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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Hue and Cry IX

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), mild violence, male-iinduced anxiety

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: The first day of the tournament arrives.

Note: My pupper had surgery yesterday and it was my longer day of work for the week so lots going on. Also had some bad Chinese but managed to get this out before it came back up. Feel better now and I'll have a shorter day today.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Lord Barnes’ mood did not improve in the days leading up to the first of the tournament. It grew colder in the capital and many feared the events would be cut short by an early winter. You didn’t care much either way. You had no interest in the sport or much of anything. You just abided the duke and in those times he left you alone, you laid in a void.

His want of you didn’t wane nor did your despair or the disgust you felt when he touched you. It was one thing to be a servant, to be a tool, a means to an end, but what he used you for now seemed little more than torture. He delighted in what he did, in how he made you suffer. Those times you remained unmoving and unfeeling angered him the most.

You dressed in yellow that morning. The horns announced the beginning of the tournament as you made your way to the stand amid the sea of guests. The wives, daughters, sons, mothers and fathers of those who would compete. You were out of place as you climbed the wooden steps between the benches and a green sleeve shot up to wave to you.

“Dearie!” May brushed past her husband to stop you at the end of their seat, “here, with us,” she insisted, “we did save you a place.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” you said quietly. You hadn’t seen her or her family since the night of the feast. Since Barnes had…

“I can’t have you sitting alone,” she trilled as she pulled you along with her and sat beside Lord Benjamin who bowed his head and issued a gentle greeting. “And I always longed for a daughter, you know? Peter’s a good boy but so troublesome. I did try to persuade him not to enter the lists but he just never stops.”

“The boy’s old enough,” Benjamin said, “when I was his age--”

“You married me,” May cut in, “a foolish decision indeed. He is on the roster for today. Sparring. I fear he might not make it past the early rounds but so long as he is not hurt.”

You nodded and covered your hands in your sleeves. Even with the fur-trimmed cloak Barnes allotted you, it was crisp. Your matching cap barely kept the cool air from your cheeks. Your leg shook from more than the cold as you recalled that Barnes was set to compete with the sword as well.

“A fine cape,” May commented as she touched the edge of your cloak, “with sleeves even.”

You looked down at the fawn-coloured garment that only allowed a peek of the canary yellow beneath. You fidgeted and kept your eyes on the field, “a gift,” you lied, well, maybe it wasn’t a lie, or maybe you’d bought it in sweat and tears.

Another horn blew and she quieted and clapped as all looked to the center of the arena. The wooden stands were hung in all shades of silk, the banners of each house, high and low, covered the rafters. By the end of the day, only one would remain. Lord Barnes’ blue and ivory flapped opposite your side and Benjamin pointed out his family's slender red and black crest amidst the panoply.

You were thankful for the distraction, not for you but for them. You didn’t know how many lies you could conjure or if you could keep the false smile on your lips. You clamped your hands together and watched a man in gold stroll out to the centre of the stadium with a cone to project his voice. You stood with May and Benjamin and the rest of the onlookers

“Fine ladies and gentlemen, princes, paupers, and everything in between, we welcome you in name of King Samuel to the Games of Goblets. For each competition, the victor is to be prized a goblet to bear as a symbol of his prestige. For the ax-throwing, bronze inlaid with amber, for the bow-and-arrow, silver set with citrine, for the melee, gold set with sapphire, and for the joust, a fine piece in gold set with opal and ruby.”

The crowd applauded and shouted. The man waited for them to quiet again, “This day, we begin with the melee, on the morrow, the axe, the next day, the arrow, and on the final day, we ride!”

Again, the audience grew rowdy and you were deafened by the cheers. The man laughed at the excitement and held up his hand for a final lull.

“Without further delay, let us begin. In our first round, the lower lords and the untested, before the second where they shall meet our season veterans, and so on…” he gauged the fervent tension of the people, “you will see me again upon the finale and perhaps you will be surprised by whoever stands with me.”

Again, the stand quaked with the energy of the people. You would have liked to sit but you stayed on your feet, afraid to draw unwanted attention. The first pair was announced but you didn’t watch. You stared at the sky or a rippling banner but had no interest in the games.

You only stopped to look as Peter’s name was called out and May grabbed your arm. She squealed as her nephew came out decked in his used armor, beaten out from its former user’s wear, and he unsheathed his sword to face his opponent. When the handkerchief was dropped, you were as stunned as his fellow competitor and the crowd by his swiftness. You’d never seen anyone move so fast, and in at least twenty pounds of armor.

The crowd awoke from their awe and cheered as his sword beat against the other man’s suit with tinks and tunks. It was like a bell, ding, ding, ding. It wasn’t until the other man was on his knees that the spar was ceased. Peter was declared the plain winner and sent on to wait for his next engagement. May wiped away tears of joy and Benjamin grumbled his approval.

You smiled, just a little. You were happy for Peter. You’d seen how joyful he was, he was likely dancing behind the curtain right now.

🏰

It wasn’t until the second round that Lord Barnes was introduced. He walked out fully armoured like any other combatant but his left arm was permanently bent, a shield strapped to it as he gripped his pommel in his right hand. He showed his steel and faced his match. He dealt hard and heavy blows until his opponent was on his back.

You shuddered at his unboasting victory as he wasn’t even patient enough to hear himself declared the winner. You touched your cold cheeks and puffed into the bitter air. The bodies around you warmed the stands but you were chilled to the core.

Peter appeared again in the second, then the third, fourth, and to his aunt and uncle’s delight, he soldiered onto the final. To your fear, he was to meet Lord Barnes. You tried not to squirm, not to show how nervous you were for Peter. You thought of running down and begging him to withdraw but what could you say? If anything, you’d both be worse for it.

As the last two banners were presented to the crowd, you sensed movement to your right. A familiar head of blond hair approached and the tall duke pushed past the row of people along the bench. Lord Rogers smirked as he came close, his sweaty hair drooping down his forehead from his last bout, the one he’d lost to his closest friend.

“Ah, I found you,” he said, “lady.”

You felt May peek past you and you gave a meek “my lord” as he stood close. He looked around you at the older couple.

“You have friends,” he stated, “please, do introduce us.”

You looked down and chewed your lip. You turned slowly to May and Benjamin, the latter peering past her only as he was torn from his fixation on the field.

“Lord Benjamin and Lady May Parker, baron and baroness,” you rubbed your hands together nervously, “Lord Steven Rogers, duke of Astrens.”

“Oh, we’ve heard of him,” May chirped, “my lord, it is an honour.”

“Indeed,” Benjamin agreed, “my lady, you did not inform of us of your lofty friends.”

“She is modest,” Rogers intoned, “we met by chance, really, through a common acquaintance.”

“You were skillful on the field, it is a pity you were bested,” May said.

“Very pitiful, I did put some gold on you, Lord Rogers,” Benjamin added, “alas it was a fine showing.”

“Wasn’t it?” he turned to stand with his arm pressed to yours, much too close for your liking, “however this one should be intriguing.”

“It’s our boy,” Benjamin said, “and your friend, my lord.”

“Perhaps you’d take another bet?” Rogers countered.

“I’ve lost enough this day,” Benjamin snorted, “I’d rather watch and be pleasantly surprised than paupered.”

“Prudence is wise but always so boring,” Rogers mused.

As the lower of the lords, Parker was announced first and you were saved from more uncomfortable banter by the man in grey. Rogers nudged you and bent as the introductions went long as the man with cone went into detail about the day’s fights all the way to the present match.

“I did look fine out there, didn’t I?” he whispered, “good form, even if I did lose. Barnes is in a mood and we both know that makes him… unpredictable.”

You lowered your head, “my lord.”

“You are quiet since last we met,” he remarked, “perhaps your thoughts linger on how else to use your mouth?”

You squirmed and stared at the competitors as they awaited their signal. Rogers laughed and stood straight as he focused on the field in kind. He played with your sleeve and tugged your arm down. He caressed the back of your hand and stepped even closer.

“When he wins, he might just be cheerful enough to share in his celebrations, hmm?” he said under his breath.

The gold cloth was dropped and the two men circled each other, eyeing their opponent cautiously. Barnes was the first to act but was evaded by the younger man. He didn’t not falter however as he swung again. Peter rolled under the strike and met it with his own steel, batting it away so that it nearly struck its holder.

Barnes dodged that time, then the boy spun again. They danced around each other, both swift, both calculating, both determined. Steel met steel but never that which clothed the fighters. May grabbed your other wrist as she held her breath.

Barnes laid a hit across Peter’s chestplate that made him stagger but he turned it into another lithe evasion. He snaked around the higher lord and hammered his false arm. The shield cracked in half and Peter ducked again.

Barnes was angry as he stabbed out. His blade was shoved away again and Peter jumped over the foot that tried to trip him up, a true achievement in armor.

You realised as Barnes laid a flurry of blows at the air that he was angry. The crowd silenced as the realisation fell over them and they watched as time seemed to slow. The duke was losing and he was enraged.

Peter jabbed the other man’s chest plated with his sword then hit his true arm. The sword bobbled in Barnes’ grip but he regained his hold on it. Too slow as Parker struck over and over, throwing him off balance, and sweeping him off his feet with a low lunge.

As Barnes clattered onto his back, the breath went out of him and every other person in the stadium. The man in grey shook away his shock and finally stepped forward.

“Our victor!” he grabbed Peter’s arm and raised it, “the Lord Parker!”

May hopped up and down and hugged her husband. Steve tutted and shook his head. Your eyes clung to Barnes as he sat up, forgotten in the dirt. His left arm was stuck at an angle away from his body and he reached up to force it back down.

Peter offered him his hand and was ignored. Barnes sheathed his sword and offered a curt bow before he exited. Rogers’ hand crawled up your arm and he gripped you. “Well, looks like we both will suffer his loss.”

For once, he spoke the truth.

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softinkshadows · 3 years

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Hot spring tales (Hisoka x female reader)

A Hisoka x female reader one-shot, with a sprinkle of Chrollo.

Situated in the HxH universe with canon timeline.

Disclaimer: nsfw, contains smut and explicit sex (but we know you're here for that)

Word count: 5000++ (wow did i just write 5000 words of smutty smut)

----

Pale, slender fingers tap against the phone screen. He finds the contact he is looking for and dials the number, raising the phone to his ear. Around him, dusk settles over the ragged terrain of the Gordeau desert. The wind gains in strength, almost pushing his combed black hair free. The phone rings for a few seconds before the person on the other end picks up.

“Did you figure it out already?”

“Probably,” he says, his grey eyes catching the last wisps of fading light to the west. “The nen exorcist may very well be on Greed Island, which is East of York New. It seems you will need to enter the game as well.”

“Shall I procure one of Battera’s? He did buy all of the ones auctioned this time round.”

“No, that risks complicating things. What we need is a game privately owned by someone who is easily contactable, allows us to stay untraceable, preferably one who we wouldn’t have to kill and is reasonable towards helping…” he trails off, realizing that there is indeed someone who matches the conditions, someone who he would very much like to avoid for the time being… The irony of fate, he thinks, grimacing in irritation.

“It seems we will need to pay a visit to her.”

“Her?”

“I will send the address over to you. It’ll take me at least a day to get there, so you should start moving first. It would be better if you were the one handling negotiations this time round. And avoid mentioning my name, or the troupe’s.”

“Oh?” the voice on the other end piques with curiosity.

“We have… history. I’ll trust that you can strike a deal by the time I’m there?”

“Of course. After all, the chance to fight you is on the line.” He can almost hear the other man smirking gleefully through the phone.

“It’ll be dangerous, so try your best to be good, or our deal is off. Consider this a warning, Hisoka.”

----

You find yourself back at your quarters after dinner, alone in the large dressing room. Looking in the mirror, you arrange your hair neatly around your bun, making sure to tidy it for the next wave of customers tonight.

The underground auction has recently ended, and more people are flocking to your establishment. Kurohasu Onsen (Black Lotus Onsen) is renowned as the gathering-place for anybody who is somebody: a bathhouse that functions as neutral ground for politicians, powerful members of the mafia and hunters who have ties to the underworld to carry out business negotiations. A safe haven for murderers and thieves. All are welcome, although at a hefty price. The exorbitant entry fee is itself a gatekeeper of accessibility, and many have brought treasures and precious artefacts in the hope of gaining your favour. As weapons are allowed for protection, fights inevitably break out, but rarely do they erupt into something serious. All staff at the onsen are strong nen-users who pay close watch to customer behaviour. They have nen-restrainers on hand to subdue feisty ability users, and if not, there’s you, whose mysterious yet formidable presence is enough to elicit compliance. It is not uncommon to see off customers with missing limbs and near-fatal injuries, a warning punishment for breaking the establishment’s regulations. Furthermore, it is the iron-clad rule that the onsen is the one place where truce is enforced, upheld, respected. And you, the infamous proprietor, the black lotus of Kurohasu Onsen, are not someone to be crossed. Your customers are well aware of this.

You get up, ready to leave, when you turn to look at the mirror again. Your black onyx hairpin fits in and across your bun, easily reachable within seconds. Your eyes travel down to look at the black shimmering contours of your silk robe with its ornate floral embroidery, opening at two slits that end above the knee, the garment tied fittingly at the waist with a scarlet obi sash. Presentable, you hum in approval, before walking out the door.

Your secretary Esa is already waiting. “Give me updates,” You demand.

She follows you briskly down the corridor as you make your rounds to greet notable clients. Esa does this every three hours, reciting the list of new guests checked in since the last report, the rooms they booked, the meetings they have arrived for, and the fees paid. You remember everything, noting the ones who offer presents not entirely up to standard, or troublesome ones with a sketchy behavioural record.

“A while ago, a Hisoka Morow checked into the deluxe room. 50,000 Jenny a night for 2 nights, with a possible extension.”

The name catches you slightly off guard. You have never met the man, but from your intel he’s one of the most sought-after fighters at Heaven’s Arena. And a dangerous murderer too. But as far as you know, the man works alone and doesn’t get involved with politics. Why would someone like him be here?

“He has a meeting?” you turn to Esa.

“If he had, he did not say. Most likely for leisure, though. The onsen is famous for its baths too,” replied your attendant matter-of-factly.

You pause for a while to think, before calling over a male security staff with a wave of a finger. “Keep tabs on Hisoka. Let me know if he’s up to anything.” The staff bows and immediately embarks on fulfilling your order. You return to your duties for now, but the seed of suspicion and uneasiness does not go away.

---

“Ahh… now this is not bad,” Hisoka smiles to himself as he climbs into the water. He rests his head against the smooth stone edge of the outdoor bath, watching the steam lift gently from the softly rippling surface. When Chrollo told him about this place, he expected it to be dim and grimy, trawling with underworld scum. Instead, what greeted him was the pure luxury of mineral-rich baths, large clean rooms and 1000 thread-count sheets. He could get used to this. Not to mention…

His eyes wander over the bath, taking stock of the situation. Being quite late at night, most guests have retired to respective meeting rooms for drinks and negotiations, with only a smattering of visitors, mostly individuals or pairs, left lounging in the outdoor section. The only other people are the ever-present security staff, including one particularly persistent male staff standing at the private viewing balcony above. At least the nen users here are stronger than usual. A slight tremor of pleasure runs through his body, and he runs his fingers through his wet hair to shake the feeling before it builds into bloodlust. It’s been a while since he killed. He is still riled up from two days ago, thanks to the blond runt. And Chrollo, that damn bastard.

He observes the nen-users with half-closed eyes. 75… 80… 85… He evaluates. Not too shabby. Then he senses it. 97!! He feels the sudden presence, an impeccable zetsu with a tinge of icy smoothness and fiery calm toiling beneath its surface. It is enough for him to widen his eyes and sit up straight, a hot tingling sensation travelling down his spine, pleasure surging into his body for a split second, almost goading him into a fight right there and then. Well, what do we have here? He looks to the source of this pressure, golden eyes flashing and meeting yours, as you look down at him from the balcony above.

One look and you know he clearly lives up to his reputation. He is suppressing his power by default, but his presence leaves a slight prickling static in the air which only stronger nen users can detect. He also seems to have noticed you, judging by the slight shift his posture, the electrifying gaze beneath his damp red hair and the sudden tension in the air with his nen flaring, almost breaking its zetsu. Despite the distance, both of you lock eyes for a moment, each one feeling out the other, gauging abilities, locating motives. What the hell is his aim? You face the sheer intensity of his gaze with your own cold, calculating glare, both of you guarding your intentions yet attempting to penetrate through the other’s guise, staring each other down as if in a challenge. No one relents. But you can’t help but feel a rising irritation, that the man sitting naked in the outdoor bath three floors beneath you is getting under your skin, and a distracting kind of warmth creeps in... You look away. You nod to the staff to continue strict monitoring and return to your room.

Hisoka watches you leave, and instinctively his fingers run through his hair again, this time harder than the last. Oh, Chrollo… Don’t tell me that’s her? A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Oh, you were right. This is going to be dangerous.

---

You don’t hear any more concerning updates on Hisoka until later the next day. Besides using the baths for extended periods of time, and mild complaints from other guests of his lengthy and uncomfortable stares, he hasn’t caused any trouble. He hasn’t physically contacted anyone either.

“Come again?” you stop abruptly, mid-way through scanning the paper records of this month’s taxes and bills, glancing up at your secretary.

Esa clears her throat and speaks again. “Madam, Hisoka Morow has requested for a meeting with you today.”

Hmph. You scoff a little, your eyes narrowing to ponder the next course of action. You had expected something like this. There is no way someone like him would travel all the way here just to use the baths, let alone without engaging anyone. If his aim is to negotiate matters with you, it must be something quite serious, given that neither of you have gone out of your way to meet with each other previously.

“Shall I cancel?” Esa asks, ready to deliver the order and reject the fool that had the nerve to request a meeting with you on such short notice.

“No. Make it tonight at eleven, after I complete my usual rounds.”

“Understood.”

---

It is night, and the onsen quietens for the day. Only the soft rushes of spring water from the outdoor baths and the muffled sounds of late-night negotiations drift by. You find yourself finally seated across from him in one of your private meeting rooms, both of you silent but never once taking your eyes off each other, quietly assessing one another.

Now up close and clothed in a blue yukata, accentuating the red hair that falls close to his shoulders, you can’t help but find him just a little more attractive than you imagined. His golden eyes are calm, steady, even confident, a rarity for anyone for finds them in a room alone with you. Most people would have bowed their head in submission long ago. You keep your own icy composure. But the force of his nen suppressed under zetsu, his incredibly toned body beneath his yukata and that arrogant way he looks at you make your body feel warmer than usual.

When he sees you for the first time that night, seated on the far end of the room, he feels it again. That powerful presence that keeps goading him, that sends electrifying jolts through his body. You’re seated comfortably on the floor, almost reclining, yet the hard, murderous edge of your gaze shows you are constantly on guard. Simply exquisite. He almost licks his lips but controls himself. A fine opponent… to kill? No, no, much too soon… that would be a waste. Chrollo comes first.

The meeting hall is much too large for two people, spanning over 24 tatami in size. On both sides, paper screen doors open out into an elegant view of the autumn trees in the estate, shedding its red delicately in the wind. A long, low black lacquer table in the center of the room separates you and him, each of you seated on either end. Silence continues to hang in the air. A staff gracefully pours a luxurious blend of sencha into the cups, before she places the tea pot and tray on the floor, bows, and takes her leave quickly. You notice Esa hovering by the doorway to the room.

“Esa, you may go.”

“But Madam-” your secretary protests but stops as you give her a glare. She of all people would understand you’re probably the last person in the establishment who needs any form of protection. As her footsteps recede down the hallway outside, you turn back to the man in front of you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you today?”

“It has come to my knowledge,” Hisoka finally speaks, and the slow, sly curl of his tone lights another fire in you, “that you are in possession of one of the most sought-after items in the world of late. I have a pressing need for it and would like to negotiate a deal.”

“I’m a collector of the rarest treasures, so you’re going to have to be more specific,” you scoff, taking a sip of your tea.

“I’m talking about a certain game.”

“Ah, Greed Island,” you retort indifferently, although inwardly puzzled. Why would he go to such lengths just for a game? Didn’t seem like the type. “What makes you think I’ll agree to your request? What is in it for me?”

Hisoka pauses, contemplating something before pushing onwards with a slight smirk. “I’m not sure if you know of a certain man by the name of… Chrollo Lucilfer?”

He waits for the intended effect and sure enough, you react. Immediately, at the mention of the name you’re hit with an unpleasant sensation that makes you grit your teeth, and your eyes blaze with a hint of fury. Without realizing, a cracking sound fills the room as the cast iron tea pot on the floor dents with the force of your nen.

Hisoka looks at the pot quietly before he smiles, lifting the tea cup to his lips, his eyes only growing darker as he trains his gaze on you. Interesting. “May I know, if it’s not too much to ask, the reason for your disdain of the man?”

“I’ve known him for a long time. He tried to kill me twice, once on purpose and the second time by accident. Clearly, he did not succeed,” you say, finishing your tea.

Beautifully exquisite. Another thrill runs through his spine, almost making him tremble with excitement. Perhaps it would be safe to suggest…

“I’m looking for Chrollo. He’s been running from me for a while now, and last I heard he has been spotted hiding out in the game. I would very much like to settle our score soon. Of course, perhaps to your advantage I fully intend on killing him, with pleasure,” Hisoka continues, waving his hand in the air with dismissive complacency.

“If only it were so simple,” you retort, knowing the full potential of Chrollo’s abilities. “And how can I take you for your word?”

“You can’t.”

You look up in mild distaste at Hisoka. What a bastard. You could slit his throat right now, with that cocky expression of his. And yet, your body feels a little hot when he’s looking at you, his gaze ruthlessly penetrating and his nen just on the edge of flaring.

“Name your offer, Hisoka.” You say his name for the first time, aware of how his gaze hardens when you do so, and your body burns with a strange desire which you suppress under the guise of irritation.

“I’m not offering.”

“What?”

“Allow me to use the game, or I will go on to kill everyone in this establishment, including your precious secretary and all your guests. It’s been a while since I had fun and I won’t stop when I do.”

The audacity. You slam your cup on the table and glare at him, your nen bristling beneath the surface. It was a mistake to let him into the bathhouse. And the worst part is that he is right. He could take out everyone except you here with ease, and you’d lose your manpower, your reputation, your business. Everything you worked hard for since leaving meteor city years ago. Perhaps it’ll be wise to dispose of him right here, right now.

In a split second, you draw the long onyx pin from your hair, leaping across the length of the table with such grace and speed that the tea in Hisoka’s cup barely ripples, as you aim for this throat, slicing the air in front of you. He dodges at the last moment, his eyes wild with a feral look as you nick of a few strands of his hair and the sharp edge of your hairpin draws a faint red line along his throat. He grins. He’s clearly enjoying this. He moves to land a counter-attack but you jump away. You’ve put distance between the two of you again; you grip your hair pin, calm and poised for another strike, while he similarly crouches, one hand reaching to stroke the mark you made on his throat.

“Now you’re just getting me excited,” his voice drops to a low purr.

Here you are, seconds after nearly killing him, and you feel your body reacting to his voice and his unapologetic desire. You know you have the power to end him, yet a tingling sensation creeps over the lower half of your body. You can feel sweat starting to gather around your stomach, while another warm wetness pools further below, between your legs. It’s been so long since anyone made you feel this way. Not since… Your thoughts are interrupted as he appears behind you, aiming for your head.

“Pay attention, darling.”

There’s barely any sound in the meeting room as you and Hisoka continue to spar in near complete zetsu, restraining nen to avoid alerting the attention of other guests and the security staff. His eyes gleam more with your every strike, his moves maintain its strength but do not get more forceful, and neither do yours. You feel the exhilaration of the near-misses, of your bodies brushing against one another before pulling away, the light friction of fabric against fabric, as if locked in a graceful dance that neither of you want to end. Moonlight cascades through the open balcony, and there’s a glint in Hisoka’s eyes.

“Let’s stop pretending we’re serious about killing each other, shall we?” he quips with a smirk.

His words register, and you halt. You weren’t noticing it before, but he is right. You weren't trying. You falter for a moment too long. Then he rushes you, pinning your body down onto the floor with his own weight, brute force mixed with excitement to the point that his nails dig into the straw of the tatami below, ripping it slightly. He raises a hand, about to spill your blood, when your control slips. Before, your brief exchanges saw your body feeling hotter, winding tighter as it did more cautious. But now, with him pressing down onto you from above, not pulling away, gripping with a strength that few possess and with a wicked look in his eyes, you can’t keep it down anymore. You let out a throaty moan as his holds you hard, feeling your underwear getting more soaked with every passing second. His eyes widen in surprise, and he pauses. You and him remain quiet like this for a while, the wind from outside gently caressing both your bodies, teasing out an answer.

Then, as if on instinct, both your mouths crash together. Neither of you are ashamed at the pure lust that erupts between the two of you, bloodlust still not completely abating which spurs you and him on even more. His tongue slips into you mouth, determined on stealing your breath, your hand clasped around your hair pin still trapped within his, his ferocious strength barely just surpassing your own as you do not back down, struggling against the restraint. It is still a fight, after all. Yet his other free hand trails down your silk robe, slithering between the open slits to your thighs before raising one of your legs to wrap around his torso. You moan into his kiss and move against his clothed body, desperate for friction.

"Patience, my dear." He pauses, giving you a sadistic grin.

You’re not going to let him keep staying in control. In a surge of strength you topple and roll over him in a flash, slamming him to the floor and stabbing the pin right into the tatami next to his head, at which Hisoka lets out a loud groan. You press and rub yourself against him, leaving small bites along his neck, your hair starting to come loose and fall to the side of your face from the exertion. The warmth between your legs grows, and it’s not just you. Hisoka is only wearing underwear beneath the yukata, and you feel his erection, hot and hard beneath your rolling hips. You feel your own slick starting to run down your inner thigh, and you ache to be filled.

You pull away and gaze down at Hisoka, who’s just starting to get a little breathless with desire, his eyes clouded with lust. You pull the hairpin from the floor and aim it at his throat. You command, your voice cold and edged with arrogance.

“Stop wasting my time and just fuck me already.”

At this, Hisoka lets out a low growl, flipping you on your back, almost tearing the obi around your waist to shreds with his hands. His mouth latches onto your neck and you cry out, as his hands reach under your bra to free your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers, alternating between gentle strokes and forceful pinches. Your body shakes with pleasure and you grind against him, your hands fumbling to move his yukata out of the way. You cover your palm over his bulge, which is already straining hard against his underwear. He bites a little harder on your skin as you do, goading you on. You reach beneath the fabric, stroking his most sensitive spot, and you feel him shudder against you. Oh, to have such a powerful man like him at your mercy.

Before you have time to think, your pleasure increases ten-fold, white-hot and surging through your body as his fingers find their way to your slit, obscenely slick with your honey.

“Oh? This wet for me already?” he murmurs into your ear, sending shivers down your arms and making you moan.

He sits back a little, his piercing gaze boring into you as he lifts his fingers to his lips, licking it clean. “So sweet,” he whispers, his eyes never leaving you, almost taunting your state of helplessness before him, and you twitch with pleasure.

“Shut u-” you demand, stopping short with a intake of breath as his tongue circles your nipple and he thrusts two fingers into your aching slit, expertly thrusting, stroking, caressing, hitting all the right spots as you can’t help but moan and fist his soft, red locks. His thumb finds your bud and rubs, with increasing pressure, matching the circling motions of his tongue. Hisoka pulls away and looks down at you, panting and wriggling beneath his touch, your words incoherent but eyes still fierce with power and control, and he finds himself growing harder, unbearably hungry. You feel his desire through his nen, bristling with lust, fingers coaxing you to bliss and eyes ravishing you unabashedly for everything you are and you feel yourself pushed nearer to the edge.

“I’m close,” you gasp, and you see Hisoka smirk dangerously as he pulls his fingers out of you. The pleasure that builds now cuts short, tapering off.

“Kisama,” you mutter in annoyance as you ram his body against the side of the lacquer dining table, pushing him into an upright, sitting position. He chuckles at your urgency and vexation yet remains turned on as you clutch your hairpin over his throat as a warning. His golden eyes are glazed over and quivering, a sign he is properly riled up, his hair now a mess, and his breathing is slightly heavier than before. You pull his large erection free from his underwear.

“You bastard. I’m not going to give you any time.” You growl, and his eyes grow more piercing.

You lower your soaking, aching pussy onto him. The stretch makes both of you groan in unison, and you almost come immediately from his entrance. He is huge in both girth and length, and it takes a while before you’re accustomed to his size. It was so long since you had proper sex with anyone. After he is buried in you to the hilt, you pause, glaring at him with a look aggressive with lust and a need for control. He moans in pleasure and you feel his grip on you tighten considerably. Then you move, slowly first, then quickening your pace, rolling and rubbing against him so his cock enters you at the best angles. His hands reach up to grab your hips, steadying you while he snaps up into you, pounding with such speed it makes your mind go blank with pleasure.

“Ahh-h—h!” you moan, louder this time, shaking with the mounting pleasure as he enters you fast, viciously, more than you can keep up with. You get wetter with each of his thrusts, squelching and slapping sounds filling empty room as he pulls out and fills you completely again with each punishing stroke. You feel yourself nearing your climax, your body swaying and jiggling with the rhythm as your bounce on Hisoka's cock, pressing your fingers harder around his body.

He senses it too, and growls, refusing to take his eyes from yours. You feel his nails rake your hips, grabbing your ass, pain and pleasure intermingling as your near your end. Waves of white-hot pleasure wash over you as you moan into your orgasm, your eyes closed in bliss as you tremble violently, clenching tightly around Hisoka, muttering curses as you come completely undone.

Before you have time to come down from your high, Hisoka pulls out, his rock-hard cock dripping with your honey, before grabbing you and laying you down on the table, towering over you once more. Then he fully sheaths himself inside you in one go, making you cry out at the jolt of oversensitivity as he pushes towards his own end. Using the slick from your orgasm, he goes even faster now, relentless, his hands holding your legs wide apart so he can have unfettered access to you while he slams into you without restraint.

"You like this, don't you? You like being punished like this?" He purrs with forcefulness, a sign he is close, lustful gaze boring into yours while he pummels into you.

You can't help but shudder at his words, but you spit out through gritted teeth. "Don't get cocky. And don't you dare finish inside, or I'll kill you before you are even done."

His control snaps. You feel his cock twitch inside of you. Then he pulls out and comes, moaning with deep satisfaction in your ear, his warm load spilling onto your stomach. After he finishes, you both gaze as each other for a while, barely out of breath, sweat glistening against skin. Your clothes are both in a mess and disarray, his hands are still spreading you wide and bare torso pressed against you as you both bask in the afterglow, sharing a moment to take in the surreal pleasure of what was an extremely unplanned but steaming hot round of sex.

"So with this, do we have a deal?" He breaks the silence with a devious smile.

"I'm not that cheap if you think once is enough." You retort as you clean up, pulling your clothes back on. "At least three more times, with an additional fee of 300,000 Jenny."

"Aren't you a greedy one," Hisoka smirks, tying his yukata back in place. "Alright. It's a deal, not like I'm complaining. I might deliver more than you ask for." His golden eyes travel across your body once more before meeting yours, and you can still see a faint glimmer of lust, ready to be reignited.

"Enjoying yourself?" An icy voice comes from the darkened doorway.

You don't even need to look to know who it is, recognizing the voice immediately. Cold grey eyes gaze at you from a figure leaning against the entryway.

"Chrollo," you almost spit out.

"Ah," says Hisoka naturally, "you're finally here."

You turn to scowl at Hisoka, realizing his blatant lie from earlier. You wonder for a moment how Chrollo even got in to the onsen without your notice, given that him and the troupe remain high up on your guest blacklist. Then you sense his nen, or rather his lack of it, a blur void except for the vague tinge of someone else’s foreign nen around his chest. A contract, then. He's harmless now.

Chrollo steps into the room, dressed elegantly in a black yukata, his hair let down comfortably. "Seems like you taste in men hasn't changed. I took a gamble on that." His steely grey gaze, piercing, calculating and formidable in confidence, still make you tremble a little, despite knowing him for years.

You take a while to understand and chuckle, looking from Chrollo to Hisoka. "Seems like we both got played."

The latter narrows his eyes at Chrollo before running his hand through his hair, sighing. "Well, as expected of him. Again, not like I'm complaining."

"Hisoka, leave us for a moment," you order.

"As you wish." You feel him step out but loiter along the corridor, waiting to pick up on the following conversation. Now it's just you and Chrollo left in the room. He doesn't move closer to you.

"It's been long. Too... long." Chrollo speaks, his voice calm but you detect a tinge of nostalgia, affection, regret and caution all entangled in one.

You know what he means. You can even see it now, the times he drove you wild, nearly killing you with nen. You can see all the times his lips met yours, growing a steady fire with a kiss, his fingers grazing your skin and making you moan and whimper while you grasp his hair tight in your hands, your mind blanking and feeling the universe come apart and stitch right back together...

"You won't be able to handle me now, in your current state. I would break you. It wont be pleasurable for any of us," you reply coolly. You catch the sound of a stifled laugh from the hallway outside. "Once you get your nen back, I just might reconsider."

You stand up, letting your silk robes fall gracefully past your knees once more. You arrange your bun and slip the onyx pin back into your hair.

"You can use the game tomorrow. I'll have it prepared. Tonight, I'll be busy receiving my payment. In full." You pause a little next to him, giving him one last, long look, before walking out the room and towards your quarters, Hisoka trailing behind.

Alone, Chrollo's eyes are deep and unreadable. Unconsciously, his hands are balled into tight fists by his sides. Then he breathes deeply, chuckling to himself.

What a woman. "Hisoka, you'd better get the job done. Fast."

---

Notes: omg this took way longer than i expected to!!! I’m quite proud of this one ;) I got inspired by a mobage card of hisoka, chrollo and the phantom troupe at an onsen and decided to do this imagine piece! Hope you enjoyed my fellow hisoka simps, it was so fun to write ;)

#hisoka morow x reader #hisoka morow #chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo lucilfer #adultrio #adultrio x reader #hxh #hxh imagines #hunter x hunter #one shot

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voiceless-terror · 4 years

Note

Hey! If your still taking prompts I would love one where the season 1 crew finds out about Mr. Spider. Any scenario is awesome, but if you need ideas- Jon having a panic attack over a spider, or maybe one of the others losing it on Jon over his skepticism and Jon just breaks down, maybe he snaps at Martin particularly hard for a lecture on spiders when it’s a Bad Day. Anyway, thanks, and no pressure! Writing is hardTM

Hi there! I actually tried to incorporate as many of the bits from your prompt as I could- you’ll have to tell me if I succeeded. Hope you like! :)

Jon’s never had his own office before. Just a desk or a cubicle, a study carrel where he could bury his head in a book and avoid prying eyes. But now he has an office- surprisingly spacious, cluttered as it is. It’s nice for privacy. But it has its drawbacks- specifically, a very mundane one.

People knock.

It’s common courtesy, of course. It is polite to knock. Martin’s is tentative, three soft raps against the door. Tim’s is a booming ‘Shave and a Haircut,’ irritating and playful.

Sasha’s is a brisk knock knock. No time or gesture wasted. Just knock knock. Simple, unassuming. It shouldn’t bother anyone.

After one week, Jon starts leaving his door open. It’s easier.

Today Martin peers around the doorway, a brief nod in Jon’s direction as he lifts his head from the statement on his desk. No smile, no question of how he’s doing. I deserve that, Jon supposes. Yesterday, he’d caught the tail end of Martin’s mumbling about his ‘ridiculous skepticism’ to Tim and promptly blew up, spitting insults over his research methods and incompetence. It was not his finest hour. By the end of it, Martin looked rightfully hurt and upset, and Tim just shook his head in disappointment as Jon barricaded himself in his office, this time closing the door.

Still, Martin brings him tea. Jon doesn’t know what to do with the feeling that stirs in him.

He moves softly, trying to make as little noise as possible as he sets the steaming mug down on the corner of his desk. Jon turns to him, ready to at least provide a thank you and a half-hearted apology when he sees it out of the corner of his eye.

A spider.

Just sitting there, staring at him from its perch inches away from the mug. The basement’s littered with them, unsurprisingly. Still, he can’t stifle the yelp of fear and disgust that tears its way out of his throat. His hands automatically grab at the nearest weapon - a particularly heavy tome- and his arms rear back, ready to strike. He isn’t expecting a strong hand to wrap around his forearm, stopping him in place.

It’s Martin’s hand. He knows it’s Martin’s hand. But that desperate, childish part of his mind that he tries to keep locked away is screaming black-spindly-leg- spider, it’s a spider, it’s a spider-

“Don’t touch me!” It’s a screech, louder than he meant it to be as he wrenches his arm out of the grip, chair hitting the wall with the force of the motion. Martin’s talking and Jon can barely hear because the spider is there, just sitting and staring and watching-

“I’m sorry! You shouldn’t kill it, though. I’ll bring it outside. C’mere.” Martin’s coaxing the thing into his hand, like it’s not monstrous, like it’s fine. “See? Nothing to worry about!”

Nothing to worry about, Martin says. It’s hard to reconcile that with the tightness in his chest, the quickening breaths that don’t seem to get him much air at all. Martin’s giving him a concerned look, edging closer as if to comfort him but that thing’s still in his hand, why is it still in his hand? He flinches, barely aware of the litany he’s muttering under his breath- please please don’t touch me.

There’s more people in the room, now. When did Sasha and Tim arrive? Why are they looking at him? Martin’s mouth moves but Jon hears nothing, just watches with wild eyes as Sasha ushers him out of the room as soon as she sees the spider. But he can still feel it’s crawling legs all over- light now, not strong. Just a teasing torment. He itches at his skin, fingernails digging into the worn sweater as if trying to reach bone. Tim’s moving forward, hands out as if he means to touch- can’t he hear what Jon’s saying? Why won’t they listen?

“...not going to touch you, I promise. But you have to breathe slower...going to pass out.”

He tries to focus on Tim’s breathing, the exaggerated rise and fall of his chest barely visible through his blackening vision. Tim nods encouragingly and Jon’s heartbeat lowers incrementally as he’s finally able to get a few deep breaths in, labored as they are. He doesn’t know how long they sit there for.

“Good job, boss.” Tim’s smiling but really, there’s nothing to smile about. All Jon feels now is a bone-deep exhaustion; he doesn’t even have the energy to summon embarrassment. He nods at Tim’s hands when they finally approach, letting himself be pulled to his feet though Tim takes most of his weight.

“There’s a cot in the back of document storage,” Martin’s back, worry clear in his voice. The spider’s gone. Maybe Sasha killed it after Martin let it go. She didn’t like them much either. “Might be more comfortable back there.”

“He’s got a cot here, really?” Tim’s voice isn’t directed at him. “We’re going to have a talk about that.” It’s like he’s not in the room. It’s nice, in a detached sort of way. Jon’s not one for talking right now.

“I’m sorry,” Martin’s apologizing to him, or maybe around him. He doesn’t like causing scenes, Jon thinks. “I didn’t realize it was that bad, or I wouldn’t have-”

“It’s fine,” Sasha’s saying from behind him. “It’s not like Jon comes with a user manual. We learned that the hard way.”

“Just maybe let him kill the spiders from now on,” Tim says as he deposits Jon on the cot, frowning at his refusal to lie down. He doesn’t need a nap, just a short rest. He might close his eyes. He hasn’t decided yet.

Martin’s still talking. “...And that fight, yesterday. I shouldn’t have said those things, set him off-”

“They were true, and Jon was being awful to you. You know his moods-”

Jon wants to interrupt. Wants to tell Martin he’s sorry, that he shouldn’t have yelled. That he didn’t mean (most of) those things he said, that being called out on his dismissals makes him feel even smaller. That's how he copes, by lashing out and sniping. What comes out instead is slurred, and altogether more revealing than he would have liked.

“I read a book, once.”

Tim pauses on his way out the door, presumably to get Jon water or a granola bar or something else he didn’t need. “What was that, boss?”

“A book.” His voice gets louder, and Martin and Sasha go silent. It’s nice when they listen. Jon goes on. “I was eight or so, I don’t know. It was a stupid, childish thing, but it was horrible. A-” he stops here, pauses to take another shaky breath “-A Guest for Mr. Spider. From the library of-”

“Jurgen Leitner.” Sasha finishes, staring at him with unblinking, curious eyes. She loves a good story, nosy thing she is. Jon likes that about her when it comes to research, and not other things. He nods.

“It felt wrong. Violent. I hated it. You would’ve too, if you saw it.” If Martin read it, Jon wonders, briefly, maybe he would hate them too. “And it wasn’t just a book. It should have been- should have been just a stupid, scary little story about a spider and a fly. But it wasn’t.” He doesn’t want to say the specific words. Doesn’t want to speak the book back into existence, as if the very mention would make it manifest. “He was real, in the end. Mr. Spider. He was real, but he didn’t get me. He got- he got someone else.”

Jon doesn’t cry. He thinks he should, but he doesn’t. “I’ve forgotten his name, you know? The one he took. I don’t think I could place him in a crowd, not even if I tried. Not that I could. He’s dead, has to be. He wasn’t a nice person- a bully, really. But he was just a kid. A kid who had the unfortunate luck to have met me.”

He feels oddly calm, even as his three assistants stare on in horror (and fascination, in Sasha’s case. There’s a strange tightness in Tim’s face that Jon can’t quite figure out). He turns his gaze to Martin, because he’s not done yet. He needs him to know why. “The statements, the tapes- I-I don’t know where to begin. It’s like I’m not even talking. It’s like living it. And I can’t do anything about it.” Martin’s face softens to something like sympathy, but he still doesn’t understand. “The follow-up- those are my words. They’re the only words I have control over.” Words have meaning. Words have power. Jon read a monster into existence and it devoured someone whole. What else will he do, given the chance? Given the right words? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Martin doesn’t say anything. Jon doesn’t blame him- whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t Jon’s childhood trauma. He’s probably revealed too much.

“That’s…” It’s Tim who’s speaking, his tone unreadable as he draws a hand across his face in sudden exhaustion. “Okay. Take a break, boss. A nap or something. You look like you’re going to collapse.” Jon feels it. “We can talk later. About... all of this. It’s uh, good to know, though. Thanks- thanks for telling us.” The words seem genuine, although his face is oddly hard and serious. Jon nods, finally allowing his eyes to close as he leans into the lumpy, uncomfortable mattress. Someone draws a blanket over him, but he doesn’t know who.

“Sorry. I’ll, ah, kill the spiders from now on. Just in case they’re the bad ones, yeah?”

Martin, then.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27700379

#prompts #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #sasha james #good ol' mr. spider #cw panic attacks #back on my 'what if they all talked' train #Anonymous

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mmvalentine · 3 years

Text

Five Minutes | Feysand

I got this request from an ao3 user who later clarified they would like a "wrong bed fic" and I honestly don't even know what that is?!!! But of course I will give it a go...

The Day Court had the most beautiful theatre. Where the artists' quarter in Velaris was a passionate, bohemian little community, the theatre company of the Day Court was a high art rooted in millennia of culture and esteem. Rhys and Feyre were ushered down an honest-to-goodness red carpet on their way in, and their private box somewhere near the soaring arched ceiling was upholstered in rich, ox-blood velvet. Every ten years an invite went to all the courts for the grand opening of the Day Court's newest opera, and the event was the social gathering of the decade. The grandeur and class of the night was unrivalled across Prythian. And yet Rhys could not stop staring at Feyre's ass in that dress.

After being married for ten years, he really thought the urge to bend her over the nearest table would have dimmed. But there they were, given in the best seats in the house, with a production ten years in the making on its way, and all Rhys could do was drag his gaze over the curves of his mate's hind quarters. She was talking to someone, he had no idea who in the mother it was, and he was trying to look like he was listening as well while he snaked his arm around her and stroked his fingers over her hip.

In his defence, Feyre had spent a large portion of the last decade running after Nyx and wearing comfortable clothes that didn't mind getting all manner of stains and spills on them. Not that she wasn't achingly sexy in tights and one of his old sweaters, in fact his clothes on her drove him wild. But it had been a little while since she had worn something that hugged her like this, cupped her breasts and clung to her waist, hips and thighs before pooling on the floor. It was obscene. How were they in public right now?

Watch your hands, Feyre warned in his mind. We have company.

I can't help it, Rhys responded silkily. I just want to peel this thing off of you. Or maybe tear it to shreds with my teeth.

Well you'll have to wait, Feyre shot back. Believe it or not, I actually want to see this play. And besides, this dress was made by Emerie, you couldn't tear it if you tried.

Rhys bared his teeth in her mind. Would you like me to try? he asked. He slid a midnight claw over her mind. She batted him away.

I said later, she said. Now behave.

At that moment, a silver bell rang out over the theater, and Helion's voice drifted through the air with an amplifying spell.

"Welcome, dearest guests," the High Lord said. "I am so pleased you all could make it. If you would like to take your seats, the show will begin in five minutes."

Feyre bade goodbye to the guest she was talking to- Rhys just gave a curt nod, not at all caring who they were- and slid her arm around Rhys' waist as they walked off to their box. As soon as the guest had turned, Rhys squeezed a handful of her backside. Feyre swatted his chest.

"What's going on with you?" she asked. "Nothing," Rhys said, his lips against her temple. He drew the curtain to their private box. "You look incredible tonight." "Well thank you," Feyre said. "You're not bad yourself." She kissed him, and made to sit down next to Rhys, but he pulled her into his lap instead. Cupped his hands over her rear and pulled her lips back to his.

"Let's take a little walk," he said into her mouth. His hands squeezed at her waist. "Rhys, we're at a show." "He said five minutes," Rhys argued, and licked his tongue up the side of her throat. Feyre shivered. "Five is not so long," she said. Rhys grinned against her neck. "Five is plenty," he said, and then winnowed.

Feyre found herself in a darkened bedroom, door closed and curtains drawn, and Rhys pressing her down onto cool sheets. "Where are we?" she whispered. "Mmm," Rhys murmured. "I don't know, it's been so long since I've been in Helion's house. I just remember there being a bed here."

He pushed the skirts of Feyre's dress up her legs, and put his mouth right on her core, over her underwear. Feyre gasped at the suddenness of it.

"On someone else's bed?" she asked. Rhys pulled her underwear to the side, and licked her all the way up to her clit. "They'll never know," he said, and then she heard the clink of his belt buckle as Rhys resumed his attentions. A minute later, his face was back up over hers, lips wet from being between her legs.

"Ten years," he mused. "And I still just want to spend hours licking your every scrap of skin." "Five minutes," Feyre reminded him, and he grinned. "I can make you come in five minutes," he said, and kissed her at the same time as sliding straight inside her.

Feyre moaned into Rhys' mouth, and Rhys pulled back. "Hush now, darling," he whispered. "We're in someone else's house." His eyes sparkled. "I am going to fuck you hard until you come, and you are not going to make a single sound. Do you understand?"

Feyre nodded, and Rhys caught up her lips again. Started rocking into her, and then matching the movements of his tongue to his hips. Feyre's heart beat strong beneath him, and he hooked one of her legs over his elbow to get a deeper angle. Feyre huffed out a breath, but stayed silent.

"Good girl," Rhys crooned, and licked his thumb before placing it over her clit. He moved faster now, and kept up a steady and pounding pace.

"Do you know," he said in her ear, "I have been absolutely out of my mind all day, watching you." He moved his lips to the hollow under her jaw. "You, and your incredible ass in this fucking dress." Rhys began pressing kisses down her throat, open-mouthed kisses, kisses that gave way to a bite and a suck. "And all I've wanted to do for hours is get you alone." And all the while, he kept up his relentless rhythm. Feyre's breathing was coming in shallow pants now, and she had her bottom lip clenched between her teeth to keep her from crying out.

"Is that good, Feyre darling?" he asked her. She just nodded. His thumb pushed down a little more on her clit. "I love watching you like this," he told her. Driving his hips home. "On you back for me. With me deep inside you, right where I'm supposed to be. Do you know how fucking good you look?" He stopped speaking then, bit off a groan and listed to the incessant squeak and protest of the bed creaking. Feyre's mouth was moving with silent sounds. He smiled down at her.

"Are you close honey? Do you want to come for me?" Feyre nodded again. "Almost. I'm going to count down from five, and you can come when I tell you to." Feyre's eyes burned in the dark.

"Five," Rhys murmured. He leaned back a little, changing the angle and getting deeper still. "Four." His thumb moved in tight circles over her clit. "Three," he said, and now his own breaths were coming ragged. "Two." He sped up, his hips now moving erratically. "One," he ground out, close to the edge now and loving the view of Feyre writhing in tortured silence. "Now," he commanded, and Feyre exploded around him at the same time as he came hard inside her, clamping down on his own moans as Feyre's nails scratched at his back.

Rhys fell to Feyre's side and tugged her body into hers. "Good girl," he breathed again, and kissed her until they were falling asleep and somewhere far away, an opening curtain was rising.

Four hours later, Helion opened his bedroom door to find the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court in his bed. They blinked at him when he flicked the light on.

"Well," he said, voice full of merry amusement. "Is it my birthday already?"

*****

This is a little rushed because it's almost 1am but it's also the first time I've been able to post all week and I hate that. So I'm sorry if it's a bit of a mess! I miss you guys when I get too busy x

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist

MASTERLIST

UPDATE: There's now a Part 2!!! By special request.

#prompt fill #feysand #feysand fics

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misterewrites · 3 years

Text

A Part of Something Bigger (Welcome to the Underground!)

Hello everyone! E here, hoping you are safe and sound and doing good! The new chapter of the Underground is here and I'm excited for this and the next chapter. I am so happy I finally get to reveal something I’ve had in my head since I first started creating the Underground! Man am I cheek E. oh puns, I’m terrible.

I hope you are all have a great week! Stay safe, wash your hands, take care of each other, get the vaccine if you can, push for companies to give it world wide all that jazz. Feel free to comment (I love feedback) tell your friends, reblog I appreciate it all!

If you’re new and curious what the heck I’m talking about, feel free to check out the whole story and have access to my other work right in the link below (cuz I’m 95% Tumblr has shadowbanned me)

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/68094967 (first chapter)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/78927370 (latest chapter)

Have a great week, E is out!

Summary: Turns out Oliver is a part of the Choir, a secret organization that operates within the Underground. Something big is happening tonight and It's up to Oliver and his allies to ensure it does not. However, the bard has to figure out what's going on before anything else.

-----

Oliver had been many things in the 18 years of his begrudging existence: An orphan, a thief, a con-kid, hopelessly in love, a scout, fry cook that one week and an aspiring minstrel. Many masks and different roles to survive each new day.

The one he took a quiet pride in was being a member of the Choir, a secret organization whose goal was to keep the Underground free from malicious and devious intent.

Every society had their dark, treacherous shadows where evil did its business (Oliver assumed. He only really ever lived in the Underground but you know universal constants and such.) The Choir’s purpose was to ensure those plans never came to fruition.

Rather than being an openly known identity, the Choir was more a loose collection of independent agents operating under secrecy. The organization employed any and everyone who was willing to fight for the cause, each in their own way: Merchants passed coded information, tavernkeepers offered safe havens, those with some level of magical proficiency gathered to study abnormal phenomenon. Fighters fought, clerics healed with lords and ladies used their influence for the greater good.

Sometimes, as is the case now, one individual was too limited for what was required of the organization’s purpose. In these rare moments, agents were granted permission to request help, often leaving hidden messages and imagery for other wandering members to respond to.

That’s what brought Oliver here to this dark alley in the middle of the night: When he first arrived to the capital, he caught sight of the coded symbol asking for any Choir member to lend their skill set to a mission tonight. No details added but that was par for the course.

Terri was the first to recover, her slivers eyes wide with wonder “A soprano? No joke?!Flora, he’s like you!”

Terri was tall, taller than anyone else here. She wore a red vest with torn off sleeves, probably because her muscles were too thick to actually allow them to exist in the first place. Her long jet black hair was elegantly tied into braids with her dark blue leggings tucked into thick hiking boots.

Flora pursed her lips thoughtfully, irises of lavender giving Oliver a curious look “A fellow magic user? Interesting. Wizard?”

“Bard” Oliver corrected “You?”

“Druid.” Flora spoke before drifting into an uncomfortable silence. Oliver suspected she wasn’t impressed by his response.

Flora seemed unassuming but Oliver knew better than to be lured in by appearances: Long silvery hair with petals of green and yellow flowers scattered within. She wore a white blouse with splotches of brown dirt and a long green skirt. Her feet were bare and free to be soiled by the floor.

Terri rushed over to the petrified Tyrell, dragging him into a bone crunching hug “Tyrell here is a baritone like me!”

Tyrell, the youngest beside Oliver, shifted his brown eyes away from anyone’s gaze. He wore rather well kept clothes: A tunic of purple tucked under a leather vest, his leggings were dark gray that blended fairly well in the darkness. His footwear seemed a little too fancy to be workman’s shoes.

“Fighters” Oliver nodded in understanding “Always useful. And you mysterious stranger in the darkness?”

The cloaked figure had pulled back deeper into the shadows, red eyes gleaming in the shades of night. They were trying to hard to hide their appearance but Oliver caught sight of a smooth featureless bronze face. Metallic armor of a matching color and sheen covered the rest of their body, an automaton it seems.

“You may call me Sel. I’m a tenor.” the figure responded, their voice tinged with scratchy static.

“You are going very useful. Lockpicking?”

Sel shrugged casually “Among other less savory techniques. As per usual for tenors.”

Oliver nodded “Okay, fill me in.”

Flora took a step forward, pulling a letter out of her pocket as she did so “Are you aware of one Reiner Brambleoak?”

“Oh fucking hell” Oliver rubbed his eyes tiredly “Him again? What’s he planning this time: Gonna burn an orphanage? Or maybe sell moldy food to the poor? Wait, I know!” Oliver snapped his finger “He’s going to be a terrible piece of shit.”

“Right on the money!” Terri growled.

Sel let out a mechanical click “He is planning to tear down several homes in West Haven.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes “I thought it was illegal to tear down homes in that area?”

“Not if the owners signed them over.” Flora explained “Then he would have the authority to do whatever he wished with them.”

“Let me guess, he tricked them?”

Terri flexed her muscles angrily “His representatives would change languages and double talk when they spoke to the poor folks. Most hadn’t the slightest idea what was going on and the orc thugs his people brought didn’t exactly make them feel warm and safe.”

“So.” Oliver stretched his arms “He’s strong armed his way into property, going to evict helpless folks onto the street and probably fill them with his own thugs to get the rest of the neighborhood to fall in line.”

“Unless we stop him.” Sel spoke with righteous fury.

“Tonight.” Oliver chimed in “Throwing another party?”

“You are good.” Tyrell whistled.

Oliver gave a playful wink “Naturally. What’s the plan?”

Flora reached into her pack and handed Oliver a letter: it was written in such a fancy hand he swore he was getting a headache just looking at it.

“One for each of us.” Flora explained, distributing the rest to the others “A fellow Choir member secured these tonight’s mission.”

“Helpful. Alright here’s the plan….”

“Wait” Flora interrupted “Who said you are in charge bard?”

“Me” Oliver countered with a grin “Because I’ve been to these types of festivities. Have any of you?”

Flora opened her mouth then promptly closed it, irritation in her glance. Tyrell gave a sheepish but unhelpful smile, Sel remained silent while Terri gave a thoughtful scratch of her chin.

“Thought so.” Oliver tried to keep the smugness out of his voice “Look we just need to work together for tonight.”

“Agreed.” Flora spoke with a softness that did not match her glare.

Sel inched closer to the group “What is the plan Oliver?”

“Where’s the party? Merchant Ward? I assume he’s using his office to host it.”

“Correct” Sel confirmed “His office has been chosen as the venue. He claims to be throwing the party as some sort of fundraiser for a charity that is no doubt a front for his illegal operations.”

Terri huffed, crossing her arms furiously “Probably making some more deals to trick people out of their hard earn money.”

“Without a doubt” Oliver agreed “But without any hard proof, we’re not taking him down tonight. Our mission is to ensure those contracts he forced people to sign mysteriously disappear.”

“Will that actually stop him?” Tyrell frowned unhappily “What’s stop him from forging new ones? Or just bullying people again?”

“He can’t forge new ones” Oliver explained carefully “They’re a special type of document only found here in Haven’s Nest. You can only get them from city hall and they’re magically enchanted to be untamperable with. He’ll need to get the ones he has to city hall on open court day which I assume is soon.”

“Indeed. Tomorrow in fact.”

Oliver continued on “So since open court day is the only day any major changes are allowed to be introduced to the city, if we grab them he’ll have to wait a month for another chance of snatching up that land. He’ll no doubt try to bully the folks again but now that they know what he’s up to, hopefully they’ll won’t be as easily pressured and if a few rough looking folks who can take punches and give them back start hanging around the neighborhood when his goons come knocking again…”

“They’re gonna be less eager” Terri cracked her knuckles cheerfully, already savoring the feel of bruised skin and broken bones that would bless her hands.

Oliver caught Tyrell’s eyes “One problem at a time. If you look at the mountain, you’re going to get scared.”

Tyrell nodded timidly in agreement.

“So.” Sel’s voice crackled with curiosity “What is the plan bard?”

Oliver closed his eyes, mentally mapping out the Brambleoak bank: three stories of corrupted, immoral finance who preyed on the helpless and lost. He could still see the faded green hue and cracked paint of the building in his mind’s eye. The ground floor would no doubt be where the bulk of the party would be taking place: a large space with an elevated stage normally reserved for long winded speeches could easily repurposed for a band or some sort of entertainment. His guests would range from any and everyone with any amount of influence or wealth. The second floor were the offices of his lecherous employees while his office took up the entirety of the third floor.

“Alright” Oliver spoke after a moment “I have a good idea what to expect. We’re going to break up into two teams.”

Everyone stared him expectedly.

Oliver gestured to Terri and Tyrell “You two are going to hang out at the bar across the street: The Stinkeye. Charming place, ran by a former pirate captain. Sunday is sea shanty night I think."

“Whoa, wait a minute” Terri grumbled unhappily “I am not letting Flora go into that place without me! It’s enemy turf and I don’t feel comfortable with the idea."

Flora took Terri’s hand within her own “Agreed sweetie.”

“Look this isn’t exactly a fist loaded, knives out situation. Any sort of brawling inside will be dealt with swiftly and painfully. Brambleoak doesn’t like anything scaring away the prey and causing a scene inside won’t accomplish anything. Outside, however.”

Terri’s eyes knowingly sparkled, Tyrell just looked dumbfounded.

Oliver gestured with his hand, muttering a phrase under his breath as magic formed around his hand in a golden light. A small image appeared in his palm: A heavily scarred elf with ashy blonde hair, one eye a brilliant forest green the other dull and cloudy. He wore an elegant officer’s uniform, dark green with various medals pinned to his chest with a long flowing red cape that trailed behind.

Oliver opened mouth to speak but Terri’s low snarl beat him to the punch.

“Lea Foot.”

“Acquaintance I guess?””

Flora nodded, gently squeezing Terri’s hand to get her to calm down “Lea has been a constant thorn in our sides. I believe he suspects we are a part of some greater organization. He has never seen us but he sends his underlings to bully us.”

“So I don’t need to explain his whole mercenaries for hire deal. Been exclusive to Brambleoak for a while now.”

“Can I punch him?” Terri murmured darkly.

“Yes, can she?” Flora chimed in, unable to keep the plead out of her voice.

Oliver shook his head “Maybe but we’ll see. He’s gotta show up at some point but I doubt he’ll be there right at the start. Likes to push old people around, probably eat a child or two before ‘working.’ Your job is to keep him distracted at all costs. He’s a sick man that likes to watch a good fight and the longer he’s out there, the better chance we’ll have.”

Sel tilted their head quizzically “Why is it important to keep him outside?”

“Basically” Oliver cracked his fingers “He’s very perceptive and the person most likely to catch our plan in action. His crew is made up of a nobodies with a perchance for cruelty and a thirst for violence but Lea is an old hand. Keeping himself outside is the best chance for success and if you guys accidentally get too close and managed to stray a hit his way…”

Terri chuckled manically the idea. Tyrell just looked sick.

“Meanwhile Flora, Sel and I will be inside. We’ll be looking for a chance to get Sel into the stairway so he can break into Brambleoak’s office. Without any sort of information, there’s no point to flesh out a full plan but we’ll make it up as we go. It’s a giant party of people who think they’re special. Shouldn’t be too hard to cause some drama and distractions.”

Flora said silent for a moment before speaking up “It’s not a lot to work with but admittedly better than anything I would’ve come up with.”

“Agreed.” Sel added “Without proper intel, it would be pointless to attempt to formulate any sort of long term plan. This works best to our strengths. Wait and create an opportunity,”

“That’s on us.” Oliver cut in “Your job is to get in and out. Preferably without being seen but who knows what will happen.”

The group, previously lost and anxious, glowed with renew sense of purpose and determination: 10 minutes ago they had no plan and now they were ready to do what they signed up for.

“Get ready team” Oliver gestured about “We leave in five.”

Everyone broke away to prepare for the mission: Terri cracked every bone in her body, ready for any brawl she would start. Sel slunk back into the shadows and remained still among the darkness. Tyrell held leaned unevenly against the brick building nearby, trying to steady his breathing.

Flora, on the other hand, approached Oliver, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“Oliver.”

“Flora.”

“I have a question for you.”

Oliver was confused “I’m not sure what about but go ahead.”

Flora pursed her lips “You were coming from West End, delivering a package to a Choir member out there correct?”

“Yeeeeees.” Oliver unsure where this was going “The old man. Lady Rozalin said it was the upmost importance.”

Flora bit her cheek nervously “Before you left, did you see him?”

His stomach turned cold as he remembered how uneasy he felt the day he left with Archie and Abigail, the chill that ran down his spine “No, why?”

“We haven’t been able to contact him. He is not responding to our wizards long range message spells. We’re…..worried.”

Oliver could feel his skin crawl with anxiety, his pulse raced as a horrible realization dawned on him.

“He’s missing.” Oliver spoke what Flora did not.

She nodded in response “As a high ranking member, he is important to our cause and since you were the last person to see him, the higher ups were wondering if anything suspicious happened the last day you spoke with him.”

Oliver remembered it clearly: The free money, rushing them out the door, his ‘tiredness.’ There was no such thing as free money in his mentor’s eyes and Roland was never known for pushing a guest out of his house or being tired in the middle of the day. He was attempting to get them to leave to prevent something from happening.

“He was acting weird.” Oliver admitted “At the time I found it strange but he gave me little room to argue. Now I’m wishing I had.”

Flora’s face was indifferent but Oliver could hear the sincerity in her voice “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this. If you need a moment…”

“No” Oliver cut her off quickly “I’m good. We have a mission to do and we need to focus on that now. Afterwards we can talk about finding out what happened to the old man.”

Flora gave a simple nod before wandering over to Terri’s side, lightly kissing her cheek with affection.

Oliver took a deep calming breath: There was no point to let his mind wander, to worry about things out of his control. Even if he wanted to do something, he was needed here and now. Besides the Choir would investigate Roland’s disappearance and there were agents far more experienced than he about.

He would leave it up to them. For the moment he needed to balance out the universe and root out the evil that laid in the shadows.

#Original Work #original story #my story #welcome to the underground

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bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

Text

Double Heart | Chapter Six ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 4044

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Happy Thursday! Thanks for all your responses so far -- I’m so grateful! Alright, time to see what Haldir thinks of all this!

We are sixteen days into our journey when we reach the mountains.

We made good time, considering all the stops and adjusting for our human guests. Now that I know they are more capable than I anticipated, I will be pushing us to clear the ranges in five days. I do not want to travel these mountains any longer than necessary.

Everyone feels the tension. My right hand never leaves the hilt of my sword and I know my brothers travel in a similar fashion. While I am always careful when traveling through the orc-infested mountains, this time more so than usual. The stakes are higher. Lavandil is trusting me to deliver her betrothed to her in one piece. My brothers and Baranor are trusting me to guide them safely on this treacherous journey. And the humans…

Well. They can’t possibly know what they’ve gotten into, so that’s on me, too. They have no experience in battle, nor do they seem ready for a fight. I worry they’ve never even seen an orc, at least not that they can remember. I am as responsible for them as I am for the kin that accompany me.

I turn on Faervel to face my companions, trusting Orophin to watch my back as I take in those that follow me. My brothers are watchful like I am, one hand on a weapon, one hand holding the reins. Their eyes constantly observe our surroundings, never lingering on one spot for too long. Baranor looks mildly nervous — this is only his fifth pass through the mountains and I know his mind is running through his previous journey, remembering the warden we once nearly lost to a poisoned arrow. A dull ache throbs in my left shoulder. The wound is long ago healed — the memories, however, are not.

Cosima holds tight to Rumil, looking around worriedly. I never told her what we might face in the mountains, and maybe that wasn’t the right decision. Every sound makes her jump — she’s obviously expecting to be attacked at any second.

My eyes shift to Alexander, the most recent addition to our group, and I fight the urge to narrow my eyes. I don’t trust him. Not that I automatically trusted Cosima, but she hasn’t given me any reason to be suspicious. She helps with the chores and talks with us freely, even if she has been pulling back a little lately. Alexander can’t boast the same. He’s been nothing but standoffish and keeps himself isolated from the group — dragging Cosima with him.

He glowers at me, and I return his glare. Of course, mine has the force of nearly three thousand years as Marchwarden behind it, and the human quickly looks away.

I return to my inspection of the group. Cosima’s cloak is a beautiful, vibrant red—obviously made for style rather than the stealth and durability needed for travel. I haven’t the faintest idea why she would choose to dress that way if she knew she’d be traveling, nor what kind of leader wouldn’t catch it and make her change. This only serves to irritate the thought that’s been budding in the back of my mind since her arrival. Maybe she really isn’t from our world. Stranger things have happened. Alexander, too, has an unusual cloak, though not as bad as Cosima’s. His is a deep forest green — expensive, the kind that would take months of precise dyeing. Still a suitable color for travel, but not at all practical — already, it’s darkening with mud kicked up on our journey, ruining the maker’s handiwork. I don’t understand it and the mystery of their origins are too much to ponder on the road. So I resolve to deal with what I can now and handle the rest later. At present, Cosima can’t travel through the mountains in that bright red cloak.

I get her attention. “Put your cloak away in your bag, it’s too noticeable. If you get cold, someone will lend you theirs.” She visibly blanches at my words but balances herself atop Roch to do as I say. She is so clearly frightened and part of me wants to reassure her, to tell her not to worry, it’s just a precaution. But I can’t. Lying might make her feel better, but it would also set her at a disadvantage. It is better for her to be on edge. It will keep her sharp, and staying sharp can be the difference between life and death. I wouldn’t sugarcoat it for one of my wardens, so I won’t sugarcoat it for her.

Still, I can’t help myself from offering her some measure of security. I instruct Rumil to take position behind me and send Orophin to guard the back of our line. Perhaps Cosima will feel better being towards the middle of the group rather than at the very back — it is safer.

I put on my most well-practiced fortifying look and address the group. “Remember to ration your water — we won’t come across another stream for some time. With luck and perseverance, we will reach Imladris in five days. Cosima and Alexander — if we are attacked, stay on your horses. Rumil and Baranor will protect you.”

Rumil chuckles lowly and leans back in his seat to whisper to Cosima. “I can’t keep you safe if you strangle me first. Relax.”

Cosima laughs sheepishly and seems to make a concentrated effort at loosening her arms around Rumil.

I pull my eyes away, turning to look the right way down the path.

And off we go.

{***}

Weather in the mountains is unpredictable. There’s a faint breeze hinting at the possibility of rain, and I pray against it. Humans are so fragile compared to elves and I worry the two newcomers won’t do well in another day of downpour. I don’t mind the harsher conditions, my brothers, either — Valar knows how many drills we’ve run, battles we’ve fought in the extremes. But the humans, even Baranor, aren’t so conditioned.

I stop our company a little later than usual and send Rumil and Orophin to take first watch. Baranor pulls Alexander aside to redress the wound on his leg. Cosima and I stay to tend to the horses.

She glances at me from where she brushes Roch’s coat. I raise an eyebrow, cleaning my own horse. She purses her lips and I can tell that she’s scrutinizing me.

“You don’t like the mountains.”

There’s no point in lying. “No. Too many places for the enemy to hide.”

She’s silent for a moment, likely thinking through my words. Unexpectedly, I feel the bite of regret — I probably just scared her again. I should have kept my mouth shut.

Thankfully though, she doesn’t seem frightened. She smiles, a sort of serenity settling on her. “It’s kind of pretty though, if you can find a moment to enjoy it. Did you see the sun sinking over that peak way in front of us? It turned the sky purple and gold.”

I did notice the sky, but only briefly. I hadn’t even stopped to ponder its beauty, only checked to ensure no one hid on the horizon.

She sees the answer in my face and grins, shaking her head. “Maybe you’ll be able to relax once we reach Imladris. What’s it like, there?”

Now it’s my turn to smile, recalling my second favorite place in the world. “Beautiful — much more so than these mountains. There are waterfalls taller than any I’ve ever seen and they cast rainbows at sunrise and sunset. The main city rests on those falls and you can see the water sweeping under you, falling over the cliffs.”

She stares at Roch’s coat, a distant look in her eye. “How long are you planning to stay?”

You. Her question hangs between us as I analyze her use of the word. She didn’t say ‘we’ or make any reference to herself and Alexander. She’s making no promise to stay. That realization shouldn’t bother me, but, nevertheless, I feel discomfort settle in my stomach. I try to distract myself by answering her question. “A month or two, three at most. The journey home will take about three weeks and I want us in Lothlórien well before winter sets in.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

I blink, trying to follow her line of reasoning. I’ve got nothing. “How does that relate to what I just said?”

She closes her eyes, the peace leaving her and morphing into a pleading, distressed look. “Please just answer the question.”

The feeling in my stomach worsens and I hurry to say something to try and put her more at ease. “Honeyed breadrolls,” I blurt, not even sure if that’s my favorite.

She laughs weakly, looking at me from the side of her eyes. “That’s not a balanced meal.”

I grin, relieved to see the stress beginning to fade from her face. “You said favorite food, not healthiest.”

“Oh right, my bad.” She rolls her eyes, a playful light there that wasn’t present before.

Evidently annoyed with the lack of attention, Roch bumps his head against Cosima’s shoulder, snorting noisily. She giggles and pets the horse affectionately.

“He likes you,” I observe, the sight of them bringing a smile to my face.

Cosima shrugs. “He just wants snacks.”

There’s a pause and I feel a sense of urgency, needing to fill the silence before the conversation can come to an end. “What’s yours?”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Hm?”

“Your favorite food.”

“Oh.” She pauses, looking at the ground in thought. When her eyes return to mine, she looks a little lost. “I don’t know. I don’t mind the lembas bread and fruits, though I couldn’t say for sure if it’s my favorite because I can’t remember much from my homeworld. I guess—well, I do remember some food here and there, but nothing stands out as my all-time favorite.”

Her admission seems to make her sad. I can understand that — it must be terrible to not know who you were or what your life was like. Once again, I feel the need to make her feel better. “Elrond won’t let us go hungry. There will be many new things for you to try.”

She opens her mouth, a spark lighting in her eyes, ready to respond.

The loud, heavy footsteps give away Alexander’s approach. Cosima hears it too and turns to see her incoming friend.

I let my face fall into a neutral expression, not entirely pleased with Alexander’s arrival. He is a lost human in need of help, just like Cosima, so I will offer him my protection and aid, just as I did to the woman at my side.

But that doesn’t mean I have to like him.

From what I’ve observed, he has a manipulative streak that I do not trust. I can understand not being ready to accept his new reality, but Cosima is trying to move on. He shouldn’t try to interfere with her progress.

He addresses Cosima only. “I’ve got dinner for us both. Meet me on the rock when you’re done?”

She shifts her feet, looking uncertain.

“No, you will stay with the main camp.” I hear my voice before I make the actual decision to speak. Cosima nods automatically—and, is it my imagination, or does she look a little relieved?Alexander only grimaces.

“Why?”

A muscle twitches in my cheek. I’m used to leading wardens that follow my every order. In this environment, one that is fraught with danger and requires constant attention and strict regimentation, I don’t like my orders being questioned. It’s not only a waste of time, but a danger to us all. I know well from the battlefield that hesitation—that single moment of questioning—can be the difference between life and death.

I raise an eyebrow, meeting the human’s challenging gaze. “The danger is heightened in these mountains. While you travel with my company, I am responsible for your safety. I will not have you all spread out — it makes it more difficult to protect you should the need arise.”

“I don’t want to sleep on a rock, anyway.” Cosima surprises us both by speaking up.

Alexander squints, looking quite caught off guard that she’s sided against him. “What—“

“Haldir’s right. It’s too dangerous and besides, the grass is softer.”

Alexander opens and closes his mouth a few times, then exhales, shaking his head and stomping back to camp. Cosima turns to Roch and resumes brushing his coat, a new tension in her jaw.

I try to broach the subject delicately. I’m not entirely sure it’s my business, but I suppose any information into the pasts of these mysterious humans is useful. “Do you remember much of your relationship with Alexander from before? Do you know what he was like?”

She closes her eyes—something she does when she’s stressed, I note—and sighs before opening them again. “I’ve been asking myself that a lot recently. I get that this whole…whatever it is, is impossible. I know that. And he does, too, which is why he’s having such a hard time adjusting.”

I bristle at the insinuation that I and my world aren’t real, but then make myself relax, putting myself in Cosima’s shoes. How would I feel if I woke up in a world completely different from the little I could remember?

She continues. “But I like it here. It’s beautiful and exciting and there’s so much to explore…I’m making friends.” She smiles up at me shyly, and I immediately return it. We are friends. I don’t know when or how it happened but we are. I like having her around.

“But with Alex…” She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. I’m having a hard time not accepting my life here because it’s all I really know. I don’t have anything else to hold on to. Alex can’t seem to do that…I wonder if he remembers more than he lets on.”

I keep my expression carefully blank. I’ve been pondering the same thing. Something she said does bother me, though. She didn’t say she’s having a hard time accepting our world, but not accepting it. What’s holding her back? I try to dig around. “Cosima, this is your world now. Why wouldn’t you want to accept it?”

She shakes her head slowly, the sadness creeping back. “I can’t accept my life here because there’s no way it’s possible. I trust you and your brothers and Baranor, but something about this place is off. It’s completely unnatural—from what I remember of my world, we don’t have elves. We have cars instead of horses and ways to communicate that stretch across the globe.” Her voice rises in pitch, the first misty hints of tears entering her eyes. “And there’s only one world. There’s no way to go back or forward in time or hop to another planet or—”

“That you know,” I correct, unable to keep my mouth shut any longer. Seeing her struggle is not only upsetting, it’s frustrating. She is here, and this world is as real as she is, as real as I am. All this back and forth is pointless. “You said it yourself—you don’t remember much about your home world. And even if you remembered everything, who’s to say that you could know everything? For all you know, you fell asleep in your world and woke up in mine. And, at present, I don’t know of any way to send you back. Elrond or the Lady might, but that’s not a question we can answer until later. So for now, you need to accept this world. Because you are here. This world is real and your life here is real.”

She takes in a shaky breath.

I freeze. Oh Valar. I’ve made her cry.

I hurry to try to undo it. “Cosima—”

“No.” She cuts me off, wiping the corner of her eyes with her sleeve. “I needed to hear that. You’re right. I’m only wasting time and stressing myself out with all this. Because regardless of what I think is logical or possible, the fact remains that I am here in Arda and I feel real and alive. And so does this world. And so do you.” Her eyes, still shiny with tears, meet mine and she offers me a watery smile.

I accept it with a breath of relief and work consciously to soften my tone. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to make you cry.”

“Oh,” she chuckles softly, still wiping away her tears. “I don’t think it’s your fault. I’m just tired and stressed and—what was it you said again?” She throws me a teasing look and I know she’s about to bring up my earlier comment. “You said I was sensitive. That’s right.”

I hold back a groan. Probably not the most well-advised thing I’ve ever said. “I only meant that you are more expressive with your emotions than I or others that—”

“Nope. I’m gonna stop you right there.” She holds up a hand, thankfully still in a joking mood. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

She’s probably right. So I halt my attempts, shaking my head and laughing at myself. “I suppose I should apologize for that too?”

She shrugs off-handedly. “Nah. Because for the record, about the time you decided I was sensitive, I decided you’re way too serious.”

And, with that, she sets Roch free to graze and jaunts back to camp.

{***}

Aside from the brief interlude with Cosima, I don’t allow myself to relax as we continue through the mountains. There are too many peaks and rocks and caves and crevices where the enemy can hide. All it would take is one well-aimed arrow to fell one of my companions, or myself. I have to be vigilant. They’re trusting me, and I must not let them down.

{***}

On the third night in the mountains, Rumil and Orophin stage a sort of intervention, trying to force me into a full night’s rest.

“Brother, you have stood watch every night for the past five nights and most of the nights before that.”

“I am fine,” I retort, straightening my back. “I am perfectly capable of sacrificing rest to keep watch of our surroundings.”

“But without rest you will grow weary and slow,” Orophin adds, planting himself to stop me from walking past him. “You will not be at your best and cannot keep us safe as you could if you had proper rest.” He raises his voice to drown out my protests. “Rumil and I will stand watch all night—we will be vigilant.”

“Now, go lay down and get a full night’s rest willingly, or Baranor is prepared to drug you.” At this, Rumil smiles broadly. He is only joking. And, capable though Baranor is, I have no doubt in my ability to stop him from forcing herbs into my mouth.

But my brothers have a point. Though I am used to many restless nights from battle and my patrol of the borders, I have not slept for more than a few hours in many nights. I feel the heaviness in my eyes, the weariness in my bones, and, though I know I could push through, it is of no benefit to my company. So, reluctantly, I sheathe my sword, nodding to my brothers. “Wake me if there is any trouble.”

Orophin agrees readily. “Of course. You’ve trained us well.”

At this, I must grin, remembering the countless hours I put into developing and perfecting their skills. “I know.”

I leave the outcropping of rocks that has become our watch station and jog the short distance back to camp.

“Wow, look who’s decided to join us for a change,” Cosima jokes. There’s a note in her voice that tells me she had knowledge of, if not a hand in, my brothers’ plan.

I roll my eyes, matching her teasing tone. “I couldn’t leave the three of you unattended for long—who knows the trouble you could have gotten in?”

“Oh, yeah. Baranor was about to redress Alex’s wound — troublesome, indeed.”

I sit on the empty mat in between her and Baranor, greeting my elven friend with a nod. Alexander doesn’t acknowledge me, so I don’t acknowledge him.

Cosima passes me a bundle of leaves containing a ration of lembas bread and a handful of blackberries. I smile my thanks and take the food eagerly—I haven’t eaten since morning.

“Glad to see you resting, mellon nîn,” Baranor nods in my direction then returns his attention to Alexander’s leg. The herbs and healing power in Baranor’s spirit have done wonders, but the traveling aggravates the wound. Really, he should take a few days to rest, but we do not have that luxury.

Cosima breaks a piece off her own bread. “How long until we reach Imladris?”

“Within three days, I imagine.” It’s an estimate, but a fairly accurate one, I’d wager. After many journeys, I know these mountains quite well.

She smiles. “That’s not too bad.”

“Agreed.” Baranor sighs and nods, indicating that he’s done dressing Alexander’s wound. He returns to his mat on the other side of our bags, completing the circle we lounge in.

A particularly strong gust of wind blows my hair around. Cosima shudders, pulling her blanket tighter over her shoulders — her cloak is still in her bag. Temperature doesn’t bother elves in the same way it does humans, I remember. I shed my cloak of deep grey, holding it out for her to take. “Here.”

Her eyes go wide, and she shakes her head vehemently. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to be—”

“Take the cloak, Cosima.”

She bites back a smile, and I know why. Even as I was trying to be nice, I still ended up making it an order. Oops. But it did the trick. She takes the cloak, wrapping herself tightly in it and then adding the blanket for an extra layer of warmth. “Thank you.”

I only nod in response. After all, it’s my job to see that each member of my company is cared for. That includes fragile humans who could possibly die from exposure to the elements. And, thankfully, she does look much warmer now — her shivers have subsided and the wind only has the chance to bother her face, as the rest of her body is encapsulated in a cocoon of cloth.

“So Haldir, what do you do?” Alexander’s direct question catches me off guard, as well as the suspicion behind it.

I bristle. “Pardon?”

Alexander raises his chin, eyes narrowed at me. “What is your job? Because you seem awfully comfortable ordering people around.”

I forget how immature humans can be. I push against the annoyance that rises within me. “I am charged with the protection of my realm.”

“So you left it unguarded?”

I speak through clenched teeth. “I took leave.”

“So if you’re on leave then why are you still in charge? We’re nowhere near your realm.”

I feel my pulse quicken. “The others have accepted my authority. I am the most experienced—”

“Have I accepted your authority? Has Cosima?” He raises a challenging eyebrow.

“Uh, don’t bring me into this,” Cosima practically yelps, pulling the fabric tighter around her.

“Yes, this is a good time to stop,” Baranor interjects, looking completely serene — the exact opposite of how Alexander and I must look.

“It’s getting late,” Cosima agrees, darting nervous looks between me and her human friend. “We should all get some sleep.”

Alexander and I stare each other down. I feel no small amount of pride when he breaks his gaze first, then admonish myself for my immaturity. I should have handled that better — I know better than he does. Unbidden, my eyes dart to Cosima. Has my arguing with her closest friend upset her?

But thankfully, she smiles at me when my eyes meet hers, then reclines on her mat. Her voice rings over the small clearing, effectively ending any discussion between us all for the evening. Probably for the best. “Goodnight.”

And, though I am still angry, my body and mind cannot ignore how exhausted I am after days of insufficient sleep. It doesn’t take long for me to find rest.

A/n Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day :) Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged, try subscribing on Ao3! That will notify you automatically when I post there.

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @fangirl-nonsense @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @tolkien-apologist @ordinarymom1

**Strikethrough means Tumblr won’t let me tag you**

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neptunesnxpple · 3 years

Text

Undercover Lover 1/2? - Benimaru x m!reader

Summary: Benimaru infiltrates a singles night to find an undercover Evangelist member intent on taking down Asakusa. Will he find something else instead?

Wordcount: 2138

Tags: misunderstandings, beginnings, m!reader, singles night

A/N: 18+ only. Do not read or interact if you are a minor. Thank you.

“I don’t see why I have to be dressed up for this,” Benimaru complained. The twins adjusted the sleeves of his black kimono, patting at his black and white striped hakama.

“It’s an undercover mission,” Hinata started,

“Yeah you’re going to kill it on the dance floor, and then kill the infiltrator,” Hikage added.

“An undercover mission at some get together hardly suits me. Konro is much more fitted for this.” He mused. Ever since the Asakusa fight he’d started the heavy battle of accepting his role. Even harder was coming to terms with the amount of trust the community put on him. Now he’d have to hide who he was for that community. He walked out of the captain’s quarters into the main area, team 7 and 8 were on standby, hovering by computers with headsets dispersed among the higher-ranking members. Konro passed Benimaru an earpiece while Iris fit a small camera on one of his chest pieces.

“Remember, we’re counting on you.” Konro clasped a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. He doubted he could hold up to it.

—

The venue was lined with hydrangeas, blue and purple, situated on the water’s edge and decorated with warm, glowing lights. By all accounts it was beautiful. People were trickling in, dressed in semi formal attire, mostly around a similar age range. Benimaru kept a watchful eye, making a mental note of anyone that stood out. Unfortunately, he recognized most of them as locals. At least he could rule those out and focus on the out of towners.

‘You have to go in at some point’ his earpiece buzzed,

“Relax I’m just gathering intel,” he muttered. Reluctantly he made his way to the door. The inside was just as carefully decorated. Hanging paper sculptures, soft lighting, and many small tables set up. He wasn’t sure the specifics of this event, but he didn’t think it’d matter. He tried to fade into the wall when an event organizer cornered him, smiling with a name tag and clip board in hand.

“All guests are required to sign in and wear a name tag,” they chirped, “if I could just get your name and email address,” Benimaru groaned. This was already more trouble than it was worth as far as he was concerned.

“Benimaru,” he stated, taking the clipboard, and scribbling that down as well as a fake email address. He took the name tag and slapped it on blindly. It didn’t matter where it went. The event staffer took back the clipboard.

“Alright take a seat and we’ll start in 10.”

Benimaru picked a seat on the far side, watching as the other guests filled in.

“First we’d like to welcome you all to singles night. We’ve prepared refreshments and a light dinner spread. Check the letter on the back of your card, we’ll start with group A staying where they are and if you’re in group B you’ll be moving in a clockwise fashion. Then there will be a brief intermission while-”

Benimaru couldn’t listen anymore. A singles night was the perfect cover for an evangelist looking to recruit a younger population. He’d have to be on his guard. He checked the back of his card. Group A. So, he’d be in wait and the potential enemies would be coming to him. This gave him the advantage. He sat back, hand twitching at the ready under the table. Time ticked slowly. The locals didn’t mind too much, he wasn’t much for frivolous conversation when he had a goal in mind and maintained the appropriate level of conversation. Those that came from out of town he was less forgiving to.

“You decided to come to Asakusa for this?” He accused, causing the current victim to recoil at the animosity in his voice, “This seems like something you could have done back in your town. What’s the real reason for you visit?” Not long after the timer beeped and the insulted date would leave him, the next one going along just as well. None of these singles looked too suspicious, although they were irritable by the time they left.

“Benimaru? Nice to meet you,” you introduced yourself, smiling warmly. He was an interesting looking fellow, the mismatched eyes were something you hadn’t seen before. He raised an eyebrow at you, arms crossed over his chest.

“And what brings you here?” His fingertips warmed. You laughed nervously. It was a cliché opening, but the way he looked you was enough for you to overlook it. Intense.

“Well I’m new to the area, I just moved in a couple of weeks ago, and thought it would be a great opportunity to meet some of the other people around my age,” you explained, “plus if I could meet someone special that’s a bonus. Why’d you decide to come here tonight?” Careful eyes scanned you from top to bottom, and you were glad you put the extra effort in your clothing choices. Benimaru struggled to come up with a reason besides blatantly saying what he was looking for, when a voice in his ear spoke up,

‘Say you’re trying to find the right one’. He could hear the exasperation on the other side. This whole time they’d been coaching him, and he’d been having some less than desirable results. This was close enough to the truth that he could allow it.

“I’m trying to find that special someone.” Yes, special. And the guy in front of him was hitting all the boxes. Out of towner, recently moved here. Laughing at his initial investigative question. This guy was good. He took a cool sip from the glass in front of him, “what made you move all this way?”

“I got a new job and thought it would be a fun change of pace. I like the unique energy. Are you from Asakusa?”

“Born and raised. Now this job you were talking about-”

“Yes, I’m a bit of a bug specialist, an educator,” you answered quickly, feeling flustered as you watched his eyes narrow. The heat pooling in your chest began to work its way up your neck. You were starting to feel a bit intimidated, not in a bad way though, and kicked yourself for answering so eagerly. This felt like an interview almost. You scrambled to turn this back into a conversation, “What do you do? Um, for fun or as a job.” Nailed it. You gave yourself a mental thumbs up.

“I’m a busy guy, I don’t have much time for trivial matters. I suppose you could say I’m a bit of a community leader.” He watched as you fidgeted, not with the same amount of distaste as the others had. Something was different here.

“Oh, I guess I’m lucky then-” before you finished the timer set off. As you stood up and turned to leave, a hand grabbed your wrist.

“Welcome to Asakusa.”

When the break came you made a beeline for the entrance, walking around the side of the building and welcoming the cold air. For the most part everyone had seemed friendly. Things were a lot different from where you were from, and while it was exciting you were constantly aware that you’d sometimes say the wrong thing or share too much too fast. Still, being a gay guy in Asakusa you didn’t expect so many options. It made you wonder how many others there were that didn’t come. You rested against the wall, closing your eyes, and taking a deep beath. You listened to the quiet movement of the river nearby. You didn’t notice the person rounding the corner until two hands slammed into the wall surrounding your head, a large body blocking your view of the river. It was dark on this side. You struggled to make out anything until you looked up. Glowing pink eyes loomed down at you, stripping you away of any nerve that you could scrape off the pavement, an unsmiling face greeting you. It was Benimaru.

‘Benimaru what are you doing- it’s dark!’ A high-pitched voice shouted.

“I know it’s you,” Benimaru sneered, voice rough and gravelly, “I know what you’re really here for.” You swallowed dryly, unable to look away and frozen in place. You were entirely at his mercy here. At least you were reading his interests correctly. You licked your lips.

‘Benimaru wait that’s not-’

“I’m going to make you pay,” You felt the warmth radiating from his hands, intoxicatingly so. He must be a third gen user if he was this warm. He reached back and you grabbed the fronts of his jacket, taking a step forward and kissing him. You felt him stiffen to your touch and you immediately removed your mouth from his, eyes wide and the only thought crossing your mind being ‘oh shit’- had you misinterpreted his advances earlier? You opened your mouth to apologize, but instead got the wind knocked out of you as he lifted you off the ground and slammed you back into the wall harder than you’d have liked. His hand began to glow bright orange as it bubbled with flame, preparing to strike.

“Benimaru! Hold it!” A deep voice shouted. Quicker than you could process- something, or someone, slid by you, fire on their heels, and knocked into Benimaru. You fell to the ground, stunned.

“Benimaru! There was no mission, this was just a date night!” A younger voice shouted. The moonlight reflected off of the brightly striped fire equipment, only furthering your confusion. Why were fire soldiers here? And how did they know where you were?

“Back off, I know he’s the infiltrator. I’ll end this right now,” Benimarus’ flame returned to his hand, this time larger than before and brighter. It illuminated enough for you to see a cast of other fire soldiers running up on the scene. What the hell?

“It’s true, we just thought you could use the night off, and maybe meet someone outside of work!” A woman yelled. As if things could make any less sense, two young girls came bounding in at full speed, slapping at Benimarus’ legs.

“Yeah dummy! What are you doing? You’re going to ruin all the work that Hina and I put in for this!”

“Stupid! You’re never going to get a man if you keep blowing holes in them!”

This was all just too much to take in. You stared vacantly at the pavement, trying to trace the steps of how you got here. Benimaru lowered his hand, flames withering.

“It was all just… a fake mission?” He repeated, sounding lost. He looked at you, crumpled on the ground and thoroughly ruffled from the way he manhandled you. Guilt sucked out all of the rage he was feeling. Here he was attacking the newest citizen of Asakusa, just for being new. He rewound through the night. He had just interrogated at least 20 innocent people. The flame melted away completely. With the twins still yelling at him and giving him a much-deserved waist high beating, he made his way over to you. At this point Maki from squad 8 had been tending to you, checking you for injuries. When he approached you gazed up at him wildly, like some innocent animal caught in the crosshair of a hunter. Maki gave him a skeptical look.

“You should be fine, just a little bruised if anything. Call this number if there’s anything else we can do for you,” she handed you a card and tentatively made her exit.

“Sorry, I thought you were flirting but I guess you were just looking for um, someone undercover? An evangelist infiltrator? Anyway, I’m sorry for kissing you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he sighed, pushing a hand through his hair, and exposing the lesser seen eye further, “it was my fault. I jumped to conclusions. You were just new, and I assumed that you had bad intentions.�� You nodded, unsure of what else could be added. After some uncomfortable silence, you heard another sigh. Benimaru dropped his hand, looking away from you, “because you’re new and because of the situation, I would like to offer you a personal tour of Asakusa. I know this town better than anyone and would like the chance to make it up to you.” You gave him a scrutinizing look, pleased when you watched him squirm under your gaze. Good, he should be on his toes. A satisfactory amount of time later, you gave him a timid smile,

“Sure.”

“Waka, we’re heading back to the station,” Konro shouted. Benimaru gave a slight wave and returned his gaze to you.

“Do you need me to walk you back inside, or…” he trailed off.

“I don’t think I’ll be going back,” you started. A displeased expression filled his face, “but, you can walk me home.”

Like what you read? Comments and reblogs fuel me to write more!

Also, my birthday is coming up on March 13th so if you’re willing, donate to my K*-fi so I can get a cake

#benimaru shinmon x reader #benimaru x reader #shinmon benimaru x reader #benimaru shinmon #fire force x reader

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arahul-abyssia · 3 years

Text

Looks like it's September again (already, somehow), so that means that it's Nintember again, which means I'll be writing again! Same dealio as last time, one story per five prompts, up to six writings total. (And I'll be putting most of each under a cut, because mobile users can't skip posts)

And for my first entry for @starprincesshlc and @jklantern 's wonderful little event, I shall once again be attempting to twist some modicum of continuity, characterization, and canon-compliance out of a world that clearly cares scarcely for all three.

The Great Act

~~ Art, Green, Dizzy, Fire, Strength ~~

It was the loud buzzing of his phone’s alarm clock that dragged him from his slumber. He awoke to find himself sprawled across the couch, which was in no way long enough for his lanky body and spindly legs. As he blearily reached out and slapped at the coffee table, hoping to find the rude device by pure luck, he also blearily reached out and slapped at his memories, trying to figure out what series of events had led him there. For a moment, they floated just out of reach, and then suddenly flooded back to him all at once.

Oh. Right. It’s all over.

Another sporting event had come and gone, and as usual, in spite of all the effort he put into training and practice, he had ultimately lost to the same people he always did. No matter the sport, no matter the plan, no matter the time, they always won. And why shouldn’t they? The heroes always win in the end, always securing victory against the villains.

And he was one of them: the purple-clad counterpart, mirror, and supposed rival to one of the land’s most revered figures. Meant to oppose, and meant to lose.

He was Waluigi.

The name still sounded absurd to him. He had no idea how two men whose names were ‘Mario’ and ‘Wario’ and who naturally served as near-perfect foils of each other, had managed to meet and form such a publicizable rivalry without any deliberate effort, but such was the case. However, the notion that the brother of one had his own doppelganger in the brother of the other (or cousin, they never did manage to keep that story straight), with the same dichotomies of name, body, and personality? That was simply and utterly ridiculous, far beyond even the realm of ‘too good to be true’. And yet, if anyone had caught on, they hadn’t made it known to him.

Lost in thought and routine, he realized he had reached and opened his wardrobe, where numerous sets of that purple hat, shirt, and overalls were staring him in the face. In a sickening sense, they were the centerpiece of a great work of art, the fabrication that was his entire public existence, the character that he and Wario had constructed so that he might further be the ‘evil counterpart’ to everyone’s favorite red-clothed fire-throwing hero. Mario was stout and a bit fat, Wario was stouter and fatter; Luigi was tall and a bit thin, so Waluigi was taller and thinner. Mario had an M as his emblem, Wario had an inverted M; Luigi had an L, so Waluigi had an inverted L. To any casual outside observer, it was perfect.

But unlike Mario and Wario, whose rivalry had been formed in their youth, Waluigi had never even met Luigi until Wario had made him his sporting partner. The most he had known of the legendary Mario Brothers was just that: they were legends, for the countless adventures and quests they went on. In truth, despite how much he played it up during each and every game, he bore no true grudge against the man he was supposed to hate; Wario had, for a time, convinced him that Luigi’s presence in the public eye was somehow detracting from his own, but he had long since realized that that wasn’t the case; in fact, it often seemed like Luigi himself was being snubbed by the public, with the vast majority of the glory placed upon Mario, no matter how much Luigi contributed.

And yet, despite his existence being little more than a convenient story, despite the stress that constantly acting like a jerk brought, and despite always losing at the games no matter what, none of it brought him any sadness: for all its ups and downs, he felt himself to be rather good at keeping up the act, and the sports were, at the end of the day, still fun.

So why do I still feel so… bad?

Routine and thought had once more brought Waluigi elsewhere, and he found himself once more on his couch, now dressed in his usual outfit, with some sort of drink in his hands, probably coffee or tea; he didn’t care to determine which at that moment. His eyes casually wandered around the room as he brought the mug to his lips.

Then, just as the liquid touched his tongue--apparently he had managed to make tea out of coffee beans--the answer came to him. All across the room’s walls and shelves was sporting equipment of every sort--tennis racquets, shin-guards, helmets, golf clubs, old kart wheels, giant dice blocks, a probably excessive number of deflated balls--and absolutely no other sort of decoration. He leaned forward to place the mug on the table, and in doing so noticed his gloved hands and violet sleeves. Who wore the outfit of a character that they supposedly were not, every single day? Apparently, him.

He didn’t do anything else. He had let the character that was Waluigi consume his life to the point that had no idea who he was outside of it. He had nothing that he did when sports weren’t involved. Wario didn’t dedicate all his time to his rivalry; he owned an entire video game company--an unstable and poorly-run one, certainly, but it was nevertheless another use of his time. Mario and Luigi had their own grand adventures, of course, which is also what Peach, the Yoshis, Bowser, and his horde of minions were all typically involved in.

They all had lives outside of the games, and what did he do during the interim times? He either tried to practice, on his own, in the few suitable locations that he could find when the world was arranged for adventure, in a vain attempt to not lose as bad when the next game came around, or he wallowed in his home, doing absolutely nothing of any import.

But what could he do? Waluigi was never anything beyond a fabricated counterpart to both Wario and Luigi, but he could not remember, even slightly, what or who he was before he embraced that role. That nearly all of his memories prior to his first meeting with his partner were lost to him, was, he shuddered to admit, rather unsettling. Not even his old name--if he even had had one, he could not recall anymore--would reveal itself to him, and it was not as though he could simply find out through some external means: he was never the best at record-keeping, and to really sell their act, he had had his name legally changed to “Waluigi” and all references to his previous identity erased.

He shook his head, attempting to clear his mind of thoughts. There was little sense in worrying and fretting over who he was in that moment--the chance of any sort of useful epiphany emerging from it was even slimmer than he was.

Ugh… better just try to distract myself…

The first suitable option to catch his eye was the TV remote lying on the table. He quickly grabbed it and flicked on the set, and was immediately assaulted by the cheery enunciation of the Lakitu news anchors on the aptly-named Lakitu News Channel. He recalled that that was the channel he had left the set on last night, after he had gotten quite fed up with the incessant and inane blathering about the events of that day’s final matches, and it took only about five seconds to figure out that they were still on that topic. Scowling, he began flipping through the various channels available, hoping to find something interesting enough to block out the melancholic thoughts that were biting at his mind, like a hundred tiny Muncher and Nipper Plants.

After a painfully long series of more newsrooms--all talking about the exact same thing, of course--and unappealing shows--Half of these are for children and other half would just make me feel even worse!--he stumbled across some sort of advice segment hosted by a Birdo (was it the Birdo? He couldn’t tell). With absolutely no better options, he resigned himself to sit back and listen halfheartedly to whatever trite tips she tried to provide; maybe they’d be amusing enough to at least give him a small chuckle.

“I hope you all enjoyed our lovely guest! Now, before we move on to the submissions from all you wonderful viewers, I’d like to reiterate some old, but tried and true, advice, which I hold very close to my heart.”

Oh, here we go…

“Something which you probably hear very often is to always be yourself, or to always be true to yourself…”

Feh, I can think of several people who definitely shouldn’t do that…

“But it may be that you don’t like who ‘yourself’ is, or perhaps you don’t know what self you even have to be true to…”

Hah! As if… uh…

“And to that end, I’d like to say that there is always room for change. There’s always a way to make something new of yourself, to alter the parts of you that you want to, to become a different, better person. ‘Yourself’ can be whoever you want it to be; never are you locked along one unending bleak path. Try new things! Experiment! Don’t let yourself be trapped in an endless cycle.

“Believe me when I say I have personal experience with this: I’ve done so many different things over a rather short period of time, trying to find what I wanted to do with myself, who I wanted to be. Even now, I’m still not entirely sure if this is my supposed ‘calling’…! But I never got anywhere by doing nothing: it was on me to break out of my shell and search for myself, and now it’s on you to do the same.

“You don’t have to begin drastically, with a flying leap of faith--I think we’ve all walked over enough cliffs by now to know that!--but, if this is the sort of mindset you find yourself in, why not try taking some small steps today? It could be as simple as wearing a new outfit, or talking to someone new, or partaking in a new pastime.”

Birdo continued to elaborate on her point, but Waluigi--or, whoever he was beneath that--had stopped listening. He wanted to make some snark about what she said; he wanted to rationalize how what she described couldn’t ever apply to him; but, he found that he couldn’t. He had attempted to follow similar advice long in the past, and failed, but something about the way she phrased it, managed to affect him more deeply than he had thought possible. It was as though her words had dug beneath his shields and layers and pierced something somewhere in his core; pulled a lever, turned a handle, flipped a switch.

A strange sensation washed over him, one he could only describe as a blazing fire--nay, an inferno--igniting within him. He had felt the touch of flame countless times over the years, but not even the innumerable rage-fueled volleys he had endured, all combined into a single force, could compare to what now burned in his soul.

He leapt up from the sofa and ran to his bathroom. Staring at him from within the mirror was a character, a costume, a facade. It was not who he was. He grabbed a towel, dampened it, and proceeded to scrub away the pink paint on his nose; Wario and Waluigi’s noses were defined by that bright rosy color, but his was not. He then tore open a cabinet and grabbed his bottle of mustache product; normally, it was used to create the signature angular mustache of Waluigi, but today, it would shape the hairs into something softer and curlier. Whether that was what he would ultimately like did not matter: he was experimenting! He was changing himself!

Though the man that stared back at him from the glass now bore a much different visage, it was still framed by the purple cap and shirt, yellow emblem, and dark indigo overalls. He tore them off, then opened his wardrobe once more and threw all the copies of that same outfit to the ground. Hidden behind them were old clothes that he hadn’t worn for many, many years. He grabbed the first garments he saw--a casual dress shirt and gaudy neon-yellow shorts. Did those go well together? It didn’t matter. Without hesitating, he put them on.

He quickly glanced in the mirror again: the ensemble was nearly complete, but just missing one last touch. He thought on it for a moment, then stricken with brilliance, hurried to his modest backyard, where the roses he performed with in the games grew. He plucked one from its bush and affixed it to his hair, then ran back to the mirror to observe himself one more time.

His mismatched get-up would likely garner many stares from others, though he wouldn’t mind them at all; if he had anything in common with Waluigi, it was that they both loved being the center of attention. Even still, that’s not what mattered. A whole new day lay before him, a whole new day to be someone new, someone different; to move on from the cycle he had been stuck in, to take a whole new step forward.

He returned to the sitting room and turned off the television, then went to the front door. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle, threw it open, and marched into the daylight, the daylight which felt far fresher and warmer than it had in a long time, though even it held no candle to the flame that continued to blaze within him.

Ready or not, world; here I come!!

#nintember #my writing #godss there were so many directions i thought about taking this #eventually had to just choose and commit to one #straight up wrote a great deal of a different take before scrapping it #writing is... a time

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pegasister60 · 4 years

Text

YO I JUST FUCKING GALAXY BRAINED

Futaba and Akira roleswap.

—

Futaba, after a year or so of living within her tomb, slowly letting despair and guilt consume her, has a dream.

She dreams of sand and sun and-

A... cat?

When she wakes she remembers its words, its pleas.

She opens the weird app that she’s half-convinced is a virus that won’t leave her phone.

After the shock of her life and the cat from her dreams freaking out with her, she gets the run-down of what the Metaverse is.

Some of it sounds familiar. Morgana deems it fate that they met. With Futaba already being well-versed in cognitive pscience, it seemed to make perfect sense that Morgana would be drawn to this specific palace.

Even if he felt like something was missing.

The two of them make their way through the pyramid and uncover the truth. The truth about her mother’s death.

Futaba awakens her persona and the two of them return to her room.

She manages to convince Sojiro to let Morgana stay, even while exhausted from her change of heart.

It ends up working.

In the months that follow, she grows closer to her guardian and goes on adventures in Mementos with Morgana. After months of work and some therapy, she’s able to interact with people better. Still not comfortable with large crowds, but she can manage in smaller groups.

For a while things seem to stagnate. They can’t get deeper into Mementos no matter what they try.

Morgana is content to teach her some skills in the meantime. He finds it odd he doesn’t mind the roadblock.

It almost feels like he should be waiting for something anyways.

—

Sojiro gets a call one day. One of his regulars is calling in sort of a favor.

He ends up agreeing to house somebody with a criminal record who needs a place to stay while on probation.

Futaba being Futaba races to find all she can when she finally pries a name from Sojiro.

And it’s a good thing she did. She’s not an expert on legal proceedings, but everything about this seemed fishy.

Her instincts were only confirmed when they actually met the guy.

He was tall, quiet, and polite.

He seemed to go out of his way to keep his voice low and not make eye contact.

It almost hurt Futaba to see him act this way.

She was even more concerned when Sojiro confirmed his story. Being punished for doing the right thing? That was crazy!

What was even weirder was how Morgana kept silent and watched him. Not with suspicion, but with curiosity.

He stayed in their guest bedroom. It was a little dusty, but Akira took the room without complaint.

Futaba now understood what it was like to live with a ghost.

He’d come down to breakfast, eat quietly, then rush off to catch his train.

He’d come back around the same time every day. Not making any detours.

Apparently Sojiro thought it was sad too. He gave Akira a spare key that he never even used.

Futaba and Morgana decided to follow him to school a week into his stay with them. She told Sojiro she was getting Morgana a treat and left right after Akira.

She still hated the trains, but they were bearable with Morgana in her backpack.

She hadn’t thought to grab an umbrella though, so she was trying not to stand out too much as she stood under an awning near Akira.

She nearly choked on her spit when they both rounded a corner to see Akira and some blonde guy who’d been talking to him standing in front of a palace.

She and Morgana stayed hidden.

They overheard Akira arguing with the other guy about whether or not they should go in.

The stranger ended up going in on his own. Akira was frozen at the gates and seemed to be conflicted. He took a few steps forward, then grimaced and paused again.

In the end, he turned and left. Pushing his glasses up as he walked out of the palace’s bounds again and disappeared.

They couldn’t very well let somebody without a persona walk around a palace. So the two of them dove in after the blonde.

They saved him and learned his name was Ryuji. They both tried to explain palaces and the Metaverse to Ryuji, who apparently now had the app, and settled for just teaching him the basics.

When they told him about treasures and changing hearts, he told them his own story.

They decided to chaperone him through the palace another day, having him go to class late. They’d rather not take him along, but he had the app so they couldn’t stop him anyways.

Ryuji and later Ann ended up manifesting personas.

And from then on, the Phantom Thieves began to grow.

—

Morgana was curious about Akira.

Despite having been to the Metaverse, he still couldn’t hear him speak even when Ann and Ryuji could. Ryuji had been able to even before his persona manifested, so it wasn’t that either.

Something was off about Akira. Morgana spent some time with him, pretending to be a cat to get closer to him.

He spoke about twenty words to the others in the household, most of them pleasantries. The hope was that he’d be more open with Morgana since he wasn’t a human on the outside (he was still adamant about being a human like the others).

And it worked.

After getting home from school he’d recount his day. Nasty rumors and skittish classmates. Harsh teachers and a lunch break spent in a bathroom stall.

Morgana would curl up in his lap and provide comforts the only way he could in his cat form: mewing in understanding and being adorable.

Akira started being more social, if only with him. He’d chat about his day and would spoil and groom him.

One night he was sleeping in Akira’s room when he was startled awake.

Akira was sitting upright in bed, pale and shaking. His hands were clamped over his mouth. He seemed terrified.

He was crying.

Morgana rushed over to comfort him. To push Akira back down onto the bed and climb onto his chest. A warm, purring weight on his chest to ground him. A furry friend that nuzzled him and and voiced concerns that would fall on deaf ears.

Akira whispered between hiccups. His words quiet but impactful in the dead of night.

He dreamed of that night.

The night that ruined his life was both crystal clear and distorted. He relived the whole thing almost every night. Rushing forward to protect a woman from a blur that made his head ache whenever he tried to focus on it.

What was more concerning was how it ended.

The blur would hit the ground, then it would shoot out an arm in his direction.

The ground beneath him would crack and chains would rise and shackle him. They would wrap around him so tightly that he wouldn’t have enough air to scream.

He’d thrash and struggle with all his might, a fire rising from him that melted some of the chains to slag.

But there were always more. No matter how hard he tried he’d always get dragged to his knees. The blob and a shadow looming over him.

When the flames finally died, he’d wake up.

Morgana was horrified by the dream, more so by its implications.

Akira wouldn’t awaken a persona.

He was being suppressed.

And Morgana had no idea how to fix it.

This wasn’t like Futaba’s palace. There was something twisted and wrong that went beyond that.

He stuck closer to Akira whenever he wasn’t with the Thieves.

He could feel it now. Most of the others had what almost felt like a literal fire in them.

He’d thought Akira had the potential because his matched an active persona user in intensity.

He was wrong.

The energy within Akira was choked and warped, almost like it was being tied down.

That begged a very important question that Morgana found himself wondering as Akira hugged him close at night.

If this was what Akira felt like when he was compromised....

How strong would he be when he was finally free from his chains?

#my post #i speak #long post #persona 5 #p5 #roleswap au #akira kurusu #kurusu akira #akiren #ren amamiya #amamiya ren #p5 morgana #p5 mona #futaba sakura #p5 roleswap au

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trh-thesussexes · 4 years

Text

Inside Duchess Meghan’s Emotional Farewell to Royal Life at a Private Engagement

It was supposed to be a quiet day off in the countryside until my phone went berserk—the staccato buzz I set for palace correspondence almost sending it off the table. “His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales is delighted to announce the engagement of Prince Harry to Ms. Meghan Markle,” the November 27, 2017, email read, followed by a note inviting royal correspondents to join the couple for a special photo call to mark the occasion. A few road rules may have been bent to make the 80-ish mile drive from Oxfordshire to Kensington Palace—in traffic—but it was worth it. Standing by the lily-covered Sunken Pond as Harry shared his joy at finally finding his teammate, it was the perfect start to a chapter that would finally bring the royal family into the 21st century. Over the months and years that followed, I closely shadowed the work of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, getting to know the couple better through their humanitarian endeavors, engagements, and overseas visits. Their high-energy work ethic and passion for social justice attracted a new, more diverse demographic of royal watcher to the scene. As a young(ish), biracial royal correspondent, the change was exciting. And as their popularity grew around the world, so did a new golden era for the House of Windsor. Never did I expect that less than two and half years later I would be standing in one of the State Rooms at Buckingham Palace as the Duchess of Sussex emotionally bids much-loved aides farewell, with her flight “home” to Canada leaving in a matter of hours. But then, neither did the couple. After starting the year with a formal proposal to move into part-time working royal roles, and bring some much-needed privacy and safety to their family life, Harry and Meghan’s hopes were quickly dashed by an institution seemingly unable to accept change as a viable option (even though some royals across Europe—and even other members of the British royal family—have succeeded in balancing duties to the crown and individual careers). To say they were crushed is an understatement. It’s a decision that the couple still feel wasn’t necessary, but also wasn’t a surprise, given the lack of support they received as they were relentlessly attacked by sections of the British press with almost daily mistruths and hateful commentary. While recent tabloid coverage has made it seem like the Sussexes’ half-in-half-out bid was about wanting it all, the reality was a couple who were left with no other choice but to create their own change after being left to fend for themselves against impossible circumstances—even during her pregnancy. They knew something had to change, but they also didn’t want to stop supporting the queen. One can’t help but wonder if things might have been different if a family member or two had stood up for them during the darkest times. Despite the pain and difficulties behind the scenes, work has continued to be a priority for the duchess, who is excited to be carrying over her four royal patronages into the Sussexes’ new chapter. It’s also the reason why I was at Buckingham Palace's 1844 Room on Monday, having been invited alongside two other journalists to cover Meghan’s final engagement as a senior working royal: meeting 22 students who have received scholarships from the Association of Commonwealth Universities (ACU). As their royal patron—a role she took over from the queen in 2019—Meghan will continue to prioritize the organization even after officially stepping back on March 31, especially given her position as the vice president of the Queen’s Commonwealth Trust and a former scholarship student herself. In fact, Meghan’s time at Illinois’s prestigious Northwestern University, where she majored in international relations and theater, is what drew her to the ACU in the first place. “The value and importance of higher education is why it should be accessible to everyone, no matter your background,” she says. For Commonwealth Day, March 9, the ACU brought together some of their brightest minds for a private meeting with the duchess, ahead of their attendance at Westminster Abbey’s Commonwealth Service, where some would bear the flags of their countries. The students are all studying masters or PhDs in the U.K. after receiving scholarships from the ACU’s three programs—Commonwealth Scholars, Chevening Scholars, and the ACU Blue Charter Fellow. “That’s what so powerful,” says Meghan, a long-time champion of the importance of universal access to higher education. “This incredible union and the ability to gain so much knowledge and to be able to take that back home.” Chatting with the scholars, the duchess is eager to hear more about how their studies will contribute to tackling the many challenges our world faces today. As she talks with the students, it becomes clear that she’s already done her research on why each guest was invited. It’s inspiring to seeing someone so prepared for these types of engagements, as opposed to just showing up for the photographs. But Meghan doesn’t know any other way of doing it. “I think it’s so important to actually engage with people,”she explains.“I care about these things!” The ACU has seen over 90,000 scholars come through their administered programs, and those invited to Monday’s meeting represent 11 Commonwealth countries in total. Halima Ali, a lawyer from Kenya who is currently studying for her masters in energy and natural resources law at London’s Queen Mary University, says Meghan’s role as patron is hugely important. “For Commonwealth and also Africa countries,” she says,“to see her, her interest, her participation, means a lot to us.” Meghan seems particularly impressed as she chats with Archana Kaliyaraj Selva Kumar, a chemistry student at Oxford University, who has devoted much of her time to using her research to create a new sustainable energy-storing battery that can help communities back in India without wired power. She is also an advocate for helping more women get into science. “What an incredible role model you are,” Meghan tells her. “And seeing is believing. Others see you and ... seeing someone in that space is so inspiring.” During a conversation with a female PhD student from Kenya, Meghan’s eyes light up when the subject of sustainable travel comes up. “That’s something my husband is incredibly passionate about,” she tells the Sheffield Hallam University student. “During our travels to Botswana and different parts of Africa, we’ve seen the link between tourism and how much money is going outside of the country instead of back to communities. There has to be a symbiotic relationship.” For her own travels with Harry, Meghan prefers to move around in a way that allows them to integrate with the locals. “When we go to Botswana, we grab a backpack and pitch a tent!” Meghan laughs. “It’s not much, but that’s how we like it!” Standing at the side of the room, I spot Secretary General of the ACU Joanna Newman looking on proudly. She came to know the duchess well from their numerous ACU engagements and meetings together, and is excited about their relationship continuing long into the future. “She has been a fantastic amplifier of ACU messages to much broader audiences for us,” she tells me, adding that her patronage has given the ACU coverage in places they could have never reached before, including Harper's BAZAAR. She calls Meghan a powerful spokesperson, recalling how she started public conversations about the lack of Black professors and even period poverty.>“The headlines haven’t been about what our patron is wearing or the official engagement started at this time and ended at that time and there was a cup of tea in the middle, it’s about why we are doing what we do and why ACU exists. She’s been a real champion of the work that universities do.” The ACU meeting came at the end of what Sussex aides have nicknamed a “farewell tour” for Harry and Meghan—a chance to tie up loose ends at the palace while taking on a slew of final royal engagements. The itinerary has been packed, starting when I joined the Duke of Sussex in Edinburgh, Scotland, on February 26 as his sustainable travel initiative, Travalyst, entered its next development phase. The ambitious project will be a key component of the Sussexes’ philanthropic portfolio, and it’s become extremely clear just how important the cause is to Harry, who regularly takes part in meetings behind the scenes. Chatting with him one-on-one recently, I was struck by how knowledgeable he has become in this field; his many trips to Botswana inspired the beginnings of the initiative more than a year ago. As one of the attendees at the Edinburgh work summit whispered to me after his speech, “He’s about to change the game for good.” Reuniting after five days apart, Harry and Meghan’s showstopping arrival at the Endeavour Fund Awards served as a reminder of their ability to command the world’s attention. “Nothing to see here, just Meghan Markle showing the fuck out during her final round of royal duties,” wrote a Twitter user, as the pictures of the couple beaming under their umbrella went viral around the world. Inside the ceremony, the focus was firmly on the veterans being honored, all speaking highly of the duke, or Captain Wales, as he’s better known in the veteran community. It’s that mission to support servicemen and servicewomen that has seen Harry pledge to continue to support the community in his new non-working royal life, not just in the United Kingdom but also in North America too. The first task? Bringing the work of the Endeavour Fund and Invictus Games, both of which he helped establish, closer together. Harry’s lifelong commitment is why Saturday’s Mountbatten Festival of Music was a particularly difficult moment, wearing his Captain General of the Royal Marines uniform for the last time. Giving up his royal duties has resulted in his military honors coming to an end—a particularly tough pill to swallow and something that has been just as difficult for his wife to witness. It is, a source close to the couple tells me, a wound that will take time to heal for Harry. Meghan’s surprise appearance at an East London school for International Women’s Day and more traditional royal engagements such as Harry opening an immersive British motorsport museum alongside Lewis Hamilton (“There's nothing better than officially opening a building that is very much open,” the duke joked about the Silverstone Experience, which first opened its doors in October 2019) that rounded out what has been a roller coaster of a farewell visit for the Sussexes. Getting on with the work has always been what it’s been about for Harry and Meghan, but behind the smiles of the photos has been a vulnerable couple who are still very much hurting. Back at Buckingham Palace, the ACU students now en route to Westminster Abbey and Harry quietly slipping through the door to say hello, the reality—and the emotions—finally set in as I give Meghan a goodbye hug. She’s flying back to Canada on the last commercial flight of the day, eager to be back in Vancouver Island to be there when Archie wakes up. For a couple who only ever wanted to focus on their work and bring good to the world, it seems like an unnecessarily cruel ending to their royal lives. Forced to give up roles they’re incredibly proud of after sacrificing so much to get there. At this point, the grand Drawing Room is almost empty and tears that the duchess had been bravely holding back are free to flow among familiar faces. As she embraces some of the loyal staff she will most likely not see again, I can’t help but feel sad for the dedicated team members whose tireless efforts—to promote the couple’s work, launch landmark projects, and deal with the near-daily crises brought on by tabloid lies—have come to an abrupt end. Compared to other royal households, it was a smaller operation, with less resources than the more sophisticated offices at Clarence House and Kensington Palace, but in the short space of a year since setting up, Team Sussex had become like a family, looking out for the couple as much as they could. While the weeks and months ahead will no doubt present new challenges for the Sussexes, the couple genuinely feel a sense of excitement about what’s to come, which includes the freedom to work at a pace that suits them, no longer weighed down by protocol or threatened by toxic agendas. And while much has been (incorrectly) speculated about specific commercial endeavors they might be taking on, both Harry and Meghan are eager to get stuck into their work, which will still revolve around their humanitarian efforts and helping amplify the voices of young people around the world on a wide gamut of issues. “The terrain may be a little different but their priorities are exactly the same as before,” a well-placed source tells me. “Keeping the family, most importantly Archie, safe is what will make all of this worth it.” (x)

#this made me cry :(#They deserved so much better #Duchess of Sussex #Duke of Sussex #Meghan Markle #Prince Harry #article #ACU20 #amazing piece by omid

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softdadcarlos · 4 years

Text

(You’re) Having My Baby

Masterlist

Fandom: Resident Evil/Biohazard

Pairing: Jill/Carlos

AU: Family Life

Summary: After a couple years of being happily married, Jill and Carlos are ready to grow their little family of two.

Requested by @vgames-lover and three anonymous users because yet again I combined requests! The title is taken from the song of the same name by Paul Anka and you’ll see why.

It was November 2003 and Jill had been suffering from a stomach bug for about week. She was a bit concerned, maybe the take out she had ordered - Carlos was out with Chris and Leon for Leon’s bachelor party - was bad as she had thrown up the next day and those following. Carlos, despite being slightly hungover, was there to hold her hair back as she muttered curses and promises never to order from that restaurant again. However, being very much under the weather meant she couldn’t go on the mission she was scheduled for and she counted her blessing that Claire’s bachelorette party had been the day before Leon’s. But Jill would not let some mystery illness stop her from attending her friends’ wedding, it would take much more than throwing up in the morning to stop her. Carlos, for his part, kept a close eye on her, understandably worried until he noticed something she murmured to herself while getting ready for the ceremony.

“Need to get new bras, these ones are starting to make my nipples hurt.”

Normally, those kinds of statements would be overlooked by someone who couldn’t put two and two together. But Carlos never overlooked anything when it came to Jill, it might have been a result of trauma but he felt the niggling urge to keep an eye on her, make sure she was safe and okay. So it was safe to say he was starting to piece together a picture and, if he was right about it, it was a picture he had wanted to paint for about a year at that point. He felt butterflies in his stomach at the thought of it.

He noticed her struggling to zip up her dress and went over to help, “You know, I think it might be worth picking up a pregnancy test on our way to the venue. We have been trying for a couple of months after all. We should also stay clear of alcohol today, just in case.”

Jill turned to him, a pensive look on her face, “You really think so?”

Carlos pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and gave her a reassuring smile, “Better safe than sorry.”

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Jill was impatient throughout the ceremony, wanting to get to the bathroom as soon as possible. She was happy for her friends, she really was, and it was sweet seeing Sherry be flower girl yet again, this time for her adoptive parents but after what Carlos had said earlier she just had to know. So as soon as the ceremony was over and it was time for the reception, Jill sped away into the bathroom with the pregnancy test in her over the shoulder bag. Carlos was not aware that she was rushing to take the test. No, the poor man was none the wiser and followed after her, worried that she was having another bout of sickness. His concern grew when she locked the bathroom door behind her. He sighed, leaning against the wall as he waited for her to come out. He was stood there for about 5 minutes before he heard the door unlock and Jill emerged.

He grasped her shoulders, worry in his eyes as he looked her over, “Are you okay?”

“I’m more than okay. Carlos, I’m pregnant,” She beamed at him, tears welling up.

Carlos pulled her into a hug, kissing the crown of her head, “Hello pregnant, I’m dad.”

“Seriously? You’re starting with the terrible fucking dad jokes now?” Jill groaned, nuzzling into his neck.

He shrugged, “I’m a dad now, it’s my job to make bad jokes that embarrass my family.”

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Although Carlos said that they both wouldn’t drink, Jill managed to convince him that he should be allowed to drink as they were now celebrating two things. She got a few looks from their friends as she turned away drinks because if there was something Jill never said no to, it was a free drink. Instead, she would either pass the offered drink to Carlos or sip on some sort of soft drink with an excuse of “I’m the designated driver.” But maybe she made a mistake passing drinks to him. Even though they agreed to stay quiet until the next day as not to detract attention away from the newlywed couple, there Carlos was, fucking serenading her.

“Having my baby. What a lovely way of saying how much you love me. Having my baby. What a lovely way of saying what you're thinking of me.” Carlos sang over the sound of the reception, on one knee, cradling her hand between his as their friends stared at them.

He was cut off before he could continue by Claire rushing over to envelope Jill in a hug, “Oh my god! Jill, you’re pregnant?! How long have you known?”

Jill’s face was red under all the attention, “Today… although I feel Carlos had an inkling sooner since he’s the one that suggested I buy a test this morning.”

“This is the best wedding gift! I’m going to be an auntie!”

The rest of the evening was filled with congratulations and getting Carlos to drink enough water to sober up slightly so he wouldn’t be as hungover in the morning. Chris helped to get Carlos home, insisting that since she was pregnant she shouldn’t be lugging her husband around. A husband that was now just speaking Spanish and making Jill very very thankful Chris only knew the basics of the language as Carlos was getting rather… colourful in verbally displaying his affection to his wife. Chris even opted to stay in their guest room as they had “much to talk about” the next morning.

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The following day saw Chris and Rebecca sat on one sofa as Jill and Carlos, who was nursing a slight hangover that wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been, sat on the opposite one. They hadn’t been expecting Rebecca to knock on their door at 10am but they weren’t entirely surprised since she had been the one to keep an eye on Jill’s health over the years.

“First things first, I’m going to state the obvious: You won’t be able to go on missions for about one year at the very least. Not only would it be dangerous for the baby for you to still go while pregnant, but pregnancy and birth itself is traumatic for the body. You’ll need time to recuperate afterwards. I recommend a two-year leave. Maybe longer depending on how quickly you get back into a fit state.” Rebecca declared sternly, eyeing up the coffee Jill had in front of her.

Chris crossed his arms, “We knew that already. I was planning to talk about her leave today and have her help me pick out a suitable temporary replacement for the meantime.”

Jill was about to take a sip of her coffee when Rebecca reached her hand out and covered the top of it.

“Sorry Jill, but it’s going to be decaf until after the post-birth recovery period.”

Carlos took the coffee from her and headed into the kitchen with it and his own.

Jill levelled Rebecca with a stare, “Decaf tastes like burnt toast.”

Carlos came back in with two glasses of orange juice, “It’s for the good of you and pequeño. But you won’t have to suffer a coffeeless world alone, whatever you’re not allowed, I won’t have either.”

Jill smiled at him as she accepted the offered juice, hand coming to rest on his knee once he was seated again.

“What else is there ‘Becca? What do I need to purge from the pantry.” Carlos asked, lacing his fingers with Jill’s.

Rebecca reached into her bag and pulled a document from its confines, “It’s all written here but I’ll give you a brief rundown. Unpasteurised or mould-ripened dairy products are a no go. Uncooked meats, liver, any and all pates and game meats are not to be eaten. Liver contains high amounts of Vitamin A which can be harmful to the baby. Raw and partially cooked eggs as well as: duck, goose or quail eggs are dangerous unless cooked solid, no runny eggs.” She flicked over to the next page, “Oily fish is to be limited to two portions a week. Tuna should be limited to 140g a week as it contains the most mercury than any other fish. Swordfish, marlin, shark meat and raw shellfish should be avoided. Sadly herbal teas should be limited to four cups a day if you were looking to them as a replacement for coffee. Fruits and vegetables must be thoroughly washed before eating or cooking. Oh and no multivitamin supplements as they can contain vitamin A. That should be about it.”

She handed the document to Jill who was frowning. Carlos had been nodding along the entire time, Jill could see the cogs working away in his head as he thought about what was currently in their kitchen cupboards.

“Is there anything that needs doing asap?” Jill asked.

“A simple urine test to see how far along you are, then we can try to predict a due date.”

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The due date they had been given was for mid-August and an ultrasound scan during the second trimester revealed they’d be having a baby girl. Carlos had reached out to Barry to help them set up a nursery as well as set up a birthing plan, a fount of knowledge thanks to being a father of two. One thing Jill hadn’t accounted for was Carlos becoming more protective than he had been before. He hardly let her in her office, saying that she might stress herself out and that wouldn’t be good for her or the baby. If she wanted to go out with the girls for a chill night, he would text her every half hour to make sure she was okay. She wasn’t mad, not at all. In fact, she completely understood his behaviour. It was just… a tad much sometimes. The bigger her stomach became the more anxious he became about her going out because “What if something happens and I can’t be there to help.”

So there Jill was, sat between her husband’s legs as she leant against him playing Animal Crossing (a game she had grown addicted to much to Carlos’ relief) on the GameCube he bought her as an apology for his worrying ways. She had started taking to wearing his clothes instead of the expensive maternity they had bought because she just found them more comfortable and comforting. Carlos wasn’t complaining, loving the sight of his rounded wife waddling about in his clothes. He had his arms resting around her front, hands pressed to her belly under his baggy shirt, feeling their pequeño’s little kicks. She was definitely going to be a fighter like her mum, that much Carlos could tell.

As it was August, Carlos had a hospital packed and ready to go as well as Barry on speed dial. They had decided on a hospital birth instead of a home birth just in case there were complications at Barry’s suggestion after all. Jill felt a little bad for the older former S.T.A.R.S member, Carlos had been picking his brains ever since they formally announced the pregnancy.

“Carlos playing this game makes me see why you were a communist. Slaving away to pay a raccoon who does nothing is insulting. Fucking Tom Nook-”

Carlos was chuckling until his wife cut herself off, “What is it?”

“...I think my water just broke…”

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Twelve laborious hours later and Eliza Anne Valentine was welcomed into the world. Sure Carlos’ hand hurt like a bitch but he wasn’t complaining if the small chubby baby in Jill’s arms was the end result. He smiled as he watched the scene. Jill was sweaty, her hair a mess as she tiredly greeted their child, stroking her small round cheeks.

“Hello there Eliza, I’m your mama. I’m going to make the world a safe place for you. I promise.” She looked to Carlos, unshed tears in her eyes, “Do you want to hold her?”

Carlos nodded unable to form words with how his throat tightened. Carefully, oh so carefully, they passed the small bundle of joy from one to the other. And upon seeing his daughter’s face, he started crying. She had his nose and her mother’s mouth. Her hair was dark but matted with embryonic fluids so there was no way of telling its actual colour in that moment. He wondered what colour eyes she’d have when she finally opens them. But no matter what traits she took, Carlos didn’t care. She was made from them and their love. She was going to be perfect in his eyes no matter what.

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A/N: To break your hearts further, the way Jill’s maternity leave works out means her first mission back is the one she “dies” in.

I love hearing from you guys! Please tell me what parts you liked!

Requests are temporarily closed. I'm also on twitter @mxbelmounte.

#carlos x jill #jill x carlos #valeveira #resident evil #carlos oliveira #jill valentine #boop

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floweryfreelance · 4 years

Text

𝕴𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖆 𝕽𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖘

CHAPTER FIVE

Table of Contents

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |

This work of fiction is an original collaborative work between tumblr users @theearltrancy and @floweryfreelance. Its original format was in that of a roleplay, and has been edited to be a more cohesive story. This work was created on 11.10.20 and completed on 11.30.20.

Please consider following each author for more fictional works.

Morning light poured into the room, illuminating the entirety of the mess they made the night before. Clothing strewn all over the floor, closet door still open, the dent Alois made the night before in the wall now revealing also ripped wallpaper frantically trying to cover the damage. This room was undoubtedly the taller man’s, bleeding disorganization after just one night of his return to it. It was a wonder that he kept anything in his life together, let alone an estate and an alliance with the Queen herself.

Icy blue eyes fluttered open to witness it, first confirming that his lover was still by his side. Ciel consistently woke up later than he did by mere minutes, but he still enjoyed the time he had with the peace. These were the moments he felt the most peaceful, these secret moments in the early morning that he didn’t need to spend alone. He shifted in bed, stretching his arms over his head, realizing he was still unclothed from the night before. The sight made him smile, reveling in the taste of the memory.

Feeling the movement beside him, Ciel groaned softly, his nose scrunching up as he turned his head towards Alois. It appeared he might be waking up then, but that wasn’t the case. His side felt a breeze as a result of Alois shifting in the bed, and so in a deep sleep he turned over, wrapping his arms around Alois’ arm and buried his face between his shoulder and the pillow. Warm again, he sighed contently, continuing to sleep.

At this point in the morning, it was mostly a waiting game. The Earl, whichever one it was in their respective homes, would wait in his bed until his butler came to wake him. He would carry a warm and damp cloth to wipe his face down, as well as prepared suggestions for both his attire for the day, a memorized breakfast menu, and a list of any duties they had for the day.

The only question now, considering they both resided in the same bed this morning, was which butler would appear first.

Alois smiled at his lover beside him, taking in the structure of the man’s face as he slept peacefully. This scene was perfection to him. While the evenings were consistently foggy, the mornings were normally quite bright and welcoming. The sky opened up, illuminating the softer side of this sin they shared.

In that moment, there was a soft knock at the door, causing the blonde to look up quickly and pull the sheets up to his collarbones. He prayed silently that it wouldn’t wake Ciel too quickly, and hopefully it wasn’t-

“Good morning, your highness.” The demon greeted cooly, walking into the room with a cloth draped over his hand and a smug look on his cold face. Making amends, perhaps? No, he wouldn’t hope for that - just grin and bear it like every other morning. Claude never said sorry. Alois rolled his eyes, sitting up fully in bed but discreetly placing his other hand on his lover’s shoulder so as to hopefully wake him gently.

He was dreaming about a party, a grand one at that, a scene in which Ciel Phantomhive would rarely be found taking part. But in this dream, Ciel and his love attended together; they sat together while eating and talking with other guests, hung on one another’s arm, and danced around the room, most of which was Ciel fumbling and trying to keep up with Alois who was a natural at navigating such parties.

But the dream faded away as the sun hit his eyelids, Ciel groaning softly as he was gently shaken awake. He rolled onto his back, letting out a cutely impolite yawn, his fingers wrapping around Alois’ wrist. “Mm, it’s bright..” he whined. But something was off, he could tell Alois was focusing on something else. Had Sebastian already come in?

Ciel turned over to look towards the door, his heart dropping into his stomach as he recognized a butler standing a bit too close to the bed for his own comfort, though it wasn’t his butler. He sat up quickly, using one hand to pull the sheets up to his chest as his other hand quickly covered his contract-stained eye, averting his eyes so as not to make direct eye contact with the demon in the room.

Alois again used his hand to gently comfort the other man, keeping one hand on the other’s shoulder. The butler was a problem, but it was his problem and it would deal with it, especially after years of fighting with the man. He sighed, irritated, reaching out for the towel reluctantly.

Wiping his face with it, he then wadded it up and tossed it right into Claude’s face. The act of defiance barely phased him, eliciting only a long blink. The blonde huffed as if he were still a young teenager.

“Would you like to know the options for this morning’s breakfast?” The demon offered, emotionless.

The blonde pursed his lips, returning the damp hand to the pillow and tossing himself back in bed in reluctance. It was heard to believe this man was an adult when he did things like this. “Not really. I’ll have whatever he does.” He said blankly, pulling the sheets over his head now. “Get out.”

With Alois hiding beneath the covers, it created the illusion of Ciel and Claude being alone in the room together. That was the last thing Ciel wanted; he was often faced with the dilemma of being close in proximity to someone who wanted him dead, but something about Claude made his hair stand on end.

Despite his order from Alois, Claude didn’t immediately act. He stood there a moment longer, his eyes moving from his own master to the vulnerable bluenette sitting up in bed. Still concealing his contract eye, Ciel glared him down, masking the uneasiness he felt in the moment.

“You heard your master.” He spoke harshly, clutching the sheets tightly against his chest. “Get out. Sebastian will come, he’ll be responsible for the both of us.” The command didn’t leave Claude with much to do, but Ciel didn’t really care. He was afraid of this demon, knowing what he knew now.

The faintest sneer crossed Claude’s face, though it quickly returned to the same old emotionless slate. He bowed, folding the cloth over his arm before backing towards the door, eyeing the Phantomhive Earl over his shoulder as he exited. As the door closed shut, Ciel released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, falling back into the pillows.

“Motherfucking scum.” The man grumbled to himself with his lover’s return. He remained hidden in the sheets, pulling them down only slightly to reveal his golden head. His hair was now disheveled, staticy despite the silk sheet, the cotton of the pillowcase betraying him. “I hate him, I hate him..”

The morning still held the same playful, light atmosphere even though the blonde was in a mood now. Somehow, he felt better knowing that his lover knew not even he approved of the attitude coming from the evil that unfortunately followed him. Without another word spoken, the man childishly reached out to the other smaller man, holding him tightly to his own chest. At least he had someone to ground him.

Ciel returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling into the crook of the other’s neck, blonde hair tickling his nose. He could hear his heart beating, elevated and frustrated.

“He knows..” Ciel commented, halfheartedly attempting a joke. He sighed softly, his hot breath hitting Alois’ neck. He decided to change the subject. “What will you do today?” The still half-asleep bluenette inquired, lifting his head so as to be understood more clearly. “Will you go home? Or will you stay? The weekend hasn’t ended yet..” He snuck in that little side comment, hoping Alois would stay at least for part of the day, if not another night. There were so many things he wanted them to do together; play chess, walk outside in the garden, even read in silence and just enjoy each other’s presence. He dreaded the thought of him leaving again.

Alois let out a half-hearted snort. Despite the interruption, his love was fairly good at grounding him. If he hadn’t been still feeling such an annoyance, one would think that the butler had never entered the room. It was a skill, a deadly one if used in the right context. Alois relaxed into the embrace, half-smiling at the thought of being wanted. It wasn’t new, but it took him by surprise constantly.

“I’m not leaving.” He stated, realizing only afterwards how matter-of-fact he sounded. “I mean, I want to stay. Hell, it’s been almost ten years since I saw your home.” He commented, the picture of the garden in his memory crossing by. He wondered if any flowers had been planted in his honor; perhaps there were bluebells now, his favorite flower, planted absentmindedly in an effort to forget. “I plan to stay as long as you’ll let me.” He mused, hand finding its way into the man’s dark blue hair and running it through his fingers. Alois hoped the notion was appreciated, knowing he’d stay forever if fate only allowed.

Ciel eased into Alois’ hand, closing his eyes as his fingers combed gently through his hair. “Then you’ll stay another night,” He remarked, tracing light circles on the blonde’s shoulder with his finger. “Elizabeth likely won’t return for another week, but I have a case I need to take care of after tomorrow.” He sighed, recalling the piles of paperwork on his desk in his study. “So, you’ll stay until then.”

The moment was interrupted yet again with another soft knocking on the door, although it was Sebastian who opened it this time. He smiled at the two young men, presenting himself with a half bow as he stepped into the room. “Good morning,” he cooed, approaching the bed with a hot towel for Ciel, and an additional one for Alois in the off chance he would want another upon seeing the one for the other man. “For breakfast this morning is a full English breakfast, with porridge, bacon and eggs.”

Sitting up now, Ciel wiped his face down with the hot towel, sighing into it as he attempted to fully wake up. “And how is the weather?” He inquired.

“A bit chilly, master, but the sun is shining brightly.” Sebastian replied, taking the towels back.

“I see,” Ciel noted, glancing at the window before turning back towards his butler. “We’ll have breakfast outside in the garden this morning. Ready my coat in case it’s colder than expected, and Mr. Trancy’s traveling coat as well.” By now he was already sitting up, rolling his shoulders as he stretched and pulled on his undergarments that had been discarded on the floor the night before.

Sebastian nodded charmingly, then turning his attention towards the Earl Trancy. “I’ll return my master to his bedroom to prepare him for the morning. Your butler will return here shortly to do the same for you, if it pleases you.” He said, picking his master’s eye patch up from the floor and beginning to fasten it onto his head once again.

Alois sat up as well, taking the towel and actually wiping his face with it, still groggy and irritated. Recognizing he was being addressed, he set the towel down beside him. Letting out a long sigh, he pushed a hand through his hair, moving it from his face.

“I’ll allow it.” He stated, cold. The rivalry between the two was completely gone by now, Alois unaffected by Sebastian’s presence. He grumbled once again under his breath, crossing the room to put his own undergarments back on and half-heartedly picked up some of his other clothing. Though rudely interrupted, this was still a better morning than any he spent at his own home.

As he was escorted from the room by his butler, Ciel smiled softly over his shoulder at Alois. Something in his smile was reassuring, reminding him that even with that awful demon’s presence, they had a nice day ahead of them; hours and hours to spend with one another, uninterrupted. For the most part.

An hour passed, as each of the young men bathed and picked out their attire for the day. Ciel, with the help of his butler who always seemed to have an eye for that sort of thing, chose a dark green ensemble, all velvet with black lace on the ends of his sleeves and coat tails, golden buttons, and a black dress shirt underneath. It wasn’t as formal as he would usually wear out, but seeing as he was staying in today, he felt the outfit was appropriate enough.

He arrived at the table first, just outside the back of the manor in the center large patio of his garden. It was a simple black table with a glass top, and elegant chairs to match. Breakfast was already being set out; steaming bowls of porridge and plates of bacon and eggs, all covered to trap in the heat, accompanied by a lovely tray of sliced fruits and Earl Grey tea. His favorite.

Ciel sat down in the chair Sebastian pulled out for him, scooching in close to the table. He took a deep breath, feeling clean and awake and refreshed, and admittedly quite hungry. But he would wait here, just like this, for lover to arrive, hopefully just as clean and awake and refreshed.

The hour was long, but Alois made it his prerogative not to start an argument this time. Some days were better than others between him and his butler, most of them passing uneventfully. While slightly more difficult in a home away from home, and particularly the home of his ex-rival, most actions went off without a hitch.

His morning bath went fine, no conversation or lingering needed, and he preferred to do much of it on his own anyway. The Earl chose a maroon ensemble for the day afterwards, gemstones embedded in the buttons and black velvet on both pocket flaps. He spent quite a while in the mirror afterwards, adjusting it to make sure it sat at the exact point in his waist that he wanted it to. The velvet coat was one of his more expensive Parisian items, though being how he was, he didn’t particularly care if he was to go out in it or not. Besides, it would keep him warm enough in the brisk London morning.

Just as the clock hit 8am, he finally left the room as his butler picked up and sorted the clothing all around the floor. This was one of the better sides of his stolen wealth; he never had to account for his tantrums. As he walked out into the garden with Hannah by his side now, the man even allowed a tinge of excitement to spend the morning with his lover.

“Quite the classic spread,” he commented, as if he hadn’t been in a dark mood just an hour earlier. Hannah took more joy in her work than the other despite her lower position as a maid, pulling his chair out for him and calmly standing several feet behind him once he was settled.

Seeing as the two Earl’s were now both seated at the table, Sebastian took it upon himself to lean over, removing the covers from their breakfast platters. He hummed a small “Please, enjoy” before returning to stand behind his own master.

Ciel nodded, beginning to stir his porridge. “Indeed,” he agreed, blowing on it before taking a bite. A hot meal like this was perfect for the blustery morning. “The tea is Earl Grey, I hope it’s to your liking.” The commented, looking up at Alois as he took a sip from his own cup. “It’s still my favorite. I like to have a cup every morning with my breakfast.”

The blonde beamed at the meal, closing his eyes to take a big whiff of it all, for this was a special morning. Excited, he lifted his own teacup with an undue amount of care, careful not to spill any of the drink. Although it was a simple pleasure, it was rare that he got to share it with anybody. He blew on the cup before taking a small sip of it, still just barely too hot but he didn’t mind.

“It’s always been mine as well,” he commented, looking up to meet the other’s eyes. They shared a soft smile, pleased to simply be across from the table from one another. The blonde wanted to soak in every moment they had, for it was never enough.

The two young men continued their breakfast peacefully, unable to remember the last time they both felt this tranquil, especially together. They talked about all sorts of things: Alois’ adventures moving back into his estate, Ciel’s overload of work and desperation for a good long holiday, and even some talk about the places they would go together if they ever had the chance.

Upon finishing their hot breakfast and tea, Alois and Ciel left the cleaning up to their servants, rising from the table and subconsciously making their way deeper into the garden, not wanting their time alone in the cool morning air to end just yet. The strode side by side along a fine gravel path paved between rows of rose bushes and fully grown trees, the leaves of everything beginning to turn yellow and orange with the changing of the seasons. Feeling their hands brush against each other, they linked pinkies, keeping contact with the other without the “dramatics”.

“If it wouldn’t be so bloody suspicious,” Ciel began, a faint pout on his face as he inspected his rose bushes. “I’d keep you here forever in that room. Even with Lizzie here.” Of course such a thing would never be possible, but daydreaming about it would be harmless.

The blond laughed joyfully, having dreamt of that exact thing for years now. He’d attempted to do just that in his second home, failing miserably but not for a lack of trying. Alois swung their hands back and forth as they walked together in the crisp fall morning. The action felt so casual, so everyday, that he could forget their circumstances if only for a moment or two.

“And forever I’d stay,” he added, smiling to himself as he eyed the red roses and the tall trees. They’d been much smaller last time he was here, having grown enough to likely shade them in the summer, months ahead now. It was freeing to daydream, planning to stick around for as long as the other would allow. He wondered idly what would happen if anyone else knew of them; of course they couldn’t marry, but he’d thought of many ways to run away together. Though, none of them were logical.

A long academic retreat. A business trip, ending in false tragedy, presumed dead only to secure land in Austria, perhaps America even. A secluded “business partnership…” Alois’ smile grew wide picturing it all. Maybe in some universe, Lizzie would understand, marry for love but not the romantic kind they shared. Oh, one could dream..

“Sometimes I just wish it was all so much simpler.” He admitted, reaching out to hold the stem of a rose between his index and middle fingers.

Ciel hummed in response, gazing in admiration at Alois observing the rose. “I wish things were simpler all of the time.” He rolled his eyes, his comment sparking a new train of thoughts. “It all seems so fictional. Demons, curses, forbidden romance and secrecy..” He trailed off, sighing to himself. “Sometimes I wonder if this is all real, or if I’m just stuck in a twenty-one year long dream.”

They wandered further, continuing to take in the natural beauty around them, and occasionally sneaking longing looks at one another. Ciel thought Alois looked like a painting in a museum with the roses and stone statues behind him.

He looked around them nonchalantly, checking to see if there was anyone near them who could be watching. Seeing no one, Ciel tugged on Alois’ sleeve and pulled him just behind a nearby rose bush to the side of the paved pathway, cupping his cheeks and pulling him in for a soft kiss. His pale cheeks quickly turned pink, hoping the sudden action didn’t come off as too needy.

Startled and stumbling slightly, Alois caught his balance just in time to return the kiss. The gesture made him laugh against the other man’s lips, placing his hands around his shoulders to steady himself. Gentler now, he pulled back only to place another kiss on the man’s soft pink lips. He stood back, running a thumb against them, taking in the texture of his skin to memorize it. His eyes were soft, searching for confirmation that the other felt the same in this moment - joyful, light, playful, and completely in love.

“I’ve heard there are groups,” he mentioned softly, his tone hopeful, “There are other men like us… maybe someday this part of our lives will at least be less fictional.” He paused, brushing a strand of hair behind the other’s ear, distant. “Maybe we’ll even finish these contracts someday, be normal people as best as we can…”

One of Ciel’s more negative traits was his pessimism. As much as he wanted that ‘normal’ life with Alois, he didn’t believe they would ever have it. It was like Alois told him the night before; the two of them were doomed to live in sin, tied to demons who one day would take their souls. There wasn’t a way out of it.

But he refused to let those thoughts spoil this moment. Alois’ breath smelled of Earl Grey tea, and Ciel’s mouth watered a bit. He would pocket this beautiful memory as well, tucking it away to remember when he felt alone; two young men taking a morning walk in a rose garden, sharing kisses just out of sight.

“Perhaps..” Ciel hummed, resting his forehead against the other’s. “Perhaps we will..”

Alois reached down, grabbing both of his lover’s hands in his tightly. Keeping their faces close, the man closed his eyes, a wistful smile resting on his lips. Despite his lover’s pessimism, he wanted to believe in something.

“We’re not the only ones,” He said quietly, reassuring the other. “Not everything about it is completely unnatural. We may be doomed, but we’re at least not the only ones..” He repeated, thinking about the headlines he’d read in the papers recently. “There’s one thing we can stop worrying about. Maybe someday they’ll change something.”

There was a group of men just like him, right in London. The article that followed was filled with hateful words, as expected, but it was the idea that he clung to. Before then, he had accepted that he would never love a woman, but he always assumed that it was tied to a life of sin. While he never internalized it and lived as if it were normal, it struck him to have confirmation that other people did in fact feel just as he did- purely in love with other men, wholly human and wholly raw, perhaps unnatural but real.

He relaxed slightly as his hands were squeezed in the other’s, and he nodded, trying to muster up even a bit of optimism. “I hope they will.”

Ciel had seen it too, the articles in the papers. There were in fact other men like them, although their existence was met with disgust and hatred from the public and from the churches, calling them abominations and demanding horrible things be done to them. It was difficult for Ciel to focus on anything other than the public’s disgust for men like him, but he admired Alois’ ability to hold onto the fact that they weren’t alone- that they weren’t some strange mistake in the universe that wasn’t supposed to occur in the first place. They weren’t alone, that much was true.

The two young men spent the rest of the day together, just as they planned. They spent much of it sneaking away from their servants for just a bit of private time, looking for any opportunity to sneak a kiss, sit closer together than normal, or intertwine their fingers together. They held a lively conversation over several games of chess, only one of which Alois was able to win. The pair enjoyed an hour or so of light reading, most of which was Ciel actually trying to read while Alois did his best to distract him, and even shared another walk around the property. Lunch was held inside as the weather grew colder, the air smelling of rain once again. Across the table from each other, they talked while sharing glances out the window at the tiny droplets of rain beginning to lightly tap against the large window beside them.

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xxisxxisxxis · 4 years

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Preview: Gateway Drug | Part Seventy-One

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Duff lets out a sharp breath, his hands pulling me down onto him while he gives one last thrust into me, warmth spreading throughout me as his cum coats my insides.

"Fuck." I whimper out, my hips flexing, at the feeling.

"How the fuck could he cheat you?" He asks me, reeling off his sex-high, his eyes running all over my glistened skin before he's sitting up, wrapping his arms around me. "You're so fucking flawless." He adds and I smile at him, brushing the hair from his face before kissing him.

Once I get off of him and lay beside him in the bed, he's looking up at our mirrored ceiling, that's recently been replaced ever since I broke it throwing a tantrum.

"That was…" I start, realizing what I'd just done, and he looks at me, his brows furrowed slightly.

"Are you okay?" He asks me, sitting up, probably thinking I'm about to cry.

"Yes, I'm fine." I assure him. "It's just strange to have sex without being left right after." I add, remembering the more times than not that Nikki would leave to go out after we got done.

"I'm not leaving." He tells me, his hand brushing against my cheek.

"I know." I reply, closing my eyes, my face resting against the pillow as tiredness creeps up on me.

He lays back down beside me, pulling me closer to him, and comfort consumes my body…

...Right before the roaring of Nikki's Harley pulling into the driveway shatters it.

I snap up, Duff doing the same.

"Is that…?" He asks me, eyes wide.

"Shit!" I whisper yell, the two of us getting out of bed.

He nearly trips, pulling his jeans back on, and I'm pulling my silk robe on, grabbing Duff's shoes, heading for the guest bedroom closet.

Once he's hidden, having to crouch uncomfortably to fit under the shelf, I'm running back to our room, spraying a few sprays of my perfume to throw off the sex smell.

I rush to the bathroom to wet a washcloth and get Duff's cum, that's leaking down my legs now, off, just as I hear Nikki's boots stomping into our room.

I finish cleaning up as fast as possible and get back out there to see him shirtless.

"H-Hey." I nervously greet him, regretting not fixing my hair from its roused state.

He glances at me and does a double take, his eyes snaking up my exposed legs before he's looking at me.

A slick smirk falls on his lips as he says:

"Whatcha been doing?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, eyes wide.

"I know what you look like post-orgasm, Viv. There's no shame in having fun with yourself." He adds and I nearly sigh out with relief. He thinks I've been masterbating. Perfect. "Infact," he steps closer, making me step back until my back hits the wall, and he puts his hand beside my head, trapping me in, "it's really hot."

I shift uncomfortably as his other hand moves to the curve of my hip, slipping under the robe to palm at my ass cheek, and I have to force myself to hold back a moan when his hand suddenly comes down to harshly give one good smack to my flesh before rubbing over my stinging skin.

"Don't stop just because I pulled up." He tells me, motioning to the messy bed. "Keep doing your thing and I'll just observe." He grins and I snap out of it and push him away from me.

"You're drunk." I bite at him, annoyed.

"Blah, blah." He replies, pulling another tshirt out of his closet. "Tommy puked on me, I had to change shirts." He says. "Not that I owe you a fucking explanation."

"Never said you did, Nikki."

"No, but you're looking pissed that I'm here so that's why I am."

"I'm not pissed, can you stop assuming things?"

"Whatever, Viv." He grumbles.

"Yeah, whatever, Nikki."

"Oh my God, just shut the fuck u--" he stops abruptly, and I'm confused until I see he's focused on my hip bone, that's been exposed by my robe failing me when it shifts, and I see he's focused on the "D" on my hip.

He steps closer to me, angling his head in every direction to see it clearly, even laying on the carpet and looking at it from below, the same confused expression on his face.

When he gets off the floor, he's on his knees, holding at my hips to look at it from centimeters away.

"Nikki, cut it out." I scold him, trying to move away from him but he stops me.

"Ya know, the funniest thing is happening. I haven't taken anything hallucinogenic, but I swear I see a 'D' on your hip bone." He tells me and I finally get out of his grip as he stands back up, studying my expression. "Oh, hell fucking no, you did n--I know you do not have a fucking 'D' on your fucking body."

I had one in me a few minutes ago.

"It's not a 'D', Nikki."

"I may not have graduated but I know my ABCs, Vivian, and that's a fucking 'D'!"

"It's a Roman numeral for '100'!" I say back, smartly. "To represent the least number of times you fucked Vanity while we were together, so I'll never forget!"

"We're still together, Vivian!" He screams.

"Really?! Is that why you screw groupies almost every night on the road?!"

"Because I get lonely because my wife refuses to acknowledge me without screaming my fucking head off!"

"You were screwing another woman even when I wasn't perpetually angry at you, Nikki, what the fuck are you talking about 'lonely'?!"

#nikki sixx #mötley crüe #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx fanfiction #gateway drug

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rwmhunt · 3 years

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Leviticus, Chapter 23

1. Substitute day, and a return unto A sender of something, as to another place, That hasn't the wherewithal to get there either; I will open it again and learn That which is already known to be such As isn't so much.

2. And it's not mine, but a, And is the right way round. For as I set the seasons, I reprise, reply, replay; It's substitution day.

3. And Sabbath is the seventh, Whence the lord, in all thy dwellings, Is up for doing nothing; Or Sabbath is the sixth; I don't care.

4. And welcome to my channel, It's great to have each of you still with me- A man who speaks of people By their purpose, Himself as his own singer, With- such are the seasons, Even, holy convocations, For want to be sure of a constant, It's Senhal, An obscure term For an old friend.

5. Love, love, lo, this is not Of a cloven love, Leviticus, I will speak of it Unto sundry strangers and neighbours, As just one more month's dusk Then it'll be passover, Not once. Not twice, Not once. Love. So we can still imagine a time When all of this will go again;

6. But a day will approach When, if there is something That can look back, Could think that 'here' and 'then' Are really very close;- And I wonder if they saw The strings of direct attachment, Lining their behaviours; Just flour and water, But I don't think so; Still, anytime was closer to history than this one, So what do I know?

7. If I were to put the onus On to the impossible, Then what was light-hearted and playful, Would be wont to become ridden and surly; Lord, being an influencer is a serious endeavour, For how many unsuccessful oblations are there That are out there? Lo, state your appreciation; Don’t just wing it. Plan it out in kalends, Of which are reckon'd to be backwards; so, To start, do nothing.

8. After a week, Let's go- Gift your influencers' grift, For, when you so do this, It strokes the ego of the flames, Who then add unto the savour of sacrifice, Thus, get me it up; Make it smolder, Then, use its fatal nature To activate the future.

9. And simple: These are nacks, To muster control Over gods; Are junk and have been; That we all have interest vested- Let ignorance of it control Hereafter, same, so anon and amen.

10. Crowdsplain- First fruit the priest Hard and long, Find the tunnels, Writing what's impossible For the brain to conceive, That it may then be read back of, To supplant and supersede; So become possible.

11. And thither, the Wheatchief Will wave the sheaf Tomorrow- See how it goes? Ol' Cathode Ray, and Non-mathmatical aesthetic identities, The spirit of the radio take her.

12. That once the sheaf And all the while Be specific unto thy niche- Nativize unto thy platform, For, the experience shall follow The rhyzome's swerve and function, So that the user-expectation be wrought From whence the contents be placed- In this case, Add in a lamb shank ponzi scheme to my platform; Smells wonderful.

13. So unto the titular character, Exerting such low level leverage as Begetteth me of an ephah cake, And a quarter hin of wine; I don't need the free stuff, I am a successful influencer, But shouldst you want me to advertise for suckers On my platform that I have built myself for free; Well, we're all getting along so good.

14. Then it's me first, And simple: see- That our boldest endeavours, And most exciting adventures- They have not yet even begun; That, in spite of all the detritus, In the teeth of all that we've done, my boys, I tell you: The best Is yet To come.

15. Then, 49 days later, Seek whence Thought might come in sequence, And I'm really so blessed and thankful to you all for being here; So, as thought comes in sequence And thus, it wasn't known where We are going here as we begun. O tensions, retensions- I use to used to run.

16. Know, influencers, I am the hype; So on-brand that I can give unto you, And through you, the trick- Pyramid that still stands For the thousands- Round it up; So nice.

17. And, super relevant- Optimize continuously, also, Compensate me handsomely; while Sacrifice may seem like a quick-success marketing strategy, It isn’t so. Such are the things that keep not happening; More food please.

18. Lots more, This is why the burden of proof for rhetorical claim Shall falleth shortly As among the Open Wounde who should maketh of such a claim; It is not upon the world to provide him a fallacy, But he, who's to prove the world its truth; which, Across all channels, He, rerewise, hath been completely unable to do.

19. So suffer him his own precarity; And then some; Think back to when, Twirrup twipip,-pwiwip, Suwee, psu, swoo swsoo, So sweepeth they in song, As we, quiet, Through our blossom comedown, That hideth our tiny singers, And the bulgence behind the wiltage, In the verges, Be of burgeoning seed.

20. And everyone wave; All this- so good as is it to be; And though under a hail Of black tormentors, Our torment, And through its over-drone, With no one remembering it happening, But, who'll remember the photograph?

21. Sit back; You've lost everything, So lo, olah, you remember how mother died- Bringing cow parsley into the tent of meaning; For she went by the umbels as we'd walked on the plain, And they had reminded her of those lace cushions That her ladies-in-waiting had carried, And so gave them the name.

22. Embassadors, Leave thy corners to disillusion; A true influencer ideally keeps doing What they genuinely gain of a passion for. They know their value and their need is not to shew it, So spend a lot of time reading news and sharing opinions with others online. By buying-up dozens of potential plots, They help to plot the exodus to less, And stake an astronaut over the shape of a woman. But politics isn’t about the weird worship of one dude, So his words became their actions.

23. Is it worth your time To try and ignore that, if, What you are listening to Is the most effective form of advertising- A babbling of a technique That hath impostulated language, Then, should things go well, We may even be able to rend a cross-paracleation With phantom trust-collaborators, Interested in guest-posting for backlinks and exposure, Thus, marrying into micro-influencers, And so tap into our y.

24. But be consistent: For my favourite casts come out the same- Here, crowdplain how a seventh month is a Sound the trumpet month; See how it goes? Lo, but half of me struggles with the whimsy Of the other side that's yet so entranced; No, I'm not sure why, it's just the way I feel.

25. Down tools, more please. Gnaw your own head off. All things positivity- and It is always negotiation; Not: You bring it to the tabernacle, I sing- There is no shortness of spirit In opinion To be cut down. Equal positives, so unto Those things that keep not happening.

26. There are voices you hear of, As quoted as begetters of insightful opinion, Who art themselves never made extant, Being only reported hereto as sources, And lo, that they are the influencers. And I'm super curious as to know what you guys think; Please be sure to leave your comments amid the margins.

27. Thence, afflict thy souls, For, tis atonement day- We're ten into the seventh, And the snap's back when I was An offensive lineman, And the pass sent over- The big lie, long, long to the long deceiver, Ah, burnt offerings- How original, Best look unto the analytics, And if they give you not access there unto , Verily, you are going to have to fight, Fight as peaceful as Sheol, Down, deep down and dirty- I'm not going to call it off.

28. Down tools; Atone to the dial tone, No one calls; Let Ladder Capital Createth of the sponsored post- Like many on the medium, To use an ode- I used to play the role; To laugh and laugh; Laugh til I despised all there was to laugh at, And then I stopped, And in the silence, saw what I had done.

29. But laughing is not so bad.

We've been a good wee band. Yes we have. No one is coming after us. And if you're alright, mack, You'll get cut off.

30. So workers got destroyed That day, And Aaron was frustrated, And livid. Reach round; Feel thy spine. The way people stop you From being helpful When you are helpful, So that you cannot be helpful, So that they can cut you From your people.

31. Tardiness in perpetuity, Aye, today, it is Yplangenday- Well, I'll have to put myself Through some more adamantine Paces than god allows, else I'll never get enough done.

32. And be bold, For, you'll need to deracinate; Chancers are toxic vocations Within the tent of meaning; It's content; it's all content- Divide and game, so- Focus and grow. I mean to make sure That you are a consistent- Start of the ninth evening , End of the next.

33. God doesn't eat though, That I can see- For all that we give him, God doesn't eat.

34. Crowd, 15/7, and tabernacle feast week; Still his words became their actions, Shrill, until the doctrine of laches, When the searched-after Faithless elector went libertarian, Like many on the medium, Clade unto such bolled and novel obstacles What stretched where chance was slim, And slim was still in quarantine.

35. To start again, down tools, For, lo, if you want to be in a prison camp, You needst allow yourself the luxury Of being stupid enough to get captured.

36. Sacrifice? Spluttereth the LORD: But I'm fed up with so much burnt rubbish, I wish for forced fresh rhubarb, So shunt and jive; I've Optimized, and optimize continuously.

37. Drinks break; take life indicting, Gratify all at a local craven hire scheme, Go abroad singing, so merrylike, To slough off the whole As one enormous rhyzome. Deus Hic! God is drunk! I heard that, Brian Leg-Coverall.

38. O well done Jehus, And good to be with you, Yes you, Who are good in a crisis; A reminder- I'm working with mischief.

39. Wait, rest again, To live is to live through An embarrassment of times, Damarkated as meaningful riches, That will not be well remembered. Really, I am so blessed.

40. But try to ask of a question; So that thy congregation Might make communion in answer, See how it goes? Say, But why, isn't it A bit like palm sunday? The stream changeth its name As it passeth through each neighbourhood. I knew it as; Well it doesn't matter- You're not reposting, nor liking my banal repartee, So, unfollow.

41. And it goes; for I have giv'n unto them a scapegoat, But they cast it not out; So shall there be a reaving that will follow, and Themselves, they shall be cut off from.

42. Then all ye home-born booth dwellers In dwelling booths, Shall dwell in booths seven days and know That you are living in the rhyzome..

43. And everyone will know that I made you do this- The old booth dwellers, needing my rescue out of Egypt, So weakened, the Open Wounde stayeth open; And remember to tell us what you think, Way down, deep down, down in the margins.

44. And Mose went about with the crowdsplaining Old loud-haler; A simple fellow out of storybook glen, From the tent of meaning, From the twilight men, He ran and told- And the thing is, They were too clever To not know what they were doing- So the target becomes bios; Is the common psychle, The answer- How would you like it? Is - 'I didn't'. And that therein has a hold and salience, As before tends to be the best time to regret- It is a kind of nonsense. I'm so merry

I'm so merry and sad.

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