#trying to reclaim a style i hit ONCE and never again

[permanent-inkblush]

[batsplat]

Jerez 2006

[It] was certainly within the four walls of that gym, between rep after rep on different muscle groups, that the 'LorenShow' was born. There was a time when only Rossi used to put on a show, but even that has become a rare event. 'Now he only does it on certain occasions,' says Jorge. 'The World Championship was losing a bit of sparkle. Other riders were trying things but they weren't funny, especially in 125cc. There was a time when Melandri tried to imitate Rossi but he never managed to make it as funny.' Jorge had been thinking for a long time about how he could offer his fans something extra after a win. A lot of people saw him as too serious, but he wanted to show that he cared about them, that he enjoyed what he did and that he was affable and good humoured, as well as imaginative. He needed an ingenious plan because he had a clear objective: to celebrate the World Championship title in style. 'We wanted to do it in style, go mad,' recalls Dani Palau. That seemed a long way off, back in the summer of 2006, but once the crises of Turkey, Shanghai and Le Mans were behind him the dream of beating Andrea Dovizioso was alive again.

Strictly speaking, the first episode of the 'LorenShow' was at the Spanish GP in 2006. It was his first victory in the 250cc class and Jorge got off his bike, took off his helmet and started shouting at the fans. 'It was pretty spectacular and it was the first time we used the word "LorenShow",' he recalls. 'Palau and I used to put together a ten-page magazine of our own after each Grand Prix and on the front cover of that particular edition we put a photo of my celebrations and the headline [in English] "Welcome to the LorenShow!" That was awesome, really different. I have always been creative and I fancied doing something special after I won, so I decided to give it a try!' The design of the magazine, by the way, was similar to GQ. 'Well, not similar exactly. We kind of copied it! We were worried about getting into trouble for copying it but I hope they don't hit us with a lawsuit now ... it was only for us!' he laughs.

March 2007

After his victory at Losail Jorge pretended to skip like a boxer, as he'd done for so many hours in the gym with Marcos. It was a spontaneous, intuitive celebration and an early turning point for his season. After such a morale-boosting performance during and after the race, why not celebrate all his victories from now on? 'In Qatar I did the skipping-rope thing but I never thought that in the future I'd be using props to celebrate my victories!' The preparation that went into each episode of 'LorenShow' was a simple but elaborate process. Generally the original idea would come from Jorge and, often with the help of his computer, Palau would fill in the details. It became something of a team effort at Motorsport48, where almost everybody began to join in the fun. Everybody except the boss: Dani Amatriain kept his distance. He didn't like or dislike the celebrations but he preferred to leave them to Jorge as a bit of innocent fun. Out of the blue came another idea, this time from Marcos. Once again, it was an idea born in the gym. 'You are a warrior. You have to reclaim the championship, right? But what kind of a conqueror doesn't have a flag?' Jorge's eyes began to twinkle. 'It has to be something really visual,' Jorge told Palau, taking on the idea. 'Imagine that in each race I stick a flag into the ground, as if I have conquered that land. Like Christopher Columbus when he arrived in America!' The design process was short, with Jorge's X-fuera logo the obvious choice, set on a black background - the colour used by pirates. And written in English, so that it would be understood all over the world, not just in Spain, would be those now famous words: 'Lorenzo's Land'.

The day of its first unfurling soon arrived. It was the Spanish Grand Prix at Jerez, known as 'The Cathedral' by local fans. Dani Palau headed for partisan territory - the section of track that features the 'Angel Nieto' and 'Peluqui' corners, where he would meet his friend if he won the race. 'I had goosebumps. You should have heard the noise from the crowd when Jorge stopped!' he recalls. There were 140,000 people packed into the grandstands at Jerez that day and they had been treated to an outstanding 250cc race: 'la carrera de los cuarenta y dos adelantamientos' ['the race with forty two overtakes']. Jorge Lorenzo savoured the moment. As he had done in 2006, he removed his helmet, got off his bike and punched the air to celebrate his second victory at Jerez. Then the flag appeared by his side. He took it and drove it deep into the gravel. Jerez had been conquered, the first circuit to be claimed as 'Lorenzo's Land'. A few weeks later he won again, in China, and again he planted the flag. However, unlike Jerez, this victory was his first in Shanghai. Nobody was going to stop him now.

"Now what's happening with Lorenzo? Oh, he's going to plant the flag, I think. Here we go! Or he's going to throw the flag. He's going to do something, but, eh... All the script we have in front of us, all the timings, goes out of the window when Lorenzo wins a 250cc race... so you can just, rustle up your papers, any scripts you've got, what's coming up next, disappears, because he delays everything. There we are. Plants the flag..."

Le Mans 2007

Lorenzo, who designs his own logos and comes up with fun things like the pirate flag he sticks in the sand at the circuit where he wins to "announce to everyone" that he has conquered "that land" , says that preparing for these celebrations is just another way of coping with the hard training he does and, above all, having the best time possible. "Looking for ideas for the parties I have at the circuits encourages me to win ," he said yesterday after his excellent victory over Dovizioso.

The Mallorcan, who did not hesitate to admit his mistake on a line and apologize to Dovi for the push he had given him ( "I'm very sorry, I went out too wide on a curve, I wanted to regain verticality too soon, get back on the right line and I crashed into him" ), yesterday came up with nothing better than to dress up his soulmate, Dani Palau, as Jorge Lorenzo, with whom he shares the entertainment of festive designs and games. Palau appeared on the lap of glory and tried to get his two-and-a-half-litre Aprilia and, as they had agreed, Lorenzo told him to go away, that the bike was his and that he was the owner of the winning machine. "We wanted to make a joke, implying that the double, which was him, Dani, represented the Lorenzo who had fallen on Friday and that the real one, that is, myself, was the one who had won the race."

Mugello 2007

Jorge was coming up with more ideas for celebrations than he could use, and that was probably a good thing because some of them would have got him into more trouble than they were worth. Like the one that involved him wearing an Andrea Dovizioso mask. 'We've still got the mask but Andrea would have had to do something really bad to me to warrant getting it out ... though he'd better ‘watch it!' smiles Jorge. Another one that failed to get past the ideas stage was for Valencia, the final race of 2007. Jorge had already claimed the title and, after being criticised all year for using the 'Lorenzo's Land' flag instead of the Spanish one, planned to go completely over the top, using not only the Spanish flag but dressing up' as a bullfighter. Maybe it was a good thing he only managed seventh. The celebrations he did get to use became ever more elaborate and meticulously planned. He would scour the circuit for the best comer, with the best camera angle and the best view for the fans. Jorge had decided that each celebration should have something to do with the country he was in, and in Italy a friend, Jordi Ohva, who worked for Dorna [the commercial and television rights holders for MotoGP] gave him an idea. 'In Italy they've nicknamed you "Spaniard". The commentator on Italian television has started calling you that.''"Spaniard"? Why?''Because you are like a gladiator and that's what they call the main character played by Russell Crowe in the movie Gladiator.' Maximus Decimus Meridius was a Roman general born in Merida, Spain. He lived in the second century and since this was the second year of domination by a Spaniard in the 250cc class then what better way for Lorenzo to celebrate victory in the Italian GP than by dressing up as his namesake? 'In fact, the idea of doing something historical came after watching 300 with Marcos,' explains Jorge, 'We watched the film again with Palau, the three of us talked about it and we decided we wanted to do something related to the Battle of Thermopylae. It was while we were looking for a King Leonidas suit that we came across a Gladiator outfit. That coincided with me finding out what [Italian television commentator] Guido Meda was calling me.' The wheels were quickly put in motion. like any good media relations manager, Pere Gurt sourced an exact replica of the costume worn by Russell Crowe in the film, which was owned by an agency in Madrid. It cost 600 euros a week to rent and the sword was extra. It was kept in a corner of the garage at Mugello, where Dani Palau devoutly guarded it from the inquisitive eyes of journalists who were already wondering what Lorenzo had up his sleeve if he won this one. On race day Palau headed for the comer where they'd agreed to meet if a miracle should happen. Jorge was starting from 20th on the grid, but he still had his sights set on victory. Everybody knows what happened next. On the big screens around the circuit, Palau watched his friend slide into the gravel after colliding with Bautista. He jumped onto his scooter and raced to fetch him, sword, breastplate, helmet, 'Lorenzo's Land' flag and all. The Italian fans spotted the props and, despite Jorge's popularity there, Dani could hear them laughing and shouting insults. The mediocre can be unforgiving when a winner falls from his perch. 'The preparations were perfect, but unfortunately the race wasn't!'

Catalunya 2007

You have to be very confident in your abilities to appear on the starting grid, having previously asked two friends to dress like you, to wait for you at a strategic point during the lap of honour and to take out some guitars so you can emulate your favourite band in front of 112,600 spectators. That was how Jorge Lorenzo celebrated his fifth victory of the season at Montmeló, giving a concert on the track and another one off it, microphone in hand, as a tribute to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and to make up for his fall at Mugello a week ago. This time, the Mallorcan needed two stunt doubles at his side for his performance, and those who dressed as him were Dani Palau, his webmaster and the same one he used at Le Mans, and Ricard Cardús, a CEV driver and Carlos' nephew.

Looking back on his performance, it could be said that the most critical moment was the start, when Thomas Luthi had taken the lead on the first corner. 'Por Fuera' did not back down, he lived up to his nickname and made an epic outside turn. That was the only thing that really cost him, or so it seemed from the sidelines, because he later said that it had been a difficult race. Maybe he said that because he still had in mind the blunder in Italy, that fall on the last corner when Álvaro Bautista overtook him. Whatever the reason, he was exultant and at the end of the podium ceremony he dared to take the speaker's microphone to address the public. "Did you enjoy the show?" he asked from the top of the podium. And he continued: "I know that some of you liked me and others didn't, but I don't care. You are Spanish like me and I love you! Thank you."

The trio completed a recce of Montmelo on Thursday and Friday and performed a rehearsal at the corner of choice, in front of the stadium section. I told them, "When we're playing here, I want you to jump around like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Go on YouTube, have a look at the videos and learn the dance moves," ' recalls Jorge. 'But the bastards ignored me!' For one magic moment Jorge, Dani and Ricky were no longer Lorenzo, Palau and Cardus. They weren't even three Lorenzos, dancing and singing like maniacs in front of 100,000 people. They were Anthony Kiedis, Flea and John Frusciante. Only Chad Smith was missing on drums, otherwise they would have been the real Chilis. 'I wanted there to be four of us, like the real Chilis, and I was going to ask Ricky's older brother Jordi to join in but there weren't any more leathers in my size. Also, getting a drum kit onto the track would have been a nightmare!'

Donington, Assen, Sachsenring 2007

After Catalunya came the British GP and before travelling there they went to dinner with a racing friend, Xavi Ledesma - the owner of the Fortuna Team hospitality unit and one of Jorge's closest friends in 2005, as well as being the organiser of the Copa Aprilia when he first started racing Xavi told them that the tradition in England was to drink tea in the afternoon. No sooner said than done. They went out and bought a tea tray, complete with teapot, cups and spoons. Palau planned to sit at a table at the Melbourne Loop, dressed as a waiter in a tuxedo and crash helmet. All Jorge had to do was turn up, rest his feet and have a drink. Oh, and win the race. Unfortunately, the final and most crucial part of the plan started to go wrong in the warm-up because, as is well known, rain is as traditional at Donington as tea. Despite the heavy downpour, Jorge produced a great performance - he was having the best wet race of his career. 'Shall I go out or not?' thought Dani halfway through the race. His buddy was running in second place behind Dovizioso. He had to have faith. 'If you have any doubt, something is bound to go wrong,' says Jorge. 'Whenever I have felt sure I would win I have won, but if there has been any kind of doubt I've lost, come second, or something has happened. That is what the brain is like.' And just as Palau made his mind up and went to load up the scooter with props, Jorge hit the deck. That was one cuppa that was hard to swallow. Jorge's next celebration was enjoyed by the Spanish fans, although it was on a Saturday rather than a Sunday. The Dutch are a bit different in everything, even their racing, and since 1949 the TT at Assen has always taken place on a Saturday. Jorge knew exactly what he was going to do if he won. He wanted to copy the thousands of locals by riding a pushbike. They rehearsed their routine at two or three different comers. 'This place is best. How far will you ride the bike? Will you be able to cycle in boots?' Every minute detail was taken care of. 'We'd practised in that area where Valentino sat when he won the MotoGP race, the bit that looks like a target. I was going to leave my Aprilia and the pushbike would be in the middle of the circle. We thought of it before Rossi!' Suddenly, he changed his mind. On his return to the pit garage he realised that there was a stage, all set up right next to the track, because just by the final chicane that leads into the start-finish straight there is a VIP terrace. It was the perfect place - and not only that, there was a television camera directly opposite.

'We could sit down and have a drink,' Jorge told Dani. The fact he'd missed out on his cup of tea at Donington a few days earlier still irked him, so it was all hands on deck. The owners of the terrace had to be consulted and asked for permission. Initially they weren't too keen because there are no fences there and it is easy for people to get out and access pit lane. For that reason, a huge deposit has to be paid to hire the area, which the circuit organisers retain if there are any problems. In the end they realised it was a Lorenzo celebration and they went along with it. This time Jorge backed up his plans with a dominant victory. However, having left his bike propped against the fence before climbing over the tyre wall and on to the terrace, he was swamped by punters taking photographs and the television cameras lost him in the melee. 'On top of that, the bar owner was a complete opportunist and he got a bunch of people to hold up an advertisement! It was a disaster.' Even though not much could be seen on the television, it was clear that Jorge's double had returned and that they'd gone to have a drink together. But why? Jorge was happy to provide the answer in pare ferme. 'After the crash at Donington, somebody [Dovizioso] had suggested I was getting nervous. So I sipped on a herbal tea.' Some time later Dani Palau insisted that the initial idea was to drink a glass of water but, as at Le Mans, Jorge was thinking on his feet and he was eager to hit back at Dovizioso. 'Sometimes that happens to me. I get really good ideas on the spur of the moment. Other times I really have to think things through for them to work out. But sometimes I get a flash of inspiration.'

Jorge finished fourth in Germany but there were no plans for a celebration even if he'd won. He was worried about the joke wearing thin. 'You have to keep people guessing. It is good to have an element of the unexpected. If we did it every time it wouldn't be funny any more. The truth is that I like things to be complete and maybe I would have continued the celebrations race after race but I let them convince me. It was good to have a break.' The summer holidays were approaching and they wanted to leave the fans gagging for more. To be fair, I have to say that I can't always put on a big celebration because I need helpers and Palau didn't come to every race. For the ones outside Europe we had a much smaller group.' There were no celebrations in the Czech Republic either, but this time for a different reason. Nobody at Motorsport48 was in the mood for a party. Dani Amatriain's assistant, Esther Serra, had just lost her brother, Marc. Jorge won but conducted a silent parade of his now obligatory 'Lorenzo's Land' flag in honour of the family. 'The problem with the celebrations is that it gets harder and harder to come up with something original, with meaning, that isn't just plain stupid,' says Jorge. 'Ideas are finite. We had something planned for Portugal but I'd prefer to keep it to myself - I might use it in the future. We also wanted to do something with animals but are they allowed on the track? We planned to get Datil, my mum's dog, a set of made-to-measure leathers but imagine if we brought him out and he had a shit on the track! That'd cause a scene!' Jorge fell about laughing as his imagination took over. 'It's a shame Marcos doesn't come to more races because we could dress him up as Shrek! Ha, ha!'

Misano 2007

From that moment on, Jorge defended his first place, riding alone and maintaining a calm margin over the second, who ended up being the Japanese Aoyama, after first catching his teammate Kallio, who fell next, and then Héctor Barberá, who added his third podium of the year. Lorenzo is now 50 points ahead and celebrated by doing a lap of honour dressed as a Roman gladiator. De Angelis is second after finishing a disappointing fifth in what was his Grand Prix.

Jorge toyed with the idea of wearing his new outfit [the gladiator costume he had been mocked for at Mugello] if he won at the GP of Catalunya but eventually decided that revenge is a dish best served cold and it was better to wait. The season would give him plenty of opportunities to settle the score and the Italian fans would have no choice but to bow down before him like a Roman general. Every great film has unforgettable lines that are often repeated by film buffs. This one from Gladiator suited Jorge down to the ground. My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius . . . commander of the armies of the north . . . general of the Felix Legions . . . loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius . . . father to a murdered son ... husband to a murdered wife ... and I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next. 'What a well-chosen phrase!' Lorenzo must have thought. Italy owed him one and he was going back to collect his dues. It wasn't to be in that first race on Italian soil, but he was determined to get his revenge in the second. He rented the outfit again, waving goodbye to another 600 euros, but this wasn't about the money. This was a question of honour. He didn't know the circuit, because there hadn't been a GP there since 1993, and although he had visited Misano once, when he'd signed for Derbi in 2002, he was only 15 then and not old enough to actually ride. None of that mattered now, because he went out and won. And on top of that, Dovizioso broke down. Jordi Perez and Cheni Martinez raced out onto the track to dress their man. They'd already discussed with Race Direction and the television directors where the best place would be for the celebration in terms of safety and maximum exposure. Jorge didn't want to take the outfit off - not when he stepped on to the podium, or when he sprayed the champagne. He even kept it on for the press conference. He clearly wanted to recoup his investment, but above all he wanted to enjoy the moment. He felt like the king of the world. ' "Now THAT was legendary," Guido Meda told me.' "

Sepang 2007

Dovizioso responded to remain in Lorenzo’s slipstream as the duo were caught by KTM team-mates Hiroshi Aoyama and Mika Kallio, plus Hector Barbera. The five battled until the penultimate lap when Dovizioso’s wafer-thin title hopes were ended as Mika Kallio took him out in an out-braking move. Hiroshi Aoyama inherited the lead and kept it to the flag from Barbera and Lorenzo. As Kallio remounted to finish fourth ahead of Tomas Luthi, Andrea Dovizioso remounted to cross the line eleventh. Meanwhile Jorge Lorenzo was celebrating keeping the 250cc world championship in a boxer’s gold-coloured gown and gloves, and picking up a fake championship belt in parc ferme.

Jorge won his second 250cc World Championship at the Malaysian Grand Prix with one race to spare, to top off an outstanding 2007 season. And what better way to celebrate in style than by looking way back to the very first race of the year in Qatar, when Jorge recovered the 'eye of the tiger'? His antics in 2007 had made him the leading contender for the title of paddock showman left vacant by Valentino Rossi in a season when the Italian had little to celebrate. It's clear by now that Jorge is up for a challenge and a second 250cc World Championship title was enough of an excuse for him to stake his claim, as the leading heavyweight in 'motorshowbusiness'. On this occasion it wasn't actually one of his own ideas, but he made it his own as soon as it left the lips of Marcos Hirsch. Having started the season training like Rocky Balboa and trying to recover the 'eye of the tiger', he took the title in Malaysia (coincidentally a country the famous Italian novelist Emilio Salgari referred to as the 'land of the tigers' ) and there was only one way to celebrate - as the new CHAMPION OF THE WOOOOOORLD! That box in the corner of the garage at Plulhp Island contained a story all of its own. Jorge and Marcos's initial idea was to set up a boxing match between the two of them, in which Jorge would knock Marcos out. The idea was that I had to beat a heavyweight. And boy is he heavy!' laughs Jorge. When I'd dressed as Jorge at Valencia the previous year, the message was that he had grown up,' explains Marcos. 'This time it was a case of demonstrating that he was capable of anything. Even knocking out somebody twice his height and weight, like me!' Another of Jorge's ideas was for Marcos to grow his hair like Don King, the world's most famous boxing promoter. In the end the celebration wasn't exactly as Jorge and Marcos had planned, partly because the Brazilian trainer was unable to make the trip to Malaysia.

The final idea came about after a conversation between Jorge and Marcos after which the 'celebration panel' of Jorge, Dani Palau and Pere Gurt set things in motion. They went on the Internet to download information about the Clint Eastwood film Million Dollar Baby and then researched other famous boxers like Mike Tyson, Evander Holyfield, Oscar De La Eioya and Julio Cesar Chavez. Once they had decided on a look they set about sourcing the outfit. Esther Serra was sent to a fabric shop in Barcelona, which is where they encountered their first setback. They didn't have any gold fabric for the hooded cloak - only black - and if that shop didn't have it, it was difficult to imagine anywhere else that would. But necessity is the mother of invention and somebody suddenly remembered that the covers used to unveil Jorge's Apiilia RSW250 at the start of the season had been gold. Problem solved! Now it was a case of putting the whole outfit together. They'd found a blue cloak in a Barcelona boxing shop, and picked up a gum shield at the same time. There were some fruitless trips to fancy dress shops. It was time to get the family involved... Pere Gurt called his mother, Rosa Casas, and her friend, Carme Armengol. After much protest, which fell on deaf ears, the pair reluctantly accepted the assignment and, as a result, MotoGP ended up with two more avid fans - to the point where they would get up at 5am to watch Jorge race in Australia.

A world championship belt needed to be found at the same time, so the team got in touch with the Spanish Boxing Federation (FEB), who recommended 'Charlie's', a specialist shop in Madrid. Bingo! Not only did they have a belt, they also had a pair of golden gloves. The only problem was that the belt featured the Dutch flag, but Esther wasted no time in having the red, white and blue colours replaced with a logo designed by Dani PalaWeb that read: 'Loren Show II'. In the end Jorge didn't use the gum shield, but there's a little story about that too. When Juan Llansa saw it he said there was no point: 'That is a shit gum shield. You need one made to measure!' Juanito knew what he was talking about - he'd not only seen plenty of riders use them over his 20 years in motorcycle racing, but also his daughter, Zaida Llansa, was the 2001 Kata [a form of martial arts] World Champion. As soon as he landed in Australia he looked on the Internet for a martial arts shop near Phillip Island. He bought the silicone, warmed it in boiling water and made Jorge bite it for a made-to-measure gum shield. Lorenzo still decided not to use it for the celebrations, but Juanito saved it just in case Jorge decided he needed one for MotoGP. 'He never wore one in 125cc and 250cc but I've saved it just in case he really needs to grit his teeth in MotoGP!' Llansa laughed. Everything was prepared as quickly as possible because there wasn't much time. Jorge quickly became impatient: 'Pere, how's the cloak coming along?' 'Don't worry about it.' 'If it's going to be shit just leave it and we'll think of something else.' 'Trust me. I don't doubt your work, so don't doubt mine.' It was almost time to leave and everything was ready. Cheni Martinez picked up the outfit and went to meet Jorge at the Hotel Barcelo-Sants gym in Barcelona for a dress rehearsal. He had to try everything on before leaving for Melbourne. In the car on the way to the airport Jorge received a call. It was Pere. 'How is it?' 'Pffff. It's not that bad.' Pere Gurt hung up with a smile. 'We've done it,' he thought.

The box remained unopened in Australia, of course, but in Malaysia the surprise was unleashed. The hardest-hitting World Champion in racing was about to be crowned and the character of Rocky Balboa represented the strength he'd displayed to overcome his own limitations and fears. Jorge Lorenzo had not only clinched his second world title, he'd proved to himself and to the world that he could do anything, as a rider and as a person. And then he and the clan treated the public to their most memorable celebration yet. His friends, headed by Juanito Llansa, waited for him with the boxer's outfit that Lorenzo wanted to wear to mirror his battling performances on the track that season — the cloak, gloves and belt of a World Champion, made out of gold fabric and with a logo on the back, hand sewn by Pere Gurt's mother and her neighbour. It simply read: Loren Show II. World Champion 2007. The 'Lorenzo's Land' flag had fluttered at seven different circuits during the year, but this time it was the Spanish flag that an emotional Lorenzo drove into Malaysian soil, in the final turn of the Sepang International Circuit. The whole act had been Jorge's tribute to 'the eye of the tiger', the winning attitude of Rocky Balboa that he'd adopted as his own. All the knock-out blows to his rivals during the season had given him just cause for celebration. Celebrations are often forgotten the following day, as soon as the outfits and props have been returned, but not this time. The World Championship gown and gloves will always remain part of Jorge's life.. 'One day I returned home to find that my mother had prepared a surprise. She had redecorated my bedroom and there it was, my gold outfit, hung on the wall, looking magical.' Some people think Jorge Lorenzo is simply copying Valentino Rossi, the originator of post-race victory celebrations, in order to enhance his own image. Others feel that perhaps he takes things too far, or they may view the Lorenzo antics rather more favourably. Jorge will continue to hope they're accepted for what they are: harmless, innocent fun but always with a moral to the 'story'. There's no doubt, though, that he will have something to say if other riders start copying him...

Jorge Lorenzo and 250cc celebrations

Lorenzo is authentic, reject imitations (2007); Shanghai race commentary (2007); A recital by Jorge Lorenzo to forget about Mugello (2007); Lorenzo 'Gladiator' conquers Misano and caresses the title (2007); Sepang MotoGP: Jorge Lorenzo is 2007 250cc GP champion, Hiroshi Aoyama wins race (2007); Jorge Lorenzo: My Story So Far (2010)

[much-obliged-timothy]

for the DMC Dante and Vergil fateswap AU:

"i'm not going anywhere, i promise."

I'm assuming this refers to this one-shot I did? If not, my bad (won't really impact the prompt either way, hopefully)! I also had to scrap this and start over 3 times because I could not for the life of me decide how I wanted to write this

*

Nero stared at the man before them, touching his fingers to his Devil Breaker. This was the man who had torn off his arm, stealing his father’s sword in the process. The man who had started this whole mess in Red Grave City. This man had nearly killed Nero and Vergil.

Nero was struggling to understand what had happened. There’d been the demon, Urizen, and that mysterious man who called himself D, and now there was just…

He looked between Vergil and this new man. His brain refused to grasp the truth as he took in their identical facial features. There was just no way. 

“Dante,” Vergil said quietly.

And then Vergil was rushing forward. Nero knew his father’s fighting style after how long they’d been working together; Vergil was still quick, but not nearly as quick as usual. He’d been injured in that first fight with Urizen, and this most recent fight had exhausted him, even if he’d seemingly won it.

The stranger - Dante - pulled a sword with surprising speed and slammed the hilt of it into Vergil’s gut with alarming force, sending Vergil flying back. 

Vergil slashed the air with his Yamato, the long-range slash hitting Dante and sending him sliding back a little. Vergil managed to catch himself as he landed, brandishing his sword for a battle. The separation from the blade between Nero and Urizen clearly hadn’t lessened Vergil’s skill with it any.

Dante laughed, a chilling sound. “This isn’t worth my time, Vergil. Heal. Get strong.” He pointed the tip of his sword at Vergil. “Then we can try this again.”

“Stay back, Nero!” Vergil ordered, rushing Dante again.

Their swords clashed, but Vergil was once more flung back by the power of Dante, who tore the Yamato from Vergil’s hands as he sent him flying. Vergil steadied himself once more, shifting to put himself between Dante and Nero despite being unarmed.

“If you want this back, you can come and take it,” Dante said, slicing the sword in the air and opening a portal.

Vergil looked like he might charge after Dante, but then glanced back at Nero and instead stayed where he was. Dante looked over his shoulder.

“Thank you, Nero,” he said, and stepped through the portal.

Vergil straightened, expression smoothed out but eyes cold and furious. He turned and began walking. Nero jogged to catch up to him.

“If that’s-” He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t acknowledge his own relation to the man. “If that’s your brother, what happened to D?”

“That pathetic, dying man is all that is left of Dante’s humanity. He has returned to himself,” Vergil said, not slowing his pace. “It is time for you to return to Fortuna, Nero. This has nothing to do with you.”

“Nothing to do with me?” Nero said in angry surprise. “Like hell! I lost my goddamn arm because of him! You lost the Yamato because of him! Twice!”

Vergil spun so fast that Nero nearly crashed into him. “This is not your fight anymore.”

“I’m not letting you do this alone,” Nero snapped. “He almost killed you.”

“I’ve defeated him before. I can handle this again. You will leave this to me,” Vergil said.

“Why, because I’m deadweight? You can shove that-” Nero started angrily.

“I will not ask you to murder your own uncle!” Vergil snarled. 

That stopped Nero. “But…you’ll be killing…”

“I know that. I will accept that.” Vergil finally backed off Nero. “I will do what I must. I will reclaim the Yamato, avenge what was done to you, and put an end to this nightmare. That is my responsibility and my burden, not yours. Return to Kyrie.”

He began to walk away again, but Nero caught his shoulder. “Dad! He’s powerful! What if you…”

He had never seen his father lose a fight before the battle against Urizen. Now that Dante was back at full power and possessed the Yamato, Nero couldn’t imagine how Vergil was supposed to defeat him.

“I thought you were dead last time,” Nero said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically pained and frightened. 

Vergil put a hand on Nero’s cheek, taking a good look at his son. Failure would be detrimental, but Dante was more powerful than ever, and Vergil couldn’t be certain he had what it took to defeat him. 

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” Vergil said. He so rarely made promises. They were sacred things, meant never to be broken. It meant he would have to overcome all the insurmountable odds and return to his son so he did not make a liar of himself. “I will take care of this, and then I will return to you.”

Nero couldn’t find words. Vergil pulled his hand away and turned, continuing on. Nero couldn’t get his legs to move to follow his father this time.

He just watched him go, heart aching. It was fucked up. Either Vergil died battling Dante, or he murdered his own twin brother and lived with the weight of that for the rest of his life. Either way, Nero knew the father walking away would not be the father that returned to him.

No. No, Nero wouldn’t let that happen. He would find a way to stop this. He had to. 

He was going to protect his family. Vergil was going to keep that promise whether he wanted to or not, because Nero wasn’t letting anyone else die this time.

His legs finally got moving, and he ran along, determined to put an end to this deadly sibling rivalry.

[goatpaste]

evil mane six you say... im listening👀

e! yeah this is like from a nearly 6+ year old AU of mine from when i originally into mlp and stuff 

lil cringe but i really wantd to update it because i liked some design/story concept from it

some of the basic world building for this AU was that the Crystal Empire never disappeared and went on to basically be the cantorlot of this universe, and ponies relied on a crystal based technology system and magic became less of a focus as crystal magic was something everyone could use.

Sombra is a good king of the empire, with a large happy family. Dear friends to the wizards of cantorlot, Celestia and Luna. Sombra also made of the elements of harmony in my AU but this is about these bad bitches

twilight in my AU was a unicorn who looked up to the wizards of Cantorlot and wished to train under their wings. she learned many powerful spells from them and the books of great unicorns.

however Twilight became obsessed after learning of the elements of harmony, an ancient relic that had gone into slumber years ago claiming it wouldnt return until it was needed. however twilight thought herself to be smarter and able to force it out of hiding so that Equestria could have a boost in magic believing it would further society to have another source of power.

Twilight had no idea what she was working with and began to work behind the backs of celestia and luna. Tuning into Lord Tireks ability to absorb magic she used it for herself to drawn out the magic of the elements. However she was rejected and the spell turned on her, turning her to a monstery figure would mind could only think of taking the elements powers.

Shining armor was there with her when it happened trying to stop her, but instead became apart of the magical rejection. Only his body was effected and he was forced to stand by and watch his sisters mind become corrupted. Now she is locked in tarturus with Shinning armor as the doors gaurds, hoping they can find a way to heal her. 

Rarity is much like her normal self, the only difference is she much more work focused and lives in the crystal empire. She was so goal oriented that she had no friends and simply went day to day working herself to the bone trying to make each dress better than the last. 

it drove her made when she began to believe her style was becoming repetitive and she simple would do anything to get out of her runt. so she left the empire and went out into the snow around the kingdom seeking out an old mine full of unique and beautiful stones. 

Little would she know she would come across a locked away evil that would take over her mind, feeding on her greed and want to be the best. she would act much as normal Sombra, taking over the crystal empire and demanding the most beautiful stones and jewelry and gowns of the people. it would be this event that would set the new elements into motion, king sombra and friends stopping rarity. (id like to thing her villian name could be oddity...)

when i originally designed these villian designs pinkie was defiantly meant to take over nightmare moons place. 

Pinkie pie’s family lives in the crystal empire, as crystal farmers. Pinkie pie herself would work at the castle as a party planner from planning the birthdays of sombras children, to grand galas to diplomatic brunches. She is close friends with Princess Ivory.

However when rarity took over Pinkie pie was held captive as a jester for rarity. some believe the close contact with a creature radiating darkness infected pinkie pie. because there was hardly any build up, just one day Pinkie pie seemed to snap. right in the middle of a party she went berserk and began to destroy everything. The royal court chose to let her off assuming she was sick or had a sugar crash, the list of what it could be was endless. Pinkie pie word return again to throw Princess Ivory’s party and nearly kill her. Pinkie pie would have no memory of what she did only to come concious and learn she was banished from the court and to ever see Ivory again. it broke Pinkie’s heart and it was a moment of weakness. her mind was clouded and she turned into a monster of a mare named ‘The Timeless Party’ and planned to party the whole planet to its core until it could party no more.

with the new found elements of harmony powers pinkie pie was saved, she hasnt returned to the castle but still gets note from Ivory despite refusing to see her out of fear of hurting her. 

Rainbow dash was a clouddale pony, she never left the city and happily worked at the weather factory and thinking of the day she would be a wonderbolt. Until the day she lost her wings, she could no longer fly like other pegasus and began to adjust to her new life. she moved to the ground and became a park ranger. she lived a happy simple life coming to enjoy the new experiences that came her way that she never thought she would thought she would enjoy.

Until a stroke of misfortune hit her, literally hit her. A bolt of lightning hit her and she swore she died, Until she  awoke and found she wasn't. instead she was covered in dark rolling clouds that she could manipulate and shape to her will. 

Rainbow dash found she could fly again and faster than ever before and with no fear of lightning or hail. the weather knelled to her. little did she know with the use of her power she brought on violent storms, floods and lightning made forest fires. Rainbow dash chose to stop her new powers until she could get them under control, but found this itch like a voice in the dark parts of her mind. telling her to let go and enjoy her powers, they were a gift after all.

it wasnt long until rainbow dash changed and seemed to no longer care about her damages. with this came the ancient unicorn, Starswirl the bearded. An old unicorn of old equestria would had frozen his aging to ensure his students could full take over for him one day. however star swirl was full of himself and could never see the bigger picture. He would freeze rainbow dash in ice and leave her in the cold mountains. 

with the story reaching tarturus shining could over hear twilight talking about starswirl and asking shining armor if he really thought rainbow dash was the villian and if starswirl choices were truly for the best. 

Fluttershy lives in ponyville outskirts but ponyville in this world is mostly underwater and a tourist town for the large spa/hotspring resort run by and supported by a colony of seaponies and sirens. 

Fluttershy barely patreons there except to quietly get a spa once a month. and leaves without a world.

she still works with animals but mostly runs a pet cemetery for animals that drowned in the local waters or potentially eaten by rouge sea creatures. Fluttershy sadly would die in her own cemetery having fallen and hit her head on a tombstone. 

however after not being found she would be reclaimed and returned to the living by the earth. believing she was given a second chance and was not one with the earth Fluttershy didn’t notice that it was darkness that brought her back.  Fluttershy didn’t question her need to send the world back to a state when animals thrived and ponies were scares.

(a villian name i had for her was Queen Pangea)

With the mostly underwater Ponyville in this AU applejack comes from a family of both seaponies and sirens. herself mostly taking after the siren side of the family. She comes from a farming family of seaweed farmers that contributes to the spa and Ponyville’s many economy source. 

Applejack’s colony would suffer a infection of darkness that effected a good chunk of the siren population including a bunch of applejacks family and herself. It started with it switching on and off were they would go into schooling frenzies and attack wildlife or other seaponies and sirens. Ponies began to speak bad of sirens believing them to be showing their true nature, which only pushed applejack over the edge. she would begin hunting the waters and destroying other seaponies livelihoods and the things the spa required, even running off guest.

Starswirl has plans to take care of the siren colony that has begun to terrorize ponyville, and shining armor questions if he really has the best choices in mind and wonders if the sirens are at all like his sister and need help. 

[midnighter13]

the world in mutable delight

Y'all I'm so full of feelings. So many of them. Anyway I've been shouting about Caleb using his Transmuter's Stone on Molly to anyone who will listen for actual years so now, please have more soft pre-widomauk feelings about it.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31672169

The process of recovery, Caleb knows, can be a strange one. Of course, there is hardly anyone stranger than the singular Mollymauk Tealeaf, to begin with. Between the circumstances of his deaths, his lives, and all the magic that brought him back to them, it is hardly a surprise that he needs some time to gather up all the patchwork pieces of himself again. Caleb has no doubt that he will reclaim everything he wishes to, in time; after all, he has never known anyone better at creating beauty from shattered glass. The massive stained-glass tribute within his tower is as close as Caleb could come to capturing the artistry with which Molly created his style and his life and his whole self, and seeing him in vivid, vibrant life again has reminded Caleb that even his best effort could never possibly do him justice.

It is best that way, though. Mollymauk Tealeaf should never be captured in something so still as glass, so static as paint. A whirling dervish of color and laughter and terrible ideas and sheer wonder needs a living canvas to flourish, and thanks to a miracle, he has that chance again.

 One day soon perhaps, Caleb would like to ask Molly about the decor of the tower. He is still fond of his best effort, the beauty that Molly’s memory lends to his library, but it needn’t be the same forever. It would be equally wonderful to listen to Mollymauk create something new, to see if Caleb can create with magic what Molly’s endless font of color and bullshit can imagine.

… Of course, that would require Caleb to overcome the way his mind goes blank every time he thinks about approaching Molly. There are so many things he wants to say, needs to say where Molly can hear him this time, but he doesn’t seem to have the language to express the maelstrom of emotions trapped inside his chest. There is so much happiness and relief and affection and amusement and delight and and and— 

And it is all stopped at the back of his throat by the sharp point of the memory that springs up every time, the fact that the manifestation of all of Caleb’s magic, all of his drive and talent and hope and hunger, failed when Molly needed him. Again. Nine months ago, on Glory Run Road, Caleb’s magic was not enough to keep him alive. And two days ago, in the crumbling city in the Astral Sea, Caleb’s magic was not enough to bring him back.

So. There are a few things he must grapple with himself, before he can indulge in everything he wants to say to Molly.

It has been fairly easy to hang back, so far. He has managed to distance himself enough from the celebrations to keep from spilling his heart across the ground at Mollymauk’s feet. Simply looking at him, vibrant and energetic again, is enough to sustain him—simply hearing his voice, the handful of words he speaks with endless inflections, is a feast when he has been starving. So Caleb stands a handful of feet away at all times, and watches the rest of his family hug and touch and reconnect until his eyes go dry.

The first night of their return to the Material Plane would have been no good, anyway. With how tired they all are, how nearly broken and still very bruised each and every body among them is, it is not the time to show Molly around the whole tower. There will be time for that later, always time for that later, to his greatest elation—later, he will take Molly by the hand and show him everything that he built, every piece of his heart that he conjures to house his friends, his family. He will show him that no matter the time that passed, he kept Molly safe in his mind and gave him a place here, always waiting for him to come home. 

But that will have to wait until Caleb’s hands no longer shake with the phantom weight of his Transmuter’s Stone; and besides, he would have to wait anyway until Molly and Yasha willingly part from each other, and those two certainly have shown no signs of budging from each other’s sides, not through the exhausted pile the (whole, finally whole) Mighty Nein slept in that first night, nor at meals with the welcoming Clay family the next day, nor the hours full of odd conversation and new acquainting and re-familiarizing that followed. There has been plenty to occupy Molly upon his return, more than enough to let Caleb sit outside of arm’s reach and drink in everyone else’s stories, and pretend that his heart has not leapt every time Molly’s bright, lively eyes have turned to him and lingered in return.

Now, basking in the afternoon sun on the second bright day since their family saved the world and was made whole, Caleb knows that he should be taking more action to recover his arcane stores. But each time he tells himself that he will get up and look for a suitable stone, his throat becomes tight again. He makes excuses to Essek, to Veth, when they ask: they are safe here in the Grove so he does not need the protection it grants him; they are among a family that seems very partial to glowing crystals as light sources, so he is in no rush to regain the darkvision he lost with the Eyes; why bother to make himself quicker to move, when they are all enjoying a well-earned rest? Neither of them question him further on it, though there is deep understanding in Essek’s eyes and a shrewd worry in Veth’s. They let him lie back and look up at the endlessly-shifting canopy of green, and try to reorganize his thoughts in peace.

Someone, however, does not abide by that peace. Only a half-hour into his meditation, and having made very little progress in unsnarling his tangled heart, Caleb hears the soft sound of bare feet on moss approach, and stop beside him. When he turns his head, there, of course, is Mollymauk.

“Magician,” Molly says firmly, and plunks himself down on the ground beside Caleb’s head. He settles in, wiggling his toes in the moss. One foot has nails freshly painted in bright teall, the other in charming pink. Both colors, of course, suit him perfectly. Then he says, “Mister Caleb,” with a widening grin, and Caleb’s breath catches once more in his throat.

“Hallo, Mister Mollymauk,” he says in return, the smallest greeting that settles sweetly on his tongue. He pushes himself upright, and turns to face Molly in kind. “Your words are returning to you, it seems.”

“Some,” Molly says, and the word that is not empty is accompanied by a decisive little nod. It takes effort, it seems, but Mollymauk has always been an obstinate individual. Regaining all his words may be like trying to pick up pieces of confetti one at a time, but if Mollymauk wants them back he will have the time to do so now. And hopefully, his friends can continue to help.

“That is very good to hear,” Caleb replies, and he cannot stop the smile that spreads across his face at Molly’s pleased expression.

“Magician,” Molly repeats, and holds out a closed fist between them. Caleb hesitates, unsure if this is a greeting or a request—then Molly shakes his hand a little, impatiently, and Caleb obligingly holds out his own open palm beneath it. Mollymauk’s tail swishes in broad strokes behind him, and he opens his hand to drop something into Caleb’s palm.

A blue-grey stone the size of a hen’s egg hits his palm with a soft sound. There is no ring around this one like his first, but when it catches the light it sparkles with countless tiny deposits of mica, glittering like stars. Caleb blinks at it, then up at Mollymauk. “Ah… thank you?”

“Magician,” Molly insists; then, after a pause, “lucky,” accompanied by that little flicker of his fingers that he used many times before, whenever he mentioned how little he understood about magic or asked Caleb if he could cast a spell. And perhaps it is not elegant, no kind of official communication that even a Comprehend Language could parse, but Caleb understands him perfectly, and his throat stings as though he might cry.

“Oh,” he says, and stares down at the stone in his hand. “Th-thank you, Molly. How did you know…?”

“Joy—” Molly clears his throat, a quick little cough and a wrinkle of his nose that spells frustration with his voice. “Jester,” he says carefully, clearly, “told me. What—hmm. Happened. Empty—”

He takes a deep breath, seems to gather his thoughts. He reaches out and closes Caleb’s fingers around the rock in his palm. “Empty,” he says again, softer now. Then he says, “Caleb,” and brings his hand up and presses his lips to Caleb’s fingers.

Caleb’s heart is nearly tripping with how quickly it hums. His ears are hot, and he knows that the afternoon sun cannot be to blame in the pleasant shade of the Grove. “Molly,” he says, helplessly. “Molly, I—I’m sor—”

Molly’s tail smacks gently into his knee. His eyes narrow as he looks up at Caleb, somewhere between playful and warning. Caleb swallows hard. He takes in the sight of Mollymauk’s face before him, and memorizes the new weight of the stone in his hand.

“Ja, okay,” he manages. “I can use this, Molly. Thank you.”

“Ja, ja,” Molly says, grinning wide and cheeky once again, and the laugh that bursts from Caleb feels like lightness, like relief, like forgiveness.

Molly is still smiling at him, his tail tapping softly against the moss. He releases Caleb’s hand from his grasp, the stone safely inside. Then he puts one hand up and crooks his finger at Caleb, in a universal gesture of come here.

Obligingly, Caleb leans forward, narrowing the space between them and trying very hard not to blush all the way to the roots of his hair. Molly puts his hand on the side of Caleb’s face—warm, his touch is so warm and firm and real again. It’s almost enough to distract him, enough that it takes him by surprise when Molly leans forward and kisses him firmly on the forehead. Then he lingers there, and Caleb lets his eyes close just for the moment as he memorizes the feeling of being here, with Mollymauk Tealeaf, safe and happy once more.

When Molly sits back, he folds his hands in his lap, contentment written so plainly across his face that he hardly needs the words to say it. Caleb thinks of five things he could say, a dozen, a hundred possibilities like fragments of fate. But Molly only has so many words to give, and it is better, for right now, that Caleb can speak his language in return.

He holds up his free hand and crooks his finger at Mollymauk in the same gesture of come here. Molly’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and his tail patters rapidly against his shin—but he leans forward, a smile lurking at the corners of his lips, just enough to show the dimples in his cheeks and the light dancing in his eyes. Caleb puts his hand to Molly’s cheek, and gives in to the temptation to run his thumb gently along the vibrant peacock feather there. Molly’s smile grows wide, showing teeth and crinkling the corners of his eyes, as Caleb leans forward and presses his lips gently to Molly’s forehead. He holds him there for a long moment, savoring the warmth of his skin and the once-again inescapable whiff of sandalwood and incense.

Words are few and far between, right now, but words are not the only thing they need. For now there is touch, and there is warmth, and there is magic, and there is Molly. And for anything else, there will be time for that later. 

[catbountry]

Glancing over some of my older essays on politics, I’m kind of struck how, despite them not being written that long ago, I feel like I come across as a dumbass, or at least like somebody who thinks they’re much smarter than they actually are. And it’s weird, because most of my views are roughly the same; rather, it’s that I feel the way that they’re articulated comes across as too... I don’t know, smarmy? Smug, maybe? Lacking nuance. Blunt. Like I’m talking down to people. Obviously, this was never my intention, but it’s weird how something that was written while in my early 30′s somehow makes me wince a little... as I rapidly approach being smack-dab in the middle of my 30′s. God, I’ve been in my 30′s for almost 5 whole years now, fuck, where does the time go?

I think being able to come out of the other side of the Trump presidency in one piece has kind of helped add some much-needed perspective, at least for myself. I think the hypothesis that a lot of people who voted for Trump were desperate for some kind of change was proven correct when he failed to be re-elected due to his bungling of COVID, which, funnily (or not) enough, he almost could have looked like he was doing the right thing when he initially wanted to close the U.S. borders... except he’d been trying to restrict travel and close borders so often that of course nobody took such a suggestion seriously. And even if they had? Rich people still would have brought it over, because as we all know, rich people can just get away with all kinds of shit. Of course, once it actually hit, Trump really couldn’t handle the idea of looking weak at all, so instead, it was downplayed, joked about, not taken seriously, even though he’d been briefed that it was going to be really, really bad. And when he got it, and in private thought he was going to die? Well, once he beat it, of course he had to say it wasn’t so bad... even though it killed almost a thousand times more people than the 9/11 terrorist attacks. Most of them were seniors. I think that, as well as a general fatigue and disappointment over the lack of swamp-draining from those who weren’t fanatical devotees, probably sealed his fate. I admit, I wasn’t very sure Biden really had much of a chance for a long time... until COVID happened. But hey, at least we got our stimmy from Trump, right lads?

I’m still fully convinced that Trump never intended to win, and that his run was done purely for ego and financial gain, but his ability to effortlessly bait the media, as well as his unexpected exposing of the sham we all knew presidential elections to be, wound up rocketing him to success. Trump will no doubt go down as one of the most successful conmen in American history, one so slick he wound up conning his way all the way into the White House. The whole thing was like if The Producers was a presidential campaign, fascism included. Granted, I don’t think Trump was ever a true fascist; I think he wanted to be a dictator, but the actual job of being President was a drag. The cult of personality he accrued, however, was the biggest source of narcissistic supply that he’d ever experienced in his entire life. Hell, just being the literal President, the most important person in the entire fucking world, is a hell of a high that I don’t think he’ll ever really be able to reclaim. Trump’s going to be chasing that dragon for the rest of his life. Having “President” in front of your name is a lot nicer than actually, you know, having to be the President. I mean, look at how quickly Obama went gray. A lot of people are convinced Trump will run again in 2024, and I don’t doubt it, but unless something happens that completely throws us for a loop, I don’t see him being able to recreate the, er, “magic” of 2016. Everyone getting to see that, not only was his fanbase capable of having embarrassing public meltdowns just like the le epic triggered snowflake lib Hilary supporters, but that their meltdowns were even more embarrassing, and that they all looked like a bunch of fucking English soccer hooligans during the Capitol siege... well, I think that’s going to put off the swing voters, as well as the moderate Republicans.

Also, that Twitter knock-off founded by Trump’s aide, Gettr, being flooded by gay furries posting Sonic the Hedgehog foot porn? Feels like classic 4chan-style raiding. I approve. It almost feels like we’re healing, even if it’s just a little bit.

But what the fuck did we even learn from all this? What did I learn from this?

I don’t know. It feels like over the time I’ve been on Tumblr, what was once SJW became woke, and being woke has become very normal; so normal, in fact, that fucking massive corporations that use slave labor overseas will change their Twitter icons to rainbow every June because The Gays have become a safe, marketable demographic. On one hand, it’s nice to know that, at least in what I guess is considered the western world, LGBT people are more accepted now than they ever have been. On the other... god, it feels so cynical, doesn’t it? This is all very stream of consciousness, here. I don’t write very much on here since, surprise surprise, Tumblr’s been kind of dead since the porn ban. I still see people post, but it used to be that I couldn’t refresh my dash without seeing dozens of new posts. Now it feels like I refresh my dash and I’d be lucky to see a new post there an hour later. This is why I’m on Discord more. It feels like I have more productive conversations than I ever could on Tumblr or Twitter. Twitter is just... god. It’s like all the worst parts of Tumblr without the parts that made it fun aside from a few memes.

Sorry, I got off track there. The point I was going to make before is that, while I am still very firmly anti-censorship, I’ve managed to put myself in a position where it no longer feels like the stakes are so high. I can relax. I don’t have to feel like I’m on the defense the whole time as somebody grills me over some slip-up. I don’t use Twitter that much. When I do post something in response to somebody, I feel like I instantly regret it. I posted in response to some dumbass spreading a rumor that 4chan’s favorite Simpson’s meme about Sneed’s Feed and Seed is secretly ableist, and I got a response from some dude with an Umaru-chan avatar telling me how he’s proudly racist because he and his friends call each other slurs? Like bro, you’re posting cringe, you’re going to lose subscriber-

I don’t know what I’ve learned yet. Maybe that social media sucks and that chatrooms with friends are the superior way to communicate online. I tried out Telnet recently to go into some random IRC, that was neat. It just feels nice to not have to get into a fucking argument every fucking day over shit that doesn’t matter as much as people thinks it does, to not have to hear about every fucking time the President sneezes or farts. It’s not that there’s no longer anything to worry about; there is. I’d really like to see fellow lefties go after the handful of massive corporations that control the majority of the online experience, who censor not just all the racist white dude grifters in suits who all look suspiciously similar to one another, but us as well. I want to see us raise a bigger stink about the web being santized, sterlized, and gentrified to be friendlier to corporations who only want your precious data and eyeballs. Maybe without the constant distraction of Bad Orange Man, we could make that happen. Maybe.

Or maybe fucking Dream will breathe again and all the fucking children will piss their pants and clog up Twitter, fuck these kids, get off my internet, GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

[verdantsyren]

Catra’s hair throughout She Ra and how it was not given the treatment it deserved: an essay

This is a more in depth analysis of Catra’s hair throughout She Ra, inspired by this post here and the replies on it. I highly recommend reading the replies, as they have excellent information about the horrible effects of imposed hair cutting on different cultures.

I do think that Prime cutting Catra’s hair could’ve been a really powerful statement on trauma and removed anatomy if they had properly explored it more. Hair is such a powerful way to convey the personality or emotions of another person, and should absolutely be utilized in this kind of storytelling, but you have to utilize it correctly. 

For example, I think Catra removing her ear tufts because that’s how Shadow Weaver manipulates her is a really good way to show her emotional state; Catra starts losing pieces of herself and sometimes even removing said pieces of herself to try and protect herself.

However, She Ra has a problem in how they do this: They don’t show or really mention it in the show, at all.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but do they actually mention Catra cutting her hair tufts at all? They certainly don’t show it. Hell, I don’t remember any other characters really mentioning it.

Can you imagine how powerful it would’ve been to see Catra, so sick of abuse and manipulation, cut off her ear tufts at the sink or on top of her perch in the Fright Zone? Watch the hair sit on the floor or float away in the wind, Catra steel her face and smooth down her hair. We could’ve watched her leave those vulnerabilities in the bathroom, or climb down from her perch with a new steel in her gaze. There didn’t have to be dialogue about Shadow Weaver or anything, just Catra and her hair. It could’ve added more to her character.

Or they could’ve had Adora notice. You know, Catra’s best friend through childhood/enemy who would most definitely notice a change like that? They could’ve had Adora in some way mention them being gone, and you just see this brief change in Catra’s expression, or a slip up, or something that gives away what getting rid of the tufts meant to her. 

These could’ve been so powerful. But instead it isn’t even addressed, only really explained outside of the show.

I do think that in Season 4, they do a good job of showing Catra trying to control her hair. She smooths it down whenever she gets frustrated or upset, or is in some way trying to control herself. It’s a developed anxious motion, something people with anxiety often have. I personally used to fiddle with my hair often, a nervous tick I developed as a child. I think it helps highlight how much she desperately craves control of herself, and her hair seems to be the only way she really can try.

Then Season 5 hits. And I honestly hate the fact that they don’t address Catra’s short hair. Prime cutting Catra’s hair is huge, because it removes the one thing throughout the show that she undoubtedly controlled. Beforehand, Catra cutting her hair was a sign of her trying to shed her past abuse. But with Prime, him cutting her hair is abuse. Him cutting her hair shows that she is without any anatomy while on Prime’s Ship. But again, the problem here is that they don’t address it on the show, and it’s really frustrating because there is so much they could’ve done with this. It could’ve set Catra’s redemption story apart because OP is correct, she did not get the choice.

Again, imagine a scene with Catra where she wakes up on the BFS’s ship. She starts panicking, but reaches up to smooth down her hair like she did literally ALL OF SEASON 4, but it stops once she gets to her neck. Imagine her scrambling for a mirror/reflective surface to see what she looks like, and the broken face when she realizes that the one thing she used to control is gone. Maybe have the faint whisper of Horde Prime in the background, or the ghost of scissors clipping together. A haunting wisp of memory.

Imagine after that, maybe Adora or Bow mention her hair, and Catra freaks out. Glimmer goes and finds Catra later messing with her hair, freaking out because she’s never had hair like this before and it wasn’t her choice and she never gets to choose--

But Glimmer is there, and Glimmer’s had short hair for years. And Glimmer tells Catra that she’ll help her style it the way she wants, because she understands what it’s like to lose control to Horde Prime. They then show Catra deciding to cut it shorter with Glimmer’s help. Not only does it show her trying to have some agency over herself in this dire situation, but it shows her and Glimmer once again connecting over shared trauma and experiences. And maybe even after they fix up her hair, Catra is still allowed to mourn; she still reaches for the hair that isn’t there, or she starts looking for different ways to style it with Glimmer’s help. Maybe a few comments about her being excited to grow it out again.

Something like that could’ve been so good! I think that, acknowledging Catra’s emotions and actions when she changes herself, would’ve made her redemption so much better. Because here’s the main issue with Catra cutting her hair: in the show, it doesn’t add anything to her redemption. 

For example, when Korra cuts her hair in Legend of Korra, that is her choice. She is the one making the change. It shows that she is the one working on herself, recovering from her trauma. Obviously Korra isn’t really going through a redemption arc like Catra, but they are still both going through significant changes after traumatic events. 

However, in Catra’s case, what would’ve changed if Prime had left her hair the same? Nothing. Nobody mentioned it in the first place, it didn’t seem to affect Catra at all. He could’ve put her hair in a ponytail and still achieved the same end. 

That’s what, at least to me, is really frustrating about Catra’s hair change in season 5 from a storyteller’s standpoint; in the show and to the characters, it doesn’t really add anything to her redemption. Whereas with the changes I stated above, it could’ve been a point of her trying to reclaim her anatomy, connecting with those around her, and a whole other load of things better writers than I could come up with. And this would’ve only been strengthened by better highlighting the changes she made to her hair in earlier seasons!

And finally, in the original post I linked up top, the replies talked a lot about how hair is so important to other cultures, and Prime cutting Catra’s hair without consent to make her fit in with his clones is incredibly similar to how white colonizers cut native people’s hair to force them to assimilate into white culture. She Ra could’ve been a commentary on how absolutely horrible and harmful this sort of practice is by showing how negatively it affects Catra. But it didn’t do any of that. It could’ve given Catra a new avenue of agency, but it didn’t. She Ra could’ve done so much more for this part of her redemption arc, and they could’ve started a discussion on the terrors of assimilation in colonization, but they didn’t.

Like I said up top, I highly recommend reading those replies on the original post to learn more and educate yourself about this topic. Thank you to anyone who read this, and I’m sorry it’s such a chunk of text. Once I saw the original post, I just couldn’t think about anything else til I wrote this beast of a text post.

[notfeelingthyaster]

Imagine (Son of Hades! Percy; Godswapped! Big Three's kids) (8/8) or (13/13)

Blood of Olympus pt.2 - The War

Hello! If you're here, it means you probably already know - but check the masterpost for both warnings and the other twelve parts.

I want to thank everyone who followed this fanfic? Imagine? AU? for the month it took us to get here. Tell me what you thought about it, if there's anything you are anxious to see in the epilogue - yes, we'll have an epilogue!

If you like my writing, you might be happy to know that I'm starting another AU - same style, no patience for prose - this time, a daughter of Zeus! Percy. Don't worry - it bares almost no similarities to this, and part 1 will be out before the epilogue, so stay tuned. For now, good reading :))

Maybe it was the death of Malcolm, but after that night, there was something different about the crew of the Argo II. Their journey to Gaea changed them.

Will notifies them as soon as morning rises, leaving Annabeth secluded in her room and Perseus to whatever was happening upstairs - they are told not to interfere.

No one knows exactly what happened on the deck between Perseus and whoever dared to attack them - there is nothing there but sea salt and dried ichor when Frank goes to take his shift.

The screams will haunt him for the rest of his life - they pleaded for mercy, but after this journey, no one in here is a merciful person.

There's an aura - an aura Frank recognizes well, for it clogged around Hazel in her first days in Nova Roma. An aura of death. Perseus is looking at the sunrise, cleaning his gold-stained ax.

He looks happy - for the first time since Tartarus, he is humming a melody to some song that Frank is pretty sure is from Disney. Percy grins at Frank.

"Hey, man."

Frank doesn't ask. He trusts Perseus - Perseus took a whip to the back, side by side with him. Perseus fell on Tartarus for his best friend. Perseus would give his life for any of them. The son of Mars Ultor is sure he did what he had to do.

It still spooks him a little when Perseus leaves, whistling what he now recognizes as Fathoms Bellow.

They're journeying to Delos - for more half a day - and then, finally, to Athens. Frank wonders if the monsters are too afraid of them - or if Gaea just told them to stop attacking.

The fact is that, for several hours, no monster touches them again. Might be the death air encapsulating the ship's bow. Might just be their reputation.

With nothing to do, Frank watches as the sun rises and his friends starting to walk around.

Leo has no fixed hours - so he might be either awakening or going to sleep. He crosses through Frank in his post and rambles for a second - the Legionis thinks it's cute.

Leo crosses Hazel - she never wakes past eight unless she had a night shift - who is probably going to breakfast. They exchange a kiss, and Frank's heart aches.

Hazel stops to talk with Jason - the last one awake, since Perseus and Will are probably sleeping, Annabeth still hasn't left her room, and Nico and Piper went to their room after the morning announcements - probably to grief.

The blonde is uncharacteristically serious for such an early hour, but with recent news, it's expected. Frank goes back to look at the sea - and wonder if any of them will ever be free of this.

The two of them retract to the war room - to plan the attack on Gaea. They are at a serious disadvantage. It might be better for them to ride back to Long Island and try to unit the camps and plan a war - just like they did with Kronos/Mount Otris.

It's very improbable that Gaea will give the same considerations to put Manhattan to sleep. Kronos wanted power - not to destroy humanity. Gaea is a nesting mother who lost her kids - she wants chaos.

But with all giants here - wouldn't be easier to do this here? Even if they have no support whatsoever? If they tailed back to Long Island, would the giants run rampant through Europe?

They wait until after lunch - when everyone is more or less up - to congregate and vote.

"There are seventeen giants - one for each Olympian plus Trivia, Proserpina, and the Fates, except for Dyonisus who has two and the twins who share two - and nine of us."

"Fifteen" Retorts Percy from his place opposite to Jason "I killed Aristaeus - the bane of Proserpina - yesterday. And the bane of Ares... Damasen... he was a good giant. He didn't reform."

Jason doesn't argue - Perseus was the one on Tartarus - even though he wants to ask who helped him kill the giant - and if he killed them afterward.

Fifteen is still a staggering number of giants. They have no chance alone - so after Delos, they solve to make their last stand on Camp Half-Blood.

Will, Perseus, and Jason are the ones to go down to the small island. Finding Apollo is exceptionally easy: it's just a matter of following the sound of the lyre.

He laughs at their request - full-blown laugh. Jason wants to punch him - the world is ending.

"There's no need for flowers. You already have the Physician's Cure. This is a name my son gave to his union to Zagreus - life and death."

Jason wants to scream. He wants to kill Nike - who is in her island, chilling after sending them in a goose chase. But Perseus and Will are already miles ahead of him - whatever happened last night unlocked something in him, even if the gloves never left.

"You'll come to Long Island. You'll fight - for as long as needed - against Orion and Gration." It's Will - defying his own father. Jason doesn't know if he has the courage.

"Promise - on your immortality, because I don't trust the Styx."

"I could still evaporate you"

"You won't. You need us too much."

Apollo promises - maybe because he sees everything and knows more than Jason about whatever will happen, maybe because that ax still bears gold in it - and exchanges some words with Will that neither of them hear as they walk back on board to tell the news.

Will and Percy disappear into a room - it makes something stir in Jason's stomach, as he remembers that he no longer knows this Perseus, but the one he knows, he loves.

Will and Perseus talk for hours - before being invaded by Leo - only to keep talking until the next morning.

"Change course to Athens. We have the Physician's Cure. Gaea will rampage through Europe. Hercules is on her side. There's no way we can go back now."

They agree - there's no crossing Hercules little island again.

An IM from Reyna cements their decision. A group of demigods serving Gaea - including the Censor that unjustly tried Hazel and was exiled - tried ambushing she and her sister - but the Amazons and the Hunters won against them. Thalia is alive - and she drove an arrow through Gwen's eye, the traitor in Nova Roma.

The Hunters called the Pegasi - and they all set course to Athens - while Reyna followed the statue who set course by the sea. Pegasus himself is going to Athens - he fought once against the Giants, he would do again.

They reach Athens in a little more than five hours. It's the last day of their time - and they are ambushed as soon as they cross the Parthenon.

They fight well - Gaea wants Perseus and Piper, so they rally around them.

Perseus is a fighting beast himself, but he is overwhelmed by the sheer number of monsters and unable to help others. He kills the Minotaur once again - the armies of monsters are almost endless - is the battle of Manhattan all over again.

Piper strikes against the three gorgons - Medusa can't petrify anyone without petrifying her own allies - and keeps the head as a prize.

Nico is in the sky - he looks like part of the storm. The flying monsters rally around him, but Nico doesn't disappoint - his sword cuts through them like butter.

In the end, the nine annihilate the whole army - Gaea has just her giants now.

But in the fray, two griffins escape - carrying with them Jason and Hazel. Now they have no option but to follow.

Perseus almost hits his head on the wall. Why was he so dumb? Gaea was playing them. Gender had nothing to do with the sacrifice - it's just one of the sea, one of the earth. And Hazel, as much as she is a daughter of the sky, her powers exist on earth.

He could deal with the bounty hunt on him. Even on Piper - just a person to protect - but not on two. He was not expecting this. Perseus thinks Gaea must be laughing right now.

He feels guilt creep on him. That was his plan, and now two of his best friends are gone in the sky. Leo looks even worse than him - he is weeping as if the two demigods are already dead. They probably are.

Annabeth takes the reins - and they fly to the Acropolis quicker than ever. The ship slams against the ground - it probably needs repairs. But they are here.

Jason doesn't remember feeling that much pain. He wakes up, chained in a sacrificial altar, Hazel just behind him. Their powers don't answer - the chains are as dark as Perseus' ax: stygian iron. In front of them, Porphyrion and Polybotes laugh.

"We'll be glad to offer your fathers your severed heads"

He wishes to talk back - but his mouth doesn't work. It's Clytius taking his voice away, right behind them - holding a scyther that is not unfamiliar. Is the same scyther that took Uranus manhood - the same one that cut him to pieces and reduced him to the sky.

"We take an arm from the daughter of the earth, blood and flesh, so that her connection with the ground is given to our Mother, so she is able to reclaim her dominion."

There's blood everywhere. Hazel's left arm is twitching on the floor, and she lets out an ear-splitting scream, before passing out.

"We take the ability from reproduce from the son of the sea, blood and flesh, so that his fertility will be given to our Mother, so she is able to reproduce again, the ability his father took from her."

Jason feels like the world is spinning. They will... they... they want to castrate him. He sees Hazel's blood staining the marble and the floor, running through his skin, and he wants to vomit - but something is preventing him from doing so.

Hazel is paling fast - she'll be dead in thirty minutes if they don't stop the bleeding. But he can't move. He can't help. A scream strangles in his throat.

If Hazel's voice was able to cut through Clytius magic, would his powers too? If he focused enough if he stretched himself enough.

Jason forces himself to stop thinking about the chanting, and focus. He imagines Nico - with no family, losing Hazel. Or Frank and Leo. Or Perseus. He pushes and pushes.

He doesn't find a source of water - but he feels her blood. He can stop it from coming out - just for a second, just for a minute, just until they rescue them.

They are going to rescue them. They are - none of them are dying today. They have to survive this war.

Jason focuses his thoughts on good things. After this, he is going to go to college. He is going to spend time with his sister. He'll work on greek-roman relations. He'll ask the male Praetor on a date. He'll punch Octavian. Everything will be just fine.

The scyther is just over Clytius head, ready to strike when an arrow takes its place in his eye. Thalia, mounted on Pegasus, barges in. The horse is bigger than Clytius - and he takes their chains, before flying off to the arena.

Thalia cuts his chains - throwing a gladius at him. Hazel is still passed out - curled into herself in the ground. Jason stands before her, still doing his best to keep her blood inside. It won't work for long.

The giants follow them - but to no effect. The ship crashes between them, the demigods jumping off - armed to the teeth. With a scream of war, the Amazons and the other Hunters come flying in their own Pegasi.

Reyna is not with them - Jason hopes, not for the first time, that the demigod settlements are in peace. That they won't have to deal with two battlefronts.

It's not the time for petty wars. They should be here, helping, if they were not caught up in past fights of over a hundred years ago. Gaea is much more urgent than whatever they are debating.

These fighters are not enough - they are fighting a losing battle. No gods are coming, and between immortal hunters and Amazons, no one is a deity.

Jason starts thinking he is hallucinating - wishful thinking - for the sky opens, and from there descents all the Olympians and Hecate. Nike is the first to appear, guiding the chariot of Zeus, a scream of battle in her lips.

Juno is in a chariot guided by peacocks. Behind her, Aphrodite - that's not Venus, but Jason has never seen Aphrodite so ready for war. There are no doves or flowers in her - just a giant bow and arrow and a spear, riding in a horse side by side with her husband and her lover.

All twelve Olympians, plus Hades, plus the Fates, plus Trivia, Nike, Juventa, Bia, and Enyo. Proserpina is not there - nor the court of Atlantis.

Jason can't help but think is too little too late. Why they didn't show before? Before Hazel lost her leg? Before Malcolm died? Before Perseus fell? Before this journey took everything from them?

The gods pair off with their children - Hades with Perseus, Athena with Annabeth, Aphrodite with Piper, Mars with Frank, Zeus with Nico, Hephaestus with Leo, Juno with Hylla, Thalia with Poseidon.

Before pairing with Will - who looks reluctant to do it - Apollo comes to them. Jason is good enough to go - but he won't leave Hazel.

"I can't regrow her arm - not here, not now. And never, if it has been amputated by a titan weapon. The best I can do is close it."

Jason is so tired of the gods being unable to do stuff they should be capable of, but he sighs and nods. Hazel's color starts coming back, even if she doesn't wake up.

It's Trivia who comes to take the place of Jason. He stalls - he doesn't trust any deity anymore with the well-being of his friends - but they are not much, and they need him to fight. He joins Ceres as she raises a sickle to go against her bane - Asterius.

The hunters follow their mistress and Amazons divide themselves between the remaining gods - Dyonisus and Mercury - and they attack.

It's not enough. They are stretched too thin. Clytius is the only fallen one after thirty minutes of battle - Trivia burns him down in rage for her acolyte and makes a still groggy Hazel make a little cut on so he dissolves.

Perseus fights alongside his father, mounting Mrs. O'Leary as he does Cerberus. Small Bob can't die unless struck by celestial bronze, so the giant's effort to kill the creature is useless. Both of them don't hold back. It's the first time he really remembers his training with the Lord of the Dead. But mostly, he remembers Persephone too, and the gardens of the Underworld.

Percy has to go back to her. To his stepmom, and his mom, and his other stepmom. He has to go back to his life - the life he can barely remember now, but that was everything for him.

He has to go back to the gardens and the lakes, to blue cookies and bare feet. At least one of the rulers had to be in the Underworld, so Persephone is waiting for them to come back.

It gives Perseus strength. They have to win, so the earth can prosper - so that they can go back to the Underworld. So he can meet Thanatos, and play with Cerberus, and debate with Charon. So that they can be a family.

They keep fighting, but even with Perseus renewed will, there's no winning. Alcyoneus retorts them blow for blow and they tire quickly. Hades turns to him - there's a grim expression in his face when he throws his helmet to Perseus.

Perseus notices to late what his father is about to do - and is unable to prevent it.

"FATHER"

It's the first time he recognizes it. Hades has always been the lord of the dead to him - he only ever called him father in mockery. But this time, it's yelled in anguish.

"Tell Kore that I love her."

A giant blow from the Lord of the Dead makes both of them stumble. The giant falls to the floor, but not before running his sword through Hades' neck.

It's the first god to fall, and when Perseus cuts Alcyoneus' head in return, he stays dead. But it's not enough, because Hades is dead.

He'll have to tell Kore. Kore that loves Hades so much that she leaves the surface for months on end to stay with him. He'll have to tell her that he wasn't enough to save Hades.

Cerberus whine loudly and tries to wake his master - he sniffs at the ground soiled by ichor. No giant is able to approach the body or Perseus - Cerberus growls at every enemy who tries. Small Bob stays by his side, fighting alongside him.

A tear escapes his eye. After so much time, so much resentment, he didn't think he would care. His father lies on the floor like a puppet with the strings cut - and Perseus rages. He closes his father's eyes but doesn't stop - there's still a war going on, so he puts on the Helm of Darkness and goes on to join Ceres and Jason.

A scream rings through the arena - is Poseidon, noticing his oldest brother is gone. He throws his trident at Polybotes head - between him and Thalia, the giant is gone in the next ten minutes.

The god of the sea runs through the field, stepping through dead bodies and avoiding the corner where Trivia is taking care of Hazel. He clutches his brother's prone body and cries, ichor staining his clothes. Cerberus whines at his sound - it's heartbreaking.

Across the field, all four siblings cry together for their fallen brother, but none of them as badly as Poseidon. There's a cold spreading through the field - and soon enough, the sky opens again.

It's Vesta. The last Olympian - the one who stayed behind to tend to the hearth. But now, she looked as fiery as her nephew - descending from the sky with no armor or chariot. The eldest child.

Family - that's Vesta domain. Perseus never saw her fight, but she does this time - throwing herself against the closest giant - Gration.

But Hades is not the last to fall.

Between Jason and Perseus, there's no match for Asterius. Ceres cuts his head off, still sobbing for her son-in-law and brother, sobbing for her widowed child. It doesn't help when her sister falls by her side - Juno, in full battle armor, is cut in half by Eurymedon.

Perseus thinks it might be a scene worthy of being painted - her lifeless eyes stare at the sky, as her crown rolls off her and stops at the giant's feet. Hylla keeps on fighting - now joined by her mother, who changes from Enyo to Bellona.

Zeus, in rage for his wife's death, kills Porphyrion before striking against Eurymedon with his general and her daughter. Nico, even if he never cared for Juno, follows suit - there's a path of destruction behind them, where lightning bolts hit the floor and filled the ground with craters.

Dyonisus kills Elphiates with his oldest daughter by his side, but his brother doesn't die as easily. Athena is still fighting against Enceladus - Annabeth striking the giant from all angles, in perfect synchrony with her mother, with help from Nike, who shields them both with her wings.

Mars and Mercury fight against Hippolytus - but he is faster than even the god of travelers, and evade them at every turn. Frank is a dragon, and then an elephant, and a snake - but nothing hits the giant.

After a blow on the arm by Bia, Periboea spears the still masculine body of Piper. Her blood falls from in-between her legs as Aphrodite - scarier than even Ares - runs her spear through the giantess's eye, killing her.

To save her daughter, Aphrodite shifts her completely into a girl - it's jarring, and something that takes adaptation, but the only way she can keep fighting without dropping.

But it's too late, the damage is done. Gaea is awake, by the seed of a daughter of the sea. Perseus exchanges a look with Leo through the fray - Mimas is just defeated, as Hephaestus smashed his head in with his hammer, but he regenerates quickly as if nothing happened.

There's no winning anymore. The fallen giants don't rise again - the Doors are closed - but the seven remaining ones don't die either - Enceladus, Eurymedon, Orion, Mimas, Otis, Hippolytus, and Thoon - their mother healing all their injuries.

The gods that killed their banes rally together against Gaea - but it's futile. It's just like Perseus in Tartarus - there's no battling a primordial in their own turf.

Will leaves his father to battle Orion, with his sister and the hunters - as Gration lays, probably dead, across the feet of his brother, courtesy of Vesta - and joins the duo.

The three of them sprint through the muddy ground, and onto Festus. There's no winning from Gaea on the ground - but they might have one way.

"Don't let me die, okay?"

Will and Percy join hands across Leo's forehead - and try to bless him the best they can, without being gods themselves. A green sheen covers Leo - and this might be it.

Leo mounts Festus - now again a giant dragon - and rises to the sky. It is enough to attract the Earth. She leaves her battle against Vesta, Aphrodite, Bia, Poseidon, and Ceres - to go after the dragon.

"Trying to escape me, my little demigod?"

An explosion of fire rocks the sky. It's not enough to kill Gaea, but between Zeus' thunder and Leo's explosion, the primordial is unconscious.

Perseus focuses - on keeping Leo's soul in his body. Will, by his side, shines as Apollo himself - there's a sheen of sweat in his face. It might've worked

None of them have the power to kill her now - just the union of all the remaining Olympians would even be capable of rendering her asleep again.

They can't find Festus or Leo - Perseus renders this as a good sign, the sign that their powers were enough.

But for now, with her unconscious, she can't heal the giants. So the remaining gods do quick work of killing them - the last to fall is Eurymedon, with Zeus' bolt across his forehead.

The king of the gods falls on his knees and weeps. Juno is dead. Hades is dead. There are six hunters and twenty amazons remaining - from tens and hundreds.

Mrs. O'Leary died - from a stray arrow. Cerberus paws the ground where her dust is - Perseus can't even imagine his puppy back on Tartarus.

Nike - both wings pointing into different sides, spine broken by Enceladus foot - is sprawled on the ground. Her unblinking eyes stare at Athena, who is holding her hand.

"Did... did we... win?"

"Y-yes"

"Give them the... the crowns... don't forget..."

"I won't"

"There's no... no friends.... in victory. I wish I had... someone."

"I am your friend, Nike"

"My best one... don't let them forget.... champions don't die..."

"Never"

She gags in her own blood. It drips around her chin. It's the first time Perseus sees Athena cry. It hits him - they, all of them, have known each other for thousands of years.

Mars is crying by his mother's head, his spear broken on his feet. Juventa, burned blonde hair blowing around her face, hugs Hephaestus as he cries for their mother - the one that never cared for them, but that was their mother anyway.

Vesta has Hades head on her lap, while his body lays broken on the floor. Ceres is trying to calm Poseidon - but the god of the sea can't stop crying.

On the other side of the Arena, most demigods are together around Hazel - Will is explaining about Leo, but most of them look hopeless. Hazel is crying in Frank's arms.

Eight of them are here - Hazel is missing an arm, Piper went through a jarring body change and Frank has a broken leg - but eight of them are alive, and there's hope for Leo.

Perseus stands in the middle - not joining the gods or the demigods. He looks at the ichor stained floor, the upcoming battle against Gaea looming. Cerberus and Small Bob are together on each side of him.

Apollo - from where he is laying with his unconscious, but alive, sister - raises to help the demigods. None of them are happy about any godly presence - but they need treatment, so they let it happen.

Perseus is the first to break the silence after everyone is healed. Some gods are still crying - but there's no time for grief now. He doesn't look at where his father lays dead - he can't process this right now.

"We... we need to go. To Long Island. We need reinforcements - the war isn't over."

"We need to recharge" Is Hephaestus that retorts "There's no way we can fight right now. Maybe in a day or so but..."

"I don't think we have this time." Jason points "We could try and stall things, prepare... Can you send us there?"

"I can" Say Pegasus, who was fighting alongside Thalia.

Perseus wants not to care. To say that Juno or Nike deserved it. But it's not fair - not even them deserve to die, to go back to the void or Tartarus to reform or be lost for centuries.

Annabeth, however, sits in her corner with the ghost of a smile in her lips - so many demigod's lifes lost for them, for their petty struggles, and now they have to pay the price too. Everyone is paying the price now.

If they helped before, if they didn't spend months cooperating with Juno's useless plan, perhaps now no one would be dead. They could have united the demigods without waisting eight months on stupid missions to kill giants - just for them to come back.

If they stopped thinking about their "oh so bad" split personalities, maybe they could've made this journey quicker, instead of letting them spend two months going in side-quests, fighting minor gods, and retrieving useless information.

So yes, Annabeth is vindicated. This - all of this, those deaths, the ichor soiling the ground - it's their fault.

Piper feels tired. This - this body, this recognition from her mother - is all she ever wanted. But now that she has it, she can't even appreciate it. Was it worth it? She would give everything back for Perseus' leg, Hazel's arm, Malcolm, Leo.

She looks at their mismatched little family - and remembers that yesterday, they had lunch together - all of them. It was not the best moment, but they were laughing.

They could've been happy. If they weren't demigods, most of them would be in college by now. They wouldn't be broken.

Perseus solves to travel by shadows with Cerberus - he still has his father's Helm, and the immortal horse won't let him mount with it. He feels sick - that's his father's dog and his father's armor. But that's their chance of survival.

No god look at him when he melts into the darkness - it's too fresh, too painful. Part of their family is dead.

She jumps on the Pegasus, holding Hazel up - she can barely hold on to her brother in front of her. The wound is closed, but the daughter of Jupiter is off-balance - there's nothing on her right side.

Hazel closes her eyes and rests her head across Nico's back - she is so tired. Leo is gone - maybe forever - and she doesn't have an arm. There's nothing there - nothing. She goes to move and she forgets it for a second - but then she tries to hold tighter to Nico and can't.

Nico feels his sister's tears on the back of his shirt and holds tight to Frank - who is almost strangling Will in his efforts not to panic - he is flying over the sea.

Jason is behind Piper - he is the last one - and he is much more comfortable. That's his half brother after all.

They land in Long Island after ten painful hours - and Will seethes, because their journey could have been so easy, so small - but the gods were too occupied by their insignificant problems that they had to journey for months.

One after the other, they dismount just shy of the river - Jason thinks the naiads look mad when Frank vomits all over their water.

"Flying on a ship is a thing. Flying on a horse is another."

He stills looks queasy when they cross the Pavillion. There's no one there, which is weird because it's morning. There's no one anywhere.

Perseus - powered by the Helm - is the first to get there - almost two hours before them. And the first thing he listens makes him utterly mad.

"Give our soldiers back - or Nova Roma will strike back!"

It's Octavian's voice coming from the hill that harbors Thalia's tree - and Perseus sighs. He looks at himself - he needs a shower, and sleep, and food. They need traps. They don't need a second war.

He is in no condition to fight right now. So he'll have to put his diplomatic skills to use - just the reminder of his father's death sparks a dull pain in his chest - still covered in ichor and dust, his ax slung over his shoulder.

Cerberus stays by his side. Perseus sends Small Bob to Persephone through the old Labyrinth entrance - he needs the big dog, but the skeleton tiger would just be easy prey.

"TWELVE LEGION, STOP"

Perseus looks mightly tired as he takes on the scene - the greeks following Clarisse, Connor, and Lou, the Romans following Octavian and Mike Kahale. Reyna between them, with the gigantic statue.

The demigod looks between his first and his second family, none that he ever fit right, both of which he was the leader, and hold on to Cerberus.

"We - and by we, I mean nine of us, greeks and Romans, the Amazons, and the hunters - just defeated fifteen giants, with the gods. In Athens. We could've - and should've - had reinforcements."

"Percy-" Connor starts, but Percy raises a hand to stop him. There are shadows curling against his arms - his celestial bronze leg shines under the Athena Parthenos.

"I may have been gone for a while, but I'm still your leader - and their Praetor. You choose me to lead - both of you. Me, and Reyna, and Annabeth, and Frank, and Jason."

"Praetor Jackson-"

"Shut the hell up Octavian, this is all your fucking fault" Intercedes Reyna.

"I went through Tartarus - for a month - because of that damned statue, to close the Doors so you could be safe. I don't care about your petty little problems now - Earth has risen."

"IT'S A LIE, IT'S ALL LIES" Screeches Octavian.

"How can you know? You were here, raising trouble and creating unnecessary problems while we went on the freaking mission to save the world."

Octavian tries to reply, but Reyna's sword in his throat stops him.

"My father is dead. The gods are coming - but we need to stall Gaea. There's no time for this."

"I say kill him." Replies Reyna.

"I agree." Says Perseus, to the surprise of no one "We're the Praetors of Nova Roma. Our word is the law. For treason against our people, you're condemned to death, Octavian Simmons."

"Apollo will curse you for this!" Are his last words as Reyna cuts his head off. Mike Kahale backs down - no one would dare to go against them, not when Perseus is holding the symbol of his father in his hands and the Guardian of Hell in his side.

"Now that... that was solved, let's prepare for the true war. Gaea is coming - in hours from now. We have to hold on until the gods come."

They enter the Camp - the Greeks and the Romans aren't a unit, but at least they all trust Perseus, who sits on the top of the amphitheater with Reyna, and they wait until the others get there. Jason is the first to come to sit down by them - followed by the other six.

"I won't ask you to trust each other. I ask you to fight - with all that you can. Juno and Pluto, or Hera and Hades, are dead." Cries erupt from that, but silence quickly at Reyna's fulminant look "Nike, or Victory, has also fallen. Pray for your parents - burn food, whatever - so that they can take strength. They should be here in a few hours. We just need to hold on."

"Romans and Greeks - no one will survive if we don't fight. Together. For now, you take your orders from Reyna and Clarisse." It's Jason who completes.

Reyna and Clarisse sit down to discuss ideas - they don't trust each other, but are both daughters of war - and their objectives are simple. Lou goes to call her brother as Connor joins the table - Alabaster apparently refused to join the battle against the Romans.

While Romans and Greeks trade strategies and weapons, the travelers rest. Perseus is the first to fall asleep - holding his father's Helm of Darkness like a teddy bear, while most of the others keep their distance from it.

Cerberus makes the campers stay away from the eight. Two of his heads sleep and one keeps growling at whoever gets too close.

Annabeth is the last to fall asleep - she joins the strategy group for about thirty minutes before joining her quest mates behind the giant dog - it sniffs at her. She wonders if remembers the red rubber ball.

They have eleven hours to plan and rest. It's a miracle - Leo managed to knock Gaea down for 21 hours, almost a day.

At least is enough time for everyone to sleep and eat and plan traps. It won't be enough against the primordial, but it might just hold her for a while. They have no way of causing explosions to Leo's proportion - at least they have numbers.

Gaea rises from the earth like an evil mountain - she is the ground. Some of them - the ones on bare earth - die immediately, sucked into the mud as it turns to quicksand.

Frank takes the lead as the whole army charges against the goddess, striking again and again in every part they can find.

They last the three hours before the gods appear - but they lose two-thirds of their forces. Mangled corpses are everywhere on the battlefield.

The gods win - against a tired Gaea - without major losses for themselves. There's no need to recount their battle, for they will lord about it for many centuries.

What counts, however, is the deaths on the demigods' side - the ones who will be forgotten in the shadow of their parents' victory.

Connor sobs over the almost unrecognizable body of his brother, who died holding hands with Katie Gardner, being veiled by her sister, Miranda.

Hazel is helping Alabaster to find his sister, who missing somewhere in the rubble with the other 56 demigods, who are unaccounted for. The first they find is Clarisse - her still hot corpse trying in vain to protect Chris Rodriguez.

Jason holds Thalia's circlet - the only remaining thing of the Lieutenant of Artemis, who came into the battle with her mistress and died to save her. There are just two hunters alive. The sister he barely knows - and won't ever have the chance now.

Piper holds on to him - she can't bear to look as Mitchell and Ariel mourn little Lacy, killed by a fallen tree. Drew died taking a stone to the head for Piper - she doesn't know how to feel about it.

Will would help - but sadness devours him. Of his whole Cabin, he is the sole survivor. All greek children of Apollo are gone. His boyfriend is also dead - his metal foot caught on the quicksand, and he was swallowed by the earth.

Nyssa mourns her siblings - Jake, Leo, Thalassa, Kira. There's only six of them now - back to where they were just after the first war.

Reyna is alive - although with half of her face burned. Hylla - the last of the Amazons - hovers over her, tending to her injuries.

The smaller cabins help each other - there wasn't a lot of them at first, and now there is even less. Cabin 17 has no demigod alive - and won't ever house one again.

Frank is helping the legion to unearth the bodies and rescue the survivors - it's weird to see a giant mole with only an eye. He is the one who holds Hazel's hand as they have to break Lou Ellen's arm to take her from under a pillar.

Grover died protecting Juniper from Gaea's earthquakes. He became a little juniper tree, side by side with hers. Coach Hedge is the only satyr from Camp Half-Blood left.

But maybe the worst scene is where the Pavillion once was - Perseus Jackson is flicking in and off, large gashes in his torso. Hazel is the one to find him. Most of the survivors - and the eight travelers - stop to look. It's their leader, their savior.

Nico holds his head as blood pools under them - the irony, Perseus took a boulder in the chest for him, flying across the Camp at the end of the battle, and Nico was again unable to catch the hero.

Annabeth sobs over his body, screaming. She lost Luke to the gods. She lost Thalia to the gods. She lost Malcolm to the gods. She lost Leo to the gods. She lost Grover to the gods. Everyone is gone - she won't lose Perseus too.

"FIX HIM" She screams at Apollo "FIX HIM"

Apollo shakes his head sadly. In his benefit, he managed to save all demigods who still held on after battle - and most of their limbs - but Perseus is too far gone.

"FIX HIM! HE SAVED YOU. ALL OF YOU. HE DESERVES TO LIVE!"

"Annabeth, he is beyond-"

"YOU ARE GODS! WHAT ARE YOU FOR?"

"We can't, child"

Annabeth doesn't relent. She lost too much. She lost everything. They took all she was, all she had. She won't fail Perseus.

"Immortalize him."

"Annabeth, no-"

"Shut up, Nico" She barks. There's a mad look in her eyes. "You didn't let Heracles die, and he deserved it far less. Save Percy. Make him a god. You have the Fates right there."

Most of the gods look uncertain. Perseus denied immortality the last time - but they couldn't let the hero die.

"DO IT"

No one disagrees with her. Most of their friends - the ones who know Perseus better, who aren't blinded by grief - look horrified.

Nico would argue strongly - but he promised himself that no harm would come upon Perseus after Tartarus. So he backs off - better than he hates them forever than dead.

Zeus is the one who finally takes a step forward. Perseus soul is almost leaving him - it's now or never.

"All in agreement?"

The gods nod and raise their hands over his prone body. It burns so brightly everyone has to look away

When they look again, there's Perseus - still missing a leg, but better than ever. He looks like his father - uncannily so. There are tears in the corners of Ceres's eyes. Poseidon can't look.

Juventa brings the jar of nectar - she is the one who can grant eternal life, the one who guards over her mother's apples. She puts the jar to his lips, and the boy - the god - wakes up, disoriented.

"W-what... h-how am I here? I-I was with Charles and... and Ethan..." He mumbles under his breath, looking lost.

The Fates look at him - but there's no pity in their eyes. He sees again the blue line being cut - is his life. It's gone. Even before they speak, he knows what happened.

"Earthopener, The Silent One, The Rich One, Lord of the Dead. Hail Perseus, the Underworld God"

[idjitlili]

I see stars

summary:

Imagine getting drunk at the feast of starlight , and becoming over happy,and dancing like the complete opposite to what elves are used to. Leasts just say Thranduil is more than impressed.

translations:

rukhs shirumund caragu=beardless orc dung

warnings:two boners

wordcount:2356

After the dwarves and you were taken prisoner,Thranduil had kept you with him once he sent Thorin to the cells for refusing his offer. Before he was even able to begin to talk to you the dwarves had escaped,theu had left a note which the guards handed to Thranduil ,who read it before passing it to you. His face was unreadable you didnt know what to expect,as the scrap paper was upon your hands. The rushed note had read:

"Our friend from strange lands,

your journey ends here, come vist us in erebor once it IS safe,not now,we  cannot afford to lose anymore family.

much love,

ps Thorin says if you get the chance near that rukhs shirumund caragu lowers,bite it off."

Your face lit up with embarrassment,knowing Thranduil had known what Thorin was implying for you to do,it was a good idea,but hiding a knife in your vagina and then chopping it off with that. That seemed like a better idea,what if you had his coxk in your mouth,and you bite it off and then you choke to death on it,it happened to dean winchester just with a sausage. You looked up to the king ,you was watching you intensely. "Thank you." you had spoke quietly,folding the note placing it in your front pocket of your jeans.

Yes you were still wearing your clothes from home,you had cleaned them last at a stream,but when you had first joined the company ,they had given you spar tunics , blankets and such. You had known them since you fell froma portal ,four feet from the ground infront of the company. They had grew to think very fondely of you ,and protected you from all danger.Now you felt very insecure with out them around ,especially when this king seemed very scary.

"what for?" Thranduil had questioned you circling ,your body ,you had crossed your arms and faced the floor. "for allowing me to have that note from my friends." he had stopped circling to look at you ,he liked you not like that at least not yet,you were being held captive yet you were treating him with kindness.

He hadnt kept you in a cell,infact he given you a room,it was locked at night and such incase you tried to kill him. In a few days you had warmed up to the king,but now erebor was reclaimed and he qould be going to reclaim his jems. You had practially begged him to take you with,so you could see your friends. He didnt like the idea,but then you started crying,you enjoyed the kings comapny when you would eat with him and such ,but you couldnt not go especially if you could prevent somes death. In the end he had agreed and sat you infront of him on his elk,you were excited to see your friends ,you just hoped Thranduil wouldnt kill them. You had been shy with Thranduil at first ,but you soon found out he was very nice,and you came out of your shell.

That led you to be literally bouncing on the elk once you had arrived infront of erebor  ,with Thranduil having to have his arm around your waist,which led you to be very close to each other.  He had to tell you to stop,as nice as he could,you hadnt realised you had caused the king a little problem.Which luckily his outfit hid,he didnt tell you that was why,he had just stated someobe might aim for him and then hit you with an arrow. Bouncing looked like yeah.  You had spotted Thorin whos gaze lingled on you ,he thought Thranduil was using you so they wouldnt try kill him.

However you smiled widely up at Thorin. " Thorin! Your crown looks very lovely on you!" you had shouted up at the king ,who sffered from dragon sickness,his mouth twitched slightly before turning back into a frown. "You are fooling around with an elf?and an elf thats him?" he had scoffed in disgust at you,your face fell. "no,thorin." you had been hurt at his words,thranduil had tighted his grip on you waist,protectively.

Once you had found out that Thorin and his best fighters had been led into a trapped ,you had forced Thranduil, totake you there and help save them. In which had surprisingly did,you also may have used your sons also heading there ,what if he gets hurt and you couldve saved him. You ended up jumping on azog's back ,legs around his waist stabbing him in the back with daggers,so thorin could go for the kill;you literally looked like drax. Now your life was complete ,you looked awesome,you had also saved fili and kili. Darn Fili deserves more screentime. Azog had flipped you over his shoulders ,slamming you into the ice,strangling you with one hand and blade in another sending a slice up your arm, You had just became loki ,being slammed by hulk,and now you needed stitches. "I...c-can...see..y-your cock." you had to try to speak,face red,unable to breathe.giving Thorin the chance to end his life.

Thorin pushed azogs body away from you,pulling you into his arms. "you are very much crazy ,y/n and for that I will be forever in debt to you as you saved my family and I" he spoke stroking your hair, as you gained your breath back,your neck was definitely was going to be bruised. "I ...r-repaid..my debt for keeping me safe in this strange world all those month,plus i got to see that majestic hair everyday." you reached your hand up,to his hair,running your fingers through it, "i am really sorry for saying what i did earlier, I do not want you getting hurt that was all." he spoke sincerely to you. "dont worry little man,no one has taken my innocence." you smirked in which Thorin smiled at you in relief  before carrying you bridal style to erebor to find oin,trying to avoid hurting your bleeding upper arm.

That was until Thranduil stopped him on his elk,his eyes wondering over your injured form,you smiled at the king. Thranduil knew he had to take you home with him,he had felt things he had never felt before ,even with his now dead wife. "let me take her back with me,to the woodland relm,we have the finest doctors." he had spoken sternly,Thorin had scoffed in response. "oin is the best in erebor!" he had growled,he didnt want you with an elf at all. "more like the only one." Thranduil had annoyed Thorin with this,his stomach bubbled with anger.  "Thorin, its fine I have to go back anyways ,I left belongings there." you tried to convince the dwarven king,however he was stubborn,so it would take more than that. "i will buy and have you made new belongings." he really didnt want you to go,he felt like it was his duty to protect you,he thought of you as a daughter almost.

"Thorin , I will come back,and if not straight away, I will write." you had jumped down from Thorins arms ,before hugging him tightly,and pulling away. Your eyes watered ,as you looked at back at Thorin who's did the same ,as Thranduil lifted you up onto his elk infront of him.

Also you forgot to mention,Tauriel fell off a cliff , rip. Legolas was going away for a while,but promised his father he would try to visit on the feast of starlight. Thranduil had comforted you saying Thorin was safe ,there wasnt any huge chances that something could happen to him while you were gone,you would be able to see him again. Anyways that was many months ago and you wrote to the dwarves and bilbo often,Thranduil would even get elves with drawing talents to draw you so you could send them back for Thorin and Bilbo. Bilbo had requested it. But tonight was the feast of starlight,Thranduil had you a dress made ,and fitted , it was mint green,come to think of it looked exactly like Arwen's dress in return of the time. Maybe you become friends with her tonight ,and gift it too her in the future as she loved it so much. wink wink. Thranduil had personally came to chambers,and walked with you to the feast. Yeah so you had been staying in the woodland relm way longer than you had thought you would have been staying.

Thrandul had sat on the end of the table ,while you sat at the side of the table next to him,there was many high elves at the table such as celeborn,Elrond,Lady Galadriel,and many others,you could barely remember any of there names. However there had been wine,you were barely an adult ,let they kept topping up your glass ,no one told you how strong elvish wine was. You were tipsy very quickly,you didnt make much conversation with anyone as you very nervous of saying something innappropriate. Soon as you all had entered the hall ,the music filled your ears it was quiet boring music. So you just lingled around Thranduil , drinking wine ,which was everywhere ,soon you were very loose  ,and very close to Thranduil. Basically jumping around him, that was until a slightlly up beat song started playing. "Thranduil I am going to go danceeeeee." you had spoke excitely ,gripping the kings arm he had simply nodded.

You had skipped off to the dance floor,letting out a "wooooooo" hitting your fist in the air,Thranduil watched you as you tucked a part of your dress into your short legging shorts,he had gasped at your action as your whole thigh was revealed. You began dancing like you were doing just dance to umbrella,singing the lyrics,pointing to Thranduil ,gesturing him to join he shook his head,you shrug at him. You had learnt this not only because of tom holland but as a child you loved just dance and memorized the movements.

"you have my heart

And we'll never be worlds apart

Maybe in magazines

But you'll still be my star

Baby, 'cause in the dark

You can't see shiny cars

And that's when you need me there

With you, I'll always share"

you had began,as the elves had changed the music to suit the music , you smirked at heart you had gestured to Thranduil,who's face was a beet,he couldnt deny he liked it.

"When the sun shine, we shine together

Told you I'll be here forever

Said I'll always be your friend

Took an oath, I'ma stick it out to the end

Now that it's raining more than ever

Know that we'll still have each other

You can stand under my umbrella

You can stand under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh

Under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh

Under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh"

you gestured under your dress before ,winking at Thranduil,before pulling the dress off swiftly,causing the elves to gasp ,leaving you in a tight black corset from Thorin and black shorts,you threw the dress at Arwen mouthing keep it.These fancy things

"Will never come in between

You're part of my entity

Here for infinity

When the war has took its part

When the world has dealt its cards

If the hand is hard

Together we'll mend your heart."

You strut over Thorin ,high and might ,getting very close ,before turing and dropping your ass slightly grazes him ,before flicking a leg out then bring it back in and doing the same with the other. Before standing up quickly,facing him wipping the back of your hands down his face before going back the dance floor.

"When the sun shine, we shine together

Told you I'll be here forever

Said I'll always be your friend

Took an oath, I'ma stick it out to the end

Now that it's raining more than ever

Know that we'll still have each other

You can stand under my umbrella

You can stand under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh

Under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh

Under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh"

Thranduil stares at you,licking his lips at your performance,he was deeply attracted to you there was no doubt about that. You skin glittering in the light as it reflected onto your sweat,

"It's rainin', rainin'

Ooh, baby, it's rainin', rainin'

Baby, come here to me

Come into me

It's rainin', rainin'

Ooh, baby, it's rainin', rainin'"

you finished off ,voice hurting slightly,before grabbing a glass of wine chugging it,bow at the elves that claped for you, smiled brightly,they hadnt seen anything like that ever. You didnt get to anything else before Thranduil practically run at you. You had revealed you love Thranduil ,in your song, He cupped your cheeks gently with his large hands before he pressed his soft lips against yours ,the elves around you clap  around you,as you both kiss passionately.

"will you marry me,y/n?" he spoke once you both pulled away,you nod eagarly before pressing your lips to his quickly,you bow once more before pulling out of the hall,he thanks everyone for coming as you walk out.

lets just say you dont bite his cock off,you went to visit Thorin with Thranduil the next day , they put aside their differences for you ,as Thranduil tells them about your stunt ,not about the boner he hid when you slut dropped infront of him.

[ghostsofruefell]

The Other World in the Woods

Hello, I was in a big magic mood the past few days and felt like writing about something happening in a different part of the MoR world, so enjoy this erotica about a Fae and a Witch (approx. 5k words under the cut)

The air is thick with the feel of unreality as the trees part to immerse you within the bubble where the magic is heavy enough you can feel it upon your skin and even deeper weighing down your soul. The trees form a perfect circle around this abode, not even a twig protuding over an invisible line drawn in the grass. The complete, utter silence in this clearing is a pulsing in your ears.

Before you is a house, although some might contest that description, sitting atop a tiny hillock in the center of the perfect circle. It looks like nature has reclaimed it, or it was always a part of nature. Like a massive tree trunk, bark is its skin. Roots all twisted up feed into the ground like veins. Gnarled branchs burst from the walls just to twist and turn back in, hugging the body they come from. The circular window you see is half-swallowed by the bark and so covered in grime you're not sure you could see inside if you were close enough.

The moon, full as a dinner plate, looks almost too big and seems to reflect the sun's shine directly onto the house like a mirror-made spotlight.

Doing your best to steel your nerves, you step up to the first stones. Like a moat, the hillock is surrounded by water. Even the grass is soft and wet, squelching as your boots pull themselves from where they're sunken into. This "moat" looks man-made, lined with purposely cut rectangular stone, and the crystal clear water lets you see the moss creeping up between.

It's only deep enough for the water to come up to your ankles, but you don't fancy ruining your boots anymore than you have with this journey into the forests and so you opt for the stepping stones leading an uneven path to the other side. You hop from one large, flat stone to another and, as your feet touch down, you swear you hear in your head a little chime play, like a piano key hit with every step. The pleasant, yet simple melody leaves you wondering if that's just a childish part of your mind or if it's actually real. Maybe this place still has some whimsy, after all.

The door is before you before you know it, but rather than knock, you stop.

Your heart is thundering against your ribcage, so hard you're starting to doubt your decision to come here. Your hand raises to rest tentatively on the door. If you thought the radiating magic was choking enough, your palm feels, beyond this dark, dark teal wood, an even greater magic flows in and out of this reality and the next, like a torrent you realize you're about to unleash.

There's a knocker.

It's disturbing, a gold-painted, ornate square and, protuding from it, a gold-painted hand, upside down with palm facing out like you're taking someone's hand if you want to enter this home.

But it's a knocker. That means... you're welcome to knock, right? That's what it does. That's its sole purpose as a knocker.

You swallow the rambling thoughts alongside the lump in your throat and slide your hand into the knocker's, doing your best not to let yourself notice the almost-living warmth that fills your palm as you do so. Wrapping your fingers around it, you rap its knuckles against the door. Once. Twice. Thrice. Then you step away.

You stand there for what feels like a quarter of an hour, but you rationalise must have been mere seconds, and just as you're about to turn and retreat with your tail between your legs, there's a click of a doorknob turning.

The door creaks open, the sound almost like an ominous croaking in someone's throat. But you realize that might just be the anxiety saying that.

There's nothing but darkness beyond the threshold. Or so you thought.

As your eyes adjust, you see the figure seeming to glide from the darkness. You can barely make out any features but a chance of light glances his face, revealing only half of it, but still not enough to put any logic to the formation of his visage.

A pearly, pupilless eye looks you over and you get the distinct feeling it trails down and up from head to toe before finding your face again. His expression sours.

"Witch," the deep, gravelly voice spits. "I've told your fellows I'm no longer donating bones. The regrowth has slowed too much."

"Witch...? How did..." The words spill breathless from your mouth without a thought.

You see the shift of shadows proving wry amusement crinkling the skin by his eye.

"The Call of After crackles upon your skin." His smile widens enough you see the full lips pulling outward at the edge. "But, the Father Fae, its voice is weaved deeply inside of me, so of course I can see that."

In just an instance, all trace of amusement and civility drops away. His voice rumbles.

"Now. Leave.”

The door trembles, ready to be slammed.

"I'm not-" you find yourself stammering, taking a step forward with a hand outstretched you've resigned to the risk of being broken with this incredibly stupid, risky movement.

Yet, it seems to have paid off, as the door remains open and a certain curiosity eases his expression

You swallow and try again. "It's not bones I seek. I don't plan to use you for an elixir or... anything else."

The hint of a face you'd been trying to make out vanishes and it takes you a second to realize he's tilted his head. Silence follows but he doesn't leave you wanting long.

"Hm," he hums.

And the door swings wide open.

The darkness that engulfed the interior was a falsehood as the opening reveals gas lanterns mounted strategically along the walls to illuminate the living space just right. But that's not what you're staring at.

The man, the Fae before you is easily a foot taller than you. In a battle between the warm, flickering orange of candelight and his skin, somehow the blue iridescence of his flesh is winning. His hair, pulled into a half-down style, flows in soft, pearlescent waves over his shoulders and down his back. Ears lengthened and pointed to the ceiling hug the sides of his head. Dark, stiff clothing covers the details of his muscles, but is tight enough on his broad chest and thick biceps to let you know they're there beneath.

His handsome face, with a straight nose, full lips, and well-manicured eyebrows, is marred on the side that hadn't been revealed to you. A massive scar that seems to have lost the iridescence of his skin tears itself down from his forehead, over his eye which seems just a touch narrower than the other, his cheek, and the corner of his mouth, all the way down to his chin.

You're shocked away from drinking in his mesmerizing appearance when he speaks.

"Come inside, witch." His voice isn't so welcoming, but he glides to the side to allow you by.

You hesitate for a brief moment, but noticeable enough that his eyes twitch narrower and that alone startles your feet into carrying you past him, even as you nearly choke transitioning from Out to In.

The door slowly swings closed behind you, without physical input, sealing you within the Fae's home.

The interior is much larger than the exterior of the house betrays. It must be a trick of reality. Candles lining the path he walks ignite with the perfect timing of his footsteps, like a trail of fire following him as he leads you deeper into his dwellings.

That torrent of magic you felt outside must be responsible for this space and that's why that pressure in your chest tried to kill you as you forced your way within. Now it's settled around you, no longer an oppressive force pressing in on you, but just the soft swirl of magic in the air like scattered petals picked up by a stray breeze.

It's almost... a comfort.

Until something moves on the shelf beside your head and your attention snaps to that. It's contained in a jar, but the spiky, shifting, dark mass inside tumbles over and over as if trying to find something past those glass walls it can never again get to.

Beside it, your curiosity piques, something is hidden beneath a velvet cloth but that's not enough to smother the light whatever it is is emitting. You can only imagine how bright it'd be, were it uncovered.

Your gaze is drawn forward again as the short hall opens up to a circular room. The shabby, unrefined exterior of the building was more than a farce. Smooth, detailed, carved and polished wood and the hard edges of a sophisticated influence make up the architecture inside. But you care more about the chaos before you than the interior design.

It's like a library but one made to fulfill every witch's dream. Shelves upon shelves of oddities to be studied or used in elixirs. Glass bobbles of beauty belonging to the night hang from shiny, delicate threads. The desk that sits in the center is overflowing with the scatter of papers and the magic scholar within you jolts with excitement at the very idea of being able to read what After-related secrets they might detail. The knowledge of the Fae... how you wish to devour it to your heart's content. Isn't that every witch's wish? Think of the spells...

A clearing of the throat snaps you out of your awe. The Fae has drifted around you to stand between you and his treasures. Sheepishness overcomes your demeanor but he just seems amused. You idly wonder if he's invited many witches into his home and witnessed the same wonderment as your eyes zero in on the spiral staircase over his shoulder, leading up to another floor. You definitely pegged this as a one-story cabin from the outside. Curiosity pricks the back of your mind again, not at what that second floor might be and if there's any others, but at how much power must be used to create a space like this.

Finally your eyes slide back to his patient face, prompting him to speak.

"What is your name?"

Your lips part.

Then shut again.

That twinkle of amusment in his otherwise pearly off-white eyes returns, his own lips thinning to a wry smirk.

"I'm no Faerie, witch. I'm not asking you to give me your name. Or your soul." He practically scoffs at the notion. "I'm an Omni Fae; I don't need it. Just share this knowledge and I will return it."

Your instincts say this is a bad idea. But, they've been saying that since you left your house and you've been ignoring them this whole time. So, you do. You tell him your name with just the slightest hesitance weakening your voice.

To your surprise, his smirk fades to a genuine smile playing at the corners of his mouth, his harsh features suddenly seeming so friendly with just the one gesture. His voice softly echoes your name and it's never sounded more magical resting on anyone else's tongue.

He turns to the desk he was leaning against, fingers with an inhuman grace fluidly sliding crooked papers back into their neat stacks.

"My name, witch, is Yewfie Frosthart," he speaks with his back to you and from this angle you finally take note of the thin, blue tail spouting from beneath the back of his coat, hanging down past his knees with the slightest sway. It ends in a tuft of fur that same pearlescence as his hair. "However, certain comrades call me Needle."

He slowly raises his head, then straightens his shoulders like something's clicked.

"Or, I suppose, I can say that..."

He spins on his heel so fast you jolt. His rough voice booms with the authority of a Rakian General.

"Kneel!"

Your mettle snaps within you like no more than a pitiful twig. You can feel it, like an arrow shot straight through the base of your skull. Your knees buckle and you don't even flinch at the pain as they hit the wood floor.

"Huh." It comes out more like a huff of amusement from his lips, which open to a loose smirk, almost like he wasn't expecting that to work as well as it did. "I see you have submissiveness inside you. Quite bold, then, for you to have stolen that power you wield as a witch."

Your vision shakes, as do your cold hands as you stare up at him in awe. He knows too much without you saying anything. He can do too much. This Fae is far more powerful than you were told and this was a bad, bad idea... right?

His biceps bulge as he crosses his arms over his hard chest. He shakes his head, hair moving in shimmery waves, as if reading your thoughts—but that's impossible, right?

"I'm not here to pass judgement, submissive." His voice has softened once again as he leans over, but doesn't take a knee, in front of you to brush his calloused fingers along the line of your jaw. "Just tell me what you seek and I might be able to provide."

Your voice catches in your throat, nothing more than a broken moan making it past your trembling lips. You swallow, as difficult as it is, and try again.

"Kn... knowledge," is the whisper that breaks past the oppressive dominance radiating off this Fae towering over you. Your arm feels heavy but you force it to lift, to reach for him. "I... I seek knowledge."

"Knowledge..." He tastes the word thoughtfully. "Knowledge has a price, you know."

His eyes narrow at you. "And I don't think you're ready to pay my price."

Your hand shoots out before you realize, the heavy burden that weighed it down completely forgotten in your desperate instinct to reach for him, keep him with you. Your other soon follows and your fingers latch on the leather belt wrapped around his hips, leverage as you shuffle forward on your knees.

"I prepared myself," you say almost like a plea, and it must show in your eyes too. "Before I came here, I prepared myself."

That causes him pause, a pregnant pause that hangs between the two of you as his muscles barely shift, the slowest turn back to you. The look on his face... like a shark that's smelled blood. And then his large hand lands gently atop your head.

"Prepared... mentally? Or physically?" He smiles with the words, a dark glint in his eyes. Your fingers tremble.

"...I prepared myself," you repeat and his fingers curl, gripping your hair.

His other hand reaches to his belt.

"Very well, witch."

***

The candelight has dimmed significantly, either through his will to set the mood or the passage of time. Your jaw is tired by now, but you're pushing forward.

It doesn't feel like a chore. It feels like a rite. You can't stop until he's pleased. The taste that fills your mouth, layers on your tongue, is unlike anything you've experienced before. It's musky, it's masculine, it's sexual, but it's also inhuman, pleasant, and powerful. Your tongue craves it, lavishing the underside of his lengthy cock and worshipping the blushing purple head now shining with a mix of pre and saliva. Your hands move on their own, weighing and massaging his hefty balls, those delicate orbs that contain the source of your sweet craving, and sliding up and down the part of his shaft you can't cram down your throat, making sure not a single inch of his incredible cock goes unattended.

He sighs in pleasure, graceful fingers playing through your hair to pull it out of your face. His length jumps in your mouth. His abs shiver like he's feeling it. But he's not cumming.

You pop off, panting like a dog, and take to filling your hand with his cock. Soft and wet skin, it slides through your fingers with the movements of his hips, the franticness of his pulse, brought on by multiple hearts, twitching against your palm.

He curls a lock of your hair around his finger. "That's good, little witch," he murmurs, the growl of his voice having dropped enough to a deep something almost soothing and sweet.

"Is it?" you pant.

"Yes..." He smiles. "I seldom have company as good as you're being right now. I can sense your eagerness. It energizes me."

Then why aren't you good enough to make him cum? His cock feels hot as you press your lips to the side of it in a kiss too loving to be given to something so lewd. Looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, you let your desire leak out in a whisper, "I want you to cum..."

His eyebrow quirks, eerie smile unmoving. "Is that so? This was just foreplay. You are very good at it, however..." He grasps the base of his cock, bouncing it against your willing tongue. "Then, keep going. I'm close. I'll let myself this time. Go on."

You need no more prompting. Revitalized, your hand redoubles its efforts, closing your fingers around his shaft like a makeshift cocksleeve for him to fuck. Your mouth kisses and sucks gently at the skin of his sack, willing the churning balls contained within to let loose already.

His fingers move from your hair to curl around the nape of your neck, encouraging you to lavish the base of his cock with your tongue. His ombre claws scratch your skin as his grip tightens ever so slightly, a grunt escaping him.

You can't get enough of this taste. You wish you could force his length down your throat, but you know you'd choke on his size, so you have to settle for lovingly polishing his shaft with your mouth and feeling his intense pulse fluttering like a hummingbird shot up with caffeine squeezed between your fingers.

He lets out a shaky breath, leaning back on one hand. "Oh... So good, little witch. Don't stop," he moans. You can't tell if he's putting you on, or if this is what it means that he's letting himself feel it this time.

Two of his fingers press against the pulse behind your ear and, as he whispers for more, you realize you're moving your hand in ways you hadn't thought of, reacting to what he wants without him having to say it, like the remaining half of his soul is reaching deep within you to connect with yours, encourage to slow down and speed up, tighten your grip as you slide your hand up and loosen as it falls back down, to tease the underside right below the head with your thumb. You're rewarded with copious amounts of shimmering pre, the involuntary twitching of his cock, and his breathy groans that send shivers down your spine.

"Like that," he gasps. "Keep going- n- ah- oh Gods." He releases your nape to wrap his hand around yours, tightening your grip for you, and forcing your hand to pump faster and faster. His lips pull back in a snarl, eyes shutting as his head tilts back. "Gods- yes- yes- y-"

His whole body jerks, hips jumping against your hand. He groans, stilling your hand at the base of his cock. It twitches in your grasp and you watch in awe as a couple shots of his dark blue, semi-translucent semen fly free and the rest begins to leak down his length, thick and warm sliding over his and your fingers.

After a moment of tension, he finally relaxes and releases your hand, letting you pull it back and stare at the blue cum coating your fingers. He lets out a long breath and looks down at you again.

"Like I said..." He pauses to bring his hand to his mouth. His white tongue slides out and he drags his fingers down it, catching the taste of himself. His tongue then flicks across his lips, like he's savoring it, a lewd sexiness you never expected from a Fae scholar. You squeeze your thighs together a little tighter, the excitement that's been brewing between them finally reaching the point of unbearable neediness. "You're an eager one."

"But," he continues. "This was just foreplay."

Not bothering to tuck himself back in his pants, he simply bends over, gripping you under your arms. "Up we go." Rather than hauling you to your feet, he lifts you up, catching you easily with his hands on your thighs and forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. He steadies you with one hand on your back, but otherwise seems to have zero trouble holding you up.

"Let's go upstairs, to my bed, so I can love you properly," he whispers in your ear and begins to pepper your neck, jaw, and cheek in kisses. All you can do is hold on tight as he carries you up the spiral staircase, not even having to look at where he's going.

It's an unceremonious drop, but the bed that meets your back, that bounces you once then lets you sink in, is soft and comfortable, welcoming you with the feeling of safety and, beneath you, a handmade quilt that surrounds you with the distinct, puzzling essence of a mother who loved her son.

The fleeting feeling is gone in an instant as his weight presses you down into the bed. For the first time, his lips meet yours and sparks the sweetest of feelings deep within you.

Instinctively, you take his face between your hands, holding him gently as you move your mouth against his in the rhythm dripping with ardor that he leads you through. The softness of his lips, the faint scratch of his stubble, the taste of his mouth, and the air from his lungs filling yours, you lose yourself to the haze, like sinking slowly and warmly into the spring of Nothingness. Your fingers find his hair and take the ribbon holding his locks together with them, letting those waves flow down to frame his face and brush ever so softly against yours.

He breaks the kiss and his shadow falls over you as he sits up. His hands find the ties at his side and then his top is coming undone, tossed into a heap on the floor followed by his dark undershirt. You were right, those clothes hid so much of his hard, toned, scarred body.

You reach a hand out, your fingertips desiring to feel the uneven terrain of those well-maintained abs, but one firm word from him—"Stay."—and your hand snaps back to its place on your chest.

He shuffles forward, parting your thighs to fit his hips in between them. His hands make quick work of your clothes and you let him, giving yourself over to the feeling of his palms lighting a fire up the silhouette of your body as your back arches off the bed to meet his touch. A smirk plays at his lips as your top comes off, but as soon as he's slid your pants off your legs, he leans in again to seal his lips against the column of your throat.

His hand dives between your legs, fingers finding your wet heat and you sigh in pleasure. A pleased hum rumbles in his chest.

"So you did prepare yourself." His breath fans your skin and his teeth scrape you in a small nip at the V shaped muscles in your neck. "Good... Because I can't wait anymore."

Another shift and he's pushing your legs up. His forehead meets yours. You can't see where his eyes are looking but you're pretty sure, right now, it's directly in your own eyes.

"Is that okay?" The question catches you off guard. He's paused against you, but the eagerness he teased you for previously is now radiating off of him. Not trusting your voice, you nod emphatically, trying your best to brace yourself and calm your skyrocketing heartrate.

He reaches one hand between the two of you, lining himself up. Just as his hips push forward, his lips capture yours.

It's unlike anything you've felt before. The way his girth splits you open, stretching your sensitive walls to welcome himself inside, driving ever deeper and filling you, filling you until his hips meet yours. You prepared, but not for this. You're melting around him, whimpering into his mouth. He pulses inside you, feeling just as connected to you as you are to him.

"Just breathe," he breaks the kiss to whisper against your lips. "Don't hold your breath. I've got you."

You whine in response and he seals the sound in again with his lips. His body rocks against yours, barely pulling out before sliding back in. You don't feel empty for a second. You feel full, so full, and you let yourself melt completely into it, wrapping your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck. His tongue sweeps through your mouth and you slide your tongue along his, tasting the sweetness of whatever berries have satiated him today.

You moan against each other, his grip on your waist gradually tightening as his short thrusts grow in force until he's tense. His tail lashes against your legs in frustration. He grunts, slamming his balls against your butt at this point, trying to find a stimulation he seems to be lacking. Finally, he can't take it anymore. He breaks the kiss again.

"Hold still," he growls.

Twitches seize your muscles as he sits up and takes your hands in his, his tail curling around your ankle as you loosen your legs from around his hips. Lacing his fingers with yours, he slowly pulls out. His hands squeeze yours and then he thrusts forward with a force that drives a loud cry of pleasure from your now unburdened mouth.

He molds your inner walls to the shape of his cock, stretching your insides around every contour of the thick, lengthy, hard shape spearing into you; you'll never feel the same again.

He doesn't give you a break and you wouldn't ask him to, pistoning in and out like it's what he was made to do. The sound of skin smacking against skin mix in the air with the sounds of your non-stop moans and desperate cries. His own groans escape unbidden from his mouth as his head tilts back.

Pleasure rides like tsunami-level waves up your body. His hips beat against yours, fucking up into your stomach so hard tears spring to your eyes. But you don't beg him to stop. You beg him for more. He calls your name, for the very second time since you met him, your name shapes his voice. And you see it.

The air sparks with magic and you finally see it; the white flame that surrounds his aura, emerging from his incomplete soul. The black fog that creeps up behind him, like eyes watching over his shoulder, seeing all your vulnerabilities.

The Call of After crackles upon his skin. It's weaved so deeply inside him he'll never be untethered. Never free of Father Fae.

The flame that licks down his arms flows into you and you feel Power.

That split second where the sensation of sex faded away slams back into you full force. Your nails dig into the backs of his hands, your hips move on their own, bucking up to meet his every earth-shattering thrust.

You beg him not to stop, never to stop, crying out your pleasure, calling for the Gods that abandoned this world, anything to work this feeling out of you, the feeling that makes your body move on it's own, that makes you want to scream your head off. Jolts rock through your body, sparks firing off in your brain. It's building. The tension grips your muscles. Control is snatched from you completely. The power bundling up in your core expands into every crevice of your body, shooting up your spine, straight into your brain and then-

You throw your head back, a scream tearing claws up your throat as you climax explodes through you, from this reality to the next.

Your insides' frantic spasming around his cock proves too much for him, too, triggering his own orgasm, but you barely get to see his reaction before everything goes black.

***

A weak moan escapes you before your eyes manage to crack open. Your bones feel gelatinous as your bleary surroundings slowly come into focus, the darkness at the edge of your vision receding.

The vague feeling against your cheek sharpens to familiar stubble and soft lips placing kiss after loving kiss on your neck, jaw, and cheek. You then realize you're cradled against a warm, bare chest. And the clothes upon your body are not the ones you came here in. In fact, they're a size or more too large for you, though comfortable.

"Are you awake, little witch?" His voice rumbles soothingly.

"...Tired..." you mumble in response and he chuckles deeply. You really want to close your eyes and turn your face in to those sculpted pecs and sleep for the next century, but you force yourself to look up at him.

He smiles, all hostility from your initial meeting now completely vanished from his demeanor. He leans in to greet your swollen lips with two kisses. He then turns away and sits up on the side of the bed, leaving you lonely.

"Well then." He locks his fingers together, stretching his arms above his head and letting you see the way his muscles move and stretch in his back.

"...You owe me knowledge, Fae," you find the strength to shoot back, though your voice sounds as sore as your throat is.

He laughs lightly, snatching his discarded shirt from the floor and standing up. "Of course. I haven't forgotten." He coyly glances back at you over his shoulder as he wrangles his shirt back on. "Find your strength, witch, then join me downstairs. You've more than earned the knowledge you seek and I will answer all your questions."

His smile grows upon his lips.

"Tell me, do you like tea?"

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Your Kind of Heaven

The prompt from @that-one-weird-fangirl2020​ was this:

Can I get #27, the angsty/fluffy list, with a Cayde-6 x Female!Gunslinger!Reader? Maybe throw in a passionate, romantic, first kiss?

Cayde-6 x (Gunslinger) Female!Reader

Warnings: non descriptive fight scene, internal demons, past trauma

1,991 words

Song Inspiration: To Hell & Back by Maren Morris

“Smoke was comin’ off my jacket and you didn’t seem to mind, I left a long trail of ashes and you said, ‘I like your style’.”

There were skeletons in your closet, demons in your mind, and there was only one way you knew of to deal with them. It involved your light, your gun, and a trail of ashes where your enemies used to be. If you kept moving, kept shooting, then you didn’t have to think. 

That’s when the trouble always came, when you were still.

You were reborn a guardian 3 days before the start of the Red War.

You had been introduced into a world of community and Light only to watch it crumble beneath the Red Legion. Somehow, by some miracle, you had escaped. You had managed to get off the Tower, get out of the City, and slipped out into the wilderness. There had been other guardians with you. Older guardians who tried to help, to show you the way while being lost themselves, had perished before your very eyes. It felt like you had been born into a world only to be useless. No matter what you did someone would die. Sometimes it was guardians, sometimes it was civilians, and many times you had wished it had been you rather than them.

When the Light finally returned, it was too late. The damage had been done. Your Ghost tried to reassure you that things would be different now, and as much as you wanted to believe him it was still difficult. It was why you avoided the other guardians now. You had lost so many people back to back to back. The idea of getting to know someone now was terrifying. What if war came again? What if you lost them? What if you weren’t strong enough to save them?

It was safer to keep to yourself.

To focus on missions.

To focus on bettering yourself.

To focus on your only working distraction.

Three shots, three dead Cabal. You stared at their motionless forms briefly before glancing around. The EDZ was quiet today, and now it was even quieter. You heaved a sigh in disappointment. The hope had been that Cabal in the EDZ would keep you busy for the whole morning, not just a couple hours.

“The area is clear.” Your Ghost confirmed.

You dismissed your helmet and rubbed the back of your neck. The area around you looked like the remains of an old city, abandoned and empty. Overgrown with vegetation all around, like nature had reclaimed what once belonged to it.

It was too quiet. The itch was back, and that dreadful voice whispered in the back of your mind. Before you could ask your Ghost to transmat you to the nearest world with a pest problem the sound of someone else transmatting distracted you.

“Hey there, partner.”

“Cayde.” You gave him a tight grin. Your Vanguard was the closest thing you had to a friend. He was the only person you really spoke to on a regular basis, other than your Ghost, and it was oddly because you actually enjoyed talking to him. Granted, it had started as just mission reports and training exercises, but somehow it had turned into drinks and ramyun and laughter.

He glanced at the empty buildings then looked back to you, “You really cleared this place out, huh? Busy morning?”

“Not busy enough.” You replied. “You need anything done? Anything at all?”

Cayde took a step toward you. It was closer than you were used to, but you didn’t move back. He had this look on his face, but it wasn’t concern. It wasn’t pity or worry or disapproval. Those were always the facial expressions you expected, but he never showed them to you. He always looked at you like this. With curiosity, with care, with amusement.

“Ever think about taking a vacation? I hear the pools of Io are nice this time of year.” Cayde suggested. He had his hands on his hips, his head tilted slightly.

You shrugged, “Sounds a little too…quiet.”

“And you don’t like quiet.” Cayde nodded. You had mentioned this to him before. That you needed action or movement at all times. The only exception being when you went to bed for a night of restless sleep. “Guess we just need to keep working on finding you a new hobby.”

“A new hobby?”

“Yeah, something that calms that brain of yours”, He lifted his hand to tap your temple with his gloved hand, “Without having to throw yourself into the fray again and again.”

You chuckled at the thought. That’d be nice. You weren’t sure anything could really quiet your mind. You were kind of positive this was just the curse of your existence.

“I’m not sure I’m capable of that kind of change, Cayde.”

Cayde shook his head, “No, no, no. Not change. I don’t want you to change ever, partner. I like you just the way you are. I just think a break every now and again will do you some good.”

He liked you the way you were. Skeletons, demons, cracks, and all. Cayde was staring at you again with that same look on his face. Amusement and adoration. His blue eyes glowed with a warmth that always seemed to reach the core of who you were. He wasn’t scared of you and didn’t bat an eye at your flaws.

And it was then that you realized that things were quiet. With Cayde looking at you the way he was, the softness of his Exo features focused only on you, it was quiet. Your mind wasn’t racing with regrets of the past or fears of the future. You felt at ease.

“I can’t think when you keep looking at me like that.” The words fell from your lips before you were fully aware of them. They were nearly a whisper. Cayde was closer now, he was the only thing in your vision, and you were ok with that. Your eyes darted down to his mouth unintentionally.

The urge to close the small gap between you was strong, and it scared you. Things would be different if you did that and that voice in the back of your mind nagged and nagged. The decision was taken away from you when the sound of whistling filled the air. The two of you recognized it around the same time, you could see it on his face, and both of you whipped around just as three Cabal containment pods hit the Earth a few yards away kicking up dirt and dust. Honestly, you were just lucky they hadn’t landed on top of you. You had the bad luck of being a containment pod magnet. And maybe you were also lucky that your usual distraction had showed up just in time to prevent a potential life altering mistake.

“They didn’t even give me time to stretch.” Cayde said as the Cabal began to open fire.

You called back your helmet and dove out of the way of a tossed grenade. What was supposed to be a quick battle, turned into a rather large mess. More Cabal had come after you and Cayde dealt with the first wave, but their presence had attracted a nearby squad of Fallen. So now the two of you were sandwiched between two enemies who were both shooting at you and behind you. Some wandering Guardians had happened upon the scene though, and the enemies were quickly dealt with. While Cayde had his back turned to you, greeting one of the Hunters that had stumbled onto the scene, you had your Ghost transmat you back to your ship.

The entire flight back to the Tower you were kicking yourself. You had been so close to doing something so stupid. Letting your professional relationship with Cayde turn into a friendship had been stupid. Opening up to him about your fears and worries one drunken night had been stupid. Wanting to kiss your Vanguard in enemy territory just because you liked the way he looked at you? That was downright crazy.

Once at the Tower, you made a beeline to your living space. The plan was to grab some supplies and then book it out to Nessus or Io. You could scoop up a long surveillance mission from someone who didn’t want to spend a month out in the wild and do so yourself. That’d keep you busy and distracted.

“Someone is here.” Your Ghost hummed before disappearing from your sight. Before you could question him a heavy knock came from your door. Your apartment was tiny. It consisted of one room with a second small room branched off it that worked as the bathroom. This meant there was only one door in and out unless you were going to try and escape through the window, but you weren’t that desperate. Yet.

“I know you’re in there, partner.”

Your eyes glanced at the window in temptation.

‘If you climb out the window, I won’t revive you when you fall.’ Ghost joked internally.

You knew that was his nice way of saying you needed to answer the door, and more so you knew he was right. After steeling yourself, trying to push all non-professional thoughts of Cayde out your head, you walked to the door and pulled it open.

He was leaning against the frame, his armor still messy and dirty from the last fight. The moment your eyes caught his all the steeling of your mind had fizzled out in a hot mess of fireworks in your brain. You were back in that same position you found yourself in earlier. Except now the chances of the Cabal interrupting you were slim to none.

“You left before we could finish our conversation.” Cayde said firmly.

You swallowed the lump that seemed to have formed in your throat, “I think we both know that we were done talking.”

This time is was his gaze that dropped down to your lips before slowly dragging back up to your eyes. Cayde nodded once, “You’re probably right.”

You didn’t know if you moved first or if he did, but the two of you collided. Your lips were on his mouth and his hands were cupping your face then tangling in your hair. Thoughts weren’t needed when you were kissing him. It was all action and instinct, like your body was moving on its own accord and you were just there for the ride. Your gloves traced his firm armored chest while he pulled back on your hair slightly to expose your neck enough for him to pepper kisses down in until he reached the edge of your armor.

You sucked in a sharp breath of air when his mouth caught a sensitive spot on your neck and that was like throwing gas on a flame. You pulled his face back up to yours to kiss him. In one swift movement, Cayde’s hands went to the back of your thighs to scoop you up while his foot kicked the door shut behind you. He turned and pushed your back against the door deepening the kiss. He tasted like his favorite drink and you wondered if he had stopped to take a shot before coming here.

After another moment he pulled his mouth away leaving you breathless. His face lingered close though as you took in air. You had your arms wrapped around his shoulders, but now you brought your hands in to cup his face. Your thumb traced the edge of his cheek as his warm eyes didn’t leave yours. It was quiet in the room and you were ok with that because it was also quiet in your mind.

“I think this could be a good hobby for you.” Cayde spoke up suddenly, his tone sounded breathless despite Exos not technically needing to breath. “Thoughts?”

“Yeah.” You chuckled out an agreement, “Yeah, this could work.”

Cayde shot you an amused look before pulling you into another kiss. You wrapped your arms around him and melted against his chest. 

Yeah, this could definitely work.

[caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma]

Map of the Soul, Chapter Four

For the @btswritingcafe​‘s Map of the Soul: 7 Workshop

Pairings: OT7 x reader (kinda); Taehyung x reader x Jimin

Series Summary: If you give a piece of yourself to everyone you love, at some point, there will be nothing left for yourself. While feeling lost and alone in your adult life, a strange box falls onto your head in your own closet, and you take an unexpected walk down memory lane wondering where everything went wrong.  Was it the romances that fizzled out, the friends & loved ones you left behind, the “what could’ve been” moments, the brush with Fate that never quite connected? Could the strange map you find have the answers you are looking for?  Determined to feel complete once again, you embark on a journey to reclaim the missing pieces of your soul.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, A Lot of Smut

Word Count: 7k+

Warnings: cursing & vulgar language, alcohol consumption, sexual innuendos, mentions of previous sexual encounters, bisexual behavior, fingering, oral sex (m/f receiving & giving), spanking, unprotected/protected sex (rules exist for a reason, be safe), daddy kink, a sliver of degradation, orgasm denial, cream pies, anal play/sex, double penetration

Chapter Four: Just Filter Out the Bad, Keep the Good

Oh, Kookie.

You rolled your eyes and giggled at your phone screen as the bartender finally walked over to you.

“Can I get another Jameson and Ginger?” you shouted over the music. “And another Long Island Iced Tea?”

The bartender nodded in acknowledgement and began making your drinks. It was the third time tonight you’d made your way to the bar, but you couldn’t really complain. You were having so much fun, and Taehyung had the crowd half in love with him with his charming stage presence and his smooth honeyed vocal stylings.

“Thank you,” Taehyung crooned over the microphone. “I’m going to take a little break, but I promise, I’ll be back.”

A round of disappointment resounded through the bar, and you rolled your eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. You caught Taehyung’s eye and he motioned that he was going to go to the bathroom. After a quick thumbs-up, you picked up your drinks and made your way back to your booth to wait for him.

Almost twenty minutes passed and the ice in your drink was clinking against the bottom.

Where the hell is he? Men’s bathrooms don’t take THAT long in bars.

Realizing that this modern bar might actually have gender neutral bathrooms, you decided to go off in search of your soulmate. After making your way past the crowded tables, you rounded the corner and saw there were only a few people waiting in line, none of them Taehyung. You waited a few minutes and the line moved, but none of the individuals exiting the single stall bathrooms were him either. Confused, you started walking back toward the bar.

A throaty groan caught your ear as you walked by a darkened hallway. In the dim red light of the Exit sign at the end of the hall, you made out the distinct shape of Taehyung’s shoulders hovering over a smaller individual against the wall. The two were completely unaware of your approach as they were obviously occupied with other things at the moment.

“Seriously, Tae,” you mused. “Ditching me for a pretty face? That’s a real dick move.”

“Look, sweetheart,” a wispy voice exhaled. “I saw him first, so I’m gonna need you to step off, alright?”

That voice…

You inhaled sharply, staggered back a few inches with your eyes wide, and clutched at the non-existent pearls on your neck.

“Jiminie?” you squeaked out.

The two men ceased their makeout session abruptly, and Taehyung stepped aside to reveal plush lips, bright red hair, and big brown eyes blown out in shock.

“Jagiya?”

March 20th, 11:17 pm

“This next song goes out to my gorgeous soulmate,” Taehyung chirped into the microphone. “I’ve loved her since the moment she fell from Heaven and crushed my head on the playground.”

A round of “awwww”s reverberated across the bar, and you rolled your eyes at Taehyung and blew him a kiss. The music started up again and Taehyung went into full Elvis mode.

“Wise men say only fools rush in, But I can't help falling in love with you…”

“Wow,” Jimin groaned sensually. “Does his voice always sound like liquid sex poured over hot coals?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” you quipped. “Taehyung has a very special relationship with the microphone. They’ve been going steady for decades, but he’s always too cowardly to commit.”

“What do you mean, jagi?” Jimin grinned. “Does he not realize how good he is?”

“Oh, he knows,” you corrected him. “He just can’t handle the spotlight very well. In a bar, he’ll get brave, but put him on an actual stage with a real crowd, and he becomes an awkward mess of a man. It’s a mystery.”

“You’re kidding,” Jimin scoffed. “There’s no way that gorgeous hunk of man over there is ever awkward.”

“You’d be surprised,” you chuckled. “I know that man better than he knows himself.”

“I was pretty close to getting to know him myself,” Jimin bragged. “Someone just had to interrupt our steamy little makeout session back there.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jimin,” you goaded. “Sure, you may have captured his attention, but he’d never really ditch me for another pretty face, including yours.”

“I don’t know, jagiya,” Jimin smirked. “Before you showed up, I already had him asking how far away my place was.”

“That may be so,” you smiled wickedly. “But I guarantee he wouldn’t ditch me. One look and he would be crawling back to me without question.”

You and Jimin stared one another down and your eyes battled it out for dominance. You sighed sweetly and blew a kiss to Taehyung, and he eagerly snatched out of the air and placed it in his lapel pocket. Jimin rolled his eyes at your dual displays of affection and chuckled.

That’s right. No one comes between me and my soulmate.

“So, what brings you back to town, Jiminie?” you giggled, changing the subject. “Let me guess, another frat party?”

“Yes, actually, I’m here for the fraternity’s centennial celebration,” he explained. “We had a whole ceremony and raffle fundraiser last night, and the house party is tonight.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t there now,” you gawked. “The Park Jimin I remember never missed an opportunity for a good frat party.”

Jimin giggled and ran his fingers through his hair, an old habit that always increased his allure. He leaned over and placed his hand on your thigh, provoking a rolling plain of goosebumps across your arms and legs.

“I’m not the same Jimin you remember, jagi,” he murmured while licking his lips. “A lot of things changed since we last saw each other. When was that, by the way?”

A bitter memory triggered in your brain and you gently pushed him away, free from his hypnotic seduction. Confusion traveled across his face and he cocked a questioning look at you, lifting an eyebrow for emphasis.

“It was during grad school,” you reminded him. “The Venetian Masquerade Homecoming party at your frat house?”

Jimin closed his eyes briefly and nodded gravely as the memory hit him as well. There was a tangible shift in his personality, and you knew Jimin was trying to figure out how to proceed.  He was an expert at tailoring his personality to fit the situation, but he seemed at a loss when you reminded him of the troubled past. You both sat there in silence, allowing the details to take shape in your mind once again. Taehyung chose that exact moment to intrude upon your conversation.

“Hey,” he shouted. “Who’s up next?”

Jimin glanced over to Taehyung and gave him a tight smile.

“I guess I am,” Jimin offered. “Any requests?”

“Sing me something sweet,” Taehyung pleaded. “I want my heart to burst with emotion.”

Jimin winked at Taehyung and glanced over to see if you’re looking at him. You were not. As Jimin headed over to the booth to choose a song, Taehyung pulled you close and wrapped his arm around your shoulders.

“What’s going on, ttalgi?” he teased lightly. “I’d know that angsty look of yours anywhere. Are you and Jimin-ssi reliving painful memories from college?”

“Something like that,” you muttered “We didn’t exactly end on good terms the last time.”

“How so?” he recoiled. “Every time you’ve mentioned him in the past, it was always with glowing reviews of his sexual prowess. I’ve never once heard you say one bad thing about him.”

“Tae,” you grimaced. “Have you really never noticed that I stopped talking about Jimin a long time ago? Like almost 6 years now?”

“No,” Taehyung said carefully. “Why? Did he do something to hurt you?”

Taehyung stiffened against you as he shot a glare in Jimin’s direction. You were quick to calm the raging Papa Bear beside you. Taehyung was always quick to defend your honor, but it wasn’t necessary in this case.

“It’s not that simple, babe,” you sighed in defeat, lifting your eyes to stare longingly at Jimin. “We hurt each other...badly.”

“Hello, everyone,” Jimin announced on the microphone. “I’m Jimin, and I’m an asshole. That’s not a lie either. I hurt someone who is very special to me, and I never apologized. Because of that, I lost her and I don’t know if I’ll ever get her back and that sucks. Because I really care about her a lot and I just want us to be friends again because she’s amazing and I miss her. Jagiya, this song is for you.”

A powerful boom pumped through the speakers and Jimin began singing “Before I Cry” by Lady Gaga.

“I can't believe the things you said Right now I wish that you would try Try to stay near me Try to be near me”

“Oh damn, babe,” Taehyung breathed out in a rush. “He broke out A Star is Born? Bold move.”

Your eyes glistened as you concentrated on Jimin’s gaze, which never once wavered from your own. He was singing directly to you, and everyone else in the room just faded away. The delicate lilt of his voice was mesmerizing, and you braced yourself for the chorus, knowing he would be unleashing the full extent of his vocal power on you.

“'Cause I'm gonna cry If you say you don't need me I'm gonna cry if you act like you don't care Promise me, baby, you know I can't fake it Why don't you hold me? Tell me you love me before I cry”

You took note of the gloss covering his eyes after that last big note. He continued to sing, his heart pouring waves of regret and longing over you. His hands reached out for you emphatically as the song progressed and after he hit the last big chorus, he stepped off the stage to sing the last verse. With every step he took, he walked closer and closer to your booth until he was kneeling in front of you and reaching for your hand.

“Have I said what I needed to say? Have you said what you wanted to say? Did you say what you wanted to say? Would you try and stop me before I cry?”

The music stopped and you sucked in a sob before launching yourself into his arms. Jimin stood up and lifted you off the ground in a crushing hug. The room exploded into thunderous applause and they cheered loudly when you pulled back and kissed Jimin on his full lips. He released you and you brushed away the tears trailing down his chubby cheeks. He smiled brightly at you and then remembered he still had the microphone in his hand.

“Oh, thank you,” he laughed in embarrassment. “I guess that worked pretty well, huh? Who’s next?”

Jimin handed off the microphone to the next singer and you pulled him back into the booth with you. Taehyung was leaning on his fists while shooting heart eyes at Jimin who countered with his own half-moon eye smile.

“Jagiya,” Jimin said, turning to face you properly. “I really am sorry for what I did. I never meant to hurt you.”

“It wasn’t only your fault, Minnie,” you responded sweetly. “I said some pretty fucked up things to you that night also. Can you ever forgive me?”

“So, is anyone going to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Taehyung interrupted rudely. “All I seem to understand is that you fucked up, you stopped talking, and now you’re making up. Can someone please fill in the blanks?”

You and Jimin giggled at Taehyung’s flabbergasted expression and decided to take pity on him.

“Jimin and I were supposed to go to a masquerade ball together a while back,” you began. “We even got matching costumes.”

“We were never officially a couple, but people just knew we had a special relationship,” Jimin continued. “But it didn’t stop us from playing the field.”

“However,” you cut him off. “That night, we’d agreed to stick together for once. No one else, just us.”

“Oh shit, I see where this is going,” Taehyung squealed. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Anyway,” you sighed. “We were doing fine until the jello shots started circulating. You know I can’t resist a good jello shot and neither can Jimin.”

Taehyung nodded enthusiastically, and Jimin pulled you closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I caught her making out with some hot cheerleader in the kitchen,” Jimin explained. “So I got mad and pulled her away.”

“In my defense,” you countered. “I had just seen you nibbling on that guy’s ear on the patio.”

“You were the one giving that guy a lap dance on the couch,” Jimin shot back.

“Only because you grabbed that girl’s ass on the way to the bathroom,” you spat.

“Yo,” Taehyung cut in. “I get it. You guys are stupid competitive and extremely jealous. Continue the story.”

You and Jimin both laughed at Taehyung’s outburst.

“We ended up having a full on public shouting match in the front yard of the frat house,” you sighed. “Not gonna lie. It got pretty ugly.”

“People thought we were having an actual breakup,” Jimin scoffed. “After we said some pretty nasty things to each other, I got mad and told her to leave the party.”

“He disappeared into the frat house,” you muttered sadly. “The last thing I saw was him pulling some guy and girl into a back room. He flipped me off before he slammed the door in my face.”

“Nothing happened,” he explained. “I just wanted to piss her off. When I left the room a few minutes later, they told me she’d left in tears. I felt like shit about it, but I was still pissed. I got blackout drunk and woke up under the kitchen table in my underwear.”

“Sounds like a good party,” Taehyung giggled. “So what happened after that?”

“I left back home,” Jimin said. “I didn’t apologize because I thought it was her fault.”

“And I didn’t apologize because I thought it was his fault,” you continued. “We haven’t spoken or seen each since then, at least until tonight. We were so fucking stupid. It’s not like we were dating or anything.”

“Yeah, you two should never date,” Taehyung declared. “Look at how horrible you were to each other. That shit would get toxic real quick.”

You and Jimin looked back at one another and he placed a kiss on your forehead. You both sighed and hugged it out once again.

“You’re probably right, Tae-bear,” you admitted. “It just sucks that we weren’t able to fix things back then. I feel like we lost out on so much.”

“I’m willing to do a hard reset if you are, jagi,” Jimin suggested. “I really have missed you. Want to be friends again? We can just erase everything that was bad and just focus on the good stuff and all the fun times we had.”

You rolled the idea over in your mind and then an idea struck you. You promptly scooted him out of the booth, and with a wide smile spreading across your face, you grabbed onto his hands.

“Let’s do our song,” you cheered. “That way it’s really official!”

“Oh, jagiya,” Jimin pouted. “I’m definitely filing that under bad stuff. Besides, you know I can’t perform without the proper attire. There is only one way you’ll get me to sing that song, and I seriously doubt you have what I need.”

“Oh my gods,” you huffed out in bewilderment. “No fucking way.”

“I’m sorry, jagi” he teased. “You know my rule: no sequins, no song.”

You crawled over the table and grabbed your clutch from next to Taehyung. You reached inside and pulled out the gold sequined bow tie and held it up for Jimin to see. He blanched at the sight and the shock on his face was tangible.

“Where the fuck did you find that thing?” Jimin spat. “I thought I burned that in the bonfire!”

“I have no idea,” you grinned triumphantly. “But you owe me a song now, sir. Let’s go, 가자!”

You pulled the bow tie over Jimin’s head and adjusted it. He grimaced and whined as you pulled him over to the booth to fill out the song request. You both grabbed a microphone and you pushed a very reluctant Jimin onto the stage.

“Hello, everyone,” you greeted sweetly. “I brought this adorable gentleman up here for one more song. Wasn’t he just lovely earlier?”

Everyone applauded and Taehyung stood up to whistle and whoop like a crazed fan. You beamed at Jimin who gave you the fakest petty smile he could muster. You leaned up to kiss him on the cheek and he gritted out a faint, but spiteful “I fucking hate you” under his breath. You winked at him cheekily and poked your tongue out in response.

A series of electronic snare drums snapped and synthesizer beats popped out of the speakers and an exuberant “Yeah” and “Woo” filled the air as Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” kicked off.

You and Jimin switched off every other line like a proper duet, and the crowd was eating it up. You alternated little dance moves around each other with cute poses, and you even pulled his arms around you during the chorus, which of course, everyone sang with you.

When the song was done, you both received a standing ovation from the entire bar, and even the bartender applauded enthusiastically. When you finally made your way back to the booth, a waitress showed up with a round of fruity red shots called Washington Red Apples, courtesy of the elated bartender.

“Well,” you cooed at the grumpy Jimin next to you. “That is definitely the best friendship renewal I’ve ever been a part of. Can you even think of a better way to make up than that?”

“I know a better one,” Taehyung remarked with a smirk.

You and Jimin looked up at each other and then at Taehyung. The devilish look on his face transferred onto Jimin’s and then made its way onto your own. You took the shot glass between your fingers and held it out to propose a toast.

“To renewed friendships,” you grinned. “Among other things.”

You all clinked your glasses and downed your shots. It only took a second after for everyone to take action.

“Tae-bear,” you purred. “Close out our tab. Jimin and I will meet you in the car.”

March 21st, 1:07am

The drive back to your apartment was a blur, a steamy blur full of well placed kisses, hot visuals, and a plethora of wandering hands.

After Taehyung pried you off of Jimin’s lap in the back seat, he handed you the keys and ordered you to drive since you were the only one who knew how to get to your apartment. In the meantime, Jimin was pulled onto Taehyung’s lap in the backseat and you were treated to quite a show in your rear view mirror. The moans and groans emanating from the backseat were causing quite a stir in your panties. In fact, the thin material was noticeably sticking to your dripping folds as you parallel parked the car in front of your apartment building.

“Everyone out,” you barked. “Let’s go!”

The two entwined bodies groaned at your command, and refused to move out of the backseat. Beyond aggravated, you leaned in and grabbed onto both heads of hair and pulled back harshly. Both men whined and moaned lightly, but both also knew better than to pull away from your claws. You knew both of their kinks to the letter, and pain was at the top of the list.

That’s right, boys. I’m in charge here.

“I said,” you growled. “Let’s go.”

They quickly exited the vehicle as soon you released them, and all three of you hastily made your way inside of your apartment, promptly locking the door behind you.

The dogs had been walked and fed before you’d left the apartment, so they briefly greeted you at the door, and then huffed out snorts of derision at your choice of nighttime activities.

Jimin got excited when he saw Oberyn and Yeontan, but you and Tae were quick to pull him back into the fold, promising proper introductions later.

Much later.

After a flurry of clothing and shoes tossed from the front entrance to your bedroom floor, you found yourself completely naked and standing at the edge of your bed wedged between two deliciously sweaty naked men who were pressing open mouth kisses all over your body. You could barely differentiate between Taehyung’s playful nibbles and Jimin’s soft suckling against your skin. In perfect synchronization, Taehyung and Jimin latched on to opposing sides of your neck, drawing an impatient moan from your lips.

That’s definitely gonna leave a mark.

Jimin pulled you back slightly and kneeled between you and Taehyung, gripping his hands onto each of your thighs for balance.

“Allow me,” he hummed. “After all, I am a guest in your home.”

With fluid precision, Jimin grasped a hold of Taehyung’s throbbing cock and began stroking it from tip to hilt while simultaneously pulling your swollen clit between his lips. You and Taehyung let out gasping moans in unison while holding onto each other for support.

“Didn’t I tell you the man had talent, Tae?” you hummed. “Ah, Jimin…”

You couldn’t even start your next sentence because Jimin was slipping his tongue into your folds and lapping up every drop of essence collecting between your thighs. Taehyung gaped at the sight while trying not to blow his load over Jimin’s skillful ministrations.

“Holy fuck, babe,” he groaned. “You totally undersold him. He’s like some kind of wicked little sex fairy.”

Jimin giggled against your slippery folds before placing a fat kiss on top of your clit. He sat back on his heels and pursed his glistening lips at Taehyung.

“Sucking dick doesn’t make me a fairy, Taehyung,” he teased. “But I guarantee it will feel magical when I get that fat cock between my lips.”

Switching it up, Jimin plunged two fingers into your hungry hole while licking a long wet stripe up the front of Taehyung’s girthy length. Your eyes locked onto Jimin’s bouncing red hair as he sucked on Taehyung’s dick like a juicy popsicle. Neither his fingers nor his tongue slowed their actions as Jimin turned both of you into hot moaning messes.

“Jimin...ah...baby,” you whimpered. “We need to get horizontal before I fall. My legs are...ah...about to give out.”

Taehyung slid his hand down your side to steady your waist, but found it difficult to concentrate with Jimin’s never-ending onslaught of pleasure. You could see Taehyung’s eyes rolling back in pleasure each time Jimin lowered his head onto his crotch. The erotic sight only spurred your arousal forward, leaking all over Jimin’s fingers as he artfully fingered you.

“Tae,” you whispered. “I can’t...ah...I can’t hold...ah…”

You couldn’t even form coherent sentences at that point because not only was Jimin curling and dragging his fingers along your G-spot, he was also brushing against your clit with every stroke. It was heavenly, but also sent you tumbling forward into oblivion without anything to hold you up.

Taehyung took mercy on you and grabbed a hold of Jimin’s scarlet locks. After pulling Jimin’s mouth further down his length a few times, he pulled his wicked little sex fairy off his dick and to his feet.

“My soulmate needs a bed,” Taehyung gritted out. “Now.”

“Flattering,” Jimin chirped while licking his lips. “But we’ve only just met, Taehyung. Don’t you think soulmate is a bit much?”

Taehyung seized Jimin’s head and devoured his lips, while still holding you up. After a clash of teeth and tongue, Taehyung pulled Jimin’s bottom lip between his teeth and bit down harshly. Jimin’s aching whimper drew your attention, but you struggled to focus on anything with Jimin’s fingers pumping into you.

“I wasn’t talking about you, Jimin,” Taehyung growled. “I was talking about her.”

Jimin offered Taehyung a mischievous smirk and nodded coyly. He motioned for Taehyung to get behind you as he focused all of his attention and energy on you. They eased you onto the bed keeping you on your knees, and your legs were happy to oblige the shift in balance. Jimin pulled you closer and licked his way into your mouth and you began attacking his lips with your own. He swallowed each whine and moan as his fingers began to pick up speed.

Taehyung took this opportunity to kneel behind you and run his hands over the globes of your ass, relishing the plumpness in the dim lamplight.

“How does your ass always look this perfect, ttalgi?” he mused. “It’s extraordinary, and totally unfair.”

He reared his palm back and brought it down firmly against one cheek and then the other. With each spank, you cried out wantonly, much to the delight of both men.

“She loves it when you spank her,” Jimin chuckled. “This vixen loves pain.”

“I know,” Taehyung shot back after delivering yet another smack to your ass. “She’s my soulmate. It’s my job to know these things.”

“Oh yeah?” Jimin quipped. “You think you know more than I do? I’ve probably made her cum more times than you have.”

“It’s not about quantity, Jiminie,” Taehyung bragged. “It’s about quality.”

Taehyung punctuated his statement with one last slap across your reddening cheek and then leaned against your back. He cupped both of your breasts and began pulling at alternating nipples, loving the throaty moans you emitted with each tug. You started rubbing your ass against his hardened length, and Jimin chased after your creamy center, determined to regain your attention.

“She needs multiple stimuli,” Taehyung explained while leaning forward to pull your earlobe between his teeth. “She’s a dirty girl who wants everyone to touch her, to feel her, to own her, isn’t that right, ttalgi?”

Your moans were reaching a fever pitch, and Taehyung knew what you needed to hear to reach the apex of your climax.

“Come on, baby,” he purred against the shell of your ear. “Be a good girl and let Daddy hear you scream.”

The knot of pleasure in your core tightened sharply and snapped. You cried out as the orgasm quaked across your body in a frenzy, the sensations more pronounced in the areas where you were being touched. Your nipples tingled, your clit pulsed, and your ears were ringing.

You collapsed back against Taehyung’s chest and let out a blissful sigh of satisfaction. You opened your eyes when you heard a wet noise near your face and got an eyeful of Taehyung licking your essence from Jimin’s fingers.

“Mmmm delicious as always, babe,” Taehyung swooned. “You have no idea how good you taste, do you?”

“How good?” you giggled.

“Exquisite,” Jimin hummed after licking the remnants from Taehyung’s lips. “I seriously missed that flavor on my tongue, jagiya. It’s only gotten better with age.”

“Right?” Taehyung expressed with a boxy grin. “I was going to say that too!”

The two of them high-fived and you groaned at their childish behavior.

“If you two assholes are just going to sit there and call me old while high-fiving, I’m so fucking done,” you spat. “I got mine already.”

You tried to move away from them, but they both moved swiftly to pull you back into their arms with a whine.

“Where do you think you’re going, dirty girl?” Taehyung teased while grinding his still hard cock against your ass. “You aren’t done until we say you are.”

“And we are far from done, jagi” Jimin promised. “How about we change things up a bit?”

They laid you back on the mattress and you stretched out your limbs, trying to shake the tension out of your muscles. Taehyung reached into your side table to pull out the box of condoms he knew you had. Jimin pressed his body against yours, trailing his fingertips from your neck down to your hip. You both looked up at Taehyung when he cleared his throat.

“Ok, ttalgi,” he began. “Are we sticking to our usual rules with Jimin here? It’s your call.”

“What are the usual rules?” Jimin asked. “She and I only had two rules: wear a condom and be honest about what we liked or didn’t like.”

“We have something similar, but with variations,” Taehyung explained. “Condoms for any assplay, colors for safewords, consent is always confirmed, aftercare is mandatory, and open, honest communication.”

“Condoms only for assplay?” Jimin gulped. “What about vaginal play?”

“I have my birth control implant,” you told Jimin while pointing out the spot on your arm. “Taehyung and I have always been vigilant about staying clean and we get tested every other month, even when we aren’t sexually active.”

“So, I guess the question we have is,” Taehyung expressed kindly. “What about you, Jimin? What do you want to do?”

Jimin sat up on one elbow and shifted his doe eyes between you and Taehyung. He couldn’t believe what you were offering.

“Jagi,” he breathed out. “We’ve never gone bare...like ever. I’ve never gone bare with anyone actually.”

“I know, Jiminie,” you expressed tenderly. “I’ve only ever trusted Tae-bear with something like that. But I know how careful you are, and I’m sure that hasn’t changed. If you’re comfortable with it, then I’m willing to trust you as well.”

You reached up to cup his cheek and he leaned in and kissed your palm gingerly with his swollen lips. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky exhale.

“Nothing’s changed,” he finally responded. “I’m still careful, I still get tested, and I’m still clean. If you really trust me, then I trust you too.

He pressed a chaste kiss on your lips and sat up to pull Taehyung in for a kiss as well.

“I trust both of you,” Jimin proclaimed. “I know I just met you, Taehyung, but if my jagiya trusts you with something like this, then who am I to argue with her logic?”

Taehyung smiled at Jimin’s words and reached over to stroke your cheek affectionately. You all took a deep breath as the electricity in the air increased exponentially. The soft caresses on skin transformed into overzealous gropes, and the quiet exhales became heated moans and needy whines. You decided to take the lead this time and climbed onto Jimin’s chest, asking for permission to ride his face, to which he quickly consented. As you settled over his ravenous lips, Taehyung instigated a rather noisy blowjob behind you, pulling Jimin’s angry red tip between his lips and slurping at the precum spilling over the edge.

“Fuck,” Jimin gasped out beneath you. “You couldn’t give me a warning, Tae?”

“Do you want me to stop?” Taehyung pouted. “Just say the word, Jiminie.”

“No, please don’t stop,” Jimin begged. “Keep going.”

You looked back over your shoulder and grinned wickedly at Taehyung. The smirk on his handsome face was mesmerizing, and you returned it in kind. You lowered your soaking wet heat to Jimin’s lips once again as Taehyung swirled his tongue around Jimin’s girthy penis.

Jimin inhaled sharply through his nose and moaned out into the flooded depths of your vagina. He dug his nails into your hips and you cried out erotically. For every lick and suck Taehyung unleashed upon him, Jimin paid it forward to your gushing center.

“Jimin,” you moaned. “I’m getting close.”

Taehyung slapped his palm against Jimin’s thigh, causing him to hiss and moan into your drenched thigh.

“What was that for?” Jimin protested.

“Don’t let her cum yet, Jiminie,” Taehyung instructed. “Let’s see how far we can edge her out.”

You whipped your head around to glare at Taehyung’s smug face and scowled deeply at him. He knew you hated edging, but he also knew that you came especially hard when edged. You pouted at him and he cocked an eyebrow at you before pulling off of Jimin’s dick with an audible pop.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, babe,” Taehyung relented. “But I promise it will feel amazing if you let it happen.”

He winked at you playfully and you couldn’t resist the boxy grin he shot your way before diving back onto Jimin’s glistening cock. You watched him dip and twist his mouth up and down Jimin’s stiff shaft, even dragging his tongue below the base and flicking along Jimin’s scrotum. Jimin was quickly unraveling underneath Taehyung’s expert skills, and he suddenly lost his concentration on you when Taehyung started licking lower between his legs.

“Ttalgi, come here, quickly,” Taehyung commanded.

You released your hold on the wall and dismounted Jimin’s face, which was contorting into a mask of pure pleasure thanks to Taehyung. He started stroking Jimin’s shaft in time with his tongue barrage.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jimin moaned out. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

“Do you want to cum inside her, Jiminie?” Taehyung cooed. “Want this dirty girl to sink down on this hard cock and soak up your hot sticky load?”

Jimin couldn’t verbalize anything, but he nodded desperately and started flailing his arms in search of you. Taehyung positioned you just above Jimin’s dick and held you in place.

“When I say sit, babe,” Taehyung quirked. “Sit down and ride him into his orgasm, ok?”

“I’m ready, Tae-bear,” you agreed wholeheartedly. “Just tell me when.”

After a few more strokes, Jimin’s hands clenched against the sheets and he threw his head back harshly.

“NOW,” Taehyung commanded while lowering you safely onto Jimin’s lap.

As soon as your thighs connected with Jimin’s, he let out a cry of unbridled passion and thrusted up into you like a madman possessed. His eyes were blown wide and he couldn’t stop pulling you onto his dick even as he shot out jets of cum, painting your walls in white. The sexual tempest finally abated and Jimin slumped against the pillows and let out a long audible breath laced with amusement.

“Holy shit,” he exclaimed. “That has to be the most incredible sensation in the world. Jagiya, why have I never plunged into your Cave of Wonders bareback before?”

“Because we were both busy being responsible adults, Aladdin,” you quipped. “Or maybe I should call you Genie since Tae referred to you as a magical sex fairy.”

“He can call me whatever he wants if I’m going to get this kind of treatment,” he giggled. “But, I’m worried about him, jagi. He hasn’t been given proper attention just yet. We should really help him out, don’t you think?”

You chuckled and pulled yourself off of Jimin then propped yourself up on all fours, wiggling your ass slightly to entice Taehyung forward. He shook his head and eased onto the bed behind you. He reached between your legs to see if you needed additional lubrication, but the deluge he slipped into told him you were more than ready.

“Look at this mess you two made,” he commented in astonishment, while licking the combined cum from his fingertips. “Just like a creamsicle on a hot summer day.”

Taehyung slid the blunt head of his stiff cock along the crease of your sopping wet pussy and then slowly pushed his way in. He groaned as each inch disappeared from sight and he gave a small thrust to fit the last few inches snugly inside. You whimpered at the stretch and lifted your head to meet Jimin’s amused stare.

“What a naughty girl we have here, Tae,” Jimin cooed. “All stuffed full of cock and she still looks like she wants more. Should I give you more, jagiya?”

When all you could do was whimper weakly at Jimin’s entreaty, so Taehyung pulled your hair back and thrust forward sharply. Jimin was enthralled by the fucked out look on your face and leaned forward to lick into your open mouth.

“Jiminie asked you a question, ttalgi,” he hissed in your ear. “Don’t disappoint Daddy and ignore our guest. Now, do you want more cock or not?”

“Yes,” you begged desperately against Jimin’s plushy lips. “Want him in my mouth, Daddy. Can I? Please?”

Jimin chuckled at your pleas and leaned over to lure Taehyung into another heated kiss.

“Daddy kink, huh?” Jimin teased as he pulled away. “That’s a new one for me.”

“It only works when I do it,” Taehyung grunted. “You can call me Daddy too, if you like?”

“We’ll see how I feel later,” Jimin smirked. “For now, let’s stuff this naughty little slut full of cock.”

Taehyung picked up the pace as he pistoned his aching dick deep into your womb. Jimin stroked his own cock until he had half an erection and then ran the tip across your lips.

“Open up, jagi,” Jimin crooned sweetly. “I’ve got a treat for you.”

You eagerly opened wide and allowed Jimin to place his hands on your head to hold you in place while he fucked into your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks and slurped him down until he was hard and quivering against your tongue.

“Ah, fuck yes,” Jimin squealed. “Just what I needed. Thanks, jagi.”

Jimin pulled out of your mouth and you whined in protest. He brushed the saliva from your lips and planted a fat kiss on them before disappearing from your sight.

Taehyung took your distraction as an opportunity to pull you up against his chest so he could play with your clit as he fucked up into you. He read your impending orgasms carefully and pulled back each time the crest threatened to break across your threshold. He appeased your adorable tear-streaked face with sweet promises of “the best orgasm of your life.”

“You have to trust me, babe,” Taehyung sneered against your wet cheeks. “You’ll thank me when you fall over that edge, I promise.”

You were about to whine out another protest when Taehyung clenched against you unexpectedly.

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed against your temple. “You wicked little fucker. I should’ve kept an eye on you.”

“Yeah, you should have,” came Jimin’s voice from behind Taehyung. “I’m a sneaky bitch, did I forget to mention that?”

Jimin had sprung a sexy sneak attack with two lubed fingers currently seeking entrance at Taehyung’s back door. Taehyung released you back onto all fours so he could grant Jimin better access to his ass. He slowed his movements just long enough for Jimin to work his dick into Taehyung’s now well lubricated asshole. With all three of you connected, it took a moment or two to find a definitive rhythm together, but once you did, the fluid movements initiated a series of high pitched squeals and moans unlike any you’d heard before. Taehyung felt your walls clamping down into his dick and he gathered up enough focus to make an erotic suggestion.

“Jimin, wait,” he huffed out on a moan. “Let’s change positions. As much as I’m enjoying this, there’s something I want to try now that we have you here.”

Jimin pulled back and waited for Taehyung to continue. With a flick of his wrist, Taehyung reached over and gently pulled the condom off Jimin’s dick and smirked sinfully.

“I’ve never trusted anyone enough to double penetrate her,” Taehyung explained quickly. “Get inside her cunt and let me get a condom on.”

“Oh, shit,” Jimin gasped. “You’re fucking serious, aren’t you?”

“You bet your fine ass, I’m serious,” Taehyung gritted out while rolling on the condom. “This dirty little girl is about to blow and so am I. Daddy owes her the orgasm of a lifetime and he’s going to give it to her.”

You were just catching your breath, and you whimpered at the tightness in your clit.

“Guys, if I don’t cum soon, I’m going to fucking explode,” you growled. “So unless you want me to take care of this by myself, I suggest you get over here and finish the fucking job.”

“Oooh, jagi is feisty when she’s frustrated,” Jimin cackled. “I’ve never edged her, so this should be fun to watch.”

“I’m giving you a front row seat, Jiminie,” Taehyung beamed as he laid down beside you. “Enjoy the show.”

Jimin helped rearrange your body so that you were wedged in between them on the bed. After lifting up one of your thighs, Jimin slipped his bare cock into your swollen cunt, reveling at the raw feeling of your fleshy walls tightening around his dick. You were so wet and slippery that even Taehyung was surprised that he wouldn’t need much lube to get your asshole ready for him.

“I love it when she’s this strung out and horny,” he chuckled. “Makes it so easy for me.”

With a little help from Jimin’s fingers, Taehyung slipped beyond your puckered hole and buried himself into the glorious tightness of your ass. With both of your holes now occupied, you found yourself adrift in a sea of endorphins. The finish line was just beyond your sight and you cried out as you felt both cocks sliding across the thin membrane separating your cunt from your asshole.

“Tae,” you whimpered helplessly. “Jimin...please...I need you.”

“We’re right here, ttalgi,” Taehyung soothed. “Just let go. I’m not going to hold you back anymore. Just let it flow right through you.”

Jimin slipped his fingers down to rub against your clit and the combined sensations hurtled into your brain all at once.

“OH FUCK!” you screamed as you careened over the edge of your climax and tumbled into one spasm and after another, losing track of just how many orgasms Taehyung had stacked up for you throughout the course of the night. When the last one hit, your vision cleared just enough to catch Jimin’s awed facial expression as he watched you come undone. The glazed look in your eyes triggered his own climax and he shot another rope of sweet release deep into your quivering heat.

“Babe,” Taehyung grunted behind you, still pumping away. “I’m really fucking close. Where do you want it?”

You smiled wickedly and pulled Jimin close. He was still reeling from his last orgasm, but he offered you a small smile, wordlessly agreeing to whatever your face was suggesting.

“On our faces,” you moaned. “Cum all over our faces, Tae!”

It only took a few more well timed thrusts before Taehyung was pulling out and stepping over the two of you. He tossed the condom aside and pumped away at his shaft until he unleashed a cascade of semen all over your face and Jimin’s. He groaned wantonly as he watched you and Jimin lap up the streaks of semen from each other’s face.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he conceded while throwing his head back in exhaustion. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m fucking spent.”

His knees buckled onto the mattress and you placed one last kiss on Jimin’s lips before rolling off the bed. You left the two of them gasping for breath on the bed while you retrieved some bottled water from the fridge.

“Oh, you angel,” Jimin preened. “Just what I needed.”

Once you all got back to a normal heart rate, you corralled both Jimin and Taehyung into the shower. You silently thanked your landlord for installing the wide shower stall with a built-in bench seat. The three of you fit comfortably in the shower together with a little room to spare.

After you were all cleaned up and refreshed, the boys changed the sheets and you gathered up extra pillows so you could all cuddle up on the bed. Jimin heartily agreed to the sleepover, and you were all thoroughly exhausted from your early morning romp.

Taehyung tucked both you and Jimin against his chest and sighed out with contentment. After kissing both of you on the forehead, he wished you good night and settled into his pillow. You and Jimin slipped your fingers together and snuggled against Taehyung.

As you faded into unconsciousness, you smiled and exhaled happily.

Damn, Universe. You’re on a roll.

The three of you drifted off to Dreamland as the dogs in the living room looked up with curiosity and growled at the black sparkles that flashed and pulsed from your coffee table and then vanished a moment later.

Author’s Note: (releasing my clenched thighs) Whew, is everyone ok after that chapter? I don’t know about you, but I need a long shower after that. I had so much fun writing this chapter and I made my betas all hot and bothered when they read it, so I assume it’s good. I hope you all enjoyed the Vmin playtime. Only three more chapters to go! 

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Chapter Three: The Beautiful Music We Used to Make

NEXT CHAPTER

Chapter Five: There’s Still Sunshine When He’s Gone

MAP OF THE SOUL MASTERLIST

@caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma​‘s MASTERLIST

[jewish-gay-elves]

You Give Me Too Much Credit 2/2

AO3 Link

Leli thinks this shouldn't be too hard to understand. Alistair thinks that it is that hard to understand. Zevran thinks that it went about exactly as he expected. The Warden thinks his friends are hiding something from him.

Words: 3028, Chapters: 2/2, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of the Stephan Cousland: There's Never Much of a Choice for You 

Fandoms: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Alistair (Dragon Age), Male Cousland, Zevran Arainai, Leliana (Dragon Age), Morrigan (Dragon Age), Dog (Dragon Age), Sten (Dragon Age) Relationships: Alistair/Male Cousland, Alistair/Male Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Cousland Additional Tags: Drabble, Warden has shitty friends tbh, dog is actually called calenhad, and warden is stephan, and now Warden has less shitty friends, i did not know i could write more for this

“So theoretically, how long could a Fereldan spend talking to a dog?” Zevran asked as he and the Warden’s other companions sat eating their dinner.

“Considering what we told him earlier? Indefinitely.” Leliana replied nonchalantly.

“I believe that begs the question, what exactly did you tell him then?” Warden Cousland asked, standing with his food in hand behind the two rogues. During their silence he sat in the almost too small space between them, forcing them to shift apart in order for him to join them. After another tense moment, Zevran spoke.

“To be fair, Warden, it is more along the lines of what we did not tell him,” he said with a grin. Cousland just stared at him, waiting patiently for either of them to fill in their intentional blanks.

“Though you should know Warden, that he brought up the subject first, asking for my intentions towards you. He believed that we were sweet on each other.” Leliana explained hesitantly. At the Warden’s shocked face she nodded sympathetically. However since Cousland’s expression of shock could easily have been mistaken for his expression of confusion, they were very similar, Leliana hoped he knew that her intentions were good.

“Then he assumed I knew the source of your good favour and believed you and I to be amors, when in reality, I have eyes.” Zevran added with a wink. Cousland’s cheeks, dark as they were, began to redden under Zevran’s knowing smirk. Zevran tried not to laugh, he really did, but could not help the few chuckles at Cousland’s face.

“Then, once we corrected him in that you have no particularly special feelings towards Zevran, Morrigan, or I. Then, we simply just, suggested what type of person you might be inclined to have feelings toward.” Leliana added, trying to soften the blow. Cousland’s cheeks, if anything, got darker at her admission and his normally stoic expression began to pull downward into what would have been a fierce frown on anyone else. However on his face was just a slight tug down on the edges of his lips.

“Then there was a very amusing bit where he was confused on why I had not made you my own dear Warden, but we rectified his mistake quickly do not fear. Our kingly friend is not the sharpest sword on the stand it seems,” Zevran added quickly, interrupting whatever thought Cousland might have had.

“Oh good, that’s just what I was worried about thank you Zevran. Alistair is perfectly intelligent, just because he was mostly raised in a chantry does not mean his education was lacking. I just, I can’t believe that you two-” Cousland began.

“He started the conversation!” Both Leliana and Zevran claimed in their defense.

“Regardless, my feelings were my own! Don’t you two think I should have had the chance to tell him on my own? When I was ready to face the repercussions?” He said plainly, looking at them with disappointment.

“We did not say exactly-”

“Alluding to it is close enough Zevran!” Cousland interrupted as he stood, his food forgotten. “I need to speak with him, maybe I can fix this somehow.” He began to pace in front of the two rogues, both of whom shot nervous glances at each other. Normally it was as hard to get Cousland to open up as it was to get Sten to speak about anything. Seeing him this concerned and ruffled made them start to think twice about their actions.

“Perhaps Warden, you should let him continue talking to the dog.” Zevran quietly interjected as Cousland began rubbing at his chin as he stalked back and forth.

“I can’t let this go on too long, what if he thinks I’ve been entirely lecherous to him? What if he hates me for it? It’s entirely inappropriate, we’re brothers in arms I shouldn’t have even been so obvious for you two to figure it out.” The Warden said, mostly speaking to himself at that point.

“He never said he was opposed to the thought of two men together, I think Zevran is right and you should let him work through this on his own. Alistair will come talk to you when he is ready,” Leliana added, supporting her fellow rogue.

“What if he’s never ready? What if he-”

“Kadan,” Sten interrupted loudly from the open space next to camp, both away from the main fire and where Alistair and Calenhad were on watch. Cousland stopped immediately, his head popping up to stare at the Qunari. In response, Sten hefted his recently reclaimed sword on his shoulder and beckoned Cousland over. The human in question just nodded and abruptly headed toward his own tent to grab his own sword and practice leathers.

Leliana and Zevran were both adequately stunned by the new development and watched wordlessly as the two warriors then begin to spar. It wasn’t strange for the two of them to spar, but dropping everything he was doing to spar was newer. Though they both used large two handed swords, their fighting styles were so vastly different that it made every spar a battle of strategy rather than might. Cousland had flexibility and reach, while Sten had brute strength and steadfast swings.

The two didn’t need words but as they practiced, the rogues could see the conversation between their blades. Nervous, unbridled energy from Cousland, then steady relentlessness from Sten. Slowly Cousland fell into his more focused fighting, taking calculated risks, getting up close to the qunari to land better hits as he normally did in battle. Without pause, Sten rebuffed his advance and forced him back with sheer weight alone.

During any other spar, Cousland would have taken that as an opportunity to dive down and under Sten’s wide shoves to overwhelm him. Instead, he took the full force of the qunari’s might and buckled under the pressure. For a moment, Leliana and Zevran were worried that Sten wouldn’t know to stop, or couldn’t see the distracted state their leader was in, but Sten’s blade stopped next to Cousland’s throat, ending the spar. After a moment, he withdrew his sword and reached out his large hand to help him back to his feet.

On most nights, you couldn’t stop hearing the clash of metal until well into the night, for Sten to win so quickly proved how unsettled Cousland was about being found out. Instead of berating him for his absent mindedness, Sten instead simply told him to prepare himself and they went at it again.

Cousland went down four more times before he finally found his footing and let his frustration take over, getting all of his nervous energy out. He had never let his emotions rule him, but Cousland’s nerves could give him a hard time. It was good that Sten had told him to spar, and Cousland was grateful for the outlet it provided.

While the two rogue’s attention had shifted some during this, they both drifted back when they realized how intently Alistair had began watching the spar. Leliana and Zevran knew what that look meant. Whether Cousland or Sten had noticed was anyone’s guess. Or even if Alistair knew how he had been looking at his fellow Warden.

As they observed quietly, they saw both Wardens eyes begin to get hooded with weariness. The rogues finally agreed that it was late, and they were travelling to the Brecilian Forest come morning for seemingly no reason since they had already gained the trust of both elves and weres. Either way, it was a long walk, one best not unprepared for. However, if they both decided to keep an ear open towards the Warden’s tent, well that was their little secret.

And if neither Warden slept in a tent that night, that was their little secret as well.

The loud and raucous laughter that rang through camp come morning once the two Wardens found a quiet moment to talk wasn’t necessarily a secret, and later, neither was the fact that poor Alistair had thought that the two rogues had meant that Cousland had feelings towards their, albeit two-handed warrior, resident qunari.

If Sten found it amusing, he never revealed it, and instead gave them both a withering look for their lingering chuckles throughout the day.

[sicklyscribe]

“You’re my brother.” And he didn’t need to say those thousand other things, he didn’t need to say something clever or eloquent or wise. It was all there, every endless messy absolute bit of it, in those three words. Niklaus had been pinned today, pinned literally by his father’s rage, stuck in the all-consuming agony of his disgust. When Esther had drawn out the knife, he did not feel free, he felt lost. Drowning in air, in blood, in waves of worthlessness and despair. (1/)

“You’re my brother,” Elijah whispered this time, with barely a hint of breath. The boy with the hole in his chest unfurled his grip on his mother’s pendant, reaching slowly, painfully across the small gap between them as the starling clattered to the forest floor. He could not manage to reach Elijah’s shoulder, and so his hand fell against his chest. Elijah took it in his own, gripped it so tightly the cuts on his palm threatened to open. But this pain was nothing, compared to the hole. (2/)

Elijah leaned his head to rest against his brother’s, eye to eye, as a precious feeling began to beat within his brother’s heart. He had been pinned, he had been lost, he had been drowning…But in this moment, beyond the pain, beyond the fear of tomorrow and the horror of all the days that came before, head to head against the world, Niklaus finally felt secure. (3/3)

Gonna be honest with you, I had very little conscious input into these paragraphs as I was writing them when it comes to flow, word choice, and general choreography. I knew that I wanted to convey a dizzying sense of depth and breadth to Elijah’s love, and a solid counterpoint for Klaus to latch onto after the treatment of his parents that would make him realize, for once, how much Elijah meant what he was saying. 

Key in this was the starling necklace, which had shown up in my draft almost without my realizing it and I quickly took advantage of the metaphor of Esther’s motherly love -- controlling, secretive, selfish -- compared to Elijah’s selfish-in-a-different-way desperation for Klaus to survive their father. Klaus grips this so tightly, “if ever you are lost or scared or in need of me, just clasp the bird” not knowing that his reclaiming the pendant was the reason Mikael was able to win back advantage in their duel, and run him through. I imagine Elijah knows how much this matters to Niklaus, and even if he is a little jealous (I also imagine Nik hadn’t even told the others it was magical, knowing they’d all be green with envy) he knew that Niklaus had the worst of their father’s hate, and didn’t begrudge him this token of their mother’s love. He binds Klaus’ hand to heal the wounds left by his grip on the pendant (on his mother’s ‘protection’) and places it back in his palm to say ‘I know you need this, but please do not hurt yourself with it any longer’ -- the irony is almost tangible. 

Klaus choosing to release the pendant from his grip was definitely supposed to be a major metaphor for how much more Elijah means to him than even the protection and favor his mother had gifted him. He had clutched the thing for hours, hadn’t let go after Mikael had torn it from him for those few wild moments, but Klaus needs to feel Elijah in front of him more than he needs that pendant. Elijah is the one who he needs, as if a part of him knows that Esther’s attention is not motivated by love alone, and Elijah’s devotion is as solid and honest as stone. Again, building the bigger irony that becomes the bedrock of the Trinity: soon their parents will betray Klaus in the worst of ways, and Klaus will beg for Elijah to save him, and Elijah will not. But him dropping the thing that handicaps him in favor of Elijah also touches on the flipside of that foreshadowing -- Klaus becomes more himself and less restrained when he allows himself to take comfort in his siblings’ love, especially Elijah’s. 

The other major metaphor that sprung to life was one that I knew didn’t have a perfect flow or direction, but describing Klaus as a boy with a hole in his chest became such a hook to me at the end of this fic when I shifted the third person perspective to Klaus. Klaus defining himself as damaged, as missing something, as vulnerable -- and not truly knowing to what extent those things truly apply -- really hit home to me and I dove in harder than I would advise if I was helping someone else write this. I needed a moment for Klaus to realize Elijah’s genuine fear in a way that didn’t rewrite history or jump him miles ahead of canon development -- Klaus still finds it difficult to trust that he is loved, and always will. But seeing that fear in Elijah shook him just enough to give him a moment’s peace in the clarity that Elijah thinks that I matter. Elijah wants me, here, with him. And instead of that making him feel happy or warm and fuzzy, it just gives him the chance to breathe and the chance to feel safe, at least for as long as he can believe Elijah means it. 

Finally, the part that I can truly give the most behind-the-scenes style action for: I was struggling right along with Elijah in the paragraph before this, trying to put the weight of his feeling into words that were true, and powerful, and most challengingly: words that Niklaus would allow himself to hear. I stared at the text, and at the blank space where I was supposed to put Elijah’s next line, and I was like well damn. I didn’t know what would work. 

In that same kind of desperate way, Elijah said You’re my brother. We tried it out together, E. Mikaelson and I, and we both realized that not only was it the right thing to say, it was the only thing that needed to be said. Elijah and I both considered continuing the speech after that, and came to the realization that oh, I already said it, and Klaus knows what it means just by the tone of his voice (I can hear Daniel Gillies delivering these lines in a slightly younger voice, I swear, I know the cadence and the volume and the pitch and where his voice cracks.) It was a really beautiful and powerful experience, writing the end of this fic, as it always is when my vague intentions of theme and motivation spill out into fully-formed fully-fleshed-out narrative at the speed of typing. It’s magic. Writing is magic. I know it doesn’t work the same way for everyone, but my best writing always comes from those moments. 

Thank you for sending this one in, I’m touched that it stood out. The fic was a gift for @hairzier‘s birthday, and so I indulged in my most decadent hurt/comfort fantasies for these two, and I will never forget my glee and pride when she changed her queue tag to #head to head against the queue for at least a month after it was posted ^^;

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Children

My brain is mush again, thanks

Anyway The Wayhaven Chronicles is my current obsession, still, and writing Adam is absolutely one of the most difficult things I’ve done. Sorry if what I post comes out a little OOC, I just really wanted to see Adam and Rory’s children interacting. It ended up being mostly just one of them, but I really hope you all enjoy. 

I love getting to write for people.

Very mild spoilers for Book Two. This is mostly time ambiguous, happening sometime after the events of book one, in the future. Also points to pronoun-fluid characters. You’ll see what I mean.

*blows kisses to the sky* Thank you Seraphine for writing this masterful CoG and giving me inspiration. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It wasn’t like the detective to not pick up their phone. Adam knew this, knew it like he knew the back of his hand, or when Felix was about to cause a whole hell of a lot of mischief. Rory should have responded by now. His fingers twitched as he paced the living room, ignoring the knowing grin on Nate’s face. They have their own life, they won’t be attached to their phone all the time, another part of him argued. It wasn’t like he needed to see them. It was a small matter, confirming that Rory was still showing up tonight for more combat training. Still…. “Adam.” His head snapped up at the mention of his name, his hands releasing their destructive grip on the dining room table. There would have to be another order to replace it. He’d left a mark. “My child hasn’t responded to any of my calls,” Rebecca Argent said, walking up to the living room. “Would you mind doing me a favor and checking up on them? I would, but I have a conference call in fifteen minutes.” She gave him a thankful smile as he nodded, the motion curt, and watched him stride out of the room. “Thank you, Agent Argent. I was afraid he was going to wear a hole in the floor.” Adam heard Rebecca chuckle softly as he walked away. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Agent Sewell. I was just concerned about the table.” As the front door closed behind him, he missed Nate’s laughter in response.

-

A cool breeze swirled around the Wayhaven PD parking lot, kicking up a small dust storm that swirled and crumpled as it hit Adam's feet. It was a chilly afternoon, almost too cold for his liking, and he quietly relished the burst of warmth as he walked through the precinct doors. That strange, melancholy peace was immediately disrupted as a small form collided into his legs. "Oops! Sorry!" Looking down, he saw a young girl with a mass of wild curly blond hair, maybe six at the most. She rubbed her nose, pouting, before looking up. And up, and up. He watched as her eyes went round, noting bemusedly that they were same shade of green as Rory's. The same color as Detective Argent's. "Sorry mister!" She chirped, clearly unapologetic is the way children often are. Watching as he kneeled down to her level. "Be careful next time. You could hurt somebody, you know." He internally winced at the gruffness in his voice- his job didn't allow for much experience with children, and now was no exception. But the little girl simply giggled. "I don't think I could hurt you, you're buge!" Someone sighed, exasperated. "'Huge', Sage. The word you're looking for is 'huge'." The girl whirled around, and Adam had a brief second to meet Detective Rory Argent's eyes before they were being climbed like a tree, the small child quickly making her way to hang off their side. Rory seemed used to this, their eyebrow quirked in dry amusement. "Good morning, Adam. Glad to see you've already met one of my daughters." "Good-" rising to his feet, he stumbled over his words. …. Daughters? "Good morning, Detective. I was...unaware you had children." Thinking back, he tried to remember whether Agent Argent had mentioned any grandchildren, whether he'd seen any family photos in Rory's home. Not that he should have remembered it so well. The Detective's style was too much like his own. Too much like feeling like he belonged. Rory chuckled, adjusting Sage to their hip. Seemingly reading his mind, they tilted their head and said, "My mother was unaware of my children until recently if that's what you're trying to figure out. Our tumultuous relationship included a bone of contention- I sent her an invitation to the baby shower while I was pregnant with the twins, and she never responded. I assumed she wouldn't visit, I was living in Germany at the time. I didn't realize she wouldn't respond *at all*." He nodded, watching as an identical version of Sage moved to cling against Rory's leg. The other girl seemed to barely notice him at all, her nose stuck in a book. Unlike her sister, her hair was neatly braided back, a few curls wriggling free of their bonds to fall around her face. "Adam du Mortain," he snapped to attention the moment Rory said his name, unable to ignore the detective. Never able to ignore them. "This is Sage and Rosemary Dietrich. They're my twin daughters. Rosie girl, Sage, say hello to Agent Du Mortain." The child reading a book glanced up at him, seeming to shrink back a little more behind her father when she realized there was a very big person in front of her. "H-hello," she mumbled quietly, "it's nice to-" "It's nice to meet you! Hello! I'm Sage!" Her sister immediately interrupted, her voice loud and cheerful. She wiggled in Rory's arms. "Daddyyyyyy, I want down!” The detective sighed, giving Adam an exasperated look before they knelt down, setting their daughter on her feet. “Pumpkin, we’ve talked about this, you have to ask nicely…” The words they said seemed to fade for Adam as he watched, feeling his heart twist at seeing the softer side of Rory. The way they patted their daughter’s arm gently, tucking an errant lock away from her face, lovingly tugging away wrinkles and folds in her shirt, despite the fact that it was most likely a futile attempt. As the detective glanced up, their more excitable daughter slipping out of their arms and running off somewhere, they met Adam’s gaze. The world around them became almost nonexistent. Rory smiled, almost tenderly, and the Vampire felt his heart twist in his chest. “Adam,” the detective said softly, his name precious and treasured upon their lips, “Would you like to join me and the girls for-” The phone rang sharply, cutting through the air, and Rory made a face. “Hold on. I’ve got to get that. Rosie my girl, would you mind accompanying Agent Du Mortain to the round table?” The shyer daughter nodded, looking up at him and slipping her tiny hand into his. It seemed he had been vetted as a trusted person, at least for now. “This way,” she said solemnly, watching as her father ducked into their office. She tugged gently at his hand. He followed. Normally he would politely but firmly refuse, but he doubted the little girl would listen. And when large green eyes glanced back at him, checking to make sure he was still there, all of his resolve crumbled away. She looked too much like a miniature Rory, even with a big book tucked underneath her arm. Would he and the detective…? He immediately crushed that whisper in the back of his mind. No. He refused to even entertain that line of thought. The detective deserved better. It wouldn’t happen. Rosemary let go of his hand only to reach up and twist the doorknob, before swiftly reclaiming it once more. "This is the round table," she said solemnly. "Daddy and his knights meet here." Adam practically choked on a breath as she said that, leading him into the room. He was very familiar with it, seeing as it was where Unit Bravo and the Detective had met many times before. Rosemary tugged him over to the table, pushing herself onto one of the chairs and opening her book. Adam glanced down. Should he attempt to reclaim his fingers? He hesitated. The little girl likely had no idea what he was, what he had done. He felt so much animosity towards humans, and yet… She was so fragile. Rosemary settled easily, her eyes flicking across the words on the page. He could hear her heartbeat, the rush of her blood, the slow breaths in and out. The detective’s daughter was as confident and brave as they were, it seemed. Both of their daughters, although in seemingly different ways. Rosemary held onto his fingers, completely relaxed in his presence, and he couldn’t help but think that he didn’t deserve it. “Daddy’s going to be right back.” He glanced down at the girl in surprise, so lost in thought that he hadn’t realized she’d begun watching him in return. “He’s just got some phone calls. He’s important, you know. Daddy’s the king.” Adam quirked a brow, kneeling down. Even in the chair, she was small for a child. Now that they were at eye level, he responded in kind. “What is he the king of?” She shrugged, lifting up her book, struggling a bit with the weight of holding it one-handed. *Legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, and Other Tales*. “Daddy’s the king of Camelot,” she informed him loftily, as if he should be ashamed for not knowing such information. He bit back a smile at her tone. “My uncles and Z are his knights. Sage thinks that Verda’s Daddy’s grumpy jester, but I think it’s Douglas. His hair is silly.” She made a motion with her hand as if to show Douglas’s hair flipping up. “But Daddy added new knights to the story.” “Oh?” He felt the smile on his face try and widen, breaking through his serious demeanor. Rosemary’s solemn nod was too much like Rory’s, all business, direct and to the point. It made his heart ache sweetly, a melancholy that almost left him breathless. He understood now why the Detective hadn’t mentioned their daughters beforehand- all he wanted to do was wrap Rosemary up and hide her from the world. Hide her from people who would be looking for her father’s blood. “Yeah. He calls them the Knights of Bravo. Grandma, the old Queen, sent them to help protect Daddy.” She shrugged. “But Daddy can beat anyone, so I don’t get it. Daddy says even a King needs help sometimes. He says they meet at the round table sometimes, but usually at the Knights’ house, or Grandma’s castle. He says it’s why he’s away so often, and why he can’t call Sage and me like he used to.” She huffed, and squeezed his hand a little harder. It was barely anything to him, barely any pressure on his skin. He tilted his head. “Does Da- er. Does your father,” he said, correcting himself quickly, feeling his cheeks heat, “live with you? Why does he need to call you?” “Daddy lives in his castle,” she replied simply. “Papa and Daddy used to be happy together, but they started to make each other sad, so they live apart so they don’t make each other cry. But Papa cries anyway…” she glanced down, sighing. “He tries to hide it so Sage and I don’t hear. But he also used to yell at Daddy, and we heard that, too. Daddy moved away because Papa was being mean to him, and Sage and I make them both laugh so that they don’t think we’re being mean to them, and they won’t move away from us, too.” Adam took her hands in his, swallowing hard. He was the wrong person for this. *Why isn’t Nate here when I need him?! This is not…I am not equipped to handle this.* He took a deep breath in, and then out. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Rosemary,” he began softly. “I think you’re a sweet girl, and that your father loves you very much. Er, both of them. I’ve known your father for a while now. He’s kind, and caring, and devoted. I don’t know your other father, but I do know Rory. Trust me when I say the detect- er, Rory, probably loves you very much. I think you’d have to be very, very mean to hurt his feelings, and even then he still wouldn’t leave you.” She sniffled. “You mean it?” “Yes.” He surprised himself with the vehemence of his response, although he knew he meant it, the feeling resonating through his bones, through his soul. The detective already considered Unit Bravo their family, reluctant as they were to work with their mother. From the very beginning, from their first meeting here in this very room, Rory hadn’t once stopped caring. Often at the risk of losing their own life. Remembering the feel of their touch against his cheek, covered in their own blood after Murphy’s fight, their words of reassurance. Remembering how they made Mason laugh with a snide remark, hugged Felix tightly after a tender moment, chatted excitedly about books with Nate. The detective loved them. And in return, Unit Bravo, Adam included, loved- Oh. Oh.  He felt a tiny hand slip out of his own, touching his cheek and coming away wet. “You’re sad,” Rosemary stated matter-of-factly. “Did I make you sad?” He shook his head, surprised at the slight coolness from his tears. He hadn’t even realized they were happening. “No. I just thought something that made me hurt. I’ll be okay.” She frowned, her brow furrowing in the way her father’s often did, a tiny mirror image of the detective. “But you’re still crying.” Rosemary suddenly perked up. “Do you want me to read you a story? Daddy reads them when Sage and me go to sleep every night. Sometimes he sings, but I’m not very good at it. Daddy says Grandma wanted him to be an op-er-a singer.” She made a face. “I don’t like op-er-a. The girls and guys’ faces are always weird and scary. Sage thinks they’re funny, and she always wants Daddy to play it on the TV.” Adam chuckled, rising up to pull a chair next to the little girl. “Well, if you think the faces are scary, perhaps we should stick to the books. I like your idea. Tell me your favorite story.” Rosemary gave him a bright grin, front teeth gap-toothed, and flipped through the book. She stabbed a finger at the page. “It’s Morgana Le Fay! She’s a witch, and Z always does her voices when they’re around. She’s their favorite. I like Daddy’s version of the story. I think Morgana just wants a friend.” She glanced at him, making sure he was paying attention, before starting up. “Okay. Once upon a time, there was a little girl living in a big castle with her mama and sisters…” Later Rory picked up Sage, hauling her over their shoulder, grinning at her squeals of laughter. “Okay, Sagey bean! Let’s stop bothering uncle Verda, he’s got work to do! Should we find your sister, little princess?” The little girl burst into laughter, wriggling in her father’s arms. “Noooo, Daddy! Rosemary is the princess, I wanna be a knight!” Rory rolled their eyes, glancing over to a grinning Verda, who shrugged cheerfully. Kids. Whatcha gonna do?  They blew a raspberry into the fat of their daughter’s chubby cheek, smiling wide as more laughter burst from her. “A knight, huh? A knight should be able to find a princess, no matter what! Are you prepared for the journey, brave warrior?” Sage wriggled some more, like the worm she secretly was. “Yeeeeees!” The moment her father set her down, she took off like a shot, scrambling up the stairs of the basement, heading up into the precinct proper. “I can’t believe you let Rosemary just hang out with Agent Du Mortain, Rory,” Verda teased softly. “I’ve seen you growl at the mayor before when he even brought them up in conversation. You must trust him, huh?” His expression danced with light humor, even as his tone grew serious. Verda alone knew the sheer lengths Rory went to, keeping their home life separate from their work. Even if he didn’t know how strange Rory’s work life truly was. The detective nodded. “Yes. I trust him with my life.” They smiled softly. “So now that that’s out of the way, it means I can trust him with my children, too.” Rory looked up at the sound of little feet descending the stairs, quickly reaching out and catching Sage as she stumbled down the last few steps. “Sage, did you find your sister?” The little girl nodded. “She’s speeping, Daddy.” “Sleeping, Sage. Wait. What do you mean, she’s sleeping? Where?” They sighed as Sage wriggled out of their hold, grabbing their hand. “I’ll talk to you later, Verda.” Verda nodded. “Good luck, Detective.” Being led through the precinct, Sage took them to the meeting room door. Inside, they could hear a mellow voice, familiar and smooth, like liquid smoke. “‘I am the rightful king’, Arthur proclaimed. ’With Caliburn in hand, I shall reunite Camelot as one, and the kingdom shall once again be brought to prosperity!’ And the people rejoiced as a single ray of sunshine lit upon the boy, illuminating the golden hair of their new king like a crown gifted from the heavens themselves, and knew that they were saved.” Rory heard a book close softly, the old bindings creak shut. “And they lived happily after.” Opening the door, they watched as Adam reached out a hand to Rosemary, settling it on the thick curls on her head. Her eyes were closed, her head upon her crossed arms, and her chest rose and fell slowly. Rosemary was deep in slumber. “The end,” Adam whispered. There was something tender and sad in his expression, a longing and heartbreak Rory ached to see. They wondered if vampires could have children. If Adam had ever wanted any, before his life would be changed forever. The idea of Adam and children gave them a funny feeling in their chest, fluttering and quick, too fleeting to be recognizable. As if hearing the very stutter of their pulse, Adam sharply glanced up, his hand jerking back to his side. His expression closed off, becoming professional as he stood. “Detective. I didn’t realize-” he stopped himself, then started again. “Your daughter wanted an audience for her storytelling, and she was having trouble getting through some of the words. So I assisted her.” Rory smiled softly. They raised a hand soothingly. “It’s okay, Adam. I’m hardly upset. It’s about time I get these little ones back to my place anyway. Z’s plane landed a few hours ago, and they should be back home from their police training.” They nodded to Rosemary’s sleeping form. “Would you like to help me? I didn’t bring the car today, the girls wanted to walk.” They watched as Adam glanced at the sleeping girl, and nodded. “I would be honored, Detective.” “Why do you call Daddy ‘Detective’?” Sage asked bluntly, staring up at the tall man. “He’s Daddy, and ‘Rory’ to everyone.” Rory rolled their eyes, nudging their daughter. “Because it’s polite, baby. He’s being respectful. It’s okay.” The little girl seemed to chew on this information for a second before shrugging, seemingly no longer interested. “Okay!” She grabbed her father’s hand. “Can we go see Z now, Daddy? I want goldfishies. Ooh! Or fruit snackies!” She wrinkled her nose as Rory reached down and tugged her ear gently. “Sagey bean, your sister is asleep. Please keep your voice down. But yes. Adam and I will be taking you two home.” They glanced at Adam, giving a half-smile. It brightened at the amused expression he returned. Gingerly, Adam walked over to Rosemary, picking up her book, and then picking up her. The little girl barely even stirred. If anything, she snuggled closer in his arms, and Rory wished they could have taken a picture of Adam’s expression. It screamed Oh god, repeating over and over. Rosemary’s cuteness tended to have that effect on people. Rory was so proud. Their daughter could conquer a kingdom. “Shall we head home?” They asked softly. Adam nodded. “Yes. Let’s go home. To your home.” He flushed slightly as he corrected himself. Sage ran off with an excited yell, and the detective and agent shared an exasperated smile before following close behind.

[lowkeyaesthvtic]

Evil Karma - Chapter 6

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Word Count: 2,147

Summary: After explaining her plan, Sofi gets a taste of true heaven...or is it true hell?

Pairings: Harry x Uma x OC

Rating: M

Warnings: swear words, descriptive foreplay, LOTS of dirty talk, a bit of orgasm denial, switch!OC, switch!Harry, dom!Uma, like a little bit of thigh riding?, FFM threesome, I’ll add more if I need to

Taglist: @hookedradge @descendantofthesparrow @newtshairdryer and again ANYBODY ELSE who wants to!!!

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing smut so I’m really sorry if it seems a bit rushed!!

Harry, Uma and I sat around the giant black cauldron in front of us. Uma had known very little about the room where her mother would fantasize about using her magic, but she knew enough to know where it was. “Wait, so how are we going to use Neverland magic if evil magic doesn’t work here?” Harry sat up straight and leaned forward to peak inside the cauldron, seeing nothing but a dark and seemingly bottomless abyss.

“That’s the point of the plan, Hooky. When Uma and I drink this potion, we’ll be able to use our magic again. We just need to wait until Mal comes back to the Isle. When she does, her beastly beau will follow suit, hoping to bring her back to the pretty pink clutches of Auradon. Mal’s little friends will probably somehow find out and go to the Isle with him to protect their King. At a moment where Ben isn’t the priority, we shackle him up and keep him tied in the Chip Shoppe. While he’s tied up, I’ll find a way to make him angry so he’ll show his primal instincts. Once that happens, just a few hairs from his head and we’ll be all set for revenge.” It was something I had theorized to Uma when I first came to the Isle. The magic that allows Ben to change from man to beast comes from his father. Ben’s father was the creator of the Isle and likely the reason that it’s an island with no magic, considering Belle has never had any magic capability. So, if we were to fight the fire with the match that sparked it, maybe the flame would dim down long enough for Uma and I to work our magic.

“How are you so sure that Mal will come back to the Isle to start all of this?” Uma kept a somewhat indifferent expression. I laid my hand down on her thigh and let my thumb roam around it rhythmically.

“You and I both know that Mal isn’t loving the princess act, my Captain. She’s bound to come back and try to reclaim her old territory eventually.”

“You haven’t even met her, duckling, how can you be so sure?” Harry leaned closer to me, resting his hook on the back of my neck. The sudden cold feeling from the metal raised goosebumps on my skin. I looked over to Uma, raising an eyebrow to ask permission. She gave a small nod, a teasing smirk spreading across her face.

I turned towards Harry and swiftly positioned myself on top of his right thigh. “You see, Hooky. I’ve got a good read on people. When you’re able to see into other people’s minds for as long as I was able to, it’s a lot easier to know things about people, even when they don’t tell you.”

Uma smiled and stood up before walking over to Harry and I. She sat herself on Harry’s other thigh and looked to me in amusement. “Really? Prove it, then, island girl.” My eyes shifted over to him, noticing his tongue subtly lingering across his bottom lip.

“Only if he wants me to,” A teasing chuckle came out in response. He leaned up from where he was sitting, moving his hands toward my top. I rolled my eyes and used a hand to push him back so he was leaning against the chair, practically laying down. “Nice to know you’re excited, but I can’t understand you if you don’t use your words.” He smirked and perked his chin up in a nod.

“Why don’t you make me, huh, duckling?” I shrugged and ran my fingers through his hair before finding a small lock and giving a quick tug. Harry quietly yelped in pleasure and looked over to Uma, looking her up and down. When I took a quick glance at my Captain, her expression seemed indifferent, but I knew she couldn’t look away.

“Okay..please, Sofi, prove it to us. Prove it to me.” I nodded my head and leaned down onto him, beginning to leave small kisses on his neck. Since I still had part of his hair in my hand, I had more access to his neck and collarbone. I put my hand under his shirt and began trailing my hand across his chest.

“Well, to start, you’re not as dominant as people think you are. I mean, maybe you have your days where you’d rather thrust into one of us until we’re a quivering mess but more often than not, you secretly love it when we take our time. It’s interesting not being the tease for a change, isn’t it?” Uma quietly giggled behind me. She knew I was right. “Second, you realized you had feelings for Uma when you were jacking off in the shower one night and realized that what finished you off was the thought of her riding you. It’d start off with her gently moving naked across your thigh, pulling you close and leaving marks that would stay for weeks, then, eventually, she’d practically rip off your clothes and take all of you in her mouth…” I slowly took Harry’s jacket off of him and slipped my overshirt off afterward. Thinking he would let me take him further, he pulled me closer to him and wrapped his fingers around a lock of my hair.

“God..please continue…”

“Why should I? I’ve proven myself, haven’t I?” I leaned my head closer to his, our foreheads touching and our lips inches away.

“You’re not ready for what will happen if you don’t.” He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “I’ll ravage you right here on this chair. Tear you until you’re spent and yet you’ll still be begging for more.” I smirked and swiftly pulled his lips to mine. His lips were soft but his movements were rough and primal. I’d felt some needy men in the past, but none had been so shameless, raging like a heavenly sunshower. In the heat and excitement, I can hear a quick and deep “do it,” slip from Harry’s lips. Before I could question anything, I felt the cold metallic sensation of Harry’s hook slip across the back of my neck. After a quick gasp, I look behind me to see Uma with her hat, jacket, and belt discarded. “Do you really think I’d let you unravel him without a little help? Tell me, when was the last time you experienced two people at once?” As quick as a light switch, I was rendered nearly speechless. I never knew how she did it to me, but there was always something about her that put me in some sort of spell. Now I understood why Harry always said Uma’s name like a prayer. In the right mood, Uma carried herself like a god. I turned back to look at her. With her jacket gone, the dress she was wearing under had become much more form fitting. “Well look who’s not using their words, now?” Harry chuckled from behind and leaned up, starting to kiss my neck just as I had done to him before.

“Settle down, Harry. Don’t think because we’ve found a weakness in our girl that it means you can go Alpha. We all know who’s in charge here, don’t we?” I nodded my head. She walked over to me and gently lifted my chin. Between Harry’s nails leaving scratches down my back and Uma’s lips gently dancing with me, I felt like I had an angel in front of me and a devil behind me. Uma’s kiss was of a warm fire after a day in the snow. Her hands roamed toward the strap of my shirt and moved it downward. “Get off of him for a moment. I’ve got a better idea.” I quickly obeyed, shifting off of Harry’s thigh and returning to where I sat before this escapade had begun. I could feel small hitches in my breath and warmth forming around me. Harry prowled over to my side, beginning to leave deep and rough kisses on my neck and shoulders. I already knew that this would bruise, but I couldn’t care less. Uma stood tall in front of me and let her dress fall to the floor. Her breasts were perky and seemed as soft as the rest of her supple skin.

“Maybe you have done your homework on us, duckling. But guess what? So have we.” Feeling Harry’s voice on my skin sent shivers down my spine. Uma sat on top of my lap and flittered her fingers around the strap to my top. I raised my arms over my head and threw my top to the floor as I took it off. She slowly began kissing down my chest and towards one breast as Harry licked and nibbled at the other. I could feel myself starting to rub my thighs together, trying to gain some friction. Uma quietly chuckles and slowly moves her hand down towards my pants, then slowly pressing two fingers against my clothed heat. I let out a soft huff of breath, eager for more. Uma momentarily stopped and looked to Harry.

“Let’s speed this up, who knows when ma might come through here.” He growled excitedly in response. In the blink of an eye, all of us were completely undressed. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, what I was feeling, what I had the privilege to be a part of. I had seen Harry shirtless a few times. We’d be training together and, in the heat of the moment, he’d practically rip it off and attempt to use his muscles and wile to throw me off. Mentally, it’d definitely make my thoughts wander, but not as much as it did now. To go with his tense and chiseled arms and chest, Harry had a distinct “v line” that lead down to his cock. It was relatively average in length and surprisingly well groomed. What would end up blowing my mind was his girth and a curve towards the head. Uma, however, was practically a whole new world. Despite the muscle in her attitude, Uma was more on the slender and petite side. There was a small curve cascading down her body that wasn’t much of an hourglass, but still seemed to hit all of the right places. Her hips swayed like the waves of the ocean, and I was the sand she’d weaken with her tide.

I wish I could recount all of the little details of what had happened, and usually I would be able to. The main thing I remembered was the contrast in style from the two of them. Harry was a tease, pacing himself achingly while staying attentive to the both of us. Even when I wasn’t the priority, he still found some way to lift me higher. His fingers and tongue were godlike, nearly omniscient of how to keep the Captain and I begging for more. He was quite the devil indeed. If Harry were a devil, Uma was his succubus. She’d lure you in, thinking of being gentle, making you believe that there was a chance of getting her to beg. But that was quite the contrary. While Harry had times were he would be fast and brutal, Uma was torturously slow with the both of us. She’d throw in tiny praises, letting the both of us know how well we were doing, but soon after she’d make these tiny little threats and hints of denial. “If you even try to come before I’m done with you, I’ll make you pay,” “Tell me who you belong to, or I’ll stop right now.” She was the last of the three of us to reach her peak, Harry locking his lips with hers while I tasted her for the first time.

By the time all three of us were done and cleaned up, Harry had passed out with his head on Uma’s lap. I laid gently onto her shoulder and ran my hands gently through Harry’s dark locks. There was something mesmerizing about seeing someone who was usually so chaotic look so at peace. “Does he always fall asleep so quickly?” I joked to Uma, keeping my eyes locked on the sleeping beauty below me.

“Always...what about you? You aren’t tired from all of that?”

“No, I am, trust me. I just don’t sleep very much. In Neverland, you never knew when a Lost Boy was going to break into your tent to cause a ruckus or when some animal would try to ravage your camp like a fat kid at a buffet.” Uma smiled and laid a soft kiss on the top of my head. Maybe I didn’t know whether or not this plan would work, but as long as I had these two by my side, I’ll cherish every second of it.