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cozycryptidcorner · 4 years ago

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Kinktober: Fae/Dry Humping

Tags: fae/reader, lemon, dry humping, femdom

The lights of the street lamps bleed through the doors of your car, illuminating him with a dull neon glow. His hands grip your waist, his breath coming out in hot, heavy puffs, eyes seeming bright orange in the flickering fluorescent sign. As you settle over his hips, you can feel a tent in his pants, hard, thick, desperate for release.

There’s a dull, distant bass that somehow sounds through the metal and the rest of the block, a reminder that you’re only a few impossible yards from a club. Your supernatural partner looks absolutely ruined beneath you, lips pink and wet with spit, his eyes almost entirely black and shockingly lucid.

His hands are twisted in a makeshift tie, the seatbelt wrapped around his wrists a few times and locked. Even if you saw fit to release him, there’s no way you could manage to untangle his limbs in a timely manner; you made sure to lock him in well and good should you need a quick escape for… business purposes. But for now, you suppose you can have a little fun with him.

With your back against the steering wheel, you spread your legs around to tightly straddle his hips, watching his face as soon as you settle over the bulge. His face doesn’t disappoint, his eyes widening, his mouth opening to a soft oh, back arching as far as he can make it off the flattened seat.

You start with kisses, heated, open-mouthed kisses where you’re quick to dominate his mouth with your tongue. He whimpers, and he keens, pelvis thrusting into yours, eyes closed as he allows you to violet his lips with such easy submission you wonder why you’ve never tried fucking him before. After all, you’ve seen him, hanging around the club with his silk shirts and expensively cut pants, but you’ve never offered up a passing thought until-

Just to be a bitch, you bite down on his lower lip, determined to make sure he leaves this chance meeting looking like he got in a tussle with a fully-fledged werewolf. As he moans his approval, you shift, trying to get yourself more comfortable in the suddenly stuffy interior. Say what you want about car sex; it can be challenging to find comfortable positions for both parties, especially if it’s an unfamiliar environment.

Moving your mouth to his neck, you bite down, trying to take advantage of the sensitive skin that will easily blossom with the most decadent of bruises tomorrow morning. Placing a knee up on the center cupholder, you snake your hand down to where his cock is steadily fighting to be free of its confines, a testament to his arousal and desire for you to fuck him into oblivion.

“You seem eager,” you whisper, wishing you had the foresight to at least turn the radio up. Something about the steady woosh of warm air coming from the heaters puts you on edge.

“All the better to fuck you with, my dear.” His voice is anything but steady as you accidently squeeze his rod just a tad too hard.

“I think you have a misconception of who will be fucking who,” you murmur, a smile on your face, opening your mouth and biting down on the skin of his shoulder.

He lets out an approving moan, arms struggling against the car seat strap. His face seems to be turning bright red, but nothing in his words or tone suggests that you should be stopping your onslaught anytime soon. Calmly, you begin to unbutton his shirt, going down the damn things one by one, until you finally have his chest exposed enough for you to gently violate.

Without a shred of mercy, you go for his left nipple, squeezing the rose-colored dusty bud between your fingers. He keens and he moans while you begin to pinch and roll his right one as well, body wriggling and jerking so very beautifully between your legs. Wishing you could be even less impassioned than you are, you watch him slowly become undone, slick wetness still developing between your thighs.

Your own needs beckon you to grind, but you still have it in you to torture this soft bitch of a fae before you tend to yourself. Slowly, in a facade of tenderness, you kiss him again, right on the mouth as you slowly rub his clothed cock in your hands, reveling in the way he gasps as you experiment with different motions. Up, down, squeeze gently, maybe a little rougher, press and pull, watching his face as he slowly becomes undone.

“Please,” he gasps, one of the few words he’s said to you all night.

“Please, what?” You ask, wishing you knew how to be so much more crueler to him than you already are.

“I want to cum,” he whispers, as though he is well aware of how absurd the request is.

You hum, as though in thought, even though your mind is already made up. With the voice of a person who might be convinced, you ask, “do you deserve to cum?”

The hesitation is all you need to latch onto, your fingers wrapping around his throat, your mouth curved in a sadistic grin. “All you’ve done is whine and moan beneath me; what have you done to actually deserve a release?”

He lets out a raspy breath, blue eyes haunting. Opening his mouth, he tries to make out the words that plead you to his case, promises that offer up the sun and the stars if you’d only allow him to relieve his tension, but you glare down at him with an impassive stare.

“I didn’t hear any reason for you to cum. Can you please tell me?”

“I-” he chokes as you rub his crotch, “I’ve been so good to you, all tied up like a pretty present. Will you please let me cum?”

“Hm,” you murmur, thinking over his response, “but can I reward you for doing what you’re told? For cooperating like the bitch boy that you are?”

He gasps, those sweet eyes watering, his struggling against his straps almost sweet. “I’ve obeyed you, I haven’t cummed, or moved?”

“I’ll think about it,” you say, pretending to not care. With some level of violence, you cup his chin in your hand, squeezing, admiring the way his mouth puckers when he wants something. He’s been a decent pet, hasn’t he? You might actually allow him the satisfaction of cumming, though you don’t plan on stripping him from the rest of his clothes.

Still, you put up the facade of careful thought, mindlessly palming his crotch. Even through the material, you know that he would fit inside you so very sweetly, you know that letting him inside is a reward that he hasn’t yet deserved, even if you are allowing him this single instance of release. Slowly, you bend over him, hovering your lips just inches away from his ear, and whisper, “you’re allowed to cum.”

He chokes, you can feel his tongue against your index finger, so you push it in further. Even with the hazy fluorescent light, you can see the threads of his sanity unwinding, his pelvis thrusting up to grind against your thigh. You don’t say anything as he becomes undone, only watch, your own arousal heating up your womb and making you wish you had an extra hand to touch yourself with.

The only signs he has cummed are the hot, sporadic thrusts from his waist, dark splotches growing from the sperm coating the underside of his pants. His face becomes red, his breath coming out in heavy, ugly puffs, his moaning and begging so sweet in your ears you might have had your own release if your guard had been any lower.

He writhes and he moans, face twisting with the bitter sense of being bested by someone he might consider to be of lower status. You love the way he tries to rationalize his behavior, such a sweet, stupid little fae. The way he seems to bend towards your supposedly inferior human body.

When all is said and done, the shame and humiliation give his mouth such a sweet, pathetic little quiver, anyways. You suppose that you might allow him back in your presence should he come seeming you again.

#exophilia #fae #fae/reader #monster boyfriend #fae boyfriend #monster lovers #fae/human

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duskandstarlight · 4 years ago

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Embers & Light (Chapter 25, Cassian POV prompt)

Notes: Many of you asked for the POV for when Cassian slept beside Nesta in the most recent chapter... so here you go! Apologies for any typos etc, I’m really tired today! Let me know if the tags don’t work...

Together, Cassian and Rhys trudged back to the bungalow. It was still snowing, albeit less than it had been earlier. White came down in light flurries, the flakes falling from the sky in whirlpools suctioned by the wind.

“Trust it to snow when we’re in the middle of relocating,” Rhys mused as the wind dropped, his voice purposefully light.

Cassian only grunted in response, weaving through the dug out camp fires set into the ground, which leant a lick of warmth and provided hot food for the Illyrians. Cassian tried not to think of the steam cabins set over the hot springs a few miles outside of the camp. Of how warm they’d be on his tired limbs…

A good steam in one the Illyrian steam huts usually undid the tension from Cassian like nothing else, but he'd prefer to scrub away the excess grime from his skin. Whilst Rhys might have magicked away the blood, sweat and dirt from him, Cassian could still feel it coating him like a thick oil. And whilst the thought of sliding into the tub and staying there until it turned cold would normally be the only thing on Cassian’s mind after this kind of long day, all he wanted was to settle himself anxiously into the armchair beside his bed and make sure Nesta was alive and breathing.

She wasn’t in agony at least. That open tether was enough to tell him that the tincture was working. And from the flash of irritation he had received a few moments ago, Cassian knew that she was finally awake.

“It’s time to build housing,” Cassian told Rhys after a long reprieve of silence, pulling his thoughts away from the female in his bed. He tossed the words over his shoulder, ploughing through the snow for the both of them before he met a well-trodden path. “You saw the state of the widows tents up the mountain. This is the time to start anew. To provide them with proper shelter. To start initiatives…”

“I know,” Rhys agreed. “It’s time to find a solution rather than opting for leniency when it comes to the war-lords and how they rule.”

Cassian nodded tightly. “We don’t have the luxury of allowing them free-reign over the camps anymore. And help needs to extend beyond us relocating one camp of widows. What of the other camps? What of the females there? The bastards? The poor?”

He sighed wearily at the situation that was so impossible he did not know where to start. “Nesta would probably have some good ideas. She comes out with things sometimes…” Cassian paused to drag his hands over his face at the same time as he shook his head, “Ideas like that seem to come to her as easy as breathing…”

Rhys nodded again, but it was not tight or dismissive. Wary, perhaps and a little tentative, as if he was weighing up how tightly wound his brother was. “We need ideas,” he admitted, “but right now you need Feyre and I to leave so you can rest.”

He eyed Cassian with a slight tilt of his head. His blue-black hair did not so much as move or ruffle in the wind. “I’ve never seen your siphons drain that quickly,” he observed, staring at the jewel that rested in Cassian’s armoured scales, right in the middle of his chest like an additional heart. The siphon that did not wink or glint in the dark, but remained cold and lifeless.

The drink Frawley had given Cassian had barely been enough to have his magic whispering back through his veins. He needed to sleep for his power to replenish itself. And whilst Frawley had barked at him to drink more tea before the day was out, he had yet to find the time for another mug.

It was a while before Cassian realised he had not responded to Rhys. He had been too stuck in his own thoughts, and by the time he glanced sideways at his brother, they were approaching the front of the stone bungalow.

Rhys was not looking at him. Instead, he was blinking in a way that told him something had just happened down that bond of his.

“Feyre kick you out?” Cassian asked, making his lips twitch upwards. The action alone was difficult and he just barely willed his facial muscles to obey. He knew that the smile did not reach his eyes. His body yearned for sleep in a way that told him he was ravaged. Something deeper than his bones and blood was begging him to curl up on the mattress beside Nesta whilst she slept.

It was a starved comfort Cassian had not known he hungered for with such ravenous intensity until that moment.

“She’s speaking with Nesta,” Rhys replied smoothly.

Cassian did not tell his brother that he had already guessed that. He only let out a soft grunt and levelled his brother with a ‘no bullshit’ gaze. “If you don’t forgive Nesta you will ruin the healing between the sisters.”

Rhys’s violet eyes came to rest on him. His brother opened his mouth and then closed it. “Is this really something to discuss now?”

When you’re raw and exhausted. When you are this protective.

“Probably not,” Cassian admitted, knowing that it could end in fists and he didn’t have the energy. “But if the sisters want to rebuild a relationship, then you need to let any past grudges go. Focus on the present. On the actions that matter now.”

A long silence. Too long. It wasn’t the sort of prolonged pause that was as sharp as a knife, but it held some quality that Cassian could not decipher.

Cassian hadn’t meant it to come out as a criticism barbed with thorns. Had intended to present it as casual fact. It was a truth that Cassian had only fully realised in that moment when Nesta had challenged Rhys in the living room. When Cassian had thought power could fly.

He’d known who he would have protected.

Rhys did, too.

And magic might have flown if Nesta had not been replenishing her power reserves. If Rhys had not seen Nesta save his mates life and wield her magic in such a selfless way. If his brother had not witnessed how Nesta had changed. How her concern for the females was the reason why her voice was fierce, rather than consumed by trauma and stubborn will.

Cassian wondered how different Nesta appeared to Rhys. Azriel could see it. The shadowsinger had grown to like her, Cassian thought. Enough to break his usual silence and interject when there could have been heated words. Azriel had assisted Nesta when she had been in pain rather than remain cold and impassive. Cassian had even spotted the shadowsinger’s lips twitch upwards at Cassian’s territorial behaviour, knowing all too well that it had irritated the hell out of Nesta.

And Rhys… his brother had welcomed Nesta to the Court of Dreams, something he did not do lightly. He had even said he would train her if Azriel was not available.

That was a concession in itself.

Cassian knew what a peace offering that was from his brother. And whilst it had been a stiff gesture, it had been the first thing Rhys had offered Nesta because she was needed and useful, rather than because she was Feyre’s sister. Because she cared about the Illyrians and she had worth amongst the females in a way that none of the High Fae had ever managed to attain.

Many thought Nesta had a heart of ice, but Feyre had been right all along; Nesta’s heart was too full — too aching — that she encased it into an impenetrable cage to protect herself.

Only now was that cage breaking… and without it, Nesta was more powerful, more formidable than ever before. There was no denying it. Cassian had felt it — all of it — when she melted that cage of ice and let everything finally hit her. And there was no denying that Nesta was someone with good intention. Someone who did care about others. She may have been lost for a very long time, but she had finally fought back.

It made Cassian ashamed for things he had said previously. From the minute Nesta had shed a tear for the humans who would not be protected in war, Cassian had known she was capable of more.

Your sisters love you. I can’t for the life of me understand why, but they do.

Cassian could not have uttered crueler words. Knew what he’d been doing as he’d said them, desperate to get some sort of reaction from her. He had been so successful at reaching her before, but that day he had been unable to pierce that impenetrable, icy tavern. But even though she hadn’t shred him to ribbons, his words had still served a purpose. They had covered up the terrifying fact that he loved her more fiercely than he had ever loved anyone. That most of the time, he couldn't so much as think about her because it hurt too much to know that she wanted nothing to do with him, even after he’d worn his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see.

If Cassian had not brought Nesta back today, she would have died thinking his words to be true. Even as she sacrificed her life for someone so many perceived as unworthy.

“I’m working on it.” Rhys’s words pulled Cassian out of his self-deprecating thoughts.

Nodding shortly, Cassian raised his palm to the wooden door. It clicked beneath his palm and the bungalow hummed to life as he stepped inside.

He was not going to push Rhys now. Another time, yes, but not today.

The bungalow was wonderfully warm. The fire was still blazing silently in the living room, but Cassian barely noticed it. Instead, his gaze flew straight to the bedroom door.

It opened as he shucked off his shoes and knocked the snow from the tread against the doorframe. As he flung the wet snow from his wings that were burning from the cold.

Feyre looked weary and wrung out as the bedroom door clicked shut. She tried to smile but it came out more as a grimace. “She woke for a few minutes,” Feyre told Cassian, “but she’s just falling asleep again.”

“Is she in pain?” Cassian asked, even though he knew it wasn’t half as bad as earlier. Nesta’s walls weren’t back up yet — something he was mercilessly happy about — so he would have known if she was in agony, but it was habit to check. To throw them all off of the scent.

Feyre shook her head. “Not as much as before. She didn’t ask for any more of the tincture.” She rang her hands in front of her hips. She looked nervous. “I told Nesta she could leave, if she wanted to.”

Feyre looked as if she was expecting him to completely lose his temper, but Cassian only nodded tightly. She frowned. “Nesta said she wanted to stay to help, but—”

She stopped abruptly and cocked her head at him. Her brow knitted. “You already told Nesta she could leave, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Cassian replied tersely, stalking over to the fire to toss some logs onto the burner. He fanned out his wings so the heat sunk into the membrane. It felt delicious and he bit back a groan. “A long time ago,” he clarified. “Did you give her the sedative?”

Hazel met blue. Feyre did not look annoyed. To his surprise, her features only softened, as if her heart were aching.

“No,’ she replied with a small shake of her head, “she didn’t seem to need it. She could barely keep her eyes open.”

A tight nod. “Ok. I can watch her.”

It was not true. Cassian would watch her. It was not a choice he was giving Feyre or himself.

Closing the front door behind him, Rhys came over to press a kiss to his mate’s temple. As if he could sense Cassian’s impatience, he asked, “Ready to go?”

Feyre nodded.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Rhys told Cassian.

“And if you hear from Az?” Cassian asked.

“I’ll let you know,” Rhys said, tapping two fingers to the side of his head.

Then they disappeared into nothing.

***

It didn’t take Cassian long to step into the tub. He had checked on Nesta first and foremost, but she had already been far, far under. Her brow had been knitted in anguish, but when he had rested his palm across her forehead, her features had momentarily smoothed, as if his touch had erased the visions beneath her eyelids.

The water was near scolding but Cassian endured it anyway, allowing the burn to scorch through his skin until he was thoroughly thawed. He stood there for too long, trying to wash away the memory of Nesta’s pale, blood-streaked face as her eyes rolled back into her head.

He was just finishing washing the suds from his hair when a sound pierced through the bungalow.

Cassian heard it at the same time as Nesta’s pain hit him square in the chest, travelling down that bond which, for once, was not clamped shut but wide open.

He was out of the tub before he had the time to think. Was half way to his room before he deigned to wrap the towel he’d grabbed on the way out of the bathroom around his waist. He dripped across the carpet, his hair water-logged and running rivulets down his neck and shoulders... But he didn’t even notice because all Cassian could feel was distress and terror so fierce the sensations were bitter on his tongue.

Bursting into his bedroom, Cassian found the sheets twisted around Nesta’s body. Her brow was creased again and fresh tears slid down her already stained face. But it was the sounds coming from Nesta’s throat that that made Cassian’s already aching heart wrench out of his chest. It sounded animalistic rather than Fae. It was deep, wounding horror and he would give anything to rid her of it.

“Sweetheart,” he called desperately. “Sweetheart, it’s a nightmare. You’re ok.”

But no matter how much he called, he couldn’t reach her.

Balling his hands into fists, Cassian sat down in the armchair and buried his head into his hands. But the sounds didn’t stop. Neither did the tears. It took everything in Cassian not to touch her. He was too scared he would trigger her battle trauma, that she was in so deep that her brain would conjure something he was not. Something threatening.

So he watched helplessly as mist began to seep from her fingers, her magic coating the bed in a pearlescent fog as those noises became truly feral. Called for her to come back to him until his voice was hoarse.

Unable to sit still anymore, Cassian tugged on some clothes before he came to sit beside her on the mattress. He rested his outstretched palm on the blanket, hoping that she would sense him nearby, but Nesta only sobbed harder.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice raw from trying to reach her. “You’re safe. You’re ok. You’re having a nightmare.”

He stayed beside her, murmuring comforting words. Clenched his other hand into a fist at his side. Let his wings snap in and out with such agitation they cracked through the air. He didn’t care. There was no-one to witness it anyway.

Cassian knew all to well how fiercely sedatives could clutch you to sleep. It was why he didn’t use sleep tonics. They made his nightmares worse — more vivid. He would rather suffer from too many sleepless nights than live through terrors he could not escape from. And he’d guess that the severe pain from Nesta’s injuries was manifesting into her dreams but the sedative was too fierce to wake her up.

“You’re safe,” he murmured softly. Words he had been saying over and over.

You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re with me. You’re safe.

For a moment, Nesta settled. But then she was moaning again, the sounds torn ragged from her throat as she began to thrash.

Cassian’s blood spiked with panic. Frawley had insisted that Nesta remain as still as possible. That movements to Nesta’s abdomen would not only be incredibly painful, but that they would undo the magic both she and Madja had administered.

And then Nesta started to scream.

It was one of the worst sounds he had ever heard. It knocked the breath from him and the chill that ran through his blood was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

Cassian fell to his knees, barely registering the impact as his bones creaked.

“Amore,” he rasped softly in Illyrian. “Nesta.”

His wings extended outwards, furling around her like a protective shell — an instinct buried deep that pulled through his chest until his limbs obeyed. Something built into his DNA that had only been opened for Nesta. As if a key had finally been fitted into a lock and unveiled the most intrinsic part of him. Something only for her.

“Amore,” Cassian said again. The word soft, curling off the back of his tongue like a caress.

The screaming stopped, falling into stifled, suppressed shouts. Nesta’s pain travelled down their twisted of rope; the bond that had been open since Nesta had started to die that afternoon. The agony of it hit Cassian clean in the gut, knocking the breath from him with a whoosh, but he willed everything in him to soothe, pushed back on the pain…

There was a moment’s reprieve where the agony didn’t cut through him. When for a few seconds, Nesta stopped screaming.

Cassian jumped at the opportunity. Reaching deep inside of himself, he felt for that rope which even now, he could not let go of for fear that it would break.

And then he tugged. It was a gentle movement — smooth. More of a nudge than a prod, using just enough pressure for Nesta to feel it… to cut through the nightmares and offer a hand back to the light.

Gradually, Nesta quieted. Screams turned to shouts. Shouts turned to moans. Moans turned to whimpers. Until eventually, Nesta only murmured in her sleep, the sound unbelievably soft in contrast to the blood-chilling screams.

Hardly daring to breathe, Cassian lifted a hand to rest his palm against her forehead. Nesta’s skin was warm — flushed — but when she leant in a little to his touch, his heart beat so fiercely he felt it pulse in his mouth. And knowing how rare the moment was, Cassian indulged himself; allowing his fingers to trace a path down her cheek where before there had been tears.

Only Nesta could look so heart-achingly beautiful in the midst of a nightmare.

Only Nesta could make him lose all sense of himself.

Only Nesta could make him feel this vulnerable. As if even in her sleep, she was witnessing all of him.

This close up, Cassian could see every one of Nesta’s dark eyelashes. The slight upturn at the tip of her nose. The smattering of freckles that were so faint across the bridge of her cheeks, Cassian wondered if anybody but him had ever noticed them.

If she hadn’t rejected him, Cassian might have traced those freckles with his lips and fingers so many times he would know exactly how many there were… Would know what her lips tasted like when she wasn't about to die with him.

Time passed, stretching out far and wide before them.

Cassian wasn’t sure how long he stayed on his knees. What he did know was that Nesta remained settled. He did not move his hand. He continued to brush his thumb over her skin. Continued to soothe down that bond, until her breath evened out and no longer rattled in her chest.

When his legs had long gone numb beneath him and his back ached from leaning over the mattress, he retracted a wing with the hope of easing himself off the floor.

He had barely moved when she started to moan again.

Immediately, he threw a wing back over her. And everything ached inside of him when she settled again. The knowledge that it was him — the safety he provided — that warded off the nightmares.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he soothed gently. “I’m just going to move closer, ok?”

And without stopping to think, Cassian allowed himself to do what he had been yearning to do since before he had arrived back in the bungalow; he crawled onto the mattress beside Nesta and curved his wing over her.

Nesta settled immediately, her head turning on the pillow so it was tilted towards him. He could feel the soft flutter of her breath on his cheek. His heart leapt against flimsy strips of bone, reaching outwards until it beat in tandem with hers. The sound melded into one, filling his ears and making his pulse slow until it was thick and sluggish in his veins.

She was so warm. His body was only just ghosting hers but he groaned a relieved sigh as every muscle relaxed at the heat. At the knowledge that the bond had turned peacefully quiet. That Nesta was safe and unharmed. Content.

And then he slept.

He did not have a nightmare.

Tags: @arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta

#embersandlightfic #embers and light #nessianfic #nessian angst #nessianangst #nesta x cassian #nestaarcheron

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purplehairedwonder · 4 years ago

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Hearts With(out) Chains Chapter 14

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 5213 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Doflamingo, Violet, Baby 5, Trebol, Diamante, Monkey D. Luffy, Robin, Sanji, Usopp, Franky Notes: I’m taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won’t leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law finds a strange connection to Monkey D. Luffy, which offers a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.

Previous chapters: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

Two Days Ago

Law stood at the helm of the Thousand Sunny, one hand light on the wheel as he watched Dressrosa come into focus. Though Law’s own ship was a submarine, he’d learned how to sail other vessels well enough and directed the Sunny toward the port. The sea, as expected, was calm, so there was little maneuvering he needed to do. With the weather warming up as the ship approached Dressrosa, Law had discarded his coat and rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie, though he was still warm beneath his hat. The ship was eerily quiet, considering whose home she was.

Law glanced down at the hat in his other hand; he could have put it down on the deck alongside his coat and Kikoku, but he hadn’t been able to when the feeling of the worn straw under his fingers was such a stark reminder of those weeks on Amazon Lily two years earlier—where the whole mess Law now found himself had begun.

As Law steered the Sunny into the familiar docks and dropped anchor, the only people greeting him were dock workers, already unwinding ropes in preparation for securing the ship to the dock. Curious. And fortuitous. The last person Law wanted to run into before seeing Doffy was Violet; the less she knew about what Law had gotten into on Punk Hazard, the better for them both. Though she’d obfuscated for him more than once in the past, she’d never outright lied to Doffy for him—and he wouldn’t ask her to, knowing what she was risking. He’d take the small victories where he could find them.

Straw hat still in hand, though with his heavy coat now draped over it, and Kikoku resting in her usual place against his shoulder, Law pocketed his log pose and hopped down from the ship. He peered down the docks to see the Polar Tang shining brightly in the late-afternoon sun. His chest gave a twinge at the thought of the ship that had been home for the last decade. Would she be able to take the Hearts to freedom? Or would she be stuck docked in the Dressrosan harbor without a crew to sail her after today?

He shook his head and glanced back at the Thousand Sunny once more, looking for anything out of place. When he saw nothing, he took a breath and turned back toward the city. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed the harbor master hurrying toward him.

“Corazon, sir!” he huffed once he reached Law. “My apologies for not greeting you immediately.”

“It’s fine,” Law said, waving him off.

He really wasn’t in the mood for this, but the harbor master’s mood could be a good indicator of how he would be received in the city; if news from Punk Hazard had reached Dressrosa and Law was walking headfirst into a trap, Doffy likely would have had the harbor master and his workers watching for Law’s arrival and trying to detain him until Doffy himself could arrive. The harbor master, however, like most Dressrosans, was too terrified of the executives to lie to their faces—even on order of the king. That he didn’t seem to be hiding any ulterior motives was a positive sign.

“Shall I call a carriage to bring you back to the palace?”

“I’ll walk,” Law said, talking a few steps up the dock.

“Are you sure?” the harbor master asked, falling in step with him. “It’s no trouble and would be faster.”

Law leveled a stare at the man, and he quavered. “O-of course, I didn’t mean to challenge you, sir.” He swallowed before nodding at the Sunny. “And this ship?”

Law forced his lips into a smirk. “A trophy from a defeated pirate crew. Keep it in good shape until the king can inspect it.”

Doffy loved keeping trophies, from plundered goods and hijacked ships to defeated crews themselves—many of whom turned into merchandise—from his many victories, so the harbor master didn’t so much as blink at the explanation.

“Of course, Corazon.”

They’d reached the end of the docks, and the harbor master bowed Law out into the city before turning back to the dock workers and yelling orders at them.

Law strode the familiar streets of the city toward the palace, ignoring the eyes and murmured whispers of his title by the Dressrosan citizens and the toys as he passed; Law always drew a fair amount of attention when he was out, considering his status as second to the king. Being watched didn’t mean Doffy knew what had happened. He forced his tense shoulders down as he walked. He was returning from a straight-forward mission, as he had hundreds of times before. There was nothing different about today.

Pushing aside his paranoia, Law trekked the familiar streets until he reached the palace. The grounds were quiet as he stepped through the gates, and he licked his lips. He was used to the palace being busy, members of the Family and servants alike scurrying around the grounds at all hours of the day. In the late afternoon, he’d expect to see preparations being made for dinner, but, as he walked toward the courtyard, he only saw a few figures moving about in the distance.

“Ah, Corazon!”

Law started as Rosalie, Doffy’s personal aide, came hurrying out of a side hallway. Forcing his expression neutral, he nodded at her.

“The Young Master asked me to find you once you arrived. He’s waiting in his office.”

Law nodded for Rosalie to lead the way, and she turned on her heel to head back into the palace. As they walked, Law considered whether he was more or less likely to be ambushed in Doffy’s office. On the one hand, it held fewer people, which meant fewer enemies for Law to fend off in the case of an attack. On the other hand, it was more isolated from the rest of the palace, meaning fewer people would know what was happening—not that Law would find himself with many allies in the palace if he was outed as a traitor to the Family.

He shook his head; there was no point in catastrophizing until he assessed what information Doffy had. Instead, he addressed Rosalie. As Doffy’s personal aide, she was aware of more goings on in the palace than most, as she was regularly required to track down Family members on short notice for the king.

“The grounds are quiet. Where is everyone?”

She looked back at him to acknowledge that he’d spoken before returning her gaze forward as she strode forward with purpose. “I believe Trebol is with Sugar. Diamante is at the Colosseum, making preparations for the upcoming tournament. I believe Machvise is with him. Pica is at the training grounds, drilling soldiers,” she said, ticking off executives with her fingers. “Dellinger is at the beach with Jora and Lao G. Señor Pink and Gladius left for a mission this morning. Buffalo and Baby 5 went to the market an hour ago. Violet retired to the library after lunch.”

Law nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit. None of that seemed unusual and explained why the grounds were as quiet as they were.

Once they reached Doffy’s office, Rosalie knocked on the door and waited for the king’s call to enter. She ducked inside to inform him of Law’s arrival. A few moments later, she stepped back into the hallway and gestured Law inside.

Law took a steadying breath then strode past Rosalie into the office, suppressing a flinch as the door shut behind him. Doffy sat at his desk, papers spread out in front of him and a pen in hand. Law stepped forward but remained just outside of Doffy’s wingspan—not that it really mattered with his strings. He could have Law trapped with no more than a thought. Law’s fingers itched to activate a Room, but he knew that would only give him away. Instead, he did his best to wrap himself in the cloak that was Corazon, second in command to a Warlord and a king.

Even Corazon, however, knew to wait until Doffy was ready (having learned that lesson the hard way), so he waited. Once Doffy finished signing a document, he put his pen down and looked up at Law. He crossed his arms and tilted his head.

“Welcome back, Corazon.”

Law was unable to read anything in his expression or vocal tone so pressed forward. “Thank you, Young Master.”

“I trust you ran into no further complications?”

Law quirked his lips into one of his trademark smirks. “Of course not. I even brought presents. One is in the harbor.”

Doffy chuckled, a deep, pleased sound that rumbled lightly throughout the small room. “I heard.” Of course he had. “Very impressive. What else?”

Law pulled the straw hat out from under his coat and tossed it onto Doffy’s desk. Doffy froze as he realized what had landed in front of him.

“A trophy,” Law said. “From the head of one of the Worst Generation.”

“Take it, Torao. If it’ll make Mingo believe I’m dead, then take it.”

“Straw Hat-ya, I can’t take this.”

“Shishishi, I know you’ll give it back. I trust you!”

“This hat—” Doffy murmured, turning the worn thing over in his hands, the straw crinkling in the quiet between the two pirates. Doffy looked up sharply at Law. “Do you know who this hat belonged to?” At Law’s frown, Doffy shook his head. “Never mind,” he said, voice gentling. “This is quite the prize.”

Law blinked and caught the hat on instinct when Doffy tossed it back to him.

“You defeated its wearer, my Corazon. It is your trophy.” His lips twitched. “Though I think your own hat suits you better.”

Law snorted. “Not a lot of use for a straw hat in the North.” And Law was, at his core, a child of the North Blue—of winter islands and warfare.

“Indeed.”

“Was there anything else?” Law asked, raising an eyebrow. Impertinence was one of his defining traits, after all.

Doffy waved him off, already looking back toward the paperwork in front of him. “Dinner’s in an hour. Get yourself cleaned up.”

Law gave a shallow bow then turned to leave. Presenting his back to Doffy was one of the hardest things he’d done in a long time, but he forced himself to offer that vulnerability, since, if nothing were wrong, Doffy at his back would be no threat. Breath caught in his throat, Law headed out of Doffy’s office, part of him waiting to be impaled with an onslaught of strings…

But it never came.

He let out the breath he’d been holding when the door shut behind him and very nearly slumped against the wall. But the walls had eyes in the palace, so Law instead straightened his spine and headed to his chambers. He wanted nothing more than to make a direct line to the Hearts�� wing of the palace to check in with his crew, but with the distance he’d kept from them in the previous years, doing so would look out of character.

He encountered only a few servants as he headed for his room. Once he shut the door behind him, he leaned back against it tiredly and ran a hand over his face. He hadn’t been locked up in Seastone and thrown in the dungeon yet, so that was a good sign. Maybe, just maybe, he could get his crew out after all. They’d be on the run, but that would be better than the prison they found themselves in now—and they had allies.

Law dropped his coat on his bed and rested Kikoku on top of it. He placed the straw hat on his desk and pulled his Den Den Mushi from his coat pocket. He put the snail on the desk next to the hat then went into the bathroom, as if to wash up; instead, he activated a Room. He Scanned for the surveillance snail in the vents that kept an eye on his room and, with a quick Shambles, switched it with a snail he’d set up years earlier to broadcast a recorded feed of his empty room. Now it would simply appear that Law was in the shower. He’d found the surveillance snail immediately after he’d moved into the palace at seventeen, though he had no idea how often Doffy checked the feed nearly a decade later. The snail had never been removed, though, so Law worked under the assumption that the Warlord regularly monitored it to be safe.

Law then stepped back into the bedroom and went over to his desk. He pulled out a scrap of paper and scribbled a note: After dinner. Crew meeting. He folded it and pushed his Room in the direction of the Hearts’ quarters until he found Bepo’s room. The bear wasn’t in the room at the moment, but that was not unusual at this time of day. Law switched his note with pen on Bepo’s desk then retracted his Room once more.

That done, he turned to his Den Den Mushi and dialed. He only had to wait two rings before the other side picked up.

“Torao, it’s about time!”

“I told you to give me until nightfall to check in, Straw Hat-ya,” Law snapped, glancing out the window at the late afternoon sun. “I’m early.”

“But it’s boooooring on your ship,” Luffy whined.

Law rolled his eyes. Before arriving in Dressrosa, he’d come up with a plan to sneak the Straw Hats in without them being noticed. Because Doffy had eyes on all the ships coming into and going out of the harbor, it was imperative the Straw Hats stay out of sight as the ship approached. They would stay below deck as Law steered the Thousand Sunny into the harbor.

Then, while Law then checked in with Doflamingo at the palace, pretending the Sunny was a conquest of their fight, the Straw Hats would use their submersible to make their way to the Polar Tang; Doffy would undoubtedly have his men examining the Sunny to see what Law had brought him, so it would be a poor hiding place. The Tang, however, was generally left alone except for some basic maintenance, meaning she would be safe for the Straw Hats to hide out in until Law could contact them with an update and to decide their next move. He’d left them with a hand-drawn map of the palace as well as a rough map of the city itself for them to study while they waited.

Luffy had protested, wanting to see the city and, naturally, try the local cuisine, but his crew had reminded him that they were all supposed to be dead; being recognized would put Law and his nakama in danger, and—after his suggestion that they go into the city in disguises was thoroughly shot down—that had quieted his complaints.

Mostly.

“Boring?” Franky called, affronted, from somewhere in the background. “This ship is super! I want to know everything about her, Tra-bro!”

Law sighed. “Please tell Robo-ya to refrain from destroying my ship before we leave Dressrosa.”

“We’ll rein him in, Torao-kun,” Robin promised, though there was humor in her voice. “What happened with Doflamingo?”

“Mm, yeah. What happened with Mingo?” Luffy echoed. It sounded like he was moving around the Den Den Mushi, likely bursting with pent up energy. Law only hoped his ship would survive the Straw Hats’ cyborg and its bored captain.

“He seemed to take my report at face value,” Law said. “But there’s no telling when he’ll hear from his sources in the Marines about what happened. We’ll still need to move quickly.”

“When do I get to kick his ass?” Luffy asked. Several of the Straw Hats groaned in the background.

“That’s not the point of this, Luffy,” Robin reminded him, not unkindly. “The goal is to get Torao-kun and his nakama out of Dressrosa unnoticed.”

“We’re trying to avoid a fight with a Warlord, Luffy!” Usopp added, a tinge of panic in his voice.

“Fine,” Luffy grumbled.

“I’m expected at dinner with the Family this evening,” Law said, breaking in. “If I skip it, it’ll raise suspicions.”

Luffy whooped in excitement at the thought of food, and Sanji snapped that he’d brought food from the Sunny, which only made the younger captain more excited.

Law grimaced, wondering not for the first time why the mysterious pull in his chest had brought him to these people. He knew the Family was its own type of ridiculous, but the Straw Hats took that to a whole other level. Why did he think he could entrust something as important as his nakama’s lives to them?

“I’ll see my nakama after dinner and contact you then,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Good luck,” Robin said over her chaotic crewmates.

“Same to you,” Law replied then hung up.

For a moment, he stared at the snail then at the hat on the desk next to it. This was a terrible idea, but Law was already in too deep to turn back now.

After a quick shower to wash off the travel and battle from the last two days, Law changed into a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt then switched the surveillance snail back to the one with live feed and dropped his Room. Pulling his hat on, he glanced at Kikoku but decided not to bring her to dinner; he didn’t usually walk around the palace grounds with the nodachi in hand. His head was starting to ache—the concussion symptoms, while improving, were still bothering him—so he took some painkillers before heading to the dining room.

Though Law was on edge, dinner was a standard Family affair. The only executives not present were Señor Pink and Gladius, who were off the island. Law easily fell into his typical standoffish self, meandering into the dining room a couple of minutes late and sliding into his seat with an insincere smirk. Doffy, who was in the middle of a discussion with Trebol, merely raised an eyebrow at him, and Law shrugged. Doffy huffed once before turning back to Trebol.

Law rarely invited conversation at meals, though Baby 5 wanted to tell anyone who would listen—and for some reason, she thought Law was listening—about the wares she’d found at the market. Law ignored her, picking at his plate without much enthusiasm. The food, as always, was excellent—Doffy had high expectations of those who worked for him; Law’s stomach was simply tied in knots. It was a good thing Law rarely finished his meals, so his lack of appetite tonight didn’t appear unusual.

More than once, Law looked up to see Violet trying to catch his eye from several seats down the table. Law shook his head minutely and looked back down at his plate. He didn’t need to get her involved in this.

Law started when he felt a smack on his arm. He rubbed it with a frown at Baby 5. “What was that for?”

“Are you even listening to me, Corazon?”

Law snorted. “Of course not.”

Baby narrowed her eyes. “You’re such a jerk,” she muttered.

“Don’t act so surprised, Baby,” Law replied, lips twitching. It was easy enough to fall into this familiar pattern of banter with her.

She sighed dramatically. “You have been a jerk since you were ten.”

Law rested his chin on his hand, angling himself toward her slightly. “You want me to hear about your day, but you didn’t even ask me how my mission went.”

She scrunched up her nose then sighed resignedly. “How did your mission go, Corazon?”

Law shrugged, turning back to the table. “Fine.”

“You asshole!” she squawked, whacking him in the arm again. “Did you get rid of all your manners with your spots?”

Law gaped at her a moment before laughing in surprise. He would miss this; Baby was one of the only members of the Family he cared about. She’d been one of the few things that made his return to the Family tolerable.

“Just my people skills.” He picked up a piece of silverware from the table. “I still know a salad fork from a dessert fork.”

The rest of their conversation was cut short as Doffy pushed back from the table and rose. He nodded at the members of the Family gathered around the table.

“The rest of the night is yours. I have work to attend to.” He glanced to the side. “Pica, Machvise, a word in my office.”

As the summoned executives stood to follow Doffy from the dining room, Law pushed himself away from the table and headed for the hallway. He had a few things he needed from his room before meeting with his crew so headed that way; he could have just opened a Room and summoned them, but something told him to reserve his stamina for now.

He was about halfway to his chambers when he stopped. “What do you want, Violet?” He turned to see her turning a corner to face him.

She crossed her arms. “Why were you ignoring me at dinner?”

Law suppressed a sigh. “Because I’m an asshole.”

“True, but that’s not it. Try again.”

“I have a lot on my mind. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” Law started to turn back toward his room. He knew he was being unfair to her, but he didn’t want her reading him. Not today.

“Corazon, stop. Something is going on with you.”

Law turned back to her, jaw clenched. “Violet, don’t.”

“I can just read you to find out,” she threatened, lifting her hands.

Law grabbed her wrists before her hands could reach her face. “Don’t.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Let go.”

“Don’t try to read me, Violet,” Law practically growled. “I mean it. Not this time.”

She let out a huff then nodded. “Fine. Now let go.”

He released her wrists, and she rubbed her left wrist absently. “Something happened on your mission.”

Law chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before agreeing, “Yes.”

“What can I do?”

He blinked at her in surprise. “What?”

“If you’re in trouble, let me help.”

Law shook his head. She’d been trying to help him almost since he arrived in Dressrosa, and now the only way he could repay her was to keep her out of this mess. She had her father and niece to think about.

“Not for this one.”

“But—”

“Let it go, Violet.” Then he did open a Room and Shamble himself into his chambers, leaving a pen in his place in the hallway.

Years of practice with his powers allowed him to avoid landing awkwardly on his desk, and he dropped to the floor. He opened a drawer in his desk and pushed aside the items inside. He pressed on the right spot, and the false bottom opened. He reached in and grabbed the papers inside then replaced the false bottom and shut the drawer. He spread the papers out on his desk: blueprints of the castle. Violet had once mentioned that there was a secret passageway in the castle that only the Riku family knew about. She hadn’t revealed its location, though, and Law hadn’t asked.

If he could find that on the blueprints now, perhaps he could use it to get his crew out without being detected. He leaned over the paper with a frown, looking for anything that looked out of place or that he didn’t recognize. He could have asked her in the hallway just now, but he didn’t want what he was looking for getting back to Doflamingo—not before he and his nakama were gone, anyway.

He was so focused on the blueprints that he was taken by surprise when his door slammed open, rattling on its hinges. Law jerked upright but didn’t have a chance to react before a wave of mucus slammed him into the far wall. Law’s head slammed back against the wall. His vision darkened, and his body went slack, air leaving his lungs in a sharp exhale.

Goddamn concussion, he thought blearily as the world slowly started coming back into focus in front of him. His doctor side was distantly outraged at the battering his brain was taking, but the rest of him—the part in the here and now—was just trying to breathe.

As he came back to his senses, the first thing he recognized was that he was being held upright against the wall by Trebol’s mucus. Gross.

The shapes in front of him slowly materialized into Trebol and Diamante standing in his doorway.

“What the fuck, Trebol?” Law growled, though his voice lacked the power he wanted to put behind it.

“That’s what we should be asking you, Corazon.”

Law’s stomach dropped as Doffy entered the room behind his two executives. Law could feel the anger radiating off him.

He knows, Law realized. I wasn’t fast enough, and he knows. Fuck.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Law said, glancing around to assess his options. Though the mucus was holding him to the wall, his lower arms were free, so he could still form a Room. Kikoku was on the bed, but he could summon her with a Room.

He just had to do it at the right moment.

Doffy paused at Law’s desk and looked down at the papers. “Blueprints of the castle?” He turned back to Law. “And how did you get your hands on these?” Then he shook his head. “Never mind. I know how resourceful you are. And why would you need blueprints of the castle? Looking for an escape route?”

“Escape? Because that’s gone so well for me in the past,” Law scoffed, though he knew it wasn’t lost on Doffy that he’d side-stepped the question.

“I just heard from some sources in the Marines,” Doffy said, resuming his approach into Law’s space. “You’ll never believe who they have in custody.”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

Law winced as a string sliced through his cheek. It was a shallow cut, but blood dripped down the side of his face. A warning.

“Monet and Caesar,” Doffy said, tilting his head as he looked down at Law. “And I can’t imagine how that could be when you told me you saw them this morning, Corazon.”

Law licked his lips, hating the way he had to look up at the Warlord. “I did see them this morning.” That wasn’t a lie. He’d just… withheld the condition he’d seen them in. “If they were careless enough to get arrested after I left, that’s not on me.”

Another string sliced through Law’s cheek, this one a bit deeper, just below the first cut.

Doffy leaned over to whisper in Law’s ear, “I’d be very careful of what you say next.” The temperature dropping with Doffy’s icy words.

Law swallowed but remained silent. Doffy could probably feel the racing of his heart at this proximity.

“I’m only going to ask once. Did you see Vergo on Punk Hazard?”

“I thought Vergo was here.” Which was true—he had thought that, until Vergo had shown his face on the Straw Hats’ ship the day before.

Doffy straightened and, eyes never leaving Law’s, pulled a Den Den Mushi from his coat. He dialed a number from memory.

The discarded coat on Law’s bed started to ring.

Law cursed silently. He’d completely forgotten to get rid of Vergo’s Den Den Mushi. He’d planned to look it over on the trip from Punk Hazard, but he’d gotten distracted by making plans to get the Straw Hats into Dressrosa, and the snail had remained untouched in his pocket.

Doffy finally tore his gaze from Law and went over to the bed. He grabbed Law’s coat and dug around until he found the buzzing snail. Law’s own Den Den Mushi was on his desk and silent, cutting off that potential excuse.

“This is Vergo’s Den Den Mushi.”

“I…”

“Vergo’s dead,” Doffy said, the snail still ringing in his hand. Doffy’s voice remained low, and Law had, from his childhood, found Doffy’s restrained fury far more terrifying than when the man lost his cool. “His heart had been removed from his chest and squeezed.”

Law was well and truly fucked.

Deciding he had nothing to lose, he flexed his fingers ever-so-slightly in preparation to open a Room—

Then cried out as a blade impaled itself through the palm of his right hand.

It took a moment for his abused brain to register why, other than the pain, this was such a problem.

It was his dominant hand.

The one he used to wield Kikoku.

The one he used to control his Fruit.

The one he led with in surgery.

Oh.

“Nuh uh,” Diamante said from the other end of his waving blade. “No tricks, boy.”

“Nene, Corazon. Don’t surgeons need their hands?” Trebol chuckled.

Law made a choked sound as Diamante pulled the blade out. His thoughts spun as his hand dripped blood to the carpet beneath him. He’d felt worse pain than this—nothing he’d experienced had been worse than the final stages of Amber Lead Disease—but this was his hand.

“I can do the other one, Doffy. Make sure he can’t pull anything,” Diamante offered.

“No,” Doffy said, eyeing Law. “He’s no good to me if he can’t use his Fruit.”

Trebol’s mucus retreated, and Law fell forward. Without thinking, he reached out with his hands to catch himself then crumpled into a heap with a cry, hand coming to his chest as an electric shock jolted from his hand through his entire arm. The breath caught in his throat and the room around him fuzzed.

He’d failed.

He’d failed as an executive.

He’d failed as an ally.

He’d failed as a surgeon.

He’d failed as a captain.

He’d failed as a friend.

He’d failed Cora-san.

He barely registered the snapping of Seastone restraints around his wrists, the little strength he had left draining from his body as he went limp on the floor.

From somewhere above him, Doffy spoke, though Law couldn’t make out the words. He winced but didn’t struggle as Trebol and Diamante each grabbed one of his arms. The two executives dragged him bodily down the hallways of the palace, his feet trailing limply behind him. In his peripheral vision, he caught Violet’s shocked expression as the procession passed.

Law grimaced as they reached the stairs to the dungeon but didn’t have the strength to try to get his feet under him, so his legs thumped against each stone step as he was taken down. At the bottom, Trebol and Diamante exchanged a few words with the guard then followed him to what Law assumed was one of the Seastone cells. The guard opened the door, and Law was pulled into the cell and shoved against the wall, forcing the breath from his lungs. The chain between his wrist shackles was hooked above Law’s head before all the figures retreated.

Law slumped forward in defeat.

But he jerked upright at a familiar voice.

“Captain?”

Next chapter

#This kind of exploded on me #trafalgar law #Donquixote Doflamingo #Caitlin's fic #One Piece fanfic #One Piece fanfiction

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wordynerdygurl · 5 years ago

Text

Echoes of You

Author’s Note: This is from a request sent in to my 500 Followers Challenge. I’ve included it below... I did have fun with it! As always, please feel free to re-blog, share, and comment! Also, I’m accepting tag list requests and story requests! *The GIF is perfect and I want to thank the original creator/ poster!* Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Summary/ Request: “Loki is badly hurt on a mission and the reader has to make some sort of deal with a dark magical entity to save him. The price she has to pay is that everyone she knows is going to forget she ever existed. She takes the deal and tries to build a new life away from the avengers, however she and Loki keep running into each other and he's very drawn to her. After a lot of pestering, she agrees to go on a date with him on the condition that he is going to leave her alone after that. Their date goes great and they're almost about to have sex, but she stops him because she thinks he would've never wanted her if he actually had his memories. Obviously he knows though, they both confess their feelings and it ends on passionate, rough smut. Hope that's not too much and you have fun with it :)” Warnings: Battle scenes of the MCU variety, talk of blood/ death, angst and SMUT

"LOKI!"

Time freezes in that screamed second.

You feel yourself running, feet sliding in the gritty sand beneath your boots, desperate. He is impossibly far away but you can make it. You have to.

Skidding into the gravel on your knees, you shout his name as you watch him crumple. He's gone pale, limp, boneless in your arms. There's blood, lots of it, too much to stop on your own. It flows freely, drenching you down to your skin, warm and sticky. There’s no way to stem the flood.

In your dreams you always catch him in time. Keeping him off the cold ground, hugging his lean body to yours, ignoring the others as they fight around you. His twinkling eyes flutter but they stay open, struggling to focus on you. You watch his soft lips part, they form words, sounds that never reach you in the vacuum of your panic.

"Hush… it's ok… I'm here. I got you." Gurgling platitudes gush from you but there's no way to know if he hears them. A smile, young and sweet spreads across his unbearably handsome face. Using his last measure of strength, Loki strokes your cheek as you press your hot lips to his too cool skin.

You wake up wailing, the pillow beneath you wet. Honestly, it's never dry, not anymore. Because every night you try to save Loki. Every night he speaks soundlessly to you. And every morning you wake up to reality.

Dawn's dark hides you and your pain. You let the loss of Loki roll over you. Pulling you under in a rip tide of shuddering sobs, drowning you with memories of what you had before and what you have now. Swallowing that hard knot of agony, bitter and jagged, your crying steadied then dried out after a few minutes.

This new existence, this new life, was lonely. Awake now, well before the sun, you pushed out of bed and geared up for a run without much enthusiasm. When you couldn't ease your mind you took it out on your body.

Stepping onto the dim sidewalk you stretched just a little. You wanted to punish your subconscious, your wayward brain, not tear a hamstring. Setting off with a sigh, your feet slapping the pavement in an even staccato, you tried to turn your mind off.

On the quiet streets of your new city, one you were struggling to make feel like home, you wanted to outrun the past. Eager to put distance between you and all that had come before, forcing your legs to go further, faster, you ran by yourself in the shadows. There was no one to disturb you, not at this ungodly hour. Not that anyone would. You used to be a SHIELD agent, one who looked mad at the world, which you were. So you ran on, giving no thought to direction or neighborhood, welcoming any and all risk if it meant peace of mind.

Most days the sweat and strain were enough to calm your demons. By running your body down, your mind would let go too. Not today. Today, your dream, like a well directed film, played on a loop in your head. Each scene was vivid, real, raw. And not true.

---

"You come here freely?"

Hitching your chin defiantly, "Yes."

The ethereal being before you seemed to float on a crimson cloud, too beautiful to be benevolent, the aura around her dusky skin crackling violet. Part sorceress, part dark queen, she was your last hope. A final step you might take to keep Loki alive.

Slinking snake like, she sidled to your side, "I know what brings you here, mortal. I know what you want."

"Then you know I need help. Your help." You weren't begging. At least not yet, anyway. But the smell of desperation curled around you, black and rotten, regardless.

"You are not the one in need. Odin's adopted boy… the prince. He is dying. Is it not so?"

Her voice was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Strong, soft and sweet, the witch's words echoed in the close quarters of her stony temple. Swirling around you in the rouge red ribbons of her eternal energy, she did not wait for your reply. "What is it to you, child? The death of a Jotun foundling can mean but little to a human. And yet, you come to me willingly. Why?"

Hot tears formed, threatening to splash, scalding your cheeks. Your breath left your body as a gutted groan tore the words from your deepest soul, "I love him."

"Love. Such a human emotion." You felt her then, the physicality of her form, as she brushed an errant tear from your face. The enchantress stilled, her beautiful dark skinned face emerging in front of you, scrutinizing your expression, reading your pain.

Questioning you quietly, "You say that you love the youngest of Odin's sons."

"I do."

"The magic you ask for, it carries a hefty price."

Hope at the thought of her assistance made you boisterous. "Anything! I will pay any price. Twice over, if it keeps Loki alive."

Glowing plum colored, her gaze took you in, measuring you and your resolve. "Your sacrifice will be great, make no mistake. It will test the love you claim to feel for this demi-god."

What did you care of sacrifices if it kept Loki alive? Was there a price too high for the life of your love? Anger flashed through you, frustrated and flustered, "I heard you the first time. Will you aid me or not?"

"So cross, so eager." Silver laughter filled the cavernous space but was short lived. "You do not know the full cost of your desires and yet... you are in a rush to see them come to fruition. Child, I can do what you ask. I will do it, if you agree. In return... no one will remember you. Only this will purchase Loki's life."

"What?"

The Sorceress took your hand, testing its weight, turning your palm up. "You heard me. If this is truly what you want… to keep Loki alive, then your life… your history will be erased."

Gulping hard, understanding hitting you like a freight train, "My life for his? Is that it?"

Violet eyes bore into yours, purple orbs that fill your vision, unblinking. "No… you will not die, little mortal. It is far worse than that. You will live, but you will live in isolation. You will be forgotten by Loki… by your family… by your friends. You will meet them as strangers. They will carry on without you."

"But Loki will live?" He had to, you had come too far to fail your God now.

"Yes. Will you be able to?"

"Me? I don't understand what you're asking me."

"Will you be able to have a life without the man you say you love?"

Could you? There had been no one like Loki in your life before. Smart and strong, sarcastic and cutting, tender and kind. Loki was all the things you needed in a partner and he made you better at the same time. Taming you, just a little, being loved by Loki had softened some of your rough edges. Would it be easy to know he was walking around, enjoying life, but not be a part of it? No. But how else could you honor the man who had given you so much?

With a straining voice, "Loving him, having been loved by him, will have to be enough to satisfy my soul. There is no other option for me."

Nodding solemnly, content at your knowledge of the bargain, the crimson conjurer drew a symbol on the pad of your hand. Watching her with widening eyes, she pulled a gossamer green thread from the center of your palm. A string of memories erasing you in order to allow Loki to survive.

"It is longer than I would've thought, deeper too." And you knew what she meant instinctively because your heart pinched as her hands gathered more and more of your time with Loki to her. Dragging him out of your life with a sharp throb. When it was over the witch had a skein of your history, emerald green and glossy, which she evaporated into a wisp of smoke.

You had a small six pointed star shaped scar in the center of your hand. It was your sole token of the life you and Loki had shared. That and the memories that you alone carried.

"It is done." There was finality in her words, a dismissive quality, and for the first time in her presence you were frightened. Not of her, but of the new world you were facing.

Solemnly, you bowed your head, "Thank you."

"We shall see, human. We shall see."

---

By the time you return home, soaked with sweat, you're tired but feeling more like yourself. It's a relief to feel the night's pain fade enough for you to shower and dress for work. It's not a career. But it is just enough to almost pay rent and buy food.

Working with people, although frustrating at times, really does keep the white light of your emptiness away. Besides, the store offered a discount on clothes, which helped, and there was always something physical to be done. Lifting boxes, moving racks, hauling trash. Anything to keep you thoughtlessly busy. Like you did everyday, you threw yourself into the job, mindlessly. It was a life raft of sorts, a buoy keeping you afloat, a thing to cling to while trying not to let the weight of your past drag you down.

Listening to the consumer safe playlist, getting into a rhythm, you bobbed your head as your folded t-shirts. Your co-workers hated restocking, rehanging, straightening the racks. So, naturally that's what you were doing, lost in your own little world.

"I really don't see why we have to be here, brother." Something about that voice made you pause. Haughty and high handed, you could swear that it was…

"Jane has a birthday, brother. I will not forget it."

"Then, for the love of Odin, bring her some lovely Asgardian silks. Jewelry in gold or silver. Or better yet, take her home, seduce her soundly. Do anything but buy that hideous sweater."

"It's not hideous. You know nothing of Midgardian fashion."

"Me? I know nothing? Dear brother, this suit is Armani. That is designer. That means something."

"It means you spent way too much coin, Loki."

Turning quickly you moved closer to the men, still listening, still in disbelief. Peeking at the mismatched pair through a clothing rack, pushing two furry sweaters apart, your heart was racing. Stunned, you recognized the strong back of the tall, broad blonde. When he moved toward another display of shits your jaw fell open. Loki was here! Not five feet away!

"Bah! I don't see her size." Thor sighed in frustration, the offending rack of clothes wobbling with the force of his displeasure.

Loki, picking lint from his sleeve, "Find a clerk… ask for the awful thing in Jane's size so we can get out of this place." Lifting his piercing blue eyes, he spied you, trying to slip away unnoticed, "You! Hello? Yes… can you help us?"

It takes you a second to register that Loki, your Loki, is addressing you. Stiffly, you straighten up, your eyes rising to his inquisitive azure ones. They snap with a vitality that was missing when you saw him last.

A cloud passes over his gaze. Shadows of recognition, maybe? Or is that just what you want to see?

"Um… sure. What… uh, what do you need, sir?" You sound like a robot. Cringing at the put on voice you're using, awkward and uncomfortable, you smile at Thor.

Loki steps closer, brushing past his brother, not quite in your space but close enough for you to smell his skin. A familiar combination of leather and vanilla, sugar and spice, reaches out to you. Your breath hitches at the nearness of him. Memories on the tip of your tongue.

He's holding a fuzzy sweater, one the color of spicy mustard, about to hand it to you when his head tilts. "Do… do I know you?"

Heat climbs your face. Yes. Yes, Loki. You know me. You know me in a way no one else could ever know me. You know the sound of my sobs and the sigh of my satisfaction. Why I love the smell of the snow and hate lima beans. You know me.

And I know you. I know the strength of your character. The depth of your love. Which thoughts haunt you, songs your mother sang over your crib, poems written for no one else to read. Oh yes, I know you.

But what you say is, "Me? No… nope. No. We've… I mean, no. You don't know me." Kicking yourself mentally, the verbal diarrhea couldn't be stopped, and now Loki's surveying you even more closely.

"Are you certain? It's just… I could swear that I know you." For the first time since meeting Loki you hear uncertainty in his voice. It's almost enough to weaken your resolve, tell him all of it, even if it's in the middle of The Loft.

"Have… have you been in the shop before? I uh, I work a lot." Looking anywhere but at the handsome man from your nightmares, you settle on the offending sweater, trying to seem like an eager employee not a stuttering mess.

"No." His smile widened, the natural flirt in him coming out to play, "We have never set foot in this place."

Your thoughts jumbled. Unprepared for facing Loki, unsure of how to handle seeing him again, you focused on the top Thor wanted to give Jane. "Oh… well, maybe I just look like someone you used to know? Um… what size did you say?"

Thor, watching the interaction between you and Loki, was just happy to get back into the conversation. "Yes. Size 2 please, my good woman."

Casting Loki a side eyed glance, chuckling at Thor, you made your way to the stockroom. Stay calm, you willed yourself. Keeping your back straight, your head level and your breathing even, you walked towards the back. Your heart? That jerk was pumping overtime. As soon as you are gone, Thor rounds on his younger brother, "She likes you, Loki! And, she is rather cute."

Rolling his eyes with a groan, "Cute? She is far more beautiful than that, brother."

Wagging his golden brows playfully, the God of Thunder teased, "You should take her on a date. To dinner. She might actually say yes!"

"It's creepy. No woman wants to be courted while they're at work. Although…" Looking longingly at the “Employees Only” sign on the door you had disappeared into, Loki sighed.

"Yes, brother?"

"Although, she does remind me of someone."

"I have never seen her before. And she is certainly Midgardian. There's no other-worldly influence in her." Thor was sliding through hangers, evaluating gift options for Jane, talking in what he thought was a whisper.

"Yes. Yes… it's just so strange. She is so familiar… too familiar." Loki left his sentence hanging in the air. You were striding his way, a soft, down turned expression on your face. The urge to kiss the corners of your mouth overwhelmed him.

"Hi again." Exhaling, you risked a full look at Loki. He was scrutinizing you, closer than before, needing to solve the mystery of your connection.

"Hello."

God, you missed his eyes. The serious way they took in every detail. How they lit up with Loki's laughing or glowed with mischief when he got up to no good.

Swallowing dryly, you remembered his eyes darkening with passion. Appraising you through dusky lashes, half closed in pleasure as you hugged his body snugly to your own. His heavy heat inside of you, both finding release, breathing hard, holding onto each other while the world around you faded away.

"I'm… I'm sorry?"

Loki, peering at you, smirked. "I said, thank you for the hideous sweater. My brother's fiancee will hate it but she will, inevitably, appreciate the oaf's effort."

Giggling, your body temperature rose a few degrees, unable to resist Loki. It was so easy to be around him. It always had been.

"My lady, thank you! Brother, I am off to find the cashier. I shall meet you outside…" Thor nodded your way, encouraging Loki, failing at being discreet.

Sharing a laugh with your former lover, Loki risked taking your hand. You didn't shrug him off. Instead, your breath caught, frozen in the familiar feeling of his fingers.

"Hmm… you say we are strangers but your body tells another story, little one. Do you know who I am?"

You could answer that honestly. Loki wasn't as popular as Thor or Captain America but his name was known publicly. His reputation was a bit tarnished, surely, but that had always been part of your attraction to him.

Finding your voice, "Yea… I do."

"Uh huh. Then you know I am not some mortal man, held to the rules and restrictions of this planet. You understand that I am a God. One who makes mischief." Dropping his voice into that silky predatory tone had made your insides go liquid.

He was too close now, his spearmint breath fanning your face, "Yes, I know where your… skills lie."

Watching your chest heave, your want apparent, Loki licked over his bottom lip, certain he could taste phantom strawberry bubblegum and grapefruit lip gloss. An odd, yet enticing, combination. One his mouth knew even if his memory couldn't recall why.

"Then you know I suss out falsehoods. It's part of the deal, dove. To lie you must spot lies. And you…", pressed into a wall mirror, hidden by a rack of wool pea coats, "aren't being truthful."

What could you say to that? “I… I am too. Like I said, You don’t know me.” Leaning into you, not touching your begging skin, but still so near, “Little liar. I think that there might be a way to solve our problem. Over dinner, tonight. My treat, assuming there’s a restaurant in this town that is not part of a chain.”

“A date? With you?” A date was not a good idea. Too much time to talk might lead to trouble. Either you’d say too much or, and this was possibly worse, do too much with Loki. Could you resist his charms? You weren’t able to the first time around. Now, knowing just how much you missed him, how lonely your nights were without him, would you be able to stop things from going too far? What if Loki learned the truth? That you had sacrificed your past together so that he might have a future, would he still want you then? Could he?

Loki, seeing all these thoughts pass over your face, “Yes. With me.” “No.” “No?” “Yes.” “So, yes then?” “No. Yes to the no.” “I don’t think you know what you want little mortal. Join me for dinner tonight and I won’t bother you ever again.” Always tricky, this could be another of Loki’s pranks, ready to backfire on you at the drop of a hat. If he kept his word, walked away after your night out, then it would be worth it. You could do one evening and not lose your head or your heart. “You won’t bother me ever again? You promise?” That sinister smile spread over Loki’s face, lifting his sharp cheekbones in triumph, “Oh, I promise. One date. Tonight.”

--- Years ago, when you and Loki enjoyed the first full flush of blossoming love, dating wasn’t always possible or convenient. With missions to go on, HYDRA cells to investigate, and near constant alien invasions of one kind or another, dinners and movies weren’t a priority. Staying alive was the rule of the day. In the moments when relaxation was possible, you and Loki found yourselves drawn to each other. Bonding over take out containers and warm beers in the early morning hours, sleep elusive, sitting on the counter tops. Sharing great music, digital from you, vinyl from Loki, led to dancing on the cool tile of the rooftop patio. Cherished books, personal poetry and moving works of art passed between you at a rate that alarmed the rest of the team.

You favorite times? Watching films and must see TV from the comfort of Tony’s leather couches. Snuggled under soft blankets, touching each other gently, testing and teasing. Letting the connection you shared grow naturally was what made it so special. Tonight though, this was different. Loki arrived at your door in full on romantic leading man mode. His suit was jet with a shirt and tie to match, making him look long and lethal, but undeniably sexy. There were flowers, an affectation that nonetheless made your heart swell. Holding your door, pulling out your chair, effortlessly making all the right moves was just Loki’s style. Why did it make your heart ache in equal measure? Because it was so different from your first time around. The love that led you here, to a place where no one knew you, had been so organic. Not forced or formulaic.

“I fear I’m boring you.” Loki’s bright eyes glittered as he swirled his fork through the rich sauce skillfully. Dabbing your mouth, “No, not at all. I just… I…” You were lost in remembering. Loki was telling a story that you had lived, but where you should have been was a hole. A gap, created when you had made your deal with the purple eyed sorceress, brought reality crashing into the conversation. It was a distracting detail. “Lost in your thoughts. You do that frequently, don’t you, dove.” Dove. Oh god, you hadn’t heard his endearments in ages. It made your stomach tense from need. Being Loki’s dove had meant something to you then. It meant more now. “My past is never far. It creeps up on me all the time. But I’m sure you know nothing about that.” Deliberately leading him to talk more about himself, you let the timbre of his voice take over, listening intently to the man who once was yours. The long night was over too soon. You had been on eggshells, carefully choosing your words, the entire time. As much as you wanted to keep him near, you knew that one night was already a calculated risk, and it couldn’t happen again. If Loki kept his promise, tomorrow you would be back to your routine, the missing him would still be there but so would running and the store. “Uh… thank you for the lovely dinner. I really enjoyed it.” “I believe you used to be a better liar.” Freezing, your key in the lock, you turned to face Loki. “What was that?” Panic rose in your throat tasting of bile and bucatini. Leaning his shoulder against your door frame, “You heard me perfectly well. Like I said, you were better at this once. At least, I think you were.”

“I don’t know what you think, but I’ve… we’ve…” “Never met? Yes, that line is familiar. But then again, so are you.” “Loki…” Pleading with him to drop it, to let it go, would never work. Besides, you hadn’t been able to.

And what would happen if you did come clean? Would the spell be reversed? You couldn’t risk that. Not after all that you’d already gone through to keep Loki alive. At the sound of his name on your lips, Loki stepped into your personal space. His long finger rested over your parted mouth, effectively silencing you, as he whispered in your ear, “No more lies. Not tonight.” Reaching around you, Loki turned your key, opening the door to your place. Clicking on your lamp, the circle of light small in the shadows of your apartment, you move towards the kitchen. “I need a drink. Do you want one?” Nodding, “I think I might need one.” Barking out a hard laugh, you lifted two glasses down from the rarely opened cabinet. Tossing in ice cubes, you quickly cover them with the amber liquid of bourbon, swirling the two ingredients together as you walk back to the man pacing in your living room. “Good stuff, right?” Ruefully chuckling at the harsh burn of the booze, you looked at your date motioning for him to take a seat on your beat up sofa next to you. Folding himself gracefully, Loki perched on the couch, his knee just barely grazing your own. The contact was electric, shorting out your speech center for a second, and you moaned softly. Moving your drink to the table, Loki’s digits circled your wrist, "Now tell me, why do I know these hands? Soft but strong, with a scar across the middle knuckle…"

Turning your palm down, brushing over that exact imperfection, Loki searched your eyes for answers. "Why am I drawn to you across space and time? You are a ghost that haunts me. The echo of a dream that is real and warm… and here."

"Loki…" Chin quivering, "There are things you don't know. Things about me… about us…"

Tilting his head, studying you, "Ah. Us. We, that is, you and I have history, do we not? I… I know that is true. Yet," Swallowing thickly, Loki struggled to control the swell of emotion bubbling through him, "Yet, I have no memory of you. Tell me why that is."

A wild sob ripped through you making your shoulders heave. "I don't think I can!"

Twining his arms around you, the smell of his skin surrounding you, comforting you, "Why is that?"

Eyes brimming with tears, you murmured, "Because… it might reverse everything. I… I don't know what would happen if I told you the truth. All of it."

"So, dark magic then. Strong… but perhaps not strong enough. Not nearly capable of keeping you and I apart." Petting your knee, savoring the nearness of Loki, you parted your thighs in anticipation of his touch. Loki, unable to resist any longer, pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. One of his palms skated under the hem of your dress while his other hand cupped your cheek. Tracing over your jawline with his thumb, Loki deepened the kiss, his tongue tasting you in tiny sips. Pulling away from you, “We… We were lovers.” His voice rose at the revelation no longer concealed by magic. “Yes, Loki.” Swallowing hard, the raw truth finally said out loud. “But you, you erased yourself from my mind… My life. Why did you do it? Why would you take our… happiness from me?” It was enough to break your heart all over again. Loki’s voice, trembling, unsure, and clearly hurting.

Whispering more for yourself than him, "I couldn’t let you go, Loki. I… I can't, even now. I watched you almost die. I won't do it again!" “And this? This is life? Dove. You know better than this.” “I saved your life!” Needing to defend yourself, you nearly bellowed in frustration, struggling to make Loki understand. Standing suddenly, Loki turned from you, “What kind of life have I had without you?” “I don’t know the answer to that…” Rising yourself, a hand to Loki’s chest, “But my life without you… you have no idea how hard it’s been. I dream of you every night, Loki. And in those dreams, I don’t rescue you. You die in my arms. Every night, Loki. I saved you once with the help of dark magic. But I’ve lost you every single day since.”

Crying in earnest now, you felt Loki wrap his iron arms around you, “Hush now. Hush, darling. Somehow, some way, I found you again. I’m not letting you go.” Sagging into his warmth, letting Loki comfort you, felt like home. Without realizing, you were swaying in each other's arms, dancing to the music in your souls. You curled your arms around Loki's waist, his solid figure reassuring, hugging him closer.

Loki's hands drifted down, cupping your bottom, squeezing your curves firmly. "I missed you, little minx."

Giggling at his pet name for you, one you never expected to hear again, you smiled up at your dark hued God. Standing on your toes you touched your lips to Loki's. Anticipating your move, Loki opened his mouth, capturing yours in a kiss.

Loki's grip, tugging you tightly to his firm form, became needy. His mouth plundered yours, taking your breath, absorbing your moan. A hand tangled in your hair, pulling your hungry lips from his own, giving Loki unchecked access to the column of your throat.

Closing your eyes, lost in intimate sensations that were both routine and refreshing, you lost yourself in Loki. Stepping out of his grasp, you pulled the hem of your dress up, shrugging it over your head and tossing it to the floor. "Loki, I love you. I never stopped loving you."

Watching your nearly nude form, Loki shared his sweet, secret smile with you. "I love you. And even wizardry could prevent us from finding each other."

"Please, help me remember. Let me forget." He knew what you were asking. Remember what you had shared, what you could have again. Forget this time apart, this lapse in love.

"With pleasure, little dove."

---

Your bed, usually so lonely, was suddenly too small. Loki's long body stretched across the mattress, reaching for you, impatient to relearn the things that made you melt. And you? You couldn't stop touching his satin skin.

First your fingers fluttered over his thighs, up his torso, over his chest. But that wasn't enough to satisfy. So you followed the same trail with your mouth. Licking lovingly over Loki's abdominals, nipping at his tiny nipples, sucking against his Adam's Apple.

Straddling Loki, his hands on your hips drag you against his rigid rod. Feeling his driving desire made your core quiver. When he caught your nipple in his mouth, sucking forcefully, you howled like a wild woman.

"Oh, Loki! Ah!" Your hands tangled in his hair, encouraging the exquisite agony of his teeth biting into your tender bud.

With a growl, Loki flipped you to your back, settling himself between your spread thighs. Removing your panties with a swift tug, Loki spread your lower lips, licking into your luscious folds. His tongue thrust into you, lapping at your liquid, drinking you down.

Convulsing when Loki's tactile tongue circled your clit, your core clenched in pleasure, your release is close. When you announce that to the man pleasuring you, Loki nips at your inner thigh, kissing his way over your mound. "Not yet. I'm not through with you or your bountiful body."

As his lips closed over your own, Loki shifted your hips higher, your cleft cuddling his steel length. Teasing your entrance with his wide tower, drawing a shivery moan from you, Loki slowly sunk into your yielding sheath. Inch by inch, Loki claimed more of you as you impatiently waited to be filled by his hard heat.

Stretched by his searing shaft, Loki bent your knees, bringing them closer to your chest. Rocking into you, his hips pressing your legs apart, Loki enjoyed the feeling of your velvet vice gripping his with each push. He was slow, methodically moving inside of you, taking his time.

Your body responded with slick skin, soft sighs, melting into a mewling mess. "Faster Loki! Please!"

"No. I never want to forget you again." Loki's words sparked your internal fire. Plunging into your pulsing pocket, picking up speed, Loki pursued your pleasure.

You couldn't keep your hands off of him. His neck, his shoulders, his firm bottom, the cut of his hip. Scratching your nails over his arms, along his back, across his chest, Loki grunted in delight.

"Cum with me, little dove." It wasn't a command or a request. It was a plea.

"Always, Loki!" Locking your arms behind his neck, Loki dug his fingers into the back of your thighs, your tongues tangling together. Panting through your pleasure together, clinging to each other, determined to hang onto the only other person who mattered, you pressed your forehead to Loki's.

That night you slept curled around Loki, deeply and uninterrupted. Tomorrow would bring a new dawn, a new day. And everything before today would be an echo, losing distinction over time, replaced by the new life you would build together. ---

@procrastinatinglikeabitch @iamverity @jamielea81 @archy3001 @nonsensicalobsessions @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @rorybutnotgilmore @thefallenbibliophilequote @lots-of-loki @mizfit2 @vodka-and-some-sass @alexakeyloveloki @jessiejunebug

#500 followers #loki x reader #loki x you #loki smut #loki angst #hot loki #mcu smut #mcu fanfiction #loki fanfic #marvel smut

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bellarkefanfiction · 6 years ago

Text

#NoClickbait

written by: Josefine / @selflessbellamy

prompt: This is typical but maybe distracting kiss while playing a video game? Person A is competitive, 100% focused on winning and person B starts to plant kisses, all because of the competition, no one is in love here, it's a cold, calculating strategy. for anonymous

word count: 2204

Sharing an apartment with a Youtuber has its pros and cons. For instance, her roommate has — on numerous occasions — demanded to film alone in the living room for hours, because “it has much better lighting.” At night, she often hears him groan loud in frustration while editing, which would be funny if she didn’t have to wake up early for class most mornings.

However, the pros outweigh the cons, at least as it is right now. They’ve been living together for almost a year now, and since she told him that she didn’t mind being a part of his videos every once in a while, he has involved her in his creative process. Unlike a lot of YouTube channels, Bellamy Blake’s offers a wide range of different content, such as:

cook with me: grilled chicken breast (with a twist)

vlog: a day at the bookstore + haul

history has left us: queer!Achilles (Pride Month special)

If his subscriber count of 3.2 million is anything to go by, this kind of content is great entertainment for everyone watching. Hell, Clarke even watches his videos despite the fact that she lives with him and could easily just sneak into the living room to watch him film. Still, she attempts to stay away, because Bellamy doesn’t tend to stare over her shoulder as she draws one of her pictures.

Sometimes, though, her thriving curiosity gets the better of her. When he first noticed her piqued interest, his dark eyes crinkled at the corners and he told her, “Princess, if you wanna know what I’m doing then you have to be a part of it.”

At first, Clarke had wondered whether having her show up in his videos was just gonna be a cheap clickbait trick, so that he could include her in the thumbnail and write a title called ‘vlog: Santa Monica with my girlfriend’, but he didn’t.

Instead, he turned the camera on her face as they were walking down the peer and said, “Oh, by the way guys. This is my roommate Clarke. She’s tagging along.”

He had probably expected her to not say anything, maybe give a shy little wave in response, because that’s what usually happens when people are camera shy. Clarke’s actual reaction was so far from that. In teasing, she stuck her tongue out at him and retorted, “Oh please, you’re the one who’s tagging along. I need someone to help me decide which Bath Bomb to get.”

That is the start of Clarke’s appearance in Bellamy’s videos, and since then she has only showed up more, for longer periods of time. A couple weeks ago she assisted him while he did the ‘Blindfolded Book Challenge’ by picking various classics and non-fiction works from his bookshelf.

After that video was posted, he told her not to look at the comments, which only made her suspicious, because he’d never advised her to stay away from the comment section of his videos before, and for a moment she thought that his viewers were perhaps making fun of her or something. Despite that the possibilities made her somewhat nervous, she couldn’t hold herself back.

The most popular comment jumped out at her:

[Top Comments - click to show]

Dani Larsson: y’all can’t tell us you’re not dating after this.

781+

Gulping, Clarke clicked on the replies and found the first couple ones to be:

Lydia Marcello: yea, just look at 13:52. That shoulder-lean is the least platonic thing I have seen in the modern era.

123+

Furrowing her brow, Clarke went to the timestamp to see what the girl was referring to — and there right before the end of the video as Bellamy said, “I guess that’s it for the Blindfolded Book Challenge. Thanks for watching!” — he pulled Clarke against his side, making her lean her head against his shoulder for a second, smiling.

After forcing her eyes off the frozen frame, Clarke looked at the comment below Lydia Marcello’s only to find:

TJ Byrne: Well, if he’s not dating her, I would love to tap that.

While the comment didn’t bother her much, it sure as hell seemed to have bothered Bellamy (and a lot of his loyal viewers), because he had actually responded:

Bellamy Blake: @TJ Byrne: Too bad. Sexist white Internet creeps aren’t her type.

201+

Clarke had to bite back the urge to laugh. Also, it was difficult to ignore the clear voice at the back of her head who kept telling her that men with bronze, freckled skin and lots of sharp edges is her type. Still, she has only ever seen one person who looks like that.

A person, whose laughter could light up the entire world, who places pencils behind his ear and hums while he cooks.

***

One late afternoon she returns, violet and vermillion paint caked beneath her fingernails, to the sight of Bellamy sitting cross-legged on the couch, his trusted laptop in front of him and square glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. As always, he looks up when she enters the living room.

“I’m gonna cook dinner. Chicken Alfredo pasta, does that sound good?”

He beams, most likely with as much surprise as amusement, because she’s rarely the one who prepares meals. Still, she wants to prove to him that she’s learned quite a lot from watching his culinary-themed videos.

“Very,” is his simple comment, though the lone word manages to convey his enthusiasm. When she turns to walk into the kitchen, he suddenly adds, “Hey, Clarke, would you mind being in a video later?”

The curiosity in her mind sparks like colorful fireworks. “What kind of video?” Given the complexity of Bellamy’s content, it’s impossible for her to have the faintest idea… Maybe it’s another challenge video? A casual vlog? One of his informative history sessions?

Then he explains that his viewers would love his nostalgia series to feature a gaming video. “I have Mario Kart for my old PlayStation, so… I thought it’d be more fun if we played it together. You know I love how competitive you are.”

That last bit seems to be coated in fondness, the words soft — a stark contrast to his usual teasing tone, and it has color rising to her cheeks, undoubtedly. In order to hide the blush, Clarke turns away, but not without saying, “Of course. That sounds fun,” over her shoulder.

To her joy, Bellamy eats two large portions of the Chicken Alfredo pasta and praises her for using vegetables and spices that complement the creamy sauce. Hearing him say this makes her heart feel warm.

Together, they do the dishes while listening to ‘Cigarette Daydreams’ from one of Bellamy’s vinyl records. Most of his collection he inherited from his dad, but he adds a newer record once in a while. Afterwards the struggle with setting up the lights in preparation for filming — since the sky has now darkened, they need to improve the lighting in the living room.

Before they can turn on the camera, they have to plan a quick intro. Of course, Bellamy will do the most of the talking, since it’s his channel, but he tells her that he doesn’t want her to hold anything back, especially not during the gameplay itself.

It feels like an eternity has passed. At last, Bellamy clicks record, takes a seat next to Clarke and says, “Welcome back guys! I looked at your requests and quickly had to realize that you all want to see me play a video game,” he runs his fingers through the back of his hair, “As you will probably find out, I suck at gaming. I’ve killed a Sim once, and it was not on purpose.”

Clarke mouths, “He has,” hoping that the teasing it will amuse some of his viewers.

“Anyway, I dragged the Princess along for this one. She’s gonna crush me as Peach.”

Chuckling, she replies, “Oh, I sure am. No more of that ‘damsel in distress’ Peach. Those days are over, and you’re gonna go down.”

Even though they didn’t plan it for the intro, they look at each other, faces inches from one another to signify the “stand-off” that’s about to happen. However, within a couple seconds, they both crack up.

As it turns out, Bellamy is not actually bad at Mario Kart, which seems to surprise him way more than it does her. Within ten of playing minutes, he’s in 3rd place, but he makes the mistake of gloating, “Now, who’s gonna go down, Princess?”

Maybe they should stop using that expression…

Oh, well. “You still are,” Clarke laughs just as she uses the Starman that she’s had up her sleeve for a couple minutes, and while it does help her overtake a lot of players, she’s only gets to the fourth position, right behind him.

Bellamy does what he can to maintain his lead. Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke sees him lick his lips in concentration, and the sight damn near distracts her. Quickly, she collects herself, and while it’s difficult to keep up with him when she has to stay on the course, she’s tailing him.

When he bumps his shoulder against hers in teasing, moving his controller just to annoy her, an unfamiliar sensation sparks in her ribcage, causing her to lean closer and press her lips to his neck, right below his sharp jawline. At first she feels him freeze. Scared that she has overstepped an invisible boundary, she draws back, but he…

He is smiling. “You think you can distract me?”

“I can’t?” Turning her attention back to the television, Clarke smirks as her heart flips itself over and over.

Now she thinks she notices the faint pink tint in his freckled cheeks, but it might be her eyes playing a trick on her. With much confidence, Bellamy says, “You gotta keep trying…”

Right now, they’re doing the final lap around the course, still tailing each other, brushing each other like they are in real life. It seems as though he just gave her another challenge — one, which she is even more determined to win. Therefore, she giggles slightly, kisses his throat again, a little lower this time, then his shoulder and the back of his ear.

He releases a strange sound that must be somewhere between a groan and a chuckle. Unsuccessful, he tries to brush her off, but she can feel the heat that’s rising to his skin by the second.

Just when she leans in for the sixth kiss, he groans, tossing his controller to the side. She doesn’t recognize the emotion flashing in his earthy eyes, but she is not afraid of it. Bellamy murmurs intelligibly before giving her a gentle push to the floor — out of the camera frame — on her back, she watches his face move closer to hers than it ever has until she can almost sense the amazing warmth that pours from his features. Taking a slow breath, he nuzzles her, which has her entire chest feeling like jelly.

When their lips meet, it’s as if the living room is filled with light, though it must be nearing midnight. The happiness bubbles in her stomach, runs through her veins to mix with her bloodstream. Burying her fingers in the dark, soft curls of his hair, Clarke deepens the kiss a little, causing him to smile against her lips.

“I’m gonna have to edit this out.”

She laughs at that statement. “The video is useless now, Bellamy. We’ve both fallen off the course before the finish line.”

“Well, it was worth it.”

As opposed to sleeping that night, they sit on the bed in his room eating dry Coco Puffs while talking about where to go from there.

What they end up doing is reshooting the Mario Kart video the next day (Bellamy wins, much to her dismay), then spend the next eight months trying to hide their relationship from his online following, which is easy when she can simply not be present in his videos.

His viewers, however, are far from stupid. The first video that she appears in after the Mario Kart one is a casual writing vlog, where she brings him a cup of black coffee after his all-nighter. And it’s one tiny detail that Bellamy missed in editing that effectively exposes them:

[Top Comments - click to show]

Christine Hollinger: oh my god, he murmurs ‘thanks, babe’ at 8:46 asdjffikoxxkak… Y’ALL

863+

theo lewis: *platonically calls my roommate ‘babe’*

219+

After that, they have to come to terms with the fact that their secret is out, and because Bellamy doesn’t want to trick his followers, he decides to make the announcement (albeit casually) in his next video, which is a brief daily vlog. Bellamy turns the camera towards the balcony, on which she is standing, looking at the sinking sun.

“Isn’t she beautiful? I’m so lucky.”

No forced, half-assed video of them explaining how they got together, no cheesy girlfriend tag — just a simple yet revealing comment. Their relationship is not clickbait; it’s not something that he’s going to use to gain more followers. It’s too important for that.

#bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #bffnet #a: selflessbellamy #wt: josefine #bffwritingteam #prompts #oneshots #title: noclickbait #modern au #roommates #friends to lovers #social media au #youtuber!bellamy #fluff #youtube au

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wildefiction · 5 years ago

Text

Hunger: One

PAIRING: Jared x Reader

WORD COUNT: 4,558

CHAPTER(S): 1/?

SUMMARY: When reader isn't attending a Supernatural Convention, she's preparing for the next one. Staying busy is the only thing that keeps her sane. While it's difficult for some people to understand her motives, one person will show her that he knows exactly what she's going through. Will Jared be able to make the reader believe she deserves to be loved or is she too far gone already?

SERIES WARNINGS: While this first chapter has little in the way of warnings, future chapters may contain content difficult for some readers. Each chapter will be tagged appropriately but may contain topics such as: Mental health, severe depression, trust-issues, and abnormal psychology along with eventual forms of healing and discussions centered around relationships and support systems. Please heed the warnings for each individual chapter.

A/N: This is the first chapter of what I’m guessing will be a fairly long series. Originally I was going to try to tie this up in a neat little one-shot, but it’s just not going to happen. This was completed for @saxxxology‘s Plus Size Reader Challenge

“It’s called Alexithymia.” “Yeah, I don’t know - I’m just glad I’m not actually a sociopath.” “What? No I--fuck!” “Fuck these fucking pants!” The sleek metal phone slipped from its precarious position against your shoulder and fell to the floor with an ominous clatter. Closing your eyes in frustration, you filled your lungs with several deep breaths - in through your nose, out through your mouth.

In-out, in...out.

Rolling sideways from the mattress onto the floor and reaching a cautious hand towards the new device, you prayed to whatever God would listen that the screen was still intact. Opening one eye a fraction of an inch, a deep sigh of relief flooded your body as the smooth, black screen flashed once; the tinny voice echoing from the speakers prattling on as if nothing had gone awry.

Standing from the walnut floorboards, you turned to face the floor length mirror. While it had taken almost a decade, the wide, curving hips reflected in the glass had become the favorite part of your body. Only problem was, finding jeans that fit well was nearly impossible. “I need new pants.” Whining into the receiver, the woman on the other end of the phone simply snorted in amusement.

“Well if you’d spend more than twenty-dollars on your clothes, you’d have a helluva lot easier time finding ones that you liked.” “I’ve offered to take you shopping how many times?” Your best friend had a point. Focusing again on the phone call, you relented - one outfit couldn’t possibly cost that much, could it?

Two hours later, your arms rested atop a cool wooden counter; a scowl painted across your features while numbly holding out a metallic blue credit card. The woman behind the desk smiled brightly, faltering a bit when she had to wrestle the card from your grasp. Walking from the store with what felt like an entirely too-small-bag-for-the-amount-of-money-you-spent outfit, you joked about what else you could’ve done with that money.

Shaking her head in exasperation, your friend tried again to argue her point. “These clothes will last you a long time - the photo ops you so voluntarily throw your money at last all of - what? Ten seconds?!” Pushing one hand through the hair covering your eyes, you tried again to explain why you paid large sums of money for those ten-second interactions. Violet’s expression let you know that she still didn’t understand. Funny thing was, she’d been the one to introduce you to Supernatural in the first place. “Well this weekend you’ll be at the boys’ beck and call, so I think you spending the money here is worth it. Don’t they give you a free photo op for working anyhow? While far from glamorous, you’d been thrilled when the company hosting the event had accepted you as a volunteer. Rolling your eyes, you assured her (and, okay, yourself) that you likely wouldn’t even see any of the cast. Only seasoned help got to be handlers.

The rest of the week flew by, and Thursday afternoon found you trying (unsuccessfully) to clear the sting of sweat from your eyes while simultaneously carrying an arm full of poles and light posts. They’d put you on stage duty for the first day. Afterwards, you were pretty sure if you ever saw another velvet-backed chair again, it would be too soon. Two-thousand of them sat in neat rows filling the main theater room. “Alright [Y/F/N], could you please take these and label the seats?” Suddenly conscious of the slight tick in your right eye, you nodded silently - sliding the heavy rolls of numbered stickers over your wrists before walking to the end of the front row to begin your new assignment.

You don’t recall falling into bed Thursday night. The melodic voices of Rob and the boys from Louden Swain cut through your dreamless sleep far too early Friday morning. “Is it cool if I come over…”

Excitement warred with irritability while dressing in the new jeans you'd purchased the day before. The dark denim clung to your hips, the waistband taut once the button was fastened. “Woah! What. Is. This?!” Turning to the left and then the right, your mouth fell open in a soft “oh” - there was no gap! You'd never been able to find pants that fit both your hips and waist simultaneously. It was a miracle. Still - you weren't about to complain. Pulling the basic black volunteer tank top over your head, you slipped on the trusty pair of Chucks that had followed you to every convention over the last decade. Some people cherished a hat or a cozy flannel, for you - these shoes filled that spot.

“WHAT!?!” “What do you mean she’s not here today? How..what am I supposed to do?!” You’d been about to duck behind the heavy black drapes dressing the stage to report for your morning assignments when a familiar voice made you stop short. Derek, a fifty-something event planner was pacing just the other side of the divide, his simple brown loafers kicking up small torrents of dust with his agitation. Startled as the man threw open the curtains and stomped across the stage, you decided it was probably a better bet to find someone else to talk to about how you could help for the day. Turning, you were nearly through the opening and had started to descend the rickety metal staircase leading to the volunteer break-room when a heavy hand landed on your shoulder.

“ ‘Scuse me. You’re working here...yes?” Unexpected tension lanced through your body at the sudden contact and some part of you froze. As if he could feel it, Derek removed his hand rather quickly, absentmindedly shoving his ring-adorned fingers into the pocket of his slacks; the other hand busily scrolling through his phone; artificial light illuminating his tired, pale blue eyes. In your silent contemplation of the man, you’d failed to answer his question. “Ms…[Y/L/N] - right?” “Have you been assigned yet today?” With a slow shake of your head, his hand shot out of his pocket as he threw an arm around your shoulders - laughing heartily at something you’d missed. The mans face was jovial, faint creases of forehead wrinkles and crows’ feet framing his watery irises allowed you focus on what he was saying, rather than the pressure of his proximity.

“You’re savin’ mah bacon Miss [Y/L/N] - I tell ya what.”

The shrill screaming of his phone was sudden and briefly you felt bad for Derek. Raising the device to his ear, his body language calmed significantly; assuring the person on the other end that he’d found a replacement. A replacement for who, you still didn't know. Not that it was really any of your business. Nodding once, Derek turned back to you, sliding the small device into the clip on his belt.

Fishing into the pinstriped fabric of his pocket, he pulled a cluster of keys out. “Okay, take my car to this address” -- procuring a pen from his jacket, the man scribbled some notes onto a slip of paper; the handwriting sharp and messy -- “Have you got a phone?” Tentatively reaching into your back pocket, you slipped the oversized Samsung into your fingers. “Good! When you get there, call this number..” --more scribbling-- and bring everyone here.” “Let me know when you’re back.” Glancing at the unfamiliar handwriting, you squinted, trying to make out the address.

“Ms. [Y/L/N]..?” The impatient snapping of his fingers focused your attention on the man before you. “Please hurry - lots to do...lots to do!” With that he turned on his heel and hurried back through the curtained wall.

Although it was still well before noon, the parking lot held hundreds of vehicles, including two beautifully restored impalas. Sunlight glinted across the deep onyx paint as you walked by. The only clue to what car you searched for was a familiar gold emblem embossed on the black key fob clutched in your hands. Anxiety prickled along the base of your neck. You should've asked where Derek had parked. As your mind filled with every possible worse-case scenario, continually jamming your thumb to the unlock button prevailed when a flash of golden light several cars down caught your eye.

The engine roared to life with the press of the ignition, the lumbering bear of a Tahoe easing from it's reserved parking space as you wondered why anyone needed this large of a vehicle. Twenty minutes later, the truck settled into a quiet hum in front of a downtown hotel. Derek hadn't bothered to write a name on the paper he’d hastily scribbled upon, and you really had no idea who you were supposed to be collecting.

Craning your neck to see through the windshield, the immense hotel tower rose impossibly high before you; the steady ticking of scarlett hazard lights keeping time with the ringing as you waited for someone to answer.

The tall, revolving glass door caught your attention, several people clambering into the contraption at once made you smile; a generic voicemail message kicking on after the fourth ring. The group spilled from the door in a mess of laughter and a tangle of bodies.

Why you felt the need to duck behind the steering wheel upon recognizing them, you'll never know.

Rob, Rich, Briana, Kim and Billy were still laughing amongst themselves. Inside, you were happy the windows were tinted, as you were fairly certain you sat there with your mouth hanging open while you watched the group of friends wander over to talk to a street performer. Eyes darting to the clock on the dash, you quickly realized it'd been nearly an hour since Derek had sent you on this assignment.

Without looking away from the group, you tried the number again. The phone clicked and a cheerful voice answered with a giggly hello. Immediately you refocused on the task at hand, “Uh, hi. I think I'm supposed to be picking you up?” The mean bitch in your head snickered at how uncool you sounded.

“Scuse me, what was that?” A blush crept across your cheeks when you realized who you were talking to. Looking from your lap to the window, Rob stood halfway between his group of friends and where you were. Twisting and looking back over his shoulder, he must’ve put two and two together because he waved before beckoning the others to follow.

You weren’t prepared for this - you’d volunteered with the direct understanding that behind-the-scenes was where volunteers stayed. Occasionally one would bring the cast bottles of water or coffee, but picking them up at their hotel? Didn’t they have drivers for that? Your thoughts were cut short as three doors opened almost simultaneously and bodies began to climb in around you.

That had been the start to a whirlwind weekend. The Creation staff kept you on your toes constantly, although somehow Derek continued assigning tasks more cast-centered than had been expected. It started with picking up the Friday guests, sure - but since then you’d done everything from coffee runs to walking the ladies’ to the bathroom and photo-op room, to helping with the sound check for the concert currently taking place on stage.

Now in the green room, crouched in front of the mini-fridge, your mind wandered while removing water bottles from their thick plastic casing, stocking the shelves for the guests.

A faint beeping and the murmur of voices caught your attention as the door opened across from you. Osric, Clif, Jensen and Jared sauntered in, lost in their own conversation. A familiar prickling sensation that often assaulted you in new situations made your shoulders tense. Luckily, the repeated exposure to the guests this weekend had given you plenty of practice to collect your emotions quickly; stuffing them into the deepest recesses of your mind.

A few breaths later, you stood from the position on the floor, a large smile plastered across your features as you approached the small group.

“Hey guys, anyone need a drink?” Osric smiled widely and accepted one of the chilled bottles. The others followed suit, Jared’s eyebrows furrowing slightly in concern as his fingers closed over yours.

“Hey, thanks…” “What’s your name?” Your eyes darted between his brilliant hazel irises and the long fingers wrapped around the drink; beads of condensation wetting your skin as his hand rested on yours.

Hurriedly pulling away, you scrubbed a palm against the denim of your jeans before extending it and introducing yourself.

“Hey, I’m [Y/F/N].” The others said their hellos as well, your gaze shifting between them while they chatted animatedly for a few moments. Occupied as you were, you failed to notice that Jared didn’t take his eyes off of you for even a moment.

She was nervous. Not that he wasn’t used to the look. But this one was different, Jared decided. He recognized the determination to hide her anxiety as something he’d gone through as well. He could see she was excited to meet them, and yet, she held back; likely protecting a small part of who she really was as she presented the version of herself she wanted everyone to see. While genuinely happy to interact with all of his fans, Jared felt intrigued by [Y/F/N]. He wanted to know more about her. About the discomfort she tried her best to disguise as nerves. Something was off.

Crossing her arms over her chest while making small talk with the others, Jared noticed how proficient she was at distributing her attention to each of them equally, pausing for only a moment before looking to the next person.

Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Jared turned his attention to the door, having opened for a second time; watching as Rich strode in, beckoning to Jensen.

“C’mon man, your public awaits.” He bowed dramatically, waffling his hand in the space before him. Jensen huffed, shaking his head as he clasped Rich’s shoulder, following him from the room. [Y/F/N] trailed along behind them and Jared allowed himself to take a longer look at the woman. The tank top she wore clung to her body, the curve of her full breasts and thick waist led his eyes to her hips.

“Damn.”

The word of admiration was muttered under his breath, but as he focused on her face again, the pink in her cheeks made it clear she’d heard him.

“You coming Jared?” She’d stopped, holding the door open for him. Nodding, he quickened his stride and disappeared into the darkened hallway as he headed for the holding area backstage.

If Saturday had been busy, Sunday was borderline chaotic.

Attendance surged for the final day of the convention. Awake earlier, you were due to report in by 6:30 even though the first panel wasn’t due to begin until noon.

Shuffling through the abandoned corridors of the hotel, you could only hope there’d be caffeine waiting at the check-in station.

“Good morning Ms. [Y/L/N].” Blinking several times in rapid succession, you focused on Derek as he sat behind the assignment table. The quiet murmur of his voice as he looked over the sheaf of papers laid out before him only partially registered in your mind.

The concert the night before had been amazing, and you’d been up until the early hours of the morning from the level of energy you’d absorbed. It didn’t help that a certain phrase kept replaying in your mind. You’d definitely heard Jared last night and you liked to imagine he’d been talking about you. The thought brought a smile to your face, regardless of how absurd the notion was. While pretty sure he likely had some gorgeous girlfriend waiting for him back home, you were content with the small amount of time you did get to spend around Jared. Silent pining was more your style anyhow.

“...order.” “Ms. [Y/L/N]?” Snapping out of your daydream, you worked harder to listen to the man in front of you.

“I’m sorry...what was that?” The middle-aged man smiled kindly.

“I know it’s early Ms. [Y/L/N], but we really need you to be completely present at these briefings. Otherwise, the chaos about to descend on this place will be ten-times worse.” Shifting oversized reading glasses from where they’d fallen down the bridge of his nose, the man cleared his throat, consulting the Sunday schedule. Finished with his admonishment, Derek held a slip of paper out to you.

“As I was saying, please grab the coffee order for the cast. It’ll be ready precisely at 9:50. That should give you enough time to get back upstairs so everyone can get their daily dose of caffeine.” “Until then, make sure the green room has plenty of breakfast items and if the cast need anything, it’s on you to make them happy.”

Derek’s last sentence drew your attention from the list you’d been perusing. Outwardly, you nodded so he’d know you were paying attention, even though you still struggled with the personal Hell that came with sleep deprivation.

Later that morning, as you stood in line at the bustling Starbucks just outside the hotel, your mind once again turned to thoughts of the cast. Although you were tired, you wouldn’t change these experiences for the world.

As silly as it seemed, these conventions had gone a long way to helping prevent you from falling into your depression. In-between event weekends you often busied yourself with planning the next one and it got you through each day. It was refreshing to see mental health being addressed more by the media. When you’d been diagnosed several years prior, only your doctor had believed it was a real thing.

Walking up to the waist-high counter and pulling the folded paper from your back pocket, you began to list the order scribbled upon it. At one point, squinting your eyes in an attempt to read Derek’s handwriting you gave up and handed the barista the list, hoping she’d be able to help discern it.

“Maybe I can help?” Clutching the paper, you raised your eyes to the woman in front of you. She stilled as a hand reached over your shoulder and gently took the list from your grasp. Breathing deep, you turned to find Jared standing behind you, long strands of auburn hair falling across his face while he perused the handwriting.

Shifting to stand next to Jared’s tall frame, you took a moment to point at the line you were having trouble with. His body was like a heater, the intoxicating scent of his cologne made all the more apparent by the warmth of his skin.

Jared brought the paper closer to his face, squinting at a particular cluster of letters.

“I..think that says...skinny?” Glancing at the rest of the scribbled letters, he was able to make out the order for a non-fat soy latte. “Huh, I didn’t know Mark was here today.” Shrugging, his eyes flicked up to yours; an easy smile replacing the serious expression he’d worn moments before. “Did you get everything okay?” Nodding, the young woman behind the register added up the total while you handed her your credit card.

Moving to the end of the counter to await the several drinks, you turned to the man behind you. “My hero.” The smirk on your face was genuine, even if your tone erred on the side of sarcasm.

“Hey, no problem [Y/F/N].” God, the way he said your name… Clearing your throat as you settled against the far wall, you did your best to continue the conversation.

“Why are you up so early?” “Figured you’d be sleeping while you could.” Jared shrugged his massive shoulders before answering.

“Went for a run. Couldn’t sleep.” You wanted to ask why. You wanted to ask a lot of things, but instead you kept to yourself. He likely had his reasons, and you’d be willing to bet - if he was anything like you, that he wasn’t keen on sharing the details of his life with a relative stranger. Nodding in understanding, you turned back to the counter, gathering the three drink trays and rearranging the cups so each carrier held the same size. Stacking the grandes atop the venti order, you slid the coffees into one hand, grabbing the third tray with your free arm.

“I can carry one if you want..” Jared was at your side again, talking to you as if he wasn’t a gorgeous, successful actor with his own security detail. Speaking of which, where was Clif?

“Uh, nah..I’m okay.” Scoffing, the man saw right through your feeble attempt to decline. Removing the top tray from where it rested under your chin and taking the second one as well, he simply smiled. “Lead the way [Y/F/N].”

There was something about her that occupied Jared’s thoughts. She was strong, sure of herself (or so it seemed) and gracious. He wanted to know more. “So, [Y/F/N] where are you from?”

The chill bite of a fall day in the Pacific Northwest swirled around your body when the two of you stepped from the relatively warm coffee shop. Breath fogging in the early morning air, the small-talk you made with Jared as you crossed the street to the hotel gave you a small look inside the finer points of Austin, his hobbies and the show. Back in the green room, you passed out drinks to their respective owners, everyone murmuring their appreciation to you for your efforts. Pulling the phone from your back pocket and realizing it was nearly time for the Sunday morning gold panel, you ushered Jared and Jensen out the door as politely as you could.

Grabbing two mics from the table set-up behind the stage curtains, you handed one to each of the boys and turned to leave. Jared’s hand on your shoulder made you freeze momentarily, more out of habit than anything. Apparently it didn’t matter who it was, the discomfort of being touched still prevailed.

“Thanks for the chat [Y/F/N], we’ll talk more later?” Searching his face for any hint of what was going through his mind, you nodded numbly. A wide smile spread across his face as he squeezed your shoulder before turning and taking the stairs two at a time. Wild cheers assaulted your ears as the gold members screamed for their first panel of the day.

The voices of Rob and Rich joking with Jensen buzzed in Jared’s ear, but his thoughts were still on [Y/F/N]. She’d flinched when he had touched her shoulder. Whatever made her react that way, he hoped it was something she’d be willing to talk to him about. For the hundreds of people who thanked him on a daily basis for noticing their struggles and standing in solidarity with them, he knew there were many others who couldn’t bring themselves to share.

Before you realized it, the afternoon autograph sessions were scheduled to start. Walking through the main theater hall, your most recent task was simple enough: Provide each of the guests with a handful of colorful sharpies at their table. The headphones connected to the phone in your pocket piped Swain music into your ears and you danced happily while completing the mundane task. You’d do this job full-time if you could.

“Oh, there you are!” Turning abruptly, you pulled the cords from your ears, effectively silencing the indie rock as Derek strode up to you.

“Ms. [Y/L/N], did you receive my text message? You’re wanted in Adam’s office as soon as possible!” His blue eyes searched yours frantically, even while you became acutely aware of your quickening heartbeat.

“Oh, uhm..do you know why?” The man shook his head as he hurried away, staring intently at the clipboard clutched in his hands. A million scenarios chased themselves through your mind; the least of which involved the numerous bottles of tums you were sure Derek consumed regularly. Walking through the side doors and turning down the long hallway where the convention offices were set up, you busied yourself with the pattern beneath your feet. There were fifty-two blue diamonds set into the grey carpet between the main theater and Adam’s office. After several deep breaths, you squared your shoulders and rose your fist to knock on the oak door. The sound of a chair tracking across the floor echoed from behind the barrier and when the door opened, you were surprised to see the man still sitting.

“Ah, Ms. [Y/L/N], do come in.” Following him inside, you paused to close the door at Adam’s insistence.

“Ms. [Y/L/N], it appears we need to have a chat.” Shifting uneasily just inside the door, you tried to still the worried thoughts still cavorting in your subconscious.

“Is something wrong sir?” Adam barked out a laugh and you were disappointed when you jumped at his tone.

“Quite, the opposite actually.” The man still sat in the office chair, his head thrown back as it swirled in lazy circles. “We’ve had a request to add you to our permanent staff.” He said it as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Furrowing your brows, you tried to think of a reason why, or, for that matter who’d sent such a request. Sure, you had thought about talking to Adam about the possibility, but you hadn’t made any solid plans to do so.

“Can I ask by who?” Maybe Derek? I mean, he’s really the only staff member I’ve interacted with on a regular basis this weekend. Stephanie perhaps? Adam chuckled to himself and shook his head, his eyes bright.

“Mr. Padalecki has asked for you personally.” Of all the people you thought might’ve suggested it, Jared certainly hadn’t even come close to making the list. You were quiet as you absorbed the information. Looking up at Adam as his chair lazily swayed behind the card-table turned makeshift desk, you cleared your throat.

“Did he...did he say...why?” The little conversation you’d had with Jared this weekend had been pleasant enough, but you couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d make such a request.

“We discussed it.” “Suffice it to say he is impressed with your dedication to the job.” “This opportunity doesn’t present itself often Ms. [Y/F/N], strictly because exactly zero personal requests have occurred. Like, ever. I’ve been doing this a long, long time...and this is a first.” “Usually we staff the more experienced volunteers as handlers, it just so happened that our senior team member bowed out with the flu this weekend and you were the first person Derek saw upon finding out.” “Simply a ‘right place at the right time’ kind of scenario.” “Jared came to me earlier today after his gold panel and asked about you.” Shrugging, the black suit jacket he’d pulled on over his grey t-shirt bunched at the seams. “That’s all I know.” “Think about it Ms. [Y/L/N].” Nodding slowly, you turned, grabbing the overly shiny brass door handle to let yourself out.

“Oh, and [Y/F/N]?” Looking back over your shoulder at Adam as he started gathering papers together, you paused; “Jared’s about to start his autographing sessions, I suggest you make haste.”

CHAPTER TWO

TAGS: @jaredsunflowergoddess @arses21434 @wings-of-a-raven @jamielea81

#wildefiction #Jared Padalecki x Reader #Jared Padalecki #SPN x RPF

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damienthepious · 6 years ago

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it’s still tuesday here for THREE MORE HOURS i didn’t heckin miss it i made it

Like Whispering

[ao3]

[Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Fluff without Plot, Literal Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles, (basically just a deep dive into monster anatomy), (and Rilla's incessant hunger to understand things), (i'll be real with you this one is weird), (but i like the ending and i need something to post for the IMPORTANT DAY), Lizard Kissin' Tuesday, (i hope y'all care to hang with me while i unpack a buncha headcanons about Arum's body!!!!)

Summary: Rilla examines the fascinating landscape of her monstrous lover while he sleeps.

Notes: I don't even know anymore fam I hope SOMEONE besides me enjoys this at least. There is at least one Lizard Kiss this time, thank the Saints. Rated T for implications of sex in the past. Title take from the song 3 Rounds and a Sound by Blind Pilot. ]

Rilla will never stop being fascinated by Arum.

He sleeps beside her, between she and Damien, and even that is a thousand page treatise on the concept of trust that she wants to memorize front to back. When he sleeps alone he curls into a ball, tail wrapped around himself like a cat, but in the bed they share he is more apt to sprawl, hand and hand and hand and hand reaching out until they can find a soft source of warmth, until he can pull his lovers close against him and curl around them instead.

It’s easier to really learn him, in sleep. He tends to get irritable with her if she stares at him too long in the daylight. Which is fair, Rilla reasons. Analyzing the bone structure of your monster is a process that requires more direct observation than anyone would reasonably call polite… but Rilla can’t help herself.

Arum’s body is like a puzzle in some ways. Like four or five puzzles piled up together, actually. She’s been taking notes about the subject in longhand, in code, because she doesn’t think he’d appreciate her trying to categorize him so thoroughly- but it isn’t even about the science, anymore. The inhumanity of him, the irrationality; it draws her in. Curiosity has always been Rilla’s weakness, and Lord Arum is a curious creature indeed.

She wants to know him. Every part of him.

She can’t decide, yet, how to organize her observations; mostly she tries to take him part by part, layer by riveting layer.

She has pages dedicated to his eyes. The first thing she learned about him, really, was that he could see better in the dark than a human, and his eyes only got more interesting from there. Diamond-shaped pupils blow out wide in the dark or with arousal, or narrow into thin, dangerous slits when he’s focused. Irises, bright violet. Bright like actual violets, saturated and bold with narrow flecks of a darker shade arranged around the pupil in a subtle starburst. She and Damien must be the only creatures alive who have gotten close enough to see those flecks of plum among the violet, the only people he would trust enough to let that close. He lets them close enough to see, and then he allows his eyes to close regardless, a set of nictitating membranes sliding horizontally over the purple before his proper eyelids close as well.

Another fascinating layer, those membranes. They’re translucent but fogged gray, waterproof, protective; she’s noticed them slipping closed without the outer lids when he’s startled, or when he happens to go out in the rain [a note on his clothing in the rain: it is waterproof as well, though whether that is through magic or the skill of monsters’ weave is impossible to determine, and when she asks for clarification Arum dismisses the question in so particular a way that she is unsure which possibility is more likely]. It’s a useful trait, one that Rilla appreciates because it’s another layer of protection for those unique, beautiful eyes.

She can’t take more notes on his eyes in sleep, though. Instead, she ghosts her hands over his scales, over the subtle patterned expanse of his back as he snores gently into Damien’s hair.

The long, elegant curve of his spine is crested with a subtle ridge of raised scales, like spines or horns, nearly an inch long at the base of his skull and down between his shoulders, and barely higher than the bumps of the rest of his scales lower down [the first time Rilla runs her fingertips along the ridge Arum snaps his teeth in the air, hissing through them in surprise and delight, and Rilla smiles, then repeats the gesture]. Aside from some mild sensitivity, they seem primarily cosmetic, and Rilla can’t place what specific creature the trait is stolen from.

The entire expanse of his scales gleams magnificently, even in the low light of the nighttime Keep. He’s mottled in vibrant dark green and in black, with speckles of gold dotting down his front. The scales themselves are small and near as thick as light armor on his back, on the outsides of his arms, along the top of his tail, and in bigger, softer, smoother plates down his neck, his stomach, underneath his arms, between his legs. He is textured, cool, everywhere she can lay her hands [she has made a point to lay her hands nearly everywhere, by now].

The second pair of arms is completely unnatural relative to any nonmagical reptilian, and they should be completely incongruous with the rest of his frame, but his body fits together with infuriating ease. Arum’s torso is slightly longer than it would otherwise be to make room for the second set of pectorals that the extra arms necessitate [when he stretches in the morning his musculature ripples beneath his scales like the billow of steam, and Rilla could easily spend the rest of her life cataloging every configuration of angles at which his arms could be arranged atop the pillows of their shared bed], and his musculature there is lean but shockingly strong.

The pads of his fingers are textured with hair-thin ridges that help him stick to walls and ceilings when he scurries along at his shocking speed, similar to those of a gecko [Her list of creatures that Arum has traits in common with is absurdly long, and longer when she includes her speculations on his internal anatomy], and the same is true of his toes. His claws on all four limbs are dangerously sharp [more recently, he files down the claws on his lower pair of hands enough to dull them, complaining bitterly about the fragility of humans in general, but the first time he can reach out for the two of them, touch them without fear of causing harm, his expression falls to something raw and earnest and tender] [the claws on his upper hands remain sharp, and there is a certain thrill that comes with their careful touch as well].

His legs are powerful, long, a zig-zag of artful curves. He walks on his toes when he’s upright, his heels in the air and adding to his already impressive height, but he can turn his ankles oddly when he drops to all six limbs, slithering viper-quick whether he is crossing the floor or climbing a tree or wall or ceiling.

Arum’s tail is primarily meant for balance, and it’s not quite so deft as to be entirely prehensile, but he has enough control that he can grip a small object with it or curl it around something solid to stabilize himself [he is equally likely to curl it around either of his humans to pull them closer unexpectedly, to add an extra layer to an embrace].

[Rilla has an entirely separate mental space for notes on Arum’s sexual anatomy; that research is currently ongoing]

Arum’s teeth are [she mentally places a line between her more clinical observations and those that belong in the previous category] gorgeous, knife-sharp, terrifying, with long vicious incisors and jagged molars. Insectivore teeth, meant for piercing and crushing exoskeletons, and they flash bright behind his thin lips when when he snarls or speaks or laughs.

There is a crescent of little divots above those lips, the labial pits he uses to sense heat; a snake trait among the more dominant lizard features. In the scatter of her notes she has them sorted into the category of particularly anomalous with his extra arms and his frill.

His frill: infuriatingly out of place [speaking only for the purposes of classification: in the social sense, Rilla is only ever grateful for the fragile, expressive webbing that flares around Arum’s head in surprise and embarrassment and indignation, because it’s one of the easiest ways to tell what he’s feeling, besides his tone of voice]. It bears only passing similarity to the same feature on nonmagical frilled lizards; it drapes along the sides of his head when at rest instead of folding at his neck, it’s smaller relative to the size of his head, and the folds revealed when it flares are colored in bright patches of bluish-green and gold-

“Amaryllis.”

For half a moment she thinks that he’s murmuring in his sleep, which would be an interesting first, but then one of his eyes slits open and fixes her with a violet glare.

“I could feel you staring even in the depths of sleep, Amaryllis,” he mutters, voice thick and growling. “What, precisely, is causing you to think so furiously at this time of night?”

His irises are wide black diamonds in the mellow dark, his long tongue flicks absently to scent the air, his chest rumbles with each breath he takes, and every piecemeal part of him fits together in an impossible harmony, every edge that by rights should be jagged instead slides smooth. Rilla knows she’ll never unravel the entire tapestry of Arum, and that knowledge fills her with the thrill of challenge, with breathless awe, with overflowing love.

“You,” she says after a pause, hoping the enormity of her feelings doesn’t bleed too much into her voice. When he goes startle-still, she leans down to press a kiss to his cheek, where she knows he can feel the tickle of her warm-blooded heat. She doesn’t pull away then, sighing against the texture of his scales and pressing her hand to feel the slow drum of his heart in his chest. “Just thinking how damn stunning you looked all wrapped up with Damien.”

Rilla isn’t Damien, and she can’t make the tangle of science and wonder and connection in her mind sing as prose, or verse. Her coded pages read exactly like her field notes: pointed, unadorned, though admittedly a bit more biased. Arum knows her, though. He knows the deeper context around her flippancy, the way she uses informality as a source of comfort.

He breathes a laugh and it tickles Rilla’s ear, and he nuzzles his face against her own. “I would love to pay your flattery back in kind, Amaryllis, but if we wake the little knight now he’ll be utterly useless in the morning,” he grumbles, letting his eyes slip closed again as he pulls her closer.

“Sweet of you to worry about tiring him out,” she replies in a teasing whisper. He growls at the implication that his worry is unselfish, and Rilla’s mind flies off again. The entirety of Arum’s vocal system is a wild mystery, how he can duplicate human language with such an incompatible tongue and lips, and that isn’t even getting into the mystery of how he makes those rattling noises, those growls, those purrs. As far as Rilla is aware, purring is not a typical trait in a lizard, so she can’t even begin to speculate what animal instrument is hiding in the hollow of his throat.

“You are thinking again,” he hisses through a sigh, smiling with his eyes closed and letting his claws drift gently up and down her bicep. “I can hear your mind churning when you go still like that.”

“Sorry,” she says wryly, pressing another kiss to his neck.

“No apologies, my Amaryllis, but you need your rest as well as he does.”

Arum tends to save his pet names for Damien (Rilla suspects this is because they have a much more profound effect on the knight than they would on herself), but it does send a giddy little thrill through her when he slips enough to call her his. “I know, I know,” she says. “I’ll get to hibernating or whatever.”

He chuckles low again, his fingers tracing soft soothing circles on her arm, on her back, his breath lifting his chest beneath her palm, and the combined rhythms are nearly hypnotic. “Would it-” he pauses, and she can feel the hesitation drift through him and then dissolve like parchment in water. It’s easier for him to let himself be soft like this, in warmth, tangled up together in the dark. He hums above her and asks, “Would it help if I sang for you?”

Rilla will never stop being fascinated by Arum, and she’ll never stop being surprised by him either.

She nods against his shoulder, because she thinks her voice will either crack with laughter or too much feeling if she tries to talk, and Arum presses his mouth in an almost-kiss against her hair before he starts to sing. He sings close and quiet against her skin, his voice rough and low and inhuman, and Rilla smiles against his scales as it works in concert with the movement of his hands. It's soothing, stable, perfect.

There is comfort in a curiosity that cannot be answered, Rilla thinks as she drifts. Stability in a mystery that can unfold and unfold and never reveal a conclusion. Rilla has always preferred answers to questions, but Arum-

Arum is a question she intends to ponder for the rest of her life.

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #amaryllis of exile #lord arum #sir damien #lizard kissin' tuesday

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breselin · 6 years ago

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LITTLE CHARACTER THINGS

just a fun little character game. fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by. repost & tag away !

tagged by: stole it from another one of my blogs ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) tagging: imma tag quite a few people again PLS don’t feel obligated to do this, I’m ridiculously wordy, but it is a good exercise :^)

@furnezh | @lazhadeg | @unheimlig - @daemonczar | @lichsent | @quirofiliac - @edhelaran - @edhelgund - @faegrifted - @ndeavor - @garuvusu - @hallowedcraft | @hybridea - @rotcraft - @uccisore | @groazei - @atlaslain - @officiums - @tribinds | @capjacke - @culturedconjurer - @valorxdrive - @cielcrd | @ofastrcmancy - @bloodfcst - @grimmjxw - @despairforme - @potestasaeterna [ and whoever wants to take it, just say i tagged u ]

EMOTIONS / FEELINGS:

001. confident - his whole mannerism, the way he strides, the way he announces his thoughts, his goals, his wants - it all speaks of undeniable confidence, hard to shake, near impossible probably.

002. at ease - comes with his confidence, the knowledge of his powers and skill. there are very few and very rare moments when this wavers and even in seconds one might assume him ‘on edge’ it is not so at all, mostly misinterpreted by those around.

003. inquisitive - generally, as per his nature, he does like to read, to learn, to experience things. it also extends towards any person that manages to catch his interest - be it negatively or positively - as he will try and figure out the weaknesses and strengths of a person, and do so with unrelenting force.

004. nonchalant - a mannerism that grates on many people’s nerves, for things that are important to everybody else, he usually just brushes off if they do not concern him. he also reacts to any ‘higher rank’ rather informal and casual, situations depending, he can reject them with a simple flick of the hand.

005. tenacious - undeterred from his goal, no matter what is happening, no matter the obstacles placed in his way, he will move to overcome them all.

GREETINGS:

001. a nod - the most common greeting for him. a mere acknowledgement with a few words and a nod. it is the calmest and quietest way for him to greet someone, not quite push them away and offer the knowledge that he will speak to them.

002. a handshake - pretty much reserved for interactions with comrades and higher-ups [ rarely ] before his fall. as per his rank, he usually extends a hand first, not many being on the same level or even above him in the ShinRa rankings, so politeness gives, that he is the one inviting another person towards the greeting.

003. with words - specifically, after his fall, for he is the one luring a person: mostly mocking them, making them follow him. the words are generally calm as is his tone even and smooth, but they pose a challenge, something that sings of danger, despite the chosen vocabulary doing none of it.

004. with a partner: an embrace, a kiss - it depends, but mostly it is both. he isn’t a man that is against public displays of affection, quite the opposite, given how obsessive he can be and how possessive he turns out to be the more and more a relationship progresses. obviously, a partner has to be okay with that, otherwise, he would not pursue this sort of greeting, but if they are, it is a given.

005. with friends: it depends how close someone is to him, how much they ‘mean’ to him: a handshake, an embrace, maybe even a palm on their lower arm - all gestures of amicability, something calmer and more relaxed from his side, an easy show that they mean [ at least ] something to him.

COLOURS:

001. black - his whole attire is black, contrasting vividly with his hair.

002. silver/white - depending on the shine of the light or where he stands, his hair can have either colour. his sword’s edge also plays a part to the near yin and yang of his whole looks.

003. blue/dark blue - Masamune’s sword’s hilt, especially the plaited pattern is dark blue, one of the very few accent colours one might be able to find on his person, even in more casual and informal attire.

004. green/light blue: ‘the colour of the sky’ - his eyes. one of the first things many people notice about him. not only because of the colour, as SOLDIERs, due to mako infusions, have this very specific eye-colour, but also due to the shape: for him nearly in a cat-eye like an appearance.

005. gold - another accent colour due to Masamune’s look. the Tsuba, or the hand guard, is coloured completely gold, as well as the end of the Tsuka, or sword’s hilt, is accented in gold as well.

SCENTS:

001. blood - the metallic smell of it lingering on his person very finely, only to be picked up by those with very keen senses or very close to him.

002. smoke - also a scent that clings to him like a fine veil, easily evoking emotions for anybody who had experiences with it, albeit it usually only comes forward once he was close to a fire or was the cause of one. otherwise, this scent is only barely lingering and generally not perceptible.

003. rain - due to his weather manipulation abilities, the smell of the air after the rain or from a thunderstorm rolling in is very prominent on him. it can be unsettling as well as soothing in the same breath, depending on how someone meets him and under what circumstance.

004. leather - a rather heavy scent, nearly warm and comforting, usually mixed in with aftershave or cologne. due to his outfit being in large parts made of very strong and sturdy leather, he smells like this more often than other things.

005. woods, forest-smells - he takes long walks and tours through forests, being completely undisturbed by rain or sun, so it does not deter him to stop anytime soon. the scent that comes from that is, again, soothing and nearly warm, something unexpected on him, due to his nature and volatile habits.

CLOTHING:

001. battle outfit - a long black coat with silver pauldrons, black boots and black trousers. the coat is half opened at the chest, leather straps crossing over it. the coat itself is held at the waist with a belt, multiple more belts accentuate the rest down towards the knees. he wears another large belt underneath the coat too, protecting his stomach area from possible impacts. the boots are held in place with multiple straps as well so that they won’t move nor shift during quick succession attacks. the pauldrons, at least in his original outfits, are made of three parts, protecting his shoulder area, a part of his upper arm, as well as the area around the clavicle. in the end: places where most of the large veins and arteries are to be found. At the end of his arms are ‘wrist guards’, either one [ then on the right side ] or both with deep indents, important when he holds his sword in front of him, so that the back of the blade can comfortably rest inside the splint, making it hard to move it out of the way once he defends like this.

002. suits - mostly worn when he was still a ShinRa soldier and General and then to official events where the dress code commanded it. they would be black with silver or gold accents, in very rare cases also with a dark blue/dark violet vest, but comfortable nonetheless. [ he might, on request, wear them for a partner as well ]

003. casual: a loose shirt and trousers - he’s only casual when at his own place or with a partner. due to the fact that he barely registers weather and climate as it is, his clothing consists of what he finds most comfortable at the moment, but is always clean and fresh with generally neutral colours, as extreme patterns and styles aren’t to his liking.

004. environment/surrounding fitting clothing - meaning: he is willing to adjust to the world he momentarily visits, shall he have a partner or confidant in this world that would like for him to adjust to their styles and customs. as long as they only suggest or request and not order him to, he will follow in literally all the cases.

005. accessories - it depends. he only wears accessories if they fit for his outfits [ aka, in dissidia: he wears pearls and jewels here and there, mostly on his wrist and on the pauldrons ] or if they have been gifted to him by a person of importance. throughout the verses, there have been rings and necklaces in his possession, rings are usually worn beneath the glove or on a string around his neck as well as to not lose them.

OBJECTS:

001. Masamune - how he came into the possession of his sword is unknown, albeit there are a few theories about that: one of them being that it was a ‘gift’ of the remaining inhabitants of Wutai, who gifted him Masamune after he turned the Wutai war in ShinRa’s favour, albeit this is only a theory. He is said to be the only person who can wield it effectively.

002. a small notebook - from his time before his fall, he usually carried a small notebook with him for thoughts and ideas and things he wanted to look up later, as mentioned before, he loves to learn and loves to acquire knowledge, so having a notebook helps him to keep everything organised and in check.

003. a phone - issued by ShinRa. made so that Soldiers can start and end holographic missions in the training rooms, keep in contact with other soldiers [ mostly just amongst their ranks and their friends ] and with the higher-ups to distribute orders.

004. accessories gifted by partners - one of the very few items that can rile up his ire is someone trying to take them from him. typically, these gifts are related to jewellery and while he would not acquire any out of his own free want, he wears those bestowed to him all the time. try to take it, you will lose a hand.

005. otherwise than that? he is not quite a material person. time destroys many a manmade oddity and with himself being pretty much immortal? there is little he does hold worthwhile to keep.

VICES / BAD HABITS: [ click on the words for a nice list about Vices ]

001. brutality - this is self-explanatory. he is brutal in any fight, will slay any foe. uninterested in who they are and what they have done, as long as he considers them an enemy, they will fall by his own hand. he also has the habit of playing with his ‘prey’. chasing them along, giving them an opening where they think they might get him and then taking said victory away again. he also tends to injure his opposite heavily to a point that weaker enemies will die of blood-loss very quickly and it at least impairs stronger opponents. never get on his bad side: if he feels like the chase might be entertaining, he will do so viciously and violently.

002. manipulation - using clever words and ways to influence another person, making them follow his lead, serving for them to be his puppets; he can do all of that and much more just with how he speaks, what he presents and what others may feel about him.

003. resentfulness - he did not only learn to hate ShinRa, he learned to hate everything in his path and everything in existence, striving to undo and rebuilt, desiring to destroy what had wronged him. he knows that the planet itself and its inhabitants are not at fault, but that does not stop him, for his bitterness ceases in no moment at all.

004. disrespect - this depends but is a strong character-trait especially after his fall. he despises those that are arrogant without having the power to back it up, teases them on, disrespects their personal boundaries and words and urges them to strike. it can change very quickly, hence it ‘depends’, and will cease once he thinks the other person is worth his quieter and calmer personality. but it can also turn into a very vicious form of hate and ire.

005. malice - very obvious in an example when it comes to Cloud, whose existence and the opposition he forces towards Sephiroth’s goal actually managed to keep him alive inside the lifestream [ he was, undoubtfully, a catalyst for his ‘quick’ resurfacing, albeit it still took 5 years ]. his brutality in regards to how he reacts towards said opposition is striking and horrifying, any person getting on his bad side, will be treated the same - or even worse.

BODY LANGUAGE:

001. standing very straight - he’s very confident, knows of his power and is aware of his position and rank amongst his comrades, no matter the timeline and verse, he won’t slouch or bend before someone, except it is in greeting before those that deserve it [ and those are very few ].

002. beckoning with one hand - as he is very cocky and has a taunting nature, this is a thing he oftentimes performs in luring an enemy or battle partner closer to him. even if it may not have any effect, it is unsettling, usually combined with a chilling smile and the knowledge that if they don’t charge - he will.

003. tilting his head - it’s slight, it’s mostly a mocking gesture. sometimes he mimics another person and shows them their own behaviour like a mirror image [ not only with the head tilt ]. this very mannerism is usually depicted as ‘innocent’ and ‘casual’ when viewed in a lot of other people, but with him? it is turned into something grotesque and derisive, like a feline ready to attack at any moment.

004. pointing his sword at someone, moving them with the tip of it - he is shown to do so with a multiple of people: with Zack, with Cloud, with quite a few characters in the Dissidia-Universe. while it can be taken as an attack-stance, once again, it is merely mocking. specifically, if he does so with only one hand, instead of grasping Masamune’s hilt with both hands what usually leads to a charge only seconds later. the moving their head, their hair with the tip of his sword is dangerous, but due to high skill and precision, highly unlikely that he will grace or injure them. but the possibility is there and one wrong movement and that pretty head is gone.

005. to the last point: moving someone’s head, their hair with his own hands - that is rare and a spleen my version has. he does so as a means to figure out boundaries, as a way to see if he would face repercussions. the sole thought amusing him and enticing him to go a bit too far, depending on the person. he barely touches someone as it is still, only takes their jaw in his hand, or strokes with the back of his fingers along their cheek. if he only touches someone’s hair, it is a mere show and feeling that he could turn it into something else - but he won’t.

AESTHETICS:

001. a roaring fire, a dying fire - as much as it is destructive and has been used by him before, he finds watching a fire and listening to it ‘speak’ very soothing. it makes him relax easily and he can listen to it for hours on end. a dying fire, the last glimmers of it, the last clamour and uproar reminds him of many things he needs to keep in mind to go on, despite its beauty and its ‘dying breath’.

002. dusk and dawn - the day that dies and the day that is reborn. also a nice metaphor for everything he is, the colours fascinating for him, as one might want to say: ‘a man like him is raised in black and white’, and due to that, he enjoys any spectacle nature can present to him that is not distorted or even destroyed by humanity.

003. old and abandoned places - there is something inherently fascinating for him in these sites, as much as he doesn’t care and wouldn’t be interested in ‘haunted houses’, he does hold excitement for the locations where people lived in and made it their own, just for them to fade away and leave behind memories that can be discovered and secrets that can be found out, lest someone forget them completely.

004. large market places in bustling cities - he isn’t quite the man that cares for crowds or shies away from them, but a market place and merchants advertising their wares is the heart and life of a city or culture he knows nothing about and therefore the first place he would start with. be it in a moment when he is calmer, with friends or a partner, or in a modern verse, this is a place where he can be found a lot of times.

005. books, letters, the written word in general - with his interest to learn also comes a striving for the understanding of a culture’s language. he is quite a natural in learning different tongues: give him literature written in it and a bit of context and he will figure it out quickly and sufficiently. correct him a bit in the pronunciation and he will speak it easily; a hobby of his own that he won’t want to miss.

SONGS:

001. Winterspell - Two Steps from Hell.

002. Feel Invincible - Skillet.

003. Wolf - Skott.

004. Archangel - Two Steps from Hell.

005. Silver, Crimson, Black - Zack Hemsey.

Songs without explanation, just enjoy.

#★ [ headcanon ]#long post //#[ i swear this is like the last of these really giant ones i have #ramona what did u do all morning?#this meme + ordered food ]#[ update: food arrived ]

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recursivelyassembling · 7 years ago

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So Maggie and I and a couple of our friends picked up Pokémon Gold/Silver on 3DS virtual console, and to make things interesting we decided to pick each other’s teams. Since this kind of thing is more fun if we keep each other updated about our playthroughs, and since, you know, blog, I’m going to sporadically post updates here. It’s a pain to get screenshots off a 3DS without custom firmware (and will probably be impossible after MiiVerse dies in November), but I’ll try not to wall of text too much. She says, just before hiding the post below the cut because it got huge. Welp.

So, yeah. I’ll be playing Gold version, the first Pokémon game I ever owned. The rules are we can only use the Pokémon that the group selected for us in fights, though we’re allowed HM and other field move users as long as they don’t fight. That’s all - this isn’t a Nuzlocke or serious challenge run, really. Just meant to change things up a little. My team is:

Chikorita/Bayleaf/Meganium

Shuckle

Eevee/Espeon

Wooper/Quagsire

Zubat/Golbat/Crobat

Sentret/Furret

Which is pretty good really. We all could have been super mean but nobody was.

Fun fact: I love Cyndaquil dearly, and almost always pick it anymore when playing G/S/C or HG/SS, but in my first ever run of Gold version, I picked Chikorita. So this is a little bit nostalgic for me. It’ll be interesting to see how I end up feeling about Meganium now, with over sixteen years of experience playing this series behind me.

First impressions are that the first twenty minutes or so of every Pokémon game are exactly the same - chomping at the bit to get to the part where I get Pokéballs. Went, got the egg, ran back home. First Rival battle comes after you’ve had a chance to fight a bit, so it’s not as much as a crapshoot as fighting Blue the first time.

This is how he introduces himself before you name him. You’re meant to come up with your own name for him, as in R/B/Y, but being a very literal minded twelve year old I told the cop his name was “???” when the chance came up. And so it stayed ??? for the whole game. Since this is a nostalgia playthrough, and all, I uh

yeah.

Anyway, now I’ve got Pokéballs, it’s time to start assembling my crew. It’s impossible to catch a Setret above level 3, because Pokémon thinks grinding adds to the experience. So I have to bite the bullet and just get whatever. Difficulty - Tackle currently does just over 50% HP in damage to a level 3 Sentret, and Razor Leaf likes to crit. Guess I’m chucking Pokéballs at a half health Sentret and praying.

It’s an aspirational name. The random number gods were kind enough to give me this little fluff on my second attempt, which is good because this game is incredibly tightfisted with its monetary rewards and Pokéballs are expensive.

I’ve never really used Furret beyond the early game before because it’s not that great, but I have some hopes for it. It has the usual Normal-type access to an interesting range of TMs, something I historically haven’t paid much mind to but which matters a lot more on a limited run like this.

Now, with the Professor Elm/Mr. Pokémon dance out of the way, I’m free to beat up all the trainers on my way to Violet. I didn’t catch any screens of that. My apologies to anyone who wanted to see the top percentage of Rattata. The next step is the Gym, however...

Falkner is a giant middle finger to anyone who came from Gen I expecting the grass type starter to give them an easy early game like Bulbasaur did. So I want to grab one more member of my team before I take him on, and that means fumbling around the aptly named Dark Cave for a bit.

I’m so glad that fit. Almost as glad as I am that chat decided to be nice and give me Zubat. Much as Zubat is mostly known for being a common early game filler Pokémon like Sentret and Ratatta, it’s much better than that normally implies. I’ve never been disappointed with Crobat on a story team, and while it’s not my go-to Gen II flier (that’d be Skarmory), it’s available for basically the whole game, which again is kind of important on a run like this one.

So that’s it, that’s the whole gang for now. It’s time to bring SCREECHING up to speed a little and then go beat up Falkner. That’ll have to wait for my next post, though, I think.

So, yeah. I’m gonna tag these #Pick My Pokémon, mostly for my own reference but also I guess other people could find them that way if they want.

#Pick My Pokémon #I guess this is a Let's Play?#kinda?#I dunno #I don't usually do this #don't expect great things

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no-name-blu · 7 years ago

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First of all, @silent-violet-echos don't be afraid to tag me. I'm cool with it

And for the vids... oh boi...here's my suggestions XD (whether you know the person or not)

Markiplier:

Van videos

Change, whose line, 5 things (the improv games)

Try not to laugh challenge

Google Feud

Markiplier makes (pancakes,pizzas,sandcastles, etc.)

Town of Salem (my fav is the "Salty Love Butt" watch dat, seriously XD)

Cards Against Humanity

7 seconds challenge

Markiplier Highlights

Whisper Challenges

Bottle flip challenge

Arrow dodge

Truth or death challenge

Prop Hunt

Jacksepticeye:

Bloopers and Outtakes

Best of Jacksepticeye

Jacksepticeye Power Hour

Bro Average

Jacksepticeye's funniest home videos

The Boss

Best of cuphead

I'm drunk | world's easy-est game

Impossible Quiz (any of them)

Camp Camp:

Ehhhh..... maybe the whole season 1 and 2

Thomas Sanders:

(I don't watch him that much but I like these vids)

Way too adult

The Dark sides of Disney

My personality qna

Can lying be good?

Crofters the Musical

Vanossgaming (oh boi XD):

Hand Simulator

Fortnite

Gang Beast

Gmod Prop hunt vids:

Krusty Krab prop hunt

Best Strategy ever....well almost

Evil orange

Old Man Factory

Santa tit trickshot

LIL CAN

Most Intense round ever

Embracing the Terroriser spots

Gmod Guess Who:

Breaking News!

Free Breadsticks

Sudoku triple

Rick and Morty edition

Game of thrones edition

Gmod deathrun:

Gotcha Bitch!

Escaping Prison

Spongebob Parody map

Canada edition

Thanksgiving edition

Ceaseless thanksgiving puns

Climbing Trump tower

Gmod scary maps (trust me they're not that scary)

Jumpscares, monsters, adventure mod

Follow the cocktus

Nogla's girlfriend

Meth mario

Evil Bunny's haunted mansion

Gmod funny moments:

Who wants to be a millionaire

2016 Olympics

Balloons and dominoes

The toys escape

Frogger

Go home, go bed

Dr. Mario

Majestic Forest

Moon edition

Sonic 1v1

Tornado edition

Mini Ladd:

Uno

Cards Against humanity

Golf it

Spy Party

The best subreddits

Try not to laugh

Ask Mini

Random Encounters:

Fnaf the musical

Resident Enis

Cuphead the musical

Papers Please the musical

Doki doki literature club the musical

Bloopers

Okay, I think this is to much 😂

But I got ya fam

Hey, I need some help!

I’ve been feeling really down this week. I’ve been doing better now, but this isn’t about me. While I was sad I just wanted something really funny to watch, but I just didn’t have that.

So what I want to do is compile a list of videos that will brighten someone’s day. It can be videos from a fandom(like Aphmau, Markiplier, Thomas Sanders, etc.), or it can be non-fandom videos(like tumblr post videos).

I would really appreciate if you reblogged this with some video suggestions, or replying in the notes. Likes aren’t gonna help. If you see this, reblog! Even if you don’t have any suggestions!

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ravenofthewritingdesk · 8 years ago

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Colour Aura Quiz

Tagged by: @bloody-twins-atthegate

I’ll tag : @therules-enforced @letsriddlemethislucifer @heart-no-bay @worlds-unnumbered @lapis-lazure @krullish @c0deseven @young-maiden-alice-liddell

Sepia:White

Armos:Purple

Sepia

Your Aura Is White!

Personality: Cool and calm, but not laid-back, whites are the ultimate in class. Whites are one of the best at what they do, and they don’t make a show of it, but they get the recognition anyway. White’s always getting the job done, always making the perfect play, never demanding the credit and always getting it anyway. With a wink and tiny salute of acknowledgment to the crowd, everyone will always remember you.You are neat and immaculate in your appearance, in the presentation of your home almost to the point of being fanatical. You are far-sighted, with a positive and optimistic nature. You are well-balanced, sensible, discreet and wise. You are cautious, practical. You tend to have a great deal of self control. You are confident, poised and self-assured when at your most positive, but can also be very choosy and fastidious when the mood strikes. You can be very critical of yourself and others. You are self-sufficient and a loner. You may appear to be shy, but you do have strong beliefs about most things and love the opportunity to air those beliefs. Love Life: You see love as an adventure, and you find most wo/men dull. You need someone who challenges you!Yellow: Way too outgoing, they are way too annoying to take you on

Red: Always complaining about their love life makes you just want to smack them across the head and say “SNAP OUT OF IT!!!”

Pink: To prissy and stuff can get annoying really fast

Blue: No like green? That’s fine Blue is just the same just a little bit of a realist.

Purple: Their standards are way too high for white to reach!

Orange: They may be like yellow but something about them completes your day! Perfect Color Love Match: Green is THE PERFECT MATCH! Just like white they are really down to earth, and are the perfect soul mate for white Friendship Color: Blue Auras are perfect to fit your qualifications of what you call a "Friend". Color Opposite: Your color wheel opposite is Pink. Pink is too outgoing to fit your personality and may annoy you just a smidge.

Words that Describe White: Naïve, Innocent, Neutral, Shy, Serious, Stubborn, Ethical, Honest, Self-Important

Purpose of Life: To Make a Statement, and Succeed in Life

===============

Armos

Your Aura is Purple!

Personality: Purples hold themselves to sky high standards, and are always very graceful. Purple is envied, idolized, and copied without even realizing it. They are an icon for those who know you. While it is hard to be a perfectionist, rest assured it’s paying off! Purple is the most down to earth aura, they are the typical guy or gal next door. Purples may think they are better than others but deep inside they know they are not. Purple is very practical. Other auras take a liking into purple. Idealistic and thoughtful, they have the mind and ideas to change the world. Purple has the charisma of a great leader. Purple always seems to know what to say or do in every situation they are confronted with. They exercise good judgment daily. They don’t agonize too much about their decisions, the right answer just seems to come to them. Purples have one of the most active imaginations, but tend to be more focused on what could be potentially possible than dreaming about the impossible. Purples live a well balanced life and prefer to stay as calm as possible.Having a personality color purple or violet as your favorite color means you are sensitive and compassionate, understanding and supportive, thinking of others before yourself. You are a gentle and free spirit. Purples feelings run deep and you can be quite sensitive to hurtful comments from others, although you would never show it. People are drawn to your charismatic and alluring energy. You are usually introverted rather than extroverted and may give the impression of being shy although this is not the case. You are creative and like to be individual in most of your endeavors, including your dress and home decoration - you love the unconventional. You are idealistic, and often impractical, with a great imagination, Purples tend to look at life through rose-colored glasses. People who don't understand you sometimes think you are eccentric because you spend so much time in your fantasy world. You inspire others with your creative thinking and your ability to deal positively with adversity. Purples are very intuitive and quite psychic. You are a generous giver, asking for little in return except friendship. You can be secretive, with even your closest friends not really knowing you well. You dislike responsibility and have difficulty dealing with real day-to-day problems. You dislike being part of the crowd. You don't like to copy others and you don't like them to copy you. You are a visionary, with high ambitions, dreams and desires, and a compulsion to help humanity and to improve the planet earth. You often hold positions of power because you are visionary, but you delegate to others all the minor details that you aren't interested in. You like to have the best of everything, so you aim high. Being the free spirit you are, you love to travel to experience different cultures and meet new people. You are a good judge of character and sum others up quite quickly and accurately, although you usually see the best in everybody. Time means little to you and you are often late for everything. You trust the flow of the Universe to take care of everything. You can sometimes appear arrogant and conceited if operating from a negative perspective. You can be selfish and self-indulgent as you don't like being imposed upon by others beliefs and regulations.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Love Life: You're very passionate but often too busy for love. You need a partner who sees your vision and adopts it as their own

Yellow: Way to immature to meet our standards!

Pink: If outgoingness is on our “Have to have list” pinks are also one of the top choices for Purples

Green: Greens are way too shy and may be overlooked

Blue: Blue is one of the others that may meet our standards. They are deep and Sincere and is an awesome mate!

Orange: Can be just a little bit more mature than Yellow, but nawh I think we’ll pass

White: Way deep inside purples may have this strange feeling for whites

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

Perfect Color Love Match: Red is the perfect mate for a purple they meet every standard of ours.

Friendship Color: Blue is the perfect friend for a purple due to there introvert attitude

Color Opposite: Your color wheel opposite is Yellow. While yellow people may be wise, they lack the manners and class needed to impress you

Words that Describe Purple: Intuitive, Seeking, Creative, Kind, Self-Sacrificing. Growth Oriented, Strong, Very Wise, and Rare

Purpose of Life: Saying Truths That Other People Dare Not Say

#+Teh Long Post #sepia the raven #armos the raven #ravenofthewritingdesk

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pocket-anon · 8 years ago

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Operation: First Noel (3/7)

Whoo-hoo! I made it! Chapter 3 delivered on time, as promised. Your week of holiday domestic Captain Swan continues! @xhookswenchx, you mentioned wanting to see our babies arguing over stuff. You got it. ;) I hope you enjoy. Thanks to everyone for reading. I look forward to your comments as always.

Find it on AO3. Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.

Summary: When the residents of Storybrooke enjoy a rare period of peace over the holiday season, Henry asks his family for something he’s never had - a real Christmas. A series of holiday vignettes. (Captain Swan/Captain Cobra/Captain Charming. Canon Divergent. Domestic Fluff, Humor, & Smut. Rated E purely for Chapter 4.)

Requested tags: @optomisticgirl, @deathbycaptainswan. Want to be tagged on updates? Let me know!

Chapter 3: The Total Agony of Being in Love

Emma stands on the sidewalk, the air biting at her skin and wearing at her patience while she listens to her husband and her son coming up with a game plan to hang the dozens of feet of icicle lights they’ve purchased to adorn their house. She’s been here almost ten minutes, having initially ventured outside to bring them a thermos of hot chocolate, but delaying her return to the house after realizing that they intend to dress, not only on the roof overlying the porch, but every section of roof up to the third floor turret. It’s a far more ambitious undertaking, and it strikes her as requiring the aid of a cherry picker. Or a friendly fairy. And judging by their talk, they plan on employing neither.

She hovers behind them as they confer and gesture and nod enthusiastically about the best places on the roof to stand and whether it’s better to climb up with a ladder or duck out through some of the upper windows. Emma folds her arms across her chest, as much out of skepticism as a desire to stay warm, and narrows her eyes when Henry starts suggesting they build a rig with a two-by-four and a coat hanger to be able to reach the second floor eaves that wrap around the east side of the house. “Okay. No,” she finally interjects. “No.”

Both men crane their heads around to look at her, expressions not unlike the ones they wore that time she caught them eating the pie she was planning to bring to Sunday family dinner.

“What?” Henry asks cautiously.

“No, you are not going to try to climb on top of the roof like that, much less with some MacGuyvered contraption,” she says, waving one mittened hand abstractly.

“I don’t know what that last bit means, Swan, but you needn’t worry. The lad’s not going up on the roof,” Killian replies in a perfectly sensible tone. “I am.”

Emma blinks owlishly at him. “Because that’s a much better idea?” she challenges with an incredulous little laugh.

He gives a minute shake of his head and waves off her concerns. “I’ll be fine, love.”

“Yes, you will, because you’re not doing it.”

He arcs an eyebrow at her, annoyance finally starting to appear in his blue eyes. “I’m no stranger to climbing, you know,” he points out.

“Rigging, yes. Beanstalks, yes. Steep, Victorian-style rooflines, no,” she retorts, her lips pressed into a line.

He throws another glance up at the dark gray asphalt shingles and shrugs. “It won’t be that bad.”

She snorts. “Famous last words,” she says flatly. “You know, just because Zeus resurrected you once doesn’t mean he’ll do it again.”

“It’s not that steep,” he argues.

“It’s a 45-degree incline!”

He smirks, his stupidly handsome face now a means to irritate her. “You’ll catch me if I fall.”

“Or I could just magic the lights up there in five seconds and save you the embarrassment,” she answers, her voice on the edge of a snap.

Killian grumbles. “I’m not going to embarrass myself.”

“You’re going to end up on the front page of the Mirror. ‘Legendary 300 Year-Old Pirate Breaks Back Hanging Christmas Lights.’ Regina would never let you hear the end of it.”

Henry snickers.

Killian shoots his co-conspirator an indignant look at his betrayal.

Emma huffs. “This is ridiculous. It’s freezing out here.” She spins on her heel and heads inside, waving her hand without a look back. The lights vanish from the boxes sitting at Henry’s feet and appear along the roofline, neatly hanging from the eaves on all three floors and swaying gently in the wind.

* * *

Killian hangs his head as Emma marches across the porch and goes into the house, shutting the front door a little louder than necessary behind her.

“So much for that,” Henry says resignedly. He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text before bending down to gather the empty light boxes.

“Your mother is a bloody stubborn woman,” Killian grouses, reaching down to help load the rest of the boxes into Henry’s arms and then snagging the handle of the thermos with his hook.

The boy laughs. “And that’s news?”

A wry smile curls at the corner of Killian’s mouth. “Hardly.” He sighs. “This is what happens when you marry a bloody force of nature.”

“You get pretty Christmas lights?” Henry asks, grinning. He straightens and admires Emma’s work. “They do look really good.”

“Aye.”

They head around the side of the house in order to stow the boxes in the garage.

“She might have been right, you know,” Henry hazards, setting the stack on the workbench.

Killian gives him a rueful side-eye, waiting for him to come back outside before swinging the doors shut. “I know.”

Henry’s phone chimes as they climb the steps to the side entrance, and he checks it, tapping a return message. “Well, since we’re done early, I’m gonna go hang with Violet.” He pauses, tucking the phone back into his coat pocket. “Um, wait here a minute.” Killian regards him curiously as he hustles inside and reappears with his backpack a minute later. He tugs the zipper open and retrieves the mistletoe, pulling one of the stems free and handing it over. “You might need this.”

Killian chuckles and pockets the tiny sprig. “You’re a good man, Henry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Henry raises his eyebrows in earnest. “Don’t abuse it,” he says gruffly.

Killian nods with a grin.

He finds Emma splayed out across the sofa watching a movie he doesn’t recognize. He hangs his coat up and approaches cautiously, scratching behind his ear. As he draws close, he notes a generous plateful of peppermint bark balanced on her baby bump and a half-eaten piece between her fingers, some of it wedged adorably in her cheek.

They’ve had a number of rows since he moved in over a year ago – arguments over which way to hang the toilet paper on the roll, how long to let dirty dishes sit in the sink, what Henry’s curfew should be and whether he should be allowed to have Violet up to his room – but Killian is grateful that their dust-ups are never very big. To be fair, after fighting about her extreme secrecy while a Dark One and her decision to turn him into a Dark One to save his life and whether he should return from the Underworld, everything else rather pales in comparison. In a strange way, they’re fortunate in that respect – they have the advantage of perspective, the memories of having lost and found one another again, of having faced and suffered death, of having to forgive and be forgiven for much more serious hurts, and after all their adventures, the ability to just live day-to-day with one another is something they both cherish too much to let little annoyances drive a rift between them.

Killian catches her eye and gives her a soft expression. “May I?”

Emma’s face remains neutral, but she accepts his outstretched hand and allows him to pull her upright enough that he can wedge himself between her and the arm of the sofa, her weight falling softly and comfortingly against his side as he drapes his elbow over the seatback.

He studies the scene on the television, watching a little boy describe being in love to his father as “total agony.” Killian’s mouth forms a little smile at the sentiment. “What are we watching?”

“Love Actually,” Emma replies, biting off another small piece of bark. “It’s a Christmas movie.”

“A movie about Christmas?”

She hums. “It’s more about love,” she says, “and how sometimes it’s complicated,” she sighs, “and sometimes it isn’t.”

He chuckles. “Indeed.” He reaches up and tentatively combs his fingertips through her hair, relaxing when some of the tension disappears from her shoulders.

They watch as a charming brown-haired man and woman engage in a sweet but flirtatious conversation. The woman exits, and the man’s face falls, conflicted and despondent over how much he fancies her.

Killian leans his head nearer to Emma’s. “The lights look very nice,” he murmurs.

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye before her gaze returns to the television. She licks her lips. “Thank you.”

“You did it much better than I could have.”

She chuffs. “You could have fallen.”

He makes a show of nodding his head, his face sincere. “Aye.” Emma looks at him, and he smiles apologetically. “Sometimes I still love a challenge.”

Her eyes pinch minutely, warming with fondness and understanding as she remembers the first time he said such a thing to her.

He drapes his arm over her shoulders and pulls her close, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and dropping a kiss on her crown. “I also enjoy spending time with Henry.”

Emma tenses for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take that away from you.”

He chuckles. “It’s alright, Swan. I’m sure we’ll come up with some other ill-conceived caper soon enough.” He smiles, aware, even without looking, that she’s rolling her eyes.

“You’re impossible,” she mutters, snuggling closer.

His chest vibrates with a low, happy sound. “And you love me for it.”

She nods against him.

“Speaking of which.”

Emma raises her head to watch as Killian pulls his arm away and reaches into the chest pocket of his waistcoat to pull out the little bit of mistletoe. He grins and holds it above their heads, giving it a little shake and enjoying the way her eyes widen and a rosy flush blossoms on her cheeks.

She sets her plate aside, and Killian’s smile widens slowly and his eyes falls closed when she scoots up a little to press her mouth sweetly to his.

Her dimples are on full display as she pulls back a fraction. “Where did you find mistletoe?” she asks, amused.

“In the woods,” he answers, bumping her nose with his, “That extra stop we made on our way back with the trees. Quite the fascinating Christmas tradition.”

He leans forward and kisses her again, and she giggles, acquiescing to part her lips and let him sweep her mouth with his tongue. Her fingers wind into the short tendrils at the back of his neck as the sound of their increasingly labored breathing obscures whatever is happening on the television. She gives a needy whine, and he growls, pulling her over so she lies half in his lap, pressed to his chest with her back to the movie.

Emma breaks away suddenly, panting. “Where’s Henry?”

“He went to see Violet.” Killian lowers his head to chase her mouth, but she withdraws a little further.

“Wait. Does he have mistletoe, too?” Her brow wrinkles with panic.

Killian flops his head back onto the cushion. “It’s not as though he’s never kissed the girl, Swan.”

“But…”

He lifts an eyebrow and looks down at her archly. “Does mistletoe dictate more than kissing? Because if it does, I have been sorely misinformed.”

“No!” She chortles in spite of herself. “No.”

“Then he’ll behave. Or Sir Morgan will run him through with his sword.” Killian grins at the laughter in his wife’s eyes and shifts his arms to pull her closer. “Now, since we’re alone, is there a chance that I could see more than kissing?”

“Hmph.” Emma teases her lips against his. “Maybe.”

Thanks for reading! Ready for more? Click here for the next chapter!

#gfss #gf ss #my writing #operation: first noel #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs christmas #cs christmas ff #ouat ff #ouat fanfic #captain cobra ff

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wristwatchjournal · 5 years ago

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Hands-On: Zelos Mirage Tourbillon

The Zelos Mirage Tourbillon is one of the latest watches from the still new Singapore-based watch brand. The Mirage Tourbillon is a high-end Swiss Made mechanism with a design that speaks to a particular generation of watch lover. It also comes with a really affordable price and shows what can happen when traditional names in Swiss watchmaking combine forces with the powerful entrepreneurial minds that are helping to carry the traditional watch industry into its next evolutionary phase.

Zelos was founded in 2014 and started as one of those brands whom you’d have no idea (at the time) would not only keep going, but also produce numerous successful watches eventually becoming a “real brand.” This is an important point to make because watch consumers are no doubt at times confused what to make of start up watch brands. Should you take them seriously if you like their creative energy, or should you sit by idly and wait a few years for them to prove themselves? It is true that while many start up brands fail, at least a few of them persist on, annually gaining legitimacy and the respect of even conservative watch lovers with loyalty only to the oldest names in horological luxury. Today, I feel that many start up watch makers not only offer viable alternatives to the traditional “big names,” but in more than once instance are themselves being groomed to be one of the big names in the future.

Zelos got itself started, as many modern watch brands do, on Kickstarter. In 2016, when aBlogtoWatch featured the Zelos Hammerhead Kickstarter campaign, it would have been impossible to know the company would not only diversify but also mature with age as it released new models. Zelos has made a name for itself in combining modern design with organic-feeling materials in the traditional categories of watches that do well in the market (such as diving sports watches and GMT travel watches). For this reason, I always encourage watch fans to keep an open mind about new brands because at least a few of them (with a bit of growing and refining) will be able to compete with the “landed aristocracy” of timepiece names, mostly in Switzerland, in due time. It is for this reason that watch lovers circa 2020 are having a love affair with the entrepreneurial spirit and creativity.

In the beginning (or perhaps forever), the Zelos Mirage Tourbillon watches will be part of a limited-edition set. This natural titanium version of the watch (with PVD main plates) will be produced as a limited edition of just two pieces. Among the four different Mirage Tourbillon models, Zelos is producing only 10 pieces. The brand positions them as halo products to help round out its growing range of mostly sport-style watches.

The last few years in tourbillon news have been typified by headlines that focus on new levels of affordability, as well as quality. In 2016, TAG Heuer released its Carrera Heuer 02-T Tourbillon Chronograph for around $20,000, and Horage currently has its own lovely Swiss Made tourbillon for under $8,000. Depending on the version, the Zelos Mirage Tourbillon costs between $11,000 and $12,000 and very certainly feels like a good value. That is especially true when comparing other watches that have the same or similar movement as is in the Mirage Tourbillon.

To outfit the Mirage Tourbillon with movements, Zelos worked with Swiss La Joux-Perret, the company that produces Arnold & Son and Angelus watches. La Joux-Perret is actually owned by parent company Citizen Group out of Japan. I believe this was a crucial reason the company supplied tourbillon movements to a non-Swiss company in the first place. I can’t know for sure, but I do know that some incumbent protectionists in the Swiss watch industry want to keep their most esteemed artisanship and technique to be used for home-grown brands. As the global economy for wristwatches continues to be a challenge, I think we will see more and more lessening of this traditional protectionist approach to who Switzerland-based suppliers will sell to.

The last time I reviewed a watch with this same movement architecture was in the Angelus U51 diver Tourbillon (on aBlogtoWatch here). That watch was a bit fancier and the movement was done differently, but it also cost around $20,000 USD more. That is a big difference. Now, watch fans can enjoy the beauty and grace of a La Joux-Perret flying tourbillon but in a more humble and elegant package that is priced to move for today’s zealous fans of high-end horology. The movement itself is the La Joux-Perret caliber LJP 7814 and is manually wound with 60 hours of power reserve operating at 4Hz (28,800 bph). Unlike entirely machined movements, the LJP tourbillon does come with sufficient volumes of hand-polishing.

Aesthetically, you can view the movement through the dial, and on this version, the main plate has been coated in a dark gray color using PVD. It makes for a really attractive look under the transparent dial, which is where the hour markers are placed. The watch itself has a slick modern design but is sized to wear like a demure dress watch. In a sense, it is a casual dress watch when compared to Zelos’ big collection of sports watches.

The cases themselves are part of the Mirage Tourbillon selling point. This natural titanium version is the least visually “exciting” but is good for conservative wearers. Compare it to three other versions of the Mirage Tourbillon that use “Timascus,” which is titanium Damascus-style metal. That it uses folds of metal for a wood grain look is very uncommon for titanium. On top of that, the titanium folded together is slightly different from when exposed to heat. That gives some versions of the Mirage Tourbillon case beautiful colors like violet and blue. Zelos also has a Mokume Gane version of the Mirage Tourbillon with a Damascus-style case produced from copper and nickel metal that will patina over time. The creativity and artistry applied to the case work here is very special, indeed.

Dimension-wise, the Mirage Tourbillon case is 41mm-wide with a 45mm lug-t0-lug distance. It also wears small due to the narrowness of the dial compared with the broadness of the case. The case is also just 9.5mm-thick (without the top “box-style” sapphire crystal) and has a water resistance rating of 50 meters. Zelos includes a very elaborate presentation set that includes an oversized wood box and a leather carrying case that allows you to carry a set of watches and also include a few additional strap options to mix up the look.

Zelos knows what watch lovers today want because Zelos founder Elshan Tang is a watch lover himself. That explains how the Mirage Tourbillon feels both trendy and approachable but also novel and fresh at the same time. Zelos is not becoming a “tourbillon brand,” but it was wise to show what it could do in a halo product using a desirable Swiss Made tourbillon and its particular flavor or flair and horological decor. I’m personally very proud of the fact that aBlogtoWatch has been instrumental in helping brands like Zelos get the exposure they need in order to reach passionate consumers to help the brand grow up and produce beautiful stuff like this. Price for the Zelos Mirage Tourbillon as pictures is $10,900 USD (with prices at $11,900 USD for the more elaborate case styles). Learn more or order at the Zelos website here.

The post Hands-On: Zelos Mirage Tourbillon appeared first on Wristwatch Journal.

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#watches #luxury watches #wrist watches

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