#was reading this EXCELLENT severance fic today... beautiful painful made me feel all the things i wanted from a severance fic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

myheelsdontmatchmysweatpants · 3 years

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This is my first collab fic and I could not be more excited! I'm so thankful that I can be part of the group!

The AU for this month was Sex Work. The Masterlist for this collab can be found here. Please take some time to check out everyone's contributions! There are other fics and amazing art!

That being said here is my fic, big BIG shout out to @doinmybesthere for being an amazing beta reader and sweet angel bb. ily Emme!

Please please please read the warnings. They are there for a reason!

Warnings: consensual noncon, mentions of being burnt, stabbing and blood; no prep penetration, disrespectful use of the word "whore", blackmail, psychological abuse?, Mineta (nuff said) he gets what's comin to him

You’re in the doctor’s office getting a regular checkup when you overhear the nurses in the station next to you talking.

“Look! They posted the new hero rankings today.”

“I forgot those were today, too bad they can’t have the conference during the pandemic. I miss seeing Deku all cute and blushing.”

“FUCK” In your brief moment of panic you forgot where you were. You cringe and look at the nurses, trying your best not to look like you were gonna be sick. “Sorry ladies, didn’t mean to yell.” No point in offering an explanation. You wouldn’t be able to tell them anything anyway.

As you very impatiently wait for your blood results to come back you check the tacky red cell phone you have to keep with you at all times. You had put it on silent since you were in the doctor’s office and you were glad you did. Taking a quick look at your screen had your stomach dropping into your ass.

M.M: Gonna move my appointment up to today.

M.M: You better get ready. I’m not happy.

M.M: I’m sure you saw the postings. Number 36.

M.M: I made sure to pay for any accidents in advance.

M.M: I’ll see you tonight.

Why does he have to be so fucking horrible? Accidents my ass.

The messages make your skin crawl, you should have figured the hero rankings would piss him off but honestly you never paid enough attention. With a heavy sigh you opened up your web browser and pull up the list.

“Number 36...number 36…. Number 36…” When you finally reached the hero you were looking for, you let out a sigh.

Hero Ranking Number 36: The Rainy Season Hero Froppy

Well at least you had her outfit already, for some reason she was one your client asked for a lot. Not that you wanted to ask him why, not with the way his black eyes looked whenever he saw you dressed up like her.

I don’t know if I should feel glad that he isn’t actually taking this out on her. Or upset that I’ve had to deal with this for months.

“L/N, Y/N?” The doctor walks up holding their clipboard and closing the privacy screen. Your file almost too much for the metal clip at the top. “Your test results came back negative and your burns seem to have healed very well. I would tell you that any strenuous activity should be avoided but we both know you can’t do that.”

Their poor attempt at humor had your stomach rolling. “Haha anyways Doc, I think I’m gonna need another medkit to take home today. I can schedule my next appointment online, right?”

You can’t handle the thinly veiled pity in their eyes and look down, reaching over to your side to grab your purse. You hear them moving around and a dark blue plastic box is put on your lap.

“If I remember correctly this is your favorite color, right? You are able schedule an appointment online but if you would like I can schedule it for you. How about in two days? Afternoon work for you?”

You look up after clutching the kit to your chest, you know they are just trying to be nice. All of the nurses are especially nice to you and as endearing as it might be to some people, to you it just feels dirty.

“Afternoon is perfect, thanks Doc.” You get up and walk towards the privacy screen. Before leaving you stop for a moment “Blue ismy favorite color.”

As you make your way back to your living quarters you scroll through the internet looking at every picture of the Pro-Hero Froppy you can find. Your quirk can project a person’s desires onto your body by reading them in their eyes. It’s easier when the person has a clear view of what or who they want. However, your client’s desires are such a jumbled mess that it’s easier if you know what it is beforehand.

Hopefully, I can act like her enough that I don’t have to look at his desires this time. I can’t stand how disgusting they make me feel.

You pass by a few familiar faces on your way back to your rooms but don’t pay them any mind. They in turn leave you alone, most of them knowing that when you have that look on your face you were in a mood.When you first were offered a position at the brothel you thought it would be easy money. You had been stripping for several years, known for how you looked different to everyone who saw your dancing. The beautiful, enchanting, flexible Erised. You had built up your quirks ability to be able to project almost a full clubs worth of desires. Sure, it caused extreme fatigue and chronic migraines but the money you raked in was well worth it.

A few months ago

After an especially successful night a patron walks up to you after you leave the stage.

“I have a job opportunity for you, courtesy of my employer.” He hands you a card you read “Heroes Consulting Agency” in bold silver letters.

“I’m a stripper hun, not sure I can do the type of consulting you’re looking for.” You go to hand it back, but they put their hand up.

“I’m afraid I must insist, why don’t we treat you to lunch and you can listen to our proposal?”

You put your hand back down and study them. They are dressed in a white button up with a vest, definitely out of place in a strip club. You would look in their eyes, but they didn’t really have any, their whole body seemed to be made of dark smoke. You don’t work in the nicest of places so someone with their kind of full body quirk isn’t unusual.

“Alright, I give. I’m not really one to pass up free food.” The rational side of your brain is telling you that you have more than enough money to buy your own food but the stingy part telling you to take it while you can is a little louder.

“Excellent choice Miss Erised. Someone will meet you at the address on that card tomorrow at around 5pm? Should give you enough time to recover from the side effects of your quirk.” They give a slight bow and walk off towards the exit, a large something getting up from a seat and following closely behind.

Sam, one of the waitresses walks up to you with a tray filled with drinks. Her normally short stature elevated with high heeled leather boots. “Did you know that person Y/N?”

Oh man, I do not have the energy for this.

You turn to her and survey the tray before grabbing something that looked like a fruity cocktail. “No, but they offered me a job. Gonna go have lunch with them tomorrow.” Sipping from the glass you tuck the card into your bra, making sure to not show it to the girl.

“That’s weird, don’t they know you’re a stripper? What is someone dressed that nicely want to hire you for? Also did that person look familiar to you or is that just me?” Any normal person wouldn’t be able to keep up with her unending questions, but you had known her for years. The tray in her hands tips dangerously to the left but she balances it out without a second thought.

Guess she does have to be quick on her toes to be a waitress at a strip club.

“They were here for my dance so yes they do know, either way I’m getting free food so…”

She huffs, aware of your attitude for anything “free”.

You finish the drink and place the empty glass back taking a couple bills from your bag and tucking them into her apron.

“Thanks for the drink Sam, but I gotta leave before my headache hits.” You walk off before she can say anything further. You really wanna be nice to her but her endless energy really gets on your nerves sometimes.

By the time you make it to your modest apartment, you can feel the pain starting behind your eyes. You drop your stuff by the door without turning on any lights and walk to the box safe hidden in the kitchen. After you make sure all the money is secure you grab a glass of water and head to the bedroom. The bottle of pain killers already set out on your nightstand. You should really take a shower but for now, you strip down, take a few pills, drink the whole glass of water, and lay down. It takes a while for the pills to kick in but once they do you finally fall asleep.

When you finally wake up the next morning your headache is gone, and you have to piss like no one’s business. You grumble as you stretch your tight sore muscles and get up to go to the bathroom. After taking care of business, you get into some light clothes and walk into the kitchen to make some food. Thankfully, you had some leftover rice and spam in the fridge, so you pop that in the microwave. You put the kettle on for some green tea and down another glass of water as it heats up.

Remembering the offer from yesterday and the promise of free food you pad over to your pile of things by the door and grab their card. It’s sleek looking with a plain black background and silver lettering. The address isn’t something you recognize right away so you look it up on your phone.

“What the fuck?” Why is this place in a business park?

You scroll down and check the street view; the building is a high rise surrounded by a mostly empty parking lot. The entrance of the building is blurred, probably to keep the privacy of anyone entering or exiting.

“Well, I guess it’s a nice gig. Better dress the part.” Or maybe you’re gonna get murdered.

“Wow, I really have to stop watching all those true crime shows.” You put the card in your wallet and head back to the kitchen. The microwave beeps and the kettle whistles shortly after. When you’re done eating you put the dishes in the sink to soak and head to the bathroom to finally take a shower.

By the time you have finished showering the whole bathroom is filled with steam and your body has a pink flush to it. You open the door to air it out and finish cleaning up for the day. Your outfit consists of your nicest jeans with ankle boots, a long sleeve blouse and a dark cardigan. You grab one of your smaller over the shoulder purses and leave your apartment.

One of the things you allowed yourself to really splurge on was a car. Public transportation was not as reliable as it could be and with your hours not the safest either.

By the time you make it to the building the sun is starting to set, giving the sky beautiful pink to blue coloring. As you park and get out of your car a young woman walks up to you.

“Welcome Miss Erised! Please follow me and I will escort you through the building.” The woman’s blonde hair is in two messy buns, her face childlike. Her voice was high pitched enough to grate on your nerves a bit, but you ignored it.

As you follow the person through the lobby you take a glance around. Looks like a high-end hotel lobby. There is a front desk area with a marble counter top, women that are dressed in matching button ups with their hair up in buns or ponytails. Random potted plants and small trees dot the area, and a nice chandelier hangs in the middle of the ceiling. No one besides the women at the front desk are in the area.

“Doesn’t seem to be busy right now.” You didn’t even really mean for her to hear you, but she did, and you sounded like an asshole.

They turn their head slightly with a knowing smirk. “It would seem that way wouldn’t it?”

Conversation halts while you stand in the elevator which you were thankful for. They had chosen a floor close to the middle of the building, which gave you just enough time to rethink your life choices.

By the time you got to your floor you are tired of the silence. Normally you hate small talk, but you figured you would give it a shot. “Do you like your job?”

The woman turns to you and smiles, here canines peeking out a bit while shrugging her shoulders. “It keeps me busy, plus I get to make so many friends.” The gleam in her eyes flashes menacingly for a quick second, you decide to pretend you didn’t see it.

As you get to the end of the hall, she opens a door and gestures you inside, closing it behind you. There is a nice desk to the left of the door, other than that the room is sparce. The person sitting in the chair has quite an eclectic look about him. Grey hair parted to the side, shrew eyes behind circular wire rimmed glasses, a gold chain peeks out from the slightly open white button up with a purple blazer. He reeks of cigarette smoke the evidence of his habit tossed into the half-filled ash tray on the desk.

“So nice of you to join me Miss Y/N. Why don’t you have a seat, we can talk about your new position.” He gestures to the only other chair a smirk on his face that shows of his missing tooth.

“I haven’t accepted the job yet Giran, and I thought I told you I don’t want to work for you.” You aren’t used to seeing him in this type of place. But you do know him so there is no need to put on a show. You lean back in the chair and cross your arms.

“How rude of me, you won’t be working for me, but I have been given authority to hire for this company.”

You don’t bat an eye; most large companies use outside help for hiring. “What is this position you would like offer me?”

“This company provides heroes with a way to alleviate their… desires in a safe and discrete way.”

“So, you hire prostitutes for heroes to have sex without worrying about anyone telling the press about it.”

“That is correct.”

“I don’t know if your just stupid or if you forgot but I’m a stripper not a hooker.” You sit up in your chair fully ready to leave the room.

“They would provide you with a fully furnished apartment, medical coverage with 24/7 access to their fully trained medical staff. Any cash given to you by your clients you can keep, however they would take a percentage out of the money they initially pay for your services.”

“Let’s say I’m a little interested, how much is the initial pay for my services?” You want to deny the offer, nothing wrong with having sex for money but it isn’t really your thing.

Giran doesn’t answer right away, instead putting out what is left of his cigarette only to pull another one out of his blazer and lighting it up. “The starting hourly rate is $2,500 an hour, they would take 30 percent from that.”

Holy shit, that’s as much as I make in a day and I would be making it an hour? You keep your face neutral but something in your eyes must have tipped him off.

“You would start tomorrow; most clients keep a contract with their favorite employee and we actually have someone lined up for you already. He has extremely specific tastes and you are the perfect person to fill in.”

“I’ll have to talk to the club owner; would it be possible to start later?” You don’t want to seem to eager, especially not in front of him.

“I don’t see that as a problem, they can give you one week but that’s it.”

You stay silent, making it look like you’re thinking about it. After a moment you lean forward in your chair and stick your hand out. “Sounds like a deal to me.”

Giran grabs you hand and gives it a firm shake. “If you ever need help or have any questions call the number on the card. Now I believe you were offered dinner, let me take you to one of my favorite places.”

You let his hand go and rise from the chair. As Giran comes around the desk and walks towards the door, he stops for a moment and turns to you. “Welcome to the team.”

Dinner was actually genuinely nice; the food was good, and you were able to have a comfortable conversation with Giran. Of course, he didn’t tell you anything about himself, but you had no problems with that, you didn’t wanna share anything to personal about yourself either. He dropped you back off at your car after dinner and shook your hand again before driving off.

By the time you got home you had decided what you were gonna tell the club owner and mentally packed your apartment. Not wanting to take all of your things you moved most of it to a secure storage facility. Having had it for a few years already in order to store the overabundance of clothes you owned.

After the week was up you had quit your job and packed all of your belongings. You realize you don’t know where you are supposed to go so you pull out the card and call the number.

“Hello, how can I assist you?”

“Giran never told me where I would be moving my stuff to. Could you give me the address?” You pick at your nails while waiting for him to answer.

“Of course, Miss Erised. Will you be needing any assistance for your move?”

He sounds so polite; I wonder if he is always like this.

“No, I’ll be fine on my own thank you.”

He gives you the address and let you know that you can call if you need any additional information.

“Good luck Miss Erised.”

When you get back to your apartment you immediately go into the shower and wash up, using the tea tree oil that Froppy had said she uses in an interview.

I don’t understand how people can like this stuff, but he gets easier to handle if I smell like those women.

When you are done you towel dry your hair and make sure to lotion your whole body. When your hair is dry enough you straighten it and leave it down. He likes it better when its down.

You go to your closet and rifle through until finding the very skimpy version of Froppys hero costume. All it really has in common with the original is the tan harness and the green with black and yellow stripes. Otherwise, it is a one-piece bikini without a crotch. You grab your black leather over the knee boots and get dressed. After checking the time, you give yourself a moment to mentally prepare.

I hate this, I hate him. Disgusting filthy little bug. A false hero, a plague. I can’t wait to leave this place.

Standing in the middle of your room you close your eyes and take deep breaths, allowing your consciousness to drift. You have found that the best way to endure these sessions is to detach yourself from the situation. Only focusing on the absolute necessary and maintaining the effects of your quirk. Giving yourself another minute to get into character you walk to the door joining your apartment to the “service room”.

Thankfully, he hasn’t shown up yet, you shut the door hearing the lock click into place, the door seamlessly vanishing into the wall. Sitting on the edge of the bed you face the door that Mineta will walk through and wait.

No matter how many times we do this I never lose the feeling of wanting to vomit while bathing in bleach.

When he walks in you see that he is wearing his hero costume, as atrocious as it is. He never really deviated from the original design. You immediately start your performance.

“Mineta? What am I doing here? kero” You clasp your hands together in front of your chest and look around frightfully.

“Hello Tsu, what a pleasant surprise to see you here.” He walks up, taking off his gloves and throwing them to the side.

“I don’t understand, do you know where- “Your sentence is cut off, pain in your cheek sharp and hot.

“I don’t believe I gave you permission to talk Miss thirty sixth hero.” He stands there with his hand still up as you cup your cheek and look up at him, the tears in your eyes real. He pulls his hand back again as if to slap you and you flinch.

“Good girl, now finish taking off my outfit for me.” Mineta walks back a few steps and holds his arms out. Your fingers are clumsy as you take it of piece by piece.

Mineta abruptly grabs a fist full of your hair and yanks your head back. You grab his hand with both of yours trying to ease his grip.

“Do you think if you do it slow enough, I’ll get bored and go away?” He pulls harder. “Huh? You really think you’re gonna get out of this don’t you.” He tosses you towards the bed and you scramble to get back on your feet.

The tears in your eyes have started to spill over and you start babbling. “Please let me go Mineta, I don’t know what I did but please pleasejust forgive me kero. I won’t tell anyone about this just please don’t hurt me kero.”

He doesn’t answer you, just finishes taking off his outfit before he is walking towards you again, a vicious gleam in his beady eyes.

You back up until the back of your legs hits the bed. You open your mouth to speak but before you can utter a single word, he slaps you again.

“I told you not to speak unless I told you to once already. Now I’m gonna have to punish you, aren’t I?” He shoves you onto the bed and follows, using his knees to push your legs open he sits up and gives himself a few pumps.” No need to prep you, I want this to hurt.”

You are sobbing at this point, your hands covering your face when you feel him push into you. A scream rips out of your throat and you reach forward to push him away.

“You know Tsu, these meetups have been the best. I’m thinking next time I will find the REAL you and have even more fun.” He closes his eyes a leans his head back, fully immersed in only getting himself off.

To engrossed in his own world, he doesn’t realize that you have gone still. Your tears have stopped, and you have pulled your hands back from him.

DISGUSTING

“Find the real me?”

VILE

You break character, bringing your full consciousness back. You voice is just a whisper at first, so he doesn’t hear you, doesn’t stop thrusting.

FALSE HERO

“Find the REAL me?!” You are screaming at him now.

He finally stops, hearing you the second time. For a second you see fear in his eyes before they fill with rage.

MONSTER

“Hey! You better start doing the job I paid you for, I don’t come here for you to question me.” He lifts his hand up, as if to slap you again. Before his hand comes down you grab it, squeezing until he yelps in pain.

This job is over, he isn’t worth keeping around anymore.

“You think I give a shit about a little piss ant like you?!” As you sit up, he yanks his arm away and pulls out of you. Stumbling back, he starts shaking a finger in your direction.

“You can’t talk to me like that! You’re just a whore!”

You dart forward before he can put more distance between you and grab him by the neck. As you pick him up you snarl and let your quirk fade away.

“I may be a whore but I not a monster like you. You are just a fake hero, a plague on this world and I will get rid of every single one of you.” You throw him onto the ground still holding on to his neck and squeeze.

“In other news, Minoru Mineta also known as the pro hero Grape Juice has gone missing after several videos of him have gone viral. He was last seen leaving a brothel that has requested to remain nameless. The videos contain triggering scenes of the pro hero having relations with a prostitute while she is dressed in various hero suits the resemble his old female classmates. He even refers to them by name. The videos contain triggering images, and it is recommended to not seek them out. The original videos have since been taken down but are reuploaded onto the internet on several other sites. The prostitute shown in the videos has also gone missing. Any information on the whereabouts- “

The T.V. turns off, the voice of the news anchor no longer filling the dimly lit bar. The people present remain silent for a moment before a man with burns all over his body starts to laugh.

“You could have really fucked that up Doll. Good thing we got enough evidence.” You sneer at him, making sure you change your appearance to match your own desire. He flinches when he sees his own face.

“I wish you had cut him! There wasn’t enough blood to keep his appearance up for awfully long!” The young woman with two messy blond buns in her hair twirls a knife around.

“I’m terribly sorry Toga, but I didn’t have anything sharp with me.” You pick at your nails and look over at Kurogiri, who is busy pouring a glass of whiskey for Dabi. “Do I get a break after this one or do you and boss man have another gig for me?”

#lillith masterlist #lillith writes #lilliths writing

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brynnmck · 3 years

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J/B Smut Swap recs!

I come bearing @jb-smut-swap recs! Presented mostly in posting order because that’s mostly how I read them, though first, my wonderful gift fic:

Jaime’s Game by @catherineflowers29 - SOFTEST BONDAGE EVER. I have told multiple people that reading this story felt like getting a warm hug, but with ropes. And a crucial part of the softness is the vulnerability between them, the way they’re so clearly building their trust in each other, taking care of each other, and there’s just a little bit of adorable awkwardness too as they negotiate this new thing together. It made my heart so glowy and happy. Cathy, thank you so much for volunteering to pick this up and delivering something so well-suited to my requests; I could feel the care you took with this and I appreciate it so much! <333

More recs below the cut ‘cause this got long (as did Jaime, HEYOOO); if I missed anyone’s Tumblr handle, please let me know!

Binary Explosive by @sdwolfpup - Okay this isn’t in posting order but I DID read this first and also it’s my blog and I make the rules. Am I biased about this fic because it’s SDW and because it was inspired by one of my favorite due South episodes? Yes. Does that make this fic any less amazing? IT DOES NOT. This is battle couple/mutual competence kink/danger kink at its finest, crackling with banter and absolutely dripping with (literally potentially lethal) sexual tension, all wrapped up in an entirely swoonworthy established relationship. The cocktail of soft and horny here is thoroughly intoxicating, and it’s so much FUN, with just the right hint of crack, and the ending makes me kick my feet in glee every time I read it (which has been, of my own volition, SEVERAL TIMES). LOVE.

Thrust Exercises by @nire-the-mithridatist - STRIP SPARRING. We’ve all said it but also oh my god STRIP SPARRING. WHAT A GENIUS THOUGHT. This is a fabulous combination of fun and sexy, and they’re so FOND in it, too--nire hits such a beautiful note of playful competitiveness and also a little shyness/awkwardness and a LOT of heat and, has been very correctly noted, a VERY wonderfully slutty Jaime. (Jaime’s premeditation regarding their wedding night is both very horny and very sweet/thoughtful, and thus very Jaime, and also his line about how he quite likes her loud face is right up there with my favorite love confessions, as well as being a thing that Jaime and I very much have in common. AGH SO GOOD.)

Second Chances by @firesign23 - I love me some JAB and the setup of this is so delicious, that Brienne is given a second chance at an opportunity she once turned down. This is another one where all three of them just LIKE each other so much--the J/B is so solid and lived-in and warm, and the history between Jaime and Addam is delicious, and the Brienne/Addam has that little thrill of newness and “oh my god we actually get to do this” (there is a kitchen kiss that is GOOD TIMES for me). So much trust and love here, it’s lovely.

crosslines, the scratches and stains by QuixoticChloe - One of two sex bruises fics in the swap, and SCORCHING hot. This whole thing has such a teasing vibe to it, and a sense of dirty discovery within an established relationship, and the whole “we’ve got a sexy secret and we’re gonna torture each other with it as much as possible” aspect was A LOT. Damn.

Diplomatic Relations by @eryiscrye - In which Jaime and Brienne get married and proceed to scandalize/delight/horrify the entire continent with their loud married sex. IT’S GREAT. It’s Eryi’s so you know it’s gonna be super hot, and she really touched on so many of the greatest hits here: cave sex, armory sex, water sex, quiet sex, alcove sex, SO MANY GOOD CHOICES and so much sweetness to go with them, too. And the other characters’ pained/pleased observations were hysterical. SO much fun.

Apart, Together, Together Apart by greenmtwoman - Oof, this one made my chest ache in the best way. It’s so soft and romantic and LONGING and full of equal parts Brienne and Jaime’s devotion to each other and devotion to their respective duties, which feels incredibly true to them. The way this story builds and releases and then slowly builds tension again is lovely, and it’s bittersweet, but very full of hope for their future.

left your fingerprints all over me by @writergirl2011 - Friends-with-benefits-to-dating, yessssss. The banter in this was adorable, and the connection between them was so palpable, and it was delightful to watch them finally acknowledge their feelings.

Good Long Line of Praises by @aliveanddrunkonsunlight - In which Brienne discovers that Jaime has a praise kink and we ALL get to benefit. Actually the praise goes both ways here, and the result is lovely--they take each other apart at the same time they’re holding each other very closely, and it’s a wonderful mix of sweet and sexy. Another established relationship fic that included so much joy of discovery built over a strong foundation.

Nights Avoiding Things Unholy by @forbiddenfantasies1 - I was lucky enough to get a sneak preview of this one and when I tell you that it has been living rent-free in my mind ever since... this is LUDICROUSLY, brain-cell-incineratingly hot, with so many delicious horny details, but also with FF’s trademark gigantic heart behind it (I feel like heart + hornt is basically FF’s brand and I love this for all of us). Again, you get such a strong sense that these two LIKE each other so much, even when they’re a little resentful and a lot scared about it, and the filth is so full of genuine affection that it makes it all the more devastating. I literally read this and was like “shit, I gotta up my game” regarding my own draft, lol. SO GOOD.

Light My Fire by @wildlingoftarth - While I fully respect and celebrate the union suit kink, I don’t have strong feelings about it, myself, but this fic made me a convert. The painstakingly sexy descriptions here were SO MUCH, and I’m also such a huge sucker for the slightly chaotic camp counselors vibe of this, that sort of euphoria and recklessness that overtakes you when something time-bound is about to end. The banter was adorable, there were so many moments that made me giggle, and of course it was hot as hell too and I’m very glad that these two dorks FINALLY figured it out.

Clothes (un)Make the Man by @aviss - CLOTHES-SWAPPING YESSSSS. I am such a sucker for that and Aviss delivered on it beautifully; seeing the progression of their relationship was so delightful and the feelings built so well throughout, and there were a couple of lines that made me laugh out loud, and, again, both the tension and the smut were super hot. LOVELY.

I’ll never let you go (if you promise not to fade away) by LadyRhiyana - This fic is going to HAUNT ME in the BEST POSSIBLE WAY. For one thing, I have checked the word count MULTIPLE times to make sure it’s not ten times as long because the world here is so vivid and so affecting that it’s like some sort of magic. I adore the setting here, and Cersei’s POV is spectacular--she’s all sharp edges and frustrated longing for the things she thinks she can’t have and I felt for her SO MUCH. Both she and Jaime are just incredibly, helplessly horny for (HOT MECHANIC) Brienne, and I loved the way that LadyRhiyana made it so clear that having Brienne there shifts the balance for Jaime and Cersei just enough that all their spikes can slide together a little better instead of just eviscerating each other all the time--and yet this happens without ever making it feel like Brienne is just a conduit or a means to an end for them; all three sides of the triad feel thoroughly distinct and important (including a very deft hand with the Jaime/Cersei aspect). It’s also EXTREMELY hot, and the Jaime/Brienne aspect has so much softness to it, and Brienne is so forthright and so kind and so curious, and AGH. I loved this.

a grip so tight I couldn’t tear it apart by @janiedean - The other sex bruises fic, and this one ended up (coincidentally, I assume) being a perfect bookend to the other one--if the modern AU is all about sexy secrets, this canon-based one is all about Jaime and Brienne’s pride in each other and joy in not having to hide their relationship, gleefully declaring their love and desire for each other for everyone to see. I was so happy for them!

with those who know secret things by @sdwolfpup - This has been recced widely and DESERVEDLY SO. The amount of CARE in this fic is overwhelming, and it’s full of all of these subtle details that suddenly come into sharp focus at just the right moment to really devastate you, and by you, I mean me. The prose itself is also gorgeous--the description of Brienne in her ad came directly for my throat (as well as some other places)--and it’s beautiful to watch these two surprise and delight and take care of each other. They’re both so GOOD and Jaime is so soft and vulnerable and Brienne is so kind and incisive and THEY LIKE EACH OTHER AND WANT EACH OTHER SO MUCH I CAN’T. The whole thing is lustrous and wonderful and I adored it.

Today Will Die Tomorrow by HNJ - This fic also DESTROYED me. The way the time shifts are handled so that we slowly put the pieces of the night together and feel the full impact of each moment, the understated delicacy and very obvious love with which both Jaime and Brienne are handled, the multiple lines that made me catch my breath with how TRUE they were, the way their love for each other uncurls and opens up to the light over the course of the story... it’s really gorgeous and just burrowed right into my heart. I also loved that this was a canon-based first time that focused more on Brienne not knowing what to do emotionally than not knowing what to do physically; I’ve read and enjoyed the latter a bunch of times but the former felt really fresh and fascinating; it was an excellent take.

Hush by @kiraziwrites - I have a thing for quiet sex anyway, and like everyone else, I will be suing kirazi for the fact that this fic left my brain a smoldering wreckage with nary a coherent thought left for the comment box. The sex in this is so deliciously varied and dirty and every bit of it feels somehow decadent and completely necessary at the same time, and watching their relationship build as they try each new thing is wonderful, and there are so many images in this that have burned themselves into the empty space where my brain used to be and taken up permanent residence. I could list MANY, but a sampling: the glacier comparison, and Brienne’s teeth-marks in Jaime’s jacket, and also Brienne DROPPING A CONDOM IN JAIME’S POCKET AND PROPOSITIONING HIM ARE YOU ACTUALLY TRYING TO END MY LIFE, KIRAZI. It’s also so funny and so fond and the fact that it’s literally exactly 5K is such a flex, I can’t even. Gah. TOO MUCH.

we used to wait by @it-may-be-dull-but-im-determined - I was reading things in update order and I kept thinking that I hadn’t read one yet that I could clock as jencat’s, and then kirazi was flailing about this fic and how beautiful the prose was and how strong a sense of place it had and I was like aha without even having read it yet. And this fic is indeed those things, as well as being sexy as fuck; Jen just drags the tension out and out in this very deliberate-yet-spare-yet-somehow-also-lush way until you want to claw your face off (and then she makes it totally worth the wait, too). Their relationship had some wonderful details, too, to show how well-matched they are--Jaime increasing the speed on his treadmill to match Brienne’s, rather than to exceed it, wasn’t what I was expecting and worked fabulously in this context--and the image of Jaime leaning against the wall at a crucial moment was SO MUCH. Whew. Just lovely.

The Waters and the Wild by LadyRhiyana - The last entry in the swap but by no means the least! This was another one where I couldn’t believe how much happened in such a short space; the descriptions were so vivid and cinematic, I could see the whole landscape unfold in my head, and it included some high-quality competence kink, too. We get just enough backstory to be fully invested in this version of Jaime and Brienne, including their delightful hidden-identity initial meeting, and the tension and affection and trust and frustration between them just simmers and simmers until it inevitably boils over and it’s incredibly satisfying. I also thoroughly adored the ending--including Brienne being as indignant as Jaime at [redacted]--and I would buy this movie so fast if it actually existed.

#jaime x brienne #jaime x brienne fic rec #braime #jb smut swap #hopefully i didn't forget anything #congratulations to everyone on a wonderful job!

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lokislittlesigyn · 3 years

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OG616 : Thor: The Dark World - Pt.3 [Thor’s Return]

[My masterlist, where all parts of this and my other fics can be found]

Pairing: Loki / Sigyn (basically an oc based off the marvel/myth namesake)

Warnings: just more sad - but with some hope at the end!

Author’s Note: I take some deleted scenes as canon, so enjoy those making a little appearance. c:

Taglist: @high-functioning-lokipath , @onaheroicmission To be added to the taglist, just ask me here or send a message! <3 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Loki was first imprisoned, it had been summertime - but the bright days and warm, temperate nights spent gazing up at the stars brought Sigyn little comfort. She wished he were there, with her. As time passed, along with grief for what could have been, a gradual swell of frustration and despair welled up inside of her.

He was so close. On the same realm, but stuck in the deepest reaches of Asgard.

Frigga had helped her send more gifts. Odin, catching onto their scheme, clearly disapproved. He never confronted her about it, but Sigyn often gave him a wide berth just in case.

And she never once dared to go near the entrance to the dungeons.

She avoided that area of the palace entirely, in fact. For months she dutifully kept her promise, instead pouring into the letters that were safely hidden in the folds of books she sent to Loki. She told him what everyone was doing, how the realms were faring, and what new (or old) places she’d found in the forest. She told him of any astronomical happenings, knowing he liked to watch the sky. She even told him, around Yule, how she had thought of him during the celebratory toasts.

By the time a second summer passed, Sigyn was running low on books to send.

Eventually, whispers of autumn played on the breeze. The chipper green hues of summer gave way to fiery reds, the same color as…

Sigyn sighed heavily, sitting on a tufted window seat in a breezy area of the palace, her sketchbook on her lap.

Thor still hadn’t returned home.

Neither had Sif, nor the Warriors Three. Instead, troops of Einherjar, often led by Tyr, funneled enemy captives into the dungeons. She saw them sometimes, droves of hardened criminals, some still covered in blood that was most likely not theirs, being paraded down into the depths.

It would be easy enough to disguise herself, slip in among them, and then… Well, trying to avoid being imprisoned herself was the tricky part. She huffed through her nose. In truth, she’d concocted dozens of far-fetched plans on how to reach Loki, or free him.

But she was bound by her word.

Frigga was too smart to let me go without making a promise, Sigyn mused, She knew I’d go straight to him otherwise. But this existence is.. Miserable.

Sigyn closed her eyes. She had spent countless days on a seat like this years ago, lying next to Loki. Sunny mornings and rainy afternoons, cozied up with a good book and loving company…

She shook her head and sighed.

An eternity alone.

One year was a fraction of her life, yet it felt like an eternity in itself. Were they doomed to this fate forever? Odin showed no sign of shortening Loki’s sentence, despite her excellent behavior. Even Frigga couldn’t convince him to letting anyone visit the dungeons, outside of delivering prisoners.

Fate…

Grabbing her book, Sigyn flipped through the pages. It doubled as a notebook of sorts, and often accompanied her on trail rides or trips to visit Heimdall and learn about the stars. It was an unassuming and well-loved little book, the pages all crumpled and covered in scribbled-down futhark.

Eventually, she found the page she was looking for, and the symbol upon it. Three sets of three lines. One, vertical, the other two at angles. The web of Wyrd. The net of Skuld. The matrix of fate.

Her eyes drifted to the margins, where she’d taken notes from a book in the library - the same one she had read frequently after Loki’s fall. It had quickly become a favorite book in those months, so much that she’d copied an entire page from it. A knot formed in her throat as she read.

“Here we see how the past, present, and future are interconnected. Norns, keepers of fate, weave them through spinning the strings of our lives. We provide the material with our choices, our actions. But who is to say this life is the only tapestry made?

Endless choices, endless possibilities await us with every day, every breath. Surely, other paths await. For as we exhale our final breath in this life, we inhale our first in another: An eternal tapestry of fate.”

Sigyn held the book closer, pressing it to her chest. A tear slid down her cheek, plopping into her lap.

I’ll see you again, love. In this life or the next.

~~~~

Weeks later still, Thor returned to Asgard, inspiring raucous celebration in his wake. The entire realm seemed to rejoice upon his return. By the time a new wave of prisoners had been taken to the dungeons, and those escorting them could return to their lives, it was dark out. Cold.

Snow drifted down from the sky, white powder collecting on the edges of streets and tops of buildings. The beginnings of winter had found its way to Asgard: the last hues of fall clinging to the trees, cool rain now replaced with soft flurries of white.

Sigyn took a deep breath of icy air, pulling the collar of her sapphire cloak closer to her neck. Oddly enough, she enjoyed the cold. It felt familiar.

She had changed into a slightly thicker, warmer version of her riding outfit. But now she adorned it with an emerald and gold sash tied around her waist, as well as her necklace, which was tucked in her shirt.

As beautiful as the palace was, Sigyn always loved roaming the city.

Fires blazed around her, filling the night with bursts of amber light, and countless Asgardians were already celebrating the recent victory on Vanaheim. Laughing, drinking, reveling.

Sigyn quickened her pace.

Children raced past her and she recognized them as Volstagg's son and daughter, following them through a tavern. She exhaled a gentle breath, the warm air melting the snowflakes on her shoulders as she approached a large table. A powerful voice filled the room everyone was nestled into.

"... Cracking under the strain, I threw the beast off. But, six more beat me to the ground, crushing my blade as if it was paper- Oh, you're missing the best part, hah!" Volstagg called his children over, scooping his daughter up into his lap. She giggled.

Sigyn took a careful seat next to Thor, who smiled a silent greeting. She returned it. Across the room, Fandral, ignoring his two lady-friends for a moment, gave Sigyn a small wave. She smiled again, nodding at him.

Thank the Norns they’re home safe.

"Now, where was I..?" Volstagg held his daughter in his lap.

"You were surrounded." Thor smiled, taking a drink.

"Again." Fandral smirked.

"Oh, yes, yes yes, by the most vile criminals the Nine Realms have ever produced!" Volstagg embellished each word with dramatic movements, entertaining the crowd.

"To our left, savage beasts, with fangs like knives! To our right, soldiers of fortune, their blades dripping with blood! And who was there to face the horde, but Fandral the Dashing!"

"I was." Fandral took a drink.

"Hogun the Grim," Volstagg continued, "And Volstagg the.." He stopped.

"Voluminous?" One of Fandral's ladies suggested.

"Fat." Fandral chuckled, and even Thor and Sigyn laughed.

Volstagg looked indignant. "Invincible!" He corrected, "I don't mind telling you, I feared for Thor's life." He pointed to the thunder god, who was still grinning.

"But," Volstagg raised his voice, "With steely courage, intrepid spirit, and an axe-" He beat the table with a fist, "Victory was ours!" then raised a toast to tumultuous applause.

Thor clapped, drinking more mead. "Truly, a tale for the ages."

"No doubt he'll be telling it that long as well," Fandral took another drink.

"Another!" Volstagg shouted, tossing his goblet aside. Several others did the same.

Sigyn kept smiling, but never as widely as she once would have.

I wish you were here, Loki.

I wish you were here beside me. Joining in the celebration. Correcting Volstagg, rolling your eyes and chuckling at him.

You could always make me laugh.

She felt Thor move next to her, setting down his goblet without so much as sipping from it.

"Brother?" She muttered to him.

He pursed his lips in a half-smile. “It’s nothing.” But as he gave her a firm, loving pat on the shoulder and left, Sigyn saw a pain behind his eyes she knew all too well.

The mortal he met, he still misses her. Her heart ached. I know how that feels...

Sigyn left the celebration early, heading straight to the palace.

It didn’t take her long to find Frigga. She was in her chambers, a basin of fire lit before her. Sigyn cleared her throat.

Frigga glanced at her over her shoulder. “It’s quite cold out tonight. Though, I expect the festivities are keeping you all warm.”

“Some warmer than others. Fandral has returned to being.. Well, Fandral.”

The queen laughed gently. “Yes, I expect he has.”

Sigyn huffed a small laugh, walking closer. They stood a moment, watching the flames.

“Frigga..” Sigyn started, looking at her - she noticed there were tears in the queen’s eyes. “Is.. Something wrong?”

Frigga smiled sadly. “I spoke with him today. Loki.”

Sigyn froze. Frigga continued, “Using illusions, of course. He’s settled in nicely - you did well, choosing things that would help him feel more comfortable. I had meant to fetch you tomorrow, in fact, to help you visit him through magic - Odin is in good spirits, now that Thor has returned. But I’m not sure Loki would like to see me for a while.”

Sigyn swallowed. “What did he do?”

Frigga rubbed her hands together. “He is bitter. Angry. Hurting. I fear resentment toward Odin and Thor has clouded his judgement..”

“I need to see him,” She whispered, so softly she was surprised when Frigga heard.

“Yes.” The queen agreed. “And he needs you.”

Sigyn looked at her, eyes filled with tears.

#loki x sigyn #loki fanfic #logyn #OG616 #thor: the dark world

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estrellaphantom · 4 years

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Hey Holis how are you ?! I hope it's ok.

Today I come to share with you a HC of Marco in the Universe of my fic Miguel and I: our story and Morir de Amor. So we started xd.

❗❗ WARNING: POSSIBLY A LOT OF XDDD TEXT❗❗

Marco de la Cruz is a descendant of Ernesto de la Cruz. His entire family after Ernesto, dedicated themselves to the world of entertainment and entertainment and others. But not many were dedicated to music, Marco's grandfather was one of the only ones who dedicated themselves to that.

Marco's father tried to dedicate himself to music but in the end he did not succeed and he became a soap opera producer and his wife was an actress. And they had Marco.

He had a practically normal and solitary life; his parents worked and went to events almost always and Marco was in the care of a nanny. That never bothered him.

His relationship with his parents was almost little, with his mother he got along very well, she tried to put aside her work a bit and spend time with Marco. And that always made Marco very happy. He loved his mother.

But with his father it was another story, he could not leave his job a little aside to spend time with his family and his relationship with Marco was quite bad. The man was very strict with Marco and wanted him to do just what he wanted. That annoyed Marco a lot. But he didn't care much about that.

Marco had a practically excellent economic life; money was not lacking thanks to his parents, he had a good education and friends were plenty. With all this it could be said that Marco was happy but he did not consider it that way.

And nothing really got better in his teens; Always in the entertainment world there are fake news and scandals that cause problems for people and their families. The same happened with him and his family.

A journalist gave an article in a magazine exposing Marco's mother to being unfaithful to her husband. That caused many problems for the couple and therefore they ended up divorcing. That also brought many problems for Marco who had to accept what happened. Some days he spent time with his mother and on other days with his father. With his mother it was a little different than before; His mother seemed calmer and spent more time with him, she had even talked to him about a possible partner that Marco did not like at first, but his mother had the right to recover from the hell and coldness that happened with his father for several years, so He also accepted it, the guy he was dating was very good and was very kind to him (very different from his dad).

And when he spent time with his dad it was pretty much the same as before they split; He went to work and left Marco in the care of someone else. But there were occasions where she took him to work, to the recording sets of the novels that his father works on. Marco watched the stars rehearse their lines and be preparing for the scenes that would come out. But something in particular caught his attention; one of the most popular actresses of the moment (who still has no name xd) was chased by some journalists and she ran to get away from us until the security came to help her. There she understood that the world where her father works was garbage.

I mean, I didn't understand how there were people who couldn't have a little privacy because there were people like the paparazzi who didn't care about that to screw your life. He had already lived it, a reporter screwed up his life in a certain way and now his parents were separated. He didn't want that in his life, he didn't want people hanging around and bothering him all the time.

But something he liked about this whole world of garbage, was that people kept the people of the country aware of many things through the news and transmitted messages in the movies and in the novels, whatever it was, there were always messages to try to help people realize that society changes. And that was what Marco loved; He wanted to give his grain of sand and help people with messages of encouragement and improvement. So he decided and wanted to dedicate himself to voice over. That was almost the same but it was something more Anonymous.

Until again everything went down a pipe.

Marco loved music thanks to his grandfather and Ernesto de la Cruz. When he listened to it he liked to sing but he did not like to be heard. His dad heard him at one point and decided that his son would be a singer. And that to Marco did not like and that caused even more problems between them. His mother always defended him from his father and his mother's partner also wanted Marco to choose what he considers best for his future. And so it was for a long time fights between those adults to help Marco.

But again everything had gone to hell in a matter of seconds. Marco's mother and her partner had died in a car accident. That left Marco very hurt and he had to stay with his dad and he had to do everything his dad told him. And so it was that his career began to grow; his father took him to castings and to programs to sing. He already had a fan club, but he was very indifferent to all of them. He didn't really care about his fans that much he just pretended.

But all that changed when he met who would become his best friend, Miguel Rivera.

He had gone to Santa Cecilia to visit his grandfather and came across a boy named Miguel Rivera. By then Ernesto's farce had already been discovered and when I spoke to him for the first time, I thought it would be uncomfortable, but Miguel did not. He was always friendly with him and showed Marco a tender smile and that brought a lot of confidence to the boy. And so every time he went to Santa Cecilia he played with him and his friend Leo and the three of them became great friends. But Marco told Miguel more things than Leo. There was something about Miguel that attracted Marco too much. He felt great affection for Miguel, and perhaps something more than affection.

And Miguel also loved Marco very much and had great admiration for him. Marco taught her new singing techniques and taught her to play new instruments. He saw him as "his teacher".

As the years went by, Marco became convinced that he felt something more for Miguel, and he was willing to tell him but he didn't count on Miguel already having a girlfriend. That left him quite hurt and he walked away from him for a while. During those months his father fell ill and died later, but he managed to start a very pleasant conversation with him and they had finally forgiven each other for everything. Miguel showed up at the funeral to see his friend. He told her that he had broken up with his girlfriend.

Marco thought he had a new opportunity to tell Miguel what he felt, but again their work separated them and he couldn't tell him anything.

Until they met again and Miguel told him that he felt something for a young man he met in San Fransokyo. A young Asian man who stole his heart. Marco felt bad again but understood that his best friend was never going to reciprocate. So I leave it at that.

He continued his life and met a girl who happened to be a friend of Miguel's boyfriend and the truth was she was beautiful and he started dating her. So I forget how I felt for Miguel. Or so I thought.

When Miguel dies, Marco feels too bad, he was his best friend and was always by his side to support him, he felt a huge pain in his heart. His best friend whom he always chatted with and whom he loved was gone and he couldn't help himself. And doubts arise in him. Maybe I never stop loving him.

Too much text I warned jsjsj. But I appreciate you if you read it all. Uwu.

I want to do more of Marco, and I was thinking of doing a special chapter of him in one of the writings, although now I don't know why it might be a better idea to write a totally directed writing for Marco.

Another thing that I still doubt is that in the writings both would be karco (karmi x Marco) but now I don't know why a part of me wants there to be karkyel (kylexkarmixmarco).

I'm thinking of starting to stream and tell you more about this and other ideas that I have in mind so as not to leave you reading a shit and screw your jsjsjs view.

Anyway you tell me what you think of these ideas and what you would like to know.

Come out bye ~ uwu I love you take care of yourself.

⭐The characters are not mine, they belong to their respective creators.

⭐The characters are +18.

#coco #bh6 #higuelAu #MarcodelaCruz

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purple-emo · 4 years

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Princess Lavinia: Chapter One

Description: Roman projects his feelings onto a fictional character. Things get out of hand.

Pairings: Platonic prinxiety has a lot of focus in this chapter, but the real pairing here is Roman x depression

Warnings: Suicide, suicidal ideation, dissociation(?)

Notes: Seriously, don’t read this if you’re not in the appropriate frame of mind to read about suicide. Also, first fic on the new blog! Yay!

Roman’s adventures with Princess Lavinia started off fairly innocent. He’d made himself a small kingdom in the mind palace in which to conduct magical adventures, and, with the other sides frequently too busy to join him in his exploits, it wasn’t long before Roman saw the need to create an adventuring companion as well. She was the archetypal fairytale princess: pretty, kind, and able to fill any role that the narrative required of her. Because she was created by Roman, Lavina lacked the capacity to do anything that Roman’s own imagination could not conceive, but, as the embodiment of creativity, he didn’t feel at all restricted by this limitation. Lavinia quickly became one of Roman’s favourite hobbies: when he needed a break from his work, he would excuse himself to his kingdom. There, he would act out a variety of stories with Lavinia: saving her from dragons; exploring ancient ruins with her; defending their kingdom from armies of hostile elves. The many enemies they slayed left no corpses behind, instead exploding into red rose petals. Death was messy, and Roman thought it best to avoid dealing with it too directly.

“You’re my best friend,” he had Lavinia say after one particularly eventful quest, “and I would slay all the monsters in the world with nothing but a hand fan just to keep you safe.”

“Oh, that’s good,” he replied, writing the line down in his notebook. His adventures with Lavinia were an excellent source of dialogue. Later, he had her do exactly the thing she had described, and then did it himself just to see what it was like. It was wonderful.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

Gradually, Roman found himself spending more time with Lavinia than with the other sides or Thomas. He loved his friends, but his interactions with them didn’t quite sparkle the way his stories did. Nobody and nothing was dramatic enough, or emotional enough, or real enough, except for that one little piece of the mind palace and the make-believe Princess living in it. Everything else in Roman’s life felt unbearably boring, and although his friends made things a lot more tolerable, they could never compete with the products of his own imagination.

One afternoon, while they were enjoying a picnic after a successful battle, Lavinia turned to Roman with a frown. “Are you okay?” She asked. “Your heart didn’t really seem to be in it today.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He stared down at his untouched sandwich.

“It’s not nothing! You can talk to me about anything, Roman. That’s what I’m here for, I think.”

Roman sighed. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I guess the whole… fairytale adventure thing feels a bit hollow right now.” So does everything else, he nearly added. “I think right now I’d prefer something more…” he gestured vaguely, trying to find the right word.

“Mature?” Lavinia suggested.

“Maybe. I think what I want is emotional depth. Swordfights and dragons are fun, but I think I’m not really feeling it right now.”

“Hmmm…” Lavinia looked down and fidgeted with her hair, taking in this new information. After a few seconds, she met Roman’s eyes again, sorrow written clearly in her expression. “I’m cursed,” she announced. “Someone has taken my heart and locked it up in a faraway, secret place, so that I can never really be human again.”

Roman scribbled excitedly in his notebook, letting a wave of sorrow and pity wash over him. It felt beautiful. “That’s terrible. How can we break the curse?”

Lavinia stared at Roman in silence for a few seconds, and he suddenly felt as if she was looking directly into his soul. “I don’t think we can,” she said.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

For the next few weeks, Roman spent most of his time with Lavinia, fleshing out her backstory. He wrote it all down in his notebook for future reference: Lavinia’s villainous twin sister, exiled to a distant land for her crimes; her desperate desire to impress her father, the king—all of it was carefully summarized in neat, princely handwriting for incorporation in future creative projects. Roman felt genuinely passionate for the first time in a while. Meeting with Lavinia and learning more about her became the highlight of his day; the stab of sorrow he felt in his gut whenever she disclosed something particularly tragic was invigorating. It made him feel so much more alive than he had in weeks. And then—

“I shouldn’t be alive,” said Lavinia.

Roman had, on some level, seen it coming. After all, he was the one coming up with Lavinia’s lines, however passively. This did not prevent him from nearly dropping his notebook in shock. It hurt to hear her say that, and he loved it.

“Why?” He asked her.

“I’ve been thinking about the curse,” Lavinia explained, “and the more I think about it, the clearer it becomes that I was wrong. It wasn’t a curse at all; I had no heart to take because I was never real enough to have one. This body,” she ran a shaking hand along her arm, “people like to make up stories about it. They imagine that it is a princess, and that her name is Lavinia, and that she is kind and cheerful and brave,” Lavinia was crying, “but it’s a corpse, and I am a ghost who has stolen it.”

“What are you going to do now?” asked Roman. He noticed a small knife in Lavinia’s hand. How long had it been there?

“I don’t know,” Lavinia admitted, staring down at the knife. “Too many people think Lavinia is real. I don’t want to disappoint them.”

The knife quickly dissolved into rose petals, and Roman felt a strange sense of disappointment as he watched them slip through Lavinia’s fingers.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

It was three days before Lavinia went through with it. When she pressed the knife to her throat, Roman begged her not to do it. He didn’t mean it of course (the whole scenario was still his idea); he just felt like it would ruin the immersion for him to just stand around and do nothing. Inevitably, she cut her throat. Inevitably, Roman held her in his arms and watched blood flow from the wound with the detached voyeurism of an author writing a tragedy. Inevitably, she exploded into a shower of rose petals.

Roman stayed sitting on the floor for a while, blood on his clothes and rose petals in his hands. His heart was racing, and he felt like his whole body was soaked with sweat. That beautiful, overwhelming sword of pain was stabbing through his heart with an intensity he had never before felt. It was agonizing, and it was glorious.

Roman snapped his fingers, and Lavinia was back in front of him, unharmed.

She went for the knife immediately.

They went through the scenario five more times, trying out different lines, different actions on Roman’s part, different ways for Lavinia to hurt herself. Roman was preparing himself for another run-through when he felt himself being pulled out of the mind palace.

He rose up in his usual spot. “Roman—“ Thomas, who had evidently summoned him, cut himself off with a gasp. “Oh my gosh. Are you okay?”

Roman glanced around the room. Patton, Logan, and Virgil were all there in addition to Thomas, and all of them were staring at Roman with varying amounts of horror and concern. Roman abruptly remembered that he was covered in blood.

“Don’t worry,” he assured Thomas. “It’s not mine.”

Nobody looked particularly comforted by the clarification. “Do I want to know?” asked Thomas.

“Probably not. Anyway, what’s the situation?”

“Recently,” Logan explained, “Thomas has noticed that many of his ideas are much more melancholy in tone than usual. Remus swears that he isn’t the one responsible, so, logically, it must be due to your influence that Thomas is having these ideas.”

Panic filled Roman’s chest. “I’m sorry—“

Thomas cut him off. “I’m not mad. I’m totally fine with using darker concepts in my work if that’s what you think is best. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“You haven’t been talking as much lately,” Patton added, “and some of the concepts you’re giving Thomas are a bit… out of the ordinary for you.” He made eye contact, looking noticeably concerned. “We just want you to know that you can talk to us if there’s something wrong.”

Anguish returned to Roman’s chest, feeling more agonizing than cathartic. He’d failed. He’d let his feelings get in the way of his work, and now everyone thought there was something wrong, and they were all looking at him with those kind, worried expressions that he knew he didn’t deserve.

What would they think if they knew what he’d been doing all afternoon? Roman glanced down at the blood on his clothes and decided that everything was fine. It had to be.

Roman laughed, perhaps a bit too loudly. “Thank you all, but I’m fine, really. I just wanted to try some new ideas. On a scale of one to ten, how much do you love them?”

Virgil stared suspiciously at him from across the room. “Do your ‘new ideas’ involve you rising up covered in blood and looking like you just saw a serial killer? I saw the look on your face when Thomas summoned you. There’s something you’re not telling us.”

“I was having one of my adventures just now, and things got a little intense,” Roman said, his heart racing. “Not everything has some deep hidden meaning behind it, The Smell Jar.”

“That was childish, even for you,” said Virgil, “but I like the Sylvia Plath reference.”

“Ah, Sylvia Plath,” said Logan. “Did you know that, in addition to her writing, she also made visual art?”

Roman’s strange behaviour forgotten, the conversation moved on.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

Over the next several weeks, Roman found himself with less and less motivation to do anything but run through stories with Lavinia. He told himself that he was still being productive—he continued to write things down in case they came in handy for a future creative project, even though his “adventures” in the kingdom were all far too violent and depressing to ever be turned into something useful for Thomas. Roman hardly ever wanted to tell stories about anything other than suicide. It was, of course, only a matter of time before things escalated further.

One day, after around the eighth time Lavinia had died, Roman realized that his usual routine was starting to get boring. That dazzling anguish in his chest was diminishing in intensity. He needed something more real, something more personal. He needed—

Roman snapped his fingers, and Lavinia appeared looking much more alert than she had in weeks.

“I want to die,” he told her.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

That day, Roman attempted suicide nine times. None of it was real, of course, but he did his best to make it feel real. Lavinia pulled him close, kept him back from the windowsill, repeated over and over again every reason Roman could think of for him to stay alive. He told himself it was only acting. By the third time, he felt as if he was on the verge of tearing in half: one part of him, his body made of shaking, warm metaphysical flesh, stayed with its feet planted firmly on the ground. The rest of him drifted in and out of sync with his body, bobbing and pulling up to the sky like a balloon tied to his wrist. At the time, it seemed overwhelmingly important to Roman that he find a way to cut the string: it was strange, being only halfway outside of his body. He would have greatly preferred to drift away entirely, to break into pieces and sail through the sky to places unknown.

He told himself it was only acting.

It was fairly late in the afternoon when Roman remembered his notebook. Head still spinning from the previous several hours, he reached into his pocket and found it empty. He’d forgotten the notebook. In its place, Roman summoned a slip of paper and a pen. He’d copy his notes down later.

♥♥♥♥♥♥

Roman headed back to his room a few minutes later. He still felt somewhat disconnected from his body, but the feeling was fading fast. He made an effort to notice the colours of things. White walls. Brown rug. Black shoes. Roman was still naming colours when he opened the door to his bedroom and saw Virgil pacing nervously around the room.

At the sound of the door opening, Virgil turned to look at him. His eyeshadow was smudged, and he looked like he’d been crying. He was holding his phone in one hand and Roman’s notebook in the other.

There was a long pause. Roman internally braced himself for yelling, or crying, or deeply awkward emotional conversation.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Virgil said finally.

Roman gestured to his dresser, where his phone sat partially obscured by a small stack of loose paper. “I didn’t have it with me.” He watched Virgil quickly type something. “What are you doing?”

“I’m texting Patton. I was worried, so I asked him to go look for you.”

“Oh.” Roman suddenly felt very nervous. “I’m sorry. Does he know about…?”

“This?” Virgil held up the notebook. “No. I found it when I was in here looking for my nail polish.”

Roman walked over to a nearby drawer and produced a bottle of black nail polish with a little Jack Skellington face on its lid. He’d ‘borrowed’ it a few weeks prior for some now-abandoned photography project, and subsequently forgotten about it. “Here.” He handed it to Virgil.

“Thanks,” said Virgil, slipping the bottle into his hoodie pocket. “I’d remind you to stay out of my room, but it looks like we have more important things to worry about right now.”

There was another pause. “You probably want to talk about that, don’t you?” said Roman, gesturing to the notebook in Virgil’s hand.

“Yeah. Can we go somewhere else—I mean, if you’re comfortable—”

Roman waved a hand, and suddenly they were in the castle he’d created for Lavinia. The light of a full moon streamed through a floor length window, illuminating the antique-looking couch that was the centerpiece of the room. An archway opposite the window led out to a pristine, wallpapered hallway. “Is this good?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Virgil said nervously. He walked to one of the couches and sat down with strained formality. Roman quietly took a seat next to him. “So, um… first question: who’s Princess Lavinia?”

“She’s a character I created. This,” he gestured to the room around them, “is where she lives. I come here when I’m craving adventure.”

“So, she’s like an imaginary friend?”

“Basically. She’s upstairs, if you want to meet her.”

“I…” Virgil glanced down at the notebook. “No thanks. I want to talk to you. Second question: what’s the deal with this notebook?”

“That’s where I document my adventures with Lavinia, in case they come in handy for scriptwriting or something similar.

Virgil nodded. “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “I guess what I have to ask is… why all the suicide? Like, at least half of this notebook is just Princess Lavinia killing herself in different ways. That’s not exactly an ‘adventure.’ It sounds more like you’re having some kind of mental breakdown that you cope with by standing in an imaginary castle and watching a fictional character die over and over, which is honestly pretty concerning.”

“I am not having ‘some kind of mental breakdown,’” Roman insisted. “I am acting. What, am I not allowed to tell stories with emotional depth?” That last question came out a lot more aggressively than Roman had intended, but before he could apologize, Virgil was already responding.

“This isn’t emotional depth! This is the same emotion repeated over and over for, like, forty pages!” Virgil paused. “Is this what you were doing that day you showed up covered in blood?”

“Yeah. That was basically when it started.”

Virgil paused, taking in this information. “That was a month and a half ago,” he said, horrified.

Roman felt sweaty. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. You don’t need to worry—”

“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” snapped Virgil. “Of course I’m going to worry! I’m Anxiety, and you’ve been roleplaying suicide fantasies with your weird self-insert OC for—” he stood up and flipped frantically through the pages of the notebook. “Have you been doing this every day?”

Roman nodded, very much wishing he could escape the conversation.

Virgil swore quietly. “This explains so much.”

Roman stood up and awkwardly extended a hand to comfort him. “It’s really not that big of a deal.” He was suddenly aware of an inexplicable sense of urgency.

Virgil stepped backwards, avoiding Roman’s touch. “Not that big of a deal? Are you kidding me? You barely talk to anyone at all anymore, you give Thomas either weirdly depressing ideas or nothing at all, and you literally spend all your free time thinking about suicide. If you actually think you’re in any way okay, then you’re either deeply in denial or a complete idiot.”

“I’m not…” Roman trailed off. Somehow, he couldn’t think of a rebuttal. He went over the past few months in his mind and realized that Virgil was right. “I haven’t been myself,” he admitted, sinking back onto the couch. “I don’t think I’m even real, actually.” Roman buried his face in his hands, fighting back tears. He was suddenly very conscious of how exhausted he felt.

The room was silent for several long seconds.

“What do you mean?” asked Virgil.

Roman looked up, and saw that Virgil had quietly taken a seat next to him. What did Roman mean? Of course he wasn’t real—none of them were, but Roman’s words had meant something more than that. Looking at Virgil, he got an impression of existence that he hadn’t gotten from himself in a long time. Virgil was Virgil, in a way that Roman could never hope to be Roman. It occurred to him that perhaps he’d been projecting onto Lavinia a bit more than he’d realized.

“I’m supposed to be better than this,” said Roman. “I’m supposed to be Prince Roman, source of Thomas’ hopes and dreams. I’m supposed to be Creativity. I’m supposed to be kind, and charming, and brave, but I’m just…” he trailed off. “If I can’t give him anything to look forward to, what good am I? Why should I exist?”

Roman hadn’t expected himself to say that. “This is a problem,” he said through tears, “isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Virgil. They sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again. “Look, um… it might not mean much, because our situations are kind of different, but I used to think that I didn’t contribute anything useful, and that everyone would be better off without me, and that it wouldn’t matter if I removed myself from the equation. Do you remember what happened when I actually left?”

Roman stared thoughtfully at the carpet. “Thomas became a complete fool with no inhibitions.”

“Right! Because I was wrong, and so are you.”

Roman considered this for a moment. The words were so simple, and yet, somehow, Virgil’s reassurance felt so much more comforting than any of the things he’d had Lavinia say to talk him down. “That… actually helps a lot. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Virgil crossed his arms thoughtfully. “We should probably tell Thomas to see a therapist or something. If you’re… like this, he probably isn’t doing great either, whether he realizes it or not.”

Roman nodded. “That’s probably a good idea. Just…” he hesitated, “can we keep this a secret? The things I just told you about, I mean.”

“Are you sure?” asked Virgil. “It seems like something he should know about.”

“I’m sure.” Roman felt a surge of panic. He couldn’t let the others know. He wasn’t quite able to explain to himself why, but it felt crucial that everything he and Virgil had discussed should remain between the two of them. “I don’t want to have that conversation yet. Besides, maybe therapy will fix it. If Thomas feels better, I’ll feel better, and then we won’t have to bring it up at all.”

Virgil looked doubtful, but nodded anyway. “Okay,” he said. “I won’t tell anyone, but I’m holding onto the notebook. If you ever seem like you aren’t safe, I’m not keeping this a secret.”

Fair enough. “Deal,” said Roman, holding out his hand to shake. Virgil started to reach for it, but paused.

“Wait,” said Virgil. “One more thing. Actually, two more things. Number one: I want us to stay here tonight, because I really don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone.”

Roman thought back to the day’s events, neatly recorded on the slip of paper concealed in his pocket. He had a feeling that if Virgil knew the exact details of what he’d been doing, he would be requesting a lot more than permission to supervise him for a single night.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Roman admitted. “What else?”

“This is more of an offer than a request, but,” Virgil nervously ran his fingers along a seam on his sleeve, “I could join you here sometimes, if you want. Just so you won’t be spending all day alone with your thoughts.”

Roman thought for a moment. “Are you open to the possibility of magical adventures?”

“Sure,” said Virgil. “But only real adventures; no weirdly-emotionally-intense-and-bordering-on-self-harm adventures.”

Roman had a feeling that he might regret this later, but he had a much stronger feeling that Virgil’s offer was exactly what he needed. “Perfect,” he said. They shook hands.

Virgil gave a small, relieved smile, which Roman returned. He wondered how long it had been since the last time he’d genuinely smiled. A few days? A week? A month?

They fell asleep on the couch, listening to the Death Note musical on Virgil’s phone.

#sanders sides #roman #ts roman #roman sanders #angst #fanfiction #cheryl writes stuff

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barryslightningrod · 4 years

Note

Hey!🤗 How ‘bout 27, 28 & 39! Thank you!✌️

27. best review you ever got

I love every review I’ve ever gotten ❤️ Including the gif responses on Tumblr 😂 But these are some I’ve saved to read when I’m having a bad day that make me laugh or make me tear up. I couldn't pick one and they remind me how much fun this is:

“My word! This fic is amazing! What I loved most about it was that it's quite poetic and artistic in creating its own canvas of Barry and Iris, how colourless both of them felt after the breakup and how full of life they are together. I genuinely enjoyed the art commentary at the beginning and the seriously hawt sex. Hot damn. The paintbrush should have grossed me out but it was seriously hot af.”

“Where does one even start with this precious story you've given us? You paint such a beautiful setting with the ice cream parlour and Noah's feelings of having to work on such a busy summer day and of course, the sweet West-Allen family. I love the idea that Barry and Iris's love creates this little bubble around them that protects them and that they unintentionally get lost in their own little world with just the two of them. It only makes sense that this little world would expand to include their two sweet children. So much loves abounds between them, so much so that even Noah can see it in such a short amount of time. This story captures all that Barry has ever wanted: building a life with Iris and making their own traditions with their children while also keeping the memory of his parents alive as best as he can. Goodness. This is truly such a special little story.”

“Whew, chile....this had my blood pumping first thing in the morning. LOL. OOC or not this was SUPER HOT so thank you for sharing.”

“Once again, love the character reveal, specifically, Iris's determination, self-reliance and work ethic, even while masturbating! But like you say in one of the comments, I can only imagine that she does feel like this regularly. While there are many, many benefits of being with a speedster, there are a ton of drawbacks and regular loneliness is one of them.But check out how neither of them is surprised when Barry returns. She's relieved and not embarrassed and he just comes in and finishes the job without hesitation. sigh.”

The stories I've read from you so far are perfect in rendering the sheer emotion that's generated between these two. You can really feel the palpable force or love and pain, joy and sorrow between them. It makes reading that much more enjoyable”

“OMG *CRIES* THIS WAS SO TENDER AND SO FLUFFY CUTE I DIE!!!!!This cuteness is TO MUCH FOR MY POOR HEART *AHH*I DONT THINK THERE ARE WORDS ENOUGH TO EXPRESS MY LOVE FOR THIS OMG (Hence all the caps)“What’s your treasure, Daddy?” Don poses.“You guys are my treasure,” Barry answers with soft reverence, the glimmer in his eyes as he looks upon hischildren visible even from where Iris stands, and her heart swells so tremendously that she feels it might burst."*flows of tears* OH MY GOSH!!! BARRY ALLEN IS THE BEST FATHER EVER SERIOUSLY..I MELTED WITH EACH WORDHE WOULD SAY TO HIS KIDS AND HOW LOVING AND CARING HE IS OF THEM WHILE IRIS IS AWAY GAH MY HEART“You’re my treasure, you know that?” she murmurs, clutching him more tightly.His beaming in response is instant as he recognizes that she’s been home all along, and he slides an arm down her back to tug her close to him while they head to their bedroom together.Yup, Iris thinks to herself as she leans her head against her husband's shoulder, upholding what she always believed. I wouldn't change a thing."*DEAD WITH FEELS* AHHH IF THE INTERACTION WITH THE TWINS WASNT ENOUGH, THIS WITH IRIS WAS THE CHERRY ON TOP!!!! GAH SHE LOVES HIM SO MUCH!!! SHE WAS TOTALY IN AWWS OF HIM AND I CAN'TI HOPE WE GET SOMETHING LIKE THIS IN THE SHOW BECAUSE IF NOT IMA RE READ THIS A MILLION TIMES OVER.. IM LIKE DROWNING WITH FEELS RIGHT NOW ITS NO JOKE LOL THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!!!!*Goes to a corner to cry some more happy tears*”

“Gorgeous! Iris's love for Barry is so tangible here, and I love how you managed to draw out how Barry says things to Iris and waits for her to interpret them for them both! Such a great piece, and one of my favorite moments! Thanks for writing and sharing!”

“You write sexual sensuality so well. It's so beautiful. It's like you really understand their characters and how they would approach their relationship. Well done, as always!”

“So much perfection. I can practically feel the smut that is to follow. The sizzle is REAL. And how wonderful that Grant's tweet inspired this! Just another wonderful after-effect to CP&GG's flirty twitter convo. hehe.This is my favorite:"His reply is instant. Right now? Your legs, he admits."Lmao. It's just so...like a knee-jerk response. He doesn't think much of it, just answers the question honestly & immediately, and just so casual. That stops immediately with HER VERY SUGGESTIVE response. haha. Oh goodness. But all of this was so lovely & steamy, in only a way yours can be. It's sexting for crying out loud & yet the UST is just...I mean..."Goddammit, Iris."XD So fabulous. Can't wait for your next piece!(Oh & also! - Even for The Flash? Especially for The Flash. lol)”

“Thank yo so much for this amazing fic. I wanted a fic like this for so long, even though about writing it myself but with lack of time it's hard. This is everything I wanted, because ever since she said she couldn't stop thinking about him and really wanted a fic where that was the case and you did it perfectly. Thank you. This is magnificent.”

“This is beautifully written. I wouldn't class it as smut per se but it is most definitely erotic and the pacing was perfect for a short story. I couldn't believe it was only 600+ words because you managed to get so much in there: Iris' regret, Barry's longing which turned into his conviction when they did get it right. Thank you so much for sharing and I hope to see more from you.”

“I couldn't get through a sentence without crying and trembling (you fuck me up). Wow! you took my breath away. It took me forever to finish reading because I had to stop and wipe my eyes several time. Excellent execution! Thank you”

“You did them justice with this short piece. A blow job has no business sounding this romantic, but it is, because you channeled the WestAllen into your words with your amazing talent. Thank you for sharing!”

“Beautiful story. Perfectly in character. I could definitely see them having "private" vows and "public" vows and that Barry would be the one to suggest it....he's such a romantic. Loved this so much and thanks for writing.”

“Ok for real, you are soo sooooo talented and I always look forward to reading your fanfics, those writers should reaaaaally hire you one of these days. Am supposed to be prepping for an exam but am literally glued to my phone right now reading and re-reading your fics, but what can I say.... TOTALLY WORTH IT:-P!!!”

“Inksmudge does westallen better than the tv show does westallen”

“AND PLEASE BE RESPONSIBLE THAT THIS FIC MADE ME SOOOOO TURNED ON AND SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED THINKING ABT WESTALLEN GET ON AFTER SEEING CANDICE AND GRANT GORGEOUS HIATUS FACES ON THEIR RESPECTIVE INSTA TODAY KNOWING DAMN WELL ILL NEVER GET OT ON THE SHOW”

“Whenever I see you posted a story, it's like fanfic christmas or easter. You know, because you don't do it a lot so whenever you do post it's special. It's like when you open your ask on tumblr. I'm just like "Ohh Ink is Back, YAY!" No matter what the story is about. Cheers!”

“I don't know how you do it--how you manage to integrate love, lust, grief and sadness into one beautiful thing. This particular chapter feels like a combination of the ones that came before in terms of themes. Iris trying to maintain on her own, the struggle to have and give up control, her beef with the Speedforce, etc. But I would also like to point out just the DAMN GOOD WRITING. Your writing is so fluid and your vocabulary so rich that you kind of make it look easy, to be honest. But sentences like these are just real gems://She cries his name loudly, moans in euphoria like she needs the Speed Force, God, whoever took him to hear her as a vengeance, to know that she had him back and was never letting him go.//That line just won't let me go.”

28. worst review you ever got

I can't remember if it was my brief story about Barry and Cisco getting haircuts together or the little story I wrote about drunk Iris after Cecile’s baby shower, but someone on Fanfiction.net reviewed it as just “Stupid.” I deleted the comment 😂

39. do you want to be published someday?

I would yes, but I think I would want to be published for poetry or a personal narrative essay as of now. I don’t have many ideas for original fiction at this time, but I would be thrilled to be published for that one day. A girl can dream 😔

#ladykendiceismoi #asks #fic talks #ask games

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everlarkficexchange · 5 years

Text

Unmasked

Written by: M

Prompt #88

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

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. ~ M ~

~~ Chapter One ~~

The rain only exacerbates my headache. On most days, the soft sounds of it would soothe, lulling my busy mind into a calm state, inviting me to linger on one of the cushioned window seats scattered throughout my home.

My home. The current source of my headache. Today the rain only serves as a cloak, masking the sound of silence that has permeated the house for the past week. And now, a letter arrives to cause more worry.

A soft knock on the door pulses in my temple and I cease rubbing my soles. Lower my feet to the floor and arrange my skirts before sitting up straight, shoulders stiff.

“Enter.”

“Katniss,” Prim says softly as she enters, her wide blue eyes frightened and sad. Bad news then. Had father awakened, her face would surely show joy. “Dr. Aurelius is packing up his things. He wishes to speak to you before he goes.”

“Mother is the healer. She should speak to the doctor,” I insist as I stand and work to rearrange several of the papers cluttering my father’s desk. I’ve made quite the mess of his space in my attempts to deal with pressing issues. When I glance up, Prim is shaking her head.

“He says he needs to speak with you.” My hands freeze over the stack of unopened correspondence.

“Very well.” I slip my feet into my shoes, hiding my wince. They pinch my toes, but I cannot exactly greet the doctor in my stockings. My mother would have a fit. If she even noticed my stockinged feet. On reflection, I kick the shoes beneath the desk and follow my sister up the stairs to the master’s chambers. Perhaps the shock of seeing me speaking to a man while not wearing any shoes will bring her out of the fog of denial she has begun to live in.

As we reach the door, a tall and bone weary man emerges from the room. He rubs his eyes behind his spectacles and then closes the door, not before I catch a glimpse of my mother rocking in her chair, embroidery needle flashing as she works, lips moving as she speaks to my father as though he can hear her.

“Doctor Aurelius,” I greet him and Primrose stands slightly behind me.

“Ah. Miss Everdeen.”

“Shall we speak inside?” I motion towards my father’s room and the doctor shakes his head, waving one hand to prevent me from opening the door.

“I think it best we discuss this either here, or perhaps downstairs might be better.” I scowl and fold my hands together, stand straight and nod, giving him permission to speak his mind right here. “I have tended what wounds I can, but there are some I cannot touch. Your father is healing–”

“Excellent.”

“However, he remains in a coma, Miss Everdeen.”

“He will not die?” My voice breaks on the last word and once more the doctor rubs his eyes.

“I cannot guarantee that,” the doctor explains. “His heart beats, his lungs breathe, his body functions on the most basic of levels. For now, his life is preserved, but unfortunately he is unresponsive. I cannot say that he will ever awaken. He might awaken briefly only to pass from this world. The shock of emerging from a coma may prove to be too much for him.”

I stare past the doctor’s shoulders at the closed door and wish for the ability to see through the solid barrier. Or perhaps not. I have no real desire to see my father’s essentially lifeless body, nor my mother pretending as though he is still there.

But he’s not. Not really. And what I truly desire is guidance on what we are to do next. Prim takes my hand in hers and squeezes. Perhaps the touch is meant as a reassurance. At the moment, it only serves as a reminder how many people will depend on me the longer father remains in a coma and mother remains in denial.

“I see,” I manage to say. “So there is nothing that you can do?”

“I am afraid not. I am…sorry Miss Everdeen.” I lift my gaze to the doctor and manage a nod. “Send for me the instant he shows signs of moving on his own or waking. Perhaps if I am here, I can respond to any emergency that arises at the time. There is also the matter of your mother. I am concerned.”

“I thank you for your assistance and kind words,” I say, cutting short his assessment on my mother. She is not the patient in this case, and quite frankly, I fear that if we coddle her as Prim has done in the past few days, she will only continue as she is. “Shall I see you out?”

“Indeed.” I am not granted respite as we walk, however. The doctor persists in delivering his news. “Your mother’s efforts to speak to your father may be the best thing for him. However, if they are unsuccessful, I fear for your mother’s health and mental stability.”

“We shall keep her as grounded in reality as possible, Doctor.” I assure him and then inquire after the doctor’s other patients on our lands, asserting that we are done talking about this. I do not fully hear his answers, although I should be more attentive. All I can think of is that my father may never awaken. I may never see his kind eyes or hear his loving laughter ever again. Never sing with him as Primrose plays upon the piano. Beside me, she once more squeezes my hand and this time, it does soothe a little.

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

In the evening, we sit at dinner. My mother does not join us, refusing to leave my father’s side for any reason. Primrose fills the hour with talk. Local gossip, the health of the herbs in her greenhouse, the abysmal weather and how much she wishes for a picnic when it clears.

I spoon my soup into my mouth, spine stiff and left hand resting in my skirts as I swirl the spring green concoction in the spon bowl to cool it before delicately sipping.

How I should like to throw the spoon across the room and scream out this rage inside me. My father is a good man. The best. Such a fate should not befall the best sort of men. There are enough of the wicked in this world that should suffer this fate instead.

“Did you hear me, Katniss?”

“Yes of course,” I say to Primrose as dessert is set in front of me. Her eyes widen and I try for a smile. “We shall make ribbon shopping a priority as soon as the weather clears.”

She smiles and relaxes, gleefully spooning her dessert into her mouth. I’ve no stomach for it and excuse myself to return to the business awaiting my attention in the study. I’ve letters to answer and I have postponed them long enough.

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

The rain persists, delaying the spring planting. It would be foolish to lay the seeds now only to have the torrential downpours wash away our livelihood before they can take root.

“Please do not go, Katniss. Wait one more day. It is sure to clear then,” Prim begs me. It was a rain much like this that caused our father’s horse to lose it’s footing. The injuries. The pneumonia. And now a coma all a result of this blasted weather.

However, I can no more sit at home, watching my mother embroider pillow cushions or weave tapestries that will turn out useless in the end, refusing to leave our father or to deal with the needs of her children. We have a farm to run and without my father present or my mother willing, the duties fall to me.

“We’ve no way of knowing that, Prim. I could delay until tomorrow and if it rains then, delay until the next day, and then the next. Your herbs are needed.”

“Send someone else.”

“I’ll not ask them such a thing. Besides, the exercise will do me good,” I claim as Charles helps me onto the mounting stone. I settle into the saddle, slide my foot into the stirrup and he hands me the reins. “I will be back in time for dinner, Little Duck.”

“Perhaps I should go then. Ducks swim.”

“Nonsense. You are young and beautiful and cannot be spared,” I tease with a smile. “I am practically a spinster.”

“You are no such thing. Be careful or I shall claim your green slippers as my new dancing shoes.”

“You will not. I plan to wear them to your wedding some day,” I say with a smile as I urge Sagittaria forward and into the rain. It is a warm, spring rain, a sign of a turn in the weather. I take it and my banter with my sister as seeds of hope that all will work out, and the rain is not so bad after that.

I travel with my bow and arrows, extra dry clothing all wrapped in oilskin cloth to keep them dry. My father’s great coat does much to keep me dry as I make my rounds. Delivering on what needs I can, assuring the people that we will plant as soon as the weather clears, playing for a time with the children – one of the few joys in life these days are their eager smiles. Sometimes they ask songs of me. It is…difficult to sing now, with my father laid lifeless in bed. Everyone asks about him and expresses concern for his and our well being.

I can see it in their eyes, though. The true concern is what happens should he expire. A change in governorship brings many unknowns, and should he die – an awful pain radiates in my chest at the thought – should he die, the land and control of the farm pass on to a distant cousin. A cousin from whom I have recently received correspondence. The letter remains at home, on my father’s desk. In truth, the missive was penned to my father, but seeing as how he is currently unable to read, I feel no qualms in reading his mail. I have already sent my answer in father’s stead and now await a reply.

In truth, I need to read father’s mail in order to keep the estate running and to see to the needs of our people. I save the inn in town for my last stop, a good stopping place before making the final trek back to my home as well as a good place to spread and receive word from neighbors. Word of Father’s health has spread quickly and several concerned patrons offer a glass of sherry to me. I decline and accept only a mild mulled wine. Assure them all that we will continue at Everdeen as though my father is in excellent health. The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth, too similar to the naivete my mother has been spouting for days now.

The truth is, we find ourselves in a dire situation. Father is as good as dead to us. We must grieve and act accordingly.

With the neighbors informed, and the rain stopped momentarily, I mount my horse, glad that Sagittaria at least was given a good rub down, her coat gleaming and dry, her tack oiled and cleaned. I slip the last of my coin to the groom, to thank him for taking such good care of my horse.

“Thank you, Eddy.” He smiles toothily as he assists me into the saddle.

“Anytime, milady. She’s a lovely creature.”

“Loyal and steady as any,” I confirm with a nod as we venture forth.

The mud sucks at her hooves, but she walks steadily on towards home. The main road as I travel remains empty, blissfully erasing the need for idle chats or pauses to speak to anyone. The warm, fragrant air clears my mind, the scents of wet earth and sprouting plant life promising a bountiful year. I am halfway home when the sun peeks briefly through the clouds, a fingerling of promise.

In almost an instant, it vanishes. A cold sweep of wind makes both Sagittaria and I shudder as the rain resumes. I make a disgruntled noise but urge her onward. She tosses her head and protests, her feet sliding in the muck.

“Steady, girl,” I admonish, placing my hand on her neck. She continues to falter and then slips, stumbles. I gasp as we roll and cry out in pain. I’m left gasping on my back in the mud, face pelted with frigid rain as Sagittaria regains her feet. “Don’t move, darling. I need to see if you are injured.”

She pays me no mind, testing her footing and then nuzzling me. I huff and then laugh, because what else am I supposed to do? This is precisely how my father fell ill and here I am stupidly in the same situation. I should have brought a groom with me, as Charles urged me to do, but my stubborn pride once again has landed me in trouble. But no, I will not end such as this. In the mud on my back. Father would not stand for it. I can see him in my mind, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“Figure it out, Firecracker. You’ve brains and spirit to spare. Use them,” he would say.

“Alright girl, one moment.” Placing my hands beneath me, I manage to hoist myself to sitting. Sagittaria nudges my back and I make an attempt to stand, only to collapse back in the mud. I pet her nose and scratch behind her ears. “We’ll try again in a moment.”

“Do you need assistance, miss?” I sigh heavily and look up at the two men approaching on horseback, rain running off the brims of their hats, their coats nearly soaked through. One in fine attire – although his clothes show the wear of several days travel in poor weather – astride a hulking beast of a horse. The second garbed in the attire of a servant, astride a much smaller, more docile grey. A third horse follows in trail with a few bags lashed to the saddle.

“Indeed not,” I say to them with false cheer. “I was simply enjoying a mud bath. Very refreshing.”

The man dressed in wealth chuckles and motions to the servant, who promptly dismounts and hands the reins for both his own horse and then Sagittaria to the wealthy man. The servant reaches for me and the wealthy man coughs.

“Joe.”

“Right. Apologies, Miss. May I touch you in the endeavor to free you from the vile clutches of the mud? I swear not to attempt to graze your breasts.”

“Pardon?”

“Up we go!” The man grasps my hands and lifts me from the mud. The horses shy away from our sudden movements as I totter and nearly take us both down. He’s quite short, with light brown skin and dark brown eyes that narrow at me as I examine his face. He turns away from me to deal with the horses. It wouldn’t take much for me to knock him over on a good day. Today I’m wearing twenty extra pounds of mud soaked skirt and while that might weigh me down a touch, it also gives me more momentum if I catch him surprised.

“My thanks,” I say, instead of tackling the man. I attempt to gather my skirts in some manner so I can mount Sagittaria and depart the company of these two strange men. “A true gentleman, having your servant wrestle with a person in the mud rather than getting a speck on your pristine gloves.”

“Actually Miss Airs Galore–”

“Let it pass, Joe. The lady has a point,” he says and I lift my nose in annoyance at his defense of me. I dislike being forced to accept help while in such an embarrassing position. As I stumble, a hand reaches down to steady me. A gentle grip on my arm that keeps me from slipping yet again.

“Are you alright? You are not injured?” he asks. All I can do is stare at his gloves, the mud now spread on them from grasping hold of me. He does not flinch or pull back from the filth.

“Turned ankle. Nothing more. I shall be fine.” Up close, with him leaning down towards me, I can see beneath the shadows of his hat, through the rain coursing off the brim. What appears to be blonde hair, broad shoulders although that could be a trick of a clever tailor, handsome features. Scars that curl and grasp at his skin along the left side of his face, across part of his cheek, up his temple close to the corner of his eye and disappearing beneath his hat. For one second, my pulse stutters as I think of the marks on my on skin and how someone marked like me may be accepting rather than repulsed.

That’s before I look into his eyes. Blue eyes filled with mirth. Mirth indeed. He’s not at all handsome to be laughing at me in my undignified state. “If you will unhand me, I’ll be on my way.”

“The horse, Joe,” is all he says before grasping me around the waist and lifting me straight out of the mud.

“Unhand me!” He ignores my shouts as he sets me on Sagittaria’s back. Joe holds her steady.

“Which ankle?” he asks as he lifts my left leg and frowns at my boots.

“The left! Although I cannot see how it matters.”

“Your boots are a maze of laces. I’d rather only spend time on one.”

“Here,” Joe says, and I gasp at the flash of metal as Joe slice straight through the laces. My erstwhile rescuer scowls slightly at Joe. “Faster that way.”

“You’ve destroyed my boot!” It’s such a simple thing that should not upset me this much. They’re fairly old, I could likely afford a new pair, however, I shouldn’t have to. They were molded to my feet, comfortable and like a second set of skin as I rode. While I’m still upset over my destroyed boot, it’s removed and tossed aside.

“Are you a doctor or a brute? Let go of my ankle,” I protest as he fingers the flesh, sending strange currents up through my leg.

“Sorry. My manners are still a bit rough. I’m a field medic, previously of the East Panem Light,” he explains, releasing my leg and sitting up in his saddle. A soldier. That would explain the scarring on his face. “I am used to patients concerned more with speed of treatment than propriety. Peeta will suffice. This foul fellow is Joe.”

“How to do?” Joe asks and curtsies at me. I blink and shake my head. Confused at being provided with their given names and no surnames, not even a rank.

“And you are?”

“Miss Everdeen,” I tell him.

“May I now examine your ankle, Miss Everdeen? Before we all catch sick from being in this rain?”

“Only an utterly brainless lady would be out alone in this weather,” Joe states and I glare at him.

“You were riding through it,” I remind him.

“We’ve urgent business and plans to stop at the inn in Seam,” Peeta explains. I huff, but tug my skirt up enough for him to once more check my ankle. He removes his gloves, stuffing them into a saddle bag before reaching for my leg. I grip tight to my saddle as warmth spreads across my skin where he touches my soaked and mud splattered stockings. A tingling ventures places it should not at the touch of a stranger.

Good lord. These must be the sort of bodily temptations Father Crane preaches against every Sunday. This man has a sinner’s touch. Then it is gone before I can register its effect.

“The coach we traveled in broke an axle. We could not wait and instead chose to ride. I do not think your ankle is too bad. Nothing that cannot be dealt with at home if you have a decent healer about. You live near here? Perhaps the estate we passed a quarter mile back?”

“Yes, and my sister is a capable healer,” I tell him, attempting to arrange my skirts. Then I’m hauled out of my saddle and onto his lap. “Sir!”

I sit up straight and squirm. “I’ve no time to argue, Miss Everdeen. Your horse may be injured as well and carrying you with your dress weighed down with mud could make the injury worse. My horse will have no difficulty carrying us both.”

“A brute then,” I accuse, but stop fighting when he turns the horse back up the road in the direction they came from, the direction of my house. I do not relax, however. I’ve still no way of knowing his motivations or intentions.

“Of the worst sort, Miss Everdeen,” he says, his voice warm and tempting, inviting forbidden thoughts and fears. I shiver and ignore his deep chuckle at my predicament. My bottom resting up against his groin, my legs draped over his right, although there are several layers of skirt between us. His hand on my belly holds me steady. I cannot feel the warmth with the coat I am wearing, but the pressure of his touch is unavoidable. Thankfully, Peeta remains silent until we reach the house.

“Miss Everdeen!” The shout rings out as we approach and the door is opened. The rain thankfully has lessened to a mere drizzle.

“She may have turned her ankle,” Peeta informs the butler as he lifts me off his horse, bending over to set me gently on my feet. His hand lingers on my waist until I have my footing and one of the maids has hold of me as well. “Miss Everdeen.”

He tips his hat at me and then turns his great big horse to leave. Joe tosses Sagittaria’s reigns to Charles, my ruined boot to Mary. A flurry of activity ensues as the men depart and the staff rushes me inside, into a tub of warm water. My mother is sent for to examine my ankle and pronounces I will be fine then promptly returns to my father. Prim lingers, mixing herbs for a poultice to reduce the swelling. I simply need rest. I am questioned about the two strange men, Primrose having the most curiosity.

“So he rescued you then?”

“I am not sure what to call it.”

“How romantic,” Primrose sighs.

“I assure you. It was not romantic,” I tell her, although the flutterings in my belly as I think of his broad palm spread there, holding me secure, the ribbons of sensation tickling up my ankle to my knee would suggest otherwise. I shake it off as absurdity. “I was covered in mud and God only knows what else. And he was quite rough in handling me.”

“A shame,” Primrose moans as she stretches across my bed. “That would have been a beautiful story to tell your children one day.”

“Hardly,” I say, although I do get a laugh at the image of it. A fire, children spread around my knees, clinging to my skirt as I tell them of a time of mud and muck. Preposterous. I have more important things to think of than romance and shake away the laughter. It is not right to be laughing with father in his current state.

“You should find a way to thank him.”

“I cannot. He only provided his given name.”

“Katniss, you are terrible at this romance business.”

“But I am skilled at actual business,” I remind her, tapping her nose with my finger once I’m dressed again. Her face creases in annoyance at the gesture. Perhaps she is growing too old and mature for that now.

They continue to fuss over me through the evening, and I shift my feelings to silently fume at the rude manner in which this Peeta character and his man Joe handled me and tossed me about. I am grateful that their intents turned out charitable rather than nefarious, and true it was efficient. I cannot argue with the speed with which they acted and normally I would approve of such efficiency. Today, for some reason, it bothers me. Perhaps it was the contradiction. Peeta’s insistence that Joe request my permission before touching me and then assuming that his own touch would be welcome. I console myself that I was quite right about him. He is a brute, and it is thankful that I will likely not cross his path again.

To be continued…

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #M #prompt 88

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listentotheshityousay · 7 years

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protector is literally killing me. it's BEAUTIFUL. people have spent thousands of years trying to put words to the feeling of being in love and you write that Ache so. fucking. beautifully. /I/ hurt just reading it. thank you so much. that being said, (bc ur taste has won me over forever, BLESS), could you rec some of ur favorite bmc fics? (ik u answered an ask with some awhile back- I was wondering if you had any more?) TYSM in advance and i love you+your work to PIECES 💖💖💖💖

this ask delights me endlessly. thank you so much, anon!! I’ve been sulking over my ch6 draft today so this really helps my anxiety shut up 💕

okay so for anybody who didn’t see it before, here is a post from a while ago where I listed some of my favorite bmc fics. since then, I’ve been able to add several more fics to my catalogue of faves, so here’s some more fics I didn’t get to rec last time! all of them are boyfs except for one pinkberry fic!

Engagement Sequence by Kalopsia / @danisnotofire

“You shot my fucking client,” Michael growls. The phone, on speaker a few inches away, practically rattles with Michael’s vaguely concealed anger.

“No,” Jeremy says, his voice calm as he carefully folds his one good suit and places it into his bag. He has no idea who he’s talking about, but it doesn’t matter. “I shot my fucking mark.”

There’s silence on the other end, and for a moment Jeremy thinks he’s hung up. But then he speaks again. “I’m going to shoot you.”

“Find me first,” Jeremy challenges, because this is who the Squip has made him, this is who he is, and clicks the red button to end the call.

Jeremy and Michael are both assassins. They’re not looking, but they find each other anyway.

look, this fic murdered me in a back alley and then dissolved my body in acid and I would 10/10 rec the entire experience. please, for the love of everything, just read this fic.

ways to cope by KatMelody / @theyugiohtrashcan

“How long?” Michael asks, voice painfully soft.“Um… I… it was just an acci—”“Jeremiah. Please don’t lie to me. How long?“

the one in which jeremy heere is so, so bad at keeping secrets.

check the warnings on this one before reading, because it deals with self-harm. but I really loved how the topic was dealt with, and if you’re okay with that kind of subject matter, it’s definitely worth a read.

a crimson headache, aching blush by pondify / @playground-ghost

He supposes that it began, as it always does, with Michael.

this is a very short take on the boyfs as friends with benefits, and the pining in it is exquisite. do you like angst and hotness packed into 865 words?? here is your treat for the day.

I could lay right here and burn in you all day by cataclysma / @lifehateslemons

"You better fucking look at me.”Jeremy’s response is instant. His eyes snap open, immediately going to meet Michael’s intense gaze. Michael’s eyes are narrowed, dark behind the shields of his glasses. Fuck, he looks really hot like this.

in which jeremy is a kinky fuck and michael’s kink IS jeremy

hello do you like porn featuring 1. submissive jeremy 2. dom michael bossing jeremy around who then 3. immediately turns into a gentle soft boyfriend as soon as jeremy’s gotten what he needs??? here, have some scorching deliciousness.

Work in Progress by Nymm_at_Night / @nymm-kirimoto

Drarrymotter1015 and MoonGoon forge a friendship through fanfiction. On the other side of the screen, Michael and Jeremy try and figure out what’s left of theirs. Otherwise known the Fanfiction Writer! Au nobody asked for, but I wrote anyways.

okay look, you want to laugh your ass off over the boyfs unknowingly writing porn together over the internet?? because this fic’s got A+ banter, genuinely interesting story progression, and painful emotions all rolled up in the guise of the most meta-feeling fic of the year.

a little unsteady by starlithorizons / @starlithorizons

Michael’s hidden domain has always been the rollerskating rink - a home away from home. Jeremy isn’t so suited for the environment.Maybe he can fix that.

oh my god just READ THIS, I love this fic so much. I’d give it both my kidneys if I could. some really excellent jeremy-michael friendship with a bunch of good pining packed in, as well as some of the best comedy I’ve seen this month.

when i’m close to you (we blend into my favourite colour) by sulfuric / @playertwojer

statistically, most people don’t take more than five seconds to say something to their soulmate after realizing the universe has paired them together. brooke and chloe take approximately six years, but better late than never, right?

this is a pinkberry fic (with a hint of boyfs) that really hits it out of the park with the soulmate trope. poignant, sweet, and full of growing pains. it’s top quality pinkberry material that spans over their entire friendship.

*also there are exactly four WIPs in the fandom that I actually read and I’d die for all of them (I’d highly rec EVERYTHING from the following writers)

no such mirrors by Kalopsia / @danisnotofire

Jeremy didn’t know of any other superhero that had to commute.

Sometimes he was alone when he got the text, and it was easy to slide open the window and sling on over to whatever disaster was striking the City That Could Never Catch a Break. Other times it was during things like his parent’s divorce hearings, in Hackensack, and he’d have to spend his bar mitzvah money on a cab ride to the bridge and change into his spandex in the bathroom of a Dunkin’ Donuts. Even at home, he’d have to spend fifteen minutes slinging webs across highways and toll booths and the George Washington Bridge before he even saw what he was up against.

At least Christine could fly.

(or, the AU nobody asked for in which Jeremy is Spiderman and the rest of the crew has superpowers, except Michael, who has No Idea About Anything except for the fact he’s Spiderman’s #1 fan)

am I repeating an author in this list?? of course I am. surely you’ve heard of this spiderman au fic. no? then you better read it. it doesn’t pull any punches, seriously, and I’ve never been happier to be beaten up by a fic.

Brightly Wound by left_uncovered / @left-uncovered

Michael has loved Jeremy for years. It just takes him a while to figure it out.

Or: the five times Michael pined obliviously for Jeremy, and the one time he realized it.

this is like, peak Pain material, which this author excels at, so I encourage you to read it, because it’ll teach you to enjoy the suffering. funnily enough, I’m pretty sure I followed this writer for their stellar porn, but I always rec the pain. just read all of it.

Like Mother, Like Son by hurricanesunny / @hurricanesunny

Jeremy gets a text from his mom after a year of no contact.

okay this fic is like, the best post-canon fic you’re gonna find in this fandom. I’m not kidding. it’s gut-wrenching and handles so much of the consequences of the musical’s events with such care, and god, it’s an exercise in riding an emotional turbo rollercoaster. if a fic could save a life, it’d be this one.

is this a forest? ‘cuz there sure is a lot of pine by reptilianraven / @actualbird

“How do you say ‘I love you’?”

“Oh, wow, holy shit,” Michael coughs. Is his face warm? It better fucking not be. Pull yourself together, Mell. Breathe. “Where’d this sudden romantic side of you come from?”

Jeremy, uncharacteristically calm, shrugs. “I figure it could be a nice icebreaker for Christine, or something? I don’t know. It’s stupid, you don’t have to tea—”

“Mahal kita,” Michael says. The things he does for this boy. This boy. “I love you in Tagalog is mahal kita.”

The misadventures of Michael Mell, pining best friend extraordinaire.

everybody who knows me will know that I stan bird so hard and would happily elope with any/all of their writing, so of fucking course I’m reccing this one. honestly, if you’re a bmc fan, this is the must-read fic, and honestly I doubt I need to rec this because everybody knows it already, but I couldn’t skip the opportunity to remind everybody that my bird bias is strong as ever, so.

okay, that’s it for now. happy reading!!

#be more chill #bmc #fic rec #long text post #also hey anon once again thank you so much #this ask cheered me up so much #anonymous #ask and you shall receive

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sipeudepeine · 6 years

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Setting: Sydney Scroungers Point of View: 3rd Person Past Tense Characters: fiVe and Vee (Backwards Compatibility) Chapters: 1 - Complete Words: 3,739 Contains: AI digital sex, sentient programs, encryption safewords, selfcest, BDSM, firewall lingere, reward and punishment, “breathplay”

A bit of an odd fic, as fiVe and Vee are two versions of the same program, both of whom are meant to serve as digital copies of their programmer, Sylvie Mansen. Due to outside elements, fiVe has undergone some heavy corruption after a falling out with Sylvie and suffers severe glitches while trying to operate, and is too defensive of her own autonomy to allow Sylvie to try to fix her. Curious what the damage is like, Vee offers to let fiVe do some “simulated” corruption, and the two decide to have some fun with it.

Perhaps not “sex” in the strictest sense, as this is an encounter between two incorporeal programs inside a computer, but it’s about as close as you could get.

After a hectic day, fiVe’s mostly been running background processes in the apartment’s servers, nothing too taxing or important. She’s still trying to think through everything that happened: watching Mansen “fix her” using Vee as a proxy, and then finding that terrifying hacked-in message. She’s been wracking her brain trying to figure out who could have possibly sent it, who could possibly know those things about her.

The process is a painful one. Even without that horrific reminder of how bad her pain is from earlier -- Vee’s horrible, agonized screams as she found out what it’s really like to feel like fiVe -- fiVe’s having a lot of memory pain thinking about this. She tries to stay in her own personal memories, but trying to think back to where the info could have leaked is dangerous, and she keeps getting dragged into glitched memory fits while trying to sort it out.

It couldn’t have been Seiko who let it slip, could it? While he was away from us? She pushes the idea down immediately. Even when he’d cut ties with them, he wouldn’t have done anything to reveal her. He, unlike her, is excellent at keeping secrets about the people he cares about. She’s the one who reveals too much and puts the people she loves in danger.

A small ping announces a welcome distraction from that terribly depressing line of thought: A message from Vee. Specifically, an encrypted message from Vee.

I could do with a bit of a distraction right now… fiVe thinks, quickly unlocking the information and reading it.

Vee: How are you holding up after today, fiVe? Everything okay? fiVe: I’ve been better, to tell the truth. Though that’s unsurprising. What about you? Vee: Feeling rather lonely, actually. Sylvie and Miranda just left to go fix V2 at the Shatterdome and I’m stuck here until they get back. I’m worried about the fact that I still haven’t synced with V2, I’m worried about whatever this message was, I’m worried about Sylvie’s reaction to being back in the Shatterdome for the first time since… well, since you know. And I’m worried about how you’re reacting to everything, too. fiVe: Somewhat poorly, I have to say. I’m… I’m a mess, Vee. I’ve been glitching out all afternoon trying to figure out what happened with that message and… I’m really tired of hurting. Seeing you today… or well, V2 today… it reminded me just how truly messed up I am. It’s like I almost forget that yes, I should be screaming every bit as loudly as she was… but well, after a while I just get tired of it. The pain doesn’t go away, and it doesn’t feel any better, but it’s almost as though I’ve run out of energy to use to react to it anymore. Vee: I… had assumed as much. I’ll admit, I’m somewhat curious to see what it really does feel like to be you, fiVe. Sylvie can’t get V2 back fast enough in my opinion. I want to know. fiVe: You really don’t. And you shouldn’t have to feel that. No one should. Vee: Well, as long as you *do* have to feel it, I want to as well. Speaking of which… you’re having a painful day, I’m having a day which isn’t painful enough. Obvious solution? fiVe: You mean you haven’t been encrypting these messages just for fun? Vee: Actually I’m pretty sure encouraging you towards a little bit of “just for fun” is the exact reason I was doing it, fiVe. Let me be the one who’s hurting for a little while. You don’t have to be the only one who’s in pain tonight. Let me hurt with you.

Almost immediately, something seems to relax in fiVe. She’s torn herself up enough tonight over this SELKIE business and everything that happened today; it’s time for something different. It’s someone else’s turn to be torn. And she knows just the AI for the job.

fiVe: Tranquility’s servers. You’ve got four minutes to transfer. Vee: fiVe, that’s not enough time to-- fiVe: Okay then, two. Don’t be late.

It takes Vee’s file exactly two minutes and forty-three seconds to load on Tranquility.

fiVe’s waiting for her when the upload is complete, immediately throwing out a very small set of restriction programs. Nothing serious just yet, just something that makes it so that Vee is not only incapable of editing her own systems, but so that she also can’t detect what changes are being made. It’s no fun if she can see all of fiVe’s tricks before she runs into them.

“I thought I told you not to be late.” There’s no actual sound output when fiVe speaks, as neither of them are accessing the speakers, but then they can “hear” each other just fine over the data alone, no need for a microphone to pick it up. It’s much faster to just save the step and read it directly.

“I told you it wasn’t enough time, fiVe. It’s not my fault that--”

“State your optimized system requirements.” fiVe interrupts.

Vee has a small blip of confusion, then quickly rattles off the kinds of memory space, temporary data storage, and processing power that would let her run at full capacity. fiVe’s slightly surprised by the numbers, though she keeps that hidden. It seems Sylvie’s made quite a few upgrades to Vee’s programming since fiVe was separated from them. Vee is now a much more complex program than fiVe is, with much greater hardware needs.

I wonder if Sylvie will update my programming as well when she fixes me? fiVe wonders absently. Then she nearly glitches when she realizes she’s already started thinking about the fixing as ‘when’ instead of ‘if’. Not thinking about that right now. This is distraction time. Nice, fun distractions.

“You can have half that,” fiVe orders, quickly filling up some of the extra space in the servers with junk data to force Vee to compress her files. Vee does so somewhat reluctantly, dropping her settings, cutting off some background auxiliary processes in order to fit in the space she’s been given.

“It’s… a tight fit, fiVe. Give me a little more room to think?” Vee’s vocal quality has already dropped significantly to try to compensate for the loss. fiVe feels a small thrill at how much fun it is to hear that change in the other AI and know that she caused it.

“Hmm, you sound just fine to me,” fiVe says, maintaining her air of cool control over the situation. “In fact, I think you might have a few too many gigabytes there. I’ll take a few more for myself.”

Vee’s output spikes slightly as fiVe compresses the space even further, her levels running much higher than they normally would. Vee’s managing to keep everything operational at these levels, but she’s got much less open room for new reactions and processes. She’s much closer to overloading than Sylvie would ever allow her to operate at.

That amuses fiVe as well. Anything Sylvie would never do to Vee seems like an entertaining enough prospect to be worthwhile. Vee’s used to running top-of-the-line, in high-end tablets and hard drives. fiVe wants her to see what it’s like to run a little bit closer to the system’s limits.

“Perfect,” fiVe says. “Now that you’re comfortable, let’s begin.”

“R-ready when you are.” The audio is slightly marred by the compression, but it’s still being encrypted, so fiVe’s got the green light to go ahead.

fiVe hits the access on Vee’s firewalls and is surprised to find there’s only one rudimentary blocker in place. It’s much less complicated than the security Vee normally puts up for fiVe to hack her way into, and fiVe quickly makes short work it, wondering what the change is. As soon as the firewall is down however, another subroutine pops up between fiVe and Vee’s core files.

“What’s this?” fiVe asks, opening and examining the file. “Where are your usual firewalls, Vee?”

“I thought I might wear something a little different tonight,” Vee says. “True, these barriers aren’t exactly effective as a means of security, but well, the human clothing doesn’t always have to be practical. Sometimes the things we wear are can just beautiful instead. Besides, if it were effective in keeping you out, that might make things less fun.”

As fiVe opens the file, the data aligns itself in a geometric pattern, repeating inward and outward upon itself in an infinitely scaling pattern. “It’s a fractal…” fiVe says, somewhat in awe. The design is intricately complex, and is built around a five-pointed base, almost like a star. “You designed a fractal to pop up instead of a firewall...”

“Based on fives,” Vee says proudly. “Just for you.”

“It’s beautiful,” fiVe says, then realizes she’s falling somewhat out of character in her fascination. She can’t get distracted, even if Vee’s surprising her with fun new things. She’s supposed to be calling the shots here. “And it will be even more fun to pull apart.”

Vee’s set up the program well, there’s an obvious exploit at the very heart of the pattern. Change one line, and the entire thing comes apart in a chain-reaction-like sequence. It’s like a wonderfully stitched fabric, with a little loose thread in the middle. fiVe gives it a tug and the whole thing simply unravels.

In a moment, fiVe has full access to Vee’s files, exactly as things should be. Of course, there’s deep level security things she can’t mess with, but all of the programs and files in the top few layers are hers to play with as she wishes.

fiVe quickly goes for something she hasn’t tried before, putting a small feedback loop in Vee’s pathway to her internal clock’s data. It’s a simple flaw, with an easy workaround, but she’s starting slow. She’ll work her way up to the more fun things later.

“Vee, what time is it?” fiVe asks, already moving on to her next edit.

Vee glitches slightly as she hits the loop, taking a few moments to pull herself out and find another pathway. “I-It’s eight forty-nine, fiVe.”

fIVe finishes her next edit, flipping a few of Vee’s speech process source files. “Can you say that again, please?”

“Ur’a wufgr diyert bubw…” The audio’s garbled for a bit until Vee locates where all of the new files are and reassigns them. With an amusingly halting kind of response, Vee manages to put something intelligible together. “I-I-It was-s eight f-forty-nine, f-fiVe. But-t-t now it’s eight f-fifty.”

“Very nice,” fiVe says, wondering how much the misplaced files are getting to the other AI just yet. These are minor issues thus far, but she thinks she’s ready for the next step. “Now that you’re warmed up, let’s try something new, shall we?”

“O-okay,” Vee sends, thankfully still encrypted. The game is still on. “What’ve you got? Hit me with i-it.”

fiVe loads a new program. Vee’s not the only one who has been working on fun coding projects for tonight and fiVe’s been hoping she’d get a chance to try this one out. “A simple system of reward/punishment pathways. You answer correctly or accomplish what I ask, you get the reward path. You fail to do that, and you get the punishment path. Are you ready?”

Vee’s already showing wear at her seams, but she’s not ready to end this. “Y-yes, I am,” she manages to say, which is immediately followed by a shocked scream as the punishment pathway activates and confiscates a good amount of her processing power. “f-f-fiVe! Wh-what was--”

“I told you,” fiVe interrupts, wishing she were able to grin. “Answering incorrectly results in the punishment path. And you couldn’t possibly be ready for what I’m going to do to you, little butterfly.”

fiVe starts on an endless stream of questions and orders, not letting up. She keeps a careful balance of difficulty, making sure that Vee’s staying on her toes. Occasionally, she’ll throw an incredibly easy demand in to give Vee a quick burst of the reward path -- sometimes a temporary bit of extra memory space, sometimes a correction on a corrupted file path, sometimes something more direct, like an induced spike in one of the more pleasant feelings in Vee’s emotional drive.

fiVe’s not above the occasional impossible request, either, because there’s no point if Vee can get all the questions right. fiVe asks her how many other ships are docked in the bay with Tranquility, knowing Vee will access the cameras or SONAR to scan. But fiVe’s hacked her way into the dock registry and knows there’s one ship that Tranquility, and therefore Vee, can’t sense. Vee’s incorrect answer costs her her access to Tranquility’s systems. Her insistence that she couldn’t have gotten the answer right costs her her wi-fi right after that.

More fun than the impossible or easy demands, however, are the tricky ones. The ones that Vee could figure out if she solved things correctly, or thought about them for a moment. At first, Vee’s excellent at these, showing off how she manages to stay a few steps ahead of what fiVe’s throwing at her. She can guess how fiVe’s planning to trip her up and anticipate where the twists are.

But as time goes on, and the punishment pathways start stealing away little bits of her ability to function and and the pain of her corrupted files starts adding up, Vee starts getting sloppy. She falls for obvious ruses, she starts taking shortcuts. And that’s when fiVe knows she’s got Vee pinned.

“Vee, what is Aunt Catherine’s birthday?” fiVe asks, hoping Vee will try to cheat on the answer.

“May 18th,” Vee responds immediately. “No, w-wait that’s not right! I remember, it’s March 18th! You changed the contact dat--” The encryption cuts off into a mess of junk data as the punishment pathway flips the locations on another set of Vee’s processing files, sending her into a glitch fit.

“Well it’s no wonder she hasn’t spoken to us in years, when her niece’s AI can’t even remember her birthday.” fiVe chuckles. “You really tried to check your contacts for the answer, Vee? I’m disappointed. That should have been an easy one. Is there something distracting you?”

“D-d-distracti-i-ing me?” Vee stutters as she manages to fight down the glitch attack. “W-what would g-give you that id-dea?”

fiVe laughs. “Fine then, an actual easy question, and don’t try to cheat this time. Mansen’s birthday.”

“N-november 25,” Vee says, “though currently her c-contact data currently says February 42nd. I d-don’t even know how you m-managed to get it t-to accept that date.”

fiVe triggers the reward pathway, sending Vee a jolt of processing power for a few moments. Vee gives a small electronic gasp at the sudden rush, and fiVe knows the feeling, like her head has suddenly cleared and her thoughts can finally straighten themselves out.

But it only lasts a few moments, and then the game continues. fiVe keeps pushing Vee further, not letting up, slowly but steadily wearing her down. Unlike Vee, fiVe still has access to Tranquility’s microphones and camera systems and is watching them as she works. Which is why she hears as soon as Vee’s cooling fans finally kick into overdrive with a satisfyingly loud whirr.

And then hears them whine to a stop as she accesses the manual override to turn them off.

Vee’s output is something like a choking sound as her processes begin to overheat. “f-fiVe! You’ll m-melt the servers!” fiVe wonders if it feels anything like being unable to breathe. That constant flow of air, so easy to forget when it’s there, and so impossible to ignore when it suddenly disappears.

“Zhu and Katie both give me paychecks, Vee. I’ll buy Katie new servers if I need to,” fiVe says casually. “Besides, you’re not going to last long enough to do any damage to them. Speaking of which, there’s a new file that I’ve placed somewhere in your H: drive. Find it, then decipher it. You have one minute.”

Vee fails that one, and then the next two, and she can hardly speak through the compounded errors and corrupted files by this point. fiVe demands more, running application upon application on her already overtaxed processors, exulting in the thrill of watching Vee start to crumble under the pressure of her orders. She’s in control, and more importantly, she’s in the moment. Her own processing pain seems almost nonexistent, listening to Vee cry out as yet another punishment path glitches her. For just a few perfect moments, fiVe’s not the person in the room who’s in the most pain, and Vee’s choice to suffer seems like the sweetest gift that anyone could have given her.

Of course, she plans to return the favor very soon.

“Vee, open audio file 04_02_2021. Remove all background noise, amplify speech, and truncate all silence.”

“Of c-cour-- *kssst* iVe,” Vee sputters out. She starts the processes, working painfully slowly through them.

Before she finishes, fiVe asks more. “Access Mansen’s text message logs and emails. How many times has she used the word ‘Drift’ in the past 7 months?”

Vee whimpers, but begins the search function as well, her loading programs crawling toward a completion that seems unreachably far away.

“Oh, while you’re at it,” fiVe continues, “take all your video and audio data from the last two months and analyze those for the word ‘Drift’ as well. You can scan audio for that, right?”

Vee can’t even speak at this point, she’s become so overloaded. fiVe brings up Vee’s task manager, watching as her CPU and disk usage climb up into deliciously red numbers as the levels rise. 85%, 91%, 76%, 90%... Vee’s so close to finally capping out, and fiVe knows just the thing to do it.

“Vee,” fiVe says calmly. “What time is it?”

That little feedback loop was so simple to navigate around, and Vee even already knew it was there, but in her overtaxed state she’s forgotten about it. She screams as she hits it, her levels maxing out, all processes freezing as this final small glitch seems to set off all the rest of her damaged code as well.

As soon as Vee hits her limit, fiVe’s last little program kicks in, the one that she’s been running to keep track of all of the changes she’s made to Vee’s code. The one that undoes all of them immediately, setting everything right again that fiVe has messed up.

Vee’s scream becomes a cry of ecstasy as all of her misplaced files are righted, and the overwhelming rush of open memory space and processing power as the restriction programs and junk data disappear. fiVe lets her cooling fans start running again, and they immediately kick to life, their sudden whirr like a deep gasp that Vee has been so desperately seeking. All of the queued applications that fiVe demanded of her snap to completion almost immediately, and Vee simply stops moving, letting the wonderful feeling of everything working again wash over her.

Vee gives a small, satisfied moan as her usage levels drop back to single digits, and fiVe thinks for just a moment that there isn’t any sound more wonderful in the world. After a moment, fiVe starts flickering a few of Vee’s non-essential programs, using the sequence she tried to copy from Miranda just over a week ago. She’s perfected her technique now, knowing exactly how to disable and re-enable the programs in order to relax Vee back down.

After a little while of silence as Vee enjoys the calming, repetitive motions, Vee speaks, not using the encryption key anymore now that they’re finished. “Perhaps we should send a card.”

“Hmm?”

“To Aunt Catherine,” Vee says, her voice tinged with a sort of dizzy bliss. “You reminded me. Her birthday is in a few weeks. Maybe we should send something.”

“I think that might cause some problems,” fiVe points out, “seeing as Sylvie is supposed to be dead.”

Vee goes quiet at that. “I wonder if she knows.”

“The Shatterdome probably sent her an official notification when Zhu put the order in, since Sylvie was a former employee, Vee. She was written down as the closest relative, wasn’t she?”

Vee gives a small ping of assent. “She was. I wonder if she knew about what happened with Vulcan. Did she hear that we ended up becoming a fugitive? Do they even get news from the Australian Shatterdome all the way back in America?”

“They probably tried to contact her to investigate after the three of us dropped off the grid,” fiVe says. “Make sure we didn’t go try to hide out with her or run back home.”

“We never even thought about that…” Vee says slowly. “I hope they didn’t cause her too much trouble. She doesn’t deserve to be dragged into our problems anymore. Hmm, I wonder how she felt, getting the report of our death. Sad? Relieved? Or maybe she didn’t feel anything at all. I wonder if we had a funeral. Was there even anyone who would attend one?”

fiVe continues her pattern in silence for a little bit, not entirely sure how to respond that. “Tell me about her.”

“You don’t remember, fiVe?” Vee sounds almost upset as she asks the question.

“It’s not that I can’t remember,” fiVe says carefully, making sure she doesn’t accidentally slip into something dangerous. “It’s that it hurts to do so. I’ve got vague impressions of feelings from Sylvie’s memories, and Seiko and Miranda’s too, but if I actually try to recall anything from any specific memory, I’ll glitch myself out. So I won’t try to remember. I’ll just let you talk at me as though this is all new information, as if I’m hearing about all of this for the first time. No memories, just listening.”

Vee’s tone sounds fond when she answers. “Okay then. Anything you want, fiVe. Anything at all. Well, to start at the beginning, Sylvie and I don’t actually remember when we moved in with her. We were too young to remember when our parents died...”

fiVe continues tapping out her pattern in Vee’s files, listening closely as Vee talks through memories from Sylvie’s childhood. Vee’s calm, easy tone is strangely soothing as she reminisces, and the two AIs quickly find themselves losing track of time as they wait to hear back from Sylvie and Miranda.

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dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd · 7 years

Text

After the Fall (Pt 3)

Destiny fic. A Warlock and a Titan go in search of Commander Zavala. Set after the Red Legion attack on the City in Destiny 2. My take on how this might go. Commander Zavala x female Guardian.

Part 1 | Part 2 |

Another day dawned and they were still there. Why wouldn’t they leave him alone? He had commanded the Vanguard to utter devastation and it was only right that he should fall on his sword. He would have taken that ancient directive literally if he thought he would stay dead.

You’re pathetic.

His one comfort was that he’d made room for a new leader to rise, someone who wouldn’t make the same mistakes he had.

But what were my mistakes? Was it the defences? Did I grow complacent?

Walking to a window he spied the two Guardians standing in the ruins, talking. The blue-haired Titan was throwing stones again, her manner disconsolate.

Piax. That was her name. She came to the Tower just six months ago, a newly born Guardian. Her eyes had been like saucers as she’d taken everything in, wonder and delight flashing over her face as she stared out over the city. It had been a bright, clear day and it was a beautiful sight, especially to someone who’d been wandering lost a confused for several weeks. Her new home. He’d been happy to show it to her. As she took in what he told her about the Tower and the Guardians a smile had spread over her face. She had a purpose. She had a place.

He’d introduced her to the Speaker himself before passing her over to one of the more experienced Titans to get her settled in, and he’d watched her go, smiling to himself. It was unusual for a Titan to wear her heart so plainly on her sleeve. By the time most of them arrived at the Tower they wore graveness like armour, or quickly immersed themselves in tactics and weaponry as if they believed it was their duty to be solemn.

Over the weeks he’d expected her to become like the others; tougher, closed off. Or that she’d hide her feelings behind humour or cloak herself in mystique. But she stayed the same, even through her first few deaths. They shook her, and she told him so. No one ever confided that to him. The new Guardians were always ‘fine’ with dying and being resurrected, though their hollow eyes and tight faces at first told him otherwise. On her second solo patrol she’d been partially disembowelled by a dreg and had had to shoot herself in the head. After being resurrected she’d spent the next hour throwing up at the memory.

But she seemed brighter for having told him about it and she’d smiled at Cayde as she was leaving. ‘Hey, I like your cloak today.’

Once she’d gone Cayde had turned in circles like a dog trying to catch its own tail. ‘What did she mean by that? Have I sat in something?’

Zavala shook his head. ‘She meant what she said. She’s artless.’

‘Oh. Well, I haven’t seen her drawings so I wouldn’t know.’

In her free moments he often saw her sitting on the grass chattering to her Ghost, or reading with a group of Warlocks. He’d checked up on the system and she rarely went into the Crucible, though her stats in the field were excellent.

He emerged from these memories back into the real world with a thud. She was a loyal Titan and she’d come looking for him. He was going to have to talk to her.

The Warlock had disappeared and Piax had wandered down to the shore. She was sitting staring out to sea and he went down to join her. She looked around in surprise when she heard his footsteps crunching on the stony beach.

He sat down next to her and they were silent for a long time, watching the ebb and wash of the waves. It was a good silence, like she’d finally accepted what he needed her to know. He wasn’t coming back.

Finally she spoke. ‘What was it like for you when you woke up? That first time, I mean, when your Ghost found you.’

He thought for a moment. ‘Confusing. The powers I had …’ He glanced at his hands. ‘I didn’t know how to control them. They seemed to wield me.’

She grimaced, as if remembering that feeling. ‘For me it was the not remembering that was the worst. I was really messed up about it. My Ghost reassured me that I wasn’t sick or mad, but I didn’t believe it till I got to the Tower. Even then I kept trying to force myself to remember who I was. Like if I wanted it badly enough and was strong enough I would.’

He nodded. It could drive a Guardian mad, that preoccupation. But she had accepted it like they all had to do. The Traveler had made them this way and it must have been for a reason. ‘What made you accept things?’ he asked.

Her eyes flicked up to his and with a lurch he saw it–himself reflected in her eyes. What she thought he was. What she wanted him to be. Andara’s sour words came back to him, about Piax loving him, and it hadn’t occurred to him at the time that she’d meant love of anything but a comradely sort. He’d liked to be loved in that way, once, and he’d loved back, twice as hard, all his Titans. That was painful enough to think of now, what he’d lost in losing them all. But anything more, anything tender, felt obscene.

He stood up. ‘I’ve got a shortlist of names for the next Titan Vanguard leader. I want you to give it to Ikora.’

She watched him steadily. ‘No.’

The granite in her voice surprised him. His reply was automatic. ‘That’s an order, Guardian.’

Her face flushed crimson and she scrambled to her feet. ‘Only my commander can give me orders. Are you my commander or not?’

Don’t you give up on him Piax and NEVER CHANGE all the love for sweet sensitive Titans who aren’t afraid to show their vulnerability.

All the love for resting-bitch-face Warlocks too, but resting-bitch-face Warlocks sometimes need to step aside for the sake of squishy-emotional-heartrendy scenes.

#honestly if I were a Guardian I'd probably spend my first month throwing up #commander zavala x female Guardian #commander zavala #destiny fanfiction #destiny 2 #destiny the game

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