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woncon · 8 months

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☼ wake up !

or four drabbles about waking up beside your boyfriends

☼various poly bts pairs x gn!reader

☼estabilished poly relationships, one swear word (damn), nicknames, kissing

☼special thanks to @honeytwo for helping me translate this into english, correcting my grammar and other mistakes. thank you for everything! °♡̷•.

☼bts masterlist | main masterlist

☼ jin ┊ namjoon ☼

a rattling wakes you from your sweet sleep. something heavy has fallen to the floor. tired, you whimper and dive deeper into the blanket to protect yourself from the outside world: the sound, the sunlight coming through the window and the cold.

"damn," you hear the swearing as someone crawls back on the bed, wrapping their arms around your waist. you realise that the chill you felt was due to the fact that he wasn't lying behind you.

"did you fall, joonie?" you look out from under the duvet with half-closed eyes. the answer is an annoyed hum. "are you okay?" he buries his face in your neck and nods.

"go back to sleep. jin's alarm will go off soon, but you can rest until then."

you sigh and pull him closer to your back.

"you too." you roll over him, squeezing him a little, eliciting a surprised groan from him, and bury your head in his chest, pushing him further into the mattress. "i won't let you fall down again." namjoon smiles at how sweet you are half asleep, before sleeping again.

☼ hoseok ┊ yoongi ☼

you wake up to a gentle caress. the skin of your face, neck and shoulders tingle gratefully with the touch.

"what time is it? what day is it? what year is it? where am i? who am i?" you mutter a barrage of questions as you find yourself confronted with hoseok's smile and loving gaze. you usually wake up to this beautiful sight, and each time pushes you into oblivion: only he exists.

"haha, i ask the same question every time i see you two" hoseok giggles, then starts stroking and arranging your hair like you used to do with his.

"shut up!", yoongi groans tiredly, and then, hugging the other boy tighter, he presses a kiss on his shoulder, burying his head in the smaller boy's neck.

"grumpy sleepyhead," you laugh, and crawl closer to them, pushing the blanket a little lower over your body so you can hug more effectively.

yoongi sighs a couple of times and settles in again before kissing you to let you know that he is fine, that everything was fine with the nap, but that he would like to rest.

"another half an hour?" hoseok offers to the man lying behind him.

"one."

"fine, but you'll do the breakfast then" you agree, and greet hobie with a morning kiss.

"hmn." the eldest reaches out his arm to gently caress your waist until your wakefulness wears off.

☼ taehyung ┊ jungkook ☼

in the morning your only wish is to wake up in the arms of your boyfriends. although this is achieved, waking up now is unpleasant because of the noise it causes.

"it can't be true," jungkook mutters angrily, unbelievingly, against the thin skin of your neck, hugging you tighter. he wants to hide behind you, but when the horrible concert refuses to end, he groans crankily.

he sighs contently as he presses the pillow over his head, revealing more of his upper-body artistry: the sharp lines of his shoulders, his biceps and triceps, his abdominal wall thanks to the sliding blanket.

you're not happy about his estrangement, but you accept and understand it, hoping both of you get back to your dreams.

you imagine his chubby cheeks, parted locks and half-open eyes, so that you can go back to sleep, but the activity is precluded by the noise from outside.

"who's the idiot who mows the lawn at 4.30 a.m. on a sunday?" taehyung grumbles to his partners, or rather to you, that he is now half awake, but not in the mood.

"our neighbor, auntie kwon's daughter, who's been grumpy from the first moment she saw us."

"what can i say, she's off to a good start on her first day at her mother's." the eldest clings to you, pulls his body up on the bed and buries his head in the pillow. "i don't think i'll sleep until tonight." he declares that he's given up trying, unlike jungkook, who shows no signs of life except for breathing, so you conclude that his plan worked and he's taking a nap successfully.

"i'll join you," you announce, and kiss him. you're lucky to open your eyes, because it means you get to share in the sight of taehyung's first smile of the day. your heart melts, and only continues to flow as the other pulls the blanket over you to give you a more private kiss.

getting lost in the sound of your kissing and your occasional bursts of laughter, it feels like the lawn mower has been turned down. only you and taehyung exist, this is your own realm under the covers.

but the world will only be complete when jungkook resigns himself to the fact that he can no longer nap and climbs under the blanket, hoping to get some of the innocent love you are showering on each other.

his dreams come true, as taehyung leans over you and greets him with his lips, and you do the same after turning to him. meanwhile, taehyung is kissing your neck with sloppy kisses, and every area he can reach from the top of your pyjamas.

you'll sink into the tender caress: in this loving, sensual atmosphere, there's no room for anything heavy or distracting, neither of your minds focused on the song of the fierce shearing tool, but on each other, on the more precious, priceless spiritual factors.

☼ jimin ┊ yoongi ☼

you prefer to be woken by jimin, because you don't like ringtones, and he wakes the earliest of the three of you, snuggled up to your neck.

"pretty" this is how he starts the process, with little caresses and pecks. he continues to call and caress you until you wake up, embracing him, expressing that you are awake.

"good morning!" you return his many pecks with a kiss, then turn to your other side. if yoongi is not hanging around your waist then usually by morning he is facing the wall.

now it's your turn to wake up. you cover the free skin with your lips, and you're satisfied when the boy whimpers, it's a state of half-sleep.

"love!" you nuzzle against his body, whispering sweetly. you're getting a little chilly, you've pulled the covers off during the night. "chim and i want to cuddle you before breakfast." the boy, as if yoongi sees something of him, nods vigorously.

"hug each other," he murmurs, uninterested in the subject.

"are you trading us for sleep? is that what this is about?" you gasp in indignation, disappointment at his reaction. before you can really believe he's that mean, he flashes a yoongi grin and pulls you into his embrace. a surprised chuckle breaks out from you, and as jimin joins in, the three of you laugh at nothing, at sweet nothingness.

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odyssean-flower · 3 months

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A random deleted scene from chapter 9

(have another deleted scene hahahaha i think i will get the next chapter done this week hahaha)

“Do you stare so intently at all the ladies you bring here?”

“No, only you,” Then, as if realizing what he just said, he hurriedly added, “Ah, what I meant is, you are the only one I’ve brought here.”

“Really?” That was unexpected. Or maybe not. He probably took them to high-class restaurants or society balls.

They were probably better conversationists, too, you thought as you looked at Neuvillette, who was now looking anywhere but you.

You had never asked Neuvillette about his romantic history. It was none of your business, and it had nothing to do with you, just like how your romantic history (or lack thereof) had nothing to do with him. You weren’t interested, really. Not even a little bit.

“Yes. Would I lie to you? I’m the Chief Justice, I would never do such a thing,” Neuvillette said. “And I am under the assumption that people on dates generally look at each other.”

“…I don’t see how being the Chief Justice preclude you from lying. And how would you feel if I stared at you in the way that you stare at me? Would you enjoy it?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Perhaps, perhaps not.”

“Why would you not be sure? You didn’t like it when I did it before, did you?” Maybe he’s taking revenge on me? I did apologize, though!

“Have I ever said I disliked it?”

“It upset you, didn’t it?”

“I was more upset about how you avoided me.”

“Very well. I shall stare at you closely as well. I’m sure that will teach you how off-putting it is once and for all.”

You leaned forward and fixed your gaze on him. He looked back at you. Nothing could be heard except for the chirping of birds and the gentle lapping of water against the boat.

Three seconds passed. The sun was now high in the sky, but there was also a cool wind blowing, which helped offset the heat. Neuvillette’s hair swayed gently in the breeze, along with those long blue floppy things in his hair. What were they, anyways?

Five seconds passed. Neuvillette’s face so much as twitch. It was as though it was carved from marble. His eyes never left yours. He really was very handsome, wasn’t he? Come on, focus.

Ten seconds passed. If someone was watching the two of you from outside, they would probably assume that you were a couple of passionate lovers absorbed in each other’s eyes. It wasn’t that far off from the truth, though.

Fifteen seconds passed. Your eyes were beginning to water. You needed to blink. But blinking means I lose! Not that this is a competition…right? Neuvillette took another sip of water. He’s mocking me!

Seventeen seconds passed. You no longer remembered why you were doing this. You really needed to blink. A breeze blew a strand of your hair into your face and you tucked it behind your ear. Neuvillette’s eyes followed that movement. You smacked your suddenly dry lips together. Was it just your imagination, or were his ears turning red?

Nineteen seconds passed. You decided to throw in the towel. Your eyes were beginning to tear up. But before you could do so, Neuvillette cleared his throat and looked away.

“I see your point, Madame. I must apologize to you for my discourtesy. A lady shouldn’t be stared at in such a way.”

Hmm, so now he remembers. “As long as you understand,” you said.

There was another stretch of silence.

He really did look picturesque in the sunlight, even though he disliked it. Was that the curse of being beautiful?

A familiar urge rose up within you. It was the same feeling you had when you saw a pretty landscape, or when you spotted an unfamiliar flower. You wanted to preserve those things in some form and look at them again and again. You wanted some way to recall the feelings they inspired in you.

The question was perched on the edge of your tongue. It refused to come out. You felt your palms becoming slick with sweat. Your heart was pounding. Why were you so nervous? It was a reasonable question. It was normal to do such things on dates, wasn’t it? You had too many pictures of the scenery, anyways. And surely it would be smart to have proof of this date to show Furina…

You didn’t realize Neuvillette was calling your name until you felt him shake your shoulder. “[Name]!” Neuvillette’s eyes, filled with concern, were peering into yours. “Is something wrong? Are you getting—”

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” the words spilled out from your mouth before you could stop them. “May I take a photo of you?”

Neuvillette’s brows knitted together, as though he found your question incomprehensible. “I beg your pardon?”

Oh great, now you’ve done it. “What I mean is…would you give your permission to allow me to take a picture of you? Just one, I promise. I will never show it to anyone, it will be for my eyes only. If you want, I can even sign a wai—”

“Yes, I give you my permission. But on one condition.”

You stared at him. He looked deadly serious. Well, he always looked serious. “What is it, sir?”

“That you allow me to take a picture of you as well.”

“Huh? …Um, I mean, sure, if that’s what you want…”

You held the Kamera up to your face, aiming the lens at Neuvillette. The willow tree was behind him. He looked stately and dignified, if a bit stiff. He wasn’t smiling, which was disappointing, but that was alright. The shot had an air of mysticism to it. You adjusted the focus until everything was in sharp relief, before clicking the shutter button. You were no photographer, but you liked the result.

“Your turn,” you passed the Kamera to Neuvillette. You looked at your reflection, checking your hair and makeup.

The boat approached the island in the center. It seemed that Neuvillette wanted to take a picture of you in front of the willow tree as well. He helped you out of the boat. You expected him to tell you where to stand, but instead studied you, looking deep in thought. He seemed to be taking this much too seriously.

In the meantime, you decided to look around. The aquamarine branches of the willow tree seemed to cover the entire island and blot out the skies. You could definitely see why the ancients used to worship it. Maybe you could find some ruins of that worship here, some small fragments or something…

Snap! You heard the sound of a camera shutter. You turned and saw Neuvillette holding the Kamera to his face.

“Did you take a picture of me just now?” you were a bit alarmed. “I wasn’t ready yet.”

“My apologies,” Neuvillette said lightly, but weirdly enough there was a distinct lack of his usual sincerity in his voice. “I could not help myself.”

“We can do a retake,” you said.

“There’s no need for it. The photo is perfect as it is.”

#idk what i was on when i was writing this #my works #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x female reader #genshin impact x reader #the winding path of fate

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sailtomarina · 8 months

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His and Her Familiars

Hermione never regretted choosing Crookshanks as her familiar, but she had always looked forward to mornings when a cacophony of beating wings would preclude the owls’ arrival. Their trajectories aimed true, heading straight towards the recipients of letters, parcels, and newspapers, and all somehow without crashing into one another. They came in a variety of colors and sizes, their looks as different as they were delightful.

Hedwig was always a favorite, with her snowy white plumage and gentle demeanor. She never pecked at Hermione when she reached out to stroke a finger down her puffed chest. Sometimes she shut her eyes as if luxuriating in the attention. At other times, she’d warble quietly, almost like she was thanking Hermione.

There was another owl who caught her eye, and that she couldn’t help but track every time she passed by, which, given her owner’s popularity, happened nearly every day. It wasn’t until several years later, long after they’d graduated and moved on to their adult lives, that Hermione learned the eagle owl’s name: Aquila, a name with an origin as noble as every one of her chosen family’s members.

Regality adorned her wingspan and gradient of dark brown, amber, and cream feathers. Even from across the Great Hall, Hermione smiled at the sight of the owl’s distinct ear tufts swiveling as Draco Malfoy cooed and plied her with treats. When the day came where Hermione could finally reach out and touch her for the first time, tawny eyes held her in a steadfast stare that warned her against sudden movements. Draco assured her of her gentility, but Hermione knew better.

She was like Crookshanks. She read people. You either passed, or you didn’t.

It was Aquila who alerted Hermione to the return of her familiar, thought long lost after the war. Nobody had seen Crookshanks for years, not since Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Rather than enter through the library window as she usually did, which always remained open after Hermione woke up and wrote in the quiet hours of the morning, Aquila chose instead to peck outside the kitchen door. The incessant tapping continued uninterrupted until Draco stumbled from bed, only to call out shortly after for Hermione’s attention.

Curled up on the back step as if taking a morning doze in the early sunlight laid Crookshanks. He ignored Aquila despite the noise and Draco through his shouts. It wasn’t until Hermione rounded the kitchen island and stopped short of the doorway that he finally lifted his face, as squashed as ever, to mewl in the voice she knew intimately to demand food, and lots of it.

As Hermione sobbed and Draco consoled her, Aquila and Crookshanks shared a look that went unnoticed by their owners. In all the ages that wizarding folk and creatures have bonded with one another, the gift of speech between species has always been elusive. There are exceptions of course, legends that speak of a special witch or wizard with the ability to speak with magical beasts, but none present here exhibit such abilities. The lack thereof doesn’t lessen their familiar’s connections to them. One might argue that it strengthens other modes in which the body can communicate.

The combined swish of feathers and fur alerted the humans to movement, and they turned as one to gape at their familiars settling in like it was only natural, like this was a day like any other.

Perhaps it was. As far as Hermione saw it, Aquila had delivered Crookshanks back to her and all was finally right in their home.

WC 593

DHRMonth Prompt: Week 2 - Bonds, September 9 - Creature Bonds

Cross-posted on AO3

Aquila, named for the constellation which was itself named after Zeus’ eagle and carrier of his thunderbolts

#dramione month #dramionemonth #dramione #dhr fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger #draco malfoy #crookshanks

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femininenachos · 1 year

Note

Who makes the first move in vacation au

Previously

The taverna gets livelier after midnight, when the staff mix with the patrons and the wine really starts flowing. Carafes of cheap yet delicious local red go out at every table, compliments of the owners, along with platters of cheese and olives. Despite her earlier protestations (it would be rude to refuse such generous hospitality, after all), Clarke partakes freely and by the time Octavia returns from an extended trip to the bathroom, she has a pleasant alcohol buzz going.

“Did you get lost on the way? Or did the squid disagree with you?” Clarke smirks into the rim of her glass.

Octavia shoots her a droll look, but it’s soon replaced by a sneaky, private little smile as she retakes her seat.

“What?” Clarke asks, instantly suspicious.

“Nothing bad. We've just been invited to a bar by Lincoln and the rest of the wait staff. He’s even hotter up close, by the way, it’s insane.” Octavia fans herself. “Whew.”

“Mm, pass,” Wells says. “I’ll have to bow out gracefully. It’s been a long day, plus I really want to hit the archaeological sites early tomorrow before the cruise ship hordes descend.”

Octavia sends him a pitying glance, but refrains from insulting his nerdery. She turns her focus to Clarke instead. Waggles her eyebrows. “How about it? Lexa will be there…”

Clarke’s face flushes hot, but she hesitates.

“You should go,” Wells says with an encouraging smile. “At least to make sure O doesn’t get abducted and killed by a stranger whose attractiveness doesn’t preclude him from being a psychopath.”

“Well, that went dark,” Octavia mutters under her breath. “But, yeah, we can be each other’s wingwomen.”

She clasps her hands together, silently begging please, please, please.

Clarke vacillates back and forth; conflicted. On the one hand, she’s bone tired, more tipsy than she cares to admit on only a handful of drinks, and she would kind of like to join Wells on his excursion in the morning. But on the flip side… she hasn’t had any action in six months and Lexa is so, so fucking hot.

While she’s debating it internally, the object of her desire saunters into her field of vision, and Clarke loses her train of thought once she sees that Lexa has changed into open toe sandals, black denim cut-offs and a black t-shirt that reveals an intriguing piece of ink that peeks out from under her sleeve. Her hair is down, falling in soft, flowing waves down her back, and Clarke has a sudden craving to run her fingers through those gorgeous locks.

She caves.

“Two drinks, max.”

~*~

The bar is an open air spot that’s just a short stroll from the taverna and overlooks the harbour from a vantage point, providing a stunning panoramic vista. A slew of dinky little blue and white fishing boats are docked, bobbing in the water, gleaming amid the pretty harbour lights, with the inky darkness of the sea stretching into the horizon beyond.

On the decks over in the corner a DJ plays soulful, laidback deep house, infectious beats that are hard to resist shimmying to. Lantern lights are strung up between olive trees, adding to the mellow atmosphere. The patrons, a younger crowd that’s a mix of tourists and locals, cluster together in small groups drinking beers and colourful cocktails.

Clarke slowly nurses a vodka soda and lime, feeling very much like the third wheel while Octavia and Lincoln engage in flirty exchanges. From what Clarke has gleaned, he seems far from the murdering type, a gentleness to him that belies his bulky stature. Bless his heart, he keeps trying to include Clarke in the conversation, but Octavia is adept at commanding his attention with the brash confidence she exudes and her frequent habit of touching his biceps when she speaks.

Besides, Clarke’s mind is elsewhere, conscious of being watched. It makes her skin prickle. Fills her with nervous energy.

They keep sharing glances.

Every time Clarke looks over, Lexa is staring right back. Curious eyes drawn to one another, scanning up and down. Something thrilling about the way they’re each too restrained to act on their obvious interest—that, or they’re both too stupidly stubborn to make the first move.

But Clarke feels the anticipation building.

Tastes it in the air.

Even though Lexa is with friends, she still stands a little aloof and apart. Now and then, she’s pulled back into their boisterous chatter and jokes, but Clarke finds that intense gaze on her time and again, and it makes her tingle all over.

“And you?” Lincoln asks, jolting her out of her trance. He nods towards the glass in her hand, a small smile on his lips. “Can I buy you another?”

She meets his smile with a distracted one of her own. “Oh, no. I’m good, thanks.”

Once he heads for the bar, her eyes flick in Lexa’s direction again, and Clarke‘s mouth runs dry, noting the graceful line of Lexa’s throat as she swigs from a beer bottle, long fingers wrapped around the neck.

Never in her life has Clarke been so envious of an inanimate object…

An arm swings around her shoulders, startling her and sending a little vodka mix sloshing over the side of the glass onto her hand, and she scowls at Octavia’s unapologetic expression.

“This is physically painful to watch, Griffin. Go talk to her, please.”

“And say what?”

“Just be your charming self. And if that doesn’t work,” Octavia tugs on the neckline of Clarke’s summer dress, “Use the girls.”

“I can’t just sidle up and flash my cleavage at her.”

“Really? Because that’s definitely a thing you’ve done in the past, and you’ve also had a good success rate with it.”

Clarke half-shoves Octavia, raising a wicked laugh. Even so, she allows herself to be turned around by the shoulders and pushed in the direction of Lexa and her group, weak complaints falling on deaf ears.

On her slow approach, Clarke sees Lexa straighten up, pulling that plump bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes trip over Clarke’s form, and for some reason…

Clarke loses her nerve.

At the last second she wheels away, making a beeline for the restroom. It’s empty, thankfully, and she sets down her purse on the counter, rummaging through it to find the tube of lipstick. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she reapplies the colour and presses her lips together to blot, eyeing her reflection critically in the long mirror above the sinks. She primps and preens, giving her hair a little zhuzh. Turns this way and that to admire the fit of her dress, running her hands over her curves.

And, yeah, she’s feeling herself.

She’s got this.

Confidence renewed, she struts out with an extra sway in her hips only to find the space Lexa occupied is now empty. Her heart sinks. Annoyed at herself for squandering the opportunity and a little upset about being abandoned, she casts her eyes around until she spots Octavia by the steps that lead to the street. She beckons Clarke over with a wave.

“Thank God. For a hot second I thought you’d left without me,” Clarke grumbles.

Octavia sends her a look like: girl, please.

“Where’d everyone go?”

“Chill. They’re just waiting for us on the curb side. Linc’s friends want to head on to a club. You in?”

The thought has barely entered Clarke’s mind when Octavia preempts her. “Don’t worry, Lexa’s going too.”

Clarke tries not to react too much, deflecting with a teasing drawl. “Linc, huh? You’ve known him all of five minutes and we’re shortening his name already? Must be serious.”

But unlike Clarke, Octavia is completely unflappable and unfazed. Just flips Clarke the finger and glides away.

~*~

Fewer in number now, their group winds through the labyrinthian jumble of cobbled streets that make up the oldest part of the village. Squat, rustic, pastel-coloured buildings with blue or terracotta doors line the narrow streets, adorned with hanging baskets, trailing vines, and potted plants on window sills.

While Clarke soaks the quaint character of it all in, Lexa smoothly falls into step beside her.

“Your boyfriend didn’t want to come out tonight?” Lexa asks. Eyes ahead. A slight pout on her lips.

Clarke almost trips. “Boyfriend?”

Lexa looks directly at her then, and Clarke nearly loses her footing again on the uneven paving.

“The guy you were with at dinner?”

Clarke’s brows leap up her forehead.

“Wells?” She barks out a sudden laugh. “Wells isn’t—” She chuckles again. “No. There’s no boyfriend. I am very much free and single.”

Is that what was holding Lexa back? Crossed wires and mistaken assumptions. How gallant.

Lexa studies her a moment longer. Glances away, then back. Something vital and alive dancing in her eyes. Pleased. “Me too.”

Good sits on the tip of Clarke’s tongue, but she holds it in, if not the little smile that follows, her mouth pulling to one side.

They walk the rest of the way in comfortable silence, their knuckles brushing once or twice before Lexa catches Clarke’s fingers and lets them entwine. A loose, gentle grip, but enough to send the butterflies in Clarke’s stomach into overdrive.

Because it’s such an assured move, and Clarke isn’t used to things being this easy. There’s far too much bullshit around dating, the plethora of apps, the red flags and rules and expectations, so Clarke had chosen to largely opt out of the whole affair. Not that she really has the time or energy with the grueling hours she puts in at the hospital, how she can never quite let go of the heaviness she brings home with her, two qualities that aren’t exactly appealing to most people.

(Finn told her as much when they broke up, having soon learned that the reality of being with a doctor is not nearly as sexy as Grey’s makes it out to be.)

But there’s freedom in being in a foreign land, where she can be a different, more carefree version of herself, the version that would absolutely entertain the idea of a meaningless hookup with a beautiful, mysterious local. Even if this is a well-tread playbook for Lexa, picking up horny tourists at work for kicks, Clarke is 100% willing to be a notch on that particular bedpost.

It doesn’t matter that she doesn’t know the first thing about this girl.

She wants Lexa.

Wants that mouth and those hands on her body.

Wants to taste those lips and feel all that tan skin pressed against every inch of her own.

She gets her wish at the club.

#Asks #vacation au #clexa

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prasannawrites · 1 year

Photo

so it turns out, i still love you. click for better quality. transcript under cut.

In gentle form, in rhythmic sway, in the year that’s still

pungent like freshly-cracked peppercorns, and hasn’t lost its

footing in a foot of snow—we stretch past language,

abandon our mouths to embalm the orange sodium

of streetlights & halation of warm orange bleeding

through barely-drawn curtains of houses, framed by

a staunchly blue sky. An endeavour in softness,

followed next by a quiet forgetting of ourselves,

all to burden ourselves with a new tongue, one yet

not impoverished by bitterness, still sweet with the

taste of newness—and oh lord, let it stay this way.

I still struggle with speech, as quaint as that sounds,

there is a small infinity of words I cannot reasonably

house in my mouth—are they too vast, or am I

limited to a diction that precludes affirming that

at the heart of it all, I too, am a beast of longing?

I have a tendency to put you at the root of my poems,

all words spoken has a lineage to you, if I knew any better,

I would say that you weren’t at the heart of this little life,

but I don’t—

I do most things in excess, but not in loving you

(how does one limit the ocean?)

Everything I do, is in worship of you.

#poems #poetry #writerscreed #poeticstories #writingthestorm #writtenconsiderations #bitsofstarglow #smittenbypoetry #deadwatered #inspireamuse #poetryclub13 #poetryportal #poetselixir #inkstay #spilled ink #poetryreruns #original poetry #my writing #poets of tumblr

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paragonrobits · 7 months

Text

anyways I happened upon some thoughts on the in-universe thinking behind the song Marceline ascribes to Marshall Lee in Bad Little Boy

the biggest and most significant thing there is that Marshall explicitly has feelings for Fionna and manipulates her with those same feelings that she has for him; this raises a lot of questions if you assume that this relates to Marceline's own thoughts on Finn.

In Go With Me, she's pretty adamant that she doesn't feel that way about him. Now, of course, that episode was the Finnceline episode for a long time even with that detail because of how much it emphasized how well they mesh together, how akin they are and how much fun they have together. It's also notable in that Marceline at that point denying any feelings doesn't preclude her developing stronger romantic feelings later in life, but I don't think that's the most important possible takeaway.

Instead, consider a more significant bit; Marshall Lee's characterization is something Marceline specifically wrote, for a character she likely believes (for good reason) to be based on her. And most importantly, Marceline has a really low opinion of herself. She thinks of herself as a monster, she drives people away on purpose so she doesn't feel the pain of losing them in other ways, she deliberately acts off putting and scary because she believes she's just as much a monster as her father and everyone will leave her one way or the other.

It's not unlikely that the song she gives Marshall is probably based on her own romantic feelings in the past, exaggerating her own feelings about herself as a bad person, or a manipulator; I suggest that Marshall's entire characterization is Marceline criticizing herself, exaggerating what she thinks she's doing; manipulating the feelings of others for her own amusement or because she thinks its funny.

Now, we know she's not actually like that, and this is just her being needlessly self critical (while also trying to engage with her father substitute and bond with him somehow), but it is pretty significant how she characterizes Marshall as much more callous and even cruel; Marceline even at her most apparently antagonistic was nothing like that.

As an example, consider Go With Me again; when Finn dons the lute suit to try to get her to go with the movies before, Marceline's comment of 'uh oh' and attempts to dissuade him suggests she's at least considered the idea of him having SOME feelings for her and to head them off, and she's surprisingly gentle as possible with him once her attempts to just gross him out or scare him away have no effect on him. Even if she was planning on heading this off, she's remarkably awkward and cautious about it.

The biggest surprise is that we know what Marshall Lee is ACTUALLY like; rather than being a manipulative jerk who toys with his friends feelings even if he DOES have romantic feelings in them as well, he's not that different from her, albeit even more laid back (possibly because he doesn't have a thousand years of trauma persuading him he's a monster too, though in this case he may simply not recall it); given his attitude with Fionna, its not implausible that they DID have a romance at some point before it cooled down (which is, again, something that could well have happened if Finn was older during the on-screen seasons) and they're definitely close enough that he's implicitly crashing at her place with no suggestion that she'd find him walking around in just a towel there surprising.

So again this suggests to me that Marceline's depiction of Marshall says more about her own deep self criticism while playing it off as part of Ice King's fanfiction, airing it out in a deniable way (which is a very Marceline thing to do); from her own views as a cruel manipulator toying with the feelings of her heroic friend, to a bad break up with candy royalty that's complicated at BEST, to that heroic friend being internally tormented by those feelings, it all says a lot about what Marceline THINKS herself as a bad person even against a significant amount of evidence otherwise.

#adventure time #marceline #bad little boy #analysis #marshall lee #queued #i will concede there is some shipping bias here but #anyone who knows me in the AT fandom probably would expect that

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lemonhemlock · 1 year

Note

Thoughts on otto?

i really enjoy komsomolka's take that otto is a failed girldad

i think both otto and tywin are deconstructions of machiavelli's prince. but otto is very much tywin-lite. he is not as ruthless as tywin, not as cold, not as sly. his schemes are childlike compared to tywin's. never in a million years would have tywin suffered such a fool like daemon for so long. otto is a conniver himself, but he does genuinely care for his duty to the realm on a conceptual level as well and he does care for viserys, both as his friend and both as an embodiment of the crown. that doesn't preclude him from doing all he can to advance himself and his own - he is a noble lord, after all.

otto gets a lot of flack in the fandom & we should totally acknowledge the imprint traditional masculinity has on the less-privileged around him. but i have this pervasive, terrifying feeling that otto is actually... he is our father!! you take any reasonably-gentle, reasonably-decent man, who loves his daughter, and put him into the shoes of the second son of a noble lord, in a fantasy middle-ages setting, and he becomes otto. and that's what i find so bloody tragic about otto - this is the story of a man who is separated by societal mores and structures from the one person he loves the most in this entire world - the apple of his eye!! his bbygurl! nobody wins under feudalism! nobody wins under patriarchy! not alicent, but not even otto either! would mine own father do that to me were he in otto's place? would yours? what a completely alarming idea!

otto doesn't completely understand alicent because he doesn't understand women, not fully, not ever & he never will because he lacks the psychoanalysis tools & the critical paradigm through which to objectively assess society & re-arrange his world view. every character in the show has this problem and faces this wall eventually. this is not otto-apologia or trying to find excuses for him, but, equally, not accounting for this in our commentaries does a disservice to all of us, because it utterly fails to account for how our behaviours and beliefs are constitutionally conditioned by socio-economical structures. a person living under patriarchal feudalism, where war is a common occurrence, medical science is rudimentary and mental health non-existent, making life itself a very perilous affair, is conspicuously NOT going to have the same beliefs as a person who has (hopefully) gained critical-thinking skills as a result of their university education in modern-day capitalism. no matter how kindhearted or empathetic they might be.

that is to say that otto genuinely believes he is doing the very best for alicent and for his house and for the realm. he is providing the realm with an exemplary queen, he is connecting the hightowers to the crown via blood and he is giving alicent away to (in his eyes) a kind, good, gentle husband. he is making her the most important woman in westeros with the most amount of power, should she learn how to yield it. he doesn't understand alicent's terror because he doesn't understand abuse the same way she does - viserys never yells at her, is never violent to her, always treats her politely, is a jolly enough man and seems like he'd be fun to drink a beer with. alicent now has all the wealth, all the jewels, the finery, the security and the obeisance of those around her. that's how otto conceptualises happiness and he is giving exactly that to his daughter. would otto agree that it would have been ideal for alicent to be a few years older before getting married? probably, yeah. but an opportunity like this comes only once in a lifetime and, as fucked up as this may seem, this is an act of love in his eyes.

alicent knows her father doesn't truly understand her, doesn't speak "the language of girls", but goes along with it because she is in an uneven power dynamic with him, she is young & inexperienced and is primed to trust that her father's decisions are for her own benefit. there is anxiety-inducing conflict here bc the reality doesn't live up to otto's idealized and superficial understanding of what marriage to viserys entails. what this means for her relationship with rhaenyra, her soul mate. but, even so, alicent knows that her father is the only person in the whole wide world who will love her no matter what & never abandon her, no matter their disagreements. people don't understand why alicent loses her shit when she loses otto. this is why! he is not viserys, he is not rhaenyra. the only reason he leaves is because he is banished. and she (unknowingly & without her sanction) pays a terrible price to get him back

alicent is otto's pawn but she is not just a broodmare to him. he wants to actively work with her. he includes her in his schemes. he allows her on the small council. they have their own power struggles & disagreements, but he mostly rules with her. he wants her on his team so bad. together, you and i will prevail. whatever our differences, our hearts remain as one. he honours their stupid bet and delivers alicent's v generous peace terms to rhaenyra himself. he has been bested by his daughter, he respects that & doesn't undermine her. she really is his queen!!

just bc daemon & rhaenyra oppose otto doesn't mean he is a "snake". daemon is a true nepo baby & incompetent in every job he gets handed. rhaenyra is pissed otto "spied" on her, but that's literally his job as Hand, to be on top on things, act like the CIA and inform the King of any potential trouble. he has his own faults, but i wouldn't call him the evil mastermind the fandom has decided he is

#ask #anon #otto hightower #alicent hightower #alicent & otto #also rhys ifans eats every scene he is what an outstanding performance

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hexonthepeach · 9 months

Text

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 6: gift

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

tags: reverse harem, non-traditional omegaverse hybrid! cyberpunk au, pack dynamics, polyamory, slowburn/slowbuild, angst & hurt/comfort, heavy content warnings inc. torture, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, explicit sexual content

summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate's clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [0: prologue] [1: escape, again] [2: lost and found] [3: returned] [4: bound] [5: home]

wc: 5k

chapter warnings: mild au sexual harassment, graphic violence, yuta is a bit of a menace (affectionate)

recommended listening: dead man runnin' - seulgi, easy - key

The emergency meeting takes place with you locked back in the medical bay, Taeil unconcerned as he eats his leftover supper. When you give him a pathetic enough look he feeds you bites of ramen from his chopsticks, unable to stop you from stealing the whole bowl as you go back to hiding at his feet.

The monitor in front of him has multiple live feeds, each keyed in on the nine members of the pack where they've ensconced themselves.

Or rather, eight. The ninth was nowhere to be found–having clawed out of his chambers by breaking down the door to disappear into an abandoned section of the building.

"You shouldn't have let her in there," a dry voice speaks, angular face lit in green infrared as he navigates what looks like an unfinished office–the exposed ceiling trailing cut wires. "Scents all the way down here on 97."

A sneeze answers from another cam.

"It's awful." You recognize Mark's fricative voice, his large eyes filling the screen as he wipes at his nose. "You could have at least given us some warning."

"We didn't have enough notice to change the air filtration units," Doyoung sighs, pulling back into pillows with his glasses on his head. You can see Taeyong's ears just out of frame, twitching occasionally in his medicated sleep. "It wasn't deliberate."

"Why not evacuate them both?" Jungwoo asks.

"We only have one safehouse. We could probably sneak Taeyong into one of the nicer rut hotels but that's just asking for trouble," Doyoung says. "We'd be vulnerable."

"Are you volunteering to run that op? Or do we pull in the recruits?" Jungwoo asks, distracted by something on another screen.

"You know they aren't ready for that," Mark bites back. “This is pack business, not corps.”

"____ stays here," Taeil finally speaks, finishing his deliberation as he side-eyes you licking the bowl clean. "We'll need a schedule for guard duty. One shift per day, and then three when they cycle."

There's a collective groan across the speakers, and your ears perk at a rich laugh from Jungwoo's monitor.

"I'm going to Containment," someone says. "Wake me up when this nightmare is over."

You lift yourself tentatively onto the console, peering into the black space behind Jungwoo's shoulder for the familiar voice.

"What's Containment?" You ask, looking back at Taeil.

He smiles wryly. "Quarantine."

"Why don't we just stick her in there and let her sweat it out until it's over," Mark says. You look up at his video feed and smile at him, baring your teeth intentionally. It's funny how he startles, like the image is horrifying.

"That won't preclude her from needing medical attention and care," Taeil says. "Solitary confinement is not an option."

"What, your security operation can't handle one little omega?" Haechan asks, shoving his hair back from his forehead as he appears on his screen. "Hi, Princess."

You smile at him, too, crouching over the keyboard with your tail on full display. "You’ll watch over me, won't you?"

Haechan turns away from the monitor, making a stifled sound that sounds suspiciously like a groan. "Alright, maybe you have a point."

"Well isn't that convenient," Doyoung says. "I'll put you first, Lee."

"No," someone says. "I'll escort the first shift. We can discuss evacuation offline."

You look up to see Yuta staring directly at you through the screen, eyes green discs in the night vision. You don't smile this time.

"Team F will do lockdown preparations, Team C will handle our guest until," Taeil checks the readouts from his personal screen, "four hours, give or take."

"She peaking that fast, Doc?" Jungwoo asks.

"Surprisingly, no." Taeil says. "It's Taeyong's hormones that are spiking. Who knows what his reaction will be to someone with her pheromone profile. He might fuck her. Or he might kill her. Better avoid that risk altogether."

You paw at the screen with cupped fingers, pressed into the raised light over Taeyong's sleeping profile. He looks peaceful, in contrast. You still have half-moons of blood under your fingernails from the scratch marks you'd made in his skin.

"I really didn't mean to hurt him."

"I don't care. The next time you lay a claw on him you'll get like for like," Doyoung warns through the screen. He changes tack just as quickly, back to cold efficiency. "Let's get Taeyong moved to the penthouse, then. Any luck, Yuta?"

"Suh is somewhere in the old NeoTech quarters."

You perk at the name but make an effort to hide your interest, sinking back down with your nose at desk level.

"I'll go get him," Taeil says, resignation in his voice. "Yuta, I'll need that escort."

You wait until the conversation is over to speak again, jumping at the sound of the disconnect.

"Are they angry with me?" you whisper, eyes meeting Taeil's.

"More annoyed," he confirms. The half-hearted attempt to soften the blow does little to soothe you as you feel a wave of regret.

You'd harmed your mate. Even if he hadn't bonded you yet he'd offered you his trust and you'd torn it to pieces, literally. You begin to sob, quietly, wrapping your arms around your knees.

"How maudlin," Doyoung sighs, apparently still on the call. "Do you think you can hold down the fort while we're gone?"

Taeil places a hand on your head, soothing you within a few strokes across your delicate ears. You burrow into his thigh over his lab coat.

"We'll survive," he says, amused. "Hopefully with our dignity still intact. It would probably be best to assume that someone is going to be subjected to her who doesn't have Taeyong's self control."

"The kids," Doyoung sighs. "Well if they want to get it out of their system, let them. Just keep you-know-who isolated."

"Who would you like for security?"

"I'm leaving both Mark and Yuta with your team. Mark is uninterested and Yuta has experience. Jungwoo should be useful, too. We can handle ourselves."

"Fine. But let me know if there's any issue with the rut."

"Do you expect there to be?" Doyoung's voice cracks with a mild surprise.

"It might not be as effective, under the circumstances," Taeil says. "Keep an eye out for any of the signs of a hormonal storm. We'll have to administer more serious treatment in that case, and it won't be acceptable long term."

"I'll act like I know what any of that means if you'll just send me clear instructions on what to check and when." Doyoung places a hand on Taeyong's forehead, testing his temperature.

"I'll get him ready," he says. "Let's be out of here by 22:00."

You watch the rectangle disappear as the call ends, nudging Taeil to get him to keep petting you.

"Try not to be too much trouble," he says, ruffling your hair.

The lanky Felid seems nice enough, arms crossed as he stares down at your attempt to untie one of the laces on his combat boots. You drop the string, worrying at your torn sweater instead, waiting for him to say something–anything.

He doesn’t say a word.

You crouch on the cold floor, tail tucked between your legs, unsure how to act. Cats are rancid creatures to you physiologically speaking, but you don't taste that sourness now.

“Princess," Yuta finally acknowledges, sealing the door shut behind him. Now that you can see him clearly, so close, you find him fascinating–angular, sly features crooking under a mop of fawn-colored hair. He smirks at you, amused at the way you observe him from your crouched position.

You sniff at his legs, catching rare floral signatures and pine. Memory tugs at you, at the way his scent mingles with the richer tones of a different cat.

Of course, the third man. Johnny's partner. You'd met before, under circumstances that register distantly with the sedation you're under. Just something that happened to a girl, the animal that's replaced her uninterested in treading that path.

These late stage dosages are woefully nothing compared to the vixen surfacing in your behavior. She has a knack for thievery, just usually not so blatant. It's easy to blame the drugs for reduced inhibitions as you search him. He doesn’t appear to react, amused.

You find something hard in his belt loop and dig it out, not offered any protest, the Felid's hands still behind his back.

"Hmm," you say, opening the telescoping shaft out to its farthest point. "What does this do?"

"Let's not find out," Yuta says, leaning in to pluck it from your fingers.

He deposits something else in your grasp–a huge swath of dark gray fabric that smells incredible.

Your joy at receiving a gift is soured realizing how careless you'd been with the first clothes you'd been given, shredded through and hanging off your antiseptic-dotted shoulder.

Scratches from Taeyong criss-cross your belly, more itching beneath the remains of your pants where he'd kicked at your legs with bare feet. Taeil hadn’t checked you there, and you didn't expect Yuta to after what you'd done.

"Don't look," you say, shyness returning. "Turn around."

"Nothing I haven't seen before," he says. You sniff and turn away, feeling him watch in detached interest as you strip in front of him.

When you struggle to find your way out of the fabric he pulls the overly large garment over your stinging arms. It hits your knees, sleeves flopping over your wrists, ridiculousness maximized as the hood is pulled up over your head to fall over your eyes.

"Keep that up," he says. "We're going out."

You feel a bit dumbstruck, wrapped up in the warm wood and orange peel scent of the sweatshirt. "Going out?"

He rubs your head, freeing your face a bit but pulling the collar up and over your mouth, cords pulled taut over your nose "You're going to need a few more clothing options."

More gifts, you think. Delight makes you feel weightless as you shuffle for the autocar in your overlarge slippers.

"And shoes," he remarks. "Not that way. We're going down to the lower levels." He pulls you away from the carport.

You follow him, fascinated, back to the central atrium. You hadn't even noticed the elevator suite hidden under the stairwell up to the resident blocks, following him into the capsule. Its thick mirrored glass is pockmarked with age and cracked in parts, but you're immediately exposed to a view of the city that gives you vertigo.

"Lower floors are off limits without an escort," he warns, placing his hand against the touchscreen and stroking it to select the desired floor number: 88.

"That's still so high up," you say, heart leaping into your throat as the elevator drops you, fast, cheery music playing on the climb down.

"We don't usually use this one, but the observation deck is the hub for lower floors," he explains. The door slides open to reveal a bustling space, awash in the same orange light of the evening sun from floor-to-ceiling windows stretching out in either direction.

Most people in the vast space ignore you but a small handful turn to look at you in slack-jawed surprise, halted mid-task from behind counters and in front of stacks of tech.

The floor looks like an old-fashioned street stall market separated into clusters centrally around multiple elevator banks. Lounge stations for drinks and pods of gambling consoles line the edges, set against the busy skyline.

A strange clicking noise prompts you to look up at the tech overhead, a series of turrets that deactivate when the elevator doors hiss shut behind you.

"Like I said, we don't use those very often." Yuta jokes. "Hey, Hendery."

You follow his eyeline to a man half-asleep in a large kiosk immediately beside the elevator, his eyes widening in surprise when he sees you. You watch him drop his digital readout as if your presence is worth an exaggerated reaction.

"Well, well, Nakamoto." Hendery's expression panics as you come up to his counter and lean into it to look at the wares, each perfectly lined in LED lights to maximize the impact of their presentation.

"I don't want clothes, I want one of these," you say, pointing at a modified pistol highlighted pink. The turrets inside the caged space follow your hand, green laser sights trailing your gestures threateningly until Yuta pulls you back by your hood, tamping it down when you're back on your feet.

"Who is she?" Hendery asks, plucking at the front of his tropical-themed shirt to air it out. You sniff experimentally, pleased to find his scent is a mixture of beta and whatever ramen he'd spilled on it, container abandoned on the scorched countertop.

"The Princess Consort of the Third Dynasty of New Goryeo," Yuta says. "She doesn't need a gun."

"Body armor, maybe?" Hendery asks, hopefully. "We just got the newest Militech exports, specially designed for exec gigs."

"We're here for something a little more subtle," Yuta says.

Hendery seems to understand, nodding sagely as he presses a button to change out the displays, panels flipping with a pneumatic hiss to reveal an assortment of non-lethal gear. You recognize the nightstick you'd held in your hands earlier, its wrist loop dangling.

"Good," Yuta says. "Two Horang-Hi collars and a muzzle if you have one. For her."

"Two, huh." Hendery's eyebrows raise, obviously uncomfortable as he watches you grasp onto Yuta's patterned jacket, hard nails sinking into the fabric. "The muzzle will have to be custom. Gonna need a leash?"

"You know, that's not a bad idea. Retractable preferably," Yuta says, disattaching you with a hand wrapped around your clawing fingers so he can swipe on his wrist display. "Send it up when you've got it all on hand, along with this."

He swipes over a much more comprehensive list, visible for an instant projected in the air in red text as Hendery reads through it on his display, nodding.

"You used all of these munitions recently? You didn't give them too much trouble, did you Princess?" he asks, tone light in spite of the curious way he leans forward, winking at you. You feel yourself flush a little.

"What's your favorite brand?" you ask, pointing lazily at the cups lined up next to his reinforced monitor.

"Oh, well, for loyal customers it's on the house," he says, handing you a paper container wrapped in a rainbow design, font almost illegible. You squint at the incomprehensible text, immediately transported back to your failed foreign language instruction.

"Water at 363 Kelvin, no longer than 150 seconds," he advises. You catch him grinning at you fully, flashing white teeth. "Hasn't this loser fed you the real thing?"

"Real thing?" You look up at your shopping partner, clutching your first prize to your chest.

"Sho-sho's. Three floors down," he says.

Yuta sighs, heavily.

"Can you order me a delivery? I'm just filling in, you know," Hendery bats his eyelashes, reminding you of one of those omega caricatures from a beta channel melodrama.

"You're going to be on night duty if you don't watch it, Hwang." Yuta says, something indecipherable in his expression. "Send me your order, and keep me filled in."

"Got it, boss," Hendery faux salutes, making you laugh far longer than you should as you're escorted away.

"I liked him," you say.

"He works for us," Yuta explains. "An operative. Too bad he's lazy."

"Oh," you say, distractedly examining the constant stream of merchandise, aware that the vendors don't approach you or your companion, preferring nods or stoic acknowledgement. You catch much more of the traffic watching you, eyes boring into your back.

You dance around for a moment, trying to see if your tail is visible under your sweatshirt, before Yuta stops you with a hand on your head.

"Stop bringing attention to yourself," he warns under his breath, pulling you into his hard chest as he brings you close. "If you're good we'll dine out."

"Promise?" you ask, voice wispy with delight.

He gives you a hint of catlike grin, letting you melt into his side. "You're so easy to please, Princess. Might want to watch it, or people will think you're an easy mark."

"Mark?" you ask. "Is that like–?"

"Quiet," he orders, before the word can slip out.

Your mouth is sealed shut by Alpha command as he pulls you down the wide corridor of the nearest stairwell. Discarded cans and bottles scatter as you're dragged, losing your shoe.

You stumble into him when you try to hop, satisfied by his grunt of annoyance.

He carefully lets you go, retrieving your dirty slipper and lifting your knee to place it on your equally grime-stained foot. You hide the disgust long before he can look back up at you, letting a closed-lip smile take its place.

"Outside of base you should be careful with what you say," he explains, still hunched down. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Your lip curls, but you refuse to reply.

"Cat got your tongue?" he jokes. "I said quiet, not silent."

"Same difference," you murmur, finding your words. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" he answers. "Watch out for you?"

You shudder a little when you realize he's toying with you. It's not the kind of Alpha behavior you're prepared for; your tactics will have to change.

"Do they have aestheticians here? I could use a tune before trying on clothing." To make your point you lift your leg, inspecting it for non-existent hair growth.

"Little fuzz never hurt anyone," he remarks, sliding his half-gloved palms up your calf as he stands. The feeling is electric, your body buzzing with the contact.

"You're not trying on anything," he says.

"What?" You ask, deflated.

"Pretty girl, you are a ticking time bomb with a scent trail that tastes like heaven. Betas are the norm here but there are other Alphas in this building. You going to fight them off yourself?"

"Thought that was your job," you say.

He laughs, harsh. "Only if you're paying. You have a credit chip with a few million hidden somewhere?"

That shuts you up organically. Everything you'd had was now in the possession of Halatus, including your mother's necklace. The drug-hazed realization that you'd never gotten it back makes your eyes burn with unshed tears.

If Yuta notices, he doesn't acknowledge it, leading you downstairs.

"In and out, necessities only. If you're really good, dinner will be my treat."

That spurs you to action, and a little more compliance.

You find your ways of making him suffer, if only because your fascination with the amenities provided in the seemingly endless floors distracts you every few steps. Soon he's loaded down with bags in an assortment of shapes and sizes, playing referee for your fashion choices in a way that becomes a game for you, alone.

He's clearly exhausted by the time you reach the final stop–a lingerie store advertising a variety of scandalous options, including biomod accommodations.

"No," he protests, lamely.

Five minutes later he's slumped in a velvet couch with all the appearance of being asleep under a set of dark-lensed AR glasses. The shopgirl eyes you from where she's shoving scraps of fabric into an industrial UV decontaminator, judging your unkempt appearance.

"Customs are non-returnable." She says in a bored tone as you swipe at the air, using the responsive mirror to try on options at lightning speed.

"Can I help you?"

You're surprised that she's asked, finally, but then you realize she's addressing the trio of men crowding the entrance, one of them zeroing on you right as the reek hits your nose.

Wolf. Mangy and stale, matching the physical state of the Alpha with his lank hair and grimy clothing.

"Looking for a nice perfume for my girl," he says, yellow eyes locking with yours after glancing at the stylized catgirl avatar on the screen.

"Body sprays are over there." She points, oblivious to what's actually going on. You sidle towards Yuta, reaching to shake him awake. Surely he's asleep.

"Here, kitty kitty," one of the other men beckons from across a rack of latex bodysuits, sporting a sparse green mohawk. You can tell the other two are betas, unable to smell them outside of their similar lack of hygiene.

"She's a fox, moron." His tattooed partner says, nodding at the tip of your tail peeking out from under your clothing. You hide it, turning away only to remember there’s a mirror behind you. "Expensive mods, too."

"Probably some rich corpos little project," Mohawk sneers.

The Alpha has been deadly quiet during their exchange but you haven't taken your eyes off him yet, your animal circling to put Yuta between you. The Felid still hasn't moved, except to raise a gloved hand and tap an unseen display in the direction of the ceiling.

"This your input?" Tattoo asks.

"Nope," Yuta says, still unconcerned. The betas laugh, Mohawk slapping a mannequin so hard it almost falls to the floor.

"Not yours?" The wolf Alpha’s voice is a growl. He comes around the couch to get a better view, making you cower nearer to your useless escort. If you weren't panicking at the threat of being discovered his hand would have already been stuck in your teeth.

"I just met her today," Yuta says, lips curving to expose sharp canines as he waves at all your bags. "You know how proxies are, though. Make you work for it."

"Bleeding you dry, huh?" Mohawk says. "We can take her off your hands if she's playing you."

"Oh I think she'll put out," Yuta says, finally pulling down his sunglasses to give you a smug look. You toss your head, kicking his booted foot with your new sneaker to show your displeasure.

"We can pay you a lot more than you put in," Tattoo says. "Our buddy here is kind of stuck in a rut, if you know what I mean."

You startle, visibly. The Alpha hasn't stopped moving, and you're left with the option of backing into the mirror or climbing over Yuta and past the two betas to make a run for it.

"Not likely," Yuta says. He pulls his jacket back to reveal his wristband agent, raising it to show a green projected display you only catch a glimpse of. NSMR NCT, along with a series of numbers.

Whatever effect you'd expected it isn't the two betas immediately backing away, a heavy crash coming from Tattoo as he overturns a clothing rack.

"Fuck, sorry man—we didn't mean to bother you," Mohawk says, hands in the air.

"Why don't you grab your buddy here before he makes a scene," Yuta says over the sound of the shop girl cursing at the two men.

Five seconds later she's screaming.

The first few seconds, burned into your memory, involve you watching in horrific slow motion as the Alpha lunges towards you–eyes orange with the clear burn of jimseung.

There's a pop that feels like the air has compressed outward very quickly and into a wet mist, the glass spider-webbing beside your head when the bullet buries in it.

You can't understand what's happened until the Alpha's body follows its original velocity, pinning you against the mirror before slumping awkwardly on to your new, now red shoes. It's missing half its head, most of which has now ended up on you.

You're still processing what you've seen as the panicked shrieks follow the two betas out into the mall corridor. Yuta stands up with the same amount of nonchalance as before to re-holster his handgun, speaking into his agent.

"YTNKMT127 Reporting a feral incident and takedown at NeoTech floor 84, west quadrant. Transmitting the store security feed now."

"Dispatch a squad to intercept witnesses. Recommend interrogation of beta parties for suspicious activity. Oh and send a clean-up crew. You can take it out of the bounty."

"I don't need to tell you to stay calm, do I, pretty girl?" Yuta uses a robe off the shelf to mop away the blood and flecks of bone and brain from your skin.

You shake your head, trembling, feeling like your consciousness is glitching at the same frequency as the digital mirror in the corner of your vision. Even when your face is clean the blood in your nose chokes out everything else.

"That's good," he says. "First one is on the house. Lucky you, he had an outstanding warrant. Next time I'm afraid you'll be in debt. I'm sure the Syndicate won't be eager to pick up the check."

Once he's done he picks up the bags, throwing the mass over his shoulder and giving you a bright smile. "Now you've earned your treat–"

He sucks his breath through his teeth at your response.

"Didn’t think I’d have to tell you not to puke on the crime scene."

[previous] [next]

#agtbtb #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 omegaverse #nct 127 cyberpunk au #nct fic #nct 127 fic #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines

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ao3feed-piltovers-finest · 2 years

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Which caitvi fic is the BEST one you’ve read so far? (post-canon)

First of all I owe you apologies for taking so long to respond to this, but in my defense - you put me in a bit of a rough spot there, my friend. I was like - bloody hell, you had to go all out and literally kill me here, because - THE best, like, just one? Seriously?!

Lol.

But after a while, and quite a few new ones read and perused, it kinda crystalised. Mostly, since in the meantime, not sure why (supply/demand?) most of them out there seem to be AUs recently, or just (like, during this kinktober month) one-shots not really focusing on the canon... yeah. The absolutely BEST one I’ve read so far - is definitely the one I already recommended (and raved about) when asked, before. It’s...

Grenadier by antistar_e (kaikamahine)

So if it sounds familiar - that might be why? Because again, this is the most complex non-relationshippy relationship story that ever was. Completely canon-compliant and set post-finale, it is basically a character study as well as character dynamics piece, written from Vi’s perspective. It’s definitely not one of those plot-driven CaitVi focused stories, but it does explore (quite profoundly, yes) all three pivotal relationships centered around Vi - both intricate complexities of her relationship with her sister, the budding one with Caitlyn - as well as their (Jinx and Caitlyn’s) post-bombing one, where their antagonism reaches an entirely another level.

The class dynamics are really strong and I really appreciated how the author hammered home the point about that Vi didn't just disappear for seven years, and is rather the opposite - it's so heart-breaking and clearly colors every decision she makes, how she takes action like there's no time to waste. So it’s a gentle, at times funny and yet gritty and profound exploration of regret, mourning and unhealthy coping mechanisms - on everyone’s behalf, with developments between all three of them, and Cait being portrayed largely as seen through Vi’s perspective (and her guilt, of course) while right at the centre is this uniquely beautiful portrayal of the sisterly relationship. The simple way Vi explains her love for Jinx is heart-wrenching and heartwarming at the same time, because she loves her “despite everything, the guilt, lack of remorse – it’s the love that doesn’t preclude justice or exempt her from consequences, but just grows, adapts, restitches its seams.” (that one tore me apart, yes). So yes, it has elements of romantic developments (in different directions, some even surprising?) but the central part is the sisters, and the intricacy of the situation of Jinx [spoiler space] without really showing any regret or remorse (which, totally in character for her - since despite shown from Vi’s angle - her portrayal is bloody brilliant, she’s shown with all her damage and quirkiness) so I’ll say it again - perhaps it’s just my personal interest and focus (the two of them) because there is no good CaitVi story - without Vi’s anguish over her sister and their relationship. And this is definitely the best fic I’ve ever read exploring these dynamics, post finale - both characterisation as well as style wise. Now, like I already disclaimered previously, I sincerely hope that the Cait/Jinx thing won’t deter you. Because [mild spoiler ahead] it’s mostly a tool, showing how Cait works through the very difficult state Jinx’s actions left her family in, and then begrudgingly arrives to the point of acceptance (albeit in that all-around unusual way - since Jinx has absolutely no boundaries and her coping mechanisms are just as unpredictable like everything else about her) which… basically only brings Caitlyn closer to Vi. And since it’s all been portrayed from Vi’s angle… yes, it only intensifies what’s between them - but it’s shown with infinite gentleness (rather than the usual… heat?). So, not really a love triangle piece, but rather Vi-centric situational character study, where that (imho, crucial) scene between the only two people she has achingly deep feelings for - it’s totally Caitlyn. Because that’s who she is, she’ll always put herself second and be that beautiful compassionate, accepting and forgiving person, and…

Well. You get my point. Lol. I’ll end my soliloquy here just by adding that this particular scene keeps haunting me - so much that I’m actually genuinely thinking about commissioning an art piece - to grace one of my central walls. And that’s how I decided that this was the fic you asked me about. In the end simply because, as a friend (another super-talented CaitVi author - which, if you’re reading this - you know who you are, you agent of unhinged ;) said the other day “I am somewhat in awe of the creativity and imagination but also simplicity in how these emotions are portrayed” when we talked about it, and that’s just it. That’s the appeal of this entire piece.

Now, the author, @kaikamahine - definitely isn’t a predominantly Arcane writer (rather, they’re a super-gifted multi-fandom hopper, lol) and this is their only CaitVi piece (of sorts) and... while they have another incredible piece centered around Jinx (as portrayed from the perspective of a nine year old girl) it leaves me personally starved for more. I’d offer my firstborn to see them write another Cait/Vi, Vi&Jinx or even Cait/Jinx piece. But, well. Perhaps, maybe? Fingers crossed? ;)

Anyway. I hope you’ll find this (waffly) answer satisfying. Thank you for asking. Cheers. 💖🌈

#caitvi #vicait #piltover's finest #violyn #caitlyn x vi #vi x caitlyn #piltovers finest #caitjinx #arcane (league of legends) fanfiction #fic recs #mrwinterss #replies

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keydekyie · 9 months

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Sorry if this was asked already, what inspired you to make TMATB?

ok so... this got a little long. No surprises there lmao.

TL;DR:

I was a messed up bitey little monster kid and I wanted to write a story about a monster and a human who start out as enemies but come to love each other and rescue each other and go on adventures and maybe just maybe change the world. ♥️

long version below:

this led me to go crack open my old sketchbooks from around early 2012 to 2013 to find my first drawings of Kanai, and the drawings of a bunch of sphinxlike monstery creatures I know precluded them, but it doesn't seem like I have those sketchbooks with me. :( I only have a couple here in Georgia, the rest are in my mom's basement in Colorado.

But really inspiration goes back further than that. Ever since I was little I've always been frustrated that the monsters in stories seemed to always be either scary and irredeemably evil, or misunderstood babus who wouldn't hurt a fly, with no in-between. It bothered me because I knew I was kind of a messed up little monster of a kid (in the throes of undiagnosed adhd, having emotional breakdowns, biting people, not having many friends, going to the principle's office a lot, etc) but I didn't want to be bad. I wanted to be good, I wanted to be gentle and nice and make friends and be understood the way the dopey-good monsters in the stories were. But I didn't relate to them. I bit people and dug in the dirt and talked to my cats.

So I'd always wanted a story where the monster was like that: nasty and scary and a little bad, the way any person could be, but ultimately just... a person. A person who craves tenderness and understanding and wants to do the right thing even if they don't really know what that means, but also maybe bites sometimes and digs in the dirt.

And I wanted a story about someone who could relate to and come to love that monster, despite that being the objectively dangerous and difficult thing to do. I wanted a love story, but I didn't want it to be easy, with a magic ending where the monster gets to be human. I wanted the stakes to be high, I wanted the climb to be steep, and I wanted the payoff to be satisfying.

So at the end of high school in 2012 (when I was mostly obsessing over another story of mine called Divergence, which is a whole other enormous can of worms) I was suddenly driven to draw out basically the whole kidnapping scene from book I in comic form:

I can't share the whole thing because it's, like... hideously bad and not canon anymore anyway, but it was the start of the whole thing. Kanai were more troll-like. It wasn't until a year later when I got into a sphinx kick that they turned into bear-sphinxes.

On top of what I said earlier, I just really loved the idea of putting the monster in a tricky ethical predicament, rather than the "hero." Why should the hero always get to be the one faced with moral dilemmas? So I made the monster have to choose: A) eat the human he's befriended and be accepted by society or B) spare the human and be rejected by society. Everything else followed from that. In book II I have Kaelin wrestle with having befriended a man-eating monster, in book III Ruyak is having to come to terms with being a man-eating monster, and in book IV they're going to have to face a world that they've both outgrown, and that doesn't have a place for them anymore.

So that'll be fun.

#tmatb #ask #grace your face #this was a deep dive whoops #bet you weren't expecting that #I guess this is what the kids these days call Lore

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delku · 2 months

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tbh i dont think villain deku is inherently a bad concept but he's been oncelerfied so badly it's kind of difficult to imagine a scenario that doesn't suck total ass.

like, there's practically zero good examples of it and a billion shitty ones - making him evil for the sake of it, arbitrarily replacing his fashion sense (this shouldn't happen basically no matter what - what does his social standing have to do with how he dresses lmao? do you think a life of crime precludes someone to wearing dumbass shirts and garish sneakers? participation in this phenomenon is loser behavior), totally rewriting his childhood, giving him a "villain's quirk", forcing him to be subservient to some shmuck who abducted him, all might denying him heorics/ofa so he becomes a villain out of spite (for some reason - usually because he suddenly develops a hatred of all might, as if he'd ever not worship the ground that man walks on even if he beat deku senseless (and let's be Extra Fucking Clear here that he wouldn't, ever)), he never meets all might so he (insert random previously-mentioned scenario here), et cetera. it's all thoughtless, boring, and trite - taking the path of least resistance in pursuit of an aesthetic, completely disregarding the character's, well, character. it fucking blows. if you want aesthetics without character, go find some brainless png slot machine to appropriate - they'll probably have a design that's more "gremlin-like" or "feral" anyhow, you annoying motherfuckers

what potential does a concept like "villain deku" have then if the existing popular scenarios are dogshit? it's very narrow, to be honest, and it doesn't make sense without some degree of interference in his life during or after the hero course. essentially: he learns of the injustices the hpsc operates on and goes rogue over it, in a manner *maybe* similar to lady nagant, though he wouldn't kill the director (he's got the potential to be faster than a speeding bullet; gunfire doesn't pose an imminent threat on his life).

(to be clear, i think intervening in his character at any point earlier than his entry to UA is fucking with who he is on a fundamental level and is lazy. work with canon even just a little bit for these "canon divergent" scenarios, please - your work and creativity will benefit from it, i promise. and calling it an alternate universe when the only change is making deku a villain is still lazy because it'll fall into one of those shitty cliches i was just bitching about.)

that's the type of thing that could lead him to be classified as a villain - rebellion against the system of power he intended to serve and its violence. he wouldn't just be out killing people or committing violence for fun, though - he has the make of a "beloved vigilante" among the populace; a righteous man of the people who's conscious of the injustices faced by the everyman. a robin hood among heroes, villains, and vigilantes. stain, if he rescued instead of killed. and was more intimidating anyways, somehow (it's the poor hygiene).

he has the drive to strive for justice in a way the people in power don't appreciate - let's not forget how he, alongside iida and todoroki, were treated by the cops after the stain incident; how the school responded to the bakugou rescue squad; how he was scolded for protecting UA from gentle and la brava (even if the incident was comparably mild, and he wasn't scolded for his action so much as his inaction. the point here is that he went against authority, not that he got in deep shit for it). deku doesn't care what the consequences of his actions are as long as (he believes) he's helping/defending someone or something he believes in.

also, like ‐ and pretend we're living in the world where ofa remains intact - he'd never get fucking caught. basically every power in ofa's arsenal is an escape tool. he has multiple distinct speed/mobility amplifiers, cover in the form of smokescreen, can fly, and (most obviously) danger sense. he escaped the cops in whm with just full cowling and blackwhip. he's untouchable with the rest of it.

#he could've escaped from dictator if he really wanted to. his downfall was wanting to save the civilians and get intel #and he could've escaped from 1A too if he really wanted to.#but it hurt his heart too much to power through his exhaustion just to ignore them #when he already wanted to be by their side so badly #he's repeatedly demonstrated suicidal devotion to a good cause. that kind of drive would be terribly inconvenient for the hpsc

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bijectiveandinvertible · 4 months

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Sending Totsuka, if you could please?

Sorry It took me so long to answer! But gathering my heart up to write about Totsuka took me a while.

Answers below the cut!

My first impression

Inciting Incident → It's the event that begins the story. Essentially Totsuka was just a plot point to me.

My impression now

My sweet, perceptive, sharp, tragic, baby angel. He is one of my favorite male characters of all time. I love him so so so much.

Favorite thing about that character

Everything! Absolutely everything. From his tragic past, to his friendship with Mikoto and Kusanagi, his care for all the Homra members, his doting on Anna and yes even his tragic death. To me he is the embodiment that just because a life is short that doesn’t mean it cannot be lived fully and incredibly.

Least favorite thing

Nothing… ��

Favorite line/scene

Too hard to pick. His character is compelling in every panel and even every moment he is in.

But yes if I had to pick… my top three are:

The entirety of episode 6 in season 1 of K Project.

The Graceful Day of the King and the Princess from K: Memory of Red.

His spine of steel: As demonstrated in K: Kingdom of Red when he tells his attackers that he doesn’t forgive them.

Favorite interaction that character has with another

Again too hard to pick. But I do love this scene specifically in The Graceful Day of the King and the Princess from K: Memory of Red.

A character that I wish that character would interact with more

Munakata Reisi. I think their calm and perceptive aspects overlap. Plus Munakata has very distinct hobbies just like Totsuka.

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character

He is really unique.

Calm, perceptive characters who have a pivotal story role like him are usually excellent fighters. When these types of characters are not fighters they tend to be healers. Otherwise they are master strategists or mentor figures. Totsuka isn’t any of these.

Technically speaking Totsuka’s real power is that he is completely unaffected by Mikoto’s power and he acts as Mikoto’s heart. Convincing Mikoto that he is capable of love and compassion and gentleness. That yes he is a ruler but that doesn’t preclude his capability for kindness. That yes he is a beast but he is tamed.

The closest character I can think of is Trisha Elric from Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood. In terms of both personality and role in the story.

A headcanon about that character

He often wears winged eyeliner and his favorite color is light brown.

A more in-depth headcanon:

His biological mother was a teen mom who ran away from home. The abandonment at the park came from many external pressures. His biological father was a much older man who abused his mother. Eventually a few years after Totsuka’s death, his biological mother eventually comes to find him only to find that he has passed away.

A song that reminds of that character

Circle of Friends.

An unpopular opinion about that character

Is it unpopular I don’t know?

But… Like MikoTotsu is beyond canon…

Favorite picture

This one:

I know I am a bit insane for this.

#b&icomment #k project #totsuka tatara

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queen-scribbles · 1 year

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19, arcann and endrali 👀👀

19. ...for luck --- By the time Arcann heard what was happening, he was only just in time to catch Endrali before she left.

“Off to save the day again?”

She turned with a smile at his voice, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s what I do, when someone needs me.”

“I know.” Arcann studied her a moment. “Who is it this time?”

“This time...” Endrali breathed out a soft laugh at the implication despite the sincerity of the question. “There’s a Jedi colony out on Ossus. They’ve been hiding all this time, laying low, but the Empire found them.”

He frowned. “Then... if you suspect there will be battle, would it not be better to bring help?” It did explain the charge back to her familiar white and green robes rather than armor. She looked the quintessential Jedi again, as fit with aiding members of her order.

She wrinkled her nose. “General Daeruun doesn’t want to alert the Imperials we’re on to them and the Jedi have been warned, with how close it is to their space, which means a small ship. And we feel” --her expression said Lana felt-- “it’s smart not to spook the colony by showing up in any decent force when they’ve been isolated for so long and might not know what to make of our arrival.”

“Mm.” He saw the logic, even if he wasn’t sure he agreed. Surely one more person wouldn’t make that much difference in first impressions.

Endrali smiled and reached to squeeze his hand. “I’ll be careful, since I know you’re about to ask.”

“That transparent, am I?” Arcann tried to laugh as he squeezed back.

“About this, yes.” She leaned against one of the landing ramp struts, almost lost her balance when she misjudged where to center herself. Arcann tightened his grip on her hand to keep her upright and she smiled sheepishly. “On second thought, maybe I should bring you with me.”

He couldn’t deny a preference for that, so didn’t precisely argue against it. “I’m certain you can handle whatever you find there, Commander.”

Endrali grinned. “The title would feel more formal if you weren’t giving me sad puppy eyes when you say it, Arcann.”

He didn’t argue that part, either. “Knowing you can handle whatever awaits doesn’t preclude wishing I could join you.”

She nodded. “And if Lana and Daeruun hadn’t made such good points, I’d bring you along.”

But they had. And though neither said it, there was also the point of not knowing this colony’s opinion of him. Depending on when they’d isolated themselves, he might be the very worst person she could bring along.

So Arcann shrugged and freed his hand to instead run his fingers through her hair. “I’ll see you when you return.”

Endrali nodded, and he felt her sense shift as a hopeful smile tugged her lips. “I’m... a little excited, despite the circumstances, to be meeting with more Jedi.” She bit her lip. “I haven’t heard anything of Yuon or Syo or... many others in a long time; I can’t help hoping I might see some familiar faces.”

“Then I shall hope that for you as well,” Arcann murmured, letting his hand fall back to his side.

“Thank you,” Endrali said. “Any extra hope or luck is appreciated.” She glanced up into the shuttle, then back to him, and her smile turned grateful. “I... should get going-”

“Endrali...” He caught her arm and tugged her back as she started up the ramp, his hand curving her jaw to guide her in for a kiss. “For luck,” he said softly, “even if I doubt you’ll need it.”

She gave a quiet, breathless laugh. “I dunno, maybe I could use some more...”

Arcann chuckled and obliged, fingers catching in the silky blue of her hair.

Endrali’s arms went around his neck, steadying herself as she balanced on the balls of her feet so he didn’t have to bend so far. Her thumb rubbed his cheek in a gentle caress when she pulled back. “I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

Arcann nodded, pressed one last soft kiss to her forehead as she dropped back flat-footed, and let her go.

Off to save the day, as she did so well.

It would feel a long couple weeks.

---

(approximately a week later, all the Force users on Odessen feel the ripple of ecstatic joy when one of the Jedi at the colony turns out to be Endrali’s BFF. :D)

#queens fic #kiss prompts #endrali jade #arcann tirall #endrali/arcann #ardrali #otp: undone by you #swtor fic #swtor #travel time from odessen to ossus is INSANE #thank you for the prompt nonny this was fun <3

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grisailledreams · 1 year

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Dancing Queen::

One (1) person ( @crowtrobotx ) showed interest a single time in this and they’re one of my besties so of course I’m going to shamelessly put it on display and make it everyone’s problem. Also I have no paternal relationship so I’m sorry if this feels weird or stilted.

DANCING QUEEN

Relationship(s): Father/Daughter, Dad!Arthur Morgan x OC Daughter

Tags: Fluff, canon divergence (Arthur ain’t dead), horse girl Arthur Morgan, Arthur gets to be a dad

Content Warnings: None, unless a daughter referring to her father as “Daddy” or Arthur using petnames for his kid (honey, sweetpea, etc.) makes your skin crawl.

Wordcount: About 1300

From the day his little girl pointed at the prancing show horses and gasped, “Daddy, I want to do that,” Arthur Morgan knew he was in for a long road of butting heads with high society without firing a single shot. He’d gone to that show to suss out what kind of horse Jane Morgan got on with best, anyway, but he hadn’t expected getting in the market for something so fancy. Dressage was a rich-people sport and required more than a Tennessee Walker or a paint like he’d anticipated.

Arthur found a Hanoverian breeder at that show, went to take a look at his yearlings, then brought one home for his Jane. A deep bay with long legs, white feet, and a blaze from nose to forelock, Jane promptly christened him Dancer.

By God, Arthur loved teaching her how to ride. Jane began confident where most kids clung to shyness - even Jack. Basics came fast. She flew around the meadow with her long, chestnut braid streaming behind her like Dancer’s tail, her sky-blue eyes dark and small against the breadth of her grin. Her hat kept the touch of the sun from adding to the spray of freckles over her face. Riding was the one time she wore trousers instead of one of her fancy dresses.

When she was a little older and Arthur was a little more rehearsed in dressage, she really tried to keep her movements elegant. She took her form seriously, though her commands came too gentle for her mount to listen. No balance between direction and imperceptibility. The first time Arthur tried to correct her, she’d gasped so loud that he immediately felt bad for saying anything at all.

“But Daddy!” she protested; he loved the way she said it, with the flowery affect that came from the highfalutin city ladies. “I couldn’t possibly be so harsh on Dancer!”

Which made Arthur laugh; Dancer probably had the envy of all of the old horses Arthur kept stabled from his rougher years, the ones who’d had to ride through shootouts and explosions and God recollected what else. He would never know harshness.

Arthur patted Dancer’s long neck. “Not at all, darlin’. But he’s a big fella with a little lady on his back. You have to try a little harder to get his attention is all.”

The tiniest pout plumped up Jane’s lower lip, but she wasn’t one for whining or tantrums. That besides, little lady was his magic mollifying phrase ever since she was old enough to understand what grown-ups were talking about. Jane took a deep breath, and gathered her usual serenity with a tiny nod. Dancer set off at a walk. Arthur caught his daughter’s lips moving, counting the beats of her horse’s gait.

He knew she was already trying to figure out how to make a horse waltz.

Unfortunately, Jane’s natural calm didn’t preclude her from perfectionism. He asked her if she wanted to register with a young ladies’ meet when she was twelve. She shook her head and said no, her transitions weren’t ready. Maybe next time. Six months later, Dancer was favoring one of his legs. She couldn’t put him through a competition in that condition! Every time Arthur pointed out another show coming up, regardless of how small it might be, Jane turned him down. She said she wasn’t ready.

He trusted her to know when the time was right, but Arthur always hugged her a little extra tight and put a little more emphasis on her highlights.

The first time he’d ever held her in his arms, he knew he had to shelter her from the ugliness of the world. By and large, he’d done that. Oh, she’d heard the stories of what he’d done in the van der Linde gang, but she’d always treated them like more of her favorite fairy tales. The Wild Swans, Rapunzel, Daddy the Outlaw. For her sake, he’d gone stra-

…. He’d changed direction.

The feds weren’t after him, anyway.

His princess deserved better than what he’d been doing.

It became his mantra over the years, once Jane turned sixteen and began riding with other ladies. Arthur stood at the fence for her first competition, near the other horse trainers hired for the well-to-dos, very aware of the wealthy merchants and bankers and socialites staring and whispering from their seats. He let Jane pick out a nice outfit for him - a smart blue shirt that he ended up rolling to the elbow, a black silk vest, matching pants - but everyone could spot an old, weather-beaten outlaw a mile away. The handlers didn’t pay him so much mind, he resembled them more than anyone else. One of the orchestra members even asked which girl was his student when he handed in Jane’s set.

“Number three,” he’d replied, grinning. “This is one of her favorite songs.”

As the competition began, he watched the first young lady on his way back; she handled a prettily-dappled Holsteiner to a classical piece Arthur might’ve heard at one of the concerts Jane’s mother used to drag him to back in the day. An announcer reminded the crowd that this girl was last year’s previous winner and had titled her mare in the interim. She had the touch of someone who’d trained for a long time. Good work. Jane was better.

But when he glanced over at the gate where his daughter waited, separated from the general crowd to keep the horse calm and prevent the riders from stealing peeks at one another’s routines, he saw her sitting too stiffly in the saddle and worrying the braided reins in her hands. The rest of her was perfectly presented from head to toe, from the top hat she chose with the brim a little wider than the others to prevent sunburn to the immaculately cut and kept riding jacket. She was just still as a statue and looked ready to crack.

“What’s wrong, honey?” he asked, careful to approach Dancer from a distance; if he touched that brushed-to-a-shimmer coat that Jane had worked so hard on before they went on, she’d get upset.

More than she already was. He saw her painted pink lips moving as if she fought the urge to chew on them. Funnily, seeing her anxious for once made her resemble her mother more than usual.

“I’m alrighty, Daddy,” said Jane, plastering on an affectionate smile just for him. “I… I know winning isn’t everything, but I do hope to at least perform well.”

Arthur squeezed her hands and said, “Hey, you’ve got nothin’ to be worried about, okay? You ‘n Dancer have been workin’ together for years with twice the skill as the rest of these girls. And ain’t none of the others look as smart and ready for their turn as you do.” Which, truth be told, Arthur had worried about in the beginning; Jane had a knack and an artist’s temperament when it came to how she - and, by extension, Dancer - looked, which might have caused problems if she hadn’t also put in the same dedication to the actual riding. “Besides, you’re a Morgan. We’re so good with horses, we got a whole breed named after us. You’re gonna knock ‘em dead, sweetpea.”

The first few notes of Jane’s “Stardust” score strummed out on a guitar. The announcer called her name and number, as well as Dancer’s. Jane closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then relaxed when she released it. Her hand briefly dropped the rein to squeeze him back. “Thanks,” she whispered. “I love you, Daddy.”

“Love you, too.”

She blew him a small kiss, then turned around in her saddle and straightened out her posture. Dancer picked up his hooves and found the beat of the song without her moving a muscle. Arthur followed and stopped at the gate, propping up a foot on the lowest rail, and leaned forward. He’d never seen a horse do a foxtrot before. The way Dancer seemed to barely touch the ground, he knew Jane belonged in a ballroom like a proper princess.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan x daughter #dad!arthur #pls understand that this child speaks like blanche devereaux

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