being genuinely liked by his people. He shook his head at the realization as you and his brother redirected the bolts away skillfully, being sure not to strike one of your guard. Some of them were laughing wildly in excitement and he saw that you had lived up to your own word. You’d make them like you, it seemed like you were making good progress on that. It is quite cathartic to be able to shoot at the people or person who makes you uneasy, even if it isn’t lethal. Perhaps next time he would join you in this particular kind of training, you did make it look enjoyable as a smile was apparent on both Savage’s and your face.

One of the guards noticed Maul standing in their peripheral and called for a cease fire. Bodies clad in red and black Beskar fell into a rigid formation and a salute, he very quickly put them at ease stating he just needed to have a word with you and Savage. One of the women who you must have grown closer to elbowed you playfully before following her comrades back into the palace. Savage approached with you at his side, both grinning and sweaty from your training.

“I still think you should ask her out,” you teased Savage before turning your attention to Maul, eliciting only a huff from the golden Zabrak. “What is it you’d like to discuss my love?” you asked while he took your hand in his.

“Well firstly I’d like to applaud the both of you for performing so well in this unorthodox style of practice. It seems to be paying off quite well.” Both you and Savage exchanged a wide grin at his praises. “Secondly, my presence has been requested for the lighting of an ancient forge and I think it would be more than appropriate to have both my brother and my darling at my side.”

Savage was especially gleeful at the invitation; he had started to grow an affection on one of the Death Watch members and had taken it upon himself to learn as much about the culture as he possibly could. You were also quite excited at the opportunity to leave the palace grounds. Since that stunt you pulled during Maul’s coup, he had been more open about your relationship with the people within his proximity. He still wasn’t much for PDA but everyone knew you shared a room and a bed. He had also referred to you with your pet names in front of others rather than simply ‘apprentice.’ In fact, the more you thought about it, he hadn’t referred to you as his apprentice for a short time now; you still called him either Master or Lord Maul when you weren’t alone or with Savage. He seemed to understand that you demanded respect for him as much, if not more so, than he did for himself.

It was the following day that you had awoken alone in your bed but something caught your eye. He had sent up a silver tray with fresh hot tea for you with little biscuits and fruits. He had draped a long dress bag over the end of the obscenely large bed with a note filled with sweet nothings. For a Sith Lord and a murderer he really was quite the romantic. You gasped when you unzipped the bag to find a beautifully simple long black silken gown accompanied by cascading tear drop shaped ruby earrings and lovely crimson shoes with only a slight heel on them. You loved wearing his colors and he loved seeing them on you. After you had arranged your hair and painted a simple make up look on your face you found both Savage and Maul waiting you in the throne room, ready to depart.

They had presented themselves as the Lords they were as well. Savage adorned new robes in his dark navy color with charcoal grey accents while Maul stole your breath straight from your chest. He was still dripped in black but his robes were crafted of a similarly silken material to your dress. His trademark deep V allowed for the delightful view of his strong chest and tattoos that painted his skin. A delicate gold chain looped from his temporal horn to attach to a gold ring he wore in the top of his ear with another draped around his neck, following the lines of his exposed skin. You loved that earring and had told him every chance you could. He truly did look like a king and Savage, his right hand beside him. You greeted one another with bright smiles as you took the arm Maul had extended for you. Heat flushed your cheeks when he told you how you looked absolutely ravishing and whispered his more sinful desires to you through the force of what he would do to you the moment they returned.

Accompanied by three Beskar clad guards, you made your way to the ship that had been prepared for you. One of the guards you recognized as the particularly petite young woman that Savage had started to develop an interest in. Kiara, you liked her and had started to develop a friendly rapport with the young woman. When you noticed her continuously glancing at him you jabbed your free elbow into his ribs lightly and waggled your eyebrows at him. He simply bit back a chuckle but you didn’t miss how his cheeks tinged a deeper gold.

The ceremony was simple and utterly beautiful on the other side of the planet. Several clan heads had attended, wearing their beskar proudly as the appointed armorer for this particular forge, clad in gold coloring lit the forge with a torch after reciting the Resol’nare. She had given Maul a respectful nod when the sixth action, referring to the leader had been spoken to which he returned with a slight bow of his own head. You felt a surge of pride when the forge had been lit, knowing you played even a small part in giving these people a piece of themselves back to them. A few reporters had recorded the entirety of the ceremony and after it was completed, they turned to Maul asking for an interview which he politely declined.

“Today is an important occasion for every Mandalorian and I do not wish to draw away from it but I would be happy to partake in an interview in the near future so I may express my plans and course of action to see them through to every citizen,” and with that, warm handshakes were exchanged until your small guard had directed you back to the ship. He played politician as well as he played the syndicates. Dual tunes of light and dark and you thought for a moment how grey your lover truly was. You recalled the first time your minds truly, purposefully melded, that first night you were conscious on Zanbar, the first time you lay with one another. He was that last burst of sunlight during the dusk, just before it set.

When you had returned to the palace you could see several Mandalorians etching something into the stone above the main entrance to the Sundari Palace, upon closer examination you could read ‘Through Passion I gain Strength. Through Strength I gain Power. Through Power I gain Victory. Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, our leader all help us survive.’ Your eyes welled up with how beautifully the Sith code and the Mandalorian’s Resol’nare flowed so beautifully together; etched in stone for all to see and gain strength from. You could feel the pride of every Mandalorian who gazed upon the lettering through the force. Maul’s silent promise not to damn or forget about the ideals of his new people or his own.

Plans to throw a gala, inviting the heads and spouses of every major clan on the planet were drawn up immediately following the forge lighting. The intention to hear the needs and wants from the people directly. Once again, he didn’t draw from the well of the peoples’ taxes to throw an extravagant party, but used a small percentage of the wealth that was starting to accumulate from heading the various syndicates. A small detail that you admired and praised him for extensively.

The gala went better than anyone could’ve foreseen for a number of reasons. Firstly, to your own amusement, you recognized Kiara out on the dance floor with Savage. She wore a deep navy gown to match his attire and her silver toned Karta Beskar proudly, his large hand holding her small waist tightly. You wondered if either of their smiles would ever fade and you hoped they wouldn’t. Maul happily allowed him a ‘night off’ so to speak and kept you at his side during his conversations with the leaders of the various clans.

It was impossible to lie to a skilled force user so the second reason that the night had gone so well was the fact that the gifting of the farm lands, the relighting of the forge and even the small detail of the etching of the stone above the palace’s entrance had paid off in regards to the favor Maul was quickly gaining. He took their concerns to heart and responded eloquently, offering slight alterations to the more unreasonable requests and all but promising to see to the much more manageable ones and the invited reporters caught every moment of it.

Finally, when the formalities had ended Maul was free to take your hand and glide you across the dance floor. Despite his one cybernetic leg he moved as gracefully as ever and smiling endearingly at you. His eyes locked softly on your own. It was during this time you had noticed that his eyes weren’t so bloodshot. The creases in his brow that seemed so permanent had started to fade and his muscles, usually so ridged and stressed, moved with more fluidity and ease. Again, your heart swelled, this is what he deserved. Happiness. Love, adoration, respect from all who came within proximity of him. Long after the guests had left and Savage accompanied Kiara down to walk through the gardens; Maul led you to the terrace to dance slowly under the moonlight to a silent song only the two of you could hear.

The following day while you and Maul sipped caf in your bedroom during the early morning hours, the scent of sex and sweat still hinting in the air, you read through the articles written about the gala. As to be expected, Maul received high praise simply for inviting advocates of the people to speak with him personally along with slander towards Satine for never doing anything even remotely like what Maul had done. To your surprise as well, you had been mentioned a few times regarding your proximity to the Mand’alor and your kindness and competence had been quoted by a few of the leaders.

The last article you read had a picture you hadn’t realized was even taken. It showed you and your lover hand in hand, mid twirl out of the balcony in the dim light of the moon and the stars. The headline asking a faceless reader if a royal marriage was imminent. Maul chuckled as he read over the same headline and just as he opened his mouth to speak a loud knock sounded from the door.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance he called out, granting entry. Savage entered with a goofy grin asking if you were ready to spar much to your delight. You were eager to hear how the rest of his evening had gone with Kiara. You quickly dressed from your silken night gown into your typical training garb and kissed your lover goodbye before skipping after the larger Zabrak.

Maul sighed and smiled to himself, drinking the last of his caf and sending Almec a list of things he wanted to accomplish over the next two weeks for the people of Mandalore. He stood to get dressed but hesitated for a moment before leaving the confines of his luxurious bedroom, hand holding a small box in his pocket tightly.

When it had happened, he almost couldn’t believe it. Some saber-staffs are able to operate on only a single kyber crystal but his master believed he needed the power of two for his to function at maximum strength. He had sent Gar Saxon to Lotho Minor on a secret mission that even Savage hadn’t been aware of. The commander had managed to find the broken half of his saber-staff with the crystal still intact. It had taken Maul almost two weeks but he had managed to cleanse his corruption from the small crystal, restoring it to its soft blue glow.

What you hadn’t seen during the lighting of the forge was Maul had requisitioned the armorer to cast a ring from the metal of his broken half and set the stone inside it. She had slipped him the finished product during the gala.

He took the small box out of his pocket and admired her work again. He knew you favored a simple elegance over extravagant gaudy ones. His purified Kyber crystal shined brightly in the silver band and his heart swelled with hope. Since the night you had accidently shared memories, he wanted to give you his life, his very soul. This was closest thing to being able to do that as possible and he had to plan the perfect moment to do it. What he didn’t realize was that it would be much longer before he could even try.

#maul x reader #Darth Maul x reader #Darth maul #maul #sith apprentice #sith warrior #SWTCW #swtcw au #star wars #starwars au #Maul fluff #Savage opress #platonic savage #night brothers #Mandalore #maul x apprentice reader #dark side of the force

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rallamajoop · 4 years ago

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How (not) to say ‘fuck’ in Etruscan (and other things I cannot believe I spent so much time tracking down for a throwaway joke in a Witcher slash-fic)

Buried in chapter 4 of my fic Something Nice is a joke which, as much as it amused me, no-one else is going to get unless I explain it. So here we go.

For the last few people in this fandom who haven't heard yet: The Witcher 3's vampire-language is Etruscan. To my knowledge, there's never been an official statement from CDPR to confirm this, but the evidence (ie. that basically all the vampire vocab can be found in online Etruscan sources) seems pretty solid. To explain why this made me go oooooh that's so NEAT, we need a little context.

Context!

The Etruscans (in my admittedly far-from-expert understanding) were a people who lived in Italy back before the Romans got around to conquering-slash-assimilating the rest of the peninsula, and the language they spoke is one of the most frustratingly mysterious of the ancient world. Most dead languages are at least related to something modern linguists have a decent handle on, but Etruscan seems to have been related to almost nothing else spoken – it may even have pre-Indo-European roots (a whoooole other tangent I am in no way qualified to cover).

Surprisingly, we do owe our modern Latin alphabet in part to the Etruscans, since the earliest Roman alphabets were adapted from the Etruscan (who got it from the Greeks, who got it from from the Phoneticians, and so on). The Etruscans may even be the reason we're stuck with so many weirdly redundant K-sounds (not only K and C, but X and Q, which are really just 'ks' and 'kw' with an overblown sense of superiority).

But being able to sound out every surplus K-word from an Etruscan inscription isn't much help nowadays when there are no surviving Etruscan dictionaries to tell us what it actually means – not even a decent Etruscan Rosetta stone to give us a push-start. So while modern linguists may rattle off Ancient Greek fluently or puzzle out Egyptian hieroglyphs from thousands of years before the Etruscans even had an alphabet, the Etruscan vocabulary available to us nowadays remains embarrassingly limited. Bits have been figured out from context or thanks to loanword exchanges with their neighbours (plenty of ancient Greeks and Romans certainly spoke Etruscan, even if they failed to write it down), but a lot is still as mysterious to the experts as it would be to you and me.

So why to I love the idea of using Etruscan as the Witcher’s vampire-language so much? Basically, if you want a language that will sound both old and reliably alien to anyone listening to it – be they the mainstream English-speaking market or the original Polish-language audience – Etruscan is a damn good call. You're not going to have much vocabulary to draw from, but it's not like there's a lot of vampire-chatter in the game anyway. It's a cool little easter egg for fans nerdy enough to try and figure out what they're saying.

Translations and Sources

You aren’t going to find a lot of great Etruscan language sources on the web – few of the easily-discovered online sources on Etruscan vocab appear to have been updated within the last ten years, and lord knows how consistent some of these are with current scholarship (let alone how sure linguists can be about anything with a task like this). All the same, have some links you may find useful:

Etruscology – Brief, but more readable than most

Lexicons.ru Etruscan Glossary – Probably one of the best collections of many terms in one place

Maravot.com Etruscan Language pages – Hard to navigate, but gosh there are a lot of vocab here I have not seen elsewhere

Old, Tripod-hosted Etruscan Glossary – I think these are mostly just the same terms from the Lexicons page, but in harder-to-use format

Etruscan word search – Decent, but not the most extensive vocab

Introduction to the Etruscan Language – Looks to be from Maravot.com, but in pdf format

Paleoglot.com’s Etruscan tag – Blog by an actual linguist who regularly discusses Etruscan material, and who even created their own translation applet! – which was, unfortunately, in flash, and is thus no longer usable. (There is a certain irony that even the tools available online to help you understand Etruscan are written in a language that is now no longer supported or understood by any modern browser.)

Not that translating what’s in the game is going to be easy, oh no. Take, for example, the oh-god-please-don't-kill-me ceremonial greeting Geralt has to offer to the Unseen Elder to survive that meeting – "Eclthi, lautni ama".

'Eclthi' is apparently a "demonstrative (locative)" (’here’, ‘there’, etc). "Lautni" is trickier – it means a freed slave, but may also imply a familial relationship or a client of sorts, while the root “lautn” apparently designates simply “possession.” House slaves in the ancient world were often considered part of the family, and freed slaves were an important class in many ancient cultures, who often maintained relationships with their former masters, so you can see the internal logic, but what sense was the Witcher using it in? It’s hard to know.

"Ama" is possibly worse – most translations seem to have taken it as "to be", but sometimes also “to love”, or even "now" or "meanwhile." Then you hit the question of Etruscan grammar, and I have no idea where I’d even start. So, with a little creativity, you could probably translate that phrase as anything from "take this and consider me a friend" to "meanwhile, this is family" to "a demonstration of love from your slave." I mean, you've got the same general theme going there regardless, but there's a lot of ambiguity in the inflection.

For what it's worth, I feel garasham's translation efforts are easily the most convincing I've seen – they have the above line as “Here I am a slave / a friend / kindred” FWIW. (Mind you, given the wiki doesn't even try to do more than offer you one possible meaning for each word, there's not exactly much competition out there).

So, bringing this all back to that fic and how to say ‘fuck’ in Etruscan...

I've already gone to the web's Etruscan dictionaries once while I was writing Forget-Me-Not, seeking inspiration for a 'real' name for "the Queen of the Night" from the first Witcher game. Neither 'queen' or 'night' got me far, but the Etruscans did apparently have a goddess of the moon called 'Aritimi, Artume or Artames', which worked pretty well. If anything it's almost too close to the better-known Greek goddess Artimis, who was obviously a relative (ancient cultures bleed into each other even when they're not bleeding all over each other, nothing new there), but I'm not going to be picky.

However, being a) a giant nerd, who b) writes a lot of smut, and c) is no more mature deep down inside than the rest of us, I couldn't resist seeing if I could find some slightly more obscene vocabulary. Did the Etruscans have a word for, say, 'fuck'?

Alas, if they did (and I mean, they totally did, c'mon), the web wouldn't tell me about it. Nor could I find much else relating to sex or genitalia (male or female), or even a decent word for 'thrust'.

On the flipside, there were a couple of different terms meaning 'plough'. And anyone who's played – well, any of the games, but especially Witcher 2 – would probably realise exactly why that filled me with so much glee.

Speaking of which, here, have a picture which is in no way related:

The fact that the various Etruscan terms meaning ‘plough’ could also apparently be translated as things like “to worship“ or “to act through movement, including ritual acts,” or that an important mythological figure was “a prophetic child who sprang from a freshly plowed furrow” was in no way discouraging.

The word I ultimately picked was 'esari'. Admittedly, variations on the prefix ‘ar-’/‘ara-’/’aras’ were much more consistently attested to throughout the various online Etruscan dictionaries as ‘terms meaning plow’, but figuring out how to convert an Etruscan prefix into a satisfying word is officially where even my enthusiasm for all this nonsense gives out. Esari was, by comparison, already a much more solid-sounding term, so let’s go with that.

Why go to all this trouble anyway? Well, the honest answer is “entirely for my own amusement”, but the nominal excuse comes right back to “so I could give Regis and Geralt this little exchange during a sex scene.”

"Unless you have any particular objection," said Regis, moving to straddle Geralt's body, "I thought we might engage in some esari... hm, what was the equivalent term in your language again?" The vampire leaned in close to Geralt's ear as he made a show of remembering his answer, "Ah, yes—I thought I'd fuck you."

Never let anyone tell you you never learnt anything from porn!

#The Witcher #Etruscan #vampires #Regis #Emiel Regis #fic #history geekery #also contains a snippet of Geralt x Regis fic #so #you know #be warned

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how-about-you-rogal-dont · 4 years ago

Text

Wrote a thing, felt like sharing

some background:

I'm an aspiring writer, and I have a collection of CSM, CU, and general Chaos OCs do not steal blah blah blah (feel free to steal). I decided to write a bit about how their most recent addition joined the crew! Specifically, a Sororitas Meleficarum of the Order of the Verdant Chalice called Zethra. This bit of writing is a bit long, so I'll put it under a read more. TW for: violence, nurgle shit, space marines. Enjoy, feedback appreciated.

The inner halls of the Seventh Hell were a maze of lush gardens and fetid swamps, overtaken by the crawling filth that marched with Norvegicus’ every step. This ship had been under his sway for a very long time. Hives of unknowable daemonic parasites honeycombed the walls, squeaking rodents scuttled underfoot, and the buzzing of flies threatened to drown out any spoken communication. I could feel disgust rising in my throat with every step we took further into this despicably lush realm. It was difficult to read the other’s faces, sealed as they were beneath layers of steel and ceramite. None of us dared to bare an inch of skin in this place.

I looked over my shoulder, Cataphractii plate growling with killing instinct as my eyes fell upon Zethra. Despite her desertion from Norvegicus’ host, my skin still crawled at the thought of having my back watched by a member of the Plague God’s chosen. How much further? I did not bother holding my disgust away from the sending.

There was a slight click as Zethra tuned in over the vox. “Two hundred meters ahead, then we’ll be in the welcoming hall.” If she noticed my contempt, she did not care to remark on it.

“What manner of warship requires a welcoming hall?” Came Kalus’ voice a moment later. The duelist-marksman was walking with a casual gait, baroque bolt rifle slung over one shoulder. His helmet, like his armor, was the deep amethyst of his birth legion, with an obscenely loud crest of white feathers running down the middle. In all things, ostentation. Kalus never changed.

Djehouti spoke next. “This vessel was not always solely an implement of destruction. During the great crusade, when it still bore its original name, it would be host to all manner of dignitaries. Visitors from other legions, surrendering leaders of target systems, the like. Though I am surprised they have kept it for its original purpose.” Djehouti walked briskly, clearly struggling to keep up with the lumbering gait of my terminator plate. A brush against his mind revealed a certain distance in his thoughts, as though he were not entirely paying attention to the situation. I closed my mind off from the others, sending my thoughts to him and him alone.

Are you well, brother dearest?

Zandros. Yes, all is well. Forgive my absence. This ship brings back memories. Of course it did. It reminded him of our time aboard the Endurance during Horus’ rebellion. It stank of the same decay.

You are remembering our time as Ahriman’s emissaries to the Fourteenth. It was not a question. With my brother’s memory fading more with every day as the Wych’s toxins worked through his mind, any memory he could manage to grasp was worth ruminating on.

Djehouti’s response came slowly, tinged with more emotions than I could name. Yes.

We were younger then.

Young. Foolish. Power-hungry. A nostalgic smirk tinged his thoughts.

We might not have changed as much as we would like to think.

At this, he gave a single, forceful exhalation. After a moment of silence between us, with only the trudging squash of our armor against the filthy deck to break the monotony, he sent again: Zandros, should we survive this excursion, I have something to ask of you.

Anything, brother. What would you wish of me?

Djehouti smiled beneath his helm, coloring his thoughts with a whistful sadness. It can wait. I nodded.

“We’re here.” Zethra’s voice came abruptly, with a fuzz of static. I returned my gaze to the corridor ahead of us. It open up as we stepped forward, widening in size from a hive street to a grand causeway large enough to admit a Warhound Titan. It was here that Norvegicus’ touch was most evident. The ‘welcoming hall’ did not resemble the gilded splendor of an Imperial-built spacecraft. Instead, it was covered, every inch, in growths of flora both natural and empyrean. The room was lined with twisted, pale mangrove trees, drinking greedily from shallow pools of green scum that spread beneath their shade. A thick coating of mud covered the floor, with mushrooms of every color and shape sprouting from beneath the diseased soil. The walls were covered completely in snaking alien vines, bulbous pustules of ichor pulsing at irregular intervals. The ceiling was hung with lichen, smothering the lumiglobes almost completely. Cackling Nurglings stalked and butchered each other for sport in a twisted mockery of children at play. All in all, the room was so overgrown as to leave only a single foot path traveling down the center clear of the grove’s touch. But the centerpiece of the room was undoubtably the warrior standing sentinel at the far edge.

He was an astartes, and massive even for one of the XIV. Like I, he was clad in Cataphractii plate. That was where the similarities ended. His armor was a rich green, the trim a burnished bronze. He carried no visible firearm, instead leaning on a massive two-handed chainscythe. What singled him out amongst his brethren of the death guard was the total lack of decay visible on his armor. Not a single fleck of rust could be seen, not a single dribble of pus or twisting bone growth. Indeed, to the naked eye, he seemed completely devoid of Nurgle’s taint. But beneath that clean exterior, there was a certainty. A fear. Where other champions of the Seventh exemplified to terror of rotting flesh, the pungent smell of blight, this man seethed from within with the hushed fear of infection. Held breaths, averted eyes, a populace knowing there was disease among them, but not knowing when or from who it would come. He was the knowledge that every breath you take could doom you, that shaking your neighbor’s hand would have you dead within a week, the simple truth that you were not safe and that the threat could not possibly be fought against. His helm swiveled to meet our gaze, red lenses glinting in the sickly light.

“Miscreants. You walk the halls of hallowed ground. Your unholy sanitation is an affront to the beauty of these luscious halls.” His voice was deep and harsh, with the barest hint of a Barbarusii accent. The vox-grille of his helm rendering it a predator’s growl.

Mizi’s mind connected with mine in an instant. I’ve got a shot. The sending came with a series of images: Crosshairs held steady over a green helm, the kick of a rifle thumping against a shoulder, the red smear of a head bursting.

I stepped forward, my external vox opening with a barely-audible click. “I am Zandros Lucarian, and I speak for the Ashen Hunters. State your name, that I might know whose death I command.”

A series of sharp barks escaped the warrior’s helm. After a moment, I realized he was laughing at me. “You speak for a mongrel warband of bastards and thin-bloods. But you shall know my name. I am Holgius, seventy-seventh scythe of the Deathshroud.”

The minds of those at my side sharpened instantly. Before us stood a member of the Deathshroud, the chosen blades of the lord of the Seventh Legion. This was no petty champion, no pit brawler elevated above his brothers by savagery alone. His deeds had been enough to draw the attention of the Rotten King himself. To face him would be to invite ruin in a thousand different forms.

And so, of course, it was Kalus who stepped forward, twinned cutlasses slithering from their sheaths with a crackle of energy. “I’ve always wanted to kill a Deathshroud,” he purred. “Never thought that one would volunteer.”

Holgius did not turn his gaze from me. “Does this wailing peacock speak for you, Zandros Lucarian?”

A poorly-contained snicker distracted me as Mizi’s aura smeared with mirth.

“In as many words.” The challenge had been issued. Kalus knew this dance. Like the Samar-Hai of ancient terra, warbands were fond of sending champions forth to duel to the death before the commencement of a slaughter. It was clear that the rotting creatures that served as crew aboard the Seventh Hell understood the significance of Kalus’ headstrong challenge, too. Obese nurglings crowded the fetid canopy above us, clamoring for a better look at the contest. Through my sixth sense, I felt other, more ethereal eyes lock on to our plight.

The Gods were watching.

Holgius stepped forward, revving his chainscythe in a squall of tortured metal. Kalus did likewise, his blades twirling in lazy, lethal arcs. The Deathshroud regarded him for a moment, then rolled his shoulders into a hunched combat stance. My champion crossed his blades over his sternum, lowering himself into a catlike stance. “You seem confident.”

Holgius’ response was a husky, rasping laugh like a knife scraping the rust from ancient metal. “When set against such a meager creature as you? I see no reason why I should not be.” He had begun to pace their arena now, his boots trudging puddles in the floor.

Kalus raised his blades to compensate for his foe’s movement. “Now you seem overconfident.”

The first blow was struck faster than the eye could follow. With a snarl of servos, Holgius swept his weapon towards Kalus. Kalus was already ducking below, spinning into a strike that was both parry and riposte. The scythe roared harmlessly over his head, guided further upwards by a flick of his left blade. His right was already lashing out like a silver viper to bite into his opponent’s knee. There was a flash as the strike connected, but the armor held. Kalus danced out of engagement range, and I did not need my psychic gifts to see the wry smile spreading below his faceplate.

Holgius was already spinning, keeping the momentum from his first missed stroke into a crushing downward blow. I watched frantic realization bloom in Kalus’ mind as he realized that the warrior had guessed his plan, and was already striking towards where he stood crouched. Even he could not evade in time, and so he crossed his blades over his head, braced to take the strike. It impacted with a scream of micro-engines. Pain flooded Kalus’ aura as greenstick fractures began to spread down his arms. He was holding the blade, mere inches from his marble helm, but the clash of weapons was straining his swords’ power fields to their limit. Thousands of miniscule impacts from the teeth of the chainscythe built until the haze around the blades began to flicker and dull.

Kalus spun aside, letting the natural weight of his opponent’s weapon buy him precious nanoseconds as its tip ground against the muck. Two more flashing strikes thudded into Holgius’ side, opening deep gashes in the ceramite. Holgius lashed out with a hand, thudding a fist against Kalus’ helm. Kalus soared through the air, landing with a splat against a pale, warp-touched tree.

Holgius did not pursue his quarry, instead looking down at his dented armor. The gashes opened by Kalus’ strikes had not penetrated his plate. Neither had my champion angled his strikes for the weaker joints in his opponent’s hide. Holgius raised his gaze to Kalus, now standing with defiance in his eyes. “You are mocking me.” The barely-controlled rage beneath his voice shone like a beacon to my sight.

Kalus was rising from where he had fallen against the fetid flora. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” His breathing was ragged and labored; the pain that smeared his aura evident of a punctured lung. Still he stood, mischief painted across his stance as it was his face.

Holgius gestured to the rents in his armor. “Three strikes against me,” he said accusingly, “All of them botched. Every one could have been fatal. You are mocking me.” The grating fury in his voice had been restrained to a dull seething just below his skin.

Kalus shrugged. “Well…” He struck again, faster than we could see. Holgius swept his blade upwards, but too slow. Like lancing a boil, the blade in Kalus’ right hand plunged into Holgius’ forehead with terrifying ease. As his opponent wavered, not yet realizing he was dead, Kalus met his eye, their faceplates inches apart. “…Maybe a little.”

What happened next is difficult to describe. Not in terms of the physicality of the matter, for what took place was simple, if incredible. Holgius went slack, held aloft by misfiring nerves, hands twitching in the final throes of a death rightfully earned. And then… he bloomed. His armor split apart, ceramite shearing away and peeling back like the petals of a diseased lotus. In its place, bloated, pestilent flesh swelled and bulged outwards, throwing Kalus’ sword free. Knots of warped bone split forth from his shoulders, piercing skywards with the promise of infection. Row upon row of greenish fangs crowded his human teeth. While all of this happened, he was growing. We watched on in horror as he swelled from a giant of a man to a corpulent, heaving mass of filth. The Daemon within him, so well camoflauged until now, had been forced into the open by its host’s death.

What my sixth sense saw was altogether more complicated. In his human form, Holgius had been choked thick with the warp-spun false memories of a population terrified of the plague in their midst. Now, with his possessor revealed, those emotions took on a whole new context. Before me stood a daemon born of realization. For so long, the fear it gorged itself on had been limited to the sight of one’s neighbors covering their face, the scent of decay on the air, the primal certainty that something was terribly wrong. But here was the terror of a society advanced enough to look within, and realize that it was dying. The full extent of the infection revealed, and there was nothing to do but watch.

The thing that had been Holgius was on Kalus before my champion could react. Bloated, sore-pocked fists pummeled into Kalus with preternatural strength. A horrific shriek of tearing metal shuddered through us as Kalus’ breastplate split, caving inward under the force of the daemonic assault. Holgius grasped the broken pieces and hauled the cavity open even wider, exposing pale flesh to the diseased air of the Seventh Hell. A weak gurgle escaped from Kalus, carried to us over the vox. Holgius raised his fists to finish the job.

I commanded his death with a single word, spoken clearly and calmly over our group’s Vox.

“Mizi.”

The cracking report of a las-fusil accompanied the split-second in which the entire chamber was washed with red light. When the momentary blindness had cleared, Holgius stood slack-jawed over Kalus. Mizi’s shot had scorched a deep, blackened pit into his misshapen head. Steam curled from the crater as his dying mind struggled to comprehend what was going on. The daemon riding within his veins howled in rage as its handhold on reality began to slip away. As his spirit began to fade, Holgius met my eyes.

“C-co… ward…”

An insult that had long since lost its bite. I informed the Deathshroud as such, before tossing his limp corpse aside with a whim of telekinesis. I pulsed my orders throughout the chamber, calling my bound to follow.

Forward.

I was nearing the far end of the chamber when Kalus spoke. He was a ruin, his helm torn off to allow him to breath through a mangled face, his torso a bloody ruin, bone protruding near his pectorals. Still, he stood, swaying back and forth as he forced words out.

“I… would have… had him…” I smirked at that. A rudimentary scan of his mind revealed he truly believed it, too. He began to waver, and his legs would have given out if Mizi had not arrived at his side, steadying him. “I would have had him.” He repeated, firmly this time. Mizi shot me a look. I didn’t need my second sight to register the exasperation in her thoughts.

I am sure you would have, cousin. I extended a hand, willing his riven flesh to reknit itself. Kalus winced as the psychic impulses began to do their work. I am not so naïve to believe I can be rid of you that easily.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #chaos space marines #fanfic #mine

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a-monsters-love · 5 years ago

Text

The Air Between Us: Part 1

[Prologue] [Part 1] [Blurb 1] [Part 2] [Blurb 2] [Epilogue]

Zuko x A!Reader:

Genre: fluff

Warnings: mild swearing

Word count: 7742

Time line: Takes place when the Gaang goes to the Fire Lords beach house with Zuko on Ember Island. I changed it from them going to see the play about themselves and go to a circus instead; I extended the time they were on the island to fit everything.

A/N: If your reading this I hope it lives up to any expectations, the prologue got so much more love than I thought it would. This is my first fan fic, the reader was originally written as my DnD OC so I apologize if she’s written wonky. I hope I wrote Zuko’s character well, I was worried I wrote him too OOC but I’ve read so much Zuko x Reader fanfics that I felt like it wasn’t that bad lmao. I am my own proof reader so please message me if I messed something up. Also I don’t know how to write Sokka or Suki’s character, I’ve never met anyone like Sokka and Suki has so little dialogue in the show that I feel like she’s just happy to be there.

(Y/N) = Your name (S/C) = Skin color (H/C) = Hair color (E/C) = Eye color

————

“SSHHUUUUUUU.” A loud, terrifying, growl hissed through the Fire Lords vacation home. Echoing into an almost animalistic growl.

“Ah.” Shu looks over to Katara, ”Sounds like (Y/N) is awake.” Probably also waking up everything else in the greater vicinity. Based on the ferocity in your voice they decide it’s probably best to rush over to the room you’re now resting in.

You’re alone, in a hastily cleaned dust covered room. You don’t know where you are. You aren’t aware of how you got here or what day it is. You’re sticky, you reek of herbs, and everything HURTS. These are facts you listed as you woke up. You hear the softest knocking on the door, “If you are not my brother or with him I will rip you to shreds.” You snarl at the door, it’s been a long time since you’ve been this mad, you can hear the hand that was on the door knob let go and take a step back, not going much further than that. Exhaustion starts taking over but you were determined to stay awake until you received your answers. You hear large familiar foot steps run over to the room you’ve been placed in. When the door finally opens you see your twin brother, Shu with Katara, and a very nervous looking Zuko up against the wall behind them. You determined he was the one you threatened. Your (E/C) eyes flick from the nervous fire bender to your brother, “You’re late and I have questions, little brother.” You hissed menacingly.

——

It’s been less than 24 hours since you passed out. In that time, you’ve managed to win over the Gaang and somehow sort out the choices your brother made for the both of you. Neither of which you disagreed with however you barely remember anything that happened after the end of the fight at the circus. You blacked out, this wasn’t a first, but it was a first from blood loss. Katara has been working on healing your wounds every 4-6 hours, letting the salve do its job before cleaning you as best she could through the fear that you might not have made it otherwise. She looks exhausted.

The night prior, when Zuko escorted you to the evacuation area, the Gaang had received the full disclosure on your wounds, your history, and your goals. During your first healing session you were face-in-lap of the Fire Prince, as he received endless teasing. Katara, all though giving him the ‘all knowing’ look the entire time, was the only person to have his back. You lost so much blood you needed to stay as warm as possible until your body regulated, and what’s a better hot water bottle than a fire bender?

——

“Hey Sifu Hot Water Bottle!” Toph hollered down the hall, Zuko groaned. Knowing he will never be able to live this down, but was it worth having you nuzzle into his lap like a sick turtle duck? Absolutely.

“What, Toph.” He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms at the tiny earth bender.

“Shu and Katara are getting herbs so you should keep your princess company~” Toph grinned from ear to ear, knowing his reaction, even if she couldn’t feel it through the hardwood flooring.

Zuko’s cheeks flushed brightly at the comment, letting out a forced ‘groan’ in an attempt to get the better of the girl. He, however, quite liked the idea and rolled around options in his head to see if he could do anything for you without needing healer expertise. He decides to prepare tea. He remembered a recipe for a pain killer tea that his uncle had made for him, it tastes like crap but he knew it could help.

Walking up to your door, no problem, walking in? That’s another story. You were passed out, why is he suddenly so nervous? Then he heard it, well he heard you. He’s never heard such a terrifying savage sound escape someone, let alone a person of your stature. He lightly knocked on the door as not to surprise you but received a threat regardless, this was new. “WHAT DID YOU DO??” Toph whisper yells from down the hall, Zuko not wanting to give up his spot, while not disturbing you he throws his hands in front of his chest indicating ‘I don’t fucking know’ quickly remembering she’s blind.

As if saved by the bell, Shu and Katara rushed up the hall to your room, “I didn’t wake her, I got here after the roar.” Zuko whispers before they open the door. He sees your bandaged body and has the desire to help but decides it’s best to stay out of the way. His gold eyes meet your own (E/C) eyes, causing him to remember the night prior, a blush dusts his face and he looks down.

Shu and Katara enter the room, leaving Zuko in the hall. “In or out, princeling.” You state dryly. He decides to walk in and sit against the wall, opposite to your brother and the water tribe girl. Setting down the tea pot he prepared. You can feel warmth radiating from him, Fire bending perks, you noted. “Someone help me into an upright position…please.” Your tone changes, almost begging for help. You’re tired and in pain and in need of answers. Zuko and Shu both gently help you lift yourself from laying on your chest to sitting upright. Zuko grateful for the bandages looks into his hands after letting go of you. Katara hands you a cup of tea. You look between the healer and Shu, “So… I barely remember anything after the battle at the circus, please fill me in..” You take a sip of tea without even flinching at the taste, to Zuko’s surprise.

“What?? What’s the last thing you remember?” Katara seems mind blown by the idea and Zuko looks as if he’s the one who lost too much blood.

You sip your tea slowly and tilting your head back and fourth trying to stitch together the memories. “Well, we trapped all the Fire Nation soldiers, Shu and I high-fived and that’s when things started getting hazy,” You stopped and tried to pull pieces to your mind, “I had said.. something to you guys and then my legs went weak and Zuko caught me.” You pointed at him, your ears turned red at the thought. “After that, nothing. Last time I blacked out that bad was in Omashu, like 2 years ago, and that was a party.” You ramble on, still a bit delirious from blood loss and medication.

Katara watches you, thinking over your condition. “Well, you did lose a lot of blood, if we knew sooner then maybe we could’ve done something.” She shakes her head and looks between the two boys before explaining the context of the night prior. She then comments that neither you or Shu gave goodbyes to anyone before you left, which she found weird.

You and Shu exchange looks, and erupt in laughter. To the shock of both Katara and Zuko, who found himself confused but smiling seeing you laugh. You groaned and held you sides, laughing hurt. “We’re circus kids, don’t worry about ‘goodbyes’ we have our means. Since we left them that means Auntie and Uncle are probably retiring.” You move your attention to your brother, “Did Uncle give you anything?” You finished your tea putting the cup down for a refill. You let a small shiver consume you.

“He gave me a box and told me to open it when your up and-or well,” He rolls his eyes. “Whatever that means.” He leans over and refills your glass.

“We’ll need that in the up coming war, so don’t lose it,” You seem back to you matter-a-fact like self. Looking back to Katara, “What’s the status on my wounds?” You ask, picking up your cup for another sip.

She sighs, “It should only take a couple more sessions for it to not hurt so bad and to get you up again” She looks at the ground almost in an ashamed way, she glances at Zuko briefly while choosing her words. “I wasn’t able to prevent the scarring, you will forever have a large scar that stretches from the middle of your back up your neck and down your shoulders to both your hands.”

The room is quiet from Katara statement, you can feel the tension from her words. Noting the look she sent the scarred prince but keeping a calm face you nod, “Well, that’ll look badass.” Taking another sip of tea, “I wonder if it’ll be a problem with Aangs training, Air Bending masters get tattoos, right?” You start thinking aloud. You shrug at the thought, “Well, either way, when can we get to the next healing session? Because I’m cold and everything hurts and I’m hungry, this tea is helping but I can’t eat in this condition.”

Katara smiles brightly at your quick resolve and ushers the boys out to start the healing session. Zuko was replaying how quickly you came to a resolve about your scar in his head not noticing Katara trying to get his attention. “Hey.” You snap your fingers close to his face, causing a small breeze. “Are you gonna watch or are you gonna leave? I have to strip for this.” Zuko’s face was immediately red at the thought of what you just said and stumble-ran out of your room. And so, your first session while awake starts. Followed by every curse word and obscenity you can imagine escaping your mouth. This isn’t healing, this is assault!

Due to the depth of the wounds and the concern of Katara, you had multiple ‘healing sessions’ throughout that day. The day following you were up and running again, for the most part. You found yourself mostly watching Zuko and Aang train, much to Zuko’s dismay but he took note of the a light blush that dusted your face and he redness of your ears when he took his shirt off. He started taking it off earlier in his matches with Aang to see if he can get a reading out of you. Your angelic poker face is not something he could win against. That small smile is constantly plastered on your face.(*1)

However much you enjoyed seeing him with his shirt off, you enjoyed studying their sparring session more than anything. Both Zuko and Aang had multiple different influences in their bending, there are time Zuko’s moves look like that of a water bender. You have never seen anything like it, however you’ve only ever practiced with Shu, an earth bender, so you weren’t one to talk. You asked Aang the occasional question about air bending basics. Things to practice so you can find the middle ground you needed to have control of your bending better. You sit on the patio while they trained practicing your control, letting Aang correct you when needed.

——

“What about bending? When can I start fully practicing that?” You ask Katara while making a fresh pot of jasmine tea, it’s one of your many favorites.

Katara hums at the question, “You should be okay for now. BUT!” She looks you in they eyes. “No heavy lifting, and no going past your limits. If you start feeling sore or exhausted you must take a break.” You almost spat at the statement but stifled your laughter, you’re an air bender. Is air heavy? You jokingly thought, knowing how hilarious that sounds.

“Awesome,” You cough to hide your ongoing laughter. “Can you help me then? I want to change to practice.”

Katara agreed and followed you to your room. She had tied your (H/C) hair back, neater than you’ve ever tied it. You’re still in full bandage but you have a halter top exposing your bandaged midriff, and your most comfortable short harem pants, you liked the way they hugged your hips and sat comfortably at your knees. You walk out barefoot to the training grounds to Toph, who almost hit you with a boulder. “Hey, lightfoot! At least make sure you have a presence for me, you could’ve been back in bed!” She scowled in your general direction, “Katara would’ve blamed me!” She huffed.

You make sure both feet are flat to the ground and walk to the girl, “Could you help me with something?” At Aangs references and Sokka’s bad memories you try to describe the Airball court and the type of game that was played in it. “If we make one out of stone you can ‘watch’ me and Aang play and it’ll give me good practice to handle my air bending without creating an actual tornado or by using my fans.” Toph rolled the idea around in her head, “If we get a fire proof ball we can get Zuko in on the game?” You further suggest.

Almost like a light bulb goes off in Toph’s head she lights up, “(Y/N)! You’re a genius!” She runs off to look for the ideal location.

You go find Aang, catching him before he starts his sparing session, “Hey, Aang!”

Aang sees you calling and perks up, “Hey (Y/N), what up?” The young nomad asks, meeting you halfway.

“Okay, so,” You clap your hands together holding them in front of your chin. “Can Airball be played with 3 goals or does it have to be 2?” Your (E/C) eyes are almost glowing at the question throwing the boy for a loop, you’re finally acting more like yourself again.

“Well, since Air Nomads are traditionally pacifists I’d say only 2 goals to avoid having 2 teams ganging up on 1 team.” He smiles remember the times he played back in the Southern Air Temple, then his brow knit. “Why do you ask?” (*2)

You smile putting your hand on his small shoulders, “I’m having Toph use her bending to build an Airball court so I can practice my bending and I thought it could give you and Zuko a different type of field to spar on.” That last part you made up on the spot but it is a valid option. Aangs face lights up, “Do you want to grab Zuko and show me the ropes?”

You both grab Zuko, and a random empty metal box from the vacation house. He begrudgingly follows, being pulled hand in hand by two Air Benders, what has my life come to? He thought to himself while not shaking off either hand so he can keep holding yours. Aang explains the game rules and how it’s played on the way.

You follow the noises of the court being built by Toph and you hear her call, “(Y/N)! What were you thinking to use for the ball??” You can see she had stone and river rock options behind her however you didn’t want to risk the damage to you or Zuko. (*3)

“How ‘bout this?” You hand her the metal box, “If you metal bent it to the shape of a ball we can leave it hollow so it’ll be easier to move for me as an ‘inexperienced’ air bender and for Zuko who will have to use his flames to actually propel it.”

You can see Toph physically frown, “Hey, I’m not an earth bender, and as much as I wouldn’t mind taking responsibility if he got hurt, throwing boulders at him is not in my job description.” You both laugh and Toph agrees. You suggest Aang and Zuko use the court first for training then you can get to the game.

Toph has lifted a platform to the height of the court, “You’re pretty good at staying balanced on moving boulders.” She comments.

“Yeah, well, having a giant but strong Earth Bender for a twin your whole life does wonders for your balance.” You joke, pushing your elbow into Toph who is trying to stifle a smile at the mention of Shu.

While watching the boys jump around so gracefully reminds you a lot of the circus. You feel a bit sad at the thought and Toph picks up on it. “What’s wrong, lightfoot?”

You don’t hate the new nickname as much as the others seem to hate theirs, you lean back a bit on the platform holding your knees to keep your balance. “I was trained in all sorts of circus and show performances, piano, guitar, gymnastics, acrobatics, juggling, tight rope walking, and contortionism-“

Toph would have spat out her drink if she had one, “YOU’RE A CONTORTIONIST?” She gaps at you causing Zuko to blush, losing his balance and Aang to give him a big stupid grin.

“Ah-well-“ You stammer, blushing hard because no one outside of the circus ever seemed to be interested in the things you trained in. “Ye-yeah I was trained in all sorts of things-“ You look down at your knees to avoid making eye contact with the boys and not wanting to look at Toph, regardless of her being blind. “Watching them dance around reminds me of home.” You chuckle sadly.

Toph talks your head off with all sorts of questions about the circus and what you can do, once your embarrassment subsides you find yourself passionately talking about it. Before you realize it, the boys are done sparring and Aang asks if you’re ready.

You nod and hop to the court, trading places with Zuko. You accidentally bump your shoulder with his arm causing him to grab your hand in case you slipped, sending a hot sensation up your arm from where he held you. You smile softly and embarrassed “Sorry.” You rub the the back of your neck and squeeze his hand.

He lets go quickly. “Ah, yeah.” He stammers, “It’s fine, (Y/N).” Shooting a subtly smile back. You blush loudly, realizing this is the first time he’s said your name to you. You scurry to get to the center of the court.

“S-sorry if this isn’t as great as the courts you had at home. My instructions were vague.” You tell Aang, he shakes his head with a smile, he doesn’t care he’s just excited to play. You practice spinning the make shift ball in a web of air. Before throwing the ball at Aangs hoop.

——

The game starts between (Y/N) and Aang, and Zuko can’t take his eyes off of you. You don’t look like someone who can’t control their bending. Just watching you spin, flip and dance around from post to post is like a choreographed show. Even when you throw or kick the ‘ball’ consumed by air. “So, when are you gonna ask her out, Sifu hot water bottle?” Toph snickers, getting a general idea of the game, enjoying it none the less.

“What? What are you talking about?” Zuko scowls at the girl who just sarcastically snaps her neck in his direction.

“Really? Dude, your attention is on her every move and reaction.” Toph cheers loudly for you, making you a bit embarrassed missing your footing. You slip off the beam you aimed for but you push off the side of it just to hop on the top of another, Aang claps saying you’re a natural. “See, your heart rate just spiked at a little slip. Just ask her out, the worst she can say is no right?” Toph shrugs suggestively, “Maybe she likes you back.”

Zuko scoff at these comments before actually thinking about them. “Shut up.” Toph laughed and punched him in the arm. “What was that for!”

Toph smiles, “Thats how I show affection.” Her face beamed as she moved to the ledge of where they sat and waved at the on coming footsteps.

——

Aang has 3 points on you and you haven’t even scored yet, to anyone else you’d say it’s fine, it’s the first time you’ve played. You on the other hand are fairly competitive, and according to Aang you seem to have the rules down. You have the ball in your hand now and decide to throw all cation to the wind, literally in this case. You air bend something close to a funnel weaving around the posts and throwing the ball into it. Your hand twirling lightly to keep it moving. This does not work as planned, as the funnel created so much momentum that the metal make shift ball flattens to the stone hoop. You gasp putting your hands on your temples, “Oh spirits!”

Aang laughs a little too hard, Toph laughs while grumbling about ‘all her hard work.’ Zuko lets out a chuckle, this embarrassed you but your glad he seems to be having fun watching the mess you call a match end. “That was great (Y/N)! I’ve never seen you have that much control with your bending!” You hear Shu say, you didn’t even realize the rest of the Gaang had made their way to watch.

“I was trying so hard to be delicate, agh why don’t I know how to be delicate!” You groan, “I couldn’t even make one shot!” Ruffling you’re hands in your hair.

“There’s the competitive little sister I know,” Shu snorts, you made a tiny ball of air at the tip or your finger and shot it at him, hitting him in the center of his forehead. You laugh anyway.

“I can control little things and big things with my bending, the in between is where it gets hard.” You stretch letting out a barely audible whimper from your burn wounds.

“Hey, that was a lot better than I remember from first time Aang made me and Katara play,” Sokka snorts.

The only one who heard your whimper was Zuko, but that’s because you never lost his attention. Which annoyed him to no end when you were unconscious, but now? He just felt lighter having you around. He couldn’t pin down why, maybe it was the way your laugh was contagious, or that you always knew how to say the right thing? Even when it wasn’t directed at him. Somehow your flaws made you more wonderful to him. Competitive? Generally sarcastic while sounding like an Angel? Even when you’re cranky he wants to be around you. He just liked it, a lot more than he anticipated. He thought at first he wanted to be more like you, now maybe it’s not that.

He let the thoughts run around his head as the Shu and Toph earth bend the platforms everyone was sitting on back into the ground. You head back with Aang, Zuko and Toph, who was dragging Shu by his hand, talking about the game and how to improve the court. Aang laughed explaining that it’s great for training but Airball posts were general made of soft woods, you face palm at that lack of knowledge. Letting out another small whimper from your wound. Zuko hesitates but decides to put one of his hand gently over top the biggest part of the wound. With his generally high internal temperature he figured the heat might help. Your back stiffens in surprise and he starts to pull away, you grab his forearm gently indicating that it’s okay and look over towards him. You mouth the words ‘Thank you,’ your general angelic poker face now replaced by something more relaxed and dusted with blush, you look away hoping he doesn’t notice that your ears turning red. He does.

——

Later that evening everyone was heading to bed, you were more sore than you let on but you weren’t tired. You’re finally starting to feel some energy come back to you after ‘working out’ today. You couldn’t do your normal stuff but you weren’t upset, understanding the situation. Katara was the last person you said good night to after she helped you bathe, you had your healing session in the water. Now with a fresh pot of jasmine tea you sat on the porch staring at the scenery, less than a week ago you lived such a hodgepodge lifestyle with the circus. Albeit this is temporary, you couldn’t imagine your life any other way at this point. You hear soft foot steps come from behind you, you pay no mind until you hear them speak. “You know, you should probably have a blanket or something with you, it’s cold in the evenings here.” It’s Zuko, you smile up at him and offer him tea. Seemingly ignoring his comment about the weather you pat your hand at the space near you, suggesting he sits.

He sits down and pours himself a glass, jasmine. His favorite, he wonders if you knew. “Jasmine tea is one of my favorites,” You say.

“Really?” He sips the tea, and watches you. Your seemingly angelic demeanor is gone, you look like you’re in your own world now.

“Well, actually I haven’t met a tea I didn’t enjoy.” You chuckle and hold the glass in your hands to keep yourself warm, you were relishing in the cold but for some reason now you craved warmth. Maybe since he pointed it out? You don’t think too long on it, you focus on your breathing. Aang taught you a special breathing technique that all Air Benders use to regulate their body temperature. “There is an older gentleman who would visit my aunt and uncle when our travel schedules aligned, he made the best tea.” You smile into your cup, “He’s the one who actually taught me how to make tea.” You chuckle, knowing you’re not nearly as good as him. A shiver overcame you.

You made him think of his Uncle Iroh, he has a lot of regrets to work through regarding that matter. Zuko looks down and adjusts the teapot, scooting closer to you after noticing your small shivers.

“You remind me of myself in a lot of ways.” You said, still taking in your surroundings. Zuko didn’t understand the statement, that was clear on his face when you glanced over to him, not realizing you’re start to lean towards his warm arm. “For an assortment of reasons.” You start to explain. “You always come off as super grumpy and quiet, but you’ve never seemed grumpy to me. Earlier you were the only one to notice I was sore. It felt amazing and honestly I was just grateful you didn’t make a scene about it.” Zuko thinks on this for a bit, realizing that the angelic demeanor you have is a facade, this was (Y/N), and outside of maybe your brother it seems like he’s the only one you’ve shown your true self to. Regardless of the reason, Zuko smiles softly.

Now realizing your arm is leaning up against his. “Great Spirits you’re warm!” You cover your mouth realizing how loud that might’ve been. You chuckle.

Zuko laughed quietly and leaned back into your arm, “Fire Bending perks.” He said, he felt embarrassed touching you earlier but for you to say it felt amazing? He blushed hard thinking about it, grateful for the night sky.

“I knew it.” You murmur playfully as you sip your tea.

You pull back from Zuko’s warmth to stretch, groaning.

He hesitates to ask, “Does it hurt?” He wants to touch you, maybe this fire in him is good for something.

You sit back next to him, maybe a little closer than before. Trying to consume his extra heat, “Of course it hurts, but the pain isn’t something to be bitter over.” You bump his leg with your knee at the comment.

Hesitantly he moves the arm pressing against you and leans on it now close behind you. Your arm now touching the side of his abdomen and his arm touching your back, with his hand on the floor. He doesn’t respond. You lean into his side thinking, “Yes, it was a terrible thing that happened to me, but there’s no changing it and the pain is temporary. Why should I be bitter about it? That only makes the aggressor look powerful.” You know you both have terrible scars, yes yours is bigger but yours isn’t on your face. You thought to yourself. “Those who attack people smaller or weaker than themselves are nothing but cowards.” You mumble. Zuko leans his side into you, as a sort of silent response. You stayed like this for sometime before deciding his warmth is making you sleepy. “Has anyone ever told you, you make people sleepy?” You yawn at him.

A smirk raises to one side of his mouth, “Just once,” Remembering your face nuzzling into his lap the night you collapsed.

You raise an eyebrow but don’t question him, you smile though. “Well here’s a second, your natural warmth is cozy and I’m getting sleepy.” You got up to head to your room, when Zuko gently grabs your bandage covered fingers.

“I-uh, usually have a hard time sleeping,” He admits. “If you ever have a hard time sleeping you can come sit with me.” He was looking at your hands sadly, as if they received the worse kind of treatment.

You giggle, knowing you’re always out here before him. You squat down to his level from standing and give him a soft smile, “I naturally don’t sleep much so you can always come get me if you’re lonely.” You squeeze the hand that’s still holding your fingers before making your way to your room. Your skin is buzzing from where his heat once was. “You know where to find me.” You flick your hand up in a lazy peace sign.

——

At lunch the next day Toph and Sokka were trying to figure out who was the oldest twin. “Seriously, who’s the oldest.” You and Shu move in unison looking from each other to Sokka.

“Yeah! You keep calling each other older or younger! What’s the deal.” Toph pouted next to Shu, as she continued eating.

You twins laughed, “Ancient family secret.” You both said.

“Come on, Toph!” Sokka continues, “One of them has to be lying!” The two started to bicker. Suki and Aang can’t stop laughing from you and Shu doing and saying everything in unison, from blinking to eating. This was something the two of you had perfected at a very young age.

You and Shu glance at Aang, “You okay, Sifu Twinkle Toes?” You both go, the room erupted in laughter.

——

The days continued like this. Aang would give you something to practice, you started training with Toph or Katara. Shu and Toph started to trade training tips on metal and magma bending or would practice sand bending together on the beach. You had your healing sessions and a bath afterwards and once the sun was down and everyone was off to bed you started spending your evenings with Zuko.

You always seem to be waiting for him, you decided rather than staying awake in your room to just sit on the patio. Part of you didn’t want to wait to see if Zuko would actually come find you. You heard him walk up on cue, “Tonight’s tea is chamomile.” You say tilting your head towards him. He wore just a shirt and loose shorts, you imagine these are his pajamas.

He smiled and sat in the same position he had the night prior, arm around your back hand on the floor and the side of his abdomen pressing firmly against you. You poured him a cup this time. The two of you would talk for sometime before retiring to bed.

——

One night Zuko found his way to the patio and you weren’t there, he waited where he usually sat with you for some time before he realized the tea pot was gone. He walked to your room, lightly knocking before opening the door. You weren’t there. A sort of panic washed over him, he decided to look around for you before alerting anyone you were gone. Zuko walked down to the beach when he found foot prints, a sigh of relief left him when he found you sitting in the sand. Knees pulled to your chest, face down, cold tea pot and cup sitting next to you. He watched you for sometime before deciding to walk up. “So this is where you’ve been.”

A small sniffle comes out as you wipe your face, “Ah- Yeah.. Sorry..” You force an awkward chuckle. “I didn’t mean to worry you.” You didn’t look at him, he wasn’t sure you were looking at anything when you finished wiping your eyes.

Zuko sat down beside you, he wasn’t good at comforting people. He tried to think of something his uncle would say if he knew you. “My uncle told me once, that sometimes the best way to solve your own problems is to help someone else.” He spoke quietly, not really sure how to help. “I don’t really know how to comfort people but if there’s anything you need, you can ask..”

A small smile made its way to your face, you were pretty sure he had no idea what that statement meant. “I just uh-“ You looked up at the sky, “I feel guilty. And shameful.” You mutter. You could tell he was confused by this statement but you didn’t say anything for sometime. “You heard my families history, Jesa had an excuse. Sure it wasn’t a good excuse but..” You trailed on. Your voice was getting louder and more shaken with every word. “I was always so ashamed of my bending because it put my family in danger. I was ashamed that my family didn’t fight to defend the air nomads!” The air started stirring aggressively around the two of you. Tears started bubbling up in your eyes again and you pushed yourself from the ground. Zuko grabbed at your hand. You roared at the ocean in front of you, tears streaming freely down your cheeks, bending so much force in frustration waves flew up high before crashing down as you fell on your knees in front of Zuko.

His eyes wide, jaw slacked at the raw power you possessed. He’s never seen Aang use his air bending in such an aggressive manner. You were squeezing his hand, this pulled his attention from what you had just done. He squeezed your hand back before gently pulling on it, coercing you to come closer. You did, you ended up in his lap. You were between his legs that wrapped around you, your knees pulled up, leaning your side and head against his chest. He wrapped both arms around your waist and rested his chin your head. Zuko hushed you until you calmed, and the air around you two had settled into the stale ocean breeze.

His warmth calmed you, he didn’t have to say anything. You’re frustrated with yourself, you didn’t realize you’d bottled up so much. You buried your face into Zuko’s chest, “I feel guilty for being..-“ You hesitated, “For being so happy. Knowing my people have been eradicated.” This stings Zuko’s heart and he just holds you tighter.

Zuko’s history plays through his head, finally understanding what you had meant the other night. ‘You remind me a lot of myself’ you told him. He tilted his head down, pressing his nose and mouth against the top of your head. “Maybe that’s why your family made it. Because of what-“ He thinks of how to put it, “the Fire Nation did to your people. So that you could be happy, so that you could be here and build your people up again when this horrible war ends.” He didn’t know, but you were quiet.

You moved and held onto his bicep that rested between your thighs and bust, you’re both tired and wide awake now. (Y/N) never thought about it that way. That maybe being here, after everything, was your destiny and not just a selfish desire. You squeeze his arm softly, “Thank you, Zuko.” You mumble.

Neither of you said anything for the rest of the night. Not when Zuko heated up the tea pot and your glass, not about you staying in his lap. You both had the nights events and words playing in your head. Zuko realized what his uncle told him was right. Zuko told you what he needed to hear.

——

Zuko was always the last to sleep and the first awake, these were old habits he couldn’t break. However he didn’t mind it so much since (Y/N) has been around, you’re like him. Last to sleep first to rise, at first it was a constant surprise as you’d daze around the kitchen making tea at dawn. Your pajamas leaving very little to the imagination. A short but loose fitting top and loose shorts. Your bandages helped him not look like a bigger fool than he felt he already was. You never teased him about it though, you always just offered a smile. This house was starting to feel like a home again. The early mornings and the evenings were becoming his favorite time, these were times when you were yourself and when you leaned on him. You did this more than he mentally prepared himself for, the first time you did it was when Zuko was preparing tea for the morning, you lazily made your way into the kitchen and poked around him realizing he was doing what you had planned to start. You ended up leaning against his back while holding on to the edge of his shirt and commenting about the warmth before moving to pour yourself a glass of tea. The mornings that followed that one he started to notice you’d seek him out in a tired stupor. Clinging onto him regardless of what he’s doing, warming yourself up for the day, before making yourself a glass of tea and walking off.

He’d watch your beautiful figure laze around with your tea until you found the patio and sat down. You always manage to look back at him with your bedroom eyes expectantly. This always causes him to blush but he makes his way over and sits with you. He’ll watch you from the corner of his eye as you start to wake up.

He missed your presence during his training sessions but was always able to catch a glimpse as you train with one of the girls. Your control over your bending was exceedingly better than it had been when you first met.

“So. Sifu ‘hot water bottle’” A voice says mockingly. Zuko scowls and tears his attention from you and turns around to see Shu. His expression quickly dropped, not wanting to get on your brothers bad side.

“Uh, hey Shu.” Zuko says nervously, “What’s up?” He starts rubbing the back of his neck trying to temporarily purge what happened at the beach from his mind, you letting him wrap you up in his arms and lap was engraved in him. Shu waves him over to follow him.

He follows him until they’re out of your line of sight, “If you like my sister you’re going to have to fight me first.” Shu states pointedly and crosses his arms.

“Wait-wait. What??” Zuko throws up his hands, “I don’t want to fight you, we’re uh,” He stops at the word but shakes his head. “We’re friends, sparring is one thing but I can’t just fight you.”

Your brother flares at him and slides his foot, bending just enough earth under Zuko to knock him down. “I’m not just going to hand my sister, whose like,” He throws his hands up. “An international secret! To someone who can’t protect her!” Shu hisses. This is fair.

His glare drops and he offers a hand to help Zuko up, confused at the quick demeanor change until he hears you talking to Katara and walk past the scene. “Think about it.” Shu quietly hisses before walking away. Zuko stood there dumbfounded for quite some time.

“Your healing session today will be the last for your arms,” Katara tell you. “Your back will take some time but unless the wound gets struck again you shouldn’t have to worry about it opening on its own.” This was the best news you’ve had in some time. You can start actually exercising again.

That night, Zuko was the first to the patio. You stared at him for a bit, something about the moonlight hitting him makes your stomach flop about. You finally walk towards him, realizing he looks uncomfortable. “You okay?” You ask as you sit down beside him.

He looks over at you, he doesn’t say anything but just stares. Examining the lack of bandages on your arms and the concern in your face before speaking. “I’m trying to take all the right steps to make right all the wrongs I’ve done.” He looks away.

You keep looking at him, the gaang has already told you about their history with Zuko when you and Shu asked them how Team Avatar came to be. Zuko hands you a cup of tea before continuing, “I did some- a lot.. of awful things that I can’t take back. I can’t even apologize to my uncle for betraying him.” This statement causes Zuko to put his face in his hands. “He probably hates me now.”

That statement stings you, you’ve only ever seen the Team Avatar version of Zuko. You hesitate but decide to put your hand on his back, running your hand up and down his spine, making shapes with your fingers. “That might be true,” He flinched at this comment. “However. If you can get a group of people you literally tried to kill, to actually like and appreciate you and to care about you. I doubt it’ll be too difficult to get someone who’s always loved you to forgive your actions.” You smile and lean your head on his shoulder still rubbing his back. “From what you’ve told me and what I’ve heard from the others I can imagine he’ll be so proud of you for doing the right thing.”

Zuko doesn’t reply for sometime, replaying the words in his head. Replaying what he told you at the beach. He did do the right thing, he has changed. But what if it’s too late, he wants to ask but he already feels foolish for his actions. He lifts his head and looks over at you before resting his cheek on your head. “You don’t think it’ll be too late to apologize?”

You straighten up and smile at him, and cup his face with your hands. “If you truly mean it when you apologize then it’ll never be too late.” You leave a small kiss on his cheek and then smile at him. Zuko pulls you into him, holding one hand firmly around your shoulders and one around your waist. This caused you to gasp but he doesn’t let go. He needs this, you think. Hugging him back with your arms around his neck and a hand brushing his hair with your fingers till he’s ready to let go.

As much as he needed a hug the second he hugged you he was extremely embarrassed. Embarrassed that he wanted to pull you into his lap again and not let go. Especially after you kissed his cheek. He feared letting go as you would see his blushing face. Not realizing you can feel his blush as his body temperature rose. It wasn’t until you held him back and pet his hair that he started to savor the moment, engraving it in his mind before letting go and looking at the sky. You watched him carefully, you wanted to kiss him more and find all the reasons as to why everything would be fine. “Your brother told me I have to fight him.” Your face snapped away from his, you knew what this meant, but why would Shu say that to Zuko? Why wouldn’t he talk to you first? Did he tell Zuko how you feel? You were panicking.

(Y/N)’s ear are red, Zuko noticed. She seems embarrassed. Was she embarrassed of Zuko? Was it her brother? Or something else? He couldn’t get a read from you, “D-Did he say anything, ah,” You started. “About me, uh, when he did..?” You couldn’t make eye contact with him.

His face turned bright red, yes the whole thing was about you! He’s thinks your embarrassed about your brothers actions. “Well, ah,” he stammers, “I kind of, uhm, brought it upon myself.” You both look away from each other. “He told me to think about it.”

You sigh putting your red face in your hands, “I am so sorry.” You groan. Embarrassed that you thought this was about you.

“No no it’s not your fault!” He stammers, “We should uh, we should head to bed.” You nod at him and take the hand he offers to get up.

Your fingers touch his as he walks you to your room, “Uhm. Good night Zuko.” You smile and whisper to him as you separate, he watches you as you disappear behind your door. He wants to follow you in, realizing what you mean to him.

When he got to his room he closed and slid down the door. “Good night, (Y/N).” He sighed, “What am I going to do.”

——

A/N: Holy smokes, guys! We made it through Part 1! If you’d like to be tagged in this series please feel free to message me or comment on this post! Here are my starred notes: (*1) Imagine that customer service face we all have, you know the one (*2) When I wrote this line for Aang it ended up destroying my whole plan for the rest of this scene because I was like “Shit Aang would actually say something like that” (*3) Did you know river rocks explode when they get too hot?

Tag List:

@coalsmind @bucky-blogs @fanficflaneuse @cutiepoo16 @eridanuswave @grapesauze @theblueslytherin @coolpenguingoddess @royahllty @whalerus @shewritesseashells @lammello @ditu-m9 @kryptidkova @gxrleexis-arctic-monks

#a:tla #a:tla x reader #a:tla fanfiction #atla #atla x reader #atla fanfic #zuko #prince zuko #zuko x reader #prince zuko x reader #zuko imagine #avatar #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last air bender fanfic #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #zuko fanfic #first fanfic

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dragons-bones · 4 years ago

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FFXIV Write Entry #1: The Bluebird of Ishgard

Prompt: crux | Master Post | On AO3

This fill is a combination of both the FFXIV Write prompt, and a prompt from the Book Club server as posited by @pudgy-puk: “aymeric takes his date to The Fanciest ishgardian patisserie and drops an ABSURD amount of money.“

We are starting off FFXIV Write with EXACTLY MY BRAND! This takes place post 3.1 and references the events of my FFXIV Write 2019 fill, “Finally.”

Please enjoy!

Synnove hummed quietly to herself as she walked with Aymeric through the streets of Ishgard, her right hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. His own right hand gently covered hers, and every few moments he softly rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. A silly grin tugged at her lips every time he did, a flush of pleasure rising on her cheeks.

Aymeric had arrived at Fortemps Manor shortly after lunch, dressed down in simple leathers and that fur-lined leather coat he had worn that day not-so-long ago when she and Galette had run into him shopping along the Jeweled Crozier. He had asked for the pleasure of her company on a leisurely walk through the city—“I am not yet allowed the more strenuous exercise of the sparring ring,” he had said ruefully, a twinkle in his ice blue eyes, “but I am, thankfully, allowed to stretch my legs on daily walks.”—and after being subjected to a frantic wardrobe change by Rere (“We’re in a relationship! I don’t need to impress him! And why is this skirt in my size?” “Shush, be glad I’m always prepared on your behalf, and wear this sweater with it! Oooooh and the green shawl Heron made for you, I have the perfect pin to go with it.” “Rereha!”), she had been out the door with him, hand in hand.

Their leisurely ramble had taken them through parts of the city Synnove hadn’t visited, or had only walked through or by once or twice. Neighborhoods of the minor or vassel houses; the district where the merchants and burgeoning nouveau riche dwelled. Small parks carefully tended to preserve some green within the limits of the city; statues of minor saints and folk heroes of the Dragonsong War; a street lined on either side by greenhouses, the area bristling with dragonkillers. Aymeric had a story for each place: here was where a childhood friend had lived, before his family had moved out of the city; that was the house of his mother’s least favorite cousin, whom social propriety had declared Mama still had to entertain; there was he played at knights and dragons most often; that was the saint for whom his father—“The one who raised me.”—had been named.

She had enjoyed listening to him speak, his tone shading equally with fondness or wistfulness or, in the case of his mother’s least favorite cousin, palpable disdain. They so rarely had moments of quiet, never mind such moments together, and the opportunity to learn more about his home through his eyes had been an honor. She was sorry for the outing to end.

Except, instead of taking the turn that would lead them back the Fortemps Manor, Aymeric began to lead them in the direction of the Jeweled Crozier and all its myriad shops. Synnove made a questioning sound, looking up at him.

Aymeric grinned at her and kissed her forehead. “My lady was kind enough to accompany me about Ishgard in the cold, without complaint,” he said cheerfully, “and listen to me ramble besides. The least I can do is provide her some refreshment and something hot to drink in return.”

She laughed in delight, and pushed herself to her toes to kiss his cheek. “It was my pleasure to walk with you today,” she said, “but I’ll not refuse the offer of a treat. Lead on, my knight.”

The main thoroughfares were busier than the side streets, and the pair garnered some attention as the Lord Commander and a Warrior of Light, though blessedly no one approached them. Aymeric turned them down onto the lane that housed most of the Pillars’ cafes and bakeries, and Synnove’s stomach rumbled at the enticing aromas of coffee and bread and sugar that perfumed the air here.

He took them past the places where she and her friends often supped, past even the cafes about which Emmanellain waxed poetic. The traffic thinned as they walked, the businesses becoming more exclusive, the displays of pastries and menus becoming more elaborate and frankly obscene. Synnove looked around in growing surprise, her eyebrows rising, even as Aymeric continued to smile, secretive and mischievous.

Finally, they stopped in front of a patisserie in whose window was a display of éclairs so decadent that Synnove reflexively swallowed the saliva suddenly flooding her mouth. The choux was so fluffy it looked as if it was about to float, the chocolate icing thick and so dark is seemed to gleam black in the shop’s light. Some were left plain, but others hinted at the flavor of the cream or custard within each: candied orange peels; coffee beans; halved strawberries; roasted chestnuts. She swallowed again and glanced up at the placard over the shop’s door.

A simple bluebird in flight, holding a sprig of mint, was the only hint at the patisserie’s identity.

Synnove felt the color drain from her face. “Aymeric…”

Aymeric raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles and she turned to look at him. He was smiling, the rogue, as brilliant and joyous as when they had first kissed after retaking the Vault mere weeks ago. “Let me spoil you,” he purred.

For a few heartbeats she was absolutely torn: the tiny five-year old watching her parents and aunt count every gil to make the week’s earnings feed six people, along with the frugal adult who owned her own home, at war with the same tiny five-year old who loved sweets of all sorts and the hopeless romantic who secretly wished to have someone dote on her without reservation. “Refreshments and something hot to drink” at the most exclusive, most expensive patisserie in Ishgard. Not even Rereha, with her near bottomless trust fund interest, had wandered this far down the lane…though in fairness to Rere, that more due to being perfectly content with a coffee and croissant at the first shop that caught her eye.

Synnove chewed on her bottom lip, glancing back and forth between Aymeric and the Bluebird. Finally, sugar and romance won out. “All right,” she said, only a little bit weakly.

Her knight kissed her knuckles once more, and without further ado, led her inside.

The scent of cooking sugar sent her stomach growling again and as Aymeric helped her shrug out of her heavy winter coat, she looked around with wide eyes. Éclairs, macarons, petit fours, madeleines, opera cakes, mille-feuille, bavarois of all sorts—there were more types of cakes and cookies and tarts on display then she could name. She let Aymeric lead her to her a table—the only one in the shop—and as she took her seat, she saw one of the staff quickly dart over to the door and flip the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed.’ She whipped her head around to stare at Aymeric as he sat.

He reached for her hands and she let him take them, her knuckles going white as she squeezed. Raising her hands, he kissed the back of her right, and then her left, quietly murmuring, “It’s all right, my love,” he said with a wry grin. “Anyone who wants to enjoy the Bluebird’s delights on premise must make a reservation ahead of time to ensure the table will be free.”

Synnove narrowed her eyes and hissed, “How long have you been planning this?”

“Not that long,” he said cheerfully. “A fortnight, perhaps.”

They let go of one another as a server brought them cups of coffee in surprisingly plain white mugs, heavy and thick to keep the liquid hot for as long as possible. As the server stepped away to flit back behind the counter, Synnove stretched her leg beneath the table and hooked her ankle around Aymeric’s. He beamed and raised his coffee to take a sip, and she followed suit.

She purred at the first taste. It was a dark roast, rich and flavorful, and roasted so carefully there was no hint of bitterness. While she would always love the coffeehouses of Limsa Lominsa best, there were more than a few cafes in her seaside home that could stand to take a lesson from the Bluebird in coffee brewing. Without cream or sugar, it would be the perfect compliment to the sugary delights of the pastries.

Aymeric smiled at her over his mug, and that was when the first of the treats arrived.

Éclairs, four of them, cut in to make for easier sharing, and to show off the flavored fillings within: one vanilla, one chocolate, one coffee, and one strawberry.

Synnove’s eyes went wider. She had never seen a pastry so generously filled before; the sight was actually borderline obscene, and the part of her mind where a facsimile of Rereha lived was dying to make a crude joke. She raised her eyes to meet Aymeric’s and he actually waggled his eyebrows at her.

She burst out laughing, covering her mouth with her hands to try and stifle the sound, shoulders shaking. Aymeric joined her, his own laugh slightly softer, though it came from deep in his belly.

“You took that far better than Mama ever did,” he said as they calmed. “I hadn’t the faintest idea of just what Da meant by it until I was fourteen, but Mama slapped his arm every time and turned red as a tomato.”

Synnove smiled and warmth suffused her, as it did whenever Aymeric offhandedly spoke of Rolandoix and Gwenaëlle de Borel. It was such a joy and honor to have these pieces of his past shared with her. “Did they come here often?” she said, eyes on Aymeric as she reached for a half of the vanilla éclair.

“Four times a year,” he said, eyes going distant as he reminisced. “Our birthdays, and their wedding anniversary. It was one of the few frivolities they allowed themselves, and one of the few times of year they would spoil me rotten!” He grinned, a touch sad recalling his parents, before he shook his head and gestured to her. “And here I am on the cusp of becoming maudlin, and when I wish to be spoiling you. Eat!”

She laughed, and raising the éclair to her mouth, took a bite.

Almost immediately she moaned in rapture. Oh, but the choux was as wonderfully fluffy and cloudlike as it had appeared, practically melting on her tongue. The icing was a truly sinfully dark chocolate, bittersweet and more like a ganache than she had anticipated. And the crème, oh sweet gods, the crème. She was used to vanilla being a light flavor, delicate and easily overwhelmed, but this was so intensely concentrated it was more than a match for the chocolate icing.

She opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—and stared at Aymeric with wonder. His smile was equal parts delight and lasciviousness as he took a bite of the chocolate éclair. He chewed, swallowed, and drawled out, “Now, aren’t you glad you let me treat you?”

Synnove nodded frantically, finishing her bite with a swallow, and the popped remainder of her vanilla éclair into her mouth, another happy moan escaping her as she did. The chocolate, coffee, and strawberry éclairs were just as intensely flavored, exploding on her tongue in a riot of sensation, but the vanilla remained her favorite of the set.

From there they were served an entire tasting menu of the Bluebird’s finest treats. Palmiers were next, crispy and light and absolutely decadent when dipped into her coffee. Opera cake followed, the layers of buttercream, almond sponge cake soaked in coffee liqueur, and coffee ganache melding together that her toes curled in her boots and Aymeric had to laughingly fend off her fork with his own when she tried to steal a piece of his opera cake when hers was gone. Meringues were fourth, lighter than air, and slices of traditional fig bavarois fifth, the jelly bright and smooth. Then an assortment of flavored macarons, then mille-feuile, then buttery madeleines, and on and on and on, with heavy, rich desserts alternated with light, simpler fare.

Each pastry was exquisitely made, the quality of ingredients and care of the craftsmanship shining through. She didn’t bother to hide any of her appreciative hums or groans, and while Aymeric’s eyes flashed every time she did, the staff of the Bluebird, when she caught sight of them, wore large, delighted smiles of their own, rightfully proud to have a new customer so enjoy their hard work. Even better than the wonderful desserts, though, was the knowledge that it was Aymeric who had wanted to share something he considered special with her, and continue following the traditions of his family.

After all, she thought, pleasure suffusing her at the thought: it was exactly a moon today since the attack on the Vault, and the night they had confessed their feelings for one another.

The servers cleared away the last plates and refilled their coffee mugs, and Synnove sat back with a content sigh, cradling her mug in her hands. “Thank you for this, Aymeric,” she said, beaming at him. “I am well and truly spoiled.”

Aymeric smiled at her and hooked their other ankles together so that they were a tangle of limbs beneath the table. “I’m glad,” he said, voice soft. And then his smile turned cheeky. “But we’re not done quite yet…”

His gaze was somewhere behind her shoulder, and she turned to follow it. Approaching them with a tray in hand was a plump, stately elezen matron wearing the traditional garb of a culinarian, a bluebird embroidered over her heart. Synnove guessed she must be Madame Iriene, the owner and chief pastry chef of the Bluebird.

Madame Iriene stopped next to their little table and gave a half bow. “By request,” she said, a sly look in her eye, “a special finale in honor of the Lord Commander’s lady.”

Synnove blinked in shock, glancing askance at Aymeric. His smile widened.

Madame Iriene set the tray between them, revealing its contents: two plates, each with three pastries arranged in a neat row.

The first was small pudding pie, topped with a dollop of fresh whipped cream. The second was a soft bun, golden brown and delicious, smelling ever so faintly of apples. The third was a trio of three caramels, unusually darkened, and sprinkled with red flakes on top.

Synnove stared at them, mouth going dry. These—these were—

“A chocolate pudding pie, its crust made of crushed chocolate cookies,” Madame Iriene began to list, “topped with mint-infused whipped cream. A soft bread bun, stuffed with apples spiced with cinnamon, cardamom, ginger, and star anise. Caramels, infused with coffee and dragon pepper.”

Tears pricked at her eyes and Synnove set her coffee down so she could once more bring her hands to her mouth.

Galette. Tyr. Ivar.

Representations of exactly how the aether around each of their summoning foci tasted to her senses.

Aymeric made a concerned noise and Synnove looked up at him as her tears overflowed. “Synnove, are you all right?” he said gently, reaching for her. “My apologies, I overstepped—”

She lunged forward (Madame Iriene darted out of the way with the dexterity of a woman thirty years younger), grabbing Aymeric’s face between her hands, and kissed him for all she was worth. He grunted in surprise, frozen for a moment, before he brought his hands up to cup her shoulders and return her kiss with a relieved laugh.

“Thank you,” she said in between kisses and the occasional teary hiccup. “Thank you, thank you, I can’t believe you remembered, I babbled about it moons ago, I didn’t even know anyone was paying attention—”

“How could I not pay attention?” her knight said, drawing back to look at her with pure adoration. “It’s you, and something important to you.”

Synnove sniffled, overwhelmed. She had already made a claim on him, and he on her, a moon ago, but this? As far as she was concerned, he was hers, and she was his.

Forever.

#ffxivwrite2020 #final fantasy xiv #oc: synnove greywolfe #aymeric de borel #aymeric x wol #aymeric x synnove #\o/#dt's writing #this is my longest raw fill ever #it has blown 'shovel talk' out of the water by seven hundred words #also *adds the CORRECT fic link whoops*

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plethora-of-imagines · 4 years ago

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Festive Ball

AN: Another Christmassy/Winter themed fic! This one is actually pretty long but it isn’t very Master heavy, content wise.

Word Count: 1802

Warnings: unintentional alcohol consumption

Description: You get a bit drunk while at a festive party with the Master.

Tag List: @c-s-stars @queerconfusionthings @how-masterful @truthbehindthemysteries

“A drink for the honorable Lady?”

The room was filled with people, aliens of several species. Some you could name, others you could not. If the Master was still by your side you were sure he would be explaining the ones that it would be important for you to know about. At the moment, however, the Master was on the other side of the room, chatting up some random alien who he had said was third in line for an important throne on Velsavar. They may be third in line but they would be ruler in just 3 months. A coup killing their “bastard father” and their heir siblings. Of course, the Master intended to take advantage of that.

You tore your gaze away from the Master on the other side of the room to look at your host. He had graciously offered the Master and you a place to stay during the festivities. Neither of you were certain of his motives, but he seemed to find the Master an interesting conversation partner. The two of you were somewhat hesitant to place any trust in him but he seemed -biased on his reputation- to be uninterested in causing problems for the two of you. He was far more interested in impressing his guests at his soirees with dazzling decor, and even more impressive guest lists.

He had referred to the two of you as most honored guests when he had discovered who you were. The formidable Master and his lady love, the most feared criminal couple in the universe. He had extended an invitation for the two of you to attend his annual holiday party and provided a room for the two of you to spend the night in if you so chose to. The Master had hesitated to agree, but the opportunity had been too tempting for him to resist.

The Master had been even more hesitant to reveal anything about you to your host, fearing what he could do with the information. But after several attempts by your host to offer you food and drink that wasn’t safe for human consumption the Master had given in. Revealing to the man that you were human, and due to that fact, oh so fragile compared to the normal guests he hosted. He had taken it in stride, immediately apologizing and ensuring that anything he offered you after that point was safe for your human sensibilities.

You took the offered drink from his hand with a soft-spoken, “thank you, my Lord,” you refused to offend your host by not at least accepting the foreign drink. You weren’t required to take more than a sip if it ended up being too strong for you. You had only enough trust in your host to trust that it was not poisoned.

The taste of cinnamon, winterberries, and clover coated your tongue. The drink seemed to be non-alcoholic. No hint of the chemical taste that most alien alcohols consisted of. Still, you would be cautious and keep your consumption of anything not approved by the Master to one glass.

“It seems- unusual- of the Master to leave your side in a situation such as this. He is known for being incessantly possessive of you. Yet here you are, no so-called madman by your side at a party with hundreds of no longer sober men who would be eager to get their hands on a dream such as yourself.”

You flashed him a dangerous smile, “are you one of the men eager to get their hands on me.”

“I know very well that to touch you with poor intentions would be to invite my own death.”

He seemed to be amused by your answer as if he considered your unspoken threat to be humorous. At the very least you could admit that it lacked bite with the Master on the other side of the room. Surprisingly, you weren’t insulted by his humor at your potential helplessness. It seemed to come from a position of understanding that it was likely that some poor soul would fail to recognize that the man who’s arm you had entered on was a universally known killer.

You took another sip to avoid having to play polite and apologize to your host. The Master was shaking hands with the man across the room now. You only hoped that this was a sign that he would be returning to your side soon. You missed his warm presence, his quiet whispered explanations of all the wonders and annoyances of the universe.

Your view of the Master was blocked by a rowdy group of men who rushed past, almost knocking you over. Your host caught you in a low dip, hand dangerously close to the bare skin of your leg exposed by the long slit in the green velvet of your dress. The slit having risen to expose even more of your thigh as you kept your arm outstretched. Trying to keep from splashing your drink all over yourself. Slowly his hands wandered up your person, gently pulling you up away from the floor.

Guests nearby hollered obscenely at the sight.

“My apologies, I meant no unwelcome touches on your person.”

“That’s alright. I suspect that the tumble I would have taken would have been a worse fate than my currently flustered face.”

You took another sip to help hide your embarrassment at having been caught so off guard due to your fascination with the Master. Your face felt very warm. Too warm. You were starting to suspect that the drink in your glass that you had managed to save was in fact alcoholic. You assumed that it wasn’t too alcoholic, hopefully just enough to get you buzzed. To help you relax from your social awkwardness without the Master by your side to guide you in unfamiliar rituals and customs.

The surroundings began to fade and blur around you. Unsure if it was due to embarrassment or the daze of tipsiness fast approaching you made the -possible- mistake of finishing the rest of your drink.

You startled as hands wrapped themselves around your waist, as your host hurriedly excused himself from your side. The glass being pulled from your grip and placed on the tray of a passing server.

“Now what were you drinking, my darling one. Did you even know?”

You relaxed as you realized that it was the Master who had you in his grasp. Blinking you tried to think back to if you had recognized him approaching. How had he snuck up on you to the point of making you jump? You decided that you didn’t care. He was here now.

You smiled as you fell back into the Master, becoming almost dead weight against him. He held your weight with ease. You giggled, pleasantly tipsy and gleeful. Who knows what you had been talking to your host about before he left you in the Master’s care. Honestly, you had probably blacked out for a majority of the conversation since you couldn’t remember it at all. Hopefully, you hadn’t insulted him. The Master needed him, in a way, for his newest scheme to work. And if you had insulted him then it would have made you taking the risk to trust the drink he gave you pointless. It had been done solely not to insult your host!

“I’m not sure, but it tasted really good Master!”

It took a lot of effort but you managed to raise your hand to gently tap the side of the Master’s face, or well to try and tap his face. You only managed to reach his shoulder, settling for tapping against the soft velvety poofy shoulder of his shirt. It was somewhat strange that he still wore velvet like the body had when he stole it.

The Master had explained that this stolen body of his was still adjusting to the changes his mind forced upon it. Changes to make it into something suitable for a Time Lord. As such, he tended to get cold now. You saw it as a small blessing that gave you an excuse for more cuddles. You had missed cuddles when he had avoided you while dealing with being in a decayed body hanging onto life. Not that you would have cuddled him even if he wasn’t so against it. You were too afraid that you would hurt him to try and facilitate any physical contact after he had hissed in pain the one time you tried to hold his hand to comfort him. But that wasn’t something you had to worry about anymore! Now you could cuddle him to your heart’s content.

“Why didn’t we try to find this dress in black so that I could match you, Master? Then everyone would know that I am yours. I would have really liked looking like I matched you...”

“The green dress looks breathtaking on you, and it is far more festive. You insisted that you wanted to be at least a little bit festive.”

“But I could have matched you,” you whined like a child.

Slowly the Master guided you to begin walking towards the edges of the room. Were you leaving? If you were that meant that all of the Master’s attention could be on you. No one would be able to distract him away from your side again.

“I love you, Master. You do know that, right? Right?”

Looking down at you as you stumbled, even with his hands guiding you, he seemed to be pointedly ignoring your declaration. You pouted, he didn’t believe you! He sighed as you crossed your arms and started to dig your heels into the floor, he seemed disappointed. You refused to move until he acknowledged you again.

“Let’s get you back to the guest room our host had provided us for the night.”

You let him guide you after hearing his tone. You shrunk into yourself.

“I’m sorry, Master,” you despondently stated.

“Whatever are you sorry for?” He sounded genuinely confused.

Crying out, “I failed you,” all you wanted to do now was run away and hide yourself underneath the covers but you didn’t know where your room was.

"You've done nothing of the sort, my dear girl. It is our host that I am disappointed in- for providing you with something that does not suit your biology, your human metabolism. He should have known better."

He whipped tears from the corners of your eyes. Pulling you in close against his side once they were gone, leading you the rest of the way to the room by his side.

“Tomorrow morning our host is going to suffer just as much as he has made you suffer with the headache I am certain you are going to have in the morning. Consider that a promise, darling."

#the master x reader #ainley!master x reader

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stargazersastronomy · 5 years ago

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Family of Strangers

An Aquarius Solidarity and Protest Playlist

My Last Breath by Evanescence “I know you hear me,/I can taste it in your tears.“

No Lives Matter by Body Count “They can't, fuck with us/Once they realise we're all on the same side They can't, split us up/And let them prosper off the divide“

Tonight in Flames by Cradle of Filth “Our deaths will be the start/Of something glorious and vain/Tonight in flames“

War Eternal by Arch Enemy “There will come a day not so far away/When the hunter becomes the prey (and you will pay).”

Universal Death Squad by Epica “We are the ones to change the world now/Still in control of all machinery/We claim the right to pull the trigger and damage your image of honor”

The Trial of Monsters by ReVamp “End this nightmare, hear my song, hear our cry!”

The Proud and the Broken by Kamelot “They left us blind and broke our pride, they told us to be brave/But like an insect drawn to light/We circle around the radiance of truth”

Breaking the Habit by Linkin Park “I don't want to be the one the battles always choose/'Cause inside I realize that I'm the one confused”

Riot by Three Days Grace “You're not the only one/Refusing to go down/You're not the only one/So get up”

Road of Resistance by Babymetal “Kimi ga shinjiru nara/Susume kotae wa koko ni aru/Forever! Forever!/Forever! Forever!”/”Make your way though/The answer is here if you believe in it/Forever! Forever!/Forever! Forever!”

Don’t Tread on Me by Metallica “Never begins it, never, but once engaged/Never surrenders, showing the fangs of rage/I said don't tread on me“

No More Mr. Nice Guy by Alice Cooper “No more Mister Nice Guy/No more Mister Clean/No more Mister Nice Guy/He said you're sick, you're obscene.“

Nothing Stands in Our Way by Lacuna Coil “I wish we could have all the time in the world/But we have come too far to give up who we are/We fear nothing, we fear nothing“

Raise Your Banner by Within Temptation “They make me see, they make me see/I'm feeling the pain how you break them and make them bleed“

The Walls are Closing In/Hangman by The Pretty Reckless “Vivax olor ma infecta/Estar in mia altaria/Estur inomina montis”/”Its intensity and smell disturbed me/He died by sacrifice/He died on the hill in a baneful way”

The Pallbearer Walks Alone by The Dark Element “One day we won't slay our brothers/One day we won't hate each other/One day we'll help one another/But that day is not today”

The Eagle Flies Alone by Arch Enemy “Reject the system that dictates the norm/This world is full of lies and deceit“

The Glory and the Scum by Delain “Either wasteland or wonderland/Look at what we've done/Take a step back/Shake your head at what we have become/We're the glory and the scum“

I Am The Storm by Ad Infinitum “No, your arrows will not bring me down/You're just a noise, a whisper in the night“

Slania’s Song by Eluvietie “ Adio- biuotutas -robirtont/Uolin cridili/Are rilotuten atrilas“/”That gave their lives/Their blood/For the freedom of their fatherland“

Natural Born Sinner by In This Moment “What I do know is come judgement day/Before the lord can you say the same?“

We Are The Others by Delain “As simple as air in your lungs/As simple as words on your lips/And no one should take that away/No one should argue this“

Black Hoodie by Body Count “My man's not breathing, man/What the fuck's the matter with you, man?“

Innocence by Tarja Turunen “Left with the wind/In times like this we do/You and me, breathe, to ignite the feeling“

Humane by Lacuna Coil “Compromise/it's just another contradiction/You're not alone/There's a place/you've run away/that is in your heart/it is in your heart“

Hunting for Witches by Bloc Party “I was an ordinary man with ordinary desires/There must be accountability“

Zombies by the Cranberries “With their tanks, and their bombs/And their bombs, and their guns/In your head, in your head, they are dying“

Black Boys on Mopeds by Sinead O’Connor “It's the home of police who kill blacks boys on mopeds/And I love my boy and that's why I'm leaving/I don't want him to be aware that there's/Any such thing as grieving“

Sunday Bloody Sunday by U2 “And it's true we are immune/When fact is fiction and TV reality/And today the millions cry/We eat and drink while tomorrow they die“

Eternal Lamentation by Mortification “The smoke of torment forever arises/Surrounded by screaming I gnash my teeth in agony/My soul's tormented, body cries aloud/I'm trapped within the walls of death“

Never Die by Allen/Olzon “Where will you go/When the world around you changes at the speed of light?/All you've ever know nothing stays the same/A new world is on your eyes but the old will never die“

Kuolema Tekee Taiteilijan by Nightwish “Luojani, luoksesi anna minun tulla siksi miksi lapseni minua luulee/ My Lord, to you, let me become what my child thinks I am“

Washington Is Next! By Megadeth “The word predicts the future and tells the truth about the past/Of how the world leaders will hail the new Pharaoh“

The Evil That Men Do by Iron Maiden “But I will pray for her, I will call her name out loud/I would bleed for her, if I could only see her now“

Family of Strangers by Doll Skin “Wanna make them recognize me/For what I want me to be“

Play

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timeagainreviews · 5 years ago

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My Series 10 Rewatch: The Husbands of River Song

One of the beautiful aspects of starting this blog has been the opportunity to revisit old episodes. The title of this blog "Time and Time Again," isn’t just a reference both to Twin Peaks and Doctor Who, but also a raison d'être. The hope is that repeat viewings will bring forth new insights. Things I loathed previously may seem charming in hindsight. Things I initially adored may begin to show cracks in their facade. Some records take a few listens until we discover their greatness. Sometimes art requires consideration.

I mention this because our first review for the series 10 retrospective is for "The Husbands of River Song," an episode of which I detested. It's important to give this context as my opinion of it has indeed mellowed over time. I will endeavour to highlight this shift in perspective as memory permits. Before the other day, I hadn't watched this episode since it first aired on Christmas of 2015. What then can nearly half a decade add to the experience?

It should be noted that I have never been a big fan of Doctor Who Christmas specials. It would be quicker to count the reasons I like them, or in this case, the reason. That being, it's more Doctor Who. Other than that, I find the whole Christmas theme to be hokey. Growing up, I was a Halloween kid. I really don't like Christmas all that much, so an entire episode themed around it is not my idea of a good time. Even worse is when the villains themselves have Christmassy gimmicks like Santa robots or evil snowmen. I suppose in some ways, it's in the Christmas spirit for the Doctor to die and regenerate on Christmas, as they so often do. The concept of birth and renewal are a big part of the holiday. But if I was known to die a lot on Christmas, I might use my time machine to skip it every year.

Landing his TARDIS on Christmas Day, in the year 5343 is Peter Capaldi as the Twelfth Doctor. The planet, Mendorax Dellora, is one of Steven Moffat's usual Christmas village planets, stuck somewhere in a vortex of quaint sentiment. The Doctor appears to have about as much Christmas spirit as I do. Having just lost Clara both in spirit and memory, he's reverted to the Doctor's most worrisome state- hermitic and bitter. Not even the TARDIS' holographically generated reindeer antlers can bring out the holiday cheer. It's a visit from Nardole, a nebbish sort of man, that brings the Doctor out of his slump. Mistaking him for a surgeon, he leads the Doctor to what appears to be a crash-landed saucer. The obscene redness of its exterior against the plain backdrop gave me the strangest pangs of the circus tent from "Killer Klowns from Outer Space." Just throwing that out there.

From the outset, Peter Capaldi is at his most charming. I've never actually covered a Twelfth Doctor story before now, so I would like to mention how much I adore his performance as the Doctor. I know he gets a lot of flack from certain fans (see: dipshit morons with no class), but I think he's brilliant. Right away his banter with Nardole is apparent. It's easy to see why someone may have watched Capaldi and Matt Lucas interacting and thought "There's something here." Lucas' history in comedy gives him great timing as the foil to the Twelfth Doctor's eccentricity.

However, it won't be Nardole filling the role of co-star for long. As the Doctor enters the ship of King Hydroflax, he is greeted by the familiar face of River Song. As I have mentioned previously, I have issues with the way River's story plays out, but by this point in the show, I had grown to love her. Which is why this episode pains me so much. The problems inherent in having the Doctor and River's relationship play out like two ships in the night are at their worst in this episode, but I'll get to that in due time.

The King Hydroflax, played with great relish by Greg Davies is a mere head atop a giant robot body, painted in the same garish red as the flying saucer. River, acting very unlike herself, is practically prostrating herself in front of the vain king. Furthermore, she doesn't seem to recognise the Doctor's new face at all. Even more disturbing to the Doctor is the fact that River appears to be married to the king tyrant, talking about him as some sort of cherished lover. After analysing his new patient, the Doctor discovers a foreign body lodged into Hydroflax's skull. All the while, the king's loyal subjects watch a live feed of the operation, booing the Doctor when he refuses to placate the ego of their leader. It's an idea that has become painfully more believable in the years since airing.

The Doctor and River go into another room of the ship where River explains that the foreign body is, in fact, the most valuable diamond in the universe known as the Halassi Androvar. Somewhat to the Doctor's relief, he discovers that River's love for the king has been a ruse to recover the diamond for the Halassi people, from whom it was stolen. Much like the Doctor has turned into a bitter hermit, loneliness has brought out River's more sadistic nature as she takes to the idea of killing Hyrdroflax for the diamond in stride. Less enthusiastic of the idea than even the Doctor is the emperor himself, who has somehow managed to eavesdrop on two Time Lords while walking around in a massive robotic body. This kind of logic will continue throughout the night.

The king is much displeased with learning that his new wife is some renegade archaeologist with a sonic trowel. Taunting the pair, he removes his head from his robot body, leading River to improvise. Holding his head hostage at trowelpoint, River improvises and takes the entire head in a duffel bag. River's other husband, a beautiful but submissive man named Ramone, teleports her and the Doctor to safety with the head in tow. Meanwhile, Hyrdoflax's body sets about taking on a new head in the form of poor Nardole. It’s worth noting that River wiping Ramone’s mind of any knowledge that they were married is a bit creepy. There are implications involved that kind of gross me out.

The Doctor, having just met Ramone, is taken aback after having met yet another of River's husbands. Beginning to feel like a bit of an afterthought the Doctor takes small potshots at River's sense of loyalty, while also fishing for clues that he may or may not have ever meant something to her. For all this episode does to highlight the Doctor and River's secret feelings for one another, it does a piss poor job of actually staying true to River's character in one key manner. Throughout a majority of the episode, River fails repeatedly to recognise the Doctor for who he is.

Moffat tries somewhat to cover his tracks by making it look as though River only knows of twelve previous regenerations, including the War Doctor. In what looks like one of the cheapest props of the episode, she even has a little fold-out wallet with all of the Doctors' pictures. Knowing that the Eleventh Doctor was the end of his regeneration cycle, she never even considers the idea that the Doctor may have lived on. Even though toward the end of the episode, she remarks that the Doctor always finds a way to cheat fate, she wholeheartedly buys into the idea that the Doctor would just never regenerate beyond the Eleventh Doctor. In a single episode, not even River's own logic believes River's own logic.

Learning that River sometimes shows up to places he's been long enough to take the TARDIS for a joyride, the Doctor is given a chance to act as a bit of a spectator in his own life. There is a definite bit of glee to be found in the Twelfth Doctor's over the top reaction to his own TARDIS. Finally being able to say "It's bigger on the inside," the Doctor savours the moment to great comical effect. Ramone parts ways to he and River's pre-established rendezvous point. However, he is cut short by the giant robot body holding a gun to Nardole's head. Poor Nardole, he's having such a rough go of things. First, he brings the wrong surgeon, then he loses his body, and now he's being held hostage by his new body. The robot’s only demand is that Ramone send a message to River.

River, as always, is quite at home in the TARDIS, even taking a moment to raid the liquor cabinet of which not even the Doctor was aware. However, her flawless piloting of the TARDIS is thrown out of whack by unforeseen circumstances. Even after the Doctor deduces that the TARDIS won't fly while it senses the King's head and body are both inside and outside the TARDIS, River still doesn't grasp the fact that he is the Doctor. I would also like mention that while I found the TARDIS' failsafe to be a rather creative invention, it did immediately make me wonder about the Cyberhead Handles' body. What constitutes a body the TARDIS recognises? Could the Face of Boe fly in the TARDIS? Could Dorium Maldovar? Oh well, it doesn't really matter.

A knock on the TARDIS door from Ramone, now part of the robot, quickly reunites the head and body. However, for the third time in this episode, any action is immediately sidestepped by yet another person taking a disembodied head hostage. This time it's the Doctor threatening to throw Hydroflax's head down the garbage chute. Every chance this episode gets, it bravely avoids the perils of forming some sort of plot. The stakes have never been lower. The Doctor and River take the TARDIS to a restaurant aboard the starship Harmony and Redemption. Everyone onboard is some sort of war criminal or seedy individual, including the Maître d', a bug faced man named Flemming. After taking a seat in the restaurant, River reveals that she never planned on returning the diamond to the people of Halassi. Instead, she plans on selling it to the highest bidder.

The Doctor uses this moment to probe River for further information. River reads silently from her TARDIS diary. She reveals to the Doctor that the person who gave her the diary was the type of man who would know just how long a diary she would need. It's at this moment that the Doctor begins to see traces that River is very much still in love with him and that she may be a little lost without him. I would say this scene was touching if it weren't for the fact that it was undercut by River's inability to recognise the man sitting directly in front of her. It's so out of character for River to be this myopic. By this point in my initial watch through, I was so annoyed by this betrayal of her character that it took me out of the story completely. The second time around was only a little less irritating due to the fact that at least now I expected it.

River's buyer turns out to be Scratch, a very Moffatty body horror bad guy, in the vein of characters like Colony Sarff or the Headless Monks. After accepting River's price, Scratch opens his head like a coin purse and pulls out a little orb that connects to any bank in the universe. By this point, I've grown accustomed to Moffat's over the top exploits like this. It's feasible to imagine that Scratch's cruel master may have torn his head open to store money. It's like in "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," when Humma Kavula removes a servant's nose to reveal a control pad that opens a series of draws tucked into his chest. However, it gets a bit far fetched when it is revealed that many other diners in the restaurant are the same species as Scratch and they all have the same scar across their faces. Is this some evolutionary trait? Are they a species so greedy that they evolved a place to squirrel away their money? Do they keep other stuff like car keys or bags of space weed? Not every bad guy needs to be a toy, Moffat!

The reason the patrons suddenly turn on the Doctor and River is that they discover the diamond is lodged within the head of their great leader. This brings up even more questions about their heads. Why doesn't Hydroflax’s head have the same scar? Are they the same species? How did this asshole even get so much power in the first place? There seems to be neither anything likable nor competent about him... oh right. Once again, the events of the years since have made this episode more believable. Dinner is even further interrupted by the King's body barging in, demanding its proper head. Only now it deems King Hydroflax's head unsuitable. Having been detached from his body for too long, the King's head is now dying. The body disintegrates the King's head, leaving behind the diamond. Flemming uses this opportunity to alert the patrons of the restaurant to the fact that River knows the perfect person to become the next head of state, so to speak. Of course, it's the Doctor.

Why Flemming knows River knows a Time Lord, but doesn't know she herself is a Time Lord is anyone's guess. Or maybe he knows and is just throwing shade by implying that the Doctor is a better Time Lord. It's at this moment that Alex Kingston is given one of her finest moments as River Song in the form of an emotional monologue. After arguing that the Doctor wouldn't be there with her because he doesn't care, it finally dons on her that the Doctor has been standing next to her the entire time. Despite the fact that Moffat sacrificed River's intelligence for the sake of a big reveal, the moment still resonates. Capaldi's warm gaze meeting River's expression of shock followed by his soft utterance of "Hello sweetie," is genuinely touching. No cynical sensationalism can undo the beautiful performances given by Capaldi and Kingston, who bring more gravity to the scene than the script.

For all of the hand-wavey tripe this episode heaps upon us, the way in which the Doctor and River escape this sticky situation is actually rather brilliant. In any other show, the appearance of a sudden freak meteor collision with the ship would seem convenient. But River is an archaeologist and a time traveller. She picked her meeting location perfectly- a starship about to be destroyed by meteors. Her line of "I'm an archaeologist from the future, I dug you up," is easily one of the best River Song lines ever written for Doctor Who. If this is truly her final episode, that's one hell of a line to go out on.

In another convenient moment, the diamond lands in River's dress as they're making their escape. I guess she planned that too. The Doctor uses Scratch's money orb to short circuit the robot body with its firewall. River and the Doctor run to the TARDIS while the ship crashes into the planet Darillium, knocking River unconscious. While River is out, the Doctor uses the opportunity to do a bit of time travelling. First, the Doctor gives the diamond to one of the crash's first responders, telling him to build a restaurant in front of the singing towers of Darillium. Then he jumps forward to a time when the restaurant has been built to make reservations. Then he jumps forward to the day of the reservation. River wakes up to find herself wandering into a beautiful restaurant on Christmas Day. Even Ramone and Nardole have survived due to some trickery on the Doctor’s behalf. Nardole is having a bit of “alone time,” which River remarks must be difficult as a head. That one goes up there with Ursula becoming a blowjob dispensing pavement stone at the end of “Love and Monsters.” The Doctor is waiting for River in a First Doctor style bow tie and coat. He treats her to a romantic meal and the gift of her own sonic screwdriver, the same sonic screwdriver she has when we met her in "Silence in the Library."

There's a nice little cap on the entire River storyline here that feels a bit more final than the one between her and the Eleventh Doctor. Perhaps it's the fact that it's the last time Moffat wrote her character, or perhaps it's because even River seems to know something is up. Having heard the legends of her own romance with the Doctor, River knows that her last night was spent with the Doctor on the planet Darillium. This is a bit of retconning that you often find in Doctor Who. River doesn't really know in her first appearance that she's headed toward her own demise, yet here she's all too aware of it. It's compounded by the fact that the Doctor reveals that a night on Darillium lasts 24 years. It's meant to be a sweet line that implies they got to spend a lot of time coupling together for 24 years, but it's really just 24 years for River to know, for certain, that she's going to her inevitable doom.

Retcons like these don't necessarily ruin the show. Storytellers shouldn't be forced to sacrifice the current narrative all for the sake of creating tidy bookends. Should Big Finish not put Peri and the Fifth Doctor in more adventures for fear that it may dilute the Doctor's sacrificing his own life for a woman he barely knows? Does him knowing her better make his sacrifice any less admirable? How about the many times River meets the Doctor in his previous forms even though the Tenth Doctor clearly had never met her in his life? I'm not going to answer these questions because they should be open-ended. It is a thing to consider in Doctor Who. If time is a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff, then maybe the storylines are allowed to be as malleable.

As I've demonstrated above, our own experiences with the stories can be malleable. I watched this episode with my boyfriend because I wanted to gauge his initial reaction. A lot of his reactions mirrored my own. We both found ourselves enjoying it as a light romp afforded by the air of a Christmas episode, while also deriding it for its lack of plot. Like myself, he too felt that the big reveal was detrimental to River's intelligence and went on past the point of acceptability. It's one of the oddest things about Steven Moffat as a writer, no matter how clever his ideas actually may be, he doesn't ever seem to know when his audience has caught on. Perhaps it's the suits at the BBC underestimating the audience. Or perhaps this is because he spent a lot of his life as a Doctor Who nerd, oftentimes feeling out of place when talking about Doctor Who to casuals. But the modern Doctor Who audience has been raised on science fiction and intricate narratives. No hand-holding necessary.

Regardless of how attuned he perceives his audience to be, River's realisation seems more slavishly timed to the climax of the story than anything else. One can't help but wonder if Moffat hadn't been so insistent on making this moment the crux of the episode, we may have actually gotten a more serviceable plot. Instead of heads held hostage and hand waving, we could have gotten a stronger villain. Scratch could have represented more than just some guy with a coin purse head. There are lots of fantastical elements on display, but none of them is ever given any gravity. Moffat's fixation on character relationships is so single-minded that it comes not only at the sake of plot, but character as well. It's unfortunate that despite Alex Kingston's greatest efforts, River's goodbye is undercut by one writer's need to be clever.

#Doctor Who #the husbands of river song #Twelfth Doctor #peter capaldi #River Song #Alex Kingston #nardole #matt lucas #greg davies #king hydroflax #bbc #tardis #steven moffat #christmas

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aspirinaeffervescente · 5 years ago

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Good Omens: Italian and French version.

I read for the first time Good Omens in English thinking that the religious topic would be a bother to me but was actually very enjoyable.

Then I decided to read it in Italian and French, and I saw the series in these 3 languages to see the differences between the sub/dub and guys...what experience. So here a list of strange differences that made me laugh/cry/get angry as fuck cause knowing different languages is always a funny road to Hell:

--In Italian, the tittle’s book isn’t Good Omens (that should translate in Buona profezia), but it would sound weird, so they changed it in “Buona Apocalisse a tutti!” (Happy Apocalypse, Everyone!) Honestly, a mood.

--Let’s take a moment to appreciate the two covers book of two different editions from the Italian version. I have the first one where we have this two cute thingy embraced and the second one is...ahahah just look how Crowley seems distraught by Aziraphale. I can hear him muttering “What the fuck, angel.”

--When in a book/series they change the name of some character it’s always a pain to me but at least in Good Omens made me laugh so hard that I felt sick so I think that at the end of the day is fine. In the Italian version, Aziraphale is “Azraphel”, and I can still hear the translators discussing: “Oh, Aziraphale is too difficult to pronounce, we should change it.” “Ok, how should we call him?” “Azraphel.” “But...” “It’s easier to pronounce.” *whispering* “Dude, it isn’t.” --But in the French version, they did even worse since that “Anthony J. Crowley” is “Terrence Rampa”. (Why. Just why. Have you all drunk too much champagne in the shadow of the Eiffel tower on a full moon? How could you ever think it was a good idea? It isn’t pronounced more easily, I don’t have a perfect French pronunciation, but Terrence Rampa doesn’t sound better in French. For the love of someone, stop it.) While in the series is Anthony J. Rampa. (You just decided to make angry, admit it.) --The “Angel” thingy. Ok, you see, Angelo in Italian is a common name (it’s one of my brother’s names lmao) and God forbid we get confused so in the book we have “Angioletto.” (little angel but 300% cuter) and we have “Angelo Mio” (My angel, but you should read it like a lover gently whispering this on your ear while you’re waking after a night you spent kissing in bed, cause I’m pretty sure 100% of the people thought about this while they were reading it.) --The “Angel” thingy in French is even more romantic. You can’t call me “Mon Ange” without make me going on a mental trip where we will get married in a summer day on the beach, and then spend the rest of my life cooking something nice for lunch while our children, Mohamed and Genevieve, play soccer together, and my lovely wife is tending the garden. (Cause we don’t stand for gender roles) --The voices. Ok, maybe is cause I saw Good Omens with the original audio too many times...but how is it possible that we fucked up with the actor dubber? Guys, we’re usually good at this. Crowley's voice is Christian Iansante that it wasn’t a big surprise and a little less disappointing since I spent all my childhood hearing his voice since he dubbed the tenth doctor. But Aziraphale’s voice is so wrong. Isn’t him at all. 0/100 guys, they didn’t even try. --In the French version Aziraphale is perfect cause...he’s so anxious. It made me laugh so hard, there’s the car scene where is going to have a heart attack. The Bastille scene made me crack cause I was curious to know how they would show that he didn’t know how to speak french (How’s that possible? I mean he talks Japanese but not french? but...during Madame Tracy’s possession he asks “Parlez-vous français?” Aziraphale, just admit you wanted to show your bomb-ass outfit to Crowley and get over it.) ahem, anyway, in that scene he just stutters and says “Sorry, I’m anxious.” My father reaction was: *whipping his own tears away* “Me too, Aziraphale.”

--Ligur French’s voice is sexy. Like...obscenely hot. I watched the french version for the first time with my girlfriend (she’s French) and the conversation after his first line was like: *Ligur first line* My girlfriend: “Oh, oui, bend me over your desk Monsieur Ligur and punish me cause I’ve been a bad girl.” “Babe, I’m still here.” *Ligur’s second line* “Ok, I see your point, but still...” We also had a little fight over “Is the Crowley-radio-version voice or Ligur French voice sexier?” and seems like, after a night spent discussing, Ligur won, but I still stand for Crowley’s voice being sexier just for the principle of things. --In the Italian version Crowley doesn't say “Ciao.” but “au revoir“ and when Ligur asked, “What does it mean?” Hastur said “French, it means food.” but the word “French” is told with so much disgust that made me crack cause I see that we still put our long rivalry between French and Italians on display. Knowing this is so much funnier.

--Again, the Italian's version book made a change that I didn’t understand for a long time (we discussed it with my father for so long and drag in this hellhole my whole family) cause in the book Crowley isn’t a demon but a devil. After so long, my grandmother just dropped the bomb informing us that “Demons are good or bad entities, but devils are the fallen angels who revolted against God and followed Satan.” so it’s more accurate say to say Crowley is a devil, not a demon. Honestly, I think that in Good Omens universe works better the word demon since the whole point of the book was that angels and demons aren’t good or evil, they just playing their role but they can be as much good as evil. (Aziraphale is a bastard, Crowley is kind) --Remaining on this topic for a moment, I always had this feeling that the angels are more similar from the Muslim vision of angels. For them, Angels can have flaws and make mistakes and aren’t perfect since only God is perfect. Or at least, I’m atheist, and my cousin explained this to me, so I’m open to any discussion.

--Wow. In the french version Crowley (I refuse to call him Rampa) is rude. He calls Aziraphale “Ducon” that is a common swear in French but disagreeable, Crowley wouldn’t ever call Aziraphale that way. Crowley, I know that you just had a tough week but wow, not cool buddy.

--I mean, I knew that watching Good Omens in French and Italian would make me cry considering we don’t have the whole gender-neutral pronouns, but I don’t see why you should confusing me this way. At least French decided to stay with one pronoun and deal with it while Italian is just...ok, I understand we are chaotic by nature but can we stop just for a moment? God has a female voice (good, cause I would have riot) but they use male pronouns for them. Why? Too worried to get excommunicated by the pope? We still get anxious at the idea that God could be a woman? Guys, it’s 2020, get over it. Michael pronouns are male, and this is fair to me cause I have a whole headcanon about this and I will write it soon. Pollution pronouns are female, male, female again. The translator must have thought “If we change enough times, they won’t notice.” Beelzebub is female (Uhm), but they still use “Lord” Beelzebub and it’s ok I presume (Hey, women can be Lords too!) No, it sounds horrible considering we had this bad habit to translate everything...Signor Beelzebub sounds like they’re in charge of a carnival parade, not Hell. We could stay with “Lord” and no one would get confused by this cause we know that “Lord” is a noble title in England and this is a British comedy. We don’t have to translate everything-everything. I mean, for these characters...why didn’t use the plural? Would sound a bit weird at start maybe but at least no one would be offended. (Not that I’m offended, to be clear, but someone could be.)

--The Italian version made me burst in flame at some point when I noticed that they tried to cancel the whole thing “Aziraphale and Crowley are a couple” avoiding every time the “my angel” in the dubb. I didn’t notice the first time, but Hell. Fortunately, Micheal Sheen and David Tennant make us saw the love even without words. Also, a point for Christian Iansante, Crowley’s dubber, cause he can make a high pitch voice when his character is panicking. We cried for “Non Voglio Andarmene.” (I don’t want to go) from Doctor who with him, we cried for the bookshop fire cause Crowley is 1000% more upset than the original version. (We stand for the drama) At the end of the day, I still remain on the facts that books and series/films should be read/watch with the original audio. I also think that reading/watching them in other languages is very interesting and a lot of fun, so I don’t think I have a definite opinion. It’s just fun. For the voices, I was convinced by Crowley for the Italian version and for Aziraphale from the french, while Italian Aziraphale is a big no and “Rampa” is rude and seems...he isn’t Crowley. I don’t know how to explain. From the back, someone is saying that the only voice that is winning is PornFrenchLigur and I have to agree with this.

#good omens #italian good omens #french good omens #buona apocalisse a tutti #de bons presages #good omens meta #writer on tumblr

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inviouswriting · 5 years ago

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Words

For the Wonderous Tails N///SFW bingo held by @finalfantasyxivwritings blog.

Aymeric x Kiya. Prompt - Dirty talking.

Kiya knew from the look on her husband’s face, that he had something fun in store for them. She had just gotten back from an excursion for treasure hunting, and more than eager to entertain Aymeric. She had been bathed and cleaned up before she was dressed in one of the embarrassing numbers Aymeric puts her in.

Kiya is dressed in the maid outfit he got for her when he won against her in chess. He loved the way it hugged her figure, and how the skirt of it barely covers. His eyes only, and seeing her blushing already does wonders to him. Kiya has her hands tugging the hem of the front down, she is made to not wear panties or smallclothes underneath again.

“Aymeric?” She questions him when his hands travel down to squeeze her hips in a subtle way. He places his head in the crook of her neck and ghosts kisses along it.

“Hmm? My love? You are looking perfect for what we’re about to do.” His voice in her ear, she twitches it when he blows a breath of air on it. Aymeric turns her so he can look at her face.

“Our full stop word is Wyrm. And our word for when you need something is Freeze. For how you’ ll address me, my love, is Lord Commander, since you love saying it. And I will address you as My Love.”” He informs her, Kiya nods understanding. Aymeric smiles, and leans in to give his wife a full deep kiss, pushing his tongue into her mouth. His hands grope at her breasts the thin material allowing him to tweak a nipple with ease drawing his love up on her toes.

“Ah~” Kiya breaks the kiss, Aymeric runs his tongue from her mouth down her neck. His right hand places fully on one breast and squeezes gently, while his left sneaks to her rear and does something he hasn’t done before with her. A light spank, enough for her to feel it and jolt. A yelp sounds in the room, and he hums into the kisses he leaves.

“Aymeric?!” Another swat left on her slightly harder. She bites her bottom lip and squeezes her thighs together. She glances up at him and sees Aymeric’s eyes darkened in lust. He is getting into his role, his smile betrays his eyes.

“Hmm? What was the name we agreed on? You are to address me as?” He hints.

“Ah~ I’m sorry Lord Commander~ Pray forgive me, You’ve never punished me this way before.” She explains, and he nods.

“You seem to like it. Now...My Love, I would like for you... to kneel on the bed, and keep your eyes forward. Whatever you feel, do not look at me.” He instructs, his right hand in her hair tugging at it gently.

“Yes, Lord Commander.” Kiya follows his instructions. She kneels on the bed, and bends forward enough to follow his words. Her eyes stare at the headboard. She noticed the bed has been stripped of its blankets and thick towels are underneath. Her face burns from the idea of what he is going to do to her.

Kiya feels Aymeric’s hands ghost up between her legs, under the hem of her skirt lifting it. Her tail moves out of the way, as his hands lightly grip her rear and spreads her open to his eyes. His hands on her like this makes her toes curl as cool air hits her heated core.

Aymeric loves the sight of his wife on her hands and knees like this. He nudges her legs apart a bit more and he kneels down to look at her. His smile widens seeing her core already dripping for him.

“Ho~ What is this? Are you already wet?” Aymeric asks, his fingers on his left hand cup her slit and rubs gently feeling the smooth flesh as she grounds her hips down.

“I am wet already.. Lord Commander..” She confirms it, and Aymeric gets an idea.

“Use your hands, and hold yourself open for me.” Aymeric instructs her, his hands leaving her and waits for her to obey him.

Kiya keeps her eyes forward, her face burns in embarrassment, and she does as instructed. Her hands going to where his was and spreads herself open.

“Wider. Show me how wet you are.” Hearing him talk this way, she bites her lip as she uses her fingers to hold her folds open for him to see her. Aymeric is greeted to a lovely sight of his wife, almost her inviting him to penetrate her. He moves his face to be seconds away, and without warning to her he drags his tongue from clit to hole sweeping his tongue enough to press the tip of his tongue inside then out.

“AH~! Your tongue~ Lord Commander~!!”” Kiya feels him do it again, even pressing his tongue in deeper. Kiya almost lets go.

“Keep your hands here.” Aymeric kisses her fingers. His mouth working on her while his hands have been busy with himself.

“Tell me, My Love. What do you. Want me to do to you.” Aymeric punctuates his words with a love nip on her thigh and one light bite on her rear earning a yelp of surprise.

“I.... Lord Commander... I want you... too~” She trails off, burning in embarrassment.

“My Love? What do you want? Do you want something of mine?” Aymeric stands giving the base of her tail a kiss, and tugs his wife’s hands away from herself. He flips her onto her back and raises her legs till they’re in the air and she is bent enough to make her blush. She can see Aymeric now, he has shed most of his clothes, but what makes her blush is him resting his erection against her slit.

“I.... want you... I want you... inside me.” Kiya feels her face burning, Aymeric pulls his hips off hers.

“You are forgetting again.” He pinches her thigh and Kiya jolts from it.

“Ah~ Lord Commander~ I want you inside me!” Kiya pleads, but the look in Aymeric’s eyes tell her something else.

“Oh? What part of you. Your mouth? Your ass? Your lovely little slit of yours? I have options if you are not clear. I haven’t been in here for a while.” Aymeric toys a finger along her ass, prodding it with a finger. He sees the reaction his talking does to her.

“I want you inside my.... please don’t make me say that!” Kiya covers her face, and peeks at him through her fingers.

“Say what? My Love?” He slips two fingers into her aching pussy and spreads them. Lightly thrusting them enough to coat them, he waits for her to finish asking him..

“Ah~ Please~ Lord Commander... I want you~ Inside my pussy~!! Please~!!”

“You want what inside here?” He loved seeing how red her face is getting from flustered and frustration.

“Aymeric!” He feels her folds slick, very slick almost as if she got wetter from this.

“Say it! Say how much you want my cock in you.” Kiya lets out a strangled noise at his tone. The one he uses when he is a little more serious. Aymeric delves his fingers in deeper listening to moans that come from her. He feels her twitch on his fingers.

“Lord Commander! I want your cock in my pussy so bad! Please! Fuck me!” She aches for him, and sees Aymeric remove his fingers and replace them with himself. He grinds his hips down sliding his erection through her drenched folds.

“Is that all you want me to do? Put it inside, just to fuck you? I can do that... but where would the fun be if it is so easy. Tell me more. What do you want me to do.” He guides himself along her slit, he uses his fingers to hold open her folds brushing he tip along the hole he sees. He is almost at his own limit. But seeing her so hot and bothered by his words.

“Lord Commander... my love... please for the love of everything. I want you to fuck me till I cum on you... I want you to fuck me so deep that I can feel you into tomorrow! Most of all... I want you to fuck me hard!” Kiya lets the swears roll off her tongue, and Aymeric regards her with a loving smile as he grants her want.

Without hesitation he plunges himself into her, his head spinning at how hot she is. He angles her in a way and Kiya sees where they are joined and watches as he pulls back nearly fully out only to shove back in setting a hard and rough pace.

“~Aymeric~! Ah~! Aymeric~! My Love~ Fuck me~!!!!!!” Kiya covers her mouth as she loses her senses and shouts obscene words. Aymeric reaches down and uncovers her mouth.

“Don’t you dare hold back your voice. Cry me. Call me. I want to hear you.” Aymeric holds her hands by her head and listens to her moan out louder.

“Aymeric~ I feel so good You make me feel so good~” Each thrust made is as hard as the last one, the angle perfect for her gspot and he finds it on his next thrust in. Her walls tightening around him, and he purrs at how she feels.

“Kiya~ Talk more~ What makes you feel so good?” He slows his hips to drive her insane.

“Ah~ Aymeric~ Your cock~ It makes me feel so good~” He rewards her with hard thrusts, but not fast ones, slow and purposefully not hitting that spot.

“You love my cock inside? What else?” Aymeric brings her legs closer together, creating a tighter angle for himself. He pulls himself out and uses one of his hands to guide the head of his penis along her hot slit, teasing her with the last of him inside her.

“Lord Commander! I love it when you... AHH~” Kiya feels him push back inside her, but what has he screaming is two of his fingers push into her ass wiggling in. Aymeric feels her tighten around him again, and waits for her to finish her words.

“You love it when I what? That didn’t hurt right?” He asks in sincerity. Kiya shakes her head no to it hurting. He continues to thrust his fingers in while his hips work her slit.

“Ah~ I love it when you lick my cunt.. I... am a mess when I feel your tongue...” She feels flustered some more. Aymeric keeps his fingers inside, using the angle as a way to please two spots at once.

“Your words are magic in my ears my love. I love you when you are like this. It makes me proud I can make you cum with my hands and mouth.” He smiles down at herm Kiya sees his hair stick to his forehead from sweat, and she knows she must be a sight to him. Aymeric pulls his fingers from her, and reaches down brief to use the water in a basin he keeps when he plays with her.

Aymeric lowers her legs to his waist and changes angles to lift her into his lap.

“With me now. Cum on me. I know you are aching.” He thrusts and causes her to bounce, his hands go to the top of the outfit and pulls her breasts free, hands palming them as he hears her moan out. He is harder in his thrusts and the angle is perfect.

Kiya presses her face into one of his shoulders and bites it, muffling her cries into it. Aymeric thrusts even harder feeling her teeth.

“That’s it my love. That’s it... feel me. Feel me. Squeeze me.” Aymeric murmurs in her ear, and she twitches it away from hot breath on it. She understands his words and squeezes her walls on him. Drawing a high moan out of him.

“Ah~ Again! Do it again! Time it... every three thrusts AH there~ Oh~ My love~ You are such a delight in our bed.” His moans are sexy to hear, breathless sighs. She feels him throb against her cervix whenever she squeezes down on him.

“Aymeric~ I am gonna cum~ I feel~ AH~!!” Kiya feels him grip her hips harder to thrust in, she keeps squeezing him in timed thrusts. Aymeric’s movements get more jerky, a sign he is on verge himself.

“Yes? And you want to cum right? Now My Love. Ask me nicely.” He reminds her they’re still playing roles. He even dares to slow on her, almost stopping. Earning a sobbed cry.

“Please~ Lord Commander~ Let me cum~! Let me cum on your cock~!” She feels him twitch inside, Aymeric resumes his hard thrusts grounding her hips against his so often. The motion makes her tip over that edge, and in a string of Ah’s she screams her pleasure while her orgasm hits her enough to make her gush a little.

Aymeric feels her tighter than ever and pushes so deep that he fills her full. His turn to bite her shoulder.

Kiya pants against his shoulder, dazed and satisfied. Aymeric lays her down on the bed and hovers over her. He leans down and kisses her face gently.

“Roles are over. Are you sore anywhere? Any pain?” He instantly frets over her. The demeanor he used gone in a flash. She smiles up at him, she is shaking from her orgasm, and all Aymeric can do is hold her close. He keeps himself inside her till she wants him out, too content to not pull out.

“No pain, not sore. But by the Twelve my love.. that was amazing.. I love you when you’re so assertive.” Kiya tugs on some of his bangs, fingers twisting a lock of hair in them.

“Full glad I am to be a good lover to you. Do you want more?” He inquires, he can easily go a few more rounds. Kiya on the other hand, he knows when she is relaxed she can determine the whole thing.

“Hmm... yes I do. But please... let me rest enough.” Her hands still shake. He’s proud of himself for how she is reduced to such a state.

“Alright. May I stay like this for a bit?” He is given a nod, and lifts her enough to flip them over, letting her rest on top of him.

“Aymeric... may I make a dirty request?” She looks at him, her face red as she thinks of what she wants to ask him to do.

“Anything love.” His hands go down her shoulders to her arms.

“Do you think... we can have sex somewhere outside?” Aymeric’s hands pause on her arms, and he looks at her.

“Where would you have in mind?”

“The Vault... in that garden area?” Aymeric knows where she is talking about, and smiles.

“I think I can make that happen. Give me a few days to figure out how to do that.” She kisses him and he gives it back to her. His hands on her hips push them down onto him. He wants her even more now.

“Oh~ If you do that~ I’m going to want you all over again.”

“Kind of why I am doing it. Now... tell me more of your desires, and see if I can make them come true.”

“With pleasure.” She smiles down at him as he helps her roll her hips with his. She’s in for more fun.

#Aymeric #aymeric de borel #ser aymeric #aymeric x kiya #kiya shinikami #AyKiya #dirty talking #a swearing Aymeric and Kiya

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garden-uprooted · 5 years ago

Note

“One body, two souls” (( god I can't imagine there being any personality that'd be worse to fuse Spinel's with than Dom's and vice versa and I MUST hear what your take on what that Hell Fusion would be like is omfggggggggggg ))

Send “One body, two souls” to see what I think the fusion of our muses would be like // Still Accepting!

Gemstone Name & Reasoning: Mookaite (yes I KNOW there’s no reason the gem would change since Spinel’s the only Gem in the fusion, but finding the gemstone for the fusion is half the fun, shut up-)

Okay so I KNOW the name sounds weird, but I NEEDED a specific feel for the fusion to fully WORK, y’know? Their fusion would lack ANY sort of Spinel’s typical restraint; a completely wild free spirit. I needed a gemstone that encouraged the release of inhibitions and made you set your sights on things that you’d previously held yourself back from.

“Embrace your wanderlust and let Mookaite be your spiritual compass, pointing you in the direction of adventure. Awaken your true potential with the energy of this stone, and pursue the passions you’ve put on hold. The willpower that mookaite stimulates in your solar plexus and root chakras will rouse in you a desire to explore new activities. Its exciting, yet comforting energy makes for a great travel companion for those on a solo journey.”

I would go into more detail, but in order to properly do that, I’d need to jump onto the next section uwu…

Personality:

OKAY. I HAVE SO MANY FUCKIN’ THOUGHTS ON THIS MESS WHOM I ALREADY IMMEDIATELY ADORE

Okay okay okay, SO. Obviously they’re a pretty toxic fusion. This should go without saying- two chaotic energies in ONE body??

… But it ISN’T because Spinel and Lord D DON’T get along, oh no..

It’s BECAUSE they get along so SWIMMINGLY.

Spinel is naturally impulsive and reckless, sometimes, due to Trauma TM, and also just because she’s Like That, but she HAS self-restraint. She can tell (most of the time) when she’s gone too far with something. And Lord D, while not nearly AS hyperactive as Spinel (but ABSOLUTELY is also an ADHD mess), has undoubted patience and self-control, as well.

They’re “bouncing off of the walls” off the shits chaos lesbians, but they both know how to reign themselves in.

While fused as Mookaite, however?

That ALL goes out of the window.

They FEED into each other’s boundless thoughts- they ENCOURAGE each other’s deepest darkest carnal desires ALL in the name of

FUN.

Spinel is a people-pleaser, above all. She’s LITERALLY an entertainer, and she ADORES her job/”life purpose”. She won’t hesitate to change herself or mold herself into what others want/expect her to be so long as she looks up to and wants to impress said person.

And DING DING DING, Lord Dominator fits that criteria. Spinel gladly falls into the more submissive role in their fusion- letting Lord D pull the strings from the back (AKA, the Front).

A little confusing? Don’t worry, I’ll clear that up a little later down the line.

For now, let’s just say that Mookaite is THE definition of discord and madness. She practically BATHES in the tears of others- RELISHES in pained cries as she tramples over (or SLASHES through) people. Jokes? Japes? Cruel pranks? Snarky remarks? Low blows to people’s self-esteem via honing in on their weaknesses and using it against them?

You want it, Mookaite’s got it all! There are absolutely NO remnants of Spinel’s kindness or compassion to be had. It’s all overshadowed by the desire to be ACTIVE and to MOVE and to spend all of her child-like ENERGY (that has practically no limit to it, so long as they’re fused together).

She’s INTELLIGENT, though. SCARILY so. A force that you DO. NOT. WANT. To reckon with. If she WANTS something, she GETS it. There is no escape, so don’t even bother hiding or running.

A MASTER manipulator and strategist, as well as wild party animal and unrestrained force of destruction. She’ll gladly restrain herself long enough to string people along- only for the SWEET sweet eventual payment of said person’s bitter tears as they either have their heart, or their spine broken.

…However… I WILL say that, SHOULD Mookaite ever encounter someone that Spinel KNOWS (and thus most likely automatically CARES about), and the Dom part of them goes “OH, someone to hurt/”prank”!!!”, Spinel WILL go “Wait wait wait, but- but they’re my FRIEND, I’m not gonna-??”

It’s SO MUCH more DIFFICULT for Spinel to vent our her feelings/frustrations on someone who ISN’T a complete stranger to her. All of that empathy and WANT to be somebody’s very best friend never VANISHED. It just got restrained.

The SECOND Mookaite tries to/decides to ATTACK/HURT, say, someone like STEVEN, Spinel takes full control and unfuses at once.

Physical Appearance:

Oh, they want to make sure they can at LEAST tower over most humans they encounter. I’d IMAGINE Dom is around 5′7″, and Spinel just barely naturally reaches 5′3″ in her current form (I headcanon she WAS 5′0″ or so before Pink left her- height is intimidating), and so Mookaite is looking to be around 6′5″ to possibly JUST shy of being 7′0″. Of course, they can stretch, still, so their natural standing height isn’t all THAT important.

Remember how I described their personality earlier, though? What with Spinel playing the more subservient role while Dom takes the reigns? Yeah, that’s coming back into play here, baybey!!!

While Mookaite takes on Dom’s slender and athletic physique and generally uses her body as a base, their face resembles Spinel’s the most. At first glance, SPINEL would seem like the dominant in the fusion, actually.

However, in spite of that, Spinel’s loud and proud presence in Mookaite is only representative of her and Dom’s RELATIONSHIP. Dominator is Spinel’s enabler- turning her from a loose canon to one fully loaded and ready to fire; the consequences be damned.

So, in actuality, Dom is still, naturally, the dominant. Spinel is just her willing (?) puppet to enact out their obscene horrors.

Their hair is styled almost exactly like Dom’s- except it’s colored like Spinel’s, and it’s an absolute jagged frizzy mess. It kinda looks like they took a pair of scissors and tried to style it themselves, to be honest; but it’s stylish in the “manic pixie dream girl” way, if you know what I mean?

Dom’s white hair shows in white streaks throughout. Mooktaite’s entire color scheme is themed around blacks, dark magentas/reds, deep browns, oranges, and yellows, to boot; drawing inspiration from the gemstone, Mookaite, itself, and Dominator’s attire.

They keep Spinel’s poofy bottom, but it acts more like short shorts that flow seamlessly into Dom’s split dress; which is masterfully torn and tattered just at the knees. They also keep Spinel’s gloves- they just gain a more ragged look, as well, and are styled after Dom’s elbow-length ones.

Say bye bye to Spinel’s fuckign clown shoes, tho, they’re Dom’s sneakers, now. RIP clown shoes. Ye shall be missed.

Mookaite’s eyes are Forever Swirly And Crazed. It makes her look like she downed ten espresso shots in one sitting and went back to the coffee shop for more. Her mascara is also There, but it’s X2.

It’s ALWAYS running down her face- yes, actually running down her chin and dripping right off. An endless supply of messy, drippy mascara that LOOKS like they’ve been crying in it for five hours, but

HAHA!

Mookaite doesn’t CRY!

On the outside.

Oh, also, did I mention the fact that they have extra limbs? Typically it’s only just two arms and two legs, but as an extra “HEY, WATCH THIS, AND ALSO FUCK YOU!!!” they can sprout another pair of arms from their back at will. And yes it makes sickening cracking sounds, because Dominator has bones that CAN make those sounds.

Does it ACTUALLY hurt her to do, though?

Eh. Your choice.

Oh oh oh and NATURALLY they have sharp, shark-like teeth. Why??? Would they NOT???? Bruh they’re fuckin off the wall, they’re demonic as all hell and so basically I Love Them

…. Oh, and uh…. Sarah Stiles’ Spinel’s New Yorker accent that tends to be more of an undertone, than anything..?

It’s fully pronounced in Mookaite. High pitched, squeaky, psychotic Betty Boop hours, folks.

Combat:

My fingers hurt but you know how Spinel has her scythe, Suzie? And Dom can control magma and ice/frost? AND you know how they BOTH can stretch and extend their limbs/Dom is super flexible?

Now, I’m not saying crazy fast contortionist that can wreck you from like twenty feet away, but- okay I totally am.

Something tells me Mookaite would be MUCH more a fan of hands-on fighting, though. Sure she COULD either suit up or use Dom’s powers and Spinel’s elasticity to one-hit KO their opponent, but where’s the FUN in THAT?

And thus where Suzie comes in.

Mookaite is a brick POWERHOUSE- chaotic demented laughter all the while while she SLASHES through her enemies; twirling through the air and jumping on top of/off of their shoulders or heads. She’s a bratty gamer girl about it the whole time, too; mocking her adversaries for being “too slow” or “not putting up enough of a fight/challenge”.

She’s ALWAYS looking for fights and worthy opponents- swinging Suzie around like the huge scythe is a baton and not a VERY deadly weapon. She treats her like a prized cane half the time; preferring to have her fully activated and ready to go at the drop of a hat.

#[LONG Post]#[Out Of Laughter]#[Question Answered]#[Ask Meme]#thegreatestinthegalaxy

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everlarkficexchange · 6 years ago

Text

Unmasked ~ Six

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations.

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. Please enjoy the sixth chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~ Chapter 6 ~~

If I found some of the townhomes and wealthy mansions we have visited in the past month gaudy, the Capitol estate of the Duke and Duchess of Cashmere qualifies as obscene. Not even located in the city itself, it takes near an hour simply to reach it. When we do, I have to remind myself not to gawk.

The lane, lit with a long queue of torches, seems to extend past the horizon. They pass the carriage windows in streaks of orange and short bursts of heat before we reach the next. The wheels churn on the rocks and I contort myself to see the house without leaning out the window. It rises up into the evening sky, more palace than house, set against magnificent hues of pink, red, vibrant orange, purple, and deep blue.

“It’s beautiful,” Madge breathes, having leaned across my body to peer out the window as well.

“Of course it is. Cashmere would not settle for anything less than spectacular and the Good Lord Himself wouldn’t dare provide less than a spectacular sunset to grace her affairs,” Effie announces and Haymitch grunts from beneath his tipped forward hat. He hasn’t moved since we left, making me wonder if perhaps he were napping, but his response suggests that he is wide awake. Effie catches on to this and swats his arm with her fan. “Haymitch! It is a masquerade. Put on your mask!”

Madge leans back in her seat and smiles at me, adjusting her own mask, which is already perfect anyways. The carriage jostles slightly and the loud clacking of hooves followed by the bone jarring rattling alerts us that we have reached stone. The house embraces us, a giant U shaped around a cobblestone courtyard. Almost every window shines, ablaze. I cannot imagine the expense of candles to light this place.

We have time to wait, already a long queue of arriving carriages has formed. When it is our turn, a footman in dark blue livery opens the door, and bows low enough for us to see the purple bow tying back his long hair before assisting all of us from the carriage. Haymitch leads us up the stairs, Madge laces her arm with mine and we clasp hands. I can tell from the way she looks around as I am that even she has never seen such wealth.

I scramble with mental hierarchy to figure out where Lord Mellark, Marquis de Vale would be placed in wealth and privilege, somewhere between a duke and an earl, I believe. Such things were unimportant to my parents since we had so few out of the area visitors to Everdeen, let alone anyone with a title besides Madge’s family. Unlike most young girls my age, I did not have a ranking list of the peerage drilled into my brain. My parents never cared and therefore neither did I. Effie has given me at least half a dozen lectures on it, yet all I can now remember is a vague buzzing noise in my brain, like a persistent fly. Now it seems a disadvantage that I did not pay closer attention.

If I am right in my guess at rankings, that means Sir Robert is used to more wealth and fine things than Madge, although perhaps not this much. I hope not, at least. As we climb a grand set of stairs lined with more torches, it is yet one more reminder of all the things I do not know about Sir Robert or the sort of life I will lead as his wife. I formed plans for Everdeen and failed to consider that, if Sir Robert is expected to present himself and act as though he is first in line for the title, as his wife, I will be expected to act as a future Marchioness. I have no idea how to behave around such wealth and nobility.

Once, I overturned a log deep in the woods, uncovering a writhing pile of worms. At the time, I had been happy to see them, signs of growth and the vitality of nature in the soil. Now I feel as though they have taken residence in my stomach and they are most unwanted.

What have I done? I’ve engaged myself to a stranger. I panicked when I agreed to his proposal, afraid that if I rejected him, another such proposal might never come my way. I do not have time to seek out another unless I decide to forsake Everdeen to the control of our steward, sever my thoughts and care from my home and her people. No, I cannot do that, not while my father still breathes and the responsibility for the land and people rests with my family. I must repair the damage done in my impulsive reaction and learn exactly who my betrothed is, ensure that I will not be expected to neglect Everdeen simply because I choose to paste the name Mellark over the one I was born with.

Now, I tell myself not to panic as Effie jabs her fan into my side, prompting me to stand straight as Haymitch hands over our invitation to a gentleman in a uniform that matches the footman’s only with more braiding on the jacket, and we are announced. Announced at a masquerade, how ridiculous. Tis no wonder everyone knows who everyone else is here.

We glide regally down another set of stairs into a wide, marble and gilded foyer. The ceiling soars up to a magnificent painted ceiling. We descend down to a cloud grey marble floor and are almost immediately swallowed into the crowd.

“Now girls,” Effie snares my hand and reminds us one more time. “If we are separated, you two stay together. We will meet here at the end of the evening.”

And then we are separated, the crowd deftly dividing us into pairs as I cling to Madge and we are swept along.

“Shall we find the food or Sir Robert first?” Madge asks.

“A drink!” I gasp as a hand caresses over my backside and I jump forward. I whirl around to yell at the man who accosted me only to find no one I can easily accuse. Whoever touched me has already disappeared into the crowd. So then that is what Madge meant about inhibitions being discarded or forgotten. “Something to drink.”

We search for the refreshments and finally find them, gulping down a clear, fizzy wine. We ogle the spread of treats to eat and decide on a few we will need to try later. There are so many beautiful gowns around us, and we spend some time admiring several. Whispers seem to follow us and I wonder at their cause until I ask and Madge pulls me towards the dancefloor as we hear the orchestra tuning their instruments.

“It’s your gown. They are all wondering who you are and talking about your gown, Katniss. No one will be able to forget you tonight.”

“We were announced.”

“No one paid attention to that,” she waves it off as insignificant.

I glance down at my gown, searching for a reason it might attract attention. Perhaps the tones of the dress are darker than the pale colours that seem to be the fashion. I am not the only one here dressed in dark shades; however, I am the only one wearing a single sleeve. The silver painted designs curling over my bare arm adds a touch of almost scandal. I’ve never had so much skin on display and suddenly feel quite out of sorts. Apparently I am doomed to continue making poor decisions this week. I take another drink of the wine and let the bubbles carry away some of my thoughts.

We stand on our toes as couples line up for the first dance, eyes scanning the crowds for a familiar profile or gleaming blonde curls.

“I do not see him,” Madge says, confusion in her voice.

“Nor I.” The worms have discovered a feast in my stomach as the music begins and with a few cheers, so does the dancing. The Duchess wisely chose to begin the evening with a lively tune and while it appears to be a great deal of fun, my promised partner is absent.

“He must be here somewhere,” Madge insists, with a squeeze of my hand. “We will wait near the floor and he will find us. That is why you sent him the note describing your mask and gown.”

Halfway through the first dance, we’re approached by a gentleman in a blue and silver mask, dark copper toned hair and sea green eyes. He asks for the next dance and I refuse, insisting that it is already spoken for. Another man asks Madge for a dance and she refuses as well.

“You should dance,” I tell her once we have reached the third with several more invitations to dance and still no sign of Sir Robert.

“I won’t leave you alone.”

When the first gentleman returns during the fourth dance to request Madge partner him for the next song, however, we have run out of excuses. “Surely you are not still going to claim you are spoken for? You have not moved a step!”

Madge accepts his invitation with a concerned glance back at me and I motion for her to go and to have fun. As soon as her attention is claimed by the dance, I allow my smile to vanish. I glance up towards the grand staircase and see several late guests wander in, although the servant who announced guests at the start appears to have ceased his duties.

That is it, I tell myself with a confident nod. Sir Robert is late, as usual, and I have missed his arrival or perhaps he has not yet arrived at all. I need only wait a few more songs.

After the fifth, the orchestra takes a short break. Madge returns and we test a few of the treats, although we do not linger for long. The crowd is near impossible to navigate and I am concerned that Sir Robert will not be able to find me at all.

Another set and I am tired of the whispers following me, of being asked to dance by several gentlemen but not the one I want. Madge is claimed for dance after dance, and I cannot seem to find my family. It is more humiliating than being stuck in the mud and needing Peeta’s assistance. I turn back to the tables of food for solace, then away when I see how crowded they’ve grown. Just as the orchestra begins the third set of dances, I spot him.

A head of blonde hair standing perfectly still in the sea of people moving around him. He calmly surveys the dancers, as though looking for someone. I do not know how he managed on such short notice, but his attire matches mine. Dressed in a dark grey coat and vest, ivory trousers, shirt and cravat. His mask, painted deep hues of red much like the ones adorning my mask, covers almost the entirety of the left side of his face, but only down to the cheekbone on the right. The asymmetry mimics my dress and I wonder if he somehow planned that. Did Effie or Cinna speak to him in advance? I shake my head, gather my ire and my skirts, and charge towards him. Effie insisted I bring the matching lace fan Cinna made for this gown and now I am happy to have it as I wield it as a weapon of irritation.

Thwack! Into his chest. His head snaps to look down at me. I do not even attempt to disguise my annoyance.

“You are horribly late.”

He releases a soft puff of laughter, his smile fleeting but warm. He then sobers, taking my hand holding the fan in his and bowing low over it, the motion slow and deliberate.

“A thousand apologies for keeping you waiting, Miss Everdeen. There was a bit more traffic than I expected to encounter.”

“Will you be late to your own wedding then? Your funeral?”

“Hopefully not the first, and could you fault me for the latter?”

I laugh a little at this. His dry tone is not one I am used to him using. I rather like it on him. Laughter makes forgiveness easier, but not assured.

“You owe me a dance, sir. Perhaps several for keeping me waiting so long.”

“Ah…the floor looks quite crowded. Perhaps later?” I ignore disappointment as he gestures back towards the food tables. “A refreshment instead? It is quite warm in here.”

He extends his arm and I take it, settling into a careful walk through the crowds. It takes some time, avoiding merry people and those who have already managed to imbibe a little too much. Sir Robert speaks not a word, not even when he steps back, fingers lightly grasping my elbow to maneuver through tight spots with me in the lead. His fingers swipe gently over my bare skin and then are gone, once more replaced with his arm, just in time to steady me as I have to halt abruptly for a passing lady too preoccupied with her dessert to notice us.

I catch Madge’s eyes then and her mouth rounds out for a second then turns to a smile as she spots my companion. She waves once, with excitement before the gentleman she is with steps between us and claims her attention again. She laughs at whatever he says, her cheeks pinkening. I am happy to see my friend enjoying herself and glance up at the man beside me, hopeful once more that the evening will be fruitful for me as well.

He secures two glasses for us and hands me one with another slight bow.

“I am glad you are here, if a trifle late,” I say, uncertain how to breach the silence.

“As am I.” He leans close then to whisper in my ear. “In truth I am surprised you bothered to wait. Half the gentlemen here are mesmerised by you and those who are not are clearly foxed.”

“And which half are you?” I ask, warmth blooming in my chest at the compliment.

“I’ve not had anything to drink yet,” he murmurs. My pulse flutters madly at his words and the heat of his breath on my ear. “I am thankful no one ran off with you before I could make it here.”

I have to shake my head to free my senses of the thrill, and hide my smile behind my wine. “Flattery will not save you from my annoyance. I still expect that dance.”

“Normally I would dance, except I become clumsy after the reel.”

“You’ve not even danced one, how could you become clumsy?”

“It is a rare talent and requires a great deal of practice.”

Once more, I find myself laughing. Relieved and wondering if perhaps I should talk him into wearing a mask and banishing his brother for the next few months if this open and witty man is who he truly is when unguarded. Peculiar that society’s masks hide more of our true selves than a physical mask.

I have so many questions, but before I can even ask one, his gaze is drawn away from me to a girl with lustrous red hair. She can be no more than sixteen, the same age as Prim, and hides on the fringes of the crowd. She holds her lips tight together and glances about the room. She produces a small mirror from the pockets of her gown and releases her lips. They are stained bright red and she gasps, tears trickle down her face from behind her mask. She grabs a glass of wine off the table near her and moves to drink, licking her lips. When she once more checks her face and nothing has changed, I understand her dilemma and move towards her.

Shielding her body from view of the crowds, I take the wine from her. “What happened, darling?”

“The punch! The red punch! My mother is going to be furious!” Panic makes her talkative as she spills half her life story. “She says my red hair is a mark against me. That only ladies of a certain nature have red hair or red lips. And now I’ve both! It is my first ball!”

“Hush. It will be alright. We shall find your mother and explain.”

“That won’t work!” She wails and it is then that I notice her teeth are stained as well. Sir Robert excuses himself. I send an annoyed glance his way before focusing on the torrent of words spilling from the poor girl’s mouth. She hardly takes a breath, leaving me no room to comfort her as she babbles on about all the ways she has already disappointed her dear mother. I have half a mind to find the woman and lecture her in the hall. “She told me not to drink the red punch. I might spill it and stain my dress and…and–”

“Here.” His hand brushes my arm and I glance down to see a glass of the red punch. My hands move to accept it of their own volition. When my eyes jump up to his face, he’s already drinking from his own glass.

“Sir! No!” The girl cries and he smacks his lips in satisfaction.

“That is quite delicious. Hm, and now we shall start a new trend.” He turns away from us and speaks to the closest passer by. “Good sir! You must try the red punch!”

He begins to tell everyone who will listen that they must try the punch, or that the wine appears to be running thin but there is still the excellent red punch, any number of extortions given with smiles and a joke or two, his mouth not yet stained enough to reveal the danger in drinking it to everyone he encourages.

The girl gasps as several people begin to brave the red punch. Glasses are fetched for ladies who await refreshment. Matrons hand them to their young charges.

“Miss Everdeen,” he lifts his glass to mine and a wide smile spreads across my face before I take a healthy swallow as he does the same. In an astonishingly short amount of time, half the guests have red stained mouths and our new friend has a dance partner with lips that now match hers and who pulls her towards the floor with a smile on her face.

We watch her for a moment and I feel an odd sort of pride as she says something that has her partner laughing before he twirls her. I glance up at the man beside me, astonished at his handling of the situation. It was not the behavior I would expect of the shallow fop concerned mainly with his dress, the latest gossip, or the status of his stables that I thought myself engaged to. It hints at someone with more substance, more care for the people he shares this world with, and even in our current silence, I feel more comfortable with him than ever before.

“May I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he says.

“I know so little about you.” His eyes meet mine and for one second, I am the one mesmerised. His eyes seem a deep blue in the shadows created by the mask. Dark and wonderful.

“We are wearing masks. You are not meant to know a thing about me.”

“I think I might like to change that. Do you know of a place in this monstrous palace where we might talk easier?”

He seems to hesitate then looks over the crowd for a moment. Setting both our glasses aside, he takes my hand in his and leads me through the crowd. Once again it is slow going. For one moment, I think he is perhaps leading me towards the gardens, a veritable den of wickedness and sin at these balls, if Aunt Effie is to be believed. He has misconstrued my intentions!

I begin to panic as I realise that yes, I had planned on kissing him tonight, but now that I am faced with the possibility, I am mortified. Or perhaps terrified. I do not know what I am thinking except that I wish to talk more and then decide if I even want to kiss him. That is the courtship I should have pursued, I realise now. Oh how my father would be disappointed in my headstrong, stubborn pursuit of matrimony first and trust later.

Sir Robert turns away from the doors leading out to the gardens and instead leads me through a tall arched doorway and into a long hall that seems to span an entire arm of the house. Tapers line the walls on both sides and windows framed in heavy drapes show the black night outside. A handful of guests wander up and down the checkered floor. Within a few steps, the noise from the ball lowers considerably. Only the sounds of shoes on marble and whispered conversations, a sprinkling of laughter float on the air.

“Oh,” I breathe in relief. This is perfect. It is quiet enough that we might converse, empty enough that we shan’t be overheard, but contains enough witnesses that a wise person would not try anything untoward. He slows his step and I notice that one foot seems to drag a little. “Did you injure yourself?”

“Nothing serious,” he explains and then releases my hand, setting me free to walk.

“But perhaps aggravated by dancing. You could have simply said that instead of making excuses,” I say with a smile and he seems to be examining me. “I was beginning to think you did not want to dance with me at all.”

“I would dance a hundred dances with a broken leg were that the only way to make you happy.” I laugh nervously at his flattery, although this is closer to the Robert I am familiar with. How horrid. To have a husband who flatters and compliments at every turn. But will he flatter and flirt with every other lovely lady of his acquaintance? Or me and me alone?

The question disturbs me as his blue eyes follow me down the hall, his footsteps slow and steady behind me. Deliberate and methodical.

“What is this room, then?”

“Portrait gallery,” he explains as we reach the first painting and I make a noise of understanding. “I believe the last time I was forced to sit in conversation with the Duke, he explained that these span… thirteen generations?”

“Thirteen?” I ask, glancing back at him with a quirk of my lips.

“I am guessing. I honestly don’t remember what he said.” Another laugh rises in my chest and bursts free. He gifts me with a sweet smile.

“Perhaps we should try to count then.” I turn back to the portrait and he stands next to me. Shoulder to shoulder as we examine the face of a long dead ancestor. At least, I am guessing he is dead, based on the ruffled collar he wears.

“Do you think anyone choked wearing those?” The laugh that rings down the gallery is his this time. On an impulse, I grasp his hand and drag him to the next. This one is of a couple and I find myself mimicking her pose.

“I think you have all the makings of a duchess,” he says. “Or perhaps not. There is too much laughter in your eyes.” I glance at the serious woman in the portrait and then back at him, his quirked smile. I attempt to keep my entire face somber and only earn a slowly widening, red stained smile until he laughs, shaking his head and unable to believe my act as I too laugh. Odd that I have never noticed his smile as being lopsided. I am learning all sorts of new things about my fiancé tonight.

We wander the gallery, commenting on the stern faces depicted in each portrait. He turns it into a game of sorts, concocting stories about the inhabitants of canvas, forever frozen. Most of them are silly and ridiculous and have me laughing until I can hardly breathe. Then we reach a set that dampens the mood and yet reveals so much.

“This poor lady was told to appear more cheerful and cannot.”

“Why not?”

“Her husband brought home another hunting trophy to clutter up her drawing room.” He points to the portrait immediately to the right, a stern looking man standing triumphant over a dead tiger.

“The poor creature. Why would you kill such a magnificent animal?”

“I was led to believe that you hunt,” he says and I lift one shoulder to convey a sort of indifference.

“If there is a use for the animal. A stag provides a bounty of meat, skin to be turned into leather for shoes or tack, antlers carved into tools such as needles and more. But this…have you ever eaten a tiger steak?”

“I cannot say that I have.”

“Perhaps if one were desperate or close to starving, but this man is garbed in gold buckles on his shoes and the finest velvet coat. It is needless and cruel to kill such a creature simply as a trophy. All that accomplishes is to satisfy your vanity.”

The look he gives me stirs something deep within. I feel as though we have somehow charged the air with our conversation and if one of us so much as speaks, the entire place with erupt. He leans towards me for a moment and then steps abruptly towards the next portrait and I wonder if he was about to kiss me in the middle of the portrait gallery. But why? And then… Why didn’t he?

After that, we continue our game with a touch less levity, although in between portraits we answer superficial questions.

“What is your favourite colour?”

“I am appalled by your question and shall fetch my Uncle at once to defend my honour,” I protest lifting my nose and turning from him with a smile still on my lips, earning a warm chuckle from him.

“I doubt that you need his help. Perhaps if I tell you mine?”

“Green,” I say, not really wanting to put up too much of a fight and flattered by his comment on my independence.

“Green?”

“Yes.”

“I imagine for your countryside that you love so much.”

“And my forests. I need trees as much as I need air to breathe.”

“Which explains why you are so fond of riding in the park, the only real source of abundant trees in the city. There are trees in the gardens here, I believe,” he suggests and I pause. He seems to realise my hesitation and alters course. “Orange. My favourite colour is orange.”

“The fruit?”

“No, not quite that bright. A shade of orange that you might find in a sunset.”

“Similar to tonight’s,” I whisper, seeing that beautiful panorama from tonight again and feeling my heart speed at the sudden idea of pausing in evenings to watch the sunset over green hills with him.

“Exactly like tonight’s.”

“Unorthodox, but I like it. We have this wildflower at Everdeen that blooms in the spring. I missed it this year, with our haste to reach the city and… anyways I think you might favour the shade.”

“Might I?” his fingers brush mine and I shiver, disappointed when he withdraws his touch. “Tell me more about your home?”

I lose myself telling him all about the hills and the forests, my time as a girl, my father, Primrose and mother with their healing hands and welcoming hearts. The families who rely on us, the faded golden and green and purple hues of the harvest. I am astonished at how he listens, asking all manner of questions at exactly the right time. I talk and talk until I am sure that he must be bored with me and then realise that we have traversed the entire length of the gallery back again, to the doorway where we began.

“It sounds lovely. I hope for the chance to see it one day.”

“You shall,” I promise with a smile and he seems to fidget nervously for a moment.

“Miss Everdeen,” he begins and then stalls for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts before he continues. “There is something I should confess to you.”

A strong breeze curls in through the doors to the gardens, setting the thin gauzy curtains to dance. It distracts me and I catch the scent of the flora, the cool night air. The music beckons, and yet as much as I want to dance with him, the pull of the gardens is stronger.

“Not in here,” I insist and take his hand, leading him outside and into the night.

His steps falter and I hasten, hoping that we will not be seen and that I will not regret this decision. I have spent unending hours with him for the past week, always with someone else present, and now that I have him to myself, I am discovering that he is an excellent listener, kind and thoughtful. He possesses a wicked sense of humor, steady and calm but with an unexpected heat in his blue eyes. I am curious to see that heat unleashed, yes, but beyond that, tonight is the first I have felt that perhaps I could build a life with this man. Only a few questions remain. Can he reveal himself to me as I have to him? Will he be repulsed by the last remaining secrets I hold? And if he kisses me, will I feel nothing at all or will I find the rapture Madge spoke of?

As we reach an orchard, the boughs of the trees hide us from the night and I inhale a deep breath, releasing it in a content sigh. “Now it is your turn. Tell me of your home.”

“Ah, that may prove difficult.”

“Because there are so many?” I tease and he shakes his head.

“Not quite.”

“Then tell me of your family. Start with your brothers. You once said there were several of you and yet I only know of the one.”

“Alright. Simple enough. There is Ethan, the heir, oldest and most responsible, obviously in line for the title.”

“Obviously,” I tease and he smiles.

“He is married to a lovely lady of irreproachable breeding and education named Sara. Sara prefers eating between meals and sneaks treats of all kinds to everyone she cares about whenever she is eating out of the routine and yet, she has never once been caught doing so. None of us wish to see her in trouble nor the end of the treats. She is also an excellent card player. Never wager against her, always partner with her.”

I laugh at this image of a doting woman handing out sweets and fleecing her family and acquaintances of their funds with an angelic smile, married to a stiff man of impeccable manners.

“They have five children, one son and four daughters, and the rest of us are constantly reminded how far behind we are.”

I blush at this, thinking in that moment of him playing on the floor with a small gathering of children, dark and light hair mixed together and laughter on the air.

“Then there is Henry, the spare, and also a scholar. He prefers the company of books to people. You will be lucky to get more than five words out of him unless it is to discuss the latest treatise on the ancient philosophers or the newest development in astronomy. His wife is named Angelica and she is…well the Marquis prefers to pretend she does not even exist.”

“Why not?” I ask, oddly defensive on this Angelica’s behalf.

“Because she is a professor of science, although no one beyond our family knows it is her. She conducts her classes via correspondence and a series of guest lecturers. In truth her real work is in the laboratory and in writing about her discoveries. You cannot tell anyone of this, Miss Everdeen.”

“Because it would ruin your family’s reputation to have a woman professor of science?”

“No,” he says and stops walking. “That is why the Marquis would wish for your silence, but not I. I ask for it because were she to be found out, she would no longer be allowed to continue her work.”

“You trust me with this?” I ask and he nods.

“Somehow I cannot see you doing anything that might jeopardize a woman moving through a man’s world.”

“You have figured me out,” I say and continue walking to avoid the odd tears gathering in my eyes. That he would trust me with such a secret, almost as though he already sees me as part of the family.

“Not yet, but I do feel as though we have made some progress tonight.”

“So then do Henry and Angelica have any children?” I ask, ignoring the happy flutter his words cause, knowing that we both entered this evening with similar goals.

“They adopted one child, a girl named Emma who had been abandoned near the Marquis’ estates.”

“And your father does not approve.”

“Hardly. But he approves of very little.”

“Would he approve of me?” I ask and hold my breath.

“Likely not,” he whispers. I shiver in delight as one finger traces the designs up my arm, starting from my wrist. He stops at the elbow and withdraws his touch. “I apologize, Miss Everdeen. I should not be so bold.”

Again I feel a pull towards him, like in the portrait gallery. His father would not approve and yet he does not care. An urge to move closer nearly overpowers me and I divert once more. There is more I wish to know before I lose all sense and kiss him.

“So then after Henry is you.”

“Yes,” he still whispers. “If a second son is a spare, you can imagine how superfluous a third or fourth son are.”

“And what profession would you choose to make your way in the world? Your twin, as you call him, has already covered the military.”

This seems to surprise him and he moves away from me, coughs slightly to clear his throat. “Yes, Peeta does have that one covered. Perhaps the church.”

“Somehow I cannot see that,” I say and he laughs. “Your father then has steep expectations of all of you.”

“One could say that. He is not…not a warm or affectionate man. He is kinder to his children than most other people in the world, at least.”

“And what of your mother?”

“That is…let us not delve into that tonight.”

“Very well,” I concede, curious but not willing to push too far. “There is yet one brother we have not covered.”

“You really wish to know?” he asks with a strange bite in his tone, almost defensive and stronger than it was when he spoke of his sister, Angelica.

“You seem close to each other. I wish to know of the important people in your life, even if he was born on the wrong side of the blanket.” Even from behind the mask, I can see his eyes darken and narrow.

“The simple version of it is that he came to live with us when he was eleven. Before that, there were no real connections with him.” This surprises me and I know it shows on my face. “We were born on the same day, two years apart, Peeta is technically the older, although most people refer to him as the fourth son, the same man fathered us, and the Marchioness despises Peeta’s presence in the world and in her house. The only reason she tolerates him at all is because it is rather impossible to deny the blood connection given the physical similarities and because her husband ordered her to do so. Anything else, Miss Everdeen?”

“I do not mean to offend,” I gasp out, uncertain how this changed so quickly. I have never seen Sir Robert angry or indignant about anything. He seems to float through life for the most part, and for one moment, I think that now I truly see the brotherly similarities, right before he seems to wilt and shakes his head.

“No, it is I who should apologize. You are asking out of a desire to know more of the family, not to malign, are you not?”

“I am.” I swallow and think of what Madge said, about how Peeta protects Robert the way that I protect Prim. This new information, this detail about Peeta being older than Robert sheds new light on their relationship. I can envision a young Peeta being ushered into a school room and ordered to conform to the expectations of the son of a marquis, being held responsible for his younger and more privileged but also more gregarious younger brother. Sir Robert perhaps providing levity and fun while Peeta provided the steady seriousness required of them. I can picture him providing a solid buffer between Sir Robert and trouble, protecting him and plucking him from sticky situations. Protecting him from fortune hunting ladies who might take advantage and break his heart.

The image causes unwanted sensations and a phantom touch that graces my legs along with a deep whisper in my ear and I turn away for a moment to regain my bearings.

“Miss Everdeen?”

“I should apologize as well. He is your brother. And if your relationship with him is anything like mine is with my sister…then you would do anything to protect him, and he you.”

“I would,” he says, and it sounds so much like a vow that I smile. We understand each other then. And now we arrive at the real test.

“Then I have one more thing to confess to you and then I expect that dance.” He moves to stand behind me, keeping enough space that we do not touch, yet close enough that I can feel the atoms of the air moving between us, around us. I feel the space as a tangible thing and close my eyes as I speak. I whisper to keep the air around us from igniting.

“I am…marked, sir.”

“Marked? How so?”

“By fire. I was…very young. Fifteen. My sister had a cat that was meant to stay in the barn and catch mice. He was an excellent mouser. We dubbed him the defendender of the lambs and pigs.”

He laughs at this and I feel my heart lightening a little. Enough to tell him the rest.

“She turned him into her pet and would bring him inside in secret, whenever it stormed. When my parents were gone for several weeks, we stayed with our neighbors. Their daughter is still my closest friend and we would often pretend we were sisters ourselves.” I swallow and his fingers find mine, tracing between them then up over the back of my hand, the touch so intimate and comforting. With his touch, I find the courage to continue. “My sister smuggled the cat to the manor with her. While we were there, my friend…her father had recently suffered a severe reverse in his fortunes. He told no one and sealed a marriage contract for my friend to a complete stranger.” I pause to breathe and cannot seem to continue.

“The Countess?”

“Madge, yes,” I say and feel his head bend towards mine. The delicate touch of his forehead to my crown and the whisper of breath over my scalp.

“He…he took his own life and Madge was devastated. She vanished somewhere into the estate and no one could find her. I knew where she was hiding yet told no one, thinking she needed some time to herself to grieve. My sister thought differently and sought her out. That evening, a fire started. No one quite knows how, although Lady Undersee was quite ill before her husband died. She often complained of headaches and Madge always preferred spending time at our home. We were…not required to be quiet at Everdeen. Lord Undersee’s death seemed to break his wife and she secluded herself. Many suspect her mind simply gave up that night and…”

“And the fire grew out of control before anyone knew what had happened?”

I nod and his hold on my hand tightens, draws me in closer as he turns me to face him. I stare at his chest as I continue. “I made it outside, as did the servants. But my sister and Madge. They were still inside. So I went in after them. I found Madge first, since I knew where to find her. She told me that Prim had wandered off, chasing the cat who had been terrified by the flames. We searched for Prim but, a beam fell, separating me from Madge. I told her to make her way outside, eventually found my sister and the cursed cat. I broke a window to escape and the air… it fed the flames. My dressing gown caught without me knowing. We made it out, all of us, barely and…” I cannot finish and blink to keep my tears in my eyes. A mask will not afford me privacy from tears. A gentle touch slides beneath my chin and lifts my head. I dare not look at him, afraid of what I shall see in his eyes.

“You saved your sister, and your friend.”

“And was left marked. Disfigured. The doctors remarked how it was a blessing that the flames never touched my face and yet… My parents chose not to set me loose on society and instead kept me in the country, fearing that the world would turn away from me in disgust if they learned of my scars. Worst of all, my friend lost both her parents that week. Had we not needed to find my sister and that daft cat, perhaps we could have saved Madge’s mother instead.”

“Perhaps. But I doubt that, if what you say about her grief is true. What you did was incredibly brave and selfless, regardless of who you saved and who you could not save.”

“Incredibly stupid,” I contradict and finally look up at him to find a deep blue well of sadness staring down at me. He shakes his head slightly.

“The two are so often intertwined it is impossible to tell them apart. You risked your life for another and should not feel shame at the marks left on your body. It is nothing more than flesh. What is in your heart is far more important.”

That same organ speeds up at his words as his gaze shifts to my shoulder, the one covered in fabric. He tilts his head and smiles softly.

“This shoulder. The scars are on this shoulder, are they not? That is the reason for your unique gown design.”

“Yes,” I whisper as he releases my chin to trace the edge of the fabric. Heat burns through me to such a degree that I fear more scarring and yet do not want to turn back. He has revealed so much of his true nature from behind the safety of the mask tonight. It only seems fair I show him mine.

“May I?” he whispers and I nod once. He will see them eventually, after all. What difference does it make if it is tonight or our wedding night? There is a small part of me that braces for his disgust, despite his gentle words.

Slowly, he peels back the fabric, revealing my damaged skin. I shiver and take deep breaths that turn to soft gasps as his lips touch me. Soft. Warm. Gentle, and dare I say it? Loving. Sensations radiate through me, and my knees quake. He kisses over my scars, then back up to my neck. “I should stop.”

“No, please,” I gasp and let go his hand to grab hold of his sleeves. The world pitches and tilts as he kisses beneath my ear and groans.

“Katniss.”

I smile and shudder beneath his kisses. It is the first time he has spoken my name and I sound beautiful and cherished on his tongue. I can easily imagine a lifetime of hearing my name whispered thus in the night. He knows me now and it thrills me beyond measure as his hand slides up my bodice to cradle my face and his kisses trail over my jaw in a slow burn towards my lips, even as his other hand soothes the memory of burns and pain in gentle strokes over ravaged skin.

“I wish you had never had to feel such agony. Never been called upon to be so brave so young.”

I tilt my head as though on instinct, heart pounding as his clean scent fills my head and the warmth of his lips tempts me deeper into this tryst. And I need to know. I wish that I could do it. Wed and bed with no feeling. Keep my marriage to business and contracts. Practical and cold, but I cannot. I need to know there will be some comfort, some connection at least if not love. His hand squeezes my shoulder and his lips swerve over my cheek, back towards my ear where he almost nibbles, taunting me.

“Never allow anyone to lead you to believe that you…” his kisses return towards my mouth just to the corner as I pant and cling to him, wishing for something I cannot name, afraid of wanting it so deeply. “…are anything less than exquisite.”

He breathes the words between my parted lips and still does not kiss them. I smile and shake my head, his hold on me gentle enough to allow the motion with ease.

“Such pretty words, but do you mean them?”

“Their beauty lies in their truth.”

It takes great effort to open my eyes and look into his. I can only stand it for a second before I pitch upwards and kiss him on his red stained lips. For one second he turns rigid as a statue, his grip on my shoulder tight and almost painful now. What did he expect with all the words and touches we have already shared tonight? I thought he wanted this as well and retreat, immediately humiliated and shamed. Perhaps it was a terrible kiss. It is my first, after all. Perhaps like riding a horse, kissing is a skill that takes practice. Or perhaps he truly is scandalised by my boldness. Tears prick at me but his hold is iron and I cannot escape, though I admit my attempts are feeble.

“Forgive me,” he moans and then his hand slides into my hair, his arm wraps around me and his lips join with mine again, crushing my small sound of surprise between us. His lips caress over mine and the sound melts into a soft moan that echoes down to my toes. My arms wrap around his neck, my body pressed to his, seeking more of whatever this delicious feeling coursing through me is.

So then this is what they whisper about behind laundry tubs and changing screens. Silken whispers of desire and passion and fire. Kisses that brand and claim and leave you wanting for more. He is everything in this moment. Everything that I want and need and crave. Bodily temptation and sustenance for my starving soul. Rapture. I feel my spine arch, molding my body to his. His lips on mine, gently demanding an answer.

Yes! I want to scream. Yes! a thousand times over to the thundering of my heart in my breast.

Something wet traces my lips and I shiver in delight, hands grasping bunches of fabric when he lifts his head to whisper to me.

“Open your mouth. Please, my pearl, open your mouth and let me taste you.” My lips part on a deep breath, a little stunned at the tendril of desperation in his tone and the salacious suggestion. His thumb traces my lower lip, tugging it down for a second. “Exquisite.”

And then I’ve no room for thinking. His lips drink every breath or word I might exhale. His tongue learns the shape of my lips. He swallows my stunned desperate gasp and then his tongue is in my mouth, hot and giving and greedy all at once. Taking and demanding but somehow bestowing far more than he takes. My body sags against him, relieved and overwhelmed, made boneless at the feel of him exploring and tasting, at the invitation I feel in his kisses to reciprocate.

Let me taste you, he had said. I slide my hands into his hair and boldly swipe my tongue past his into his mouth. He grunts and then retreats, drawing me in deeper. Inviting me to take control. My head spins and I accept the invitation. Kissing him as deeply as he kissed me. His hot exhales burn from his nose over my cheeks and then…

He steps back, hands gripping my shoulders and holding me away from him. His breaths heavy in the fragrant night.

“No. We cannot.”

“Why not?” I ask, voice trembling as cracks open across my heart. Tonight, for the first time, I have felt close to and possibly as though I could love the man I am meant to marry. More so than any moment before this, and yet he wants to withdraw. “We are to be married soon, Robert, remember? Or did you not mean your proposal this morning? We will spend the rest of our lives together. Why is it wrong for me to wonder about this? To seek an answer?”

“What?” He shakes his head and releases me, stepping back out of my grasp, towards the shadows. Silence stretches between us as I watch his shoulders sag, as though defeated. “It is not wrong. Your curiosity and need for an answer is not wrong.” His voice trembles in a way I cannot identify. “Did you find your answer?”

“Yes. Did you?” I ask, reaching for my dress to pull the sleeve back in place. He reaches for me and then seems to think better of it, pulling his hand back as though burned.

“I did,” he says, although his voice cracks. He sounds miserable. “Katniss, please forgive me.”

That is the second time he has beseeched me thus. Before I can tell him that I do not understand why I need forgive him, he steps towards me and touching me with only his lips, kisses me one more time. Brief. Passionate. Desperate. And then over.

“Exquisite. The man who marries you is the most fortunate bastard in the world,” he whispers. “Never let him forget that.”

Then he disappears, leaving me burning and reeling and somehow giddy. One crazed laugh escapes my lips and I cover my mouth to contain it. To hold in the heat of his kisses for just a moment longer. I take another moment to secure my cowl, to set my dress and mask to rights, and then I march back into the mansion with a spring in my step. I catch one flash of blonde curls shimmering in the candle light as he departs the ball, bowing to the Duchess and saying something that makes her smile and laugh before he disappears into the night.

I hope that he will dream of me tonight and then scold myself for such fanciful thoughts. Ours is still a marriage of convenience. And yet, our time together, his kisses tonight suggest possibilities. Hope lifts me high into dreams of a future. Could I be so fortunate as to have stumbled my way into a love match?

I am still pondering it when I collapse in the carriage after the ball, keeping my face as stoic as possible while Effie prattles on with the gossip. Haymitch grunts at intervals, pretending to listen. Madge examines me from across the carriage and it takes all my efforts to not blush or burst into a fit of giggles under her examination, especially when I see that all three of my family members in the carriage wear red stains on their lips. I hold it together until we are changed for bed and the maids have left us alone. Then I cannot and when Madge arches one eyebrow at me, I collapse into bed and squeal into my pillow.

“Now you really have to explain yourself,” she says. I feel the weight of her joining me on the mattress and turn my head to smile, uncaring how ridiculous I look.

“He kissed me.”

“And?” she prompts when I say no more. A sigh escapes me unbidden and Madge smiles. “That good?”

“It was…exquisite,” I tell her and she shoves me.

“You little minx! Tell me more than that.” We talk late into the night, into the early morning hours as I share my secrets with her. She takes my hand in hers as we yawn and drift closer to sleep as the sun begins to peek over the horizon. “I am happy for you, Katniss. I wish you happiness and love together. Truly this venture turned out much better than I expected when we left Everdeen.”

“It truly has,” I say and squirm deeper into the covers for warmth. What will it be like to sleep beside my husband? I shall find out soon, although perhaps not soon enough. I think of the announcement no doubt waiting to be printed in the papers and of Father back home.

The thought dampens my good mood. I need to return. While I’ve been drinking punch, laughing over portraits, and kissing a man, my father suffers and my mother languishes. Such liberties I allowed him tonight! Here in my bed, shame overwhelms the joy I felt in his arms. I was not aware that one could kiss by caressing tongues until this evening and it seems such a brazen thing for me to have allowed him on our first kiss. Guilt follows, rising up inside me, swirling together with an unpleasant mixture of feelings in my breast. I have been selfish and now that I have accomplished what I set out to do, I must focus on my duties.

Perhaps Robert will agree to a hasty wedding and damn the gossips, or perhaps I should leave the wedding planning in Effie’s hands while I return home and see to some business as well as my family. Surely a long engagement cannot hurt.

I slip into slumber, resolved to speak to him about it tomorrow.

To be continued…

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #prompt 88 #m

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