#being this close to someone in a non combative sense ? never heard of it

[time-woods]

later:

teach your local invasive species what emotions are !

i feel like scarab is more into the main plotline of the medieval drama but prismo on the side writes these oneshots between the characters and theyre usually just exploring the characters emotions/ personalities in a free form way. anyways kiss ur local invasive species at dusk

#how tf do you explain what other emotions are to a bug thats only ever known 2 #prohibitedwish #this isnt inherently romantic #just trying to show them what hes feeling is different #being this close to someone in a non combative sense ? never heard of it #emotions are difficult n sometimes those wires get crossed #ouuugh the closeness of another person #prismo the wishmaster #scarab the god auditor #the carmine cavalier #sīdus the fallen star #adventure time au #fionna and cake #adventure time

[slowpoke-fics]

The Run | The Good Doctor pt 3

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing: Negan x Reader slow burn

Summary: You had a bit more responsibility than you'd expected, not to say you didn't know what you were doing

Warnings: none really, cussing, ooc Negan, slow burn, it's cute, I miss some and am not perfect, read at your own risk

A/N: This is part three to the Good Doctor Part 3! Thank you for being patient and I hope to have part four up much quicker. I liked this even though it's just some logistical stuff and insight, here is part two!

Maybe he thinks he can fix me, sucks for him, I'm broken beyond repair.

When you woke up, Negan had his hand on your shoulder, you immediately grabbed the gun under your pillow, holding it under his chin. He immediately grabbed the gun and twisted it out of your hands, your eyes now fully open and awake. You didn't realize he was eye level with you, how hot it was for him to control your gun like that, how hot he was staring into your eyes, waiting for your next move. You were frozen, you're not sure he equated it with anything but sleep, but he was captivating.

He laughed, hands up, "Damn, doll, just trying to fuckin' wake you up without fuckin' scaring you, see that was fuckin' pointless," his eyebrows raised as he shook the gun by the barrel at you, "you want it back or not?" You shook your head in disbelief as you took your gun and put it down, shocked that you held a gun to someone for just trying to wake you up. "I-I'm sorry, I guess it was just-" Negan laughed, "No worries, doll, at least I know you can take care of yourself."

You smiled, throwing the blanket off of you and swinging your legs over the couch, “So,” you stood up and began folding the blanket, “what’s the plan?” He watched you fold the blanket, not trying to hide the fact that his eyes roamed your body. Taking in the battered bluejeans that hugged your body, the scratched and slightly torn tank top, your hair shining against the sun, really popping the color out. “We’re going to drive a little longer than I’d hoped but,” he huffed, “the towns supposed to have some more supplies left than we’d originally thought, we should be back by dark.” You shrugged, “Should be fun, are we ready to leave now?”

Negan leaned against the desk, you took all of him in. He was wearing his classic leather jacket over the tattered t-shirt and blue jeans that laid over his steel toe boots. He watched as you put your hair into a pony tail, shirt playing peekaboo with the skin on your torso, “Right after breakfast doll. You ready?” You nodded at him, heading to the door with him following close behind.

Once you had sat down for breakfast Negan started shoveling food down, a full plate compared to your half rations. You didn’t really have much of an appetite, worried about everything that could happen with Negan today. He didn’t seem to notice, and by the time you’d finished your small plate, he was already done eating too. He grabbed your plate so he could return it with his own. You picked up the bags and followed suit, following him out the door and to his truck.

The truck was huge. Had to have been able to fit half of Alexanndria's storage. You’d wondered how much he was planning to come back with. It started to make a little more sense when a small portion of his crew jumped into the back, probably for protection. You climbed into the truck after Negan opened the door for you, closing it once he’d known your feet were out of the way. Then proceeding to climb in his own side.

Negan started the truck, taking you in before he started rolling. Your legs crossed, fingers interlocked at the top of your thighs, thumbs picking at each other, ankle continuously moving. You watched the trucks behind you, following close, at least three others. Did all of them have people in the back? How big was this run?

You were clearly nervous and he hated that, he wanted to make you as comfortable as possible. He tried to ignore it, but after fifteen minutes of non stop thought through his head, he had to say something. "God damn doll," Negan bellowed, "you're gonna roll the damn truck if you don't stop shaking so much," Negan lightly rubbed your forearm, a foreign thing to you, "what're ya so fuckin' nervous about anyway princess?"

You shrugged, a look of uneasiness resting on your face at his nickname for you that didn't go unnoticed, "Just don't know how to act with your group, what're your run rules? Where do I not be in the way? Will I distract you and your men? I'm used to going solo, or with one or two people. There's so-" Negan had to stop your monologue, knowing you've asked these questions twenty times since yesterday. "Don't fuckin' worry about it," Negan smiled, "I made sure this was gonna be fun for you." Your eyebrows curled, needing him to explain.

Negan blushed? No way, you thought and left it alone. "What do you mean?" He shrugged, "You'll see, won't you doll?" You huffed, "Well that just makes me more nervous." Negan let out a hearty laugh, "Damn girl, pull at this old assholes strings huh?" He shook his head, "I'm your personal companion today," he giggled at your slap to his arm. "I don't need a baby sitter!" He raised he hands very quickly to show defense, "No! But, wherever you go, I do. Whatever you fuckin' say, that's law. Everyone else goes at your direction too," he paused, looking at you, "but you don't leave my fuckin' sight," his eyes bore into you, demanding confirmation. "Yeah, okay," you smiled lightly.

"So," Negan's fingers drilled the steering wheel as he hummed at you to continue, "what's in this place?" Negan shifted, "It's a little town, the rest is a surprise." He looked genuinely excited, and you wondered how this apocalypse had changed him as a man. He couldn't have always been this heartless. "Do I get any hints?" Negan hummed again, this time searching for something to give you, "You'll fuckin' like it." You shrugged, "Maybe." He glanced to your bag where you keep your notebook, a gentle reminder of his broken trust. "Oh," you cleared your throat, "hopefully." He beamed at you, "Come on lil' fuckin' firecracker," he pressed the gas a couple more times, gently swerving the car to play with you, "be more fuckin' excited! I'm fuckin' kidding!"

The rest of the way you could believe how different Negan was being. He was intently talking to you about the grid of the town, what his crew already know about, how his crew has already been briefed that you're running it, explained the teams to you and that you're header, leading the team leaders, and he's told you that he's confident you have this ability. You were shocked about him being completely different man that with other people. You were sure that you could be with the man sitting in the truck with you, and you were sure that you couldn't be with the man who murdered someone you considered to be your brother. You were torn between seeing his good and never forgiving him for killing Glenn, how could he do something so vile? You shook your head, drawing attention back to the road and off of your thoughts.

When you arrived, Negan placed his hand on your thigh, just barely touching you. "There is one rule," he smiled, "stay here." Negan was gone for no more than two minutes. He finally came to your door, opening it and revealing his many men standing behind him, "Make sure you're safe." He reached for your hand, dropping you down to the same man who stole from you in your clinic, you glared him hiding behind Negan.

Negan stepped out of the way, the man looking guilty, "Hello, Doctor Y/n," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry for stealing from an honorable woman." He handed you a gum pack, missing a few pieces, and a small pack of skittles, "I couldn't find gum to replace what I'd stolen, so I hoped that the skittles would excuse my poor manners." You smiled hatefully at him, taking what was in his hand, "Apology accepted..." you waited for him to say his name, but Negan chimed in. "Brady," and he slapped the other man on the shoulder eliciting a smile, "and Simon." You smiled, reaching your hand out to shake Simon's hand, "I've heard." Negan smiled at you, "Good we're all fuckin' aquatinted," he roughly slapped Brady's shoulder, you didn't miss the wince he tried to hide, "these two travel with us period. So, Y/n," a bright smile, "what's the fucking plan?"

With that you noticed the other men had cleared a path for you, letting you view the town. At this point you took in the town, looking at the tiny shops and small streets. Negan wasn't kidding, it's a small town, surely the four trucks you bought could fit everything. You thought for a second, and it hit you, how much work he had put into this. You smiled to yourself, knowing that he wanted to make this go smoothly for you, hence the perfect amount of trucks, a grid, briefed men.

You walked a little behind you, looking at the different streets, looking at Negan, he smiled, giving you some confidence. "You said that you'd already separated these men by trucks? With their usual teams?" You whispered to Negan, "Yes ma'am, they're with their usual team leaders and already armored, just need you to tell them where to go n what to do."

"Okay, so here's my plan-" Negan put his hand up, gesturing to the men when you realized you should be talking to them. You cleared your throat, "Okay, so here's the plan," Negan's body was just barely pressing against you, standing behind you on your left side, his hands in his pockets, watching his men intently listen to you. How hard did he work on this for you?

"If you came in Negan's truck, you're with us on main," you motioned with your hand to have them move to the side, "Truck two-or rather-team two, you're going to our left, Combs Street, when you get to the library, we're looking for education books, if we have time and space after you've gotten everything else essential on the street, comb the library taking the fun books, that's a good part of life now." Negan nodded, liking your plan for education first, noting that the houses on the street might hold value, but acknowledging that we still need distractions like 'fun books' if circumstances allowed.

"Truck three, hit the residential area, on Langley Street," you continued when the men nodded their heads, "Truck four, hit the shops to our right on second street," everyone started moving and you shouted, "wait!" You cleared your throat once again, "Team leaders, I need you and your right hand man, everyone else stay put."

You pulled out the grid as the men surrounded you, "So you've got the left and right sides on your street, split in half, half on Side A, the left, half on side B, the right, this will increase the time we can spend in the houses and avoid stepping on each others feet. Every time you clear a house you call it in, for example, team four A, you would say 'Team Four, A1 clear, moving to A2,' or 'Team Four A Trapped, requesting Four B at A3.' I need you to do this so I can designate resources and men, keep up with the lives and walkers. No need for needless death, check in." Everyone nodded, you smiled, "Anybody have questions, comments or concerns?" The men shook their heads and you turned back towards the crowd, "Alright, everyone knows what you're doing, no-one goes anywhere alone or unarmed. Take everything useful. Do not let your guard down and watch your backs. Dismissed." At that the men dissipated, going on their own assignments.

"Was that okay?" You looked to Negan, the need for approval swimming through your eyes, Negan nodded, "I think it was great, Simon what about you?" Simon chirped up, "Oh yeah, couldn't have done it better myself, I don't make them check in that much but that's okay." You smiled at Simon, wondering how he could not worry about his men that much. You watched as Team One had already started moving toward the first building, them the first check-ins started.

"Team One, heading to A1," a pause, "Team One, heading to B1," another pause, "Team Two, heading to A1." You listened to the team list off their locations, smiling as everyone checked in. "Alright, doll," Negan leaned against the truck, "Where to first?"

#twd negan #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #negan x y/n #negan angst #negan fluff #negan x you #negan imagine #negan fic #negan fanfiction #negan x reader #the walking dead fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #Jdm fanfic

[writingsfromhome]

Nuclear Family III

Part 3: Family Meals

A/N: This one gets a little bit more complicated for Y/N, feelings are definitely involved. Thank you everyone for reading/liking/reblogging/commenting!!! <3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V

---------------------

The next day goes by without incident. Harry takes Charlie to the park as I stay home and catch up on missed work. Around 3 in the afternoon, with the sun shining brightly, I leave the flat with an itch in my leg. I'd spent too long indoors. I text Harry saying that I was stepping out.

"Y/N?" Someone calls as I'm about to leave the building. I spot a familiar face and shout out in excitement.

"Marc! I forgot you lived in the same building oh my god!"

"I knew you were in London but I wondered why you never callled...you're living with Harry?" He asks tentatively.

"Yeah," I laugh awkwardly. "Mixup with the air bnb my first day, so we're all here. It's great though, a little hectic but great. Charlie loves it."

"I bet she does," he grins. I forgot he was so handsome. The thing with Marc and I was, we were friends but ever since he came down to LA last year we sort of redefined our friendship to include a few perks. But it worked with us, we only saw each other once in a blue moon. And we were chronically single-me being too busy with being a mother and Marc too busy because directing a magazine meant no time for relationships. So because we got along so well, and we enjoyed the time we spent. We decided to live a little and do something risky. It paid off.

"You should come over some time! Charlie would love to see you too, she still talks about the day we went to Disneyland." Marc crashed at my place last year and Charlie took to him immediately. Maybe because he had the same accent her dad had.

"Maybe I will...and maybe you and I could catch up too sometime if you're free..."

"I'm free now, Marc," I laugh at his attempt to sound discrete. Staying at Harry's, it might get complicated if I invite Marc over. At least until after Charlie's birthday. There were too many things going on until then.

Marc joins me for a bite and by the time I get home Harry and Charlie are home and playing with a new toy she'd gotten. I watch fondly and feel a sense of relief. Charlie loved her time here and that was all I needed to see. A big concern staying with Harry was confusing Charlie where we stood but we were all good so far.

The next couple days go smoothly too. Harry goes out some evenings with his girlfriend and spends most of the days with Charlie, unless he's working. Charlie and I see a play and visit some old friends and we settle into London quicker than expected.

"Are you busy tomorrow evening?" Harry asks that morning.

"I was just going to make dinner at home, big day on Sunday." I take my reading glasses off to focus on Harry.

"My family was thinking of coming tomorrow."

The statement lands with a thud on my chest.

"Oh. Well...I'm sure Charlie will be glad to meet them!"

"You've got to be there. Please Y/N? They're staying for Charlie's birthday on Sunday."

"I..." I glance at Charlie who's curled on the sofa with her stuffed animal. I'd have to see them either way now that I was living here. "Alright. I'll be there."

"Perfect," Harry reaches out to squeeze my hand and I have to remind myself not to jerk it away.

Yes-the last few days have been well. Logistically. But emotionally, I was just as confused and angry at feeling that way. Harry went on dates with his girlfriend but during breakfasts we shared, his gaze would linger. His hand would brush mine, as he showed me something funny on his phone. Or when Charlie forced us to sit with her and play with her stuffed toys, he would make up silly scenes that forced us to be closer. The vibes between us felt tense sometimes and other times it felt like I could lean over and kiss him and the three years apart would disappear.

"I'll let them know." Harry continues about settling the date. "It works perfectly because Gemma was suggesting tomorrow too, and Miranda's free too."

"Miranda?" I ask. Had I heard correctly?

"Yeah. She's got to fly out Sunday for a shoot next week so I won't be seeing her all week. Tomorrow works."

"Miranda's coming to the family dinner?" I ask again, my voice sounding hollow to me. Was Harry an absolute idiot?

"Yeah! My whole family knows her-she's been around for my mum's birthday and Christmas."

Harry really was an idiot. He didn't notice my tone of voice or how ridiculous that was.

"I'm quite tired," I close my laptop screen. "We'll talk later?"

"Yeah." Harry pauses, picking up on my abrupt excuse. "I'll-yeah..."

I don't let him finish. I head to my room and toss my laptop onto the bed, combing my hand through my hair and sighing. I had to stop getting worked up about Harry and Miranda. They were a gorgeous couple and there was no way Harry still wanted me. He was only this nice to me because of the daughter we shared-there were no other feelings involved. I think about inviting Marc, but decide it's too petty. This was about Charlie and maybe I really should just get serious about finding other living accommodations.

***

Charlie sits in front of the TV as I get ready for dinner. The nerves in my stomach are more knotted than a pair of headphones in a handbag. I smooth down my green blouse and look down at my slacks. Maybe I should wear a dress; I looked like I was going to a meeting.

"You look nice," Harry's voice comes from the open doorway.

"I don't look like I'm going to give my first big corporate presentation?" I ask. He shakes his head but I watch his eyes skim over the outfit. He bites his lip to keep from laughing. "Ugh! I knew it. I have to change!"

"No you don't," Harry says, catching my arm on the way out. "You look great in anything."

I roll my eyes, "I know I look great in anything, but I'm having a dinner and I need to find something more appropriate!"

Harry chuckles but follows me back to my room where I toss through the closet. "It's just my family, they don't care what you look like."

"It's not that simple,” I rant, untying the knot around my neck. Why did I even bring this top? “I can’t just throw anything on and call it a night! I have to feel good in it too!”

He steps into the room and tracks my frantic movements from closet to dresser to suitcase. He stops me on my second round to the closet and takes the blouse out of my hands to hold them. "I think you’ll look great in anything, pick something and get on. Just tell your nerves to fuck off.”

“Harry!” I scold, I didn’t want Charlie hearing or she wouldn’t stop saying it.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, a small smile on his face displaying his dimples.

Noticing it, I’m suddenly aware of how we’re standing together. His hands still hold mine, and when I look into his eyes, they’re watching me. This. This is what I meant. Everything was fine living together, but Harry’s gaze, every time I caught it, it would be on me. And it was a heavy gaze. He always seemed like he was deep in thought yet noticing every little detail about me, conflicted, but thoughtful. It usually made me feel self-conscious.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I give it a shot.

“What?”

“You got so serious,” I try again. “What are you thinking about.”

“You want to know?” Harry seems surprised, which surprises me. Why wouldn’t I want to know what he was thinking about? I nod, and he lets go of my hands. “I was just thinking about you giving a presentation in that outfit, I would-ouch!”

Harry rubs his shoulder where I’d pushed him. I cross my arms, “That’s what you get for making fun-”

“I wasn’t making fun!” Harry swears. “I was trying to say, what I wouldn’t give to sit in on that presentation.”

Heat rushes to my face, I look away from Harry back to my closet. This was too much. "Okay. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'll just...wear...this." I pull out a simple black dress with a pretty neckline and hold it out in front of me, as if it would stop Harry from walking over to me again. When I think he’ll stop, he continues so I take a few steps back until my back hits the closet door.

“Good choice,” he says but his eyes leave a heated trail from my untied blouse up to my lips and then my eyes that are wide in panic.

He’s incredibly close, and I’m freaking out so I nervously tell him I should get dressed. When he doesn’t back away, I lift the dress up in the little space between us. “Harry, I need to change. Are you going to watch me or give me some privacy?”

That seems to snap him out of whatever headspace he was in. He quickly backs up and the pink blush creeps into his cheeks. “I’ll be outside with Charlie.”

A part of me wished he stayed.

***

I join Charlie in front of the TV as we wait for dinner. When his family came in, it wasn't awkward at all. They greeted me like I was still part of their family, and catching up was effortless. They fawned over Charlie and she adored it. It helped Gemma brought her boyfriend (bf), I wasn't the only non-Styles here.

"Is everything alright?" I ask as my eyes scan the room and find Harry typing furiously at his phone.

"Uh yeah," he responds. "Just Miranda. Had something planned later tonight and she didn't realise dinner would be this late."

"Well your family is coming from outside of London," I say, already regretting asking in the first place.

"Yeah," Harry mumbles, still typing. I was clearly not needed there so I join Harry's mom who's trying to arrange the bouquet Gemma brought. We talk as we work, setting up the table even though Harry was throwing this. His mom waves his help away when he finally realises and he easily goes back to Charlie who's showing off all her stuffed animals.

The mood shifts when Miranda appears with her bottle of wine and a suitcase. I try to ignore the sting I feel when he pulls her into an embrace and takes the bottle from her, I try not to compare myself to her. To the way Harry acts with her, and with me in private. I try not to think about what it meant, and try to focus on the dinner instead.

Harry's family remains just as nice, but the problem is it goes from having a family dinner for Charlie's sake to hosting a dinner. It's only when everyone is busy with their glass of wine that Gemma leans into me and says, "I told the idiot not to invite his girlfriend to a family thing but he said there was nothing wrong with that."

"He told me pretty last minute," I respond.

"Don't get me wrong-she's lovely, but it just makes something like this awkward."

"I'm alright," I lie through my teeth.

"Sure," Gemma winks at me before her attention is pulled away by her bf. At least there was one Styles that understood me without me having to say.

•••

"I'm starting school in September," Charlie informs the table halfway through dinner.

"You're growing up so fast," Harry's mum smiles at Charlie.

"That's a big step," Miranda comments and as much as I hated to admit it-she wasn't so bad with Charlie. She made a solid effort and Charlie responded well to her. She was her boyfriend's daughter though, and she usually avoided speaking to me unless Harry was involve, but I was okay with that. 

"Then I'll be five next year!" Charlie continues. I explain to the table how obsessed she was with turning five.

"Because that's when she gets to drink coffee right darling?" Harry nudges Charlie and she grins.

"Coffee!" She shouts and we all laugh but as she soaks in the attention she begins shouting it louder.

"Charlotte," I warn. She glances at me and then looks back at her plate.

"She's just excited we're all here," Gemma comments. "Isn't that right Ms. Y/L/N?"

Charlie beams at being called by her last name, like a teacher would.

"Has she not taken on your last name?" Miranda suddenly asks Harry and it goes silent at the table except for Charlie's humming.

"Uh no," Harry scratches his neck. The rest of the dinner table busies themselves in their food.

"She's always lived with me," I clarify, trying to sweep away the sudden awkwardness. The awkwardness comes from how Harry and I broke up because he didn't know what to do with himself when he realised he was having a baby. There was no way he was ever raising her alone. Not at first anyway, that was when I insisted she keep my last name. "So it makes sense."

Miranda glances between us but bf breaks the silence. "Gemma wants our kids to have her last name, I said hyphenating it wouldn't be too bad."

"It gets too confusing," Gemma says. "Styles is a nice, simple, last name."

"Always in Style," Harry exclaims at the same time I say something similar. We laugh which confuses Charlie enough to tug on my sleeve. She asks for more mashed potatoes and I give them to her. Soon after, Harry's mum brings out the dessert she brought and we all enjoy it with more wine. As the night nears, Gemma and her bf stay behind with Miranda. When Charlie begins cuddling into me on the couch, I put her to sleep, but she whines when I leave so I tell the group I was calling it a night and wash up while Charlie stands with me as I wash my face. She was being unusually clingy but I figure all the attention and new interactions were exciting but also exhausting for her. She just wanted her mum and that warms my heart.

"Did you want anything before you put her to bed?" Harry pops his head in as I'm tucking Charlie's toys around her.

"I'm alright," I smile. "Tonight was nice. Thanks for putting it all together."

"Thanks for staying," Harry moves into the room and kisses the top of our kid's head. I remember the other night when he did the same to me. "It was really nice with you, Charlotte, my family-it meant a lot."

"For her too," I look to our daughter who is finally settling into sleep knowing I had stayed and changed for her. "Although I'm paying the consequence being forced to sleep at 10pm."

Harry chuckles. "Best get your beauty sleep then."

"Yeah," I peel back the covers and wait for Harry to leave but he pauses with his hand on the doorknob and turns back to me.

"Tonight reminded me of old times," Harry says and I can tell he's lost in time as he smiles at the floor. "I haven't felt this happy in a while." His statement makes me sad, and when he looks up at me his expression is tinged with regret. But he forces a smile and nods. "See you tomorrow."

"Harry," I don't know what it was that makes me stop him. Maybe the way he looked at me with the unbearable sadness, or the fourth glass of wine I drank, or feeling the same immeasurable amount of happiness he did tonight. But I walk towards him and wrap my arms around his neck. I indulge myself and bury my nose in his neck and almost cry at the familiarity; the way his hands were always cold as they wrapped around me too, but warmed as they squeezed me to him. His fresh laundry smell mixed with the sandalwood perfume he favoured. Or his body and the way he engulfed me into his chest, like I could carve a home out of it and stay there again.

He sighs as he pulls me tighter, "Y/N-"

"Mom?" A tired voice asks behind me and I rip myself away from Harry to look at Charlotte. She's propped herself on her elbow and is looking between me and her dad.

Shit. Why did I do that? Why did I just make things complicated? Harry's girlfriend was right outside! Our daughter was in this room! I couldn't afford to confuse her or myself. Jesus.

"I'm coming to bed!" I walk towards her to soothe her and I hear Harry slip out of the room.

"She's having a hard time falling asleep," I hear Harry lie from the living room and my heart sinks further in my chest. If he was lying over a shared conversation, a shared hug, then something was wrong and I would have to make it extra clear tomorrow that we were nothing more than polite. Especially as it was Charlie's fourth birthday tomorrow. It had to be perfect.

•••

A small finger pokes my cheeks, "Mommy?" I had no idea what time it was but my head rings with a hangover. I hadn't drank this much in a while. I realise I wasn't having auditory hallucinations when Charlie's voice comes again. "Mom?"

"Charlie what time-" I try to crack an eye open and the clock says 6am. I groan and pull Charlie towards me, eyes still closed. "Why are you up so early birthday girl?"

"Mommy?" When Charlie doesn't respond to the mention of her birthday I know something might be wrong. I force my eyes open, Charlie stares up at me with sad baby doll eyes. My mom alarm starts ringing.

"What's the matter?" I ask, noticing the door was open. She must have woken up earlier.

She shakes her head and buries her head into my chest. I clutch her to me, unsure why she was upset. I'll ask her later, right now, I try to cheer her up.

"My baby is such a big girl now. Hey, what's the matter?"

"Does daddd love us?" She asks innocently. I'm startled by her question, so out of the blue.

"Of course he does. He loves you more than anything in the world. And I love you too. Although I would also love a bit more sleep." I tease her. She wraps her arms around my neck. "Happy birthday, Charlie. I love you."

"I love you too," she surprises me by getting under her covers; once Charlie was up, she never fell back asleep. Maybe this was a birthday miracle, but I snuggle into the warmth. Charlie's behaviour still niggles away at the back of my mind but I eventually drift off to sleep and just pray the rest of her birthday would be happier.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #dad!harry #harry styles fluff #writingsfromhome #sorry this one took so long to upload #this series is kind of nerve wracking #it might turn into 6 pts idk

[hit-me-with-a-ladle]

Ch.9 Creepypastas x Fem! reader

" Now, the first thing I'm going to be making very clear is. This isn't Harry Potter or whatever. You don't have a magic wand that you can wave and 'poof' all of your issues are gone. The only way you can cast spells is by studying a very old book that you humans know as a 'Grimoire'. Which, let me tell you, is super hard to learn so that's why we're starting out with potions. I'm not saying it is easy but you understand."

The girl began to vigorously take notes as she listened and watched him fill the cauldron up with water, putting it to a boil.

" So with that put aside, let's start talking about potion-making itself. Potions don't always have to be magical but to calm the soul in a way. Each potion's strength is dictated by what you put in it so, if you were to make a, I don't know, a power potion. Deciding what you put in it can define its overall effectiveness and strength. So for example, if you put peppermint instead of sage you'll get a weaker overall result. And also the time its effects will reduce significantly."

He spoke quickly and very precisely, the way he articulated and carried himself showed that he was in his element. He began to cut different plants with a sharp silver blade and put it in the cauldron, stirring it once in a while.

" You most likely know that it takes more than a few ingredients to make an effective potion, so that's why experimenting is crucial. Mixing and matching different ingredients, not just for the hell of it but with a purpose, will help you improve. But to do that you'll need the basic knowledge of what, most, of the things, you're using do. I don't have all of the herbs and plants that exist, I have a very small portion in fact. This little cottage was built by me for the sole reason to have a place to store things you'll need to, well basically, survive."

He was quick with his movements as he looked through the shelves packed with different jars and glass bottles filled with different coloured liquids. Reading the labels that were neatly put on each of them, searching for something. She thoroughly took notes as she listened to him talk.

" So you actually made this by yourself?" She asked surprised.

" Yeah mostly, I had some help from Jack. He knows his way around that kind of stuff. But everything else is made by me."

" Are you and him on good terms?"

" Yeah, you can say that we are. He's alright, very chill dude, calm, lever headed. Sadistic, yes, but he would never hurt someone he cares for too much. He loves messing with people. But Jesus doesn't get him mad. It's very hard to get under his skin, but the moment you do, it's over for you. I've seen him crush people's skulls with one hand. He got in a fight with Masky once, broke his arm like it was a twig. Got in huge trouble with The Operator for that, after that incident things between them haven't been the same."

" What did they fight for?"

" Not sure, I wasn't there when that happened, but it's most likely Masky's fault."

He shrugged as he carried on with work, the girl was deep in thought now, curious of why they fought. Hearing the snapping of fingers quickly averting her attention to Ben who now carried on with this lesson.

" Hey listen so you'll know what the hell you'll be doing for the next week."

" Sorry."

" Great. Now, where was I? Oh yeah, each of these ingredients has its own magical properties, some even have multiple uses. For example, this is one you'll most likely know." Holding up a purple plant in his right hand, twirling it in his fingers. " Is lavender, the main reason someone might use it is for warding off evil spirits and whatnot, but it can also be used for purification if used correctly. Understand what I mean?"

The girl began to shake her head as she took notes. He crushed the lavender in his hand and added it to the cauldron. Now that she thought about it. What exactly was he making all this time? Her eyes followed his lengthy form as he strolled through the cottage getting what he needed or put things back in its place. At times he would stand in front of the large bookshelves and search for certain books, comb through them, read what he needed to find and place it back in its place. He was truly in his element, his posture now perfect and he was dead concentrated on what he was doing. Seemed to have the placement of everything memorized to a T. It was nice in a way, he knew what he was doing and it showed.

" I don't have much to say really. Course, I didn't tell you everything, you have much more to learn but for now that is enough I think. So if you have anything you want to ask, go ahead." He said continuing with his business.

" Actually I do. So the Raskovnik, what does it exactly do? Masky was very adamant about me getting it so why exactly is it so important."

" Oh well, it's not that it's very important, it's just that I really need it. Used up the last of it I had a while back so I asked if he could get some. This stuffs super hard to find, ya gotta have a good ass eye to even notice it, I'm surprised you were able to even find it. And as for what it's used for according to lore I've heard, Raskovnik has the magical property to unlock or uncover anything that is locked or closed. Needed it for a potion I'm making and ran out. It's not the most powerful but it's still super effective."

" So it's able to unlock basically anything right."

" Yeah pretty much."

" So how do you use it?"

" You can use it in a bunch of ways, but the most effective way for me is in a liquidated state, I guess. you'll learn how to do that, don't worry."

A new sense of hope soared through the girl's body when she heard its usage. There was a way to leave. A small smile crossed her lips as she looked into her hands. Roughly scribbled on the pages were the many notes she took.

" Done."

Ben solemnly said, making her look at him in confusion. He approached one of the shelves and took out a wooden cup. Dipping it in the cauldron, filling it up to the top and handing it to the girl. She took it in her hands, careful not to spill it, now even more confused than before.

" Drink it." He said.

" What's this?" She asked.

"It's meant to help your wounds. They seem a little uncomfortable, so I thought it would be best for some of them to heal. Now it might not fully heal some larger wounds. But overall it helps with medium-sized cuts and bruises and reduces pain and blood loss."

Muttering a soft 'Thank you.' She drank the whole thing at once. It barely had a taste but there were chunks of different things that made the texture strange and unpleasant. Like drinking a thick crema. When she finished she felt tingling in her neck, legs and arms as the skin began to twitch. After about five minutes that gash on her neck was almost gully gone. The discomfort on her arms and legs was now non-existent. And a wave of confidence washed over Ben when he saw the result of his work.

" I feel really good. Thank you." She spoke up as she touched her neck. " Can we go now?"

" Yeah sure."

He answered, nearing the door and opening it up for them to leave. Walking outside about to leave he quickly stopped himself.

" Wait, I forgot something inside, you go ahead and I'll catch up to you."

With that, he ran into the cottage once more. Searching for something. The sounds of bottles colliding and papers being put aside were soon heard as he dug through his belongings. The girl only laughed and carried on. After a few minutes, Ben caught up to her and together they walked towards the cabin. Finally reaching it she walked in and was about to go and make herself something to eat. Ben grabbed her by the shoulder and stopped her. She looked at him confused and before she could ask he pulled out a small necklace from his pocket. Locking eyes with her.

" I made this a while back. It's a charm meant to protect the wearer, and as you're going to be guarding the whole forest you'll be the one needing it most."

He then began to put it on her neck. When he was done she got a better look at it. It was a chain necklace with a tiny glass bottle hanging inside. Inside was some sort of green herb.

" What's inside of it?"

"Rosemary." He flashed his signature creepy smile.

#eyeless jack #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack x you #maskycreepypasta #cp masky #yandere masky #masky x reader #masky marble hornets #brian thomas #marble hornets #timothy wright #ticci toby #toby rogers #tim wright #tim masky #ben drowned #creepypasta x reader #ticcie toby x reader #slenderman #ben drowned x reader #creepypasta x you

[imagine-darksiders]

I’m in the mood for angst so how bout a scenario where Karn takes Deaths human charge (Death has feelings for but hasn’t confessed) to explore since Reader used to hike and something happens to make Reader get hurt badly and get knocked out cold, Karn breaks down and picks them up and runs back to the forge and cries and yells for someone to help. Death sees his hurt and unconscious charge and completely looses it on Karn and when Reader wakes up, they tell Karn it’s not his fault?

Thundering footfalls resound off the walls of Tristone, each embellished by a wet splash as a young maker staggers through steadily pouring rain, his breath escaping in short, ragged gasps that send clouds of condensation billowing from his parted lips like smoke. 

There’s an unmistakable urgency to his gait and a wild-eyed look about him that bears a close resemblance to one beset by hysteria, or mania. 

Such a volatile state doesn’t come without reason however, as the Horseman - Death - soon discovers upon emerging from the makers’ forge. The old Reaper’s mood perfectly reflects the gloomy skies overhead, his dourness due in no small part to the absence of one, irrepressible human.

It isn’t your absence itself that has him irked, rather, it’s the fact that you’ve once again disappeared from TriStone without a word or a trace as has been a habit, of late. One that you seemed to have adopted after meeting your newfound friend, Karn.

Grumbling, Death shakes his head and allows the door of the forge to slam shut at his back, wondering where in the nine realms you and the maker could have scurried off to this time.

The Horseman is so preoccupied with his own thoughts, he barely takes notice of the rain that begins cascading down his spine, only glancing up when something utterly enormous barrels down the stone steps towards him and in the blink of an eye, he finds himself nearly run over by a panic-stricken youngling.

“Pup,” the Horseman drawls, a raised brow the only indication of surprise at the sight of the giant careening to a halt just in front of him, with arms cradled against a broad chest as though there’s something immeasurably delicate that he’s trying to hide behind his hefty biceps, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen that blasted human, have you?”

The youngling doesn’t respond at first, merely stares down at the Horseman with the same, fraught stare that’s so uncharacteristic of Karn, Death is instantly suspicious. 

“Pup…”He drops his voice to something low and dangerous, eyeing the flash of hair that pokes out above the maker’s arm. “Where is Y/n.”

At last, Karn’s eyes stop darting and settle properly on the Horseman, his pale pupils slowly coming into focus.“It… it was an accident,” he stammers miserable, bending down onto one knee and, with more care than the Horseman has ever seen him exert, unfurls his arms.

What he reveals ignites an icy rage in Death’s chest, born from an uncomfortable pang of alarm that he’d rather not acknowledge.

In the maker’s arms lays the very human Death had once pulled from the ruined Earth, the same human who has been his unorthodox companion over the last few weeks and who has been so, unwaveringly determined to make a friend out of him, the Horseman begrudgingly let his guard down and allowed a friendship to be cultivated, against his better judgement.

“Y/n?” he breathes, reaching a hand over Karn’s forearm and hovering the appendage warily above your head, from which rivulets of glistening blood trickle down into the creases around your eyes, each screwed tightly shut. The youngling’s broad chest is keeping you shielded from the rain, butDeath almost wishes it would fall on you just to wash away the crimson liquid running down from your hairline.

The Horseman almost succumbs to the immediate, knee-jerk reaction to find out how this happened, yet he reminds himself that standing in the rain and grilling a rattled maker for answers won’t get you the help you so clearly need.

So, swallowing down the urge to tear Karn’s head from his shoulders for allowing you to get hurt, Death grits histeeth and growls, “Eideard. Now.”

Then, as less of an afterthought and more of an instinct, he leans over Karn’s arm and slides his cold, raw-boned hands underneath your fragile, little body scooping you gently out of the maker’s hold and never once taking his eyes off your face.

Although Karn bridles a little at having you taken from him, he doesn’t argue, instead staggering to his feet and once more uttering, “It was an accident…”

Death, at least for the time being, ignores him to spin on a heel and march back towards the forge, his grip on you growing firmer as you roll your head floppily into his chest.

————————

A concussion, Eideard had eventually deduced after a brief minute of chaos ensued once Valus and Alya caught sight of you laying unresponsive and bleeding in Death’s arms.

The village elder had ushered the twins out fairly promptly with much protest and reluctance on their part, and then he’d had Death place you on the anvil where he set about trying to determine the cause of your injury. In the meantime, Karn had remained as close as he could get to the anvil, wringing his hands over one another and chewing a deep welt into his bottom lip.

With steady hands and softly murmured words, Eideard wove together a few healing spells, watered down to their most basic level of power to accommodate for your delicate, human frame. Every now and again, you would try to crack your eyes open and speak, but your words made no sense and blended together into an incomprehensible noise that Eideard would gently shush, reminding you to keep your eyes closed, lest the light cause you any more pain.

Finally, after far too long, in Death’s opinion, the wound on top of your head stops oozing blood as ancient magics stitch your skin back together and Eideard raises his eyes to give the Horseman a reassuring nod, his own relief palpable in the sagging of his titanic shoulders.

It’s only then that Death feels the immediate danger has passed.

Slowly, with the threatening glare of a predator, he turns his gaze to the youngling.

Death barely hears Eideard’s sharp warning not to take his frustrations out on Karn, he’s too sunken into his own fury and desperation. 

It’s with a primal kind of ferocity that he rounds on the young maker, his Reaper form rippling underneath the surface of his pale skin like a brewing storm, just moments away from exploding outwards into a full-blown tempest.

Karn feels a raw pulse of sickening energy hit him square in the chest and he’s forced back a step, tearing his gaze off you with a dull sort of resignation painted across his features as he turns to face the bristling Horseman.

“What. Did. You. DO!?” Death roars, each word pervaded with tremulous power and preceded by a rattling hiss, every neuron in him firing off impulses that tell him to protect the human on the anvil behind him. Yet without an immediate threat present, his rage redirects its attention to the next best thing; the one who’d let this happen to you.

Karn however, even in the face of what could well be a dangerous situation, doesn’t even flinch. He merely stands there as the Horseman bears down on him, his ears drooped and arms dangling limply at his sides.

The decidedly non combative stance doesn’t deterDeath though, who continues to stalk right up to the youngling’s boot and once again shouts, “WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

If Karn hadn’t been feeling so guilty about yourinjury, he might have noted how unusual it is for the Nephilim toexpress this level of concern for another.

Dropping his gaze ashamedly to the stoneunderfoot, the maker heaves an unsteady sigh. “We were only inBaneswood,” he murmurs, more to himself than the room, as though hestill hasn’t quite come to terms with the events, “I was on thelookout for demons, not the damn trees!” Peeling his lipsback with a despairing whine, he scrapes a hand over his sparsedusting of hair.

“What?” Death hisses when he doesn’t elaborate, momentarily thrown bythe notion that now, apparently, even the trees can pose a risk toyour safety.

Karn’s eyes drift down to the ground and theHorseman can’t help but notice that they’ve clouded over, stuckbehind a memory of whatever had occurred in those dreadful woods.

Death doesn’t have to wait for long however beforethe maker reveals what he’s seeing with his mind’s eye.

“Was a branch that did it,” he mutters,“must’ve already been barely hangin’ on, what with the wind andrain. When we passed under it, it – it just…. fell..”Shuddering back into himself, he blinks and glances sorrowfully overtowards you, quietly adding, “By the time I heard it snap, Y/nwas… was….” Karn’s unsteady voice peters out and hesubconsciously rubs at the spot on his own head that mirrors theplace where your wound is.

Unfortunately for him, his explanation does littleto soothe the ire roiling in the Horseman’s chest.

“Why did you take a human out of Tri Stone inthe first place!?” Death barks, “You know it isn’t safe!”

Karn’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly, wettinghis lips. “I… I thought I could keep ‘er safe…” he utterssoftly, ducking his head when Death brusquely snaps, “Well, youthought wrong. Y/n was hurt on your watch. The lasthuman in the Universe could have died, all because of you!”

Chest heaving with barely restrained contempt, theNephilim ignores a disapproving hum that warbles out of Eideard’sthroat and lowers his voice to a much darker, somehow far morefrightening pitch, holding Karn prisoner beneath his poisonous glare.The youngling looks as though Death might as well have torn his heartasunder right then and there. “Might I make a suggestion, Pup, thatso long as you value your life, you’ll keep Y/n out of it.”

He isn’t sure what he expected the youngling tooffer in response. Perhaps a meagre protest, perhaps a flat outrefusal to stay away from you, as Death had just not so subtlysuggested. However, what he certainly doesn’t expect is for Karn tooffer up nothing more than a resigned nod of his head before turningabout and trailing slowly towards the doors at the far end of theforge, dragging his feet with each, heavy step.

Death waits until the stone entrance slides shutin the youngling’s wake, then, heaving a weary sigh, he twists aboutand focuses his attention on the anvil, or more importantly, thehuman laying quiet and still at its centre.

“That,” Eideard grumbles, furrowing his bushybrows until they almost form an uninterrupted line across hisforehead, “was an unjustly cruel thing to say…”

“I notice you didn’t interject.”

The Old One’s chest rises and falls around anindignant puff of breath. “Mark me, I would have, had Ithought you posed any real threat.”

Death can only give a humourless huff, feigning disinterest and wondering when he’d grown so soft that the maker wouldn’t see him as a constant source of danger.

Apparently, Eideard has him all worked out.

——-

The dark blanket of night gradually begins torecede with encroaching rays of sunlight that emit their faint,orange glow from behind the far-off mountain peaks, chasing the starsback into darker corners of the sky.

Almost immediately after leaving the forge, Alyahad accosted Karn and bullied a confession from his lips, after whichshe’d subjected him to an admonishing that had been strikinglysimilar to Death’s, although hers was accompanied by a swift cliparound the ear, doubtless the very least she wanted to do tohim.

After that, she’d left him to sulk, alone in thedead of night where he could torture himself by imagining all theways he should have protected you from that falling branch.

Now, he sits slumped upon the east-facing wallthat looks out over the distant peaks, his mind far from the goingson of the world around him. Rain still falls from the fat, blackclouds overhead and serves to dampen both the ground and Karn’salready dreary mood.

How had everything gone so wrong so quickly? Yes,he knows the dangers of the Forge Lands, perhaps better than most.It’s a wild and unpredictable place. But… he’s Karn.

If anyone was going to be able to protect you, itwould be him….

… Wouldn’t it?  

Raindrops cling to the youngling’s eyelashes, buthe can’t even bring himself to blink them away.

Sagging further into himself, Karn drops his chinonto his knuckles with a grunt, expelling all the air in his lungsand focusing on the burning sensation it brings rather than the stingbehind his eyelids.

He’d been so sure he was doing the right thing.

You were sad. You’d been sad ever since you firstarrived in Tri Stone. Then, one evening spent sat amongst the giantsin Muria’s garden, you had made a comment, something throwaway andforgettable to the others, but not to him. Karn had vowed never toforget a word you said from the day he met you.

You told him how much you loved exploring.

“I used to go and hike the local trails all thetime back home,” you’d murmured as a wistful smile tugged atyour lips, “Just me, my music and the open road. It was so muchfun, even if I was doing it on my own...”

Hearing this, Karn had leapt at the opportunity tocheer you up, inviting you to explore Baneswood with him in the hopesthat it would take your mind off the fate of your home world. And ithad…

…At least for a little while.

Groaning, Karn buries his face in a pair of gloved hands, pressing harshly against his eyelids until specks of colourbegin to invade the darkness.

Even with the best of intentions, he still managedto mess it all up. Death was right, after all. You very well couldhave died back there. The first, real friend Karn had ever had, andhe almost got you killed.

The youngling’s ear twitches at the sudden soundof approaching footsteps, almost imperceptible among the drumming ofrain on hard, grey stone. Too light to be a fellow maker, too heavyto be the Horseman’s….

The maker’s heart lurches and he keeps his facecovered stubbornly when a small voice calls his name.

“Karn? There you are!”

Ashamed as he is to admit it, his first impulse isto leap off the wall and put a safe amount of distance betweenhimself and you.

What are you doing out here? Not that he isn’tdelighted to see you conscious again, but surely neither Death norEideard would have allowed you to be up and about so soon after thatkind of injury.

The footsteps trail to a stop at the wall besidehim where a brief pause ensues before he hears a grunt and the soundof hands and feet scrabbling for purchase on the slippery stone.Seconds later, a tiny, shivering body presses up against his leg andstartles a sigh out of the maker. You’ve climbed up to sit next tohim, evidently.

“Karn?” Your voice is so soft and mellow, asthough speaking too loudly causes you pain. “You okay?”

He doesn’t reply, but the rain cascading down fromabove coupled with the tremors he feels through the thick leather ofhis trousers is enough to make him pull a hand away from his face andlower it slowly towards you, cupping his colossal palm around yourfragile frame as closely as he dare. Karn’s spare hand slides downhis stubble until it drops heavily into his lap whilst he stares outinto the distance with a glum expression ageing his otherwiseyouthful features.

It must have perturbed you that Karn – of allmakers – isn’t trying to fill the silence, because you promptlytake it upon yourself to answer at least one of his unspokenquestions. “Death doesn’t like that I’m out here talking to you,”you mutter gently, noticing how the maker tenses against your side,“I don’t think Eideard likes it either, but he wasn’tactively trying to stop me.”

Chewing pensively on your lip, you lean furtherinto the maker’s palm, feeling the minutest twitch of his thumb as heresists the urge to brush it over your head. After a few seconds oflistening to the rain patter off his shoulder pauldrons, you openyour mouth and carefully say, “When I woke up, Death wouldn’t tellme where you were, but… I wanted to make sure you’re all right….

Something about that tugs at the maker’sheartstrings and his eyes dart down to you before snapping away againonce they spy the faint traces of blood still clinging to your scalp.

Dimly, you watch his fingers curl towards you inchby painfully gradual inch. “Eideard said I could go and find you,provided you were still in the village, and under thecondition that I rested for a couple of hours first, which I did.”You throw a smile up at the side of his downturned head, hoping thathe’ll catch your attempt to lighten the mood. “So, you know, theykind of had to let me go. That’s not to say Death didn’t throwa temper-tantrum about it beforehand though, the drama queen…”

It is both disquieting and frustrating to see themaker’s ear flick down at the mention of the Horseman’s name, yet, toyour surprise, he finally, finally opens his mouth to speak. “Youcould have died,” he utters, sounding far older than hisyears suggest, “He’s not bein’ dramatic.”

“I’m afraid he is,” you retort, “Andfrankly, you sitting out here by yourself in the rain is prettydramatic as well, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Karn scowls at that and for the first time, aspark of ire ignites in his chest and turns its burning gaze ontoyou, frustration growing like mould around his ribcage. You seem fartoo nonchalant about the situation, in direct contrast to his own,tumultuous flurry of emotions. “I – I thought I damn well killedyou!” he chokes out, at last twisting his head around to glare atyou, rain pouring down his cheeks in much the same manner as tearsmight, “So… So I do mind you sayin’ that, thanks.”With a huff, he tears his eyes off you and fixes them straight aheadonce more.

With a demeanour that’s so typically laid-back andfriendly, his clear burst of agitation doesn’t seem to suit the youngmaker in the slightest. Even more worrying though, is that he seemsto be under the impression that somehow, in some way, your injury washis fault.  

Reeling back a little until your spine knocksagainst the heel of his palm, you spare him an incredulous huff oflaughter and blurt out, “Karn, you… you understand that it wasn’tyour fault, right? Why would you say you nearly killed me? Youdidn’t do anything!”

“Exactly!” he snaps, “I didn’t doanything to stop that branch fallin’ on your head! If I’d 'ave beenfaster, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt!”

“If you’d’ve been - Karn! That is themost ridiculous thing you’ve said yet! Of all the dangers in thisrealm, who could predict a branch would be the thing to watchout for? Nobody! Because it was just a freak accident!” As if inwarning, your head suddenly gives a painful throb and you let out agroan, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment and breathing deeplyuntil it passes. Getting worked up is helping no one, least of allyou. So, inhaling through your nose and releasing it slowly, you leanforwards to try and catch Karn’s eye again, finding that hestubbornly twists his head away, hand balling into a fist in his lap.“Karn. Will you look at me, please?”

Perhaps it’s the unexpected gentleness that’scrept into your tone, or the fact that he would do almost anythingyou asked of him, but reluctantly, the youngling moves his gaze downtowards you again, where it lingers briefly on the slight welt lefton top of your skull. With the rain weighing down your hair, he cansee far more of the wound than he’d like to, although you’re quick todivert his attention by ducking until his eyes lock with yours andthere, you hold him, a stern frown on your face when you firmlystate, “It was notyour fault.”

For a few seconds, you manage to hold hisbewildered stare before his face suddenly falls and he shakes hishead, a retort on its way out of his mouth. But before it can reachthe open air, you put a halt to it. “I mean it, Karn. Stop blamingyourself for what happened. It could have happened if I was out withDeath, or Eideard or Alya – anyone! It was just…. bad luck.”

The heat radiating off Karn’s palm keeps most ofthe rain’s chill at bay, yet for the sake of a friendship, you dareto venture outside of the meagre cover and stand up on the wall,curling your fingers around the top of his belt to hold yourselfsteady. All the while, he carefully watches your every move lest youslip and take a tumble off the side. In fact, he’s so preoccupiedwith making sure your feet are firmly on solid stone that he nearlymisses the moment when you press yourself against his side, your armsspread as wide as they’ll go to encompass even just a fraction of theyoungling’s girth.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for things youcan’t help,” you mumble, your voice nearly lost against the fabricof his tunic, “And besides, I’m still here, aren’t I?”

At long last, the maker’s lips give the smallesttwitch, indicative of a smile. “Huh… Aye,” he breathes, liftinghis hand until it lands against your back, pinning you against himwith the barest amount of pressure and you have to roll your eyes,realising that he’s still filled with trepidation at the prospect ofaccidentally injuring you further. 

So lost in the ethereal peace that the rainfallbrings to Tri Stone, neither you nor the maker notice a figurestanding at the Forge’s entrance, cloaked in shadow and indifferentto the icy water making tracks down pale skin pulled taut aroundsinew and muscle and bone.

An old, long-buried part of the Horseman is urginghim to lose his temper, to march over to you and rip you away fromKarn, who likely has no idea how fervidly Death has longed tohave your arms wrapped around him in the same way you havethem slung around the maker’s bulky torso.

But… what would separating you possibly achieve?He had already tried that once, and now it appears that you and theyoungling are closer than ever…

Casting his luminous eyes to the glistening stoneunderfoot, the Nephilim shoves his childish fantasy down and grindsit viciously into dust, hoping that it’ll never raise its ugly headagain. For a bitter-sweet moment, it had been… rather nice topretend that he might be given the chance to feel the warmth of asmall, compassionate human pressed against his side.

Wrenching himself away from the scene, Deathbegrudgingly pushes open the door to the maker forge and, aftercasting a last, lingering glance over his shoulder at you, he slinksinside once more, resigned to a night spent reevaluating everything he thought he knew about humanity.

#darksiders #oneshot #karn #reader

[callme--starchild]

I Could Ever Learn How to Love

The 23rd century was something else. With buildings that reached up to the sky, others that were literally in the sky, droids roaming the streets and living among the citizens, and even the flying cars that were expected by those science fiction movies plowed through the clouds.

But in Odin Eidolon's mansion, it seemed that time had stopped. With the man facing a window reaching the ceiling, his gaze was fixed on the Eidolon Garden. Several passers-by were walking, either alone, as a family or as a couple, or simply with a pet keeping them company while police watched the area.

And Odin couldn't help not frowning. So many people that he has seen born, grow and die, simply living their lives without knowing the eye in the sky that saw for the common welfare of the city. Contrary to popular belief, he did not mind that people were ignorant of his presence; he liked to be discreet — unless the situation required otherwise, he either had to deliver a droid or make a donation; he cared for everyone and had no preference for any. And since he was secretly an android with a literal artificial intelligence as conscience, no one had to worry that he was okay.

This is how things should be. He was the millionaire — millennial — businessduck of the XXIII century that saw for the common good even without expecting anything in return. Since the twentieth century, that's how things had been: his old friend ... and he against the world, facing Evronians and putting aside the tirades against the guardian of the city — and the galaxy, he would proudly acclaim — as if they were tiny particles of dust.

But everything had changed since 2188, and now he had an image to maintain: no one could get too close to Odin because it was knowing that he was not what he appeared to be, no one could get close because it was knowing that the great and powerful Odin Eidolon had a gentle side. Nobody could get close because it was to become fond of someone, someone most likely very mortal, someone who would not last forever unlike him–

"Odin" no one, unless they shared the same vestiges of immortality as him, for exactly the same reasons even if that was his best-kept secret "you felt it too, right?"

And of course, as someone who has dealt with time-related issues in a very personal way, it wouldn't take long for Lyla to know what was different about the timeline. And as someone she knew long before Odin Eidolon, he knew that he could trust her. That is why he had specifically asked her to come to her mansion, even if it was with the vague excuse of needing her to deliver a message from him.

Still, he couldn't help but straighten up, rearranging his jacket and securing his expression in the reflection in the window. One of the downsides of being a droid is that, unlike the sphere in which he could modify his appearance, his features were more vivid, and now anyone could see how melancholy or frustrated it made him think of the past just by looking at his face.

"To tell the truth, I doubt that someone 'tinkering' with space-time did not go unnoticed by the best time officer," he commented with a sure smile taking place on his face, a great contrast to the Odin who a few moments ago was thinking about what was once. In his reflection, he saw Lyla's face over his shoulder and the way she smiled even if she did so with a raised eyebrow.

They had never discussed the hypothetical case of Lyla knowing the true identity of Odin, much less after PK's last visit to the XXIII century, and even if they did, something in which his words were kept honest was the esteem he held for the droid and her capabilities.

Not only because it was a creation of his industries, but because after years of adventures with a certain duck with or without the mask, he knew what she was capable of; like a father being proud of his child, strange as the comparison was when neither of them were exactly biological.

"They've already sent a squad to investigate, they'll send a report as soon as they get to the bottom of all this," she commented as she removed her jacket, revealing the dark pinkish suit of herfourth. Her hair was honestly a mess, indicating that she had come in a hurry as soon as she sensed the alteration in the story.

It was one of the few things that would never change no matter how many centuries passed, and while it was not something outlandish or very shocking, as someone who had seen so much since his inception, it would not be a surprise if Odin came to have a preference for simplicity. What would be normal or surprising for someone who has already seen it all, after all?

"Meeting the Time Police, it won't take long." But even if there was sincerity in the words, there was no room for doubt in the way his voice grew distant, finally turning to face the android, being his footsteps all that could be heard on the marble floor as he approached the couch closest to Lyla, whose expression had become more thoughtful, not to mention uncomfortable.

"This is not the first time the flow of time has been altered recently…" she commented, her voice softening as her fingers began to fiddle with one of her loose strands of hair, her free hand combing it as calmly as if it had never been rowdy in the first place "does the Timephoon sound familiar to you?"

It sounds familiar. Why does it ring a bell if he didn't remember being activated when that happened? The truth is that his memory did not recall any data of that event, or find a record that indicated that that event really happened, but he did not think he could say something to Lyla without giving any clue of who he really was.

Confusion must have been evident on his face because Lyla looked distant for a few seconds, her shoulders slumping with an emotion Odin could not describe.

"We are not supposed to disclose the details of our investigations, but there is something that worries me, and you are literally the only non-cop and person of this time that I can trust." Given the uncertainty in the words of the droid, Odin looked up again, arching an eyebrow. A part of him had been stirred when Lyla referred to him as a person, but at least he had the privilege of knowing that Lyla had the same trust in him as he had in her "but based on this, it appears that both incidents occurred in the XXI century."

Paperinik. Hero. Donald. Wow, he hadn't thought of the mere name in a long time, and just doing so awakened old previously buried feelings.

"Fortunately everything went well," Lyla added quickly, sensing Odin's concern; and though it ultimately calmed the businessduck's cravings a bit, he could not be reassured by the idea that he still lived risky alongside his uncle, no matter how capable he was of taking care of himself.

But it couldn't be like that, right? He was a young adult the last time they saw each other as Donald and Uno and he shared his dream of sailing the seas in his own boat or forming his own band, The Three Caballeros, and leaving behind that life of adventure to which he was typecasted to. Odin was aware that more than a century had passed since then, but he still had such information in his cloud; and it was Donald, the most stubborn duck he had ever met — technically the only duck he had ever met; it would make sense for him to be more independent now,

right?

But it was not like that. Even if Donald was technically more dependent on himself, he still stayed under Scrooge's roof, risking his life as if it were a piece of cake for him — which was true, considering what he lived through day to day as a superhero, but his nephews–

The nephews. What would become of them?

"Surely it must be strange to receive this news so suddenly, but you are one of the few who are still present after the departure of PK; I haven't heard from The Raider after his retirement, and I doubt I had the same confidence in him as he does in us" another good point.

"If it weren't for the fact that time travel is still unstable, I'd see a way to go there personally to make sure everything is fine. It is not the first time that such an abrupt change has occurred, much less on two almost consecutive occasions."

But it could not be. Because since the micro-contraption and the change of the Police's department, traveling through time had become a suicide mission. Even Donald Paperinik knew that stabilizing him again was a matter of time and patience.

Knowing which one leftover for one or both was the mystery.

"I bet they'll figure it out," Odin said with an expression so radiant that he left Lyla blinking multiple times, "if there's one thing that characterizes the Time Police, it's that they never give up."

And that was a fact for both of them, and she couldn't help but smile with a tiny bit of determination. Lyla could remember all the misadventures she'd had as a policewoman with Paperinik, usually affected by his clash of ideas with the officers'. But Odin cleared his throat before sitting down on the couch, disturbing the droid's thoughts.

"Maybe," she confirmed, taking a place next to the businessman, entwining her fingers in her lap with a thoughtful expression, humming as her gears worked, "…but I won't be able to do it alone."

As if on cue… which it was basically, Odin looked up, meeting Lyla's questioning eyes. It must have meant a lot to her, or she must be advanced enough that her gaze said what her voice box did not, so vivid that it reminded him of the times when Donald refuted about the humanity in them.

Quite ironic, considering they were anything but human.

"Are you sure? It could be risky" and although he knew it wasn't a possibility, Odin wouldn't know how to explain to PK why Lyla's move was made.

Especially because it meant that he would have to accept it himself, he would have to accept that he once again lost someone whom he held dear and esteem.

And though there was that same hesitation in the droid's eyes, Odin still sensed that determination that characterized her.

"I thought what you liked best is that we didn't give up," she scoffed, though it was clear that she wasn't doing it out of pettiness. Especially since Odin detected that bit of doubt that he rarely saw in the attractive robot. "Also, as much as it pains me to accept it, it's not exactly a fact. I like this time, and I appreciate your company, but I don't belong here..."

Oh yeah. The certainly selfish desire to go home. Donald had explained it to him once, and even now he couldn't quite understand it. And after all that she had been through in both eras — it's not like he knew, it was natural for Lyla to think of that time as her home.

Well, there were already two. Seeing Anxieties wasn't the same with no one complaining about his merely scientific interest in it.

Oh.

"Well, we won't achieve anything by standing idly," he concluded, delighting in Lyla's pleasantly surprised gaze, "we should check first that the micro-contraption..."

Sure, it wouldn't be easy. No one said it was, and the 23rd century did not have all the answers, no matter how surprising technological advances were compared to three centuries ago.

But after meeting PK and facing the way he had changed by being reactivated for the first time deactivated, he knew that he couldn't leave his friend behind when the mere possibility was present.

He could tell that a long time had passed since then. But unlike him, she could go home. with Donald. As much as he wanted someone who shared the same vestiges of immortality as him, it wasn't fair for her to keep her pigeonholed into the 23rd century when she had just expressed that she didn't belong there — otherwise, where would be the freedom of the droids that he had fought so hard for?

Who knows, surely the return of time travel would mean that she could visit him, and they could talk about… who knows, only time could tell.

Poor Odin, he didn't know how wrong he was.

"Family," Donald cleared his throat, his shoulders partially tense before extending both arms to Uno, showing off with years of restrained pride, "this is Uno. Uno, this is my family..."

Before repeating the same gesture, and no one missed the way Uno's expression had softened. How not do it when Donald gave him his million-dollar smile and stars literally shone in his eyes?

It was an expression that he dedicated only to him, when the adrenaline of heroism had already run out and it was only them in the Tower, talking about everything and nothing with Anxieties playing in the background. And he didn't know how much he had missed it. for all these years. Not to mention how clear it was that he was hiding his emotion from them.

Della literally kept her gaze scrutinizing him, analyzing his every move as he stood with some power, a mocking smile crystal clear on his face. If he didn't know better, surely his partner would compare him to that cousin Gladstone of whom he spoke so much with disdain, and the idea was funny and ironic.

Scrooge? He could still recognize him, how could he not when the most obvious change in his appearance, despite the years clearly elapsed, was the color of his coat and spats? Sure, he looked different than in that photo Donald had shown him in that boat of his, and his shoulders were slumped with weariness.

Though it was not the same exhaustion that Old Cape reflected in his posture.

What attracted Uno's sensors most, however, were the new additions to the family, four children whose undivided attention was on him, and it didn't take long for him to identify them with the information his partner had given him.

Huey, Dewey, Louie, Webby. Certainly lovely that their names — or nicknames, as he had assured him — rhymed.

"One Ducklair, Donald's old friend." He held out his hand, maintaining a certain formality that it puzzled his friend if his nervous snort said something. It was obvious how much he had improvised with the name. However, even if he didn't put it into words, to him the sailor was like an open book, and he could feel how new it was for both of them him to hear him without a voice modulator.

However, in front of his scanners, he saw nothing but Donald injured, physically or emotionally.

Magic ice.

Comments on his voice.

Feathers.

The fights at school.

Cookie.

All the times Donald came to the tower with fire on his sister and his uncle on the tip of his tongue.

Hospital.

Every night he spent in the tower after a heated argument with Scrooge.

Dry blood and untreated scars.

Tears that shouldn't be there.

In front of him, there were only the people who had caused so much damage to the most important duck for him, be it involuntary or not. And now that he had a more lively body and features, he knew it wouldn't be long until his disgust was evident.

But for now, he would have to keep his guard down. The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble for his partner, as tempting as it was to tell Scrooge and Della their truths.

After all, it wasn't the first secret he had to hide.

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

It will be fun while it lasts.

#el's fanfiction #one more wish au #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #paperinik #duck avenger #ducktales fanfiction #ducktales au #alternate universe #odin eidolon #lyla lay #uno #uno pkna #donald duck #della duck #scrooge mcduck #uno is a protective lil ai

[alinaastarkov]

Are there any specific Jonrya Quotes that doesn't mean sibling love? If so which ones?

Yes! Loads! Thanks for this ask.

She [Ygritte] is no older than I am. Something about her made him think of Arya, though they looked nothing at all alike. "Will you yield?" he asked, giving the dirk a half turn. And if she doesn't? - Jon VI ACOK

I don’t know about you guys, but it’s not often I’m romantically attracted to someone who immediately reminds me of my sibling. But hey, maybe that’s just me.

Ygritte watched and said nothing. She was older than he'd thought at first, Jon realized; maybe as old as twenty, but short for her age, bandy-legged, with a round face, small hands, and a pug nose. Her shaggy mop of red hair stuck out in all directions. She looked plump as she crouched there, but most of that was layers of fur and wool and leather. Underneath all that she could be as skinny as Arya. - Jon VI ACOK

Once again, I tend not to imagine my (future) romantic partner’s naked body and think of my sibling. I’m starting to sense a pattern 🤔

"NO!" Arya and Gendry both said, at the exact same instant. Hot Pie quailed a little. Arya gave Gendry a sideways look. He said it with me, like Jon used to do, back in Winterfell. She missed Jon Snow the most of all her brothers. - Arya I ASOS

Even Arya is comparing her (future potential) love interest to Jon. It’s an epidemic!

She reminded him a little of his sister Arya, though Arya was younger and probably skinnier. It was hard to tell how plump or thin Ygritte might be, with all the furs and skins she wore. - Jon II ASOS

Yet another instance of Jon thinking of Ygritte’s body beneath her clothes and thinking of Arya. Hmm, suspicious 👀

"If you kill a man, and never mean t', he's just as dead," Ygritte said stubbornly. Jon had never met anyone so stubborn, except maybe for his little sister Arya. Is she still my sister? he wondered. Was she ever? - Jon III ASOS

Kind of strange to question his relationship to Arya, especially after all of those inappropriate thoughts regarding Ygritte. And to question only Arya? Seems like someone really wishes they weren’t blood related so it wouldn’t feel wrong to think of her that way...

"It wasn't Longspear, then?" Jon was relieved. He liked Longspear, with his homely face and friendly ways. She punched him. "That's vile. Would you bed your sister?" "Longspear's not your brother." - Jon III ASOS

Real smooth, Jon. Real smooth. Notice how he totally dodges the question? How we never get an answer on if he would bed his sister? Perhaps because the answer is yes?? Notice how this sounds a lot like it might tie in to “their passion will continue to torment them until the secret of Jon’s parentage is revealed in the last book”? Very suspicious.

"He's with the Night's Watch on the Wall." Maybe I should go to the Wall instead of Riverrun. Jon wouldn't care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair . . . "Jon looks like me, even though he's bastard-born. He used to muss my hair and call me 'little sister.'" Arya missed Jon most of all. Just saying his name made her sad. - Arya VIII ASOS

“I know where we could go," Arya said. She still had one brother left. Jon will want me, even if no one else does. He'll call me "little sister" and muss my hair. - Arya XII ASOS

Maybe not explicitly romantic per se, but it is telling that she genuinely believes her own mother and brother would not want her for superficial reasons and because of the people she killed in self-defense, but her belief in Jon doesn’t waver for a single second.

Jon has a mother. Wylla, her name is Wylla. She would need to remember so she could tell him, the next time she saw him. She wondered if he would still call her "little sister." I'm not so little anymore. He'd have to call me something else. - Arya VIII ASOS

Arya’s questioning her relationship with him too?! To distance herself from him and subconsciously make it easier to deal with romantic feelings in the future?! Will it ever end?!

"It's just a sword," she said, aloud this time . . . . . . but it wasn't.  Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. - Arya II AFFC

This is so sweet and the specificity of his smile over the more general descriptions of the rest of her family mark it out as different in some way.

She had never cared if she was pretty, even when she was stupid Arya Stark. Only her father had ever called her that. Him, and Jon Snow, sometimes. Her mother used to say she could be pretty if she would just wash and brush her hair and take more care with her dress, the way her sister did. To her sister and sister's friends and all the rest, she had just been Arya Horseface. But they were all dead now, even Arya, everyone but her half-brother, Jon. Some nights she heard talk of him, in the taverns and brothels of the Ragman's Harbor. The Black Bastard of the Wall, one man had called him. Even Jon would never know Blind Beth, I bet. That made her sad. - The Blind Girl ADWD

Arya loves Jon so much she wishes he could meet her alter-egos too. Ugh, the romantic angst is too much.

"He's to marry Arya Stark. My little sister." Jon could almost see her in that moment, long-faced and gawky, all knobby knees and sharp elbows, with her dirty face and tangled hair. They would wash the one and comb the other, he did not doubt, but he could not imagine Arya in a wedding gown, nor Ramsay Bolton's bed. No matter how afraid she is, she will not show it. If he tries to lay a hand on her, she'll fight him. "Your sister," Iron Emmett said, "how old is …" By now she'd be eleven, Jon thought. Still a child. "I have no sister. Only brothers. Only you." Lady Catelyn would have rejoiced to hear those words, he knew. That did not make them easier to say. His fingers closed around the parchment. Would that they could crush Ramsay Bolton's throat as easily. - Jon VI ADWD

Once again, Jon thinks of Arya in a way that a brother really shouldn’t think of a sister. Funny how he specifically says “Ramsay Bolton’s bed”, and not just any man’s bed? Maybe because he can imagine her in someone’s (his)? Either way, weird thing to think about, Jon. And a very violent reaction to your sister’s marriage. Way more than his reaction to another sister’s marriage. Definitely intense feeling that goes beyond sibling bond.

"I have no sister." The words were knives. What do you know of my heart, priestess? What do you know of my sister? Melisandre seemed amused. "What is her name, this little sister that you do not have?" "Arya." His voice was hoarse. "My half-sister, truly …" - Jon VI ADWD

Need I say more?

Jon felt fifteen years old again. Little sister. - Jon IX ADWD

This is not so big in terms of non-sibling feelings but it is a very intense reaction and also I love Jon being such an emo little shit here cause... Jon, bby, you’re sixteen. Calm down.

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled. "Winter's lady." Jon squeezed her hand. - Jon X ADWD

This is such a romanticised scene and the fact that it mentions Arya at the same time, and Jon’s intense feeling again, gives me pause and made me put it on this list.

It had been so long since he had last seen Arya. What would she look like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot. Her face was always dirty. Would she still have that little sword he'd had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true. Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl. - Jon XI ADWD

Again, veeeerrry intense feelings, the mention of her wedding night again, and the fact that he once more questions his relationship with her. It’s too repetitive and obvious not to mean something.

You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … "I think we had best change the plan," Jon Snow said. - Jon XIII ADWD

So, Jon thinks of his former lover and Arya right after, repeats the phrase “I want my bride back” specifically in reference to Arya, and imo “bride” is not what you call someone you have only platonic/ familial feelings for. That would be very weird. Then he abandons all his vows, something he had the opportunity to do and didn’t at least 3 separate times, for and only for Arya, and if that ain’t just the most romantic shit you ever heard. And then of course he literally dies with her as his last thought. Romantic. As. Fuck!

There is more than this, but you asked for things that don’t also mean sibling love, so here you go! 🤗

#asoiaf #jonrya #jon snow #arya stark #jon x arya #jonarya #my meta #sort of #shut up neve #Anonymous #neve has mail

[delightsan]

FLAME (I) | CS

⁕ genre: fuck boy!san, bad boy!au, college!au, fluff, angst, enemies to lovers

⁕ pairings: choi san x fem!reader

⁕ words: 2.3k

⁕ description: keeping the title of being the best student on campus isn’t easy for you, especially when your mind was occupied only by him and his annoying smirk, the popular bad boy who once decided to sets on fire your heart without anybody’s permission

⁕ warnings: explicit language, suggestive remarks, smoking & alcohol

read the prologue here!

"I like you."

“I might also like you.”

The overhelming idea of being loved by the most popular boy is like a scene taken from a cliché romcom, where the leads are blinded by the arrow of Amor, making it hard to believe his smooth words. His declaration of being the one, who would be beside you in your worst time, holding you tight in his arms is alluring like the sweetest candy. San's confession opens the heavily lock to your heart, which you hide in order to prevent yourself for falling into a twisted flame of love. You give in all of the tempations like a prey for the devil, the taste of hell creeps at your tongue leaving a taste for more. Angels can also fall from heaven.

His charming smile can only bring concerns to your already clouded mind.

Beginning of the spring starts the night after your defeat of vain attempts to return to the godly paradise, the events from yesterday filling your senses with a nerve-wracking anticipation but also a uneasy fear of being stuck in imaginations of your dreamland. The dead world which was once sworn by a snow blooms into a mesmerizing flower only to catch your attention, taking away the ability to breathe with him as a main culprit.

It's your favorite season after all, does wonders really exist to open a new path for you? You hope so.

The strong scent of cigarettes wakes you up to relief your anxious sleep as the rays of golden hours dances through the small space of your room, motivating you to sit up in order to get ready for a new dares. Mornings are always hard as you never liked the idea of being out of your comfort zone - the bed. You shiver at the coldness of your wooden floor, groaning in annoyance as you fail to locate your favourite pair of fluffy slippers. The clock at nightstand struck now at 5:34AM, signaling to start your day with a cup of warm coffee made by your roommate Seonghwa who is also one of his friends.

Making your way to the dresser in order to pull out a pair of jeans and a simple white tshirt, you scroll down trough your daily reminder of activites as you got a message from Seonghwa saying to hurry up before the breakfast could get cold. The small yawn escape your mouth as you curse in your head for his overdramatic ass, he is always nagging about you to his boyfriend Hongjoong, who is a leader of the gang ATEEZ, he and other boys belongs to. You had actually a couple of chances to met him, he is a devoted kid with the sweetest smile you have ever seen. Deep down your heart you know both of them cares for you, like a brothers who want nothing but the best for their little sister. Grabbing a brush at your desk, you comb your long hair to smooth it out before doing a gentle makeup on your face to look freshly new. The last glance at the reflection in the mirror satisfites you, smiling brightly as you leave the room with a delighted mood.

The magnificent breakfast at the large kitchen's counter is what greets you first with it's abundance, thanking to god for Seonghwa's kindly gesture and his angelic manners. You need to attack him with kisses later for being a perfect roommate you were craving for years. Taking a seat, you glance at the flawlessly baked pancakes with doze of fresh fruits, most of them strawberries as he exactly know from one of many shared conversations that they are your favourite fruits. To improve your mood even more in adcition there is also a coffee that you would yearn for all of morning. He was indeed a perfect roommate, a soft-hearted bad boy with a caring side contrasting with his opposite lifestyle.

  You consume the meal in peace as the muffled voice could be heard at the end of balcony where Seonghwa and you would enjoy his morning routine which include of a cigarette and hot cocoa for him, praising you about being non-addicted to smoking and you with a plain black coffee, talking to a Bom who is your newly planted Dianthus. Curiosity won a battle against your guts as you ate the food and decide to go towards the balcony in order to greet your friend but the harsh smell of smoke hit your lungs, coughing in desperation for fresh air as you blink a couple of times.

The mesmerizing sight of San with cigarette between his long fingers looks like pulled straight out of the outstanding painting in which his acute jaw is carved with delicate caution and his honey glazed skin glows in the sun, being a living example of a descendant of god. San's cat like eyes meets yours in a rapid moment, the sound of thumping inside your heart increase as you gulp and you swear you could see the whole universe in them. Too many stars to count them all.

He puts out the source of smoke, brushing a hand through his hair with red streaks to sleak them back in order to see you better in the sunrise. No sign of Seonghwa, the only savior is now gone, making you question what was his excuse to leave you alone with San. "Did you sleep well, princess?" he asks, the hoarse of his voice send a shiver down your spine. "I heard you like to talk to Bom. Your friend seems to enjoy my company."

"Why are you here? Where is Seonghwa?"

"Ouch." San pouts in fake pain at your blunt question. "I wanted to see your pretty face." he smirks as he leans against the balcony grilles covered in flowers. "Seonghwa is at his room talking with his lover boy." You want to take a picture of this moment, to remember it everyday before going to sleep, at how his sparkling eyes are looking at you with adoration and his intoxicating scent is overhelming you.

Choi San is a epitome of a bad boy who dresses in all black, the leather jacket on his left shoulder, the other arm is being exposed by his tank top which perfectly shows his majestic tattoos. You don't know if all of them have deeper meanings, hiding the scars of past misakes or made just under the influence of youth. One catch your liking, the weathered cat on his forearm.

"Is that a cat?" you asks curiously, causing him to grin widely at your little interest in his persona as his face lit up like a sun to run away with your breath. His deep dimples makes apperance as you shyly smile back at him, containg the urge to put kisses all over them and tell him how truly beautiful they are. If someone could be more charming than him, you wouldn't be in hell right now. 

Chuckling, he says. "Yeah, that's my cat. Her name is Byeol." he smiles at the mention of his lovable pet, he surely adores her with genious love. Being envious of cat is amusing, but you can't help the uncertainty to his feelings, wishing he just would love you the way he loves her. "It's old though."

You step forward in order to examine the tattoo by yourself at the close range, his well-built body radiates with power over your wits, the hot temperature filling you up with dizziness as you burst with desire when his skin make contact with yours. The feeling of his piercing eyes on your every movements is affecting you in the way you would never imagined, blushing like a kid who would be caught at the stealing his favourite cookie. Inhaling his sensual scent, you don't break the contact between the both of you as you bite your lips at the thoughts, clouding your mind because his flaming skin feels rights on your cold one. "No, I think it's cute despite it's condition." 

San's face softens at your words. "If you say so." he says, grabbing your delicate hand in his, letting it wander all over his tattooed arm to left the trace of heaven he's long lost addicted to. Yours touch is like a drug to him, dangerous but worth it's price, taking away his common sense in order to make him a fool of your nonexsisting sins. Oh, how much he wants to to demolish you with his world. 

The drowing out sound of both yours rapid heartbeatings is like the sweetest music to your ears which you listen to ease your uneasy feelings, shaking you to the core of lust in order to realise the pressure of his warm hands on your waist, pressing himself as close to you as possible. Clutching subtly at his black top you push him into your embrace, lips molds together in a quick moment as he pulls away completely and you feel cold and empty as he flashes you a sly grin. 

"Oh my god, I'm sorry" you says paincked. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

"It's okay, don't be sorry. I actually really like it." he says as he doesn’t give you the time to respond, choosing to press his lips hard against yours instead. You would lie if you say the butterflies inside your stomach doesn't burst the second his soft lips met yours, opening a whole new world to you.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

San chuckles and grabs you by the chin but his touch is not rough, more likely gentle like a feather, taking care of the pressure he puts into showing affection to you. "No, are you?" he mocks you. "I like you, remember?" 

You shake your head as your heart starts to pound at his meaningful confession, craving for more of his sweet talking. The relationship with San started at the beginning of colleague when Seonghwa introduced him to you as on of his best friends. You both were attracted to ourselves but sometimes not everything work the way we want it to be. "What do you mean by like, we are enemies" you whisper as his hand sneaks to the small of your back in order to pull you even closer if that's possible, rubbing at the cold flesh of your skin, leaving the suave aftertaste of his hell.

"I really like you, (Y/N)." he says softly as his embrace on you grow stronger, proving how secure his arms could feel around your fragile figure. The sparks in his brown eyes are magnificent like a colorful fireworks on a New Year, drawing you into the neverending trance of exchanging shy looks. "My reputation is fucked up but who cares, they already know not to mess with me. These braindead folks can go to hell, I swear to god they are only a burden."

Venom lingers in his voice like a bitter poison, covering your blushy skin in goosebumps as you look away from his pleading stare to hide the tears, threating to fall at the corner of your eyes. It pains you that you have to see him in state, where the hateful words are form of a escape from a incumbent reality. "I care, San. How can I not, if you bring the troubles once I'm not looking" you sigh. "It’s not your fault, though." you lean into him, dropping your head in the crook of his neck. The faint sound of his heartbeat soothe your nerves like a precious lullaby, dreaming about this moment.

For a bad boy who can only curse about his miserable life, Choi San is a lost puppy who never experienced the meaning of love. Always in the wrong hands of his owners, deceiving his feelings to fall into the depths of emotion abyss.

You bite your lips in anexiety, exhaling his intoxicating scent of expensive cologne mixed with the smell of cigarettes from earlier. "Can you prove to me that your confession was true? Show me how much do you like me and how do you crave the feeling of my skin in yours, to hold me like this every night not like other girls you slept with." you ask with trembling hands. "Promise me to be honest with me and make me fall in love with the real you."

He chuckles as he softly presses his lips to the crown of your head. "I promise." he states, your insides swell and your heart pounds in your chest once again because San is far for being a perfect boyfriend but maybe you have a power to change him to be one. "Tutoring can wait" he says as you look at him curiously, a teasing smile on his face. 

"San, your grades are awful." you sigh as you cannot help but smile at the sight of the pout on his face, looking like a kid who couldn't get his favourite lollipop. You pull away from him and thread your fingers through his hair in an attempt to comfort him. 

He grins as you allow him to press chaste kisses down your neck to your lips, softly pressing into you as you whimper at his close approximaty, his burning touch leaving you with a bite for more of the forbidden fruit. Kissing him feels like paradise, you have never done it before, contemplating about the sin but it feels right. "I don't care."

Far for being angelic, the son of devil sets on fire your heart, not caring for the burns on his skin, inviting you to his little game.

"Kids, I left you for a moment and you are already making out." The sound of Seonghwa voice make you giggle in embarrassment.

"Fuck off, Seonghwa!" San warns, eyeing the older boy.

Maybe connecting your soul with Choi San’s won't be that bad idea.

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #choi san #ateez san #ateez fluff #choi san fluff #choi san scenarios #choi san imagines #san imagines #san scenarios #kpop #kpop scenarios

[mediaeval-muse]

Book Review

Confessions of the Fox. By Jordy Rosenberg. New York: One World, 2018.

Rating: 4.5/5 stars

Genre: historical fiction, queer fiction

Part of a Series? No

Summary: Set in the eighteenth century London underworld, this bawdy, genre-bending novel reimagines the life of thief and jailbreaker Jack Sheppard to tell a profound story about gender, love, and liberation.

Jack Sheppard and Edgeworth Bess were the most notorious thieves, jailbreakers, and lovers of eighteenth-century London. Yet no one knows the true story; their confessions have never been found. Until now. Reeling from heartbreak, a scholar named Dr. Voth discovers a long-lost manuscript—a gender-defying exposé of Jack and Bess’s adventures. Is Confessions of the Fox an authentic autobiography or a hoax? As Dr. Voth is drawn deeper into Jack and Bess’s tale of underworld resistance and gender transformation, it becomes clear that their fates are intertwined—and only a miracle will save them all.

***Full review under the cut.***

Content Warnings: sexual content (as in sex acts, not the mere presence of lgbt+ people), blood, graphic depiction of top surgery, violence, racism, gender dysphoria

Overview: I didn’t know what I was expecting when I picked up this book, but something about it just hit all the right angles for me. I adore historical fiction that not only aims to imitate the aesthetics of the period, but also focuses on underrepresented identities, such as queer, non-white, and working or poverty class people; thus, it was inevitable that I would find Confessions of the Fox would be so engrossing. I do understand that this book might not be for everyone, as Rosenberg plays with a lot of academic ideas that usually fall in the realm of theory, but personally, I loved that this book wasn’t just about trans identity. While gender and identity and queerness were at the heart of this book, Confessions was also about archives and policing and commodities and so much more - things that were related and engaged the more academic part of my brain, but somewhat complicated for casual reading. Nevertheless, it was ambitious and smartly-constructed, so I’m giving it a high rating, even if I have quibbles here and there.

Writing: As a former academic and lover of history, I very much enjoyed Rosenberg’s approach to genre, form, and writing. It would have been easy to simply write a story using modern aesthetic tastes, but Rosenberg goes out of his way to imitate the prose style of the 18th century. I loved the richness of the vocabulary and the complexity of the sentences, as well as the juxtaposition of the sacred and profane. It was refreshing to read such beautiful prose that the author clearly put a lot of love into, and if you want to be so immersed in a story that you feel like you’re reading a historical document, I think Rosenberg does a wonderful job.

I also really loved the way Rosenberg wrote about trans identity in the 18th century. There are passages, for example, where Jack’s attention wanders while being dead-named, where Jack expresses feelings of confusion or freedom when talking about his physical body, where he talks about the process of coming into being when he heard Bess use his name, etc. I thought these passages were the most beautifully written and impactful, and they stayed with me the most after I finished the book.

These 18th century “confessions” are accompanied by a number of footnotes, written by a character named Dr. Voth in the present day. In these passages, Rosenberg shifts his tone and style, thereby differentiating between past and present without having to constantly remind the reader that Jack and Bess’s story is told through something of a frame. I think the choice to have footnotes instead of chapters where Voth’s POV takes center stage was a good one - it more effectively created parallels between the 18th century story and Voth’s personal story, and reminded the reader that history (especially trans history) evolves as a result of a kind of archival work, collected in pieces by many different people. In that sense, form matched function, which I am always delighted to see in my novels.

That being said, I can’t say I enjoyed Voth’s voice all that much. This criticism is probably a personal preference rather than anything Rosenberg did wrong - I just think Voth’s voice felt a little too conversational, like he was talking to someone instead of writing.

Plot: Most of Rosenberg’s novel follows Jack Sheppard and Bess Khan as they discover Jack’s identity, evade arrest, and disrupt a horrifying commodity trade (so to speak). In my opinion, the plot points surrounding Jack’s personal journey were incredibly well-constructed; I felt that the evolution of Jack’s gender identity, the romance between Jack and Bess, and their evolution as criminals were all very compelling and touched on a number of engrossing themes, from gender to poverty to anti-capitalism. Granted, there were some areas where I think the pacing dragged, but part of me thinks this was due to the 18th century style and genre conventions, more than anything Rosenberg was doing wrong.

In Voth’s footnotes, we also get something of a personal story which includes Voth being coerced into working for an exploitative publishing company at the direction of his university administrator. As we go through the footnotes, Voth recounts conversations he had with these figures while also disclosing details about his failed relationships - with one ex in particular. While I did like the parallels that exist between the manuscript and Voth’s own life, there were some things that challenged my suspension of disbelief. For example, I would never expect an academic to record personal anecdotes and intimate confessions in footnotes for an academic project. Maybe that happens in academic circles outside mine, and I understand it needs to happen for plot reasons (just reading references to critical theory or secondary sources would be boring for most people), so this criticism is coming from a place of being too close to the setting surrounding the text, in a way.

I also think that there were some passages where sexual activity would be mentioned where it was not needed. I do understand, on some level, that sex and sexuality is an important topic in trans studies (and queer studies as a whole), and I don’t want to appear too prudish. However, I think random references to a character masturbating, even if they were making a point, were a bit egregious. I was especially put off by the story of a 15 year old masturbating (in the present-day footnotes), and though I understand the story was illustrating an academic concept and books should acknowledge that (many) teens do have sex drives, it was also a bit much for me, personally.

Characters: Jack, our primary protagonist, is interesting and complex not just because he struggles with his identity as a trans man, but also because he struggles with acting in ways that are not out of self-interest. Though he is a thief and thus acts in self-interest in understandable ways, he eventually uncovers an operation which involves the production of a drug-like substance (or something - that’s the best I can describe it). Bess demands that he destroy all samples so that the substance can’t be reproduced by others, but Jack wants to confiscate the samples for himself to make a huge profit. I liked that this conflict existed, not only because it showed Jack as having other challenges in his life other than his gender identity, but it also spurred character growth and emotional turmoil.

Bess Khan, a prostitute and Jack’s lover, was written in a way that respected sex work and provided commentary on race and policing. I really liked that she had a strong set of principles and desires that were larger than herself, and I liked that she was confident and forceful where Jack could be meek and unsure.

Other rogues were equally loveable and admirable. Jenny, another prostitute, was a nice example of women forming networks of support within the criminal underworld while also showing how white women (even prostitutes) are treated differently than non-white women. Aurie, a black queer man, was also a supportive friend to Jack who is frequently instrumental in his survival. There is also a wide variety of named and unnamed rogues who were non-white and/or queer in some way, providing a rich array of characters that dispels the assumption that 18th century England was homogenously white and straight.

Our main antagonist, Jonathan Wild, is a bit less interesting in that he’s mainly just corrupt. I personally didn’t care for the chapters from his perspective, though I do understand that he functions as an important, symbolic figure that embodies all the things Jack and Bess work against (capitalism, police corruption, etc.).

Voth, our modern day commentator, has his moments, but sometimes, I would waffle back and forth between finding him engaging and finding him pretentious. I understand that he is supposed to be flawed, and I sympathize with a lot of his plights - mainly the pressure from his university and the anxiety he suffers from. But also, I found his voice to be somewhat combative, and if the point was to make a complicated, likeable-sometimes-unlikeable-other-times character, then I think Rosenberg succeeded.

TL;DR: Confessions of the Fox is a beautiful debut novel that engages with trans identity and history, though it does so in a way that may be a bit too academic for some readers. But while it definitely demands much of your attention, Rosenberg ultimately delivers a rich, engrossing story that reaches beyond the historical and textual boundaries of the page and invites the reader to see themselves as part of a vast network that is constantly “making” and “becoming” itself.

#book reviews

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 56

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. Tag lists are closed

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother,  but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 56: Broken

You were in Kylo’s arms for a few more moments as you waited for the others to arrive. Once they were there Kylo assisted you to stand and deposited you in your dressing room for Adlez and Olivia-Rose to fix you. 

You sat in front of the vanity as they fixed your makeup. You felt numb and rather unwhole inside as you sat there staring at your own living reflection. Your mind not wanting to process what had happened. Your brain felt like it was full of cotton, your body attached to strings like a meaningless puppet. 

You had no desire to really do anything at the moment but your ladies-in-waiting were attempting to distract you and cheer you up. Putting your hair into a beautiful elegant hairstyle, something fancier than you were used to, and putting you into the beautiful flowy dress that Adlez had planned for the formal dinner. It was still as beautiful when Olivia-Rose first recommended it to you when you had your shopping spree but you weren’t in the mood to look at it, let alone be all done up with nowhere to go. 

They then dressed you in a different dress from this morning. Something lighter, and happier. A silent hope to improve your mood. Once they were done dressing you down you went out to the patio to lay out in the simulated sun. Hoping that its warmth could not only warm your bones but warm the cold feeling that was plaguing you. 

When it came to lunch you ordered on the patio, something small as you didn’t think you could stomach anything more than that. You were silent the whole time, lost in your own non-existent thoughts. When it came time for your lesson the general came out to greet you on the patio, he stopped dead in his tracks after assessing the condition you were in. 

“M’lady it is time for your lesson.” You did nothing to show that you had heard him, you just continued to sit there. The general just stood and analyzed you before he sat down in the chair next to you. “If you would like I can have someone come down and talk to you about this morning.” His voice was soft and sincere. 

You turned to look at him, “I will take my lesson out here.” And you turned your head back to stare at the simulated horizon. 

“As you wish,” he then took the remote and started your lessons.  

Ch. 32: Etiquette in Business and Politics

Ch. 33 Part 1: Dress (para. 1-39)

Ch. 33 Part 2: Dress (para. 40-end)

“Today’s lesson was short, would you like to start on something new? I can make arrangements to have you start learning more diplomacy issues.” He waited for your answer that did not come. He shared a look with your ladies-in-waiting and the lieutenant. 

He got up from the lounge chair and walked away. You watched your entourage leave with him. You were left alone for a few minutes before a silver figure came into view. You were rather surprised to see her here, you shifted in the chair to allow her to sit on your lounge chair. 

She took off her helmet, but you both remained silent for a while until you couldn’t take it anymore, “They died because of me,” your voice sounded foreign to your ears. 

“But m’lady its more than that, they betrayed the First Order. It had to be done.” Her voice was even and firm, but still gentle in many ways.  

“If I were just some random officer’s match and the same thing happened would they have lost their lives?” You could feel the tears fall from your face. 

She was silent for a moment before she responded, assessing your emotions.”No, but they would have if there was someone else in your shoes, it is your position that they acted against. You mustn’t blame yourself, they would have slipped up someplace else, prolonging the inevitable.” 

But that wasn’t good enough. “But they didn’t have to die. If they would have messed up doing something else they would have just been reprimanded and not killed.  I am the reason that they are dead don’t you see.” They were killed because of you, and you did nothing to stop it, nothing that mattered anyway. 

“We are at war ma’am, you might have just given them a more merciful death.” With that, she stood and walked away. You were confused for a moment before Kylo replaced her. 

“You said you would make the dread and pain go away,” you looked at him, meeting his cautious assessment of your condition.  

“Is that what you want Kitten? I can still do that.” His hand was in your hair. That is what you want, you wanted all of this nothingness gone. You wanted it gone. 

His hand moved to caress your forehead, you started to feel yourself become more numb, but in a different way. Your consciousness was separating itself from your being. 

“My old master once said ‘Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing.’ This might hurt Kitten.” 

But it didn’t all you felt was nothingness before your vision faded to black, but before you became fully unconscious you heard him once more say, “You will be hollow. I shall squeeze you empty, and then I shall fill you with myself.”

The blackness took over. You were fully out now and stayed like that before the dreams took over. 

The woman was there again, this time joined by a lot of people you did not recognize. Two men, one woman, a golden figure, a tall hairy tree, and a white barrel. You couldn’t see them exactly. They were staring off in the distance over a cliff and you were facing the cliff but too far away to make out any more details. Black smoke swirled through the dream and shifted to something else entirely. 

You saw yourself, or what looked to be you sitting on a large throne. Chained up next to you was a large black dog, with black eyes. Its hair was shaggy and the chain that was around its neck was thick. The dog moved to put its head in your lap, your other self petted it. Stroking its long black fur. You took a step closer to yourself. The dog shifted and growled as you approached yourself. You could now see the scar that graced its face, jagged and red. 

Your other self laughed as you stepped back in fear of the dog. A haunting laugh that chilled you to the bone. You paused. You tried to speak to yourself but no sound came out of your mouth, your lips moved but you were silent. The other you just laughed and sat forward. Your other self’s eyes glimmered with a sense of malicious intent. Before anything more could happen the dream shifted once more. 

You were on a desert planet. Miles and miles of sand and nothing. As far as the eye could see. In the distance, you could see him. Kylo his back was to you and another woman was at his side. Not the older woman who you had seen before many times, but a younger one. A brunette that was a half a head shorter than him. As you approached them you could hear laughter, his and hers. His arm was behind her back as hers was to him. She kissed his cheek and you felt the earth collapse under you. 

You were sinking into quicksand, rapidly. You struggled as it pulled you down. The earth was swallowing you whole. To never release you again. You blacked out in your own dream. 

You woke up to a similar scene to the one before. You were on a grassy planet now. Miles and miles of grass and wildflowers. Kylo had his back to you, but he was alone. You looked around you to see if you could see her, the other woman, but you couldn’t. You started to run towards him. As you reached him you held out your hand. When you touched his shoulder to turn him to face you felt a familiar pressure behind your ear.

You woke up. 

Gasping for air, you jerked awake. Flailing for a few moments before you heard his voice, “Kitten, Kitten it’s alright. I am here. Nothing can hurt you now.” His hand combed through your hair. 

Somehow you had gotten changed and were now back in your bed. Something that Kylo must have asked Adlez and Olivia-Rose to help him with. At least you hoped he did. 

His lips were against yours, his tongue winding its way into your mouth, just before he pulled away. “How are you feeling this morning?”

It was a simple question, but you didn’t know how to answer. You didn’t feel like yourself that’s for sure. You felt foreign. But not in the way you did previously, it was a new foreign now. “I don’t know.”

A hand came to caress your face, “That’s ok, it might take a few days to fully feel better. But I promise you will.” Another kiss graced your lips. “I promise Kitten.” 

His arms were under you as he carried you into your dressing room, leaving you with Adlez and Olivia-Rose with one final kiss. “I shall be back for lunch, but you should like the surprise I have for you this morning.” And with that, he was gone. 

Adlez spoke first, “How are you feeling m’lady?” She was cautious as she started on your hair. Her fingers have a lighter touch than normal. 

Like answering Kylo before her you did not have an answer, “I don’t know. Not like me and also myself. I don’t know how I feel, how I am supposed to feel.” You watched as both of them exchanged worried glances. A sort of silent communication that they were starting to form. 

You just sat there while they got you ready, your outfit this time was athleisure. You wondered if it had anything to do with Kylo’s surprise, but you knew that you would be told when they wanted you to know. When you were finished you walked up the stairs to the lofted lounge. Finding a spot in front of the fireplace to have your breakfast. Something that shocked the two women, but they followed nonetheless. The lieutenant eventually joined you as you all sat in silence listening to the flames crackle and pop. 

Eventually, your food came but you still ate that in silence. Knowing that small talk was rather useless at this point. Nothing about being in the confines of the First Order made small talk feel normal. You all knew the same news that was broadcasted out, you were together most of the time, and there was no weather aboard a starship. Small talk felt pointless. 

When you were finished the lieutenant announced that you were to follow him. And you did. Out the door and down the never-ending hallways. Feeling numb to your surroundings and the faces and lack of faces you saw along the way.  He led you to a large door. 

To your excitement beyond the door was a training facility and waiting was the chrome gilded Amazon herself. “M’lady it would be an honor to teach you how to shoot.” 

Your body filled with glee as you followed her to the target range, a small blaster in her hand. “It is rather simple. Line up the sights, undo the safety and pull the trigger.” She moved your body into a wide stepped position. One hand placed under the butt of the blaster while the other held it. “Keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot. And only then do you fire.” 

She stood next to you as you fired at the target, narrowly missing your aimed position, but still hitting the target.

“Adjust your shoulders a bit and relax your arms. You want to be firm but not too rigid. Inhale as you aim, exhale as you fire.”

This time your shots were perfectly on the mark. A female figure appeared before the target as your next shots hit. The woman from the desert planet. Right to the heart. A kill shot. 

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo x reader #kylo x you #star wars #first order #star wars imagine #Star wars soulmate au #sw first order imagine #first order propaganda #star wars first order #a soul to mend his own

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] Fair Won Prize:  Chapter 1

It wasn’t much of a tavern, really. One room, a dozen or so tables scattered around, all of them battered and knife-scarred, and the chairs set before them not that much better. On one side a fireplace kept the room warm, or made a reasonably good attempt at such anyway. The chimney was in good enough condition that the smoke wended its way out of it instead of into the tavern itself.

Vector sniffed at the sight of it, lip curling. “There isn’t anywhere better?”

“Not around here,” Durbe replied, catching the eye of the tavern owner and gesturing him over. “And not that we could get to before that storm breaks.”

“Are you sure it’s going to be a storm?” Vector wanted to know. He wasn’t pouting by any means; this place just looked like trouble waiting to happen.

Vector had no problems with trouble. He just preferred to be the one starting it.

“Gilag is and that’s good enough for me,” Alit said, hands on his hips. “You wanna argue about that?”

Vector sniffed once again but subsided, for the most part. He followed the rest of the group over to the largest table, suitable for seven people only if they were close enough to one another.

Vector made a point to sit next to Mizael. He’d made a point of doing that everywhere they could for the last three months, since they’d formed their little band of adventurers. For one thing, Mizael was the absolutely prettiest of the seven of them, and Vector saw no reason to deny himself an attractive view.

Sitting here also provided him with the chance to remain hidden from most of the other people in the tavern, because they weren’t alone there. With Mizael in his sight and the various groups of thugs, mercenaries, and dimwits out of his sight, Vector thought spending the time of the storm here might be tolerable.

“What can I get for you fine folks?” The tavern owner asked once they’d settled in. “Gotta tell you, we probably don’t have what high-born folks like you are used to.”

Durbe offered a smile. “You might be surprised what we’re used to. But a good round of ale should do for a start.”

Mizael cleared his throat and Durbe chuckled. “I’m sorry. A round of ale for everyone else and if you have some sort of wine, my elven friend here would much prefer that.”

The tavern owner peered at Mizael, who peered right back, head held up high and with a light tilt to his head, asking without words if there were some kind of issue to his presence there.

“A genuine elf? We don’t get many of your – we haven’t seen too many elves around here in the longest time,” the tavern keeper declared. Vector did not like the sudden switch of words, nor did he like the way the keeper kept on staring. Granted, Mizael was attractive, but he was also Vector’s.

He just hadn’t gotten around yet to admitting it. But Vector had plans on that score.

Before the tavern keeper could scurry off, Gilag raised his hand for attention. “Could you bring me some water?” His hand dropped back down, petting Ponta, and the keeper’s gaze followed that way, blinking at the sight of the tanuki.

“O-of course, sir! I’ll be back right!”

He hurried out of sight, eyes still a little round in surprise. The tavern just had one room, but a curtain hung in between the majority of the room and where he presumably kept his stock of liquor. They could hear him moving around back there, pouring out ale, wine, and water.

“So you’re an elf.”

Vector turned back to see half a dozen grungy guys, who looked as if they at best had a nodding acquaintance with a toothbrush and a comb, but probably hadn’t bothered to see a tailor about mending their clothes in some time. Patches and stitched up tears were all done in a very slapdash, haphazard fashion. But to make up for that, every one of them stood a minimum of six feet tall, with muscles on top of muscles, and they all wore nearly identical sneers.

The one in the front, who’d spoken, had his eyes burning toward Mizael, who barely gave them so much as a look. Alit, however, grinned mischievously.

“You’re an elf, Mizael? Why didn’t you tell us?” He reached over to poke at the blond. “Do we really know you, then?”

Mizael rolled his eyes. “I would’ve thought the evidence would be obvious.”

The leader of the intruders glowered at them both. “I was talking to him. No one said you could interfere.”

“You were talking at him,” Ryouga said, his voice dangerously quiet. “I don’t think any of us are interested in a conversation with you.”

Mr. Muscles – as Vector mentally dubbed him, for lack of neither knowing nor caring what his actual name might be – glared at them all, rolling his tattered sleeves up to expose his arms. “I wasn’t talking to you, either!” He took a better look at Ryouga, then started to laugh. “What are you, some kind of a musician? Get out of here with that kind of junk.” He turned his gaze back toward the others. “Can any of you put up a decent fight? It gets boring around here when the weather gets bad.”

He sneered for a moment. “Well, any of you except the pretty elf and the musician.”

The looks exchanged were quicker than lightning and ended with Ryouga rising to his feet.

“Oh, no, I said not you!” Mr. Muscles laughed raucously. “I wouldn’t want to break your delicate hands!”

Ryouga sounded more annoyed than anything else. “If you want a fight, you’re going to get it with me.”

The whole bunch of toughs laughed even harder. Mr. Muscles shook his head and cracked his knuckles hard. “Well, if that’s the way you want it. Just don’t blame me when you can’t warble a tune or play an instrument anymore.”

Vector leaned forward, a gleam of mischief in his violet eyes. “Let’s make this more interesting. I’ll wager a silver that Ryouga puts you on your back in under three hits… and that you never lay so much as a finger on him.”

Mr. Muscles stared at Vector as if he’d never seen someone like him before. “You’ve gotta be joking! What, are you new?”

One of his buddies leaned forward as well. “I dunno, boss, I think we should take his money once you’re done.” A greedy smirk twisted his lips. “I say we take all of his money when you’re done.”

Vector smirked right back at him. I am going to kill you. “Let’s see how this fight comes out first.”

Mr. Muscles and Ryouga moved to the center of the room, Muscles’ minions moving the other tables and chairs out of the way to clear a space. Muscles flexed.

“Remember, all the pain you’re going to have is your own fault. Don’t blame me for it,” Muscles declared. “Got it?”

“Got it.” Ryouga looked more or less bored with the whole thing. Vector wondered where their ale was; it couldn’t take that long to pour out their drinks.

Then Muscles threw a fist at Ryouga, a hit that if it had connected would’ve probably hurt most people.

Ryouga stepped back and moved around, still looking as if this were the worst way to spend an afternoon he could think of, and not out of fear of being beaten up.

Muscles snarled at Ryouga’s near-effortless dodge, and the three or four that followed. “Stop running away! You’re not fighting!”

“All right, if you insist.” Ryouga shrugged before he powered one fist directly into Muscles’ chin, packed with every ounce of his strength behind it.

Muscles blinked. His eyes slowly rolled up to the back of his head and he fell over, not moving. One of his toughs dropped down next to him, hand to his throat. Vector approved of killing a leader while he was down. Perhaps this one showed a little sense.

Then the tough moved back. “He’s alive. He’s just out like a candle.”

Vector mentally sighed. It was so hard to find good assassins these days.

Then he smiled, looking at the rest of them. “I believe I won our wager. Hand over my money.” His eyes flicked from one to the other of them. “I think one silver from all of you will do.” And it would pay for their drinks, too, once the tavern keeper finally brought them out.

Two of the toughs dragged Mr. Muscles out of the tavern while the one who’d spoken up before now started to count out pieces of silver. Vector recounted them openly before he swept them into a neat stack.

“All right. The fun’s over, go away now.” He gave a little flick of one hand before he settled back into his dark cozy corner, quite satisfied with events so far.

The tavern keeper hurried over, carrying their drinks on a tray, and settled it down on the table in front of them. “Sorry for taking so long,” he apologized. “But I heard what was going on and I didn’t want to get in the middle of it and mess your drinks up.”

Ryouga shrugged, reaching for one of the mugs – which at leas looked clean – and tossing it back so fast Vector doubted that he even tasted it. “Sorry for any damages.”

The tavern keeper only shrugged. “Bejt and his group do that kind of thing whenever there’s new people in town. I’m used to it. Your drinks are on me tonight, and just tell me when you want to stop.” He turned toward Gilag, mouth open to ask something else, and froze.

Gilag set the bowl of water he’d been drinking from on their table, while Ponta peered up from where he held the mug of ale in his own paws. The tavern keeper blinked, rubbed his eyes, and then hurried out of sight, leaving them to their drinks.

“I don’t care how much money he could bring in if he’s a real bard,” Bejt growled, staring into the spotted mirror and trying to decide how much of what he saw was because of the low quality of the glass and how much was from that one hit that ridiculous musician landed on him. “I’m going to kill him and I’m going to have fun doing it.”

One of his assistants reached as if to pat him on the shoulder and got a death-glare sharp enough to cut paper from his efforts. He pulled his hand back and managed a quick smile. “Of course you will, boss. Doesn’t matter how good they are, once they finish drinking the good stuff, they’re not gonna be going anywhere we don’t want them to.”

Bejt grinned, showing a mouth that wasn’t nearly as full of teeth as someone without his lifetime of brawling would have. “That elf’s not going anywhere, not until I’m done with him. I’m going to have some fun and then when he’s nice and obedient, I know a goodplace to sell him. He’ll make us enough of a fortune to last for the next twenty years!”

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” One of his other assistants spoke up, a nervous twitch to one eye. This wasn’t surprising; Olan twitched about everything. “I mean, they’ve got horses. And one of them is a winged horse. And all that armor. And weapons.” He shuddered, ducking his head. “They look like they know how to use them.”

Bejt shrugged. “They wouldn’t be the first traveling mercs we’ve taken down. Won’t be the last, either.”

“I don’t think they’re just mercs. I mean, winged horse?” Olan shuddered again, staring up at his boss. “I think they’re heroes.”

“Yeah, right.” Bejt snorted. “The whole bunch of them don’t look like they’re together enough to kill a slug, let alone a dragon.” Heroes did things like that. At least they had in all the stories Bejt had ever heard. Killed dragons, rescued princesses from ravening monsters – or monsters from ravening princesses. He’d heard a lot of weird stories.

But that bunch? A musician, a pretty elf, what looked like a priestess, some short kid with maybe half of Bejt’s own muscles and too much of a sense of humor for Bejt’s tastes, someone in armor who might’ve been a down on his luck knight, some guy who had even more muscles than Bejt did but spent his time talking to some sort of fuzzy raccoon thing, and that idiot in the back who never let anyone get a good look at him.

That wasn’t what heroes were made out of it. Heroes had lots of good armor and didn’t stop in places like this, no matter what the weather looked like.

They might’ve thought pretending to be heroes would keep people off of them, but Bejt wasn’t most people. Once they had two or three rounds of the house special, they wouldn’t be awake enough to do anything at all.

That brought his thoughts right around to the pretty blond elf. Elves lived a very long time, he knew, and he couldn’t help but wonder what that elf had done in his life and how much he could be taught. Bejt looked forward to keeping him for at least a few years. He’d need to get properly trained before he could get sold, in order to make the most money, didn’t he? Bejt hadn’t ever trained someone before, but it couldn’t be that difficult. Smack ‘em when they did what Bejt didn’t want them to do until they learned better, that was it

It would definitely be a lot of fun. He looked forward to finding out just how much fun it was. He’d always had an eye for pretty faces of every kind, and there weren’t too many people prettier than an elf. He’d never had the chance to have one like this before, and he looked forward to finding out what it would be like.

All he needed was another hour or so, and then he and the others would be set for life.

Vector sniffed at the mug, then set it back down after taking a tiny taste of the ale. He’d never been much of one for drinking in the first place, at least not drinks that came from places like this. He wondered if it would be too much to ask if one of their mage-types could do something about the storm so they didn’t have to stay here at all.

We could get some decent food and drinks somewhere else. Maybe even a good bed. He knew that being on the road didn’t entitle him to the comforts of home, but they could at least have some comfort of some kind.

He leaned his head back against the wall and winced at the shock of thunder that rolled on by a heartbeat later. No one else looked bothered by the rain at all. Gilag sat on the outside of the table, closest to the door, and from the way he kept looking out there, it wouldn’t have been too surprising if he got up to wander out there. Druids did things like that, soaking up the rain. Vector had no idea of why druids couldn’t invest in some kind of weather protection. Maybe it was a religious thing.

He’d never wasted his time on religion and until he’d come to join this group, he hadn’t associated with religious types of any sort. But traveling with a druid and a priestess meant that he got more than he’d ever wanted of the whole concept.

He let his gaze drift back to Mizael. He could think of one or two gods he’d like to thank for the creation of the elven race and for Mizael in particular. Along with one or two he’d consider offering up a tribute to in order to get the elf compliantly in his bed, without risking Jinlong having him for dinner or the rest of the group getting furious at him.

Which meant he would have to keep on courting Mizael so that it was all willing on his side.

He wasn’t used to having to ask for what he wanted. Or who he wanted. He’d commented once at breakfast that he’d seen an attractive person the day before in the marketplace and that evening, that same person awaited him in his bed, courtesy of his father.

That had been an enjoyable few months, all things considered. If it had been possible, or workable with his father’s plans, he didn’t doubt that he would’ve already enjoyed time with Mizael.

I think this might be more interesting, though. Frustrating, but enjoyable in the end, once he’d achieved his goal. There was something to be said for getting something desired by hard work instead of being given it.

Vector glanced to the others again, the sound of the rain battering against the side of the building, making it plain they weren’t going anywhere right now. He suspected Rio and Gilag would both insist that they shouldn’t try to mess around with the weather, something about natural causes and not interfering. That made no sense to him at all. What good was magic if you couldn’t use it to twist the world around to the way you wanted it to be?

His eyes narrowed suddenly as he took in what was going on with his companions. He wasn’t surprised to see Gilag’s eyes drooping, let alone Ponta’s, not with that rain. If it didn’t call a druid out to dance in the rain or whatever, it would probably put them to sleep.

But Ponta spent so little time being visible when they were in civilized territory that Vector almost forgot he even existed. There he was, having finished his ale – you’d think a magical creature would have better taste than that! - and now curled up on Gilag’s lap, sound asleep.

Vector checked on Alit: already asleep. Durbe was as well, eyes closed and chest rising and falling evenly. Ryouga still had his eyes half-open, and Rio looked as if she were fighting off the urge to sleep herself.

He looked at Mizael then, and knew something was wrong.

Elves don’t sleep. Not like that, anyway. Mizael had explained it once, but Vector had been too wrapped up in admiring the way the sunlight glinted off the elf’s golden hair to pay attention. He sort of wished that weren’t true now.

But Mizael’s eyes were as tightly closed as the others, even as Ryouga’s slid all the way shut, and Rio followed him into slumber in another few moments.

This wasn’t right in the slightest. Vector’s thoughts raced before he chose his path, closed his eyes, and let himself sag a little more, as if he’d succumbed as well. There wasn’t any use in trying to wake them up. They’d be too sluggish to do anything for too long. Not to mention, Vector had a feeling he knew who was involved in this, and he swore he’d paint the walls with their blood.

He couldn’t see what was going on, but after what felt like forever, he could hear footsteps entering, and a sense of shadow fell over him. He kept himself from moving, no matter how much he wanted to, and listened.

To Be Continued

Note: And now we return to the world of the Order of the Outcasts. This is that little interlude piece to explain something. A larger piece revolving around Yuuma, Kaito, Haruto, and Astral will come at a later point, on SilvorMoon's profile. But until then, I hope you enjoy this.

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #YGO ZEXAL #mizael #vector #Vector x Mizael #mizael x vector #chapters: fair won prize #series: order of the outcasts #au: fantasy

[hitbythunder]

The Roll of Thunder -2

A Thor x Reader and later some Loki x Reader story

Summary: After Frigga’s and Loki’s deaths, Thor struggles with his grief and blames himself for the loss. Barely able to manage his emotions, the god helps the other heros on Earth so that he can stay away from Asgard - a place which only reminds him of his pain. When the team acquires a golden sphere from a mission, however, Thor is forced to deal with his past. She has black hair, pale skin and a pair of emerald eyes which haunt the god in his dreams. Could she be Loki?

Warnings: non-con in later chapters

~º*º*º~

Loki? No, this is impossible. Loki died in my arms over a year ago!

But the woman in front of him looked very similar to the God of Mischief and Thor furrowed his brows while he tried to make sense of all that, of the chaos in his mind. Maybe it was one of Loki's tricks? One that had survived it's creator, or someone else entirely had set this up to inflict the pain in his chest. This woman, this creature, should not exist, being an abomination in his eyes and above all it reeked of mischief and deceit. Suddenly, Thor's rage was boiling inside him again, stronger than before and in his blind fury he quickly strode forward, the floor vibrating at his heavy footfall.

“Can you speak?” Bruce asked her but received no answer because when she saw the Thunderer approaching her with large steps, her eyes stayed glued to him and she shrank back in fear. But Thor did not halt despite her reaction and thus she frantically crawled backwards until she hit the metal table at the end of the room. With her knees drawn close to her chest she stared up at the giant of a man looming above her. Thor warily eyed the small shivering form at his feet, how her green eyes showed nothing but horror and fear, the black pupils merely tiny dots, and he was pleased by the sight.

Yes, fear me as I am the last thing you shall ever behold! Thor thought to himself and lifted Mjolnir to end this miserable creature's life. Her pale face became white as the wall behind her and she raised her arms in defense but she didn't avert her gaze from the furious Thunderer, emerald green eyes staring into his piercing blue orbs which unnerved him even more. Enough! I won't bare it any longer!

Thor's grip on the hammer tightened and he was about to summon his lightning when Natasha launched herself in front of him, covering the smaller woman protectively.

“Stop this insanity at once!” she hissed and glared at the god, ready to face his wrath if need be. But Thor would never hurt one of his friends, especially not Natasha whom he respected for her honed skills. “Get out of my way.” Thor's voice was merely a low rumble in his chest, but the Black Widow was unimpressed by his threatening. When she realized what the Thunderer had in mind she just acted without much thinking. It was crystal clear to her that she needed to protect the other woman because Natasha had experienced a similar deadly terror herself when she was trained to be an assassin. Most of the memories of that particular time were locked away by her mind because they are to painful and horrible to recall. But the helpless small woman had reminded her exactly of that period of Natasha's life and so there was no way she would let Thor pass.

“If you want to proceed you will have to kill me first. So don't you dare to try to harm her again.” she hissed and Thor knew she was deadly serious about it. Thus he slowly brought the hammer down and narrowed his eyes slightly at the red-head. Being still angry he did not step away from the two females and hesitantly Natasha turned and knelt down beside the frightened woman. “It's ok now, he won't hurt you.” she whispered sweetly and quickly took off her long dark-brown cardigan to wrap the smaller female up and cover her nakedness in front of the men present. The strange woman seemed surprised at the gesture and looked at her savior in confusion. “Come!” Natasha urged her to stand up and held her from both sides to steady her because her whole body was trembling in fear. “What are you doing?” Steve asked, earning himself a 'stupid question' -look from the red-head while she led the woman towards the elevator, her emerald eyes warily watching Thor as they passed him. “I'm going to tend to her, like we should have from the start and see that she feels better. You have any free guest room left, Tony?” “Two floors up, right next to yours. But don't get that slime onto my furniture!” Tony's retort caused the Widow to turn her head and give him the most horrid death-glare he had ever received. The cold shiver running down his spine made Tony freeze in place momentarily and only when the elevator's doors were closed did he move again.

“Guess I know why she's been called the 'Black Widow'... “ he murmured while Steve walked over to Thor who glared intently at the remnants of the sphere.

“Uhm, Thor? … What was that about? You wouldn't have killed her, would you?” Steve asked but again the god maintained his silence. “Well, I think it's for the best if we all get some sleep. She doesn't seem to be dangerous and Natasha is keeping an eye on that woman. Besides, there's nothing we can do right now and tomorrow we will make a fresh start.” Bruce finally replied and gestured for the others to follow him to the elevator, which they all did willingly. “Yeah, maybe she will talk to us and explain herself.” Steve added while Clint and Tony yawned behind him.

“Time to get my beauty-sleep!” Tony said and noted that the big blonde was missing, then his gaze fell upon the open balcony door. Whenever Thor was angered or simply pissed off, he left the tower for several hours, flying around and bringing rain. Tony understood that a man needed some space but this time he wondered what Thor would have done if Natasha hadn't stopped him. Honestly, the thought that Thor would kill her had never crossed Tony's mind, even when he saw how the god raised his mighty hammer.

No, he wouldn't have done that, he's a good guy... After the shower, Natasha guided the female towards her room but then decided it would be wiser to share a room for the first night. So she arranged some pillows and blankets on the cozy couch in her own room and was content to see the small woman smile slightly when she lay down and nuzzled into the pillow. “Like a little kitten.” Natasha chuckled and tucked her up, the sparkling emerald eyes watching her every move. Of course she was wary, Natasha knew all to well that trust is something to be earned but given some time she was sure that the woman would warm up to her. Yawning Natasha walked over to her bed and put the black gun out of her nightstand and under her pillow, just in case. When she heard the faint noise of slow breathing she turned and beheld the female sleeping calmly, her chest heaving steadily and her expressions relaxed. Curled up like that she truly looked like an innocent kitten and Natasha doubted that she could be a danger to someone. Don't worry, kitten, I will protect you. *** The next day, every one rose rather late because of the night's endeavor and Thor had no intentions to meet any of the Avengers or the strange creature soon. Additionally, his little late night flight around the blocks to soothe his temper had drained him too. Thus he rolled over in bed and pulled the blanket over his head when he heard some talking outside his room. But even in his sleep he was haunted by a pair of emerald green eyes.

“Good morning, kitten.” Natasha said to her new roommate, who sat up and rubbed her eyes lazily while Natasha got dressed – black jeans combined with a ruby woolen pullover. Then she rummaged in her wardrobe in search for some fitting clothes for her guest and decided that she would need to buy some new ones. “Here, they will probably be a little too large but they should do it for now.” she finally said, holding up some grey sweatpants and a black shirt. and walked over to the woman to help dressing her. Luckily the silent female complied without a struggle but insisted on wearing the dark-brown cardigan on top. When they were finished Natasha took her by the hand and led the smaller one outside towards the kitchen area. The other members of the team were already up and about, Bruce made his famous pancakes while Tony managed the coffee and Steve chatted with Clint at the dining table. They all paused and looked over when the two women emerged from the hallway.

“Good morning guys!” Natasha cheered to successfully break the uncomfortable silence and led the female over to the table. “Morning. Any troubles during the night?” Steve asked when the two women sat down between him and Clint. Clad in this loose fitting clothes, her black hair combed and hanging loosely down her shoulders, the strange woman looked quite normal and one could easily forget that she came out of a golden metal sphere, covered in slime. Actually, the longer Steve observed their guest, the less he thought of her as a danger and decided to show his best manners. She was a lady after all. “Everything was fine, she slept like a baby.” Natasha replied while Tony put a cup of coffee in front of her and Bruce brought the pancakes. They smelled delicious and the female leaned cautiously closer to inhale their sweet rich scent, observed amazed yet amused by the Avengers. “Did you two snuggle up under the blanket?” Tony asked, a wicked smirk plastered across his face and Clint chuckled at this dirty indication, Steve just rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Tony.” Natasha retorted and divided the pancakes among them. “I suppose she hasn't said anything yet, am I right?” Bruce was curious to know more about the woman but was wise enough not to push the matter too much. “Not a word, but that will come in time, right kitten?” The red-head replied and gently put her hand on the other woman's shoulder who smiled shyly in return. “'Kitten', is she your pet now?” Tony quipped, not believing his ears. “I mean, not that I'm surprised, you two surely look great in bed.” he added and winked at the Widow, imagining the two woman rubbing against each other nakedly until a slap on the back of his head from Clint woke him from his daydream.

“This whole situation must be handled with great care as we don't know what she is capable of. We shouldn't rush things but keep an eye on her. Maybe we can run some simple health-tests later, just to check the basics.” Bruce was very diplomatic and tried not to sound too eager to analyze the female but he doubted that she was all human. Natasha pondered over the scientist's words and finally nodded slowly, accepting that they had to gather information somehow. “Ok, but not without me.”

Breakfast – or rather brunch as it was almost midday – continued peacefully and while the Avengers chatted casually, the female seemed to relax and accommodate to their presence, her vivid eyes scanning the room and observing each of the team members curiously. That was until the Norse god joined them, stumping loudly into the room with a grim and tired face. The Kitten shrank back on her chair, trying to become as small and invisible as possible when Thor's gaze roamed over her but luckily he just grabbed a large cup of coffee and leaned against the kitchen counter, far away from the strange creature. Although he avoided looking at her and mostly talked to Steve and Tony at the other end of the table, Thor could feel the green eyes watching him and he played with the thought of moving abruptly just to scare her again. But that would enrage the over-protective Widow and the blonde was too tired to deal with that now.

*** “Ok, this should be enough for today. Now we have to wait for the results.” Bruce exclaimed happily and removed the sensors from the Kitten's arms and forehead while Tony managed the new data with his AI. “She's very calm, I think she realized that we mean her no harm.” “Tell that our Norse meathead.” Natasha was still furious with the god and his behavior. “Yeah, he frightened the living daylights out of her and I doubt they will ever warm up to each other after that fiasco.” Tony walked over to the others and stood right in front of the female who sat on the large metal table. “But she does look like Reindeer Games...except for the hairstyle.” In contrast to the Trickster, the Kitten's black hair wasn't combed back, instead several thin strands framed her pretty face. But she had the same mesmerizing green eyes and a pale complexion. “Maybe she's the good twin no one knows about?” Tony added and Bruce chuckled in amusement. “Then hopefully we find yours too!”

“Very funny...” “Alright, if we're done here I will take her shopping. She's in dire need for clothes.” Natasha said and motioned for the Kitten to follow her. “Wait, you wanna go outside with her?” The scientists didn't approve of this idea. “I won't leave her to you guys.” “I could go and buy some stuff, after I have ascertained her measurements with my hands of course.” The billionaire smirked while his friends gave him a disgusted look. “No way, you pervert. I'll ask Steve to baby-sit her while I'm gone.” Natasha replied before the two women entered the elevator.

*** Thor walked down the corridor to get some food as his stomach was screaming for nourishment by now and was surprised to see Natasha grab her car-keys and head for the elevator – alone. “Where are you going?” he asked wondering why she was in such a rush and Natasha gave him a small but earnest smile before she vanished inside the elevator. “I'm going to buy our guest some clothes and other stuff. I won't be gone for long so don't try anything stupid!”

After allaying his hunger, the god chose to spend some time in the living room, maybe watch some TV, but he regretted his decision the very moment he exited the elevator one floor above. Sitting on the large cream couch of the living room suite, the Captain flipped through some magazines while the black-haired woman beside him froze when she saw the god. Steve noted and looked up to behold the reason for her fear, then he frowned silently. “Thor... I didn't expect you to leave your room today.” Slowly Thor walked over to them and sat down on the armchair next to his friend, as far away from her as possible before he replied in a low voice. “Believe me, it was a mistake.”

Great, now I need to baby-sit them both... Steve thought to himself, praying that Natasha would return soon while Thor and the Kitten stared at each other. His condescending gaze travelled across her slim body, which was hidden under the loosely fitting clothes, her hair combed and shiny. Thor couldn't understand why everybody was so friendly to her, accepting her as if she was one of their own and even spoiling her with new garments and all this kindness. She came out of a magical golden ball with ancient Asgardian engravings, by the Nine's sake! How can his friends be so calm around her? Does the fact that she looks awfully familiar bother only him? Which it did quite a lot actually, because he was sure of his brother's death and it pained his already wounded heart to be reminded of his loss, of how much he missed his sibling. Every fiber of his body wanted to scream at her, to torment her as much as her mere presence tormented him and he could not stand to look upon her beautiful yet disgusting face. Thor's face didn't give away his boiling fury but his fingers dug deep into the armrest. It was the most inappropriate moment for his bladder to demand release and Steve shifted on the couch to delay the inevitable but he had no chance against 'nature's call'. “I'll be right back.” Reluctantly he rose and left the two glaring at each other, hoping that both would be still alive when he returned. The woman watched with shock how the nice man vanished out of her sight, leaving her alone with the other man, the big gruesome giant who had hurt her badly when she was still in her shell, sending pure stinging pain through her entire body. Physically he hadn't hurt her but he had inflicted such agony on her, imprinting a lesson into her mind: Fear him! Run from him!

Yes, she was sure it was him because she remembered his aura and she had noted the tiny sparks of lightning surrounding his hammer when he loomed above her later. Oh how she dreaded him, she didn't even dare to move an inch because that could unleash another wave of this terrible pain. Frantically she tried to stay calm, to soothe her nerves but in vain. Then he rose.

#thor x reader #the roll of thunder #romance #avengers

[january3693]

002: Narcissa, and also Lily; 001: dorcas/Marlene, and lucissa

That’s a lot, but here you go!

002 Narcissa

How I feel about this character: She’ll never be my favorite, but I do love sticking her in as a snarky, snobby side character.

All the people I ship romantically with this character: I don’t actively ship her, but I think she and Lucius are probably well-suited for each other, and since I don’t have super strong ship opinions on her, I’m open to reading and embracing anything presented to me.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: I like the idea of her and Regulus being close. She’s the baby in her family, but Regulus is the baby in the family overall, so I think she would have felt very protective of him and tried to shelter him but also steer him toward more traditional pureblood values if she ever thought he was wavering or acting a bit too much like Sirius. She was devastated when she heard about his death, even more so when she learned it was (supposedly) caused when he tried to defect from the Death Eaters. Narcissa sees a lot of Regulus in Draco and it scares her.

My unpopular opinion about this character: Lucius probably didn’t care much about all of the stuff Draco complained to him about, but Narcissa did. She was the one who always pushed Lucius to take care of anything that hurt or inconvenienced their son.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish she had some on the page interactions with more characters. There’s so many she’s related to or would have known that it’s a shame we never go to see her show a bit more complexity when directly confronted with Sirius, Andromeda, or Tonks.

my OTP: Probably Lucius just because it’s canon and Narcissa isn’t a character I spend much time shipping. I like her potential, just

my cross over ship: I don’t read cross overs

a headcanon fact: After Regulus’s death, it was Narcissa who sent a letter to Sirius (care of Andromeda) telling Sirius the facts (such as she believed them to be) about his brother’s death.

002 Lily

How I feel about this character: She’s fantastic! I love her, and I love writing her!

All the people I ship romantically with this character: Generally just James. I do enjoy some Jegulily too, but that’s about it. I see Lily as a character who could be very happy and lead a fulfilling life without a romantic partner, so if I’m not shipping her with James I generally just picture her having casual flings and otherwise enjoying life as a happy, confident single woman.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Sirius and Lily! I mean, I wrote a 100,000 word fic about them becoming friends (also some other stuff happened, but mostly friendship). I think they would have really challenged each other (which would have made them struggle to get along for a while, but once they connected it would have been very good for both of them). They called each other on their bullshit, weren’t afraid to yell at each other, but genuinely listened to each other and always apologized the next morning when they fought.

My unpopular opinion about this character: I don’t know if it’s an unpopular opinion, but I think she struggled with self-confidence and self-worth a lot more than most people ever knew. She was probably very good at hiding it behind perfectionism and some rather exhausting facades. The reason she fell in love with James was because he had this perfect mix of pushing and supporting her in a way that finally allowed her to relax and be fully her imperfect self with someone, and that was priceless.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: Honestly, the thing I want most is for her to have had some ghostly/afterlife/other moment where she absolutely rips into Snape and all the terrible things he did in his “love” for her.

my OTP: Jily. We don’t know from canon how exactly these two went from antagonistic to deeply in love, but what little we do know implies a story of personal growth, second chances, adventure, and deep, deep love, and that’s gorgeous.

a headcanon fact: Her favorite band is ABBA.

001 Dorcas Meadowes/Marlene McKinnon

when I started shipping it if I did: I probably started shipping it while reading We Were Infinite by @wewereinfinitelywolfstar​. That might not have been the first time I encountered it, but it was the first time it made a mark and made the characters feel real and shippable.

my thoughts: I like this ship a lot! It’s definitely drenched in that First War tragedy, but still gotta love more wlw ships, and that’s what AUs and canon-divergent fics are for.

What makes me happy about them: We no almost next to nothing about these two, so they’re basically blank slates to build upon. I personally head canon them as a Slytherin/Gryffindor couple and love playing with that dynamic. I also love the opportunity to build heroic Slytherin characters.

What makes me sad about them: Canon, obviously. Making them a couple does also add to the “dead lesbians” and “bury your gays” tropes, which sucks.

things done in fanfic that annoys me: It’s pretty common for Marlene to have a tomboy-ish or more wild personality in fics, which is cool, but Dorcas doesn’t seem to get as much personality in a lot of fics where these two appear.

things I look for in fanfic: Well-developed characterizations, often AUs or canon divergent fics that don’t leave them dead.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: I’m down for Marlene and Sirius as a ship (Blackinnon). As for Dorcas, I have such strong headcanons about her, but I haven’t really thought about other ships for her. I’d be open to suggestions or whatever I encounter in fics, but honestly in my head canons, Dorcas is very ambitious and career-oriented (falling for Marlene was unexpected and not part of the plan), so I could see her too busy to have a romantic relationship or finding a spouse who could aid or complement her career ambitions.

My happily ever after for them: They live through the war, adopt a couple of orphans. Marlene coaches youth Quidditch teams for their kids and has some sort of freelance job she can do while being flexible schedule-wise. Dorcas rises through the ranks at the Ministry and is elected Minister for Magic instead of Cornelius Fudge. She fucking crushes it. When she’s served a few terms and the kids are out of school, Dorcas takes a job as ambassador to some other country and she and Marlene see more of the world and attend lots of fancy embassy dinner parties.

who is the big spoon/little spoon: They don’t really spoon. Marlene flops like a starfish in bed and Dorcas tends to sleep on her stomach or side. They do cuddle on the couch though, and Marlene likes to lay her head in Dorcas’s lap and have Dorcas scratch at her scalp and finger comb her hair.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity: Dancing. One of their first dates was a disastrous Muggle dance class where neither of them realized the Muggle instructor wouldn’t understand that they were there as a couple and paired them up with various male partners. They both managed to laugh through it and went home and practiced with each other. After that, they learned a lot of different dances and one of them will often spontaneously pull the other into a dance across the kitchen or living room, even if there’s no music on. They take turns leading.

001 Lucissa

(sorry if this one’s a little disappointing)

when I started shipping it if I did: I don’t really ship it, but I don’t not ship it either, if that makes sense.

my thoughts: I don’t actively ship it. It’s there, it’s canon. I’m fine with it. I just don’t put much thought into the relationship.

What makes me happy about them: They both seem to care for their son very deeply.

What makes me sad about them: I’m sad that we didn’t get to see more of Narcissa sooner, otherwise no real sad feelings toward them.

things done in fanfic that annoys me: When the criminal acts they (particularly Lucius) commit are excused way too easily, or they change their politics way too swiftly and seamlessly.

things I look for in fanfic: I don’t really look for this ship in fics. If it’s there I’m usually fine with it, if not, that’s fine too. I do like fics that give me more of Narcissa’s complexity and inner conflict though. She’s clearly got layers.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: I really don’t put enough thought into these characters and their love lives to ship them with other characters. I’m open to it though. No strong preexisting feelings mean I’m pretty open-minded to new ships for these two.

My happily ever after for them: Actually having to make some restitution for their crimes/wrongdoings, then probably moving away from Britain to live quietly in like Monaco or somewhere.

who is the big spoon/little spoon: Honestly, they probably have separate bedrooms.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity: Plotting political coups while drinking very expensive wine.

Send me some HP Character asks!

[ohgoddard]

Truth, Justice, and the Symbol of Peace.3.

Musutafu, Japan

The TV had been on non-stop since Izuku left for that walk, turned to the news as always. But Inko noticed something different. The table that sat before the TV no longer found itself covered in used tissues and All-Might figures. No, this time it was covered in numerous notebooks and textbooks he had either bought from stores or checked out from the local library. Books on electrical engineering, basic mechanical construction, and a guide on how to box like a champ.

He started to come home late from school every day now. The first few times he had come home sweaty and tired, she thought he finally picked himself up and joined an after-school sports team. The books he bought and brought home with him could be written off as a new interest to keep himself busy, and maybe a renewed interest in his studies. He has always been an investigative child, one who could notice something about a person and dress them down to their barest personality characteristics.

But then he started to come home dirty and bruised.

Now, Inko was no idiot. She was not so dumb as not to notice this change of appearance. It didn’t happen much, maybe once in a few weeks. He would leave for school, come home at 7 or 8, and be hiding all sorts of bruises under his hat or jacket. Is he getting bullied at school again?

Just when he started to feel better, she saw him grimace when he walked. And every time she would ask about it, he would give her the same sheepish smile he always gave and say something like, “Don’t worry about it mom. Nothing bad is happening at school, its all good.”

But she knew something was up. You do not raise a kid for a decade and a half without picking up on their ticks and tells. No, he was up to something. But as much as Inko suspected something… she didn’t push it.

Izuku has been the happiest he’s been since he first saw that video of All-Might, carrying the survivors from the flaming rubble of a fallen building. His gigantic smile reflected onto her son’s, his words making him physically bouncing with excitement and amazement. She had missed that yearning of his. So when he walked in late at night, no matter how exhausted and bruised he tried to hide, she let it slide. Every worry that she was being the bad mother was beaten back, never satiated but lessened, when she saw that same light in his eyes. His spirit was back.

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

“I don’t have powers.”

Those words have not left his head since he heard them. They stayed in his head at school, on his walk home, when he slept. He had no powers. The thought of someone taking down two thugs with quirks, no matter how low level they were, when you didn’t have one was astounding. More so than that, it was so cool. The flips, acrobatics while using confusing gadgets that can stop a large man in its tracks and enabling him to climb buildings? Unheard of! People don’t make gadgets to be a hero on their own, they use them as additives to their quirks. He just had none.

And Izuku wanted to be like him. It was all that he thought of. He kept the news on in his home and was always recording, just in case he was found on camera. But he has kept a low profile. Criminals and villains were sometimes found hanging upside down and unconscious, but no one in sight to take credit. No calling card, nothing. The cries of vigilantism came from the people and the Hero Organization, but they literally could not do anything. No one could find this guy.

No one but Izuku has even seen him.

But seeing him once was all it took. And it awakened him to something. He could be a hero without a quirk. He’ll just have to work harder for it. So he started running after school. It was hell at first, the miles seemed to go on forever. It didn't help that he started lifting at that time too. Sneaking into the school weight-room after it closed and the sports teams had left after practice, he struggled to lift even the smallest of weights. Weeks he did this, with only the smallest gains being noticed physically. For a small kid to be doing this, he was risking a lot of bodily damage if he didn’t do it right. Which he often did, dropping weights on himself when he became too confident in his strength. Sometimes he pushed himself too much when running and pulled muscles. Sometimes he tried to do acrobatics and fell flat on his chest, landing on the rocks near the stream under the bridge where he practiced in secret. So every night he came home, tired and bruised sometimes. He started to push himself more and more, and so more and more bruises came. 

The concerning questions his mom made to try to find out about his activities he lied about. He felt bad, but she would not let him do this if she knew. He needed to do this. So he said he was alright, nothing bad going on. Just a middle-schooler coming home late because he’s finally getting involved with the school clubs and teams. The bruises? Just an accident from practice, no worries there! 

Lying made him uncomfortable, but he needed to keep doing this. He would be a hero, the #1.

And he’d do it his way.

Metropolis, Illinois

“So everyone has powers over there, huh?”

All-Might was sitting across from Clark Kent in a very busy diner, and felt very uncomfortable. Despite Clark Kent being a huge man, All-Might far outweighed him. So the clothes he had lent him were a tight fit, at best. The diner was your typical greasy spoon, the chromed bar tops and smoking waitresses (which is not an adjective on their looks). Clark Kent was sipping on a small cup of coffee, turned an almost beige color by the amount of cream and sugar he put into it. His suit was a baggy business variety, two sizes too big for him. It made him look far more small than he was, the glasses and hair style in much the same way. Had All-Might not seen Superman himself before, he would have never guessed this was the same person.

Which made him wonder how anyone did not recognize him. He was a giant man, one who stood out even among the crowds in his home. The clothes he had been lent gave a tight fit, making him appear a gorilla in a business suit. His blond hair had been combed over and over again by Wonder Woman, who’s name he learned to be Diana. How it happened was a blur, her combing his hair. The same day Superman held a meeting concerning him, he asked if anyone could help him with his appearance, to make him easier to hide in normal society. Diana had declared such a thing a mockery of her time. The memory loss occurred when Superman had said, “What? Don’t think you can do it?”

For ten straight minutes, All-Might found himself being meticulously combed by her. He was not entirely against the idea, him being human and all. However, he could do without the constant mutterings that she uttered about the situation and Superman and where he could put a stick of a thing called Kryptonite. Superman had assured him that no one would recognize him from the behemoth that saved the day a few days ago. And to his credit, no one did.

“Well, not everyone.” All-Might adjusted the necktie he had on, which was actually two tied together. The comment illicit an eyebrow raise from Clark, who put down his coffee cup.

“Really? How is it chosen who gets powers and not?”  

“Its an evolutionary trait. And not everyone’s power is the same, they more often than not reflect their personality and upbringing. We call it a ‘quirk’. Like a little tick in people’s personalities.”

Clark rubbed his chin, intrigued. “That is very interesting. And what is your.. Quirk?”

All-Might smiled internally, already having fun with the conversation he was going to have.

“Oh, I don’t have one.” He then took a small sip from the comically small coffee cup.

“Really.” The voice of suspicion that Clark had let out was palpable. A small snicker escaped All-Might. “No, really! I have no quirk!” 

“I find that very hard to believe, All-M- “ He stopped talking. “Actually, what is your name? If you do not mind me asking that, it would just make conversation a lot easier.” 

He pondered on it. There is no one in this world, save for All For One, that knows his name. Nor would giving it out put anyone but this Superman at risk, someone he believes can hold his own.

“Toshinori Yagi. Toshinori is ok.” 

Clark Kent smiled. “Alright then, Toshinori. I still find it hard to believe you have no quirk.”

A low laugh left All-Might as he bit into a pastry Clark had ordered him. 

“I tell the truth! I have no quirk. What power you have seen was not mine.”

“Then whose power was it?”

Clark could tell he struck a nerve, the heart rate in All-Might changing. 

Damnit Clark, he thought, spend your whole life on Earth and you still can’t talk to a person.

“I, uh, would prefer to keep that to myself if you would not mind.”

Clark nodded. Unlike the others, he did not suspect Toshinori of foul play. He could sense a true hero in him. He had no bad values, always striving for the same things Clark did. Maybe that's why he just...trusted him. That, and Clark was generally just a trusting person.

“Well,” Clark said in the tone someone speaks when they want to end a conversation that has taken a turn south, “it's about time we get your first day at the Planet.”

All-Might stood up, collecting his large overcoat that he had been lent. “I cannot thank you enough for this, Mr.Kent. I need some of your currency, I feel bad for mooching off of you and the rest of the League.” A smile grew on Clark’s face, “Please, call me Clark. Now there’s a few things you need to know about your new job. One, you’re door security for the Planet. A few weeks ago there was an armed robbery that really shook the building. You should take care of it easily. Two, there's a few people you need to look out for inside. One is Jimmy, a redhead. A clumsy kid, so you gotta make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”

All-Might had pulled a notepad from his inside jacket pocket that Clark had left there when he last wore it and was writing furiously. And messily. Good thing I didn’t get him the reporter job. “Jimmy...alright, anyone else?” 

“There is a woman by the name of Lois Lane. I won’t need to describe her, believe me you’ll know when its her. She is a stubborn headed person, so she kinda gets into trouble a lot. Look out for her, alright?”

After another minute of furious writing, he tucked the notebook into the jacket. “Alright. Though, Mr,K- Clark. I am very bad at talking with women. A terrible track record.”

Perfect. “Don’t you worry. You’ll get the hang of it.”

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

The uniform the Daily Planet gave Toshinori Yagi was equally ill-fitting as the rest of the clothing he had worn in this new world. He had a sad feeling that the first paychecks he collected would go to custom tailoring. He stands at the lobby of the building, right in front of the two big doors that hundreds of employees walk in and out of every day. Really, nothing seems to happen for a long time.

The biggest event on his first day of work was meeting the woman known as Lois Lane.

When she walked in, had to almost slap himself. She was gorgeous. And she was also with Clark Kent. Toshinori got an idea why he wanted him to look after her. As she walked in, engaged in a heated conversation with Clark about a story he somehow stole from her, she looked his direction and halted in her steps. 

“Lois? Why the sudden stop?” Clark had walked beyond her spot, turning to face her.

“And here I thought you were the biggest brick wall in the Planet. Clark, when did we get a door guard?”

“I don’t know, I never seem to catch up on the memos.”

Lois rolled her eyes and walked right up to Toshinori. “Uh..h.. Hello ma’am. How may I help you?”

She smirked. “And so polite too! You pick him out, Smallville?”

“Hey now! I don’t have a monopoly on politeness in the city you know.”

As they left for the elevator, Clark gave him a sneaky thumbs up before going up.

This is going to be a very stressful job. 

Then the road outside exploded.

#superhero #superman #superhero story #original #original writing #my hero fanfic #my hero academia fanfiction #my hero academia #allmight #All-might #boku no academia #boku no hero fanfic #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #izuku midoyria #deku midoriya #bnha deku

[theladyofdeath]

Omg I love when you and Shelby write together 🤩🤩and I have a prompt!! “I might have had a few shots”

we LOVED writing this prompt! And, of course, we chose Elorcan because we’re trash. Enjoy this fluff written by @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty and myself. ;)

Elide had slipped on an old tee shirt, ready for bed. Her hair was thrown up into a bun on the top of her head and she walked down to her kitchen, getting the coffee maker ready for the morning. She yawned and smiled thinking of the next day. A Saturday, with absolutely nothing planned.

Just the way she liked it.

She’d just turned the tv on when she heard her name being yelled from outside her front door, then a loud, obnoxious knock.

She threw her blanket to the side and ran to the door, just as her name was called again. She couldn’t tell if it was in agony or annoyance, but she opened the door with trepidation anyways.

And found Lorcan bracing his arms on either side of her door frame. Even so, he still towered over her.

“Hi,” he said, laughing. “Whatcha doin?”

Elide blinked, then looked over her shoulder at the clock on the microwave. “Are you…drunk?”

He smirked and said, “I might have had a few shots.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “And by a few, you mean?”

His eyebrow furrowed, which could only mean he was trying to count in his head. “I lost count after number seven.” When Elide’s mouth dropped open, he pointed at her. “But! Whitethorn said I couldn’t out drink him. That bastard owes me $50.”

Elide said, “Oh my god,” and rubbed her temples.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?”

She looked up and saw genuine curiosity — even if it was a little hazy — in his gaze. “Of course, I am, it’s just- how did you get here, Lorcan?”

His eyes narrowed as if trying to remember. “I think I took a cab.”

Elide shook her head. “Just…come in.”

He did, and toed off his massive boots off without Elide needing to ask. They landed by her tiny pair of Vans, absolutely dwarfing them.

He strode inside, throwing his long hair back over his shoulder. “Hey.”

She shook her head and chuckled. “Hey, you.”

He stopped and looked around, sniffing. “Do I smell popcorn?”

She laughed. “Yes, you do. Come on.”

“Were you watching a movie?” He asked, plopping on the couch.

She watched him, slowly closing the door behind him and following him into her living room. “Yes. I was going to. I have tomorrow off.”

He began eating her popcorn. “Oh. I want to watch.”

“Okay,” she laughed, and walked around the back of the couch. “Do you want something to drink?” Before he could answer, she cut him off and amended. “Something non-alcoholic.”

He huffed. “You’re no fun. Do you have a water bottle?”

“Sure do.” She made her way into the kitchen, coming back with a water bottle and a glass of red wine.

“Hey!” He protested, reaching for the wine.

“Ah ah, nope.” She slipped the bottle into his hands. “Mine. You’ve already had at least seven shots. I’m cutting you off.”

She took a sip of her wine and he pouted, blowing a lock of his hair out of his face.

“What movie are you watching?” He asked, a moment later.

She shrugged, taking a sip from her glass. “Romantic comedy. It was a long day. I need some laughs.”

Lorcan raised a brow. “Bad day at work?”

She sighed. “I spilled a tray of drinks on an elderly couple after tripping over my own two feet so, yeah, something like that.”

He snorted, earning a glare from Elide. “You should’ve gone out for drinks with us.”

She had gotten the invite from Aelin a few hours before, but had ignored it. She shrugged. “Wasn’t really in the mood at the time.”

He nodded and leaned back on the couch. A comfortable silence filled the room while the movie started, and Elide tucked her legs underneath her on the couch. She set the glass of wine on the coffee table.

With grace that a man of his size and inebriation should not have, he quickly snatched it up and brought it to his lips.

“No, no, noooo,” she drawled, grabbing it back. “This is mine. And I don’t share.”

“Not even with me?” He asked, a hand to his chest.

She had always found Lorcan ridiculous when drunk, mostly because he was typically far more serious.

Even though he had always had a soft spot for her, and her alone.

“Not even with you,” she said, smiling. “Especially when I can smell your whiskey-coated breath from all the way over here.”

He propped his foot up on her coffee table and brushed his hair, once again, out of his face. “You wound me, woman.”

She couldn’t help but watch him out of the corner of her eye as he relaxed, completely unreserved. He never let anyone else see this side of, always so on edge around the rest of their friends. He glanced her way and caught her eye. She blushed and snapped her eyes back to the tv.

“What?” He asked.

She just shook her head and took a large sip of wine. He pinched her side and she squealed, much to his delight. Her living room filled with his laughter.

It was a rich, melodic sound that Elide thrived upon. He could pick on her all he wanted as long as it made him laugh like that.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” she said. “I hope you know that.”

He hooked his hair behind his ear and gave her a smile that had the power to end wars, until the hair slipped loose and fell into his face. He sighed through his nose, as if the hair that couldn’t stay out of his eyes was the root of all the world’s problems.

Elide laughed and said, “Turn around.”

His eyebrows furrowed again. “What, why-?”

“Just do it,” she said, and he did as he was told.

She slipped the ponytail from her wrist and gathered his dark hair at the back of his head. She combed through it with her fingers, scratching lightly at his scalp with her nails. As she tied it into a knot at the back of his head, she heard a quiet rumble emanate from chest. She twisted his head up and around until he was looking at her and laughed. “Did you just purr?”

He blinked. “That depends. Was it sexy?”

Elide snorted. “Yes, I find happy cats incredibly sexy.”

Lorcan snapped his teeth at her, as if it would ever be intimidating.

She pushed him back to his side of the couch and stretched out, her foot resting against his denim clad thigh. “There, your hair problems are solved.”

He gave her a look. “Man buns aren’t really my thing. Ashryver usually rocks this look.”

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. With his hair swept off his face, she could see the strong definition of his jaw line, the warmth in his dark eyes, the rugged handsomeness that she tried so hard to ignore.

She picked her glass of wine up and said before taking another large drink, “You should wear them more often. They suit you.”

Something sparked in his eyes.

She held his gaze.

And took another drink, draining her glass.

She stood and made her way back into the kitchen, refilling her wine glass and taking a second to take a deep breath.

Lorcan has always affected her like this. He let his walls down with her, something he didn’t allow anyone else. He’d always flirted with her and they joked around, but there was always someone else to be a buffer between them. So rarely had it just been the two of them, uninterrupted, and never for such a long period of time.

She joined him on the couch once again, and he picked her feet up, placing them in his lap and rubbing the ankle that was always sore, his eyes trained on the tv and the movie before them.

He yawned, the aftermath of his alcohol consumption.

She drank deeply from her glass of wine, set it on the table and she watched him.

She watched his eyes follow the characters on the screen, watched the way his fingers moved along her bare feet. She watched the way his jaw hardened, watched the way his chest quickly rose and fell.

He was fully aware she was watching him.

It wasn’t until after she watched his lips twist into a smirk that she realized he’d been lulling her into a false sense of security.

His left hand wrapped around her foot while his right hand’s fingers attacked the bottom of her foot. She squealed, trying to jerk her foot from his grasp, but he held on too tightly. He tickled her and she erupted into a fight of laughter, giggling until she was nearly in tears and was begging him to stop.

But he did no such thing.

It wasn’t until she lunged herself at him and began smacking him that he stopped, only to grab her wrists.

She could see a brilliant gleam in his eyes.

Could smell the whiskey on his breath.

He did not take his hands off of her wrists. He only pulled her towards him.

She went willingly, until she was sitting across his lap. He transferred both of her wrists into one, and wrapped the other arm around her waist, holding her to him.

Their lips were so close, she could feel his breath fanning across her face. They had never been so close to each other, so close they could share breath. His eyes flicked down to her lips and her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.

“There’s wine on your lips,” he whispered.

Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips and tasting the wine.

He watched that movement, although her eyes never left his.

Elide’s cheeks burned when Lorcan said, “I want to taste.”

His voice was low, sultry.

Her voice was too high when she spoke, breathy. It also didn’t hold the teasing tone she tried for. Instead, she sounded terrified. “I thought I cut you off. No more wine.”

He leaned close, any closer and his lips would be on hers when he said, “I don’t give a damn about the wine.”

He took her bottom lip into his mouth and sucked, stroking it with his tongue.

Then he leaned back and grinned at her expression. He didn’t have a chance to say another word before her mouth was on his.

Her hands were in his hair, pulling him onto her, leaving no space in between them.

His hand had released her wrists and it now cupped the back of her head, as he ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, asking for entrance. She opened for her him and he groaned, deep and low in his chest, as his tongue brushed against hers.

He tasted like whiskey and Elide wanted nothing more than to get drunk on him.

Lorcan tugged at her hairband, pulling her long, dark hair loose.

In fell around her shoulders, brushing his arms.

He took a strand and twisted it around his finger before pressing his mouth to her neck, just below her jawbone.

“Lorcan,” she breathed and he growled, pulling her tighter against him. “No, no, Lorcan, stop.”

He immediately did as she wished, removing his lips from her skin, but not moving, not letting go of where her hair was wrapped around his hand.

“I need to know,” she said, her chest heaving with her breaths, “Is this only because you’re drunk? Is this- is this a one time thing?”

Something like hurt flashed in his eyes. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

“I think so little of your decision making when you’re drunk,” she leaned back, as if she was trying to move back to her spot, but Lorcan had been waiting for this opportunity since he’d met the dark haired beauty. She was much younger than the rest of his friends, but so mature beyond her years. His heart strained for her as she said, “I don’t want to be a drunk mistake, Lorcan.”

He took her face in both of his hands. “You could never be that. When I’m sober, I’m going to be right back in this spot, asking for this. If you want to wait until then…” he paused, trying to relax his body. “I will wait. I will wait until I’m sober, I will wait as long as you ask me to….but you are not and could never be a mistake.”

“I have wanted you for as long as I can remember,” she whispered. The wine was making her head spin and she was fairly sure that she wouldn’t have been saying this otherwise. His proximity and his hands on her back, her thighs, her ass, her body was clouding her thoughts even more thoroughly. “I don’t think I could handle the rejection if you changed your mind.”

He shook his head, brushing her hair back behind her ears. “I love you.”

The air left her lungs with a whoosh and she stared at him unable to process what he’d just told her. He laughed and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“This is when I was hoping you’d say it back, but I understand if you-.”

She told him.

She told him through her kiss, her mouth hungrily finding his.

Lorcan was an ass, and he was cocky, and often pretended to be nothing more than an inconsiderate brute.

And he loved her.

And she loved him. She loved him so much she felt like her heart was going to burst.

When he laid her back on the couch and kissed down her neck, he paused and said, “I know that you’ve never…” He let his words trail off. “I need you to know I’m not asking for that, Elide. I’m asking for you. I’m asking to be deserving of your love.”

“I know,” she said, smiling, palm resting against his stubbled cheek. “I want to.”

He kissed her softly, slowly. He kissed her in such a way that she began to burn from the inside out and she squirmed beneath him. But he pulled back and ran a thumb across her cheekbone.

“I do, too,” he said, and pressed a kiss to her lips. “But not tonight, and not when some of us have been drinking.” He smirked and Elide scoffed, smacking his chest.

“I loathe you,” she mumbled.

He raised a dark brow. “Loathe me always, then, because I love the way you show it.”

Her smile softened as he kissed her forehead, then her nose, her lips, her chin.

“Will you say it?” He asked, voice soft as a whisper.

Elide brought her hand up and rested it against his cheek. “I love you, Lorcan Salvaterre.”

He brought his lips back to hers. “I love you too, Elide Lochan.”

She smiled. “What brought this on? I mean, not that I’m complaining, this just…came out of nowhere.” She laughed, but it was clear she was not making fun of him. She was curious.

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” he breathed, then smiled. “The liquid courage helped.”

Elide laughed, softly, beautifully.

The sound of Elide’s phone ringing from her bedroom caused them to jump apart. She ran up the stairs and grabbed her phone before looking at the caller ID. She answered and turned, making her way back downstairs. “Hello?”

“Eliiiiiide!” Aelin’s voice filled the receiver as she sat down next to Lorcan on the couch and as he put his arm around her, she saw him cringe slightly. “What are you doing?”

She looked at him and he shook his head, as if to say Don’t you dare.

“Just at home, watching a movie,” she replied coolly, glancing at the tv on the wall.

“Oh good!” She said, and the tone of her voice had Elide sitting up straighter. “We’re right down the road, we’ll be right there!”

Lorcan groaned before he could stop himself. Aelin was not his biggest fan, but she sure loved Elide. Lorcan imagined that Aelin would not approve of what was happening between the two of them.

Elide lowered the phone and looked at him. Her bottom lip was pulled between her teeth and before she could stop it, laughter had torn out of her. He rolled his eyes, but tightened his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “This should be fun.”

“Have you changed your definition of fun in the last two minutes?” Elide chuckled.

“Whitethorn is shit faced, Fenrys was barely able to string a sentence together when I left, and Bitch Queen is about to try to chew my ass for being here, alone with you.” He shook his head. “This is about to be a shit show.”

She leaned across his lap and kissed him, softly. “Does this mean you’re leaving?”

He shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Elide smiled. “Good.”

The doorbell rang and Elide went to stand, but Lorcan pulled her down and crashed his lips against hers. “Let me get it,” he breathed as he pulled away, smirking.

Lorcan stood and made his way down the hall to the door and Elide waited and listened.

It was when she heard the door opened and the conversation outside stopped that she knew it would a night to remember.

It was when Aelin exclaimed, “What in the rutting hell are you doing here?” at the same time Rowan said “Gods above, Lorcan,” that she knew it would be a night to never forget.

#shelby and tara writes #throne of ashes and beauty x tacmc collab #elorcan #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #prompt #tara answers prompts #lorcan #elide #tog #throne of glass

[yourdeepestfathoms]

A Little Piece Of Heaven (part one)

[Tour!verse]

TW: Surprisingly not many...I guess mockery of religion, specifically Christianity and anything in that branch. Very minor mentions of self harm (like one time- if you blink you’ll miss it). But mainly this fic is just psychological.

———————

Lord of The Flies

Let’s get something clear really quickly: Joan Meutas was not religious. Did she used to be? Unfortunately, yes, but after seeing the world for what it really was, after getting an axe to her vagina from her beloved husband, she has realized that there was no merciful God who would save lost souls. It was all a hoax by crazy old folk from wherever Jerusalem was to herd people into one belief, thinking that it may make them more humane and friendly. But religion has done more harm than good- Christianity damns all non CIS heterosexuals to hell, Jews got murdered by the thousands, that one branch literally won’t eat anything besides fucking grain or some shit, Catholics are just rude as all hell, those fasting things literally cause people to STARVE TO DEATH, and for what? To appease some higher being? Do they truly think they will be saved? If God was so merciful and wonderful and kindhearted, why would he make things like murder and cancer and rape and torture?

Joan even once heard that the Bible stated that when a woman was on her period she had to leave her village and wasn’t allowed to come back UNLESS she had a turtle dove. She’s never read the Good Book before, so she doesn’t know if that was true or not, but it doesn’t sound unlikely given all the stupid rules she’s heard about.

So, no, Joan was not religious.

It’s strange, she thinks, how offended people get when she says it or simply hints at it. Their eyes will practically bug out of their skull and they probably pray for her “lost soul”, maybe even do that weird cross gesture on their chest when they think she isn’t looking. They look at her as if she was actually a demon spy loosed from hell and not just someone who has enough common sense to realize that an “all powerful father” was complete and utter bullshit.

That’s the thing- it’s like the word “atheist” was purposely made to seem like the most evil string of letters to ever be created. You know the words- those synonyms that just sound much worse than the actual root phrase (molest, slaughter, moist). Atheist just has this dark shade to it. Or so religious people say.

But enough of that! There’s a reason why such a taboo subject is being brought up.

Joan was going to contact Death.

As they say, desperate times calls for desperate measures. And desperate Joan was.

You see, her queen- Jane Seymour- used to be quite the woman. Sharp, beautiful, powerful, but also warm behind the closed court doors. Joan was very lucky to see this side of her as her youngest lady in waiting, often getting called gentle pet names and sometimes pats on her head if she was particularly lucky that day. As a touch-starved orphan servant, this was like a pot of gold to Joan- love and affection is something she’s craved long before reincarnation in the modern world. And, speaking of the resurrection, Joan thought she would get even more of Jane’s “Mum Treatment” since they had more time on their hands, but she was very, very wrong.

Jane...Jane was different. She changed. No longer was she the motherly, caring, strong woman from the past, but instead coming back as some reduced version of herself- slightly younger (24, 25, maybe even 23), more awkward and timid, and much less maternal. The way she now looked at Joan wasn’t with compassion, rather...plain curiosity, sometimes even aversion. Her memory of her young lady in waiting has waned- it was as if she didn’t remember that Joan had been at her side the whole time when she was bedridden after giving birth to Edward! Like she couldn’t conjure up the remembrance of a teenager literally watching her rot away and slowly die for days!

To say the least, Joan was not happy. Add in trauma, insomnia, hate on social media, constant stress and pressure from her profession, and a severe lack of friends and you can probably see why Joan was going to such extreme measures.

Now, she knew about the stories. She’s read The Monkey’s Paw. She knows about the consequences of one’s actions. Joan wasn’t going into this completely stupid- have some faith, will you?

Gambling with Death was a risk. A huge risk that could very well end with her soul being ripped out of her mouth or her flesh being worn by a supernatural being that then goes on to commit atrocities under her identity. And not only was it a massive risk to take, it was also very, very stupid.

If I have to spell it out for you, listen closely: Death knows things. A lot of things. They don’t call him the “Lord of The Flies” for nothing. Which is why he loves to play games for those desperate enough to contact him because he knows he is much smarter than whatever pathetic, miserable piece of useless garbage comes clawing at a mirror, begging him to reveal himself. And unless you have every secret of the universe, you’re probably going to get ass-blasted back to Tuesday.

Oh, what am I saying? You won’t get a second chance.

You’ll be long gone by then.

And whatever state the cops find your body in the next morning depends on whatever mood the beast was in.

However, in Joan’s case here, she is desperate and stupid enough to take the risk. In her eyes, she doesn’t have much to live for. She’s a slave to SIX- day and night she’s working endlessly over musical paperwork and the same songs over and over and OVER again. It doesn’t help that she isn’t the closest to the rest of the cast and is often left alone when everyone else goes out and has fun. The scars on her wrists are evident of how many nights she’s been alone.

Without Jane, she has nothing to live for. She needed her.

And that’s exactly why she was sitting on the floor in front of a mirror propped against the wall in the dark theater surrounded by candles and a semicircle of salt.

Joan has done a lot of studying up to this point. She knows she has everything correctly, now she just has to get Death to appear...and hope he doesn’t immediately pull her small intestines out from her throat for bothering him.

Joan stares into the mirror as hard as she can, closes her eyes, then counted to ten. Her eyelids lingered shut for longer than she would like to admit after she hit the number one, but she eventually pried them open.

It was not her reflection staring back at her.

To be honest, Joan wasn’t exactly sure of what she was expecting to see. Some parts of her believed nothing would happen, other parts convinced itself that a grim reaper-like figure or a horned, goat-legged demon would be kneeling on the other side of the glass wielding a scythe or pitchfork. However, a suit-wearing young man was not really something that crossed her mind in her theories.

If Joan wasn’t a lesbian, she might have found him attractive, but he definitely was at a straight woman’s perspective. Perfect smile, the most amazing cheekbone structure, unflawed olive skin, neatly combed brown-blonde hair, a broad chest, phenomenal shape- if it weren’t for his yellow eyes with slit pupils, he might have been the perfect lady’s man (although, knowing straight women, they probably wouldn’t care for his demon eyes- after all, you don’t need to see someone’s peepers to suck cock!).

Joan sat completely bewildered, all of her confidence draining and being replaced with dread that drenches her like a thick, dark oil spill. She can feel her hands, which are lying in her lap, starting to tremble and clenching her fingers doesn’t help at all. The ability to form a coherent sentence slips from her mind, so Death speaks first.

“Hello, Joan Meutas.”

This guy is the real deal. He pronounced her last name correctly!

Joan opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water and Death is thoroughly amused by her sardine impression. He watches her through the glass, waiting patiently for her to learn how to enunciate again.

“H-h-hello-”

“Yes, yes, h-h-hello to you to,” Death laughed. He wasn’t directly trying to be cruel, but Joan’s self esteem was far enough into the ground to hear his jibe as a mockery of her understanding of the English language. “If I let you speak the whole time we are going to get nowhere! Pull yourself together, kid. You should see the look on your face! You look like you just got caught making out with the family goat!”

Joan’s expression remained one of fright.

“What? Didn’t you own a goat back in- god, what year were you born? 1517 or 1525? Historians paint it as both! But I thought a family farm animal was the big rave back then! I apologize- I need to catch up on the modern slang. Say, would you be considered a ‘boomer’? Because I have been DYING to use that phrase on someone who contacts me. Could you imagine it?” He warps his voice into one of a pruny old woman, “‘I wish for great fortune!’ ‘Okay Boomer.’” Death bursts into fits of maniacal laughter that sounded as if a thousand lost souls were chortling together at once.

Joan is still silent, but during Death’s monologue she was able to wire her brain back to functionality. She sits up a little bit straighter and Death notices, so he containers himself instantly, also fixing his posture.

“Ready to talk now?” He asked.

“Yes.” Joan answered.

“Wonderful,” There’s a glint in his piercing yellow eyes, “What is it that you desire of me?”

Joan gathers up all her courage, sits up a little taller, and says, “I desire to challenge you to a game of question-and-answer.”

The glint flares into a blaze of confidence. If Joan stares hard enough, she swore she could almost see the fires of Hell burning in his eyes.

“How fun,” The words ooze out from Death’s pale lips, soaked in liquid menace. “Shall I go over the rules?”

Joan nodded. She knew them, she knew she did, but it would be good to hear them one last time.

“Very well,” Death said. He cleared his throat and began speaking as if he were reading off of a manual, “Death’s Gambit: A two-player game between the Lord of The Flies himself and a human. After being conjured- just gonna skip over that process, you’ve clearly got it down, kid- and initiating the game, both parties will have sixty-six minutes and six seconds to answer as many questions correctly as possible. Anything can be asked- trivia, personal inquiries, riddles, even dares, as long as the salt circle is not exited. The catch of the whole thing is this: The Prince of Darkness is obligated to tell the truth only if the human answers correctly to his question or does a requested dare or the human manages to stump him. However, if he answers correctly or the human answers incorrectly to HIS question, he may lie about whichever question he wants. The score will not be revealed until the very end once the time is over. If the human wins, the Keeper of Souls MUST grant any one wish they have. If He-Who-Lies wins, the human will be the victim to whatever losing punishment he comes up with. Remaining rules include: The salt circle cannot be left- you may find yourself no longer in your dimension-, the game cannot be quit until the time is over, items like watches or phones are not permitted to be used to look up answers or keep track of the time. Good luck and Beelzebub be with you.”

Despite knowing this all already, hearing it out loud, spoken by the beast himself, made it all hit home for Joan. She was really doing this; she was gambling with Death.

She had to be the stupidest fuck to ever grace God’s green earth.

“Are you ready to begin?” Death asked.

Joan took a deep death and answered, “Yes.”

A wicked smile curled on Death’s lips. The candles around Joan blaze.

“The game is on.”

A dark feeling weighed down on Joan after that was spoken. The air around her seemed to shift. Her gut was screaming at her to run away, to hide, to do something other than just sit there, but she couldn’t move. Not from fear, but from sheer will. She couldn’t be stupid. Who knows what lurked outside her thin salt circle....

As he usually did, Death initiates the game and asked his first question.

“What was the name of Catherine Parr’s true love?”

Like that, a cold stone drops deep into the pit of Joan’s stomach. Of all the questions she expected him to start off with, Tudor history was not one of them. It startles her, takes her by surprise, and she realizes very quickly that that’s exactly why Death asked it. He’s trying to disorientate her right off the bat and weaken her before she has the chance to get some points in.

She could not let that happen.

It’s just that- she didn’t know Tudor history outside of knowledge on her queen and whatever is said in the show. The others certainly did talk about their past lives, but Joan- she-

It stung, to say the least, when she realized that Death knew about her nonexistence friendships with the queens. And that he was targeting that.

“Thomas Seymour.” Joan finally said.

She was pretty sure that was the right answer...but not completely positive. And, because of that, her worried mind began to scream doubts inside of her brain.

Was that a trick question? He’s supposed to be the embodiment of pure evil- wouldn’t he think Henry is Parr’s true love? Was Henry the right answer?

“Your turn.” Death said, not reacting to Joan’s answer, which scares her even more.

“What’s- why did you choose to show up in that body?”

“Oooh, you’re starting with a personal inquiry!” Death said, laughing, “How fun! And I hope you’re not flattering yourself, Joan- I don’t look like this to make your pussy wet. Trust me, I could look way more attractive, but I know you.” Those three words slither into Joan’s ears and made her shudder. “Isn’t the whole point of being a lesbian to not be attracted to men?” Death laughed again, “But I look like this because I want to. I can take whatever shape I want! Remember that one time I was a snake? That was weird. Although, peeping at a naked chick was pretty damn fun. As a lesbian, you could probably appreciate the sight.”

For just a moment, the image of Death disappears, the mirror hazes to white, and Eve appears. Not the paintings you always see- THE Eve, bare breasts and vagina and all, and if Joan weren’t also asexual, her own genitals may have been burning with desperate pleasure.

“She was a sight.” Death said, returning to view. He chuckles, then immediately goes to his next question, “What was the exact height of Mount Everest in the year 1666?”

Joan’s heart just about stopped.

How in the holy hell was she supposed to know that? Then again, that was probably the point of asking such a thing.

“Three...hundred feet?” It came out as a question, but it’s taken as an answer and Death doesn’t react except for a slight twitch of his nose. “What...is the hardest piece to learn on the piano?”

“Liszt.” Death answered smoothly. “What animal can see the most amount of colors?”

“A...dolphin.” Joan physically cringed at her answer. “Who wrote Liszt?”

Is this what she was going to be doing the whole time? Asking the King of Hell fucking piano trivia?

“La Campanella.” Death once again answered perfectly. “What is the full chemical name for the antidepressant and anti-anxiety medication, Zoloft?”

Wasn’t that the medicine Joan was supposed to take for her anxiety?

“I- I don’t know.”

Death just hummed and awaited his next question. He didn’t laugh at her like she expected him to, which slightly lightened the blow of her stupidity.

“What’s my favorite song in SIX?”

“None of them. Why did you stop taking your Zoloft pills?”

The answer followed by such a question felt like Joan was just punched in the stomach with a spiked gauntlet. She swore she was winded by some unseen force (probably shock). Her breath hitched in her throat and she seemed like a little kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I-” She hunched her shoulders around her neck. Death is giving her a curious look, which was at least better than worry or concern. “They- they weren’t helping me...so I didn’t think there was a point taking them if they weren’t going to fix me.”

Death hummed once more, this time louder and more enthusiastic. He clearly liked her answer.

“Interesting,” He mused, then quiets himself for the next question.

“What’s standing behind me?”

Ever since the game began, Joan picked up on the presence of something staring at the back of her head. She could feel their eyes burning into her skull, sometimes even breathing on the back of her neck.

Death smiled. “See for yourself.”

Joan saw nothing in the reflection, just darkness beyond the candles and Death, and she was not about to go and look away. She was scared about what would happen if she turned her gaze away from the mirror for even a second.

When Death realized Joan wasn’t going to fall for his tricks that easily, he quirked an impressed eyebrow and moved on.

“Will you greet the worker who just came in?”

Joan glanced fearfully to the corner of the room. A figure is hunched there. The glow from the candles just barely licks at their claws.

“What was their name? Terrance?” Death said, “Doesn’t he work in lightning?”

“That’s not Terrance,” Joan murmured.

Death took it as an answer, it seems. He leans in close to the glass and when he whispers, his hushed tone is right at the back of Joan’s ear.

“You don’t want to know what he really is.”

Joan can feel a panic attack rising in her chest. Death is trying to scare her, stray her from answering coherently or correctly and get her to waste time by freaking out. She had to steer the game back into calmness.

Or, rather, however calm a Devil game could get.

“What do I have in my pocket right now?”

Death seems a little bothered that the cryptic theme was interrupted, but he gets over it.

“One black pen that’s almost out of ink, a granola bar you promised yourself you would eat, and a rosary you stole from Aragon.” He said, “Oh and, by the way, that isn’t going to protect you from me. So return it as soon as possible or Aragon is gonna be PISSED!” He laughed, imagining the storm the golden queen would cause if she caught Joan with such a precious belonging.

Joan swallowed thickly. She didn’t want to check her pockets. She didn’t want to know that he was right.

“What is the color of the sky?”

It seemed like an easy enough question, but Joan, believe it or not, knew better than to fall for such a simple trick. She wracked her brain for a moment, then answered, “Black.”

Death doesn’t react aside from licking over his dried lips. His tongue is too pointy. Joan moves on.

“Does Jane care about me?”

Honestly, the question kind of surprised her. It bubbled up from her throat from out of nowhere- yes, she had been wanting to ask it so badly, but she didn’t actually expect it to come out.

“Yes.” Says Death.

For a moment, joy bursts through Joan, but the metaphorical, celebratory confetti is sucked up by the vacuum of doubt.

Is he lying? Is he giving me false hope? Or is he telling the truth?

“What’s your blood type?” Death asked.

“A...AB.”

Like Joan fucking knew that.

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Blue.” Death smiled, “Because the blue sky would always remind you of opportunities for a better life.”

A shiver runs down Joan’s spine. She didn’t like how he knew that.

“What’s something that you can’t eat for lunch or dinner?”

He’s asking a riddle. Joan bit the inside of her cheek, thinking.

It couldn’t be a food. That was too easy.

Think, Joan, think!

“...Breakfast.”

Death chuckles. Joan doesn’t know what to think of that.

Twenty minutes pass by in a blur. Cold sweat soaks Joan’s brow, dripping down her face, but she’s too scared to move from her stiff position. Her back muscles hurt from sitting like a statue for so long- how the hell does Death look so relaxed? Then again, he doesn’t really have much to worry about.

He doesn’t have to worry about the possibility of being mutilated or dragged to Hell or that that figure in the corner has been getting closer and closer as the minutes passed by.

“Do you think every human deserves to live?”

The question came out of nowhere, really. Death had been asking mostly trivia up until that point. He tittered at Joan’s stunned expression, then raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Well?”

“No.”

Joan didn’t hesitate because she knew it was the truth. Not everyone deserved to live. Rapists, pedophiles, serial killers, racists, homophobes, terrorists, abusers- they didn’t deserve life. People like them deserved to die.

And anyone who doesn’t believe that is a fucking idiot.

“Do YOU think every human deserves to live?”

Death scoffed. “Of course not.” He peered at Joan, really analyzing her for the first time. His yellow slit eyes raked over the girl, making her feel uncomfortable and violated. “You know, you and I think a lot alike. Not many humans give ‘no’ as their answer. They think optimism will make them seem like a good person. It’s pathetic.”

Joan just nodded silently.

“Now...where were we? Oh, yes.” Death leaned in, “Which queen suffered the most?”

Joan furrowed her eyebrows. The whole point of the show was to not compare, especially traumas, but...

“Katherine Howard.”

Come on- clearly K Howard had it the worst. The girl was violated by four different men before she was an adult! None of the other five stories combined could possibly rank to the fifth queen’s suffering.

“Honestly, I think the same!” Death said, “I mean- what is UP with the whole ‘one of a kind, no category’ gimmick? How stupid! Last time I checked, being a victim of sexual abuse doesn’t make you ‘one of a kind.’ Why would you even think of it that way?“

Joan nodded slowly.

“I agree,” She said, “Um- here’s my next question: Is this question false?”

Death raised his eyebrows and cooed in obvious interest.

“True.” He said, smirking. “My turn. Do you resent the queens?”

Joan actually recoils. Death laughed.

“I-”

Did she? Did she resent the queens? Surely she didn’t... She couldn’t! The queens were perfect! How could anyone ever hate them?

“No.”

Death almost looks disappointed.

“What’s worse than death?”

“You’re living it.”

Cold sweat drips down Joan’s face. It stings her eyes and is salty on her tongue. She hears noises all around her, but doesn’t dare to look. She already knows “Terrance” is on his knees beside the salt circle and his leaning his face in right next to hers. She can smell the rot on him.

“Have you ever wanted to hurt the queens?”

Death’s questions are definitely ramping up in darkness. Was the time close to ending? Is that why he’s getting deeper?

Joan shut her eyes tightly for a moment, but opened them quickly when the fear of losing sight of Death nagged at the back of her mind. Before her, on the other side of the mirror, the being is waiting patiently, eagerly for her answer.

“Sometimes,” Joan breathed, “Yes.”

Death smiles a wicked smile.

“How interesting,” He purred, then gestured for Joan to ask her question.

“Does God exist?”

“Unfortunately.” Death groaned, then laughed. He inspected Joan again. “How would you hurt the queens?”

Joan felt her stomach ache. She didn’t like that question. She didn’t want to think about actually hurting the queens, even if she’s considered it one or two times before.

“I- I haven’t really given it any thought.” She answered, then quickly sputtered out her next question before Death could comment, “Does the Bible speak the truth?”

“Of course not.” Death said. “My next question is this: If I were to give you a task, would you do it?”

“Depends,” Joan said, “What would the task be?”

Death held up both arms in a shrugging motion. “I don’t know! Pick up my dry cleaning? It depends! Don’t put me on the spot like that!” He then laughed that horrible laugh again. Once he contains himself, he says, “Time is ticking. The game is almost over. I want to switch things up before we end. I have a dare for you.”

Joan nods.

“Stab yourself in the hand.”

That flush of icy cold dread floods through Joan’s system again. Every part of her being screamed at her to refuse, there will be other offers or questions she could make up for, but she knew that was just false hope. Like Death said: time was almost up. She couldn’t risk refusing and docking more points (if she isn’t in the negatives already, that is).

“Fine.” She forced out through her teeth.

She reached for the pen in her pocket, but Death held up a hand.

“Don’t use that inky thing,” He said. “It won’t get the job done. Please- allow me.”

He flicked his wrist and a large carving knife appears out of thin air and clatters to the floor in front of Joan. She stares at it for a moment, then picked it up, setting her left hand down in its place. She took a deep breath, screwed her eyes shut, and plunged the blade down.

Joan couldn’t choke back the scream that burst from her lips. She cried at the pain, sobbing in horror when she looked down to see the knife practically pinning her hand to the floor. Dark red blood pools around her fingers, gushing and spurting like spigot from the wound when she pulls the blade free. She cradled her wounded hand close to her chest, weeping weakly.

“Very good,” Death cooed, clapping.

Joan raised her eyes slowly and Death smirked at how lit up they were, almost like hot coals.

“I have a dare for you.” Joan growled, her voice low and dangerous.

“I accept.”

“Change your eye color to blue.”

For a moment, Joan swore she saw the slightly twitch on Death’s features. She watched him close his eyes, sit their silently for a moment, then open them again.

They were still yellow and slit.

“I cannot.” He said. However, he wasn’t angry or irritated at being stumped, rather amused. “Next...what is the flying speed of a swallow?”

Joan ripped off of a strip of her shirt and wrapped it around her bloody hand, hoping it would be a good enough substitute for real bandages for now.

“African or European?”

Death grinned. And that grin only grew wider as the candles around Joan went out until only the one behind her remained lit.

"̸̡̢̢̣͓͚͖̪̼̪͑͊̈́͋̀́̾͗͘ͅT̷̼̺͈̮̜͔̙͂̋̉͋͛̈̿̀̕͜͠͝i̸̢̹̙̼̠͓͚̖̗͔̮̔̌͂̓̐̊̈́̔̃̕m̸̡̱̤̱͙͎̦̱͙̪̻̓̅͌̉̀̈́̐̄͒̌̕͘͝e̸̟̳͒'̸̗͎̞̙̋̎̓́́͑̉͐͑̈́s̷̰̬̙͖̲̩͚̥͈̝̩̻̻̮̭͂̀̐̓̑̓͌̓̀́̐̐ ̷̡̳͍̗͉̝͔̃̑͛̀͊͌͆̌̒̃̔͘̚͠ͅû̵̞̠̣͉̻̖̅̓̄̏͝p̷̛͖͎̮̖͇̬̮͉̥̲͈̟͊̃́̃̏̇̇͛͗̅̕͘,̷̢̧̧̹͈̗̝͙̪͉̖̆̈́ͅ ̸̲̩̥̇͂̓͌̀̋͗̀͛̚J̵̼̣̋ö̴̡͕̺̪̠͓̹͔̂͝ą̶̡̜̭̤͖̭̫̝̘̆̂̾̐͊̾̒̂̏n̶̛̛̬̦̥̠̮̐̓̃̋̍̒̂͐̂̽ͅ.̴̪̰̩̀͊̑̐́̂͗̍̐̈́̚"̴͍͆͛́̈́̈́̍͆̀͗͘͝͝

It was almost impossible to breathe. Joan can barely hold herself together- the tears are flowing freely and she can’t get them to stop. She would say a prayer for her damned soul if it weren’t for the whole atheist thing, and she worried that Death would get angry at her for it, even if it was said in her mind, which he couldn’t possible read (or, at least, she hoped he couldn’t).

Still, she bowed at the waist and thanked Death for the game.

“Let’s tally up the score, shall we?”

Joan first saw blood start to spread across Death’s midsection, then a sharp sting struck her in the stomach. She hissed in pain and lifted her shirt slightly, as did Death, and they both saw tally marks upon their flesh.

Death had twenty-three.

And Joan watched in shock as a twenty-fourth tally carved down through her skin right before her eyes.

“Congratulations, Joan Meutas,” Death says, “You’ve won. What is it that you wish for?”

#six the musical #six the musical tour #six uk tour #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #six fic #six ff #tour jane seymour #jane seymour #tour joan on the keys #joan on the keys #tw: religion