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roosterforme · 6 months

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Always Ever Only You Part 18 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You missed the quality time you'd been spending with your husband as soon as it started to slip away. You were busy with work, and Bradley was being called upon again, just like he always was. But before he prepares to leave, your curiosity gets the best of you.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, oral, smut, talking about trying for a baby

Length: 5200 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

As May became June, the temperatures got hotter and the beaches got more crowded, and your evening walks with Tramp became a little less frequent as a result. You also felt like your time with Bradley was starting to become a little more sporadic. Work and other obligations were starting to break into the bubble that the two of you had managed to re-form, and you kind of missed how cozy you'd been.

"I'll be home late on Tuesday, Roo. I have a meeting with Bickel."

"Mav asked me to teach on Thursday, so don't wait for me if you're hungry for dinner."

By the time you got to Friday night, you ended up at the Hard Deck, because everyone kept bugging you to go. And you knew that Bradley was proud of your hard work and the fact that your boss seemed to be lining you up to take over after his eventual retirement. And it wasn't like you weren't absolutely thrilled that Top Gun was entrusting Bradley with teaching their incoming students with more frequency. But you were just craving more of the intimate hours you got used to at home. With just Bradley and a bath with champagne followed by him reading from his notebooks.

"You want another beer?" Bradley asked you next to the noisy pool table as you shook your head. Nat had already given you two, and you just wanted to go home already. You tried to socialize with everyone a little bit more. Fanboy was about to leave for a long deployment, so you made sure you gave him an extra hug or two. And then Payback showed up with the girl he was dating, so you chatted with her for a little bit. But after another hour, you were feeling antsy.

Any day now, you were certain Bradley would be telling you he had been chosen for the top secret special detachment. And in just a few more days, he would be on base in Lemoore until the judge made a decision regarding Admiral Dean and Slayer. And there was nothing you could do about either of those things.

You were also pretty sure you were almost done ovulating right now in spite of your best efforts to try not to think about it. And the past few days had been a bust with how busy the two of you were. The last thing you wanted to do was push Bradley to have sex when one or both of you were tired or clearly not in the mood for it. But there was a tiny bit of doubt that was creeping in, making you feel like this was a wasted month. But on the other hand, just looking at him right now was making you warm. You knew it was probably just your hormones, but you wanted him and his attention all to yourself.

Immediately you set your empty beer bottle down and wrapped your arms around your husband as he talked to his best friend. He rubbed your back as you pressed your cheek to his chest, already feeling a little better. You didn't care if Nat heard you; she was already Bradley's sounding board for so many things. So you smiled at her and then looked up at him as he paused with his beer most of the way to his mouth.

"Bradley," you said, your voice a little needy even to your own ears. "I love you, and it's been a really long week, and I just kind of miss when we were spending so much time together. Can we go home now and relax?"

Bradley handed Nat his half empty beer and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Can we finish talking about this later?"

"Absolutely," Nat replied with a smirk. "Goodnight, you two."

Then he laced his fingers with yours and led you out of the bar and onto the deck where he immediately picked you up for a piggy back ride. "Why didn't you say something sooner? I thought you wanted to come out and see Fanboy and do the whole Hard Deck thing tonight."

"I kind of did," you said, kissing his ear as he carried you to the Bronco. "But it got old fast compared to being at home with you. It's just been a long week, and I missed you. And I know you'll be in Lemoore in a few days, and then the special detachment is coming up, and-"

"Hey," Bradley said firmly as he set you down next to the Bronco. "I'm right here, and I'm more than happy to take you home and stay there for the rest of the weekend. I'd love to do that, in fact."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. "Maybe you can call Nat tomorrow? And finish your conversation with her then?"

"Maybe," he replied. "Or maybe I'll be too busy with my wife. Either way, it works for me."

He buckled you in with another kiss before he climbed in and zipped the short distance back home. Then you made a sandwich for a late night snack and cut it in half to share with him. He lifted you up onto the counter and finished his in three bites, and you felt so much better being at home alone with him. You finally felt like you could focus.

"Are you still hungry?" you asked while he downed a glass of water and watched you finish eating.

"Not for a sandwich, Sweetheart." His voice was raspy, and the fine hairs on your neck and arms were standing on end as he took a step closer.

"Oh," you whispered as he leaned against the counter with his hands on either side of your thighs. You ate the last few bites slowly before you asked, "Are you going to tell me what you're hungry for? Maybe it's something I could get ready for you?"

He groaned softly as he kissed the side of your neck and whispered, "I wanna eat your pussy, Baby Girl. Will you let me?"

An hour ago, you had been feeling overstimulated and annoyed. Now you were unbuttoning your shorts and whining your husband's name. Next time you wouldn't wait so long to tell him you just needed a few minutes alone with him so you could feel better.

"I'll take that as a yes," Bradley said as he sank down to his knees in front of you and helped you out of your shorts and underwear. He spread your legs wide and ran his index finger back and forth across your clit. "Let me enjoy this perfect pussy, and then I'll read to you from my notebook in bed."

He peppered a few kisses on your thigh, then his mouth was all over you. Your fingers gripped his hair as you tried to stay upright while he buried his face in you. "Roo," you gasped as his mustache hit just the right spot. You rocked gently against his face as he licked long stripes up and down before letting his pretty lips settle on your clit. He knew exactly how to get you off, but right now, he was taking his time.

"Fucking gorgeous," he whispered, looking up at you and smiling before kissing you everywhere. He fucked you expertly with his tongue, and you were afraid you were pulling his hair too hard, but he didn't stop.

Soft, needy sounds gave way to you begging him to let you come. "Please, Daddy!"

He grunted and fucked you with two fingers while he sucked on you in a gentle, steady rhythm. The pressure was just right. His rough mustache was perfect. You came, tugging on his hair until he was standing up. His cheeks were rosy, and his pupils were blown wide, and his face was wet from a mix of your pussy and his saliva.

He was the most handsome thing that ever existed, and now he was kissing your lips with that mouth that tasted like you. This time you were a little gentler as you combed your fingers through his hair while he rutted against you.

"You just needed a night in with your Daddy. You feel better now?"

"I really did need you," you promised. Then you softly asked him, "Do you want to fuck me?"

He was panting slightly as he muttered, "Of course I do. You're my perfect wife."

You undid his pants and pushed them down a few inches, and he was right at your entrance, ready to go. But he was hesitating, his cheeks growing a shade darker as he swallowed hard. "I'm not gonna last."

He was just that turned on from going down on you. "I don't care," you promised him. You were so relaxed and sated, you kind of felt like you could melt into a puddle on the kitchen island. And then he was thrusting inside you, his hips rolling and pushing your thighs wider.

He wrapped his hands around your waist and shook his head, and soon he was muttering that he was about to finish. So you leaned back on your elbows and planted your feet on the edge of the counter and said, "I was a good girl all week. Give me a cream pie?"

Your husband stroked your rooster tattoo with his right thumb as he fucked you harder until you were struggling to keep your feet planted in place. "Oh, shit," he growled when he came. Once his movements had stilled, he withdrew from you and smiled. "That's a beautiful cream pie, if I do say so myself. We do some of our best work in the kitchen."

You were both giggly and a little bit messy as Bradley carried you to bed. When he flipped to a random page in the notebook, you curled up against him. "What am I supposed to do when you're gone again? We have no idea how long you'll be in Lemoore. And who knows about the special mission either."

He sighed and kissed your forehead. "As far as I'm concerned, Lemoore should be cut and dry. I'll drive up with Nat and Bob, and we'll all read our statements. And hopefully that's it."

"And hopefully Dean and Slayer get fucking reprimanded to the letter of the law," you added.

"Well, that too," he said with a laugh. "But I'll be back home quickly, and we don't even know if I'll get selected for the detachment, so let's not worry about that yet." Then he cleared his throat and started to read from his notebook.

"I can't believe how much time I wasted with other women. The few minutes of satisfaction did not outweigh the fact that I didn't really want to get to know them at all. And maybe even worse, the fact that I could tell they thought I was only good for one thing. The more I think about it, maybe I really only was good for one thing."

You cut him off with a kiss and said, "I don't really like this page. I don't like it when you're hard on yourself."

Bradley looked at you with soft eyes and smiled. "Want me to read something else?"

You wrapped your arms around him a little tighter, but you said, "No. Finish this one."

He cleared his throat again and continued.

"At the time, I guess I thought I was living in the moment, and that I'd have these experiences to look back on someday when I was older. But now I don't like thinking about it, because the main thing I remember is that I was selling myself short in every way. What's the point in having meaningless sex over and over again when what you're actually craving is attention and affection? What's the point in kicking someone out of your bed after an hour when your skin starts to crawl, when all you really want is to find the right person to keep with you all night long?

I don't understand how my wife is so gracious. I really don't get the way she can look at me and see something worth her precious time. But I'm so thankful she does."

You snuggled against him quietly, your thoughts swirling. "Roo? I don't understand why you didn't just try to take me home with you after we met."

Bradley snorted and chuckled as he set the notebook aside. "You mean when I couldn't stop staring at you when we were on base working together? Or you mean the night when we first talked at the Hard Deck?"

You closed your eyes and considered the difference. Jake had asked you out during work hours two days after you met him, but you were already distracted by Bradley at that point. And maybe you'd have let Bradley take you home from the bar, but then you probably would have never gone on a real date with him.

"I think I would have gone home with you from the bar," you said softly. "If you'd asked."

Bradley's fingers dug into your body as he said, "Then you would have thought I was a joke just like every other woman. And maybe that's why I didn't try my shitty pickup lines or any of my moves on you. Yeah, you and I were flirting, but everything I did and said to you was sincere, because I could tell I was getting your genuine undivided attention. You weren't only looking at me like I could take care of you physically for an hour. And that was a very rare thing."

"Oh," you sighed, crawling fully on top of him now. You smiled and kissed him until the concerned crease in his forehead smoothed out. "You always make me feel like you knew we would get married someday as soon as you looked at me."

Bradley rubbed his hands up under your shirt. "I think I subconsciously hoped so, Sweetheart. But I had to play the limited cards in my hand just right to even stand a chance."

You were starting to get sleepy now, and his rough hands felt so good everywhere. "What would you have said to me if you just wanted to hookup?" you asked, laughing as he groaned.

"You don't want to know, Sweetheart. You would have probably laughed in my face and walked away, because I was using the same dumb tactics since I was twenty four."

You kissed his sternum as your mind once again swirled with information. "This is all very intriguing," you murmured as you started to doze.

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

Bradley was waiting on the porch with you after work on Monday evening, his arms wrapped around you as you kissed him. It was a five hour drive up to Lemoore, and Nat was on her way to pick him up.

"Call or text me when you get there," you said between kisses as your fingers teased and tugged at his hair. "Even if it's late."

"I will," he promised, kind of no longer content to just be making out with you. There wasn't enough time for anything else, even though you were moaning softly into his mouth and letting your hands explore the front of his body now. "Baby Girl," he warned. The last thing he wanted was an erection when he had to leave you in the next few minutes.

But you just kissed him harder and said, "I love you," and now Bradley was thinking about retiring and spending every night with you for the rest of his life.

"Fuck," he grunted when he heard Nat's SUV. When he opened his eyes, she was careening into the driveway behind your shitty little car. His best friend was such a bad driver, he wasn't exactly sure why he and Bob agreed to put her behind the wheel today, but he certainly wouldn't mind if Nat totaled your car right now. She came to a screeching halt mere inches from your bumper. At least that disappointment was enough to stave off his boner.

You walked Bradley to the driveway, and Bob put the passenger side window down so you could chat with them while Bradley put his garment bag in the trunk along with your small overnight bag he was using. If he wasn't back by Wednesday night, he was going to be so pissed off.

"I made you guys cookies and some blueberry muffins," you told Bob, handing two containers over. Bradley snuck up behind you and pressed himself against your rear end as you tried to have a normal conversation with his friends. You ended up just saying good luck before turning to face him. "You're obnoxious," you whispered.

"I know. It's just because I love you so much," he replied with a smirk, earning another heated kiss before you pushed him toward the back door. "I'll let you know when we get there."

Bradley had to push snack wrappers and other assorted trash onto the floor with a grimace so he could buckle his seat belt. Nat turned to look at him. "You and your wife are so gross," she said with a laugh.

"Not as gross as your car. Hey, any chance you can put it in drive instead of reverse and then floor the accelerator?" he asked, only half kidding as he looked at your car.

"No," Nat replied as she backed out. "She'd never forgive me."

Then the three of them waved to you, and they were off. Bradley tried to have a muffin without making a mess of the crumbs, but he watched as Nat just brushed them onto the floor while she drove and ate. "You guys think anything will even happen to Dean?" she asked with her mouth full.

"If everything is good and just in the world, then yes," Bob said in an even tone.

"I fucking hope so," Bradley added. "If for no other reason than the fact that they are making us go up to Lemoore."

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

On Tuesday, the courtroom was packed with people who were there to make statements against Admiral Dean. There were so many people in fact, that Bradley was surprised this man had been allowed to fuck up this many missions for his own agenda before he ended up in front of a judge in a military courtroom. The benches of witnesses were jammed as Bradley squeezed in next to Nat, and the room was so warm, he didn't know how he'd manage all day in his dress blues.

"Look at everyone," she whispered as she tugged at her collar. "We'll be here all week."

Bradley had to listen to the two lawyers argue for a bit, but once things started rolling, he was starting to get a solid picture of what was going on here. Admiral Dean moved from the Atlantic Fleet to the Pacific Fleet with a small reprimand after showing clear favoritism to the pilots out of Naval Air Station Key West. He'd cost an aviator her life among a laundry list of other fucked up things, a fact that made Bradley's somach turn. He nudged Nat's leg with his, thankful his friend was still here even though she looked like she was half asleep.

But once Dean had been placed in Lemoore, things somehow got even worse. Bradley listened to a statement from a pilot who felt like he had been forced into early retirement by Dean. Then there was a weapons systems officer who said she'd been passed over for promotions by Dean because she tried to call him out on his behavior.

When he, Bob and Nat were called up with the others who had been in the air with Slayer back in April, Bradley had to stand there and feel the glare from two sets of eyes burning into him as he gave his honest testimony of the events of that day. He didn't hold back. He talked about the fact that he had been named the spare when he would have never gone off course like Slayer did. He made sure to make his point when he said everyone in the air was at risk simply because Slayer had been selected for the mission over him. And he ended things by pointing out that by the time he got to the scene of the dogfighting, some of the others were already nearly out of ammunition and fuel.

He made eye contact with Dean and then Slayer once he was finished, and then Bob was called up. And then Nat was called up. And then all of the others as well. The details that were being recounted could all be pieced together to give an honest picture of what happened that day. Dean should have been squirming in his seat, and Bradley was delighted to see that he was as the day wore on and on.

Bradley's stomach was growling loudly, and he was annoyed when the judge said, "Let's all reconvene tomorrow morning for final statements and a decision. Everyone is dismissed for now."

"We have to stay another night?" Nat whined, yanking at her tie on the way out of the courtroom. "Just strip the asshole of his rank right now."

Bradley tended to agree with her. What was the sense in drawing this out any longer? He could have been on his way home to you, but instead he was picking up takeout for dinner and walking it back to his tiny hotel room across the street from the barracks on base. He inhaled his dinner while he texted you some updates, and just when he was hoping to call and maybe have some filthy phone sex, he got a call from someone else.

He sighed and answered. "Hey, Mav. What's up?"

"You're still in Lemoore?"

"Yeah. Until at least tomorrow," Bradley grunted.

Mav paused for a beat. "I wanted to tell you in person, but tomorrow night won't give you as much time to prepare. You've been selected. For the special detachment. You'll have to fly out of Miramar by Comanche on Monday morning."

Bradley's heart was pounding with anticipation and nerves. "Where am I going?"

"That's all the information I have. The clearances for this thing are tight to say the least. When you get back down here, you'll need to talk to Admiral Simpson and Admiral Bates immediately."

"Fuck," Bradley whispered. "Thanks for the call."

He sat in silence for a few minutes, wondering if he should call and tell you right now or wait until he got home. He collapsed back on the bed, knowing this was the kind of conversation he'd rather have with you face to face, but it would be much worse if you thought he was trying to hide anything from you. He reached for his phone.

After one ring, he heard your voice. "Roo." You sounded so sweet, he could picture the way you must have been curled up in bed reading by now. "Are you alone?"

"Yeah," he grunted, rubbing his face with one hand.

Your soft laughter made him want to touch himself as you said, "Can we talk about how much I want to suck your cock right now?"

"Fuck. Baby Girl. Wait."

Your voice took on a different tone entirely. "What's wrong?"

"Maverick just called me. I'm going on the special detachment. I leave Monday." When you asked him for details, he had none to give you. And when you asked him if he was happy, he didn't really know how to respond. "I think... relieved is the right word for how I'm feeling. I don't want to leave you again, but I do feel like this is something I needed."

And then you told him that you were proud of him.

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

You had a missed call from Bradley plus a new text message when you looked at your phone the following afternoon, but you couldn't even call him back. You were sitting between Cat and Commander Bickel for a video conference with a group in Annapolis. Video conferences were the fucking worst invention. You didn't want to have to look at that bald guy in Maryland picking his nose on a huge screen. And you certainly didn't want to have to listen to this other idiot talk about things that had nothing to do with your lab for hours on end.

The only good part was the catered lunch, but even that prevented you from calling Bradley back. You looked at the most recent text he sent you saying Dean and Slayer had been sentenced and that he was on his way home. You sent him back a thumbs up. The details would have to wait until later.

"Come here," Cat said, giving you a look as she jerked her head to the side.

"What?" you asked as you tried to eat your sandwich before the conference started back up for the afternoon. You had been alternating who you ate lunch with when you made it to the cafeteria, and you'd also been trying to give her and Jake plenty of time together this week without being the third wheel.

"I'm not worried exactly, but... Jake has a lot of women texting his phone," she said bluntly. "Should I be worried?"

You were kind of stunned, not that you really paid much attention to what he used his phone for. "He has other women texting him?"

Cat nodded, and you thought it wasn't fair that someone that beautiful should look so insecure. "Most of the messages are from phone numbers he hasn't saved in his contacts. And I didn't go snooping, but he's not trying to hide it. He just leaves his phone out, and then I see them."

You felt a little sick. "What are they saying to him?"

"Hey Jake, it's Brittany, haven't seen you at the bar. Or Jake, call me if you want to come over. Or my personal favorite, Wanna come over and fuck?"

"No," you gasped. "Oh my god, Cat. There's no way he's hooking up with anyone else. It's probably just some residuals."

She shrugged and picked at her own sandwich. "Well it's a lot for me. And this is kind of the reason why I didn't want to get involved months ago," she whispered, looking sheepish.

"I'll talk to him."

"No." She shook her head. "Then he'll know I told you, and I don't want to make him mad at me."

"He won't get mad at you, Cat." You wanted to be reassuring, because you really were sure he wasn't sleeping around. "Is he being sweet to you? And Jeremiah?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. She closed her eyes and whispered, "We slept together for the first time last weekend. It was... it was so good. And he's great with Jer. Like a natural." When she opened her dark eyes again she looked less calm. "I'll talk to him myself."

Then Bickel called everyone back to their seats. "The conference is picking up again," he said in such a monotone voice, you loved him even more for hating this meeting. "Could have been an email," he muttered, and everyone from your lab erupted into laughter as you took your seats.

You used the minute of confusion while everyone moved around the conference table to text Jake instead of Bradley.

I sincerely hope you have your text messages under control.

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

Bradley had already been home for a few minutes when you ran in after work. "Well? What happened?" you asked while you hopped around inside the front door as you removed your boots one at a time.

He was stretched out on the couch staring at the ceiling. "Just give me another minute. Nat's driving did a number on me."

But you strolled over and laid down right on top of him which made him laugh. "I don't want to give you another minute. I missed you."

"I missed you, too." You kissed him and Bradley ran his hands down to your lower back. "And you know I love your ass in your uniform pants."

"What happened with Dean and Slayer?" you asked, not letting him indulge just yet.

"Well, Dean will not be retiring as an Admiral, and Slayer is on a year-long leave or absence with one third pay."

You smiled instantly. "They stripped Dean's rank?"

"They sure did, Sweetheart. And they are going to force him to retire without benefits."

"Damn," you whispered as you kissed his chin. "He had it coming. They both did."

"Now onto more important things," Bradley said. "Two nights sleeping on that shitty hotel room bed made my back hurt."

"You poor, sweet thing," you crooned softly.

"I know," he murmured. "I require a bath complete with you and some champagne. And then I'm hoping you'll welcome me back to our bed in the warmest way."

"I think that can be arranged." You got up and started to unbutton your uniform shirt on your way to the refrigerator. "We have one bottle left."

When you turned back, he was already gone, and you could hear the water running in your bathroom. "Seriously?" you asked as you ran in there to find him naked as the tub filled.

"What? I missed you a lot."

The special detachment was going to feel like forever, you just knew it. And you'd be surprised if he'd be allowed to have contact with you at all for the duration. But that wasn't the only thing that you'd been thinking about this week. After he left for Lemoore, you'd read his notebook from cover to cover, and while you were certainly curious, you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

You slipped into the tub and into his open arms, the water just almost too hot to handle as he popped the champagne bottle and took a sip as it overflowed slightly. You straddled his thighs and pressed the bottle to your lips as he started a playlist on his phone.

"Roo?"

"Yeah, Sweetheart?"

He set his phone down and pulled you close as you said, "I read your notebook while you were gone."

"You'll have it memorized soon," he replied with a chuckle as he kissed your shoulder.

You took another sip of champagne before handing him the bottle. "I keep thinking about how you said you used to pick girls up before you met me, and..."

He raised one eyebrow as he drank, and then he licked his lips. "Yeah?"

"Well, I'm still curious."

He laughed and shook his head. "First of all, I was a bit of a mess before I realized I stood a chance with you and cleaned up my act. You already know that. And second, there's no way you'd have gone for any of my bullshit, I can almost guarantee that."

"But like, what were your go-to lines? What were your moves?" He tipped your chin up and looked at you closely. "Come on. Just humor me."

"God, Baby Girl. I'm sure it was all really quite embarrassing. Especially when I was younger."

You kissed his cheek and then his lips and you could feel him start to stir against your thigh. "Could you try it on me?" you asked softly. "For fun?"

Bradley's cheeks were pink and his lips tasted like champagne, and for some reason you desperately wanted to know what it would have been like if you met him five years earlier and he tried to get you to go home with him right away.

He was stroking your tattoo absentmindedly beneath the water as he eventually asked, "What exactly did you have in mind, Sweetheart?"

"Well, there's this bar..."

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

I have been excited about the next few chapters for such a long time! So happy you're here! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 19

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ichayalovesyou · 3 years

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THE BIG VULCAN BIOLOGY POST (aka Vulcan is a Hell Planet)

DISCLAIMER: I am not a biologist, astrophysicist, neurologist, animal psychologist or literally anything that would qualify me to talk about this with 100% confidence. This is the result of dozens of headcanons and obsessive deep dive research. I don’t want this post to be three miles long, so after I address the planetary stuff I will oblige y’all with a Read More.

Adsfasdkfjhaslkdfh I’ve been working on this post for almost a month SO HERE WE GO!

First of all, Vulcan (aka T’Khasi) is a HELL PLANET, which is part of the reason they’re so badass, I say this for the following reasons:

No moon(s) (natural satellites)

Sodium (Salt) is so rare on the planet that Vulcan’s oceans are freshwater

It’s a “Super-Earth” (as in big chonkin’ planet of similar composition to earth in the “goldilocks region”)

Let’s do this.

“Vulcan has no moon Ms. Uhura.”

-Spock, The Man Trap

Tons of things change about our planet if there was no moon:

Much darker nights (no moonlight)

Much lower sea levels since there is no gravity from the moon to pull it upward.

Lower and weaker tides because the water is pulled by the sun instead of the moon, and it depends on how large the Vulcan solar system’s sun is for how big the waves are.

Stronger winds from faster planet rotation.

Depending on whether the axis of the planet would straighten or tilt further without the moon’s pull, combined with the faster rotation would lead to more severe seasons (strong tilt) or no seasons at all (no tilt)

The first factor may lead to Vulcan eyes being very catlike even if they aren’t nocturnal (I think they’re crepesucular but we’ll get into that later). Which given the likely nature of their blood and their herbivorous eating habits they probably aren’t. The sky would still be so dark that our human eyes couldn’t even see our hands in front of us, being blind when the sun goes down could be a death sentence. Alternatively, if they didn’t develop strong night vision that may be one of the reasons why they have such strong senses of hearing.

The stronger winds, faster rotation, and stronger (or nonexistent) seasons come from the lack of resistance and friction that stronger tides and the moon’s pull create on our planet. I suspect that Vulcan is larger, or at least denser than Earth, but I’ve been informed that according to the TMP novelization that it does rotate faster. I also think that Vulcan’s tilt is on the more extreme end to get the hostile extremes like storms and heat that we see on Vulcan.

If you look at this image of Vulcan, water covers way less of the planet’s surface than Earth. I don’t think this is necessarily because Vulcan has less water, but that it isn’t spread as far because of the lack of moon, and the fact that the oceans are freshwater, I’ll get into that shortly.

“My ancestors spawned from a different ocean than yours.”

-Spock, The Man Trap

In the Star Trek: The Original Series (third) pilot The Man Trap, there is a creature that kills its victims by draining their bodies completely of salt. Spock encounters the creature but does not die, implying his (and Vulcans overall) body contains little to no salt. His justification is that his species did not evolve from a salinized ocean.

What does it mean to have oceans with no salt?

This has to mean that sodium is a very rare mineral on Vulcan, as the reason our oceans are so salinized is due to erosion of minerals by rainfall, carried from river to ocean. Salt in the ocean is also generated by submarine volcanic activity, which means either that the volcanoes on Vulcan (which we definitely know exist) somehow don’t produce salt, or the vast majority of the submarine volcanoes have been inactive for millions if not billions of years. The active volcanoes on Vulcan must be very far inland and/or Vulcan has almost no rivers, which given how hot the planet is, wouldn’t actually be too much of a stretch of the imagination.

Which means every single lifeform on T’Khasi, including Vulcans, evolved biosystems that exist without (or with very little) salt content. Any salt that exists would likely be deep beneath the planet’s surface, and within volcanoes.

No saltwater has a ton of consequences:

Plants (like underwater algae) are rarer and may not photosynthesize the same way Earth plants do, meaning less oxygen and more carbon dioxide, which means more greenhouse effect, which means higher temperatures.

The lack of salt would also mean less diverse plant life (at least as humans know it) and given the lack of visible rivers and vast swaths of desert on Vulcan, we can safely say vegetation must be hardier and infrequent.

Lower sea levels as the oceans would have lower density due to lack of salt.

Little to no water convection, which salt is crucial for on Earth. Which means warm ocean water doesn’t move to cold regions and vice versa. Creating extremes, the equator being obscenely hot, and polar waters freezing at the poles more extensively.

Lack of convection means more frequent and stronger storms like hurricanes.

If you thought the lack of a moon made Vulcan inhospitable, compound it with the low sodium factor and you’ve got a planet of even more severe extremes than before. The heat, and the decrease of plant diversity definitely explain why the vast majority of Vulcan is rocky desert, even being near the water poses more extreme dangers than it would on earth due to the increased frequency of hurricanes.

“Mr. Spock is much stronger than an ordinary human being.”

-Kirk, This Side of Paradise

I am almost 100% sure that Vulcan is either bigger or denser than Earth. Which would explain why Vulcans are so much stronger than Humans and other species that exist on similar gravity worlds.

Effects of a high-gravity planet or “Super-Earth” include:

Everything is shorter or has very strong foundations, plants, animals, structures, and people.

More “Armageddon” class asteroids would hit the planet (like the one that killed the dinosaurs and created the Gulf of Mexico)

Larger liquid mantle under the planet’s surface, higher pressure under the surface as well.

Weaker magnetic field due to lack of convection in the planet’s core (not to be confused with the mantle interacting with the planet’s crust). Which means a weaker atmosphere, lower magnetism in surface metals, and increased vulnerability to solar flares.

More volcanically and seismically active due the the increase in the mantle’s size and generated heat, more earthquakes, and more volcanic eruptions.

Would have to have a smaller sun but be closer in orbit to it than earth.

Extremely deep oceans, potentially with water under so much pressure at the bottom that it becomes solid like ice. Luckily Vulcan is not an ocean world, because the pressure would block the planet’s core from interacting with the atmosphere, which would prevent life as we know it from happening.

There is plenty of evidence for this on so many levels. We never see any plant life similar to trees on Vulcan. Nor animals significantly larger than Vulcans, the ones that are bigger are much more muscular. Vulcan’s sky is more red than blue because of the lack of oxygen molecules for the light from the sun to filter as blue. I actually headcanon that Spock is unusually tall for a Vulcan because of his human heritage (Leonard Nimoy was around 6ft tall) , and may have had heart and muscle problems in his teens and early adulthood while on Vulcan.

Perhaps Vulcans are the result of many more extinction level events than we are, contributing to their hardiness. Perhaps they are, evolutionarily, not too much older than we are, and had more incentive to develop extraterrestrial technology than we have, so that they could repel Armageddon Class meteors and defend their planet against Solar Flares? Space travel being born out of self-preservation rather than curiosity. Which would absolutely account for their attitudes in the beginning of Star Trek: Enterprise.

It could be that Vulcans still maintain a semi-nomadic lifestyle even today because their planet is so incredibly volatile. Unsentimental and utilitarian in anything less than the most sacred of architecture long before they adopted the teachings of Surak. Their own survival more valuable than any structure that would inevitably be damaged or destroyed by their planet’s harsh environment.

In summary, Vulcan is a Nightmare Planet because:

So, so many much natural disasters, like, so many, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, tsunamis, hurricanes, twisters, just, so many more than Earth.

Water is relegated to specific locations in the world rather than spread across it due to lack of flow and lower sea levels.

Extreme temperature changes, intense heat, intense cold, hard to breathe, stronger gravity.

Due to the planet’s hostility, there is a smaller diversity of life than we have here on earth, which means fewer and hardier food sources that, like Vulcans, are very difficult to kill.

So… How do they handle it? What features have they developed to adapt and thrive in such an inhospitable place?

First thing is first, lets talk about

BLOOD

“My hemoglobin is based on copper, not iron.”

-Spock, Obsession

Funny thing is Spock, it’s not hemoglobin at all! It’s hemocyanin! In fact, there are earth animals that have it, among them Horseshoe Crabs, crustaceans, mollusks and spiders!

Hemocyanin is blue when it hasn’t been exposed to oxygen, and blue-green when it has, according to some sources on Vulcans their blood is orangey red when unexposed to air and that’s why they have pink lips and so on, but we can brush that off as chemical variation within their hemocyanin. Better yet, maybe it’s trendy for Vulcans to wear pink lipstick nowadays, ‘cause Surak knows how horny Humans and Vulcans are for each other XD! Anyway!

Hemocyanin does quite a few things that our blood can’t, it’s uniquely built for high pressure, low oxygen environments, as well as endure temperature extremes like cold (not unlike nights on their planet). Not only that, but it coagulates and clots WAY faster than our blood. Which means wounds seal themselves off from harmful bacteria and stop bleeding much faster than hemoglobin. Pair that with the Vulcan ability to enter a healing torpor, no wonder Spock keeps surviving environments and wounds that would definitely have killed a human.

Now, the animals I listed don’t have veins, which for us carry oxygen around via hemoglobin, so it’s possible that the same difference that causes Vulcan blood to be a coppery orange-red beneath the skin, is the same reason they have veins. Allowing them to look more like us and lack the exoskeletons and deep ocean delving that their earth blood cousins have.

“The ship’s temperature is increasingly uncomfortable for me. I’ve adjusted the environment in my quarters to 125 degrees.”

-(Elderly) Spock, The Deadly Years

Oh goodie, the Vulcan blood temperature discourse has arrived, the age old question, are Vulcans warm-blooded or cold-blooded? The answer to this question is

YES

I am firmly in the small (but hopefully growing) camp Vulcans Are Heterothermic. Among the earth animals we know to be heterothermic are bumblebees, several species of bats, the opah fish, and the arctic ground squirrel. Of all these animals, despite the opposite temperature intensity of Vulcan’s environment, I’m basing how Vulcans function on the last one, the arctic squirrel.

Which means they can deliberately control their body temperature in accordance to the needs of their survival. I imagine, just as arctic ground squirrels can drop their body below zero as needed (entering what is called a “daily torpor”) Vulcans can do the same. In turn, they could possibly skyrocket their bodies to temperatures that would be a lethal fever for humans. Which makes both McCoy’s “nonexistent Vulcan metabolism” comments in various episodes, as well as describing his blood as “ice water” make sense. As well as Spock being able to handle the heightened body temperature caused by Henoch in “Return to Tomorrow”. It also explains why Spock was in far better shape than Bones in the freezing temperatures of the planet from “All Our Yesterdays”.

However, like arctic squirrel newborns, they start out as ectothermic (cold-blooded) which lends itself to the Vulcan infants needing even more skin to skin to survive than humans theory by @acesexualspock. Being born cold blooded would prevent them from immediately dying the second they were exposed to the dangerous extremes of Vulcan’s heat. I also think they slowly lose the ability to control their metabolic rate as they grow older, slowing down dramatically as they age, which is why Spock gets increasingly colder as he ages rapidly in “The Deadly Years”.

“The brightness of the Vulcan sun has caused the development of an inner eyelid.”

-Spock, Operation: Annihilate

I wanna thank @tribbleland for inspiring this part in particular.

I want to offer a special congratulations to furries people who let their love for anthro-cats bleed into their love for Vulcans, turns out Vulcans are very catlike! Like our feline Terran friends, Vulcans have what is called a Nicitating Membrane. It’s functions that would serve Vulcans well in their desert home include spreading moisture across the eye, protect the eye from small water and small debris (like sand for example), as well as protecting the eye from ultraviolet radiation, which is more or less what Spock said in that episode. Other animals that have Nicitating Membranes aside from felines is actually the majority of the animal kingdom, and primates (like us) are the exception and not the rule. I also subscribe to the idea that Vulcans have other desert dweller features like thick hair and eyelashes, sealable nostrils, big feet, a crepuscular sleep cycle (avoiding extreme midnight and midday temperatures), and a tough as nails digestive system!

As an added bonus fact since this section is pretty short: It makes purrfect sense for Vulcans to purr! In cats purring is an emotional regulator when they are angry or scared (Vulcans are ALL about regulating their emotions) as well as purring when they are happy. It is also a mechanism for healing themselves, their kittens, and their owners, the frequency at which cats purr (25-140 Hz) cover the same frequencies that are therapeutic for bone growth and fracture healing, pain relief, swelling reduction, wound healing, muscle growth and repair, tendon repair, and mobility of joints. I’m over here getting emotional about the mental image of like, Spock or Tuvok or smth sitting next to a wounded crewmember and just like, purring with a completely straight face and that is soft and just a little funny and I am emotionally compromised.

“And are it’s natives predatory?” “Not generally, but there have been exceptions.”

-Spock to Trelaine, The Squire of Gothos

Surprise! This isn’t just going to be about Vulcan dietary needs, it’s gonna be about animal behaviors and self-domestication as well! I was trying to think of herbivores that are capable of eating meat, and then this idea hit me like a bomb going of in my head-

Vulcans are like Hippos!

I don’t mean I think they used to be hippo-like (visually anyway) somewhere along the evolutionary line. I mean that they were probably big, extremely aggressive, pack roaming herbivores that are able to eat carrion when food is scarce. Have you ever seen a video of a group of Hippos smashing an alligator to smithereens? They kill more humans than any solitary predator on the African continent! What about a murder of crows killing a cat that injured one of them, or a group of bison saving a calf from a lion?! Herbivores can be insanely aggressive while still being social, plant-eating animals.

With that in mind, let’s talk about self-domestication! This is something that we humans (and to an extent, cats too) did way back in our biology according to some studies, we bred out aggression and bred in cooperativeness and curiosity. Cats, while partially domesticated by us, started looking for mates that were more sociable so that their offspring could exist closer to humans (and their food) as well as to tolerate other cats. While I do think Vulcans self-domesticated to a degree, I do not think they were able to do so nearly to the same extent as humans or our deliberately domesticated companions. Vulcan is a harsh, violent, and unforgiving planet, even more so than Earth, if Vulcans were naturally as friendly and curious as we Humans are now, they would not have survived as a species.

I believe this is why their emotions are so primal and strong, and things like Pon Farr and their unusually high wariness of the new and unexpected still exist so strongly. How do they live together in such high numbers and develop a functional society? They developed other means of coping as a work-around the impracticality of decreasing aggression!

“Call it a deep understanding of the way things happen to Vulcans.”

-Spock, The Immunity Syndrome

So, how do you have a species as aggressive, unforgiving, and frighteningly strong as Vulcans keep from completely destroying itself (aside from Surak’s teachings)? You take the empathy that humans already have, turn it up to 11, and tack on every evolutionary possibility to increase it. We already know how the Earth comparisons for Vulcan empathy: the extreme vitality of touch for the survival and emotional stability, cats purring to heal each other and themselves (and regulate emotions), nonverbal communication, the ancestral instincts of an infant animal being able to walk days after its born. What if we had all of these traits in remarkable spades, Vulcans certainly seem to! (Be prepared, the science starts getting a little squidgy because there are no real world comparisons and neurology research is very jargon heavy)

Electricity is a fundamental part of the biology of nearly all living things, it allows synapses to fire, regulates our internal organs, and gives us our senses of touch and movement. Skin to skin is so incredibly vital to the survival of infants, and the emotional stability for adults, that needing any more touch could be impractical and counterintuitive. So what if we got more from less? What if our sense of touch, and the acuteness of being able to read the emotions of others from body language and touch manifested as a form of what looks like from an outsider’s perspective, telepathy!

Now what if the radius of the sensation of touch could be extended much farther, say being able to sense someone to the same intensity I described in the last paragraph, like, through a wall or from across a room? What if you could connect to other lifeforms with the same ability like a chain circuit that could connect a whole species together in one giant circuitboard? I just described what Vulcans call the kwar’ma’khon, the telepathic energy that connects all Vulcans to each other!

Imagine having this same intense telepathic connection to someone for an extended period of time, like a t’hy’la or Bond Mate. What if you had a relatively easy to master non-lethal attack against other members of your species, that comes to you easily due to your intrinsic understanding of nerves and touch, like the Vulcan Nerve Pinch. In turn, what if, through the intensity of this connection you could transfer everything you knew and saw and felt to another person in the event of your death. That way, if you survived the harshness of your world without dying violently or unexpectedly, you could deliberately pass on that knowledge and those instincts to your next of kin, like the Katra. (thanks @distractedducky @spacedancer1701 & @find-me-in-outer-space)

Now, that’s A LOT of empathy on top of A LOT of aggression, if you don’t have a work around for any of these, as a species you’d be rendered a complete emotional wreck pretty much 24/7 (or whatever the time cycles for Vulcan are). Which is where @ineffablebuddies theory that Vulcans can control, or at least mitigate their incredibly strong emotional reactions the same way they control their nervous system and metabolic rate. Which is how they are able to be touch telepathic, able to enter a torpor at will, and be heterothermic in the first place. The only reason Vulcans come off as unemotional to us is because we simply do not see and feel the way that they can. Unlike us, because of their ability to control their own internal chemistry, if they follow Surak’s teachings and/or Syrranite ideology, they can take that emotional regulation to the extreme.

(BIG EXHALE) Congratulations on getting through this insanely long post! I hope you enjoyed it, if you want sources on any of my non-tumblr post research just let me know in the notes. LLAP! 💚🖖🏻💚

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notmrskennedy · 3 years

Text

Professor, pt 1

A/N - so i heard from like four of you which is enough to warrant me posting drafts that weren’t supposed to see the light of day - ANYWAY this was originally written in third person and let me tell you it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to change tenses like holy hell.

(Technically the prequel Friendliness but can stand alone if you really want it to. There’s a part two to this so watch out for that tomorrow.)

Summary - Spencer meets a professor and falls in love for a few hours

W/C - 2k

Warnings - none-ish? there’s a small smattering of violence and horrible changing of the tenses

-----

Spencer can’t help the irony that he’s in a freshman college class for the first time ever while protecting one of the students. Who knew that a tiny club of DnD players could incite so much rage out of an un-sub? So here he was, trying to blend in—even though he’s 25, he still looks 14 and there’s really no real reason why he should be worried about being caught—in order to protect a freshman who was more pimple than male specimen.

Joesph—the poor kid in question—takes a seat in the front row and Spencer’s obligated to sit within tackling distance, though he hopes it won’t come to that. Hopefully, Morgan will have the kid the un-sub goes for and Spencer can just enjoy being in college again. The painfully familiar auditorium seats, the stale air, and bad fluorescents feel more like home than he cares to admit.

College hadn’t been all too unpleasant. High school he’d gotten picked on mercilessly. College, however, had meant getting doted on by hot sorority girls and earning the protection of frat boys—they’d picked up rather quickly that he knew football strategy better than they did after Spencer had hustled a TV and 400 dollars from them. Sure, he didn’t drink, but every single drunk teenager had welcomed him with open arms and lots of ginger ale.

There’s chatter and for the ten minutes before class starts, Spencer is torn between trying to figure out which song is quietly playing around the room and watching for a particularly rage-filled college student serial killer. Instead, he just finds too many bored faces. Most of the kids are drinking coffee like the best of them and he’s itching for his next fix just looking at it.

The first two rows: a terrible vantage point to be profiling, but a beautifully defensible post. He watches absently as one of the TAs, who looks a little younger than him, organizes three stacks of papers on the front desk and flips through several different pages on the podium. His attention is focused solely on you for nearly a minute too long—he can hear the voice in his head chastising him for how often he gets distracted by pretty people.

You look of the fragile sort, the in-the-lab kind of future scientist. There’s something about you that’s captivating. It might be the way you keep reorganizing the papers to perfection or maybe it’s the way you study the room so closely. And while he thinks that you might not be able to physically stop someone, you sure look like the kind of person that could crush him in chess.

He’s 25 and is considering chess as a marriage proposal.

Joesph shuffles his books around in the seat in front of Spencer and you, the beautiful TA in question, hold a watch up as you move to the centre of the room. Class is starting. Class is starting and he’s hopeful the professor never actually shows up.

He notices your watch is on your right wrist—are you left handed?—as you smile widely and clap her hands together. First day jitters seem to keep everyone silent, waiting on baited breath for you to start. Spencer would stay on baited breath for the rest of his life for you. You were utterly captivating after all—he could see the drool from several students’ mouths a few seats over.

“This is Anthropology 101,” you announce. “If this isn’t your class, you’re free to leave. Or stay if you want. Did you guys know that anxiety disorders affect more than 40 million US adults? Or 1 in 5, I guess, if you want the easier pill to swallow.”

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat and he wants to raise his hand just to ask you to marry him.

“Anyway,” you sigh, leaning back agains the front desk, “I spit out a lot of facts. Usually something that begins with ‘did you know’ won’t be on the tests. I try to be fair. Which brings us to ice breakers.”

The class collectively groans. You scoff.

“Oh hush, I’m the only one doing the ice breakers so chill out. Jeez.” Spencer waits patiently for your soft breath and then your further announcement of, “I’m officially Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, but that’s like only if my boss comes in or for any emails you send. You can call me Y/N because that’s like normal. I got my doctorate in forensic anthropology a year ago and I’ve been teaching since I started grad school three years ago. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”

He almost kicks himself. You’re the professor. How many times had he been nearly kicked out of a classroom when he was in grad school for saying he was the professor? How many times had he been 18 and trying to get an ounce of respect for himself?

You continue, waving your hands about like you could pull your ideas back down to earth. “Um—a fun fact about me is that I am not welcome in certain parts of the world for ‘violating’ what are called exhumation laws, which is silly in my opinion. I had the legal right to carry that head on the plane and—and I hope you did the reading because there’s a first day pop quiz.”

The entire class lets out one simultaneous frustrated whine that alights something almost wicked in your eyes. You wave over two students from the other end of the front row and they begin passing out test papers as you explain.

“You’ll have a total of fifteen minutes to answer ten questions. We’ll start on my mark. If you have any trouble, give me a shout and I’ll help you out. After this, we’ll go over the syllabus and if you’re lucky, leave early.”

Spencer’s passed a test and immediately notices there’s no place for a name. Just a bolded “Student #21” at the top. Another girl raises the question and you snicker. “I like puzzles,” is the only answer you give before the time starts.

Question four: what are the top three songs you’ve been listening to? Please list.

Question six: why are you taking this class?

A: This is a requirement

B: I heard it was easy

C: I heard the professor was hot

D: I really enjoy anthropology! (liar)

Question nine: Creationism or Evolution?

Question ten: Quickly. If you were going to have dinner, would it be with Bill or Hillary Clinton?

Spencer can’t hide the grin he’s got the entire test. It’s all ridiculous get-to-know-you questions. He can tell what merit you’re getting out of them. There’s one judging study habits, one judging religion, feminism, politics—you’ve created her own little innocuous questionnaire. Spencer was sure the students would just think you were strange, but he saw the cleverness.

Spencer also notices that once you notice him, you don’t stop noticing him. He wonders what you see. You’re so obviously profiling him that it hurts. Do you see the FBI agent? The scholar? The doctor? The drug addict? The man in a boy’s skin?

Your timer beeps and you shout for pencils down. Your makeshift TAs are dispatched to collect the papers and you make the stacks perfect when they make it to the desk. You move to the whiteboard, a set of papers clutched in your hand, and lean against it to address the class.

“Test go alright?” your grin is contagious and Spencer can’t help but mirror it. You glance at Spencer, turns back to the class, and tuck your hair behind your ear. You let the class chatter on for a moment, setting the papers down on the table, and readjust the undone cuffs of your white button down. He never thought that a sweater vest and jeans could look so hot.

You smirk and check your watch one more time. “Let’s talk about tests because I know you all have questions. Everything on the test is either written on the board, on the notes, or in the study guide—if you fail after that, come to office hours. I’ve got Advil for the hangovers.”

Thankfully, Joesph is one of those students who has to speak to every single one of his professors. Spencer waits patiently behind the kid, trying to keep the smell from the lack of deodorant just out of range.

He keeps a hard gaze on all of the students moving in and out of the auditorium. There’s nothing to see, just a lot of students with a lot of normal college apathy. No anger, no serial killer, no one to tackle.

“Sometimes the BO is worse than a corpse’s expulsion of gas,” you joke from your place atop the desk. Spencer looks up, and furrows his eyebrows as his brain processes. Your face falls for a split second, but your curiosity replaces it just as quickly. Joesph’s jaw hits the floor, stumbling for some way to explain himself or maybe some half decent way to insult the pretty professor.

Spencer laughs, probably a little more than he should have, considering he wasn’t supposed to out himself as an FBI agent. You tuck your hair behind your ear again and, for someone younger than 25, you are surprisingly wide eyed with perception and curiosity.

“Do you like puzzles, Doctor—“

“Reid,” he supplies, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Spencer.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. You turn your focus back to Joesph—a boy worse at talking to those scoring higher than an 8 than Spencer was at the same age. “So, Joesph, why does the good doctor need to be within tackling distance of you?”

Joesph flounders, turns to hide his blush, and yelps like God himself has come down to kick him in the ass. Spencer takes one good look at the 18 year old girl charging towards a pimple of a boy and he launches before he can give much consideration to how much its going to hurt.

But between the noticing and the launching, he makes a list: she’s got so much black eyeliner that Emily’s high school yearbook photos would be jealous; she’s about to inflict about a 9 on the pain scale if she’s left to her plan; there’s obviously no plan other to scratch Joesph’s eyes out; her nails are the size of tiger claws and Spencer desperately wishes he had a better pain tolerance; there’s no weapon.

The tackle takes seconds. It’s a practised movement. Roll. Knee. Handcuffs. The girl is screaming and crying and kicking and biting. His arm’s on fire and she’s struggling enough that it’s taking more than ten seconds to get the handcuffs on.

It’s calculated as he presses his knee harder into her back. She yelps and stills long enough that Spencer closes the handcuffs on her tiny, sliced up wrists. The cutting explains some things…

“Hence the tackling distance,” You sum up, bending down just slightly to look the killer in the face. Your nose wrinkles. “You had very distinct ideas on the cultural value of suicide.”

Spencer shakes his head, hauls the girl to her feet, and beckons for Joesph to follow. The entire world falls out of view as he manhandles the girl into an easy walk. The students step to the side to gawk, and he’s thankful for the wide berth. If someone got hurt, the paperwork alone—

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Reid!” you call and he glances back over his shoulder. You’re waving around the stack of papers in your arms, utterly ridiculous, terribly adorable. He hopes his smile is more suave than love sick, but the fleeting flirtation is especially over when Miss Unchecked Rage kicks out as Joesph comes into her line of sight.

Spencer throws his whole weight into keeping her down. There’s no room to fall in love after a day. Especially with someone on a college campus halfway across the country from him. There’s even less room to manoeuvre Miss Eyeliner even without Joesph waddling into her eye line every few seconds. Seriously, he thinks, how hard is it to keep behind me?

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #reid #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction

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dwellordream · 3 years

Text

“Antifeminist jest and satire against alewives, shrews, and gossip soften grouped together as gossips' literature-provides a rich site for this sort of excavation. The word gossip itself requires more careful treatment than it is usually given. Respectable for centuries, gossip (from godsip) referred primarily to a godparent of either gender. By the sixteenth century the word was being applied to any close female friend, though it was sometimes used for male friends as well. In the late sixteenth century "gossiping" described a "merry meeting" of women to drink, laugh, and talk; it was not until a century later that Johnson's Dictionary equated gossip with the obnoxious woman "who runs about tattling like women at a lying in." Early modern speakers drew important distinctions between scold and gossip. The words were by no means equivalents.

Unlike talking about one's neighbors, scolding was a chronic, legally actionable offense; and the connotations of shrew varied from mild to damning. In Brathwait's Essaies upon the five senses (1619), a scold "goes weekly a catter-wauling, where shee spoiles their spice-cup'd gossiping with her tart-tongued calletting." Whatever those gossips are up to, the scold is wrong to spoil it. Such a distinction suggests that women had certain rights of assembly-despite all the injunctions that women should stay indoors, avoid all gadding, and strive for silence. Traveler Emmanuel Van Meteren marveled that Englishwomen spent so much time visiting their friends and keeping company, conversing with their equals (whom they term gossips) and their neighbours, and making merry with them at child-births, christenings, churchings and funerals; and all this with the permission and knowledge of their husbands, as such was the custom.

Daniel Rogers warned husbands that they would be foolish to forbid their wives to attend gossipings and even advised them to give wives money "to bestow upon the meetings and lawfull merriments of their kind, which it were a poore thing for a husband curiously to enquire after." Robert Cawdrey urged moderation rather than abstinence: gossips should meet only as often as "the law of good neighbourhood doth require." John Stephens's character "A Gossip" predictably conflates a woman's volubility and mobility with sexual and bodily incontinence.

Her knowledge is her speech; the motive, her tongue; and the reason is her tongue also: but the subject of her eloquence is her neighbours wife, and her husband, or the neighbours wife and husband both. Shee is the mirth of marriages, and publicke meetings .... Shee carries her bladder in her braine, that is full; her braine in her tongues end, that shee empties .... Shee emulates a Lawyer in riding the circuite, and therefore she keeps a circuit in, or out of her own liberties: striving to be both one of the judges, Jury, and false witnesses: that is her freedom only, to censure .... Her truth is, to make truths and tales convertibles: tales be her substance, her conceit, her vengeance, reconcilements, and discourse .... If she railes against whoredom it savours not of devotion; for she is only married to escape the like scandall; from the doore outward.

The irony, of course, is that the author rails in the catty tones of a censorious neighbor. Despite the formulaic hostility in this character, one may glimpse a shadow portrait of a neighbor and a neighborhood. Like neighbor, the term gossip implies a relationship between peers. Always on hand for disputes and interventions, she also serves as a chief relayer of news and knowledge within the community. As the sarcastic phrase "one of the judges" indicates, she operates as an informal social arbiter. Ironically, it is precisely her narrative skill that qualifies her for this role. No matter how caustically "tittle tattle" was scorned, gossip "gave women a particular standing in neighbourhood social relations," as Gowing puts it. "Telling stories and judging morals made women the brokers of moral reputation."

While Stephens derides his gossip for gadding and tattling, he fails to suppress an uncomfortable social fact: such women can never be excluded from the crucial labor of maintaining social order. Pamphleteers and playwrights devoted much energy to trivializing women's talk at gossipings, betraying their fear that the effects on men's reputations could be far from trivial. In a merry meeting in Thomas Deloney's Thomas of Reading, some gossips "talkt of their husbands' frowardnes, some shewed their maids sluttishnes, othersome deciphered the costliness of their garments, some told many tales of their neighbors." Some jest gossips are two-faced, greedy, and leaky, such as those in Middleton's Chaste Maid in Cheapside. Others are almost witchlike.

The author of The Gossips Greeting (1620) rants against "the proud, peevish, paultry, pernicious shee-pot companions, those curious, careless, crafty, carping curtizanicall Gossips ... dangerous as hell, / None of you beare a modest womans mind / You do infect even with your smell." These representations must be read alongside gossips' texts that are more nuanced and altogether less bilious. Samuel Rowlands's best-selling Tis Merry When Gossips Meet (1602) and A Whole Crew of Kind Gossips (1609) painted alehouse meetings with a mix of humorous voyeurism, mild satire, and unusually candid social realism. In the first pamphlet a wife and widow give a maid fairly standard advice about men and marriage. The widow buys them rounds with an evident pride in her ability to pay, providing a strong contrast to the many jests in which drunken men cheat the hostess.

Satire is directed largely at the widow, who gets tipsy and garrulous. But for the most part, the pamphlet leaves the impression that it offered readers a glimpse of women indulging in a merry pastime that formed an important and familiar part of neighborhood socializing. To repeat Wrightson's argument, the ideal of "good neighborhood" required everyone to accept neighbors "as a reference group in matters of behavior and to promote harmonious relations among them." How could a woman fulfill this obligation without asking, "What news?" The surprising answer is that she couldn't. What we now call gossip was, in fact, essential to being a good neighbor, and talking about neighbors and strangers was not considered the prelude to scolding or near kin to slander. The obligation of neighborhood made constant comment not only normative but a prime regulating device.

To use Merry Wives as an example, the Windsor wives' censure of Falstaff and gossip about Ford initiates action that will eventually involve their neighbors in neutralizing the threats to the common peace posed by a sexual adventurer and a horn-mad husband. Their joint consultation and campaign of mockery lie firmly in the bounds of "good neighborhood." Censorious gossip "could be an effective informal method of control: it indicated community disapproval, and shamed its subject. If the subject of gossip did not stop the behavior, at least everyone else knew what to think about it." Gossip, defined this way, could maintain and reiterate social boundaries. Fueled by curiosity and pleasure in ridicule, gossip also primed audiences to recognize the more cutting forms of wit and the aesthetically engineered moral judgment known as satire.

Proficiency at this narrative form, so often salted with jests and proverbs, promoted rhetorical efficacy in life and art, while skill at telling believable stories about one's life and neighbors held much weight in the courtroom and on the streets. Gossip was not always conservative in effect. By asking "What news?" women also had a chance to learn about and talk over events in the larger world, out of the hearing of husbands, fathers, and masters. According to historian Steve Hindle, gossip is both a "female subculture" and a "formative stage in the development of 'public opinion' over a whole range of issues, local and national, private and public, personal and political. To ignore gossip is to ignore one of the few channels of participation in this 'public sphere' that was open to women."

Gatherings during working time or in leisure moments, such as christenings, may have given women a place in which to articulate opinions and to plan for common action, such as the many enclosure protests, grain riots, and religious disputes in which they participated. Some fictional gossips poach eagerly on male discourses supposedly closed to them, such as biblical interpretation, the worth of stage plays, and the fate of kings. In The gospelles of dystaves (c. 1510) a group of women meets secretly to hear a new kind of preaching by "apostles" named Dame Hengtyne and Dame Abunde, while a male scholar transcribes. Their chat mixes homely proverbs and bawdy laughter, interspersed with more serious challenges to religious teachings about women's subjection.

While the pamphlet obviously satirizes ignorant and unruly women, it also suggests that women did talk together about what they heard in church and that they were given to interpreting biblical passages in favor of women's interests. Female association could be dangerous to the state: the weird sisters of Macbeth carp about their neighbors, crack jokes, practice riddling prophecy, and rearrange Scottish history. Like gossips in their cups, they "scorn male power" while "their words and bodies mock rigorous boundaries and make sport of fixed positions. " In The Staple of News, Jonson attempts to silence and discipline unruly women in his audiences by presenting caricatures of neighborhood gossips.

Underlining the close association between the juries of the threshold and the theater, Tattle, Mirth, Censure, and Expectation boldly invade the stage with their stools, sitting down to cavil about the actors and the sweaty playwright, forming a jury of women who judge a play together as if they were judging gossip and scandal at home. Despite the satire, Jonson casts them as the prime producers and consumers of news and rumors; he cannot help but make them sharp-eyed judges of the staple, which commodifies word of mouth" by printing it. Occasionally gossips are painted as resourceful and clever. In Dekker and Webster's Westward Hal, citizen wives furnish themselves "a commodity of laughter" by leading their jealous husbands and eager suitors on a wild-goose chase up the Thames.

As in Merry Wives, this pleasure carries a risk. When they plot to scare their husbands with the prospect of horns and turn the tables on their arrogant suitors, one wife warns the others that they must deflect any resulting slanders using shrewd foresight: tho we are merry, let's not be mad: ... It were better we should laugh at these popin-Jayes, then live in feare of their prating tongues: tho we lie all night out of the Citty, they shall not finde country wenches of us: but since we ha[ve] brought em thus far into a fooles Paradice, leave em int: the Jest shall be a stock to maintain us and our pewfellowes in laughing at christning, cryings out, and upsittings the twelvemonth.

Similar scenes of female complicity are rooted in the social reality of women neighbors and gossips who rely heavily on each other's judgment in matters sexual and romantic. Such interdependence was especially important for unmarried women. Comedies featuring maids satirizing suitors (like Portia and Nerissa in The Merchant of Venice) or coolly ranking types of men (like Franck and Clora in Fletcher's The Captain and Celia and Rosalind in As You Like It) probably did stoke masculine anxieties about patriarchy's vulnerability to the desires of women. On the other hand, the very same scenes may have delighted women or taught them sophisticated new ways to squelch unwanted suitors.

The antimasculinist satire and complaint that fill gossips' literature function in a distinctive way in Margaret Cavendish's Convent of Pleasure, which virtually reproduces passages from gossips' literature and from women's tirades in controversy pamphlets. Poor women meet in the street to moan about the flaws of their husbands, which include wife beating, heavy drinking, and gambling away the household funds. Other scenes show the terrors of childbed and the persecution of a gentlewoman threatened with rape by a married man whose proposals she rejects. Neighbors and friends cannot stop rapine suitors or worthless husbands in this dystopia; so Cavendish creates a gender retreat that takes female complaint seriously, dedicating her earthly paradise to women's association, education, and delight: a high-toned gossips' feast.”

- Pamela Allen Brown, “Ale and Female: Gossips as Players, Alehouse as Theater.” in Better a Shrew than a Sheep: Women, Drama, and the Culture of Jest in Early Modern England

#better a shrew than a sheep #pamela allen brown #history #tudor #renaissance #elizabethan #jacobean

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raffinit · 4 years

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for ur sylvaina prompt ask if ur still doing it: as a sign of good faith during peace negotiations, jaina invents a few spells (w/ her brother as a willing test subject) for sylvanas and the forsaken. spells to help improve taste, for example. little things to help an undead get through the day a little easier, things that only the forsaken or those who lived with them would know about. basically jaina helps with forsaken accessibility and sylvanas not knowing what to do with that

thank you to everyone who bought me ko-fis

bc of you i can actually put a read more cut on this with my VERY OWN COMPUTER SOBS

back to regular updates soon i promise, i just have all these beautiful prompts

-------

It began, like most things, curiously. Or rather — with curiosity. It was a trait of hers that drew mixed results at times; more in her vibrant youth than in her middle age. Her mother once told her that she had enough curiosity to kill ten cats, and Jaina had worn it then with pride.

She learned, with time, to contain her curiosities. To apply them scientifically; because science allowed for more curiosity than she knew what to do with. Science was her excuse for setting the curtains on fire when she was nine.

Science was her excuse for portalling abruptly into the war room and landing on the table during a council meeting.

Science was why she stared so intently at Sylvanas Windrunner.

Or perhaps, more accurately — it was purely curiosity at that point. The Banshee Queen was an unreadable figure, an inscrutable force that left Jaina all but reeling with each passing day the Horde and Alliance drew closer and closer to sealing a peace treaty.

She never thought she'd live to see the day.

What she still couldn't quite put her finger on was — ironically — Sylvanas.

The Warchief did many things that were incomprehensible for one reason or another. But to Raise Derek — what could Sylvanas have possibly gained, short of perhaps tormenting them with the knowledge that she simply could?

Her reunion with Derek had been a tearful one; rife with things that neither of them could fully comprehend. Clutching her brother close, clinging to him tight, she caught the figure of the Warchief in her periphery; caught the strange melancholy on Sylvanas' face.

It was there for only an instant. Sylvanas' ear flicked, then her burning eyes flashed to meet Jaina's.

Jaina blinked and the Warchief was gone.

Reconnecting with her brother came in stages. Baby steps. They had become vastly different people — too changed to reminisce without sorrow in its wake.

Still, beneath it all, beneath his Undeath — Derek was still Derek.

Derek, who teased her fondly about all that he could. He who boldly tested the limitations of his Undead form in ways that brought back memories of a childhood spent clambering over tree branches and diving off cliffs.

"What does it feel like?" she asked one day, when her curiosity became too much.

Derek paused, lifting his head to stare off into the horizon. “It feels like…living behind a curtain, honestly,” he confessed. “I feel present…but my presence feels…” he shrugged. “Muted, almost. As if I exist on only a fragment of this plane. I’m stronger than I ever was; I can do things I couldn’t even imagine.”

Jaina ducked her head to meet his eyes encouragingly. It was still unsettling, in some way, to look into her brother’s face and see the burning unnatural shade of his gaze. “But…?”

“But I do miss it,” he sighed, a wistful look on his face. “Eating, drinking. Sleeping. I’m never tired, but sleeping’s never just been about being tired, has it? I’d like the privilege of choosing whether or not I want to rest.”

Jaina felt that deeply.

She blinked then, head tilting curiously. “Do you not taste things anymore? I’ve read some things about that, but I thought Forsaken could eat. And sleep. There were inns in the Undercity.”

“I understand about as much as you. Perhaps even less so,” he said, reaching out and squeezing her hand. He gave her a soft, self-deprecating little smile. “But here I am, lamenting the things I’ve lost when I should be grateful to even be here to begin with.”

She smiled at him faintly, though her mind was already reeling with thought. With the myriad of ways that she could — that she should — help.

“…what if you could do those things again?” she asked.

Derek paused and turned to stare at her curiously. Whatever it was that he saw there on her face made a knowing smile spread across his lips. “I know that look,” he said. “That’s a science look.”

Jaina smiled slowly. “Are you up for an experiment?”

“Always,” he said gamely. “Anything for science.”

-----

They tried spells first. Little experiments of magic that Jaina imbued her brother with in slow, gentle touches. The Light burned, but too much arcane made Derek sway like a sailor drowning in his cups. Some spells rekindled too much of Derek’s living form; made him inescapably aware of the damage his body had borne.

The agony on her brother’s face made for many sleepless nights and haunted dreams.

“This one makes everything smell,” he said one today.

Jaina brightened hopefully. “Good smells?”

“Like eggs.”

“Eggs?”

“Farty eggs. Like kippers in the morning.”

Jaina huffed and waved her hands briskly to recall the spell. “Maybe a potion instead.”

It took her another few weeks to pull together a functioning elixir. Nights spent hunched over her desk, sleeping with her cheek pressed to page after page of notes from ancient tomes and books helpfully “borrowed” from the vast library of Stormwind City.

Derek watched her some days, peering over her shoulder like a curious child at the window of a bakery. She indulged him as much as her patience would allow; until eventually his persistent questions and hovering made her all too aware of the cramped space of her temporary rooms in the Keep.

“How about you sit,” she said, jerking her chin at the plush armchair by the fireplace. “Tell me about what it’s been like since you’ve...Risen.”

Derek peered at her wordlessly but obliged, settling himself comfortably into the armchair. “What exactly do you want to know?”

Jaina shrugged. “Anything, I suppose. Everything? The Forsaken are an enigma to us. The Warchief most of all.”

“I don’t have anything to report,” he drawled. “She never spoke of plans to double-cross the Alliance, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“I just meant as a person,” she replied in exasperation. “What was the Warchief like...up close?”

Derek blinked and sat back into the armchair, staring for a few thoughtful moments into the fireplace. At length, he said, “She’s a lot kinder than you would think. When I first...Awoke...she was there. She wouldn’t leave me until she was sure I could manage it on my own.”

“Manage what?”

“Existing, I suppose.” He twisted around in the armchair and peered at her over the back. “Did you know; she said I led her to my body?”

Jaina blinked. “What?”

“My soul, that is. She said she could hear it. She could hear all of us.” Derek’s voice softened with thought, and something like pity. “All of the souls lost at sea. The ones who never made peace with it. The ones who refused to rest.”

Incredulous, she asked, “She can do that?”

Derek nodded sagely. “So it seems.”

“Hmm.”

Eventually, she held out a vial of something that looked like it was made of something between the aether and sewage water. “Here.”

He took it in hand, tilting the vial this way and that and swirling it gently. “Couldn’t it have looked like a pint of mead or something? Why do all potions have to look like bog water?”

“Derek.”

“Fine, fine,” he huffed, bringing the vial to his lips —

“Just a sip, first,” she warned, eyes wide with apprehension. “Hold it on your tongue for a moment and let it coat your mouth before you swallow.”

He complied with a slight nod and Jaina watched as Derek’s jaw moved in a slow flex; as if he were considering a particular vintage of port. His glowing eyes blinked in surprise and he pulled the vial away to stare down at it thoughtfully. “Doesn’t taste as awful as it looks.”

Jaina’s eyes lit up eagerly. “So you can taste?”

Derek opened his mouth to reply, then winced hard. “Yes,” he croaked, glaring down at the vial in betrayal. “Farty eggs and kippers.” He stuck out his tongue and tried to scrape the taste off it with his teeth.

“Are you sure you’re not just confused with the smell of the sea?”

He gave her an exasperated look and corked the vial. “I think I’d know what the sea smells like.”

Jaina sighed, reaching up to run a hand through the already-tousled mess of her hair. “Back to the drawing board.”

Their success plateaued for a time; there was nothing more that Jaina could do that yielded any further result, and the frustration was building. She took to wandering the stress of Stormwind, watching the Forsaken as they bustled about. They were wary still — all of them, but the Forsaken moved with darting glances over their shoulders and the reflexive flinch of beings long-accustomed to violence.

Some mornings, she dared to test her tongue at Gutterspeak; pulling what little Derek had managed to teach her. They stared at her at first, eyeing her with open distrust and hostility that made her wonder if the words her brother had taught her weren’t inflammatory somehow.

Still, she persevered, walking among the Horde by herself when she could. Most meetings between the Alliance and Horde ran long, and there were some evenings when she would catch the glimpse of rich purple and feathered armour around the bend when she walked.

Sometimes, she would catch the Warchief’s eye as she passed. Sylvanas’ eyes gleamed at her brightly, watching as a cat would at a passing flicker of light before nodding once in greeting.

For how distant she was from the Banshee Queen, Derek seemed to have no qualms with approaching Sylvanas.

At times, she saw them talking — in quiet asides that halted abruptly the moment any other individual came within earshot, and it prodded at Jaina’s curiosity once more.

“I never thought I’d see you so friendly with the Warchief,” she remarked one day.

Derek shrugged. “She brought me back. For whatever reason. And despite what anyone might think...she...cares.”

“Cares?”

“Ask her yourself,” he replied, nudging her in the shoulder.

She didn’t, only kept her efforts of mingling with the Forsaken. Most were wary of her still, barely acknowledging her words or pointedly ignoring them.

Then one day, a Forsaken replied. His words were guttural and harsh in tone, but the words were almost...friendly. “Good morning. You must use your throat more.”

Jaina obliged readily and welcomed any and all criticism that came. Some were malicious and stung, but a majority of those who engaged her seemed...bewildered at her willingness to learn. “Haven’t others tried to learn Gutterspeak?” she asked.

The Forsaken shook his head. “Gutterspeak is beneath the Alliance, isn’t it? ‘Tis the language of us Forsaken.”

Pursing her lips, Jaina said, “All peoples should have a right to their own language.”

“Perhaps,” he replied, eyeing her with something less than hate.

Though most were wary but polite, not all members of the Horde were as accommodating. She dared to approach a warlock troll one day, blinking in surprise when he curled his lip and sneered at her.

“Why would I be sharin’ de secrets of da Horde wit’ ya?”

“Because I want to understand more about your people,” she replied staunchly. “I’m only trying to help —”

He barked out a laugh, the sound calling the attention of the nearby folk. Orc and goblin and trolls watched on, murmuring among themselves as Jaina fought back the embarrassment building in her belly.

“Leave her alone, Zaejin,” an orc said. “You’re not stupid enough to challenge the Lord Admiral.”

“Mebbe it be time someone did,” Zaejin growled back. In his hands, a dark, swirling ball of energy formed.

Jaina backed slowly away from them, smothering the prickle of arcane itching at her fingertips as more of the Horde began to gather. Something solid and cold bumped against her back and she helped softly, spinning around in alarm —

“Lady Proudmoore.”

She stiffened, staring up at burning red eyes.

Sylvanas peered down into her face impassively. A hand reached out and grasped her arm, steadying her in place. Those blazing eyes flashed back to the crowd.

Before Jaina could speak — to explain, or perhaps protest — Sylvanas insinuated herself between them, all but looming over the warlock. “Have you any qualms with the Lord Admiral that I have not heard, Zaejin?”

The gathered Horde froze, darting nervous looks between them as they shuffled back. Zaejin bowed at the hip, refusing to lift his gaze from the ground. “Warchief. How are we ta trust de Lord Admiral’s intentions —”

“Has she given you cause for concern?” Sylvanas drawled. “Has she trod on your toes? Planned a military coup to usurp power while we are in peace talks with the Alliance?”

“Who knows with de likes o’ her,” Zaejin grumbled, casting a resentful look at Jaina.

“Then this peace treaty is a waste of time,” Sylvanas said. “If you’d like us to return to war, only say so, Zaejin. I shall leave the Lord Admiral to deal with your insubordination herself.”

At last, Jaina found her voice. “It’s alright,” she croaked, darting a slightly bewildered look between Sylvanas and Zaejin. “It’s understandable that he would be...wary still. There is too much between our factions to expect everyone to be content with peace talks.”

Sylvanas’ ear flicked, her burning eyes flashing with amusement as she inclined her head. “That much is true. Regardless.” She reached out and laid a hand on Jaina’s shoulder, squeezing just so to leave the woman gaping wordlessly at her grip. Setting her eyes to the crowd, she said, “Let it be known; so long as we remain in Stormwind, the Lord Admiral is free to walk among the Horde with my blessing.”

A rich plume of power began to bleed from her shoulders effortlessly and Jaina fought back a shiver at the raw strength of it. “Have you any protests, warlock?”

Zaejin said nothing further, only glared. Boldly, Jaina reached out and touched Sylvanas’ elbow, casting a speaking look up at the Banshee Queen. “I think your point’s been made, Warchief. Let us do as you say and lay our animosities to rest.”

Wordlessly, and strangely, Sylvanas complied. “I shall escort you to your quarters, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina blinked. It didn’t exactly sound like an offer so much as a command, but she quelled the instinct to bristle and nodded mutely.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, when they were a fair distance away. “That was...unnecessary, but thank you.”

Sylvanas inclined her head; the weight of her hand lingered at the small of Jaina’s back. “If these peace talks are to bear fruit, we can’t have the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras assaulted in the streets. And we can’t have you levelling half the street in retaliation.” Her eyes slid sidelong knowingly.

Jaina huffed. “I could have managed with a little more tact than that.”

“I have no doubt,” Sylvanas said. They walked on for a time in a stilted sort of silence, until the Warchief folded her arms behind her back and remarked idly, “How have your experiments been going?”

Jaina paused in her step and stared.

Shrugging, Sylvanas said, “Derek likes to talk.” It was strange to hear her brother’s name on such a foreign tongue. “I understand the desire to...process the state your brother returned to you in. Not many of the living had such a kind reception to their Undead loved ones.”

“...He told me you gave him the choice to come back. Despite everything.” Jaina’s gaze was hard and searching, but not unkind.

Sylvanas’ ears swivelled and flicked, but there was nothing in her face that gave away the Warchief’s thoughts. She shrugged. “...I do not Raise those who do not wish to be raised. Not without purpose."

“And what was your purpose here?”

Sylvanas peered at her thoughtfully before turning back forward. “I did not Raise him with the intention of misusing him. I know the stories the Alliance tells about my powers. My goals and aims.”

Her burning eyes slid sidelong to Jaina for a moment. Quietly, she said, “I will not lie and say that the possibility never crossed my mind. But the Forsaken have never been mine to use. They are my kin, not my servants.”

The weight of Sylvanas’ words stunned Jaina; brought every story about the Dark Lady and her relationship with the Forsaken into question. Many thought her a tyrant — and she was, in many ways — but this was not one of them, it seemed.

Jaina ducked her head almost in shame before nodding once, meeting Sylvanas’ gaze steadily. “I believe you.”

Sylvanas made a noise in her throat, tilting her head curiously at Jaina. “...Does he regret it? Some do.”

“No,” Jaina replied, and the honesty of her response surprised even herself. “I don’t think he does. I think he’s...trying to adjust. And I want to help.”

Sylvanas nodded slowly. “Do let me know, should you require another test subject. I would be curious to see what you could achieve,” she said.

“Wh—?”

“If you require information from the High Necromancer, I shall provide it,” Sylvanas continued, pausing as they reached the tower. Glancing up at the spire, she turned to Jaina. “It is my duty as their leader, is it not? To ease their burdens. I would like to help, if I can.”

Jaina blinked rapidly, then found herself nodding. It was the only thing she could think to do. “Y-yes, alright — I — thank you??”

A slow, curling smile spread across Sylvanas’ face. “You’re welcome. Until another time, Lady Proudmoore.”

#this got away from me YET AGAIN #anon #ask #fic drabble #sylvaina #sylvanas windrunner #jaina proudmoore #derek proudmoore #magic and vague lore things #can sylvanas really hear all the souls? who knows #i say she can #it's weird typing on my laptop again sobs #why are the keys so soft now #Anonymous

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starkeristheendgame · 4 years

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I would love to read something about peter accidentally stealing a piece of Tony’s clothing without either of them noticing, but it’s something extremely valuable and everyone else (like maybe peters friends from collage or something) notice and are very confused. Would you write something like this? (It’s totally fine if not)

This was the actual cutest idea, and I loved writing this! I hope this is the kind of cute-awkward you were going for. Thank you sm for sending me this, honey! I’m an absolute sucker for clothes sharing. This begins as unest and is AU from AOU+. Peter is 18+

The first time it happened, it was a slate grey shirt with silver-leaf decor, the front brazenly depicting a boy with a wolf’s muzzle face. There was an oil stain on the right sleeve where it fluttered about his bicep, and a charred hole on the hem where Tony had skewered it with a soldering iron. Peter had just lost his own shirt to a grinding machine, and had accepted the shirt that Tony had offered him thoughtlessly, promising to bring it back on his next visit.

Tony had waved him off and told him not to worry - The shirt was old and he had plenty others. Peter had thought nothing of it, not bothering to change as he collapsed into his bed. He had an early lecture in the coming morning, and he’d overstayed at Tony’s. Again.

He still lacked any thought on it when he awoke to his final alarm shrieking at him insistently, and he scrambled out of bed, nearly swallowing his toothbrush as he floundered to get ready. He skid to a halt in front of his bedroom mirror, eyed what he’d gone to sleep in, and deemed it acceptable. The shirt was clean - He’d only worn it to bed that night, and his jeans surprisingly matched it well.

It was like any other morning, until he’d been in line at the lunch hall for a coffee, and the girl walking past had stuttered to a halt, eyes wide. “Oh, my, God. Is that a Yohji Yamamoto?!” She’d squealed, eyes wide and round, and Peter had blinked across at her, sleep-dead and at a loss. “That thing is like, a thousand dollars! Its limited edition!” She continued, and Peter glanced down, ready to defend his piece of shit shirt.

Except.

It wasn’t just a piece of shit, ratty old shirt, was it? No, because it had come from billionaire Tony Stark’s closet. He cringed, lip curling as he stared at the shimmering silver pattern. Ah, fuck. How could he explain this? Several people had noticed her loud speech and were staring, curiosity piqued. And, why wouldn’t they? Scruffy Peter Parker in a thousand dollar shirt.

“I don’t think so” he barked nervously, before his brain had even come up with a plausible explanation. “I got this at a thrift store! Yeah. A thrift store, so. I mean, if it looks like some fancy shirt, its definitely a knock off” he laughed nervously, clamouring desperately for his coffee before he cast her an awkward smile and shuffled off, fleeing the lunch hall.

Luckily, he had an old zip-up in his bag, and he tugged it on over the shirt. It meant he boiled in his last classes, but nobody else asked him about his thousand dollar shirt. He drove home with the windows down and the AC on, and when he pulled up outside his apartment, he paused, and rummaged for his phone. It took almost ten minutes to find the shirt he was wearing, but when he did, he sucked in air through his teeth and shoved his phone away. Yikes. A thousand? Closer to two thousand.

The second time it happened, Peter had been to breakfast with Tony before classes. The older man had presented him with a beautiful custom Rolex, complete with deep, red rubies and rich blue kyanite. An early birthday present Tony had said, clasping it around his wrist with a warm, satisfied smirk. Peter’s birthday was months away, but Tony wouldn’t hear anything of it.

He’d grown so used to the weight of it in between eating and talking that he’d completely forgotten about it by the time he arrived at his morning study session, sinking down at the library table and pulling out his books. MJ was already there, and Peter offered her a shy smile as he kicked his bag under the table. They were tentative friends after getting to know each other near the end of their final year, and though Peter had outgrown his initial crush, he was still glad she’d gone to the same college as him and Ned.

He was just pulling out a pen from his case when MJ shifted. “Hey, nerd. What’s on your wrist?” And Peter’s heart seized then skipped when he cast a careless glance aside and watched the sharp halogen lights glint off the brand new gold and precious stones. His first thought was ‘aw, fuck. Not again’ and then his second was ‘how the fuck can I explain a Rolex that costs more than this building?’

“Fake!” He yelped, and ducked his head when a sprightly girl two tables across leaned forwards to glare at him. “I mean, y’know. My Aunt...Bought it for me. Thought she’d found a real Rolex on Ebay for $40, y’know? Ha. Some people” he coughed to clear his throat and to hide the fact that his voice had risen several pitches before he reached for his wrist, tugging his sleeve down over it.

When he looked up, she levelled him with a flat, unimpressed look that clearly stated she thought he was a few marbles short. He spent the rest of the study session twitchy and tense, and she spent the rest of it reading and glancing at him now and then like she was afraid he might start frothing at the mouth. When the hour was finally over, Peter ran back to his car, wrapped the watch in several soft tissues from the restroom and hid it in the glove compartment.

MJ didn’t mention the lack of watch, but she did pointedly stare at his arm for the rest of the day. It made him prickly and jumpy; a thousand worst-case scenarios running through his mind. Nobody knew he was Spiderman, and since joining college he’d done his best to keep the ‘Stark Industries Internship’ thing on the down-low. That was relatively easy, since most people hadn’t believed it in the first place. As for Spiderman - The only people who knew were May and Ned. He kind of intended to keep it that way for as long as possible.

He was vigilant then, for the next few weeks. He inspected himself carefully before getting out of his car at college, and he always made sure to remind Ned to remind him any time he wore anything that a struggling college student wouldn’t. All in all, after three months had passed with only a few close calls, he felt pretty secure.

That was, naturally, his doom.

But! In his defence, Tony Stark had kissed him. On the mouth. And not by accident, either. One moment Peter was talking about his Chemistry class and how the next Tony Stark was kissing him, lips warm and a little chapped, stubble pricking at the corners of his mouth.

They'd kissed for almost an hour after that, gripping onto each other, learning what made the other twitch and moan. Tony liked his lip sucked and Peter liked his hair pulled and it had led to eager grinding and groping. Peter had never been more loathe to leave, but he had dinner plans with Aunt May that night.

Their first kiss had evolved into kissing every time they were together, chaste and shy or filthy and wet like teenagers. Groping turned into Mr. Stark jacking him off and sucking him down, to Peter sucking him in return and to slowly working their way towards Peter getting done up the ass for the first time (four times, actually. Peter was insatiable and Tony had been more than happy to oblige).

It had been a Thursday night, though, and Peter had a mid-day lecture on Friday. His own shirt had been used as a rag from the first and third rounds, so he shyly accepted when Tony offered him an old, soft black one. It was ratty and stained and he thought nothing of wearing it to his lecture, scribbling notes furiously and paying attention because they had a test in two weeks time.

Towards the end of the lecture, he felt something brush at itch at the back of his neck, and he twisted to find the girl from the lunch hall sat directly behind him, her arm retreating. He blinked in surprise; he hadn't even recognised that she was in his class at the time.

"You had fluff caught on your shirt" she noted casually, though her eyes were narrowed suspiciously. Peter gave her a weak smile, mouthed 'thanks' and turned back around.

It was relatively forgotten until he was done for the day, paused near the doors to try and find his power bank. Footsteps echoed through the hall, and he looked up they stopped near him. Standing there was the girl from his class, and he offered her a warm but puzzled smile. "Hi?" He asked after a pause where she simply stared at him with folded arms.

"I know your secret" she announced, and he nearly dropped his bag, grumbling to catch it as his heart ticked up. That could mean anything - Tony? Spiderman? Even just the spider bite could be disastrous. He'd have scientists experimenting on him and then they'd know and-

"Secret?" He barked out a little hysterically, straightening. "What secret? I don't have any. Not any worth exploiting, anyway. I mean, I peed in the pool once, but I was six and I-"

"I know how you're getting such expensive clothes" she interrupted, arching a brow at him, though the corner of her mouth had ticked up into a smile.

"What? Oh, the shirt the other month? I told you, it was a knockoff" Peter stuttered nervously, and she gestured.

"You're wearing a Gucci shirt right now".

"What? No I'm not. Have you seen this thing?" He asked, plucking at the hem, even as he died a little inside. Was it too much to ask for Tony to shop at Target once in a while?

"Well, it's in horrible condition, but I looked at the tag in class. I know how you're getting all this expensive stuff" she repeated, and Peter twitched a little, glancing around the hall before shuffling out of the way a little.

"I want in" she added, following him, and he paused, blinking across at her while his coherent thoughts stuttered to a stop.

"Uh."

"I want you to teach me".

"...Uh…"

She rolled her eyes at him and stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I know you're a Sugar Baby, Parker. There's no other way you could afford all this stuff, and nobody puts Gucci in a thrift store. I want you to teach me how to do it. Show me what website you used or whatever".

Peter stared at the wall over her shoulder, his thoughts effectively flat-lined. Sugar Baby? Website? Teach her?

"Listen, I don't know who your guy is or how you did it, but clearly, he's minted. And sharing. I'm only able to work part-time around my studies, and I want in. I'm not gonna tell anyone, I'm not a bitch, I just want to be able to afford stuff" her voice softened at the end, and Peter shuffled uncomfortably, trying to kick his brain into gear.

On one hand, she thought he was fucking an old guy for ratty Gucci shirts. On the other, this was the perfect out for all his mishaps. He considered it, head tilting as the corners of his mouth dipped down, and then he nodded.

"Sure, why not".

#fanfic #starker #starker fanfiction #starker fanfic #starker fic #starker cu #starker ncc #ironspider #ironspider fanfiction #ironspider fanfic #ironspider fic #ironspider au #starker au #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker/tony stark #sie fics

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jungcity · 4 years

Text

bane of the devil. | viii

genre: vampire!jaehyun [angst | fluff | smut]

pairings: jaehyun x female reader

words: 5.9k

warning: bane of the devil deals with themes of deaths, physical, mental, and sexual abuse as well as toxic relationships. which may be upsetting for some readers. you are advised not to continue if you feel uncomfortable to these types of plots.

“she is made of

bruises of the past,

of bullets made from flames.

she could rattle the skies

and shake the stars.

perhaps you have

missed the wolf

underneath her skin.

but she wasn’t made

to cower under your gun.

she wasn’t the hunter,

and she wasn’t the prey.

she is the enemy of the

demons who does

not deserve mercy.”

— bane of the devil, viii

A smiling Rhianon was who greeted you as you shut the door close behind you. With your heart still thundering against your chest by the little display Jaehyun had shown, you sauntered up to your own bed. Your body slightly bouncing by the impact of it on the soft mattress. The room was painted with darkness, with only Rhianon’s lamp providing the light.

“I couldn’t believe it! You really are friends with a vampire? How?” She looked so excited that she seemed to jump. Her glasses caught the glint of the lamp beside her table. Its yellow light touching half of Rhianon’s face.

You smiled shyly towards her, not bothering to light your own lamp. A thick tome rests on her bed, its pages splayed. Similar to the light of the lamp, its pages were also tinge with yellow; a sign that the book had seen better days.

“Yes. It was the most unexpected happening of my life, believe me.” Then a merry yet controlled chuckle escaped your lips. Jaehyun’s unfortunate state in front of your doorstep sinking back in your mind. “What is that?” Veering the conversation from you, you’ve decided to point your finger towards the thick book laying on her bed.

Rhianon followed your finger, until her own eyes landed on the thick tome. She grabbed and placed it on her lap. “Book of Enchantments and Magic,” she pronounced while trailing her fingers over the embossed title. “What a simple title for a powerful book.” Then she puffed a sigh.

Rhianon held the book on its edges, showing you a better view of its golden title. By the light, the cover gave off a crimson color. Dents and scratches could be found on its surface. A further sign that the book is, indeed, old.

“I didn’t know you’re interested in those kinds of books.” You smiled at her. The bookshelf located at the corner of the room must’ve been full of books about enchantments.

“Oh, I am interested. Deeply.” Rhianon ran her hand on the book’s cover, before placing it on her bedside table. “Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been devouring all of these books. I swear, I already have memorized every single one of these pages. That’s why I have poor eyesight.” She shrugged, pointing her finger at her eyes.

Suddenly, and as if meant to be brought up, you remembered Rhianon’s reason of joining the Academy. She stated it’s because of Madame. The pieces weren’t that hard to put back together. Madame is a witch. Rhianon have a whole bookshelf containing of books about magic and enchantments.

“Are you a witch?” You hadn’t meant the words to come out bluntly, but they had. Rhianon spared you an indecipherable glance. If she ever looked affronted, you would never know. She concealed her reaction to the question quite well.

“No,” she replied rather laconically. Her throat bobbed against the light. A sign that she could be lying. “Just a practitioner,” she added.

Then she carried the book towards her bookshelf, placed it between the other books and came back to her bed. A heavy aura weighed in between you. Instantly, you’ve regretted your blunt question.

“I’m sorry for asking, Rhianon. It’s not my intention to offend you.”

Rhianon blinked. This time, her face had given clear emotions. And that is a look of surprise. “No, Y/N. You’ve not offended me. It’s just that—” She bit her lower lip, before sighing.

“It’s okay! You don’t need to tell me if you aren’t comfortable,” you stated, holding up your hand as if in surrender.

“I joined to become closer to Madame,” she sighed, before laying her whole back on the bed. “I think it’s stupid. But I still believe that she would help me understand magic.” Her gaze drifted towards the ceiling.

The bed invited you to lay down, and lay down you did. “I think it’s not stupid at all. Mortals could possess magic, too.” You turned on your side and smiled at her.

Rhianon returned the smile, her eyes gleaming in the lamplight. “You think so?”

You nodded, the drowsiness pulling you down. Your eyes blinked in a languid manner. “Yes.” A yawn had escaped from your lips, but you fought it to get the question out of your mouth. “You said you joined for Madame. I now understand that it’s because of this. But, has she ever paid you any attention at all? To teach you magic?”

You truly hoped that you had not broached a sensitive topic. But your curiosity had the best of you. If ever Jaehyun’s instinctive doubts of Madame were true, the least you could do was to gather enough informations from students who had been inside this Academy longer than you were.

A flicker of sadness passed through Rhianon’s face as she turned her head towards you. By that, you already know the answer. Nonetheless, her mouth moved. “No. She said I should earn her trust, first. Which is funny, because I’ve been here for two years.”

Two years? That is a long time for someone who only joined this school for Madame’s magical teachings.

You clamped your mouth shut. The best way to earn a useful information is to listen. Specially when the person you were conversing with seemed to combust with all the suppressed words she had kept to herself.

“Two years of letting Eva break my bones. Two years of those leafy and rancid greens at the canteen. The only thing that’s stopping me from running away is the hope that she would, eventually, spare me a glance. And of course, Lucas’ smile.” She giggled like a high-school girl at the end of the sentence.

Of course. Lucas. Who wouldn’t fall for that ethereal face? Those eyes, and those luscious lips like freshly plucked cherries. Yet as you think about the good qualities of Lucas, the image of a dimpled-guy with pale complexion and eyes like the pit of the universe— so enticing, so enigmatic— couldn’t help but flash in your mind like a movie scene. The kiss that the same guy gave your head earlier sending tingling sensation all throughout your body.

“Yes. Lucas’ smile,” you repeated, with Jaehyun’s face etched on the very surface of your mind.

Rhianon started to snore, a sign that your roommate had already fallen into slumber. You whispered a silent good night before closing your eyes and joining her to dreamlands.

—

Red silk gown. Red lips. Red fingernails. Red bottoms. The crimson color seemed to overwhelm Alena’s appearance tonight. Her dark marble floors shone brightly, with the help of the prodigious chandeliers hanging on the roofs of her mansion.

This home. So expansive. So marvelous. Yet so empty. The silence was almost deafening. And Alena had never felt so alone. With a flick of her wrist, a vampire appeared from behind her. Ready to hear her words. Ready to obey.

She could feel her power threading through the most minuscule of her veins as she walked through the long table located at the very center of this separate hall. The vampire silently trailed behind her.

Everything was black; the chairs, the long table, the pillars adorning every corner of the room. Save for the crimson curtains that covers the floor-to-ceiling window panes. She darted her eyes at the chair that resembles that of a throne sitting at the very head of the table. She sat on it like how a queen would. Because in this town, she is.

“Sicheng,” she pronounced the words with enough carnality to make the boy salivate. “Pour me some wine.” And by wine she meant human blood, with a drop of honey to make it much sweeter. After all, not all human blood was as sweet as her taste buds would penchant for. Some were bitter to the taste, some doesn’t even bore any taste at all.

The man— Sicheng— gladly oblige, his lips stretching to reveal a smile. He has been extremely helpful to Alena ever since she turned him. He never once denied her orders. Be it to kill or deliver her fresh human blood, the boy oblige with reverence fit for a vampire leader.

As Alena brought the wine glass against her lips, the blood glinted in the chandelier first. She took a sip, then a moan echoed through her. Human blood is unparalleled. But she knows a particular kind of blood which out rivaled any other blood she’s ever tasted. The blood of her fiancé, Jaehyun.

Alena has lived for almost three-hundred years now. She’s tasted different bloods from sundries of species, hence she’s aware of the certain sweetness and omnipotence commixed with Jaehyun’s blood that made her wanting for more. At first she thought it was his neglect of his vampiric body and soul, yet Alena could still not pinpoint what was special in her fiancé’s blood. One thing that she was certain of, though, was the matchless power it gave her.

Jaehyun’s blood allowed her to walk under the sun unscathed. It repelled her from holy things such as the rosary and the bible. Ever since she started to drink her fiancé’s blood, she could skim through the bible and mock every verse printed on it without her fingers burning. Oh, how forlorn she’s become since Jaehyun begun to play hide-and-seek with her.

Alena’s thoughts were interrupted by the stomping of boots against her marble floors. She gathered her patience to prevent herself from burning whoever it might be. At last, the door opened, revealing Ranus, her favorite party organizer.

“My lady,” he greeted while giving Alena a bow that could almost reach the floors. “You look fantastic as always.” Ranus’ eyes shone in the chandeliers.

Alena raised a brow. Such empty pleasantries. If given the chance, all of the vampires in this useless town would certainly try to kill Alena in a blink of an eye. She wasn’t the leader all of these vacuous vampires expected her to be. Her hands were made of iron and cruelty and blood; one her father and grandfather didn’t have. And now they reside at the Athanar, where all vampires at the age of five hundred and beyond rests, leaving Alena to reign over.

“How is the preparation going on, Ranus?” If Alena’s voice would have a physical form, it surely would be a venomous snake. Born with a vampire venom circulating in her body, Alena made sure to bolster that venom to act as her defense towards those who wishes her dead.

“Smoothly as always, my lady.” Ranus kept his head down, not daring to look Alena in the eyes. To do so would be downright disrespect. One rule Alena wants her vampires to follow; never look her straight in her eyes. They don’t have the power to dare such impudence.

Only Jaehyun could look her in the eyes. And now he’s gone, hiding from her.

Alena pushed away the thoughts by standing up, her hand still holding the glass of blood. Her heels clanked against the floors. With a flick of her wrist, the curtains parted to give her a better view of the world outside. Alena’s forefathers built their mansion at the very edge of a cliff, for they wanted to look down on the people underneath their mansion’s magnificence. Mortals are vital for a vampire’s survival, but they don’t— will never— match the glory that even a fledgling has.

“And the venue?” she asked after taking the last sip of her wine. She would’ve asked for another glass if not for Ranus’ dreadful answer.

“Juana insists the venue to be at her villa, my lady.”

“Is that so?” What a surprise. Juana undermining her decisions.

It was decided that the vampire leader of this town would supervise the incoming gathering of vampires and vampire hunters alike. That means Alena would be the one to decide things, not anyone in those wretched Academy, and specially not Juana. That hag.

“Yes, my lady.”

Alena gripped the wine glass so tight it cracked on her hand. She could feel Ranus’s eyes on her back, his fear clinging onto the air. “Go and remind that witch bitch who’s in charge here.”

“At once, my lady.”

Alena could still feel Ranus’ presence behind her. He was reluctant to say something. “What is it Ranus?”

“My lady… Juana also reminds you of the thirty-fifty ratio of attendees for the gathering.”

“Ah, yes.” The wine glass finally shattered. Its shards jabbing through Alena’s palms, causing blood to flow from her flesh.

Juana insists that the attendees of the incoming gathering would only consist of thirty vampires and fifty hunters. When Alena first heard of the demand, she almost snap a vein in her temple of laughing by the incredulity of it. The witch really believed that she could overpower the vampire with twenty additional hunters.

Tonight, as she heard the same demand, the certain anger meant for the witch ignited once again in her chest. It’s too much of a disrespect for the vampires. But for the sake of everyone’s entertainment, she would agree. It’s better to let the witch thinks she has the upper hand, only to be disappointed in the end. Victory is sweeter when it’s unexpected.

“Tell her I agree.”

“My lady?”

Alena whirled and sauntered up to Ranus. She caressed the vampire’s cheek with the wounded hand that was starting to heal itself, before giving Ranus’ lips a tender kiss. The vampire stilled, his every veins shouting in fear. “You heard me. Now, go, Ranus.” With another light pat on the cheek from Alena, Ranus sprinted away from the vampire leader.

After Ranus’ departure, Alena turned her full attention to the vampire in the shadows. It’s time for the game to continue.

“Sicheng, come here.”

Alena walked back to her throne at the edge of the table. Sicheng was beside her, waiting for the orders.

“Find Jaehyun. He must attend the gathering with me.” At much as the words hurts her throat, Alena needs Jaehyun to escort him to the gathering. All of the vampires in this town knows their relationship. And if they fear Alena with her presence alone, what more when she’s with Jaehyun? The latter doesn’t realize it yet, but the strength he has in his body could overthrow even the elders at the Athanar. Much gratitude to Jaehyun’s stupidity, he doesn’t know about that yet. And Alena had no plans to apprise him of it.

“Yes, my lady.”

“He’s with a girl. If she gets in the way, kill her.”

Alena wasn’t certain if Jaehyun’s imbecility could rival itself. That could only be proven if he decides to choose a mere college girl over a vampire leader.

“I’m at your disposal, my lady.”

She once again flicked her wrist to dismiss Sicheng. He attempted to leave, but Alena’s voice echoed through the hall again, halting the vampire on his tracks.

“Be careful, you might see your mother on your sleuthing.”

Sicheng’s jaw tightened, a further reminder of the hatred he bears for his own mother. He only nodded before he disappeared from Alena’s sight.

Sicheng is the reason why Juana seeks to destroy Alena. Little did she knew, it was her son who crawled his way to Alena’s mansion, begging her to turn him. Until now, Juana believes that Alena turned her son against his will. Alena did what she had to do to save Sicheng, and now the wrath of a witch lays on her shoulders.

A poisonous smile stretched out in her lips. Alena is a god. And no mere witch— no matter how powerful she might be— could destroy her.

—

The uniform exceeded all your agitations. Not only it was uncomfortable, it was also a bit tight for your liking. The secret curves you tried to hide with baggy shirts were now displayed for everyone to see. You felt as if you were sculpted. But you could not be bothered about the uniform, for you were already standing in an open space near the Arena to listen to Eva and Lucas.

Rhianon discussed with you the importance of the Arena on the way to the open space earlier. She said, twice a year, venatrixes and venators compete to showcase their strength at the Arena. It was also directed by the Madame, herself. With few of the vampire hunters helping her hold the event.

“Alright, a pleasant morning to everyone. I hope you’re ready for today’s training.”

Everyone was silent, allowing Eva’s voice to be as clear as possible. You have decided to stand at the very end of the lane with Rhianon. But that doesn’t excuse you of the scrutinizing eyes of both venatrixes and venators alike. They looked at you as if they were already aware of the weakness residing in your bones. However, you held your chin as high as you could muster. You went here for your parents, not to please these students.

“Let us start, shall we?” Eva held her fist high, then she shouted, “Venatrix!”

All of the students around you, including Rhianon, stood rigid and pressed their fist across their chests. “Venatrix: steadfast and loyal!”

The echo of voices deafened you, but you scrambled to put your fist across your chest and shout whatever the motto was. Your tongue knotted together in a hurry to catch up and shout the motto, you could only hope that no one heard you as you tripped on your words.

“We’ve practiced and trained enough strategies in defeating a vampire in a combat. But as we have a new venatrix, we shall recall these strategies from the very beginning,” Lucas stated. His demeanor was more stout and serious than when you were only having a casual conversation with him. He does not carry the spring-like smile in him today, making his face more dangerous. The kind of danger you weren’t conscious someone such as him could possess.

The silent groans broke you out of your reverie. Clearly, the venatrixes weren’t happy about this decision. You could shrink back behind Rhianon, or you could continue to held your chin up high to pretend that their protestations doesn’t affect you at all. You did the latter. Madame needs you, and no degradation could take that advantage away from your hands.

“Y/N, it’s a pleasure. Could you please— stand here?” Lucas’ smile returned as he gestured for you to stand in the frontline. Of course, he could easily spot you with his height.

The line parted for you. Rhianon gave your hand a tight squeeze before you trekked towards Lucas. His smile never faltered as you finally took your place in the front.

Eva gave you a small smile before bellowing instructions again. “Remember your stance. You would hate to forget it. Vampires are swift creatures— but it would be an advantage that you remember how to dig your soles in the ground for more strength.” Eva raised her fist, as if to punch someone. Then she placed her right foot behind the left, her left hand resting in fist at her sides, as if she was about to uppercut someone. “This is the stance of every fighter. Y/N, could you please try it?” Eva invited you with her hand stretched out.

You gulped and did as you were told. Lucas raised your fist, while Eva nudged your left foot to separate your feet further. Her action almost made you lose your footing, but she was quick to catch your arm. Silent laughters could be heard from the throng of students, heightening your agitation. Your eyes frantically searched for Rhianon’s face in the crowd, but to no avail.

“Quiet!” Lucas shouted. At once, the laughters stopped.

“Your muscles are tensed, Y/N. Try to relax them at the point of comfort,” Eva whispered. “Make them strong but not too rigid.”

Having no idea of how to do her orders, you furrowed your brows. With that, Lucas chuckled. But your eyes caught up on the frown that was etched across Eva’s features. As your eyes met, she smiled.

“I think it’s best if we dismiss the venatrixes today? Send them to the armory to practice weapons?” Eva turned her attention to Lucas. The boy blinked but nodded his head.

“Alright, all of you, go to the armory and practice your preferred weapons,” Lucas pronounced. All of them nodded their heads before the crowd dissipated, leaving only you to Lucas’ and Eva’s graces. Rhianon gave you a small wave before following the students. You only nodded your head, for Eva’s grip on your arm didn’t allow you to wave back to your friend.

“Focus, Y/N. You need to catch up.” There was an edge to Eva’s voice now. As if the five-minutes of teaching had already drove her impatient.

“Show us your strength, Y/N. Try to punch my palms.” Lucas held up both his palms for you to attack.

Then you started to punch. Lucas held them firm. You continued to attack him with your punches. Beads of perspiration already forming on your forehead, but the black uniform seemed to sponge the sweats from your body. Leaving you feeling grimy.

“Okay, stop.” He smiled. You hunched your back and pressed your palms to your knees, trying to refocus your breathing.

“You have the strength in you, Y/N. Practice is all you need.”

Thanks to your physical education classes about boxing. You had dreaded every session of that class, never realizing that the things you had refused to learn would be useful today.

“Again,” Eva demanded. She held up her own palms, her brows knotted in concentration. You glanced at Lucas. The boy gave you one of his encouraging smiles before tapping your back.

You slightly twisted your arm to land a punch in Eva’s palms. Unlike Lucas, she moved, causing you to miss her hand by a hairsbreadth. You knotted your brows but she only smiled. So you continued to penetrate her, and she continued to move her palms to different positions, rejecting your every hit. Impatience slowly crawled on your skin, intensifying your determination and giving you more strength. Eva’s feet started to move backwards as she tried to defend herself from your attacks. Lucas silently following the both of you.

It was obvious that she’s draining you out of your energy, and perhaps she’s trying to ridicule you. A smirk was displayed across her face, widening as you mishit her palms yet again.

You fought the urge to punch her face instead. Restlessness would lead you to nothing but more troubles. You only need to hit and hit and—

Suddenly, the world seemed to whirl in different colors. The only thing you felt was the hard collision of your breaches against the hard ground, followed by the fall of your whole upper body. Red spots swam in your vision as you struggled on your feet. Albeit regaining your footing, the world continued to move around you. Firms hands held you in place, steadying you.

“Why did you do that?” Lucas asked.

It took you minutes to realize that he was asking Eva.

“We need to advance her training.” She shrugged.

You blinked a few times. When the swirling of your vision finally halted, you wiped the dust off your palms and off your uniform.

“Oh, yes? You didn’t need to punch her nose, Eva!”

Eva’s mouth was formed in a thin line. She placed her arms across her chest, her foot tapping on the ground.

“It’s okay, Lucas.” You held up your hand. No, it was not okay. You wanted to attack Eva again to regain your pride. Of all the body parts she could hit, she really decided to punch your nose instead? You waited for blood to flow from your nostrils. Thankfully, after touching the skin below your nose several times, the only liquid you could feel was your sweat.

“Do you need to go to the clinic?” Eva asked, her voice devoid of the warmth she once gave you yesterday.

Clinic, again? The offer was enticing. All you wanted to do was to go back on the bed and sleep. But to do so would mean another weakness. You refused to dwell to that same feeling again. So you shook your head.

“No.”

For hours, Lucas instructed you with different techniques. Eva dismissed herself, saying that she would look over how the venatrixes were faring with their weapons. Having Eva away gave you a little peace of mind. Lucas was gentler and more focused on magnifying your strength. He would only laugh and teach you the right ways every time you tripped over.

After hours of training, he told you to rest. Now you’re alone in the open area under the tree, munching your food.

“How’s your training?”

Your food went flying from the spoon as Jaehyun sat beside you. “Don’t startle me like that!” You pitifully looked at the food on the ground, dirt had already coated it. “Why are you here?” You snapped your head at him.

Jaehyun’s smirk faltered as he took in the condition of your face. You raised a brow. He held your chin, his face not giving away any emotions. Then he deadpanned, “Who did that to you?”

Automatically, you covered your nose with your hands, the spoon you were holding went flying to the ground as well. “Accident.” How did he manage to see the injury? You were certain that your nose still had the red tinge from yesterday’s brawl. Jaehyun shouldn’t be able to spot that you have yet obtained another fresh injury.

“Accident? On your first day of training?”

You nodded. “Yeah, earlier.”

“Then you’re dumber than I thought.”

With that, you landed a punch to his arm. His nose scrunched up as if he was in pain. “I know you weren’t hurt.” You rolled your eyes. It’s better if he doesn’t know who injured you on your first day. Eva almightily stared him down yesterday. And you know the scene didn’t settle right on Jaehyun. Best not to reveal everything to him.

“Why are you alone?”

“Lucas told me he’s going to check up on Eva and the others. You? Why are you out here in the sunlight?”

Jaehyun leaned on the tree. “I was bored.”

“Bored? So you decided to risk your life out here in the open?”

“I can handle myself.” Then he reached his hands towards the little sunlight that had succeeded to infiltrate through the lush of the leaves.

“Jaehyun!” You tried to swat his hands away.

“Relax,” he assured you before continuing on his doing. Then it started. As the sunlight proceeded to touch Jaehyun’s skin, his flesh emitted thin layers of smoke. Faint smell of burning flesh mixed with the fresh air. You covered your nose from the stench.

“Stop that!” You wrenched his hands away from the ray of light. This time, he didn’t budge.

The back of Jaehyun’s hands continued to sizzle, but the smell was fleeting. Pinkish flesh could be seen from his scorched skin. He opened and closed his hands, as if to stretch the skin. Then the skin started to stitch itself back together until no trace of burned flesh could be seen.

“I do that some times to remind myself I’m still half-alive.”

Your eyes could not turn away from his hands. Vampires could heal themselves faster than any mortal devices could. But to witness it on your own, it still brought an unnerving feeling to settle in your bones.

“That’s…”

“Awesome?” Jaehyun raised a brow. Then he stood up, offering his hand to you. “Get up, I’ll teach you how to defend yourself better than Lucas.”

“I would say that was scary,” you teased before holding his hand to prop yourself. “Teach me your ways, your majesty.” You mockingly curtsied, earning a soft laugh from him.

“What did they teach you?”

You did Eva’s instruction from earlier. You raised your fist, the other resting on your sides. Then you stepped your one foot forward, the other digging in the ground. “This. And then Lucas taught me the correct ways to punch.”

Jaehyun pursed his lips to repressed a laugh. “Ten seconds in the battle and you’re dead.” Then he sauntered up beside you, “These are all useless. When you come face to face with a vampire, these postures won’t help you. You must study your opponent— and you could only do that if you let the vampire attack first.” Jaehyun backwardly stepped away from you. His fingers moving, as if challenging you to a battle. “For this practice, I won’t use my swiftness,” he stated before running towards you as if to attack.

Your heart thudded in your chest. He looked ready to hurt you. So you did the one thing you could do then, you covered your head with your arms.

“Dead,” Jaehyun muttered. You waited for the impact, but none came. So you opened your eyes. His hand were splayed, inches away from your suit. “Don’t cower, Y/N. Study my attacks.”

“You’re scary,” you whispered, embarrassed to admit the words.

“I am deadly attractive, Y/N. And you say you’re scared of me. What more if you come to battle with an unattractive vampire?”

With that, you raised a brow. Vampire venom does a lot of things. If you weren’t generally attractive in your mortal life, the venom could enhance your features, sculpting your visage to that of a pleasing one once you turn into a vampire. Jaehyun must have been extremely agreeable when he was still a mortal, for his face today could rival the beauty of gods.

You shook your head, aiming for your focus. “Let’s try again.” Eva’s instructions flew away from your memory as Jaehyun attacked you yet again. He was swift, even without his power.

“Dead.” He smiled when he captured your neck. His hands once again splayed as if to chop your head off your body.

You sighed but never hesitated, so you defended yourself again and again.

“Dead,” he chuckled.

“Dead.”

“You’re dead, Y/N.”

You wiped your brow with the back of your hand, “This is frustrating!”

“C’mon! Don’t give up. Pay attention to my attacks.”

Jaehyun strike at the side of your waist, but you defended yourself by turning to avoid his hands. Then he attacked your head, you crouched as fast as you could. His knee was about to collide with your face when you pushed it away with your palms. You wheeled your body away, and attempted to punch him right in his face, where he was defenseless. But as your fist was about to strike at his cheek, he turned on his side and caught your arm. His smirk returned as he saw the realization dawning across your face.

Jaehyun’s left hand caught yours, then he pinned it behind you. While his other hand held your right. You were now immovable. Defeated.

“Dead,” he whispered, his breath fanning your cheek.

One swift move and your lips would surely collide. All your muscles stilled, the somersaulting of your heart was so loud. You fought the urge to crash your lips against his, even though it was so tempting to do so. Jaehyun has a fiancée. But the words weren’t enough to move your body away from him. It was ludicrous.

Jaehyun closed the space between the two of you, but before he could land his lips against yours, someone interrupted the both of you. His lips landed on the side of your head instead when you pulled away from him.

Lucas and Eva came into view. With the latter plastering a deep frown across her face. She was obviously unhappy of what she saw. Yet you could not be bothered by her reaction.

“I see that you’re practicing another techniques, Y/N.” Eva smiled, but there was no friendliness attached to her face.

What’s happening to her? Yesterday, she was so enthusiastic. Friendly, even.

“What do you mean?” You dared ask as you straightened your back.

Eva raised her brow, “Seduction is a weapon not all girls could wield. I admire your technique.”

“Eva–!” Lucas grabbed her arm, but she held her chin high.

Seduction? Does your position screamed seduction to her? You won’t admit it, but her words jabbed a shard on your chest. You don’t need to seduce your way to triumph.

“Eva.”

The three of you snapped your head to Jaehyun. He was standing beside you, his hands hidden in the pocket of his jeans.

“Eva, right?” When Eva nodded, Jaehyun continued, “You’re not my type.”

“Excuse me?!” Eva’s eyes widened. Lucas pursed his lips tighter. While you remained standing beside Jaehyun.

“I can hear your heart, you know. Do you want me to narrate the things that’s going on in your head? Of how you dreamt about me— even though you’ve only met me yesterday?” Jaehyun’s words were as flat as the ground underneath your feet.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She half-screamed. But you didn’t miss the bobbing of her throat nor the perspiration slowly coating her forehead. Now, you are absolutely curious about her dreams even though knowing means breaching her privacy.

“You do. And quit bitching around. You’re supposed to train Y/N, not humiliate her.”

“He’s right, Eva.” Lucas chimed in.

Eva snapped her head towards him. “Shut up!” she seethed. Then she turned her head back to Jaehyun, her eyes like fiery coals. “And you shut up, vampire.”

When Jaehyun attempted to reiterate, you held up your hand. Whatever secret he has in the back of his tongue, you won’t hear it. It would humiliate Eva further. And you didn’t want that.

“You are weak, Y/N. Weaker than what I have anticipated.”

Lucas held her arm tighter, pulling her away from you. “Shut up, Eva!”

Ice cold rage swept through your whole body. You furrowed your brows and sauntered up to face her. “What did you say?” Every last bit of patience you have for her is now clinging on a loose thread. One wrong word and you would certainly land your fist right in her face— to hell with the ramifications.

“Y/N, she didn’t mean it—”

“Oh, I meant it! I meant every word of it! You are weak and you will never be one of—”

Your palm smarted from the slap you gave her. But that wasn’t enough for the insult she’d thrown at you. You gathered a fistful of her hair and threw her to the ground. However, she regained her footing easily and landed a straight blow to your face. You staggered backward, but Jaehyun supported you upright.

“Remember what I told you,” he whispered before letting you go.

Eva ran towards you, her hands formed into fists. You raised your arms to cover your head, and you let her punch every opening to your body. Lucas attempted to pull Eva away, but Jaehyun clasped his hand around Lucas’ wrist. He mouthed ‘let them’ before nodding at you.

“You bitch!” Eva snarled.

Where did her hateful energy come from? Nevertheless, you’ve decided not to be affected. You struggled to memorize her every strike for your own advantage. And when you did succeed, an opening through her face greeted you. You landed your fist to her nose. The bones made a cracking sound, sending satisfaction all throughout your body. Eva fell on the ground. Before she could stand up, you sat on her stomach and raised your fist, ready to punch her again. But a viselike grip took hold of your wrist.

“Enough,” Jaehyun said.

You tried to catch your breath and calm your nerves. Eva still underneath you, clutching her nose. What have you done? You blinked and allowed Jaehyun to help you on your feet. Lucas aided Eva to stand up. The whole area was silent, save for your heavy breathings.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Lucas frowned, before guiding Eva away. But the woman refused to be guided by Lucas. She looked at you as if she wishes you dead.

“We’re not done, Y/N,” she warned.

A sarcastic laugh reverberated through you, “Alright, then.” Then you pinned her down with stare, “But know this, Eva, don’t you dare underestimate me again.”

#jung jaehyun au #neowritingsnet #jung jaehyun imagines #jung jaehyun scenarios #jung jaehyun smut #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun nct au #jaehyun au #jung yuno imagines #jaehyun smut #nct imagines #nct 127 au #nct au #nct 127 imagines

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serenzippity · 4 years

Text

Aqua

Words: 3316 Member: Mark Genre: Suggestive, Angst, Fluff, Alternative Universe Warning(s): Suggestive actions, language, talks of death/death

Part 4 of Atrocitas

New Orleans, Louisiana

To any other person, getting chased down the street wouldn’t seem all that weird. New Orleans was a weird city itself with all the hoodoo and voodoo in its history. It was a city rife with magic and an underground haven for those that were magic personified. So, when a handsome man is being chased down Decatur most people wouldn’t give it a second thought unless they were a curious tourist. They wouldn’t pay attention to the man’s ragged clothes or the black outfits of the pursuers. They wouldn’t see the brand on the young man’s arm, nor the weapons discretely strapped to the pursuant bodies.

However, these were things that you were constantly on the lookout for.

The man literally crashed into you, causing your purse to fall off your shoulder in his haste. If it wasn’t for the small glance at his arm you would have told him off. You didn’t even get the opportunity to open your mouth before he was scrambling away as if a fire was lit under his feet. His pursuants were hot on his trail and you immediately knew who they were as they passed you.

Hunters.

The word was a dark snarl in the back of your mind and your flight instincts kicked in quickly. Quickly grabbing your fallen purse, you fled across the street dodging cars all along the way. Running into the Quarter was difficult with the sheer number of visitors, but you eventually made your way to Chartres street where you had a little more room. Heading east, you ran as fast as you could to reach the safe house. Time and speed were on your side as you sprinted the blocks it took for you to get to safety. There was no way a hunter could find your hideaway in plain view, and you had to get there before they realized who you were.

A block and a half away, the antique buildings became familiar the further you got from Jackson Square. You were seconds away from safety when the man and his pursuers came bounding down a side street. They didn’t notice you, but you surely noticed them as they continued the chase. You stopped quickly, skidding to a halt on the corner as they ran past you. You could see the door that would envelop you in safety and calm just beyond the edge of the block, but something in the back of your mind nagged at you.

Something kept telling you that you needed to help him, and for some reason this voice was louder than the rational side that told you to take yourself the couple of feet to the safe house. Rolling your eyes, you decided that this one time would be your good deed and then you’d continue your quest of self-preservation.

Standing under a balcony, you leaned against a pole and took a deep breath. To anyone else you’d just look exhausted, but in reality you were concentrating. Feeling the wind pick up around you, you pushed the air down the street until you felt the gusts come into contact with the three people as if your own fingertips were touching them. A whisper escaped your lips as you commanded the wind to lift the two hunters high into the air until they suffocated, while also commanding it to bring the strange man towards you.

The wind obliged quickly like an eager pet, sighing your praises and thanking you for utilizing it. You couldn’t help but feel a fire of attachment for the obedient element, but you didn’t have time to properly thank it as it got to work. You heard the screams of the hunters clearly, but they faded away quickly as they were brought higher and higher into the atmosphere by invisible bonds. Their screams were soon drowned out with curses and screams from the man, demanding to be put down.

The wind dropped him off obediently right in front of you but kept a strong grip on his flailing body. Invisible bonds kept the handsome man from moving as his feet touched the ground, and boy, did he look pissed. The snarl on his mouth was menacing, but you’d seen worse.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, struggling against the tight, unseen hands that kept his arms from moving.

Pushing off the pole, you stood toe to toe with him. Neither his height nor his good-looks intimidated you and you weren’t all too happy with his attitude. “I’m the person that just saved your ass,” you hissed back at him, “A thank you would be appreciated.”

“I’ll thank you when you tell your element to let go of me,” he said continuing to struggle against the wind locking him in place. Narrowing your eyes you contemplated not letting him go and leaving him on the corner frozen in place. The idea was tempting, but your curiosity got the better of you. Waving your hand, you allowed the wind to release him but not before putting a little kick in it. The wind shoved him in the chest, causing him to fall flat on his butt.

“Some elemental you are,” you said giggling as he glared at you from the ground. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to insult another’s elements?”

“Didn’t your mother teach you to mind your own business?” He snarled from the ground as he pushed himself up. Dusting the dirt off the back of his pants, the guy looked at you with a mix of anger and curiosity and you were sure that your face matched his. “What’s your name?”

“You first.” He looked more annoyed at your deflection, but he gave up easily much to your surprise.

“Mark,” he said, extending his hand out for you to shake.

“Mark,” you murmured, taking the hand in greeting and giving him your name. “What’s your element? Assuming you are one considering how the local hunter brigade was chasing you?”

He smirked proudly and let go of your hand to puff out his chest proudly. “I’m a water elemental.” The pride and arrogance dripped off his tongue as if telling you his powers was the most special thing in the world. However, you couldn’t help the cackling laugh that spilled out of you. Doubling over, you clutched your stomach as you laughed and deflated Mark’s ego in one swoop.

“Sweetheart,” you said in between bouts of laughter, “This is New Orleans. We have so many water elementals your head will spin. Calm down with the macho act.” Every word was punctuated by a chuckle that made Mark’s face and body fall quickly. He looked defeated, almost pouty like he was about to break down. His mood was as changing as his element—going from arrogant one moment to timid the next. It sobered you up swiftly as you looked at the crestfallen look on his face, instant regret taking you over as sympathy panged your heart. “C’mon,” you told him straightening up quickly with a small smile, “let’s get you to the safe house so you can meet the others.” Walking around him, you listened for the sound of following footsteps as you walked towards the beckoning door. You couldn’t help the wide grin that etched over your face when you heard him trailing behind you.

-x-

“You can’t be serious!” you yelled, looking at the kindly old man with fire in your eyes. You’d normally treat him with unyielding respect, but he had crossed the line this time. “I’m a Guardian, not a fucking babysitter!”

Mark sat next to you with an equally shocked expression. His attention kept flitting between you and the old man across the desk, wondering if you should be talking to a Majai like that.

Timothy, the old man across from you and Mark, was a master of two elements. Long ago he mastered both wind and water, earning the title of Majai and the immediate respect of all Elementals on the Earth. He was the protector of New Orleans and all the Elementals who lived there. Mark felt infinitely small in his presence, and the moment he met the older man Mark felt a need to bow to him.

You, however, were causing Mark’s anxiety to flare up as you continued to yell at the man to whom you owed your life.

“My job is to protect the Elementals here in the city, not to babysit one lost one.” The anger was rolling off you in waves, causing Mark to shift uncomfortably. “Besides! He already got himself in trouble with the local hunters! How the fuck am I-”

Timothy didn’t say anything, but a gust of wind hit you squarely in the chest mid-rant causing you to fall back into your chair with a surprised huff. The old man looked amused, almost child-like, at the shocked look on your face. “Are you done?” he laughed deeply. Taking your silence as an affirmation, Timothy looked at Mark. “You will need to lay low for a couple of days to make sure the Hunters don’t tail you here. Understood?”

Mark was completely dumbfounded, still in awe at your blatant disrespect of his elder, but he remotely nodded his head. At this point, he just wanted to get out of the office.

“Good,” Timothy said clapping his hands together and turning to acknowledge you. “Find him a spare bedroom, get him cleaned up, and then show him around please.”

“Fine,” you huffed, quickly scrambling out of your chair and towards the door. You didn’t hear Mark behind you, and turning you saw him still planted in his chair with a confused expression on his face. All it took was a quick yank of his ear and he was quickly following behind you with a chorus of whines spilling from his lips.

-x-

Sweat was dripping down your brow and you let out a soft whine at the pressure in your stomach.

“Do you tap out?” Mark said above you as he straddled your waist. He was drenched from the humid air and felt even hotter with your body so close to his. He had you pinned after tripping you with some well-placed water on the ground that sent you stumbling. It seemed like he had the upper-hand for a moment or two, but then your bruised lip split into a devious grin. Mark couldn’t even recoil from shock as a gust of wind slammed into his ribs, making him feel like a soccer player just used his torso as practice. He fell off of you with a loud cry, sprawling into the grass.

The giggle that escaped your lips was triumphant and you sat up quickly with a cheeky wink to the angry elemental next to you. “Are you getting sick of being knocked on your ass yet?”

Mark sat up with a groan, clutching his ribs and no doubt a bruised ego. His shoulders brushed yours, and the summer humidity almost began to suffocate you at his close proximity. “You didn’t knock me on my ass, I just can’t see an invisible element.” Every word came with a pout and for a second you thought it was endearing.

Just a second though.

“You need to learn how to train with and against all the elements, Mark,” you scolded, “If you don’t learn how to work with other Elementals we will all be extinct someday.”

“I know I know,” Mark groaned, laying back on the grass and looking up at the sky with a wistful look on his face. The moment was peaceful and for once he felt at ease. There were virtually no clouds in the blue sky and the grass felt surprisingly soft against his back. He wished that he could feel like this all the time rather than constantly in a state of anger or worry. Lately Mark had been letting the stress of the unknown weigh upon his mind. He was scared for his brothers and angry at the ones who ripped them apart. He was strongest when he was in their presence, and right now he felt weak and helpless.

You watched his face go from one of serenity into the beginning stages of anger. You’d been observing him lately and you could tell that his conscious was taking him into dark places. “Hey,” you said, gently tapping his temple to pull him from his reverie, “I can see you moving at a million miles a minute. Wanna talk about it?”

He didn’t say anything as the moments ticked by. Mark’s silence felt like a rejection that oddly stung. You didn’t expect it to lay heavily in your chest, but it did nonetheless. Trying to hold onto your pride, you began to stand up from the soft grass. You didn’t go far however as Mark’s hand came to latch around your wrist. Halting at his pull, you looked at him with surprise and curiosity.

“I just miss them,” he whispered barely loud enough for you to hear. You didn’t have to ask him who ‘them’ was as you heard him murmuring their names in his sleep. Each name would roll off his tongue with a choked gasp and a plead to come back. It made you both happy and sad—happy that despite how annoying Mark was he had a family who loved him, and sad because you couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain he was going through at all the uncertainty surrounding them.

“You don’t know where they are do you?” The question was dumb, but you didn’t really know how to comfort him in a situation like this. It was hard to comprehend losing your entire world in one dark moment.

Mark shook his head, tears beginning to gather in the corner of his eyes. “No, but one day I’m going to go and find them. Bring everyone back together as the oldest.” Hearing his desire to leave sent another sting that sat heavily in your chest. You wanted him to find his family and be happy, so why did the idea of him leaving make you feel awful? It felt almost as if a knife was being pushed slowly into your chest, breaking away at the muscles and bones that protected your insides.

But you needed to stay strong, not only for Mark but for the entire Elemental population in New Orleans. You had to support him no matter what his goals were no matter how badly they seemed to make your chest ache.

You smiled sadly down at the boy next to you, brushing away a stray tear that ventured down his face. “You’ll be fine Mark,” you whispered with a prayer in your heart that he would succeed.

-x-

It started with a kiss. Like a dose of morphine sat on your lips Mark was hooked the moment his skin touched yours. A hand rested heavily on your hip as his mouth claimed yours passionately underneath the pulsating lights. It was a dangerous game he was playing, letting the shadows and lights swim over your needy bodies while the bass from the speakers drowned out all reason and common sense.

You knew that a hunter could be lurking in any shadowed corner waiting to pounce, But, fuck, you didn’t care when his tongue tentatively reached out to touch yours. He pulled you deeper into his embrace, and he couldn’t resist curling his lips when your small hands slid up his chest appreciatively. They came to hook around his neck, playing with the grown-out hair at the nape of his neck. You kept telling him that he needed a trim but, at this moment, you were so thankful he never listened to you.

Similarly, he didn’t listen to your reservations when he insisted on dragging you out to a club on Bourbon Street to quote-on-quote ‘get the stick out of your ass.’ Ever since that day in the training field you had been slowly working to distance yourself from Mark. You resolved that the ache you felt in your chest at his affirmation to find his brothers was completely inappropriate. Any and all feelings you had growing for him needed to be quashed immediately.

That’s what you told yourself but Mark was like a bug. He kept buzzing around in your peripheral vision making sure you always knew he was there. You hated the fact that you liked his efforts to constantly be around you—even though 9 out of 10 times he was being an annoying brat—but you couldn’t find the fight in you to resist him. You were angrier at yourself for feeling this way, especially when his deep brown eyes met yours and you melted.

You were defenseless as his strong arms looped around your waist to pull you flush against him. Feeling his need press into your hips, you experimentally rocked against him which caused him to release your mouth with a dark hiss. His eyes were swimming—either from the lust or alcohol you couldn’t tell—but you knew you were in deep.

You were in trouble.

He was able to sense your reservations around him after that day in the field, and he made sure he worked his hardest to keep you within reach. The panic that overtook him when you began to cancel training sessions and outings with him made his heart race, and that’s when he knew he had fallen head over heels for you. His mind kept telling him that he had to choose his brothers, but his heart was screaming out for you. The internal war kept splitting him in half but seeing you under the dark party lights in the dingy club made his mind shut up for once.

He was terrified of leaving you, but he needed to taste your lips just one time before he did.

He was in trouble.

He felt like a joyride to heaven against you: from his large hands to his swollen lips everything had you submitting and crying out for the feel of him. Greedy and reckless, you pulled his head back down to meet yours. The kiss resumed and you rocked against his hips once more to get a rise out of him.

And a rise you did receive as his hand reached down to grab a handful of your ass, causing you to squeak against his lips. The air around you two was getting hotter with each passing second your lips were connected, and you knew without a doubt that your relationship had changed with him. He was no longer your annoying charge. Rather you were wholly his, and he would scream from the rooftops that he was wholly yours: mind, body, and soul.

“Wherever you go,” you said as you pulled away from a kiss. His mouth chased you, but you held him back with a finger to his lips. “I’m coming with you. If you want to leave to find your brothers, then go ahead. But I will be right next to you.” Your confession stirred something deep within Mark. He felt weightless, almost breathless as he looked down at you in his arms. The room was silenced and the bodies melted away, leaving just you and him standing interlocked in the middle of the dancefloor.

“Fuck,” Mark hissed deeply, staring at you with bottomless eyes that held the moon, stars, and galaxies in them. “I love you.”

Those three words floored you, nearly striking you dumb and immobile if it weren’t for Mark’s mouth latching back onto yours. He poured all his pent-up emotions into that kiss, trying to show you how deeply he felt and how far he would go for you. As your fingers curled into his hair and you kissed him back, you poured your own promise into the kiss.

Promises that you would venture from there together until the very end.

A/N: Here is Mark’s version! I’ve had this version written for A LONG time. It was the part before this that stumped me. I hope you enjoyed this!

#got7 #mark #mark tuan #mark smut #mark tuan smut #got7 smut #got7 angst #got7 au #got7 fanfic #got7 fanfiction

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 3.6}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.8k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

Unsurprisingly, working with Snape was absolutely demanding and still (or therefore) absolutely delightful. The Sunday evening they had started the slow process of making the potion, Robin had mostly watched Snape working and listened to him explaining what he was doing as he moved along. But over the days and weeks, she was allowed to do more and more herself, and somehow, miraculously, a second chair had found its way to the laboratory by the end of the third week. Being allowed to do more practical work, however, had come at the cost of Snape correcting literally everything Robin was doing for a good amount of time. Whether it was cutting something up, separating something else, or even something as simple as stirring… he always had something to complain about.

Robin loved every second of it dearly, even though she would accidentally sass him sometimes in return to his corrections of whatever she did. There also was no denying that she was learning more than she had ever expected, and even though the times when they actually had to work on the potion were not more frequent than two to three nights a week, she always looked forward to it from the very moment she left the lab in the first place.

Unfortunately the two months came to an end eventually, and Snape summoned her to the lab on a Saturday night in December to bring their work to an end with the very procedure this all had led up to. The restoration of the page. Honestly, Robin didn't know what to expect of it. They still had no idea what was hidden on that page, but she felt honoured that she was allowed to be here for the final revelation nonetheless. He was by no means obliged to keep her around at any point, especially not now, and Robin was well aware of that, which was what had led her to be all the more grateful in return.

"What do you think we will find on that page, professor?" She asked as she sat on her stool, observing how he placed the old book on the table, opening it to the two pages that enclosed the missing one.

"If I knew, we would not have to go through with this entire procedure."

"I know that you don't know… But what is your assumption? What do you think is worth hiding like this?"

"I do not know, Miss Mitchell." He sighed, but then turned to her as he lifted an eyebrow. "What is your assumption then, if you expect me to have one?"

"Well… I've actually spent quite some time thinking about this." She smiled to herself for a moment. Truth be told, she had been thinking about little else over the course of the last two months. "Seeing as this page is probably from the Renaissance, it would be something THEY deemed worth hiding. So I asked myself: What was worth hiding in the 15th and 16th century? The answer would be: basically the same as today. Sex and power, the driving forces of mankind since the very beginning. Now, I honestly doubt, or rather I want to doubt, that this entire spell is about sex, so I'm staying with power. The means to power are control and protection, which leaves us basically with weapons and security. Now back to the Renaissance: as far as I remember and as far as the library here allows me to research, most of the European countries weren't actually counties but basically a rag rug of principalities and such. That again leads me to believe that wars, especially of the magic kind, weren't actually fought on a scale large enough that would bring forth a weapon strong enough to be worth hiding like this. That leaves us with security, and thus protection. Which is, to finish this off, what I believe this page is about. A protection spell."

Mildly amused and badly hiding it, Snape raised an eyebrow at her once again. "You seem fairly confident in your thesis."

"If I wasn't confident in it, it would hardly be a thesis worth upholding." Robin smirked. "I would even bet my non-existent birthday presents on it."

"If they are non-existent, that statement hardly counts for anything, does it?"

Now Robin had to laugh out loud indeed. "True, unfortunately. But I'm still fairly certain about my thesis."

"Then we shall see if you are correct." Snape mused and finally moved on to follow the instructions in Robin's literature spell book. First, one had to make the potion. They'd done that already, at least. Then the potion would have to be drizzled over the part of the spine on the inside of the book where the page was missing. Snape allowed Robin to do this step, and it admittedly was an easy task, but she was only too happy to get to do something in this procedure at all. Next, the actual spell had to be spoken, which Robin gladly left for her professor to do, as she honestly didn't even know how to pronounce the words she'd read on the page. After that was done, the instructions merely said to wait, and then they would be done. So that's what they did, merely sitting on their stools and staring at the book while waiting for something to happen.

"Do you think it worked?" Robin asked after five minutes of silence, when still absolutely nothing had happened

"Yes."

"I honestly can't believe it was this easy after freaking two months of making that potion."

"Luckily efficiency not always correlates to effort."

"I hope you know that I'm very grateful that I got to help you in this, sir, no matter how difficult or easy it is. I've learned so much, and I truly believe that I've never felt so filled with… passion, and joy, and curiosity, in anything ever before."

"I know." It was a simple statement, but Robin understood what he meant to express. He wouldn't have made an effort to teach her any of the things she'd learned if he didn't know she appreciated it.

"Good." She returned with a smile, then looked at the book once more only to jump in her seat. "Bloody hell! It's glowing! It's actually working!"

Snape rolled his eyes, but still had to suppress the not-smirk at the same time, which was only a partial success, seeing as Robin still noticed it. "Of course it's working, Mitchell, get over it."

"Sorry." She bit her lips and tried to contain her sheer excitement, but it honestly was difficult. It was actually working! "It's just… a spell I found, in my book, with a potion we made, restores your book page! How amazing is that!"

"You seem to have had fairly few successes in your life if you get that excited over this one."

"Well, all successes I've ever had were utterly unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Getting good grades, winning minor quarrels, scaring scummy shop owners… It wasn't anything worth mentioning. But this could be something amazing! Something that actually matters!"

"We will see in just a short moment." He mused, then turned towards the book and once the page was entirely restored at last, he went to read it over once, twice, another time…

"And?" Robin asked anxiously, after giving him almost fifteen minutes to read that one single page. Nobody needed that long to read a couple words!

"Shush."

She rolled her eyes, but complied. If the past two months had done anything, they had proven to her that the odd amount of trust she put into Snape was actually justified. And thus she waited another ten minutes until he finally turned to her with a grave expression.

"Is… is it something… bad?" Robin tried again, and her insecure frown met his stoney gaze for a moment until she looked back at the book.

"You should read it." Was all he said, before standing up from his stool and busying himself with whatever he could to obviously distract himself from whatever it was he had just read. To think about it, perhaps.

In an instant Robin's eyes were glued to the book. It was a protection spell indeed! The grin was on her face immediately, and she felt proud to have come to the right conclusion. As she read on, everything became a bit clearer, and yet also a great deal more confusing. It wasn't a spell… it was a potion. After reading it a second time, she looked up from the book and her eyes found her professor's across the room. "Quite frankly, I'm not sure I understand."

"I would be surprised if you did."

"Why?"

"Because I am not certain I understand it either, and I would much prefer if I didn't."

"What?!" Robin frowned at him in honest question. "Why would you hope you don't understand? What exactly is it you believe to understand?"

"You were the one to guess that it was a protection spell. Why don't you tell me what you understand?"

"Alright…" Robin sighed and let her eyes travel over the page once more, before looking back up at Snape. "As far as I got any of this, it's a potion, not a spell."

"Good. Go on."

"Well, it is supposed to protect the person drinking it from the influence of any kind of magic. But not their own, somehow. So… it's like a two-way mirror, kind of. Nobody can magic you, but you can magic everyone else."

"Precisely."

"But…" Robin added reluctantly.

"But?" Snape frowned in return, clearly not having expected her to continue.

"Yeah, but…" Robin frowned as well, as she looked at the page once more. "It seems like this spell will only protect…" She stopped there, feeling like this was probably a really silly thought. If Snape hadn't understood it this way, it was probably wrong anyway.

"Do go on." He encouraged, or rather demanded though.

"It sounds like it only protects half bloods. Or maybe also muggle borns, I'm not sure… but definitely not pure bloods."

In an instant, Snape was by her side and looking at the book as well in an astonishing intensity. "Where did you read that?"

Robin pointed to a paragraph at the bottom of the page. "Here it says 'Only thee who is't hast ventur'd both worlds shalt beest the one who is't dwells in the safety of the beshrew's blessing'. In my opinion that would roughly translate to 'Only you who has ventured both worlds shall be the one who dwells in the safety of the curse's blessing' in modern day language. And seeing as the entire book is a mixture of the muggle and wizarding world, I just thought that those are what's meant with 'both worlds'. The only people who usually know both worlds are muggle borns or half bloods. So… yeah."

Snape read the short paragraph again, then looked up at Robin in sincere astonishment. "I believe you are right, Miss Mitchell."

"Wait, what? Really!?" Robin stared back at him in equal surprise and doubt, eyes wide as they searched for any sign of mock in his own. But he was entirely serious.

"It seems fairly obvious now that you pointed it out, but I must admit… I failed to notice it before." He commented, reading the paragraph yet another time.

Had he just-... No, surely not… but he definitely had admitted that she had found something he hadn't, right? Right?! Robin was too stunned to even give any proper reply, so she simply offered him a happy half smile.

"However I am not certain if this means that pure bloods cannot make the potion, or if it will not affect them, in disregard of the ones who made it." He mused after a few seconds, and Robin finally snapped out of her daze as the words sunk into her brain.

"Them?" She asked before she could stop herself from saying anything at all. "Do you mean… you're not…?"

Immediately he shot her a defensive glare. "That is not even remotely of your concern."

"I'm sorry." Robin replied quickly and while she still felt curious, she also regretted bringing it up. "I really didn't mean to pry, sir."

"Simply forget about it, will you?" He murmured, then turned towards the book once more.

"So… why does it matter if they cannot make it or if they merely cannot use it?" Robin asked for the sole sake of a change of topic.

"You know the answer to that." He replied with a pointedly annoyed expression.

"I do indeed…" Robin whispered to herself, then looked at the book in front of her, and finally to the ingredients on the shelves. She really had screwed this up, hadn't she… It had been truly stupid to ask him something that personal. "Sorry…"

"Don't apologise. You had a crucial part in the project, and this discovery is your merit as well as it is mine. A potion like this has been searched for for centuries, and would any of this become known… It would be revolutionary."

"...would? We're not going to… to tell anyone about it?" Robin asked in surprise, and a mild twist of disappointment. "But… we can try it out at least, right?"

"No." He replied with a quiet solemnity that made Robin's heart sink even further. "This potion is dangerous, more so than you likely realize."

"But how? Why?!" Robin asked in desperate incredulity. "What's wrong with protecting yourself against your enemies? This potion could help so many people…"

In a moment's notice, Snape turned to Robin entirely, not even an arm's length away, and looked down at her with such a seriousness and intensity that she inevitably shuddered. "Nobody can know that this potion exists. Not a single soul but you and me, do you understand that?"

"I do." Robin replied quietly, as she still looked up at him with sad eyes. "But please, at least tell me why."

"Promise me that you will never lose a single word about it to anyone but me. Not the other teachers, not a friend, not even Professor Dumbledore or the Minister of Magic himself." He really seemed to be dead serious about this, and Robin started feeling sick with anxiety again. If he truly wanted her to swear her silence, he had a reason to.

"I promise." She replied in complete seriousness and utmost honesty. "I don't know if it means anything to you, but I promise."

"It does." He replied a little less gravely, and took a step backwards, out of her personal space. "Coming from you, it does."

"Can you… please tell me why this is so dangerous? Please… I just wanted to understand." Robin tried once more after a moment of silence, not even caring if her begging was pathetic, but she needed to know.

"Do you know Oscar Wilde, Miss Mitchell?" He asked completely out of context, or so it seemed, and Robin only looked even more lost.

"Yes, I… I've heard of him."

"I thought so. He supposedly said: 'Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth'." Snape made a small pause, and Robin considered the quote for a moment before he spoke on. "In my eyes, the same principle applies for might. Make someone believe they are invincible, and they will show their true self in their actions. Now, I'm certain you are aware of the propensity of mankind to oppress their oppressors, if given the chance. What do you think would happen to the muggle borns after centuries of being oppressed by the pure bloods, if they gained access to a potion that makes them invincible?"

"Oh…" Robin's face softened from pouting incredulity to actual understanding, but her chest still felt painfully small for her thudding heart. "It-it could lead to some very serious damage in the world, I guess. There's always someone willing to start a revolution… but we mustn't give them an opportunity for that." She finally concluded on her own, nodding to herself as if to help the words sink into her mind and shake out the disappointment.

"Precisely." He confirmed, back to neutrality if not even a subtle touch of calmness. "That is why nobody can know of its existence. Do you understand that now?"

"I do… and I agree, even. I just didn't really consider that something so good could be used for something so bad." She sighed, picking at the buttons of her shirt subconsciously rather than by choice, and looked from Snape down to the book. "What do we… what will you do with it?"

"The very same thing the previous possessor did. Destroy the page, keep the book of nonsense safe." He replied as he sat back down on his own stool, and Robin could feel his eyes on her even though she kept staring at the book to hide her tears.

"So all efforts were for nothing, huh?" Her voice was throaty and thick, and Robin felt like they got stuck in her chest in the first place. She had been so focused on this whole thing, had put so much of her heart into it… and now it would be destroyed, and thus every chance of possibly continuing this out of class work with Snape was over once and for all. That maybe –no, definitely– was even worse than the loss of this remarkable potion that had been lost in the first place anyway.

"Will you stop being so dramatic, now…" He gave right back, feignedly scolding, but it did its job and Robin pulled herself together as he spoke on. "Nothing about this project by any means was in vain, seeing as we both learned a valuable lesson. And wouldn't you say it was our aim to solve a mystery rather than strive for material gain?"

Once again, Robin had to realize that Snape was right. Of course he was... It was ridiculous to be upset over this, she should be happy indeed that they had actually managed to solve the mystery. That she had gotten to help, and that she had gotten to learn so much over the last two months. In this new light, the tears stopped burning in her eyes and she could blink them away before looking up at her professor with an attempted half smile. Better.

"We definitely did solve the mystery." She said, and the smile reached her eyes a moment later. "And I definitely learned a lot from all of this, and from you, professor. It truly was a joy."

"Your understanding of joy is rather curious, if you consider being constantly corrected one."

"I consider potions a joy. And learning." Now she had to smile for real, and the sadness faded from her mind like clearing fog. This wasn't the end.

"That is… acceptable."

Robin had to snort at his choice of words. "It's 'acceptable'? May I ask, what did you learn, sir, if you say we both learned something from it? Is it just the spells and potions or… something else?"

His face went straight back into stony nothingness, and Robin believed she had said the wrong thing again as he got up and walked across the room to fetch an empty bottle, probably to store the remainder of the potion.

"I learned that at least one person in this school full of dunderheads is worth my time and efforts." He finally replied, likely as indifferently as he could manage, but the words were clear enough even without any means to convey them appropriately. Professor Snape deemed Robin worth his teaching. He didn't regret allowing her to help. Maybe he would even let her do it again. Robin's smile widened into a grin before she could help it.

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, I believe." She smirked before she could think better of it.

"Who said I was speaking of you?" Came his immediate reply, but now both his tone and expression clearly gave away the obvious tease. Robin found herself enjoying it… those extremely rare moments when he wasn't void of any sentiment, on the outside.

"I beg your forgiveness for being so pridefully assuming." She laughed, and there it was again, the sarcasm she got scolded for more often than not. And still Robin couldn't wipe the smirk off her face.

"Forgiveness granted."

"That was easy…"

"Careful."

"I'm in the potions master's private laboratory… whatever else would I be but careful?" While her tone was still anything but serious, he actually seemed quite pleased with her statement, and that made Robin smile even more. Slowly her cheeks were starting to hurt again… it was odd how she always seemed to go through a wide array of emotions in the shortest time spans whenever she was around Professor Snape. He was irritating, and everything he did was too. That must be it.

While Snape filled the remainder of the potion into the bottle he had just retrieved, and then labeled it and put it away into one of the shelves, Robin looked over the page with the dangerous-protective potion again (she couldn't find a name anywhere and thus that's what her mind had labeled it, for now). Would destroying it really prevent it from being found in the future? Sure, Snape was brilliant, but if a potions professor and a third year student could restore it almost by chance, then who said nobody else would in the future?

"Professor… can I ask you something?" Robin started her attempt to voice just that thought in a way that wouldn't possibly sound like an insult to him.

"You may ask, but there is no guarantee that I will answer."

"So… I was wondering if the spell we used to restore the page in the first place, and with spell I mean potion and spell and the entire thing, if, you know…" Just get the question out, idiot! "Don't you think someone like us will eventually do the same thing we did? I mean restoring the page that you're destroying now. Wouldn't that simply be a delay of things, if the next person finding it isn't as considerate of its dangers?"

He seemed to really consider her words for a moment, which he had done quite often over the last weeks actually, before he looked at Robin when answering. "That is possible, yes."

"So maybe… a repetition of history wouldn't necessarily be the… best idea?" Robin suggested vaguely and already made a face that clearly showed what she expected him to reply with. A scold, namely.

"What would you suggest I do instead?"

Now, she hadn't expected that. But she'd take the opportunity to voice her thoughts a little more in detail. "So this is the point where my logic kind of depends on my very limited knowledge of things, but… I was thinking, if there really isn't another possibility but to restore the page with a spell-potion-whatever thing like we did, then one should consider how the process of restoration works. From what I understand, the spell in my book refers to the destruction of the page itself which is, kind of, reverted by the procedure we just did as well. Seeing as you said two months ago that all the book restoration spells you tried didn't work in this case, that would –with a bit of corners and loops– mean, in the end, that the page needs to be destroyed first to be restored in the book. If it's not destroyed, while it simply being taken out of the book wouldn't qualify as destroying it I believe, one couldn't restore the page with the book alone."

"So?"

"So… You could take the page out of the book, but NOT destroy it. Because if the only means to getting the page back into the book is a restoration spell or potion, which in return only works if the page was destroyed in the first place, then nobody will be able to get their hands on the page if they have the book." Robin suddenly wasn't so sure about her idea anymore… what if he deemed it stupid? But she'd already voiced too many dumb thoughts around him to let that stop her now. "That of course would still leave open the possibility for the page itself to be found, when it's not destroyed, especially since it's no longer hidden by the book… However if you find out just what exactly counts as for the page being 'destroyed', you could always do something else to it to make it useless. Something that doesn't count as destroyed, and thus will make a restoration impossible, but will also make the page useless. In the end you will thus have a useless book, and a useless page, and neither can be made to function again."

"Where, pray tell, did you get that idea from in this instant?" He raised an eyebrow at Robin, but otherwise didn't give away what he thought of her suggestion. Idiot…

"I… think. A lot." Robin replied lamely. "I mean, I don't know much, and I can do even less, but I'm fairly decent at thinking… I think."

Snape rolled his eyes at that admittedly silly statement, and Robin tried to force the heat out of her face. For a minute, it was completely silent.

"Your mind truly is an ever-surprising quarry to delve in, Miss Mitchell…" He commented then, with a frown and a curious look at her, and while it wasn't really a compliment, his words still made Robin shiver for some reason. "I will consider your suggestion before making my decision about what is to do with the page and the book."

"Thank you, sir. I'm just glad it wasn't complete nonsense." Robin replied with a nervous chuckle, then scooted herself off her stool and awkwardly took a step towards the door before turning back once more. "Uhm, is there… anything else for me to do tonight?"

"If I'm not mistaken, you have an essay to write for my class." Aaand he was entirely back in professor-mode, scowl, bored indifference and all.

"I finished it last night, sir."

"I assigned it last night, Miss Mitchell."

"Yes, and I wrote and finished it after dinner. Proofread it this morning. Edited it this afternoon. All done now."

"The class really is too easy." Snape sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately, all the other students would fail if I made it any more difficult."

"Don't they fail as it is already?" Robin whispered more to herself than to him, and still received a glare and a not-smirk in return.

"Goodnight, Miss Mitchell." He said after two more seconds of silence, and Robin understood a polite invitation to leave when she heard one.

"Goodnight sir." She gave back before she let herself out, with a smile that didn't leave her face for the rest of the night.

_______________

It was almost a month later when Robin heard about the book, and the dangerous-protective potion again. Just as last year, she had decided to stay in the castle over Christmas break. However this year she actually knew from the start what she would be doing, and Professor Sprout seemed rather delighted about Robin's enthusiasm to help her out again. But one thing did change in comparison to last year. This year, Robin received a Christmas present. Not in the traditional sense, admittedly, but to her it would always be one all the same.

Seeing as she would only get the money from her parents once she would go home in the summer, Robin hadn't exactly expected to be given anything at all. And it surely wasn't given to her the way she would expect either. While usually the students who stayed here over the holidays received their presents in the common room upon Christmas morning, this is not how Robin came to hers.

Christmas arrived in a whirlwind of snow and cold, just like last year, and it also went that way again. Robin worked in the greenhouse most of the time, but occasionally she would be sent to Hagrid's for a change. She hadn't really had much contact with the man in question before this particular Christmas break, but seeing as Professor Sprout didn't require her assistance every single day, the herbology teacher still was kind enough to refer Robin to the gamekeeper. He wasn't the brightest fellow, admittedly, but good-natured and kind to the bone, and that made Robin like him in an instant. She helped him out with all kinds of things, from taking care of the magical creatures (which she unfortunately knew nothing about since she hadn't taken this particular class) to simple work in the school garden, and admittedly, she did learn a lot from Hagrid, too.

In the evenings Robin would still come to sit in Snape's classroom, alone, for she still couldn't stand to be in the common room even though it had become rather deserted. The overwhelming panic she had felt in the beginning of the term hadn't been back since, but Robin assumed that it was solely due to the fact that she had been avoiding situations that made her panic in the first place at all costs. Christmas came and went this way, without a present, but with a good lot of practical work every day. She actually felt content, with enough decent company throughout the day, and enough time to read by herself at night. The only thing that nagged at her mind from time to time was the absence of a certain potions professor from the classroom or his office in the evenings, but then again, she reasoned that since he still showed up for most meals, he surely was fine. Still, she felt worried about him. A little. An appropriate amount. It was perfectly normal to worry about someone you usually saw every day. Almost. She didn't let his absence stop her from making good use of his classroom every evening though. The first night she didn't spend in there was New Year's.

After her work of the day in the greenhouse was done, she got cleaned up and tidied her part of the room, then wrapped herself in her warmest clothes, and in sweet remembrance of last year headed out into the arcades that surrounded the courtyard at roughly eleven. With a soft smile she sat down in the same arch as last year, crossed her legs underneath her, and started to read her book on the care of magical creatures. Maybe she could convince some people to let her join the class after the holidays, if only she caught up with the class material before then. It's what she'd been trying to do ever since the first day of working for Hagrid, when she had discovered that magical creatures actually were a very much similar subject to herbology when it came to its usefulness for potions.

"Becoming predictable, are we?" Snape's voice called out to her even before he was anywhere to be seen.

"I'd rather say I've been spending surprisingly little time out here this Christmas." Robin replied with a smile, but kept her eyes on the book. At least she hadn't jumped again.

"What are you reading this year?"

"The textbook for the 'care of magical creatures' class. I thought about convincing whoever teaches it currently to let me join the class after the holidays."

"Where does the sudden interest stem from?" His voice had gotten closer now, and Robin believed he had once more taken a seat in the arch next to hers.

"It's surprisingly handy to know a bit about the creatures whose body parts and liquids we use in potion making. Just like it's useful to know herbology." She smiled to herself, eyes still on the book while yet she had stopped trying to read.

"Clever."

"That's what I’d rather hoped."

"Consider it done."

"What exactly?"

"Your inquiry to participate in the class. I will speak to Professor Kettleburn, and he will let you join once term resumes."

"Wha-... Thank you! That's… amazing! Really, thank you so much." Robin's eyes finally lifted off her book and she looked towards the arch next to her, but yet again could see nothing more than stone and ornamentation.

"Yes, well… just do me the favor and make sure you are not ahead of the class right on the first day already." He mumbled in the usual discomfort upon being thanked, and still Robin had to snicker at the comment.

"Then I better stop studying their textbook now and leave the last two chapters for another day." She commented with a grin, and indeed closed her book in her lap only to rest her forearms on it to lean forward just enough to get a glimpse of her professor in the next arch. He looked gnarlier than usual, if one could even say that about someone that young, and Robin seriously wondered what he'd been up to during the holidays. But it wasn't her place to ask.

Thus they merely sat in silence yet again, watching the snow falling slowly and calmly as the minutes ticked by without their notice. Robin did wonder for a moment why Snape was out here with her, but she dismissed the question when she couldn't even tell the reason why she was here herself. Maybe it was the calm, or the solitude. Even if technically it wasn't solitude in the first place, with it being the two of them, but still it was like solitude from all the stupid people. Just two people who understood the silence like a part of themselves. At least that's what Robin thought, and for her it was a good enough theory to stick to.

At last it was the noise coming from Hogsmeade again that made Robin aware of the turn of years, and she smiled to herself as she realized that she had spent another new year's out here with the potions professor. Maybe it was turning out to be an odd little tradition, just like Professor Sprout's –who had told Robin that she always spends new year's sitting in her room's window with a piece of cake, watching the fireworks in the distance– which she had told Robin about the other day. While Robin found the herbology teacher's tradition quite charming, she preferred her own that hopefully would come into existence for real. Just Snape, and silence, and darkness, and Robin. She could very well live with that. Too well, perhaps.

_______________________________

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morsking · 4 years

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i was told to come here for fate zero kotomine kirei questions? i was thinking about kirei in f/z and realized i don't think i actually completely understood his arc and specifically how it relates to his spirituality/belief in God? can you explain to me what happened to this strange knife-throwing man

i’d be VERY happy to, i love talking about kirei even if i don’t do it very often.

this is something that becomes a little more clear later on in heaven’s feel but the gist of it is that kirei has an inexplicably sadistic nature he does not understand where it comes from or why he has it. for the majority of fate/zero’s first part, he doesn’t even know it exists until gilgamesh slowly draws it out of him by making him deconstruct his own thought process and personal beliefs.

kirei was raised catholic and had a priest for a father, so kirei had catholic teachings of altruism and asceticism hammered into his young brain on top of risei’s, his father’s, expectations and desires for kirei to be “pure and beautiful”, just like kirei’s name suggests.

kirei, however, secretly felt repressed by those teachings and expectations since forsaking personal happiness and helping others never brought him any joy, and because he never felt any joy in helping others, he reasoned that joy and pleasure were sinful indulgences that a believer, much less a priest, should never partake in. he therefore internalized displeasure and complete emotional detachment as a natural and righteous state of life. this, coupled with the catholic belief that selflessness in life would mean salvation in death, resulted in kirei becoming far too guilty to ever chase after pleasure because doing so would mean betraying not just the faith in his Lord, but also all the hard work and love his father had put into raising him as a pure and beautiful person. kirei respected his father’s ideal and tried his best to live up to it, but fundamentally could not understand it, and he could not love the man it belonged to. in response to these emotions, kirei resorted to grievous and deadly methods of self-harm to keep himself walking the righteous path.

nevertheless, kirei could not contain his curiosity (and unbeknownst to him, his yearning) for pleasure and travelled the world attempting to find meaning and enjoyment in different activities. he graduated top of his class, skipped grades as an exceptional student, worked diligently as an executor, and even ate some of the most exquisite delicacies known to man... and found them all tasteless and unfulfilling. kirei was a truly hopeless individual with no direction or sense of self and personhood. he had failed to find meaning in basic, and even some luxurious, delights every human being desires to experience.

in a desperate, final gambit to connect with the inner humanity he lacked his entire life, kirei attempted to fall in love with a woman called claudia ortensia. claudia was terminally ill, and was not expected to live for much longer. while she did love him, he could not bring himself to reciprocate despite his best efforts. they were together for two years and had a child, caren, out of wedlock. throughout his time with claudia kirei could only find salvation in claudia’s suffering. but claudia, an incorregible saint, was willing to suffer if it meant bringing him joy and salvation. claudia slowly died, and soon enough her time was at hand. kirei believed that as her husband it was his duty to at least say his farewells on her deathbed. as claudia lay dying, kirei relayed the simple fact to claudia that after all their time together, he did not love her. to prove him wrong and save him, she disconnected her life support machine. kirei cried at the sight of wife selflessly dying to save him, and claudia, with her fading strength, told him that those tears were proof that he did love her, and that love is proof of his humanity.

unbeknownst to either of them, the true reason kirei cried was because he didn’t get to kill her himself.

kirei handed over his child to the church. if marriage did not save him, parenthood wouldn’t either. kirei contemplated suicide, but instead opted to return to his teachings and live as an executor, craving even the most artificial of purpose to justify his existence.

we then reach fate/zero. kirei is at his lowest emotional point, and sensing the pit in his soul yearning for purpose, the grail bestows him with command spells. kotomine risei contacts his ally tohsaka tokiomi, and takes kirei under his wing as an apprentice in magecraft.

kirei is a natural prodigy at magecraft, and is able to almost master every single discipline before abandoning it in frustration at his failure to find fulfillment and joy in it. (interestingly enough, he has a particularly high affinity for spiritual healing and surgery.) while kirei intends to follow tokiomi and risei’s orders to crown tokiomi as the victor of the grail war, he secretly begrudges being a bored pawn with no freedom and bears no actual loyalty to either of them.

in the world’s most bizarre boy-meets-girl scenario in the history of anime, kotomine kirei learns of emiya kiritsugu. kiritsugu is a mercenary employed by the einzberns to participate in the holy grail war. he has fought in countless battlefields, only joining the fight when combat is at its fiercest. he has killed scores upon scores of mages who deviate from the clocktower’s rules, and has been reported to have taken extreme measures in his assassinations such as bringing down an entire commercial airline just because his target was in it. kirei is mystified by kiritsugu’s lack of moral restraint, personhood, and regard for his own life. kirei immediately projects his own lack of self into kiritsugu and is desperate to understand him. he vows to meet kiritsugu in battle to finally grasp the answer to the question that is his existence.

as he attempts to meet kiritsugu throughout the story, kirei is approached by gilgamesh, the world’s most ancient hedonist. gilgamesh senses that kirei is repressing a fundamental part of himself, and that’s the true source of kirei’s unhappiness. gilgamesh attempts to make kirei realize that kirei has never lacked anything, he’s just tried to avert his gaze from the truth of his own nature. gilgamesh tells kirei that pleasure and joy aren’t things that are inherently sinful. human beings instinctively seek pleasure as and end in and of itself, and kirei is no different. because pleasure is a natural human drive, it can never be something unforgivable. to drive his point further, gilgamesh asks kirei that if he can’t see himself winning, then he should try to imagine a scenario where the war’s weakest combatant, matou kariya, does.

kirei does try, but before he can tell kirei what he envisions, gilgamesh stops him. gilgamesh reveals that there was no point to engaging in speculation when kirei asks if there was one, but the fact kirei did anyway shows he found a meaningless notion entertaining, and therefore, fulfilling. this comes to a head when kirei decides to heal kariya’s burn wounds after his confrontation with tokiomi. kirei experiences a rush he’s never felt before. he hasn’t just helped kariya stay in the race for the grail out of his own volition, he has done it against his master’s orders and best interests.

when risei is killed by kayneth, kirei finds his grief to be oddly forced and empty. surely, he must be devastated at the death of his father, the man who loved him, raised him, taught him, and made him who he is today. but strangely, his grief seems to be directed at something else. that’s when gilgamesh appears to him and tells him the reason why he’s sad isn’t that his father died, but that kirei didn’t get to kill him himself. this shocks kirei to his core, but he’s also forced to entertain that notion. once he realizes that gilgamesh IS right about what kirei really wanted out of his father, he’s ordered by tokiomi to leave japan and exit the war as demanded by irisviel if an alliance between the tohsakas and the einzberns against the matous is to take place. kirei secretly meets with gilgamesh, who is bored and frustrated with tokiomi, and they agree to partner up and kill tokiomi. kirei realizes that there was a satisfaction in killing tokiomi and having the last thing he ever saw be kirei betraying him and asserting his personal desire over his obligation to his teacher.

kirei, now fully committed to discovering what he yearns for the most, tells kariya he will allow him to duel tokiomi once more in exchange for bringing him the container of the holy grail and the person closest to kiritsugu: irisviel. unbeknownst to kariya, tokiomi’s wife aoi has been summoned to the church by kirei. kariya finds tokiomi already dead, and aoi walks into kariya holding tokiomi’s corpse. aoi believes kariya has killed tokiomi, and angrily accuses kariya of never having loved anyone. kariya reaches the breaking point of his rage and suffering after being rejected by aoi, the person he was enduring torture and humiliation for, and asphyxiates her in madness. realizing what he’s done, kariya runs away from the church wailing in grief and guilt. kirei and gilgamesh had watched the whole affair, and kirei realizes that what he finds meaning and pleasure in is inflicting suffering upon others and watch them collapse under the crosses struggles they carry. while he does not understand why he is this way, he nevertheless wants to find out to feel complete and intends to use the grail for that purpose.

kirei meets with irisviel, and demands answers for his questions about emiya kiritsugu. irisviel reveals kiritsugu is not the heartless killing machine kirei believed him to be, but fundamentally an altruist who wishes to shower the world in peace and blessings and seeks the grail for that purpose. she condescends kirei by telling him kiritsugu is not like him, he is far better and that’s why kiritsugu will not lose. finally understanding the man whose nature has eluded him and finding where kirei’s karma stands in relation to him, kirei kills irisviel and vows to destroy kiritsugu’s dream with his own hands.

when kiritsugu and kirei fight and the grail interferes by crowning kiritsugu the winner rather than reach a stalemate, kirei watches kiritsugu speaking with angra mainyu. he observes kiritsugu realizing that what he wanted all along was to live peacefully with his family even if it meant forsaking the world to a violent extinction. he is baffled at kiritsugu rejecting the cursed genocidal grail, and demands kiritsugu to hand it over if he doesn’t want it, because kirei has the need to find the defining principle of his own existence. after kiritsugu kills kirei and has saber destroy the grail, the curses that spill out of it engulf kirei’s corpse and resuscitate him. angra mainyu has declared kirei as the winner for the sake of using him as an anchor and a midwife for his eventual birth.

upon seeing angra mainyu’s catastrophe, kirei concludes that the calamity he is standing over is what his heart has yearned for all this time. he laughs in shock, irony, and glee that despite kotomine risei’s righteous nature and teachings, kirei is simply a monstrous and heretical cur who thrives in the agony of mankind. when gilgamesh asks if the sight of angra mainyu’s birth has satisfied him, kirei replies that it doesn’t, because kirei has been shown the end result of his desire rather than the actual philosophical principle and logical process that guides to the outcome. so for the next 10 years, kirei wrestles with the fact that he still cannot abandon his teachings and his obligation to be somewhat helpful as a priest for the desire to reject and challenge god and allow angra mainyu to fully manifest in this world and engulf it completely to finally give his existence meaning and validity because he knows his impulses to be wrong and yet needs to know why he has them and whether he is still worthy of living while having them. he is willing to manipulate and kill and betray and curse and deprive and destroy the world just for that chance at redeeming his existence because not understanding himself and having denied himself joy for so long has utterly broken him as a person and this is all he has left after a lifetime of denying himself happiness, empathy, and understanding to work through his feelings. to bless angra mainyu’s birth as a man of the cloth would reconcile his religious principles and belief in a merciful all-loving god with his yearning to accept and comprehend himself, because if angra mainyu can be allowed to live and prosper in this world while being the unforgivable culmination of all sin, then maybe he can too. (this is also a powerful and intimate parallel to both shirou and sakura that deserves its own post that i may or may not write later.)

that’s pretty much his development throughout zero and his defining character struggle in fate/stay night. this is something that spring song will delve into further and it’s actually quite interesting how such a bastard of a man suddenly becomes so sympathetic towards the end of the entire game.

grace if you ever have time for it i heavily encourage you to read through the heaven’s feel route whether through letsplayarchive or by playing realta nua yourself whilst we wait for a spring song release in the west because your perception of everyone will change drastically as you understand them at a much deeper level the movies could not show because of runtime constraints. i hope this explanation wasn’t too long or convoluted or raised more questions than delivered answers. three good friends of mine, thessaliah, kurozu501, and avicebro here on tumblr can probably elaborate further and offer more insight if you’re interested.

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.02

A New Princess

09/27/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,910

Warnings: a smidge of abuse, language?, floral baths

A/N: I literally worked on this all day. Haven’t edited much. Did one quick pass through but I probably missed a whole bunch of stuff. Pardon my typos. I was just so eager to get this out. Again, I will not tag you if you ask to be tagged in the comments. Only tag requests sent in ASKS will be answered. I hope you enjoy this new chapter. Please let me know what you enjoyed. If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work. xoxo

Baths have never been anything that you’ve particularly hated. You don’t mind getting clean, in fact, you like feeling like you’re new after a bath.

However, until today, your experience with baths has been one of need rather than want.

You always had to bathe in cold water from the river. You nearly always bathed without soap. And you only ever came out smelling slightly better than when you went in.

But today...

You sigh with contentment as your body sinks into the large copper basin. Fresh flower petals, peony and jasmine have been spread across the water. Scented oils are still being added as you settle in.

Technically this is your second bath.

You'd been doused in water before, over the a different smaller tub to scrub the layers of mud that had caked onto your skin.

Now, since your skin is mostly clean, you’re lowered into this one.

Your lady in waiting adds the oils to your bath, having shooed the bath preppers—two stocky young men that had taken to staring at your barely covered naked body as they poured cauldron after cauldron of hot steaming water into the tub—she’s taken it upon herself to make everything just right.

Now that you’re seated, you watch her as she calculates the oil before stopping the amber bottle and setting it on the table where your food had been a few hours ago.

Your lady has long straight hair the color of rubies and sunset. Her skin is silken cream. She’s clearly a beauty but you can’t tell if she’s a noblewoman or lucky, like you.

“Natasha?” You ask, tentative as she fetches a maroon bar of soap. It smells like pomegranate and more jasmine.

She smiles at you. “Yes.”

It’s a kind smile but you also saw her eyeing you suspiciously when she came in at first. She also seems to know that you’re checking to see if you remembered her name correctly.

She sits beside you on a slightly lower stool so that she still sits above you but low enough to help you.

“Lean forward, your Highness.” She asks, and your neck flares with heat.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach making you queasy and your chest begins to hollow.

“Your high-?” You probably lose most of the color in your face because Natasha’s eyes flash with concern.

“Are you alright, your Highness?” She wonders, genuine in her concern.

“I…” You look to the shut doorway and know that there’s a guard sitting out in the room entryway between the main doors and the doors to your bedroom.

Natasha leans in closer as you finally lean forward and give her access to your back.

When you speak again, you whisper as Natasha smiles conspiratorially.

“I’m not really a princess, Natasha. The king plucked me from the side of a road, covered in mud. I’m nobody.” You worry, chewing your lip harshly.

Natasha frowns and reaches up to run her thumb across your lip, stopping your biting.

“Don’t do that. Princess do not chew on their lip. And I know.” She assures you. “Tony, that is to say, the King cannot hide much from me. I was the one that gave him the idea to look for a peasant.”

“You?” You lean back, slightly shocked as she really goes at your skin with the smaller towel she'd lathered up.

“I have worked as his Majesty's assistant for many years now. Too many. He’s like a brother to me and Pepper, that is, the Queen, is like a sister.

“His Majesty figured you might find it a little difficult to acclimate which is why he’s entrusted your care to me. Don’t worry, your Highness, I’ve got your back.” She smiles reassuringly but you know she has no loyalty for you yet.

Her loyalty, like yours, is to the crown. You agreed for the sake of your kingdom.

“So, we have a day full of things for you to do. You won’t get much rest today. Or for several days. Maybe weeks, depending on when King Rogers decides he wants to get married.” She informs you.

“What’s he like?” You ask eagerly, desperate for information on the widower. “Have you met him?”

“I have. He’s very upright. Upstanding. Noble. Honorable. A little serious but very sweet. He’s gentle when he isn’t angry but when he is angry he has been known to lash out.” She explains.

You blanch again, feel queasy once more. “Is he violent? Will he hit me?”

“No.” Nat answers, reassuring you with the tough spark in her emerald eyes. “Like I said, he’s honorable, and even if he were inclined to hit you I wouldn’t let him. It’s my job to protect you.”

When she says that it almost sounds like she’s willing to fight. Physically. With punches and kicks.

“What is it that you did for his Majesty, Natasha?” You wonder, suspicious now.

She smirks down at you, pleased with how observant you are. Sharp.

“Never you mind, Highness. Sit back, I’ll scrub your tummy.” She asks but as you sit back you reach up and take the cloth from her.

“I can do it.” You watch her until she releases it.

“Very well. Make sure you get all your nooks and crannies. We need you shining like new.” She says, getting up to rifle through your wardrobe.

“What things will we do today?” You wonder, attempting to mimic the correct way she speaks. Most of your word choices are fine but there’s a posh little tone to her words that you’ll need to learn to mimic.

Right now you sound too much like the country bumpkin you are.

“These dresses will need to be altered to your specific body type. You'll also start training in etiquette and we need to attempt to teach you a little to write and read.

“I’m hoping King Rogers will take his time in accepting you as his wife. It’ll give us time to get you trained a little.” She picks a floor length gown with no hoop which you like. It has an latticework of lace along the bodice and the sleeves over a beige underskirt made of voile and organza.

It’s pretty but more expensive than all of the money you've ever earned sewing up patches and fixing shirts and pants.

“This looks the closest to your size. It might sit a little loose but it'll work until we can get you a proper wardrobe.” She turns towards the bed to lay out your dress and you wonder if she did that on purpose to show off the flowing fabric of the dress.

She proceeds to pull out several undergarments, a long and thin white shirt, and a corset with back lacing to put over it.

Your own well worn undergarments had been discarded, along with your dress.

“Okay.” She says, moving to you and holding out her hand. “Give me that. You’re too slow. I need to get you scrubbed and changed within the hour. We still have to wash your hair.”

“I can do it.” You protest and make to dip under the water.

“No!” Natasha almost shouts. “Not in there. We will wash your hair separately and when we are done with your bath.”

“Why?” You frown, looking down at the now slightly murky water with its flowers and oils.

“Because, you haven bathed in a while and that water is already rife with dirt.” Natasha explains.

“I’ve done it before.” You complain.

“You weren’t a princess before.”

“This is stupid.”

“Stupid as it might be, doesn’t change the fact that you were filthy when I got you. Please, your Highness, let’s do it my way at least a few times. Then after a few washes, when you’ve used soap and I’m sure your body is clean enough, then you may wash your hair at the same time. Alright?”

You consider Natasha for a moment, still standing with her hand outstretched, long red hair braided and pinned up on the top of her head. She doesn’t look upset though and is genuinely pleading with you.

You give in and hand her the cloth then lean back as she pulls her stool over and takes to scrubbing your legs hard.

“You don’t think I deserve to be here, do you?” You ask, feeling shameful for being so dirty.

Nat stops her scrubbing and looks up at you. She blinks, thinking for a moment before shrugging her left shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” She says. “What you’re doing is going to be hard. I don’t know if you’re prepared for what taking this on means.

“I don’t know if you’re good at lying which you will have to do on a daily basis, to everyone but myself, the King, and the Queen and often it will have to be spur of the moment.

“Can you do that?” She asks, brow furrowed with worry and curiosity.

“I…I dunno.” You admit. “I’ve lied before but not about something this important.”

She nods. “And we'll have to fix your speech. You don’t sound too bad but sometimes you can really tell you’re not of noble birth.”

More shame draws your eyes down as Nat goes back to scrubbing.

“But you are very brave. You’re choosing to do this from the kingdom when you are not obligated to. You’re giving up your freedom for a life in service of the crown. And it won’t even be our crown.” She says in astonished admiration. “Have you even considered that?”

“I have no one, Natasha. I don’t even own my own home. True, at least I could go out and do what I liked but my life was meaningless. I would grow old, if I was lucky, and I would die alone. At least this way, I might serve a purpose.”

“Didn’t you have parents? Or maybe a beau?” She’s scrubbing between your toes and it takes all of your willpower not to squirm.

“Um…” Your voice shakes, itching to laugh. “No.”

She looks at you and you can’t help it, you burst into laughter.

You throw your head back and the water sloshes around you as she hurries to finish your other toes, smiling wide as you laugh. Your finished leg lifted and bent against your chest as you wiggle.

When she’s done she drops her hands, leaning against the side of the tub, a look of fondness in her eyes.

You chuckle a little more as you settle in the water again. It’s still warm. Will she let you soak a bit longer?

“What?” You chuckle. “Why do you look at me like that?”

“Because now that you’re all cleaned up, with laughter in your eyes, I think you just might make King Rogers fall for you. Genuinely.” She gets up and moves to hold open the thin white robe for you.

Ears burning, neck flaring once again, you rise. The water sloshes around you and several petals stick to your wet skin as you step out onto a small carpet placed by the tub so that you don’t slip.

She wraps the robe around you, and it sticks to you, growing sheer as the wet is soaked up.

You can see everything. You shiver and Steve closer to the fire, but Natasha reaches for you and pulls you to the stool she'd been sitting in.

“Here. Sit.” She moves to fetch a brass pitcher and holds it, waiting for you.

You sit, then naturally lean back on instinct.

“Do you really think he might like me?” You ask her. Eyes wide, heart pounding. “What does he look like?”

Now that you know that he isn’t abusive and is in fact a true gentleman by all accounts, you’re eager to see this possible future husband.

“He’s very handsome. I’ll show you his portrait when we’re done. As far as his liking you, it may be better if you don’t expect too much.” She says sadly.

“Why?” You ask, worried.

“Well, as you know, King Rogers lost his first wife.”

“Yes.” You nod.

“Queen Margaret was the love of his life. I have never known anyone to love someone that much, except perhaps Tony and Pepper.” She explains. “When he lost her, I heard he went into seclusion.”

“How did she die?” You wonder, watching as much of Natasha's face as you can while she works her hands through your long hair, pouring warm water from the pitcher’s until it’s soaked.

She gets the soap and begins to lather it up, pitcher set aside.

“An accident, I think. I don’t know the details but I heard she had to get surgery done and she passed from complications.”

“Oh.” You’ve never heard of anyone actually getting surgery but the rich can afford it so it’s probably more common here. “So you’re saying he may not like me?”

“He might not. He needs to remarry and he needs an heir so, whether he likes you or not, he will tolerate you. Perhaps even grow fond of you? It think that may be the best we can expect but I hope he can see you laugh as you just did.

“Perhaps it will sway his heart.” She smiles.

Grabbing the pitcher, she rinses your hair and you stare at her beautiful face.

“Why do you care? I mean, whether he likes me?”

She looks down at you in slight shock. “You are under my care, your Highness. I want you to he as happy as possible in this new life you are choosing especially because you are doing it for the kingdom.

“If I can make him love you. I will.” She promises and finishes with your hair.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re exhausted.

The day has been endless, and it all began with a fitting for your dresses.

All of the gowns in your closet had to be altered. Then your head was measured for a new tiara and several others to take with you.

The one you are given to use with your dress is silver with a gold inlay, a large ruby at the front surrounded by smaller yellow diamonds.

It belongs to the Princess Morgana and you’re really nervous about wearing her tiara when she isn’t home. What if you lose it?

“It only until your own is made. You’ll have it tomorrow. Were you satisfied with the design you chose?” Natasha asks.

You'd chosen a simple tiara with silver leaf designs that run along the entire front and the center should be two large gems.

You’re not sure what they’re supposed to be as the design was just a sketch but you’re sure that his Majesty will choose the stone.

“Yeah.” You answer.

Natasha frowns at you. “Yes.” She corrects.

“Right, sorry. Yes.”

“Come on. We need to get you to the speech tutor.”

This is the moment that Princess lessons takeover your day. You do indeed begin with your speech. You’re corrected often but after a few hours you begin to understand what the tutor wants, and you deliver.

He’s impressed and you leave the lesson feeling more confident. Etiquette is much more different.

You slouch often, and the new tutor, a stern middle-aged woman slaps the center of tour back several times to make you remember as she teaches you how to hand things to others. How to sit. Stand. Bow. Curtsy. And all the other intricacies of life in the castle.

The long and carefully crafted waves of your hair provide a little cushion, but the smack still stings.

On the sixth hit, you hiss in pain and Natasha’s hand is suddenly there, grabbing the rod she’d been hitting you with.

“Hit the Princess again and I will personally make sure this rod ends up somewhere unpleasant.” She threatens, death in her eyes and a sneer stretching her red tinted lips.

The woman pales but she looks at you as you reach behind you to try and rub at the spot on your back.

“Negative reinforcement works better to create a memory for her to remember.” The woman argues but she’s just barely enthusiastic about it.

She’s eyeing Natasha with fear.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to use negative reinforcement so that you remember not to hit the Princess. Do it again, and I’ll have you sacked. Got it?” And Natasha waits, eyes narrowed at the woman.

“Y-Yes, my lady.” The woman nods then moves on to sitting at the dinner table.

You’re taught how to walk. How to sit with a book. How to relax when you’re told to though really, it’s still just sitting up straight and it’s not a very relaxing position.

You’re taught how to walk in your dresses and how to lift and adjust them when you climb stairs and sit down or stand up. When you asked them what you do before running, Natasha had smiled and looked at the middle-aged woman.

“A Princess does not run. You never run.” She insists.

“Never?” You ask again.

“Never.”

“What if-?”

“A Princess does not run. I think we will end our lessons here. I will see you tomorrow to see what you have retained. Good day, your Highness.” She curtsies and leaves.

You eat in your room and then return to the empty school room you’ve been using to find a new tutor waiting for you.

The alphabet is written across several sheets of parchment paper, and with a quill provided, you are given the task of copying their shapes.

“Once you can write them, we’ll learn what their names are and how to sound them out.” The man says before watching you copy the letters.

This is how you spend your day and soon, darkness takes over the castle once more. Natasha hasn’t left your side all day and with your fingers cramping and your eyes burning, you turn to look at her, massaging your hand.

“I think that’s enough for today, Master Rymond. Thank you for your hard work. We will see you again tomorrow.” Natasha tells him.

“My lady.” He says, nodding to her then he bows to you. “Your Highness. Good work today.”

When he’s gone you really want to sit back and slouch and really relax but the center of your back is still stinging, and you realize that the etiquette woman was right. The smacks are a good way to ensure you remember.

“I don’t think I will ever slouch again.” You whine, reaching up again to rub the sore spot. You’re probably bruised up.

“That’s good news.” Natasha teases. “Are you hungry or would you prefer to go to bed?”

As she stands beside you, hand on your shoulder, you look up at her and think.

“Both?” Are you being greedy?

Natasha however nods. “Okay. Do you know your way back to your room?”

“I will escort her, Lady Romanoff, madam.” A young male voice pipes up from the doorway and you lean around Natasha to get a look.

The young man is wearing a more relaxed suit of armor. Where the majority of the Knights are decked out in full gear, this young man seems to be wearing shoulder guards, knee guards, and sturdy boots all much lower profile than regular armor.

He has wavy brown hair, smooth and light. Peach white skin, sweet and bright hazel eyes, and a thin but tight muscular build. He looks lithe. Like he could outrun anyone simply because he’s lighter.

“Peter,” Natasha says fondly. “I didn’t know that his Majesty was going to give you to us.”

“Yes, Ma’am. He thinks it might be better to have someone like me with you at all times, in case something should happen.”

“Good.” She beams. “I’m going to go get the Princess some food, will you show her to her room for me? I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Of course.” He nods, giving you a sweet smile too.

“I’ll be back.” Natasha gives your head a gentle caress and your heart soars at the affection.

Why are they all so nice to you? You’ve never been this loved before. Is it really them loving you or are they just appreciative of what you’re doing? You don’t want to question it, but it all seems to good to be true.

She leaves you, sweeping out of the room in her stunning black gown.

“Shall we, your Highness?” Peter gestures towards the door and you nod with a smile.

There’s silence between you and Peter for a few minutes as he leads you back up the stairs to the floor above. You watch his easy gait and the smile he seems to wear at all times.

“Peter?” You check, afraid to make a mistake in decorum.

“Yes, Princess?” He says, turning to walk slightly sideways but just long enough to give you an expectant look.

“Is it okay that I call you that?”

“Of course.” He smiles at you then faces the front again. “I’m at your service.”

“Why are you at my service?” You check, so confused by everything here in the castle.

“His Majesty, King Stark, thought that it might be good to have me by your side. You’ll need a protective detail and he thought one knight would be better than four.” He explains, beaming with pride at the job assignment.

Why only one of him though? Doesn’t this leave you and him more vulnerable?

“Why you?” You ask, “Not to be rude…I don’t mean to be rude if that was rude, but I’m a little confused as to why his Majesty would send only one guard instead of four and why Lady Romanoff would be so keen to have you with us.”

“Oh.” Peter says, nodding with a knowing smile. “That’s because I’m different from the other Knights. I’m stronger.”

“Stronger how?”

“Well,” He reaches up to scratch the back of his head. “Since we’re going to be spending so much time together, maybe it’s best if I let you know. I would hate to scare you.

“A few years ago, I got lost in the woods. I wandered away from my school group and found myself right smack in the middle of a witch’s hut. See, my uncle died, and my aunt was so sad about it that I thought, maybe, if I can find a good witch, she might help me get my uncle back. I found a spider instead and…well, it must have had a spell on it or something because it bit me and when I woke up the next day I was…different.”

It all suddenly falls into place, making sense in a way that you weren’t expecting.

“Oh my God, you’re the Spiderling.” You realize, looking him up and down again and for the first time noticing the red of his uniform beneath the navy painted armor plates. There’s a hood around his neck which you assume he uses to hid his identity.

“Actually, I go by Spider-Man now, but yes. That’s me. Please don’t tell anyone.” He begs, looking at you with worry.

“I won’t.” You promise, overcome with subtle pride that His Majesty would assign someone so skilled to be your protector.

“Wonderful.” He smiles at you, and you can’t help it. You stare a little as he leads you to your room.

Once you’re there, he hurries forward and opens the doors for you.

“Thank you.” You beam at him and he nods.

“Of course.”

The sight of your bed prompts your exhaustion to catch up with your body. It’s been twenty-six hours since you’ve slept, and you know you’ll have to get up early in the morning for more lessons.

“I’ll leave you to get changed.” Peter says. “Goodnight, your Highness, it was such an honor meeting you. I hope we get along really well together.”

Sweet. He’s really very sweet.

“I’m sure we will, Peter.”

He leaves you on your own, shutting the doors as he leaves but you know he’s probably stationed himself in that entryway.

You want to change. You want out of this dress and this too tight corset, but you know that you can’t take it off on your own, so your best bet is to wait for your lady in waiting to come back.

It takes her only twenty minutes. When she walks in, you sit up from truly relaxing in the chair by the fire, shooting up into your perfect posture.

“Good.” She praises you. “You’re practicing.”

She’s carrying a tray of some cold meats, cheese, and grapes.

“But you can relax when it’s just us, your Highness. I won’t tell on you.” She looks up at you as he places the tray on the table by your chair and gives you a quick wink.

You smile up at her and dive into the food she’s brought you. She pours you a glass of wine and you take a drink to wash the gritty cheese from your teeth.

“If that’s the case, I insist that you call me by name when we’re alone.”

“Your Highness…” Natasha begins to protest.

“Please? This all too much already. I’ve been called Princess and your Highness since I arrived. I’m starting to forget it. Please?” You’re begging wears her down and her gaze softens.

“Very well. Y/N.” She says, her cheeks flushing from the enjoyment of using your name.

You eat in semi-silence, Natasha munching on her own plate of food at your insistence.

“Tomorrow will be just as long.” She warns. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”

“Yes.” You nod. Certain that you can do this for them. All of them. Your entire kingdom.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Natasha begins, taking a drink of her own wine before setting her empty plate aside. “His Majesty has sent for a painter.”

“Why?” You wonder, finishing up your grapes.

“Well, they’ll need to paint you into the family portrait and King Rogers has replied to his Majesty’s letter.” She smiles at you, teasing you.

“Already?!” You gasp, nervous, heart pounding.

“Yes. He seems very eager which can be both good and bad.” She explains and as you eat your last grape, she gets up and takes your plate and empty goblet.

“Why? Why is it both?” You demand, terrified suddenly.

“Well, for one, it means that he’s accepted you. Mostly. He has requested a portrait of you be sent so that he might know what you look like. So, he seems able to overlook the strangeness of why you’ve been hidden away for so many years.” She seems more satisfied by this than you are.

“What if he doesn’t like the way I look?” You worry.

“You’re beautiful, your High-Y/N. He’ll love your looks.” She promises.

“You don’t know that.” You say under your breath, fiddling with the skirt of your dress.

“Come.” Natasha urges. “Let’s get you changed for your bath.”

“Another one?” You get up and move to her though you don’t understand why you need another bath.

“Yes.” She laughs. “Another one. You will bathe once a day until you are married and then you will bathe as often as they require you to in Broklin. There’s a kingdom in the south where they bathe almost three times a day. It’s ridiculous.”

She helps you out of your dress and begins to undo your corset.

“So, why is it bad?”

“Hm?”

“King Rogers’s eagerness. Why is it bad?” You clarify.

“Oh!” She shakes her head, glancing at you through the ornate mirror before you. “Well, once he gets your portrait, if he’s satisfied with you and calls for you, then our time here is finished. We have tomorrow, then the painter arrives the day after. He’ll paint your portrait in a few hours and then send it to Broklin. That will take a day and if the King likes it, we should hear back from him the day after that.

“That gives us only five days in which to get you ready for him. We may have to make excuses for why you cannot read or write.” She’s already brainstorming, and you feel shame once again for not being educated. “I’ll get with his Majesty and we’ll work something out.”

“I’m sorry.” You nearly whisper.

“For what, your Highness?” Natasha asks, finally pulling you free of your corset.

“For not being better. For not knowing how to read or write.” You keep your eyes down, suddenly hating your upbringing and orphaned state.

“Oh, no.” Natasha gasps. “No, Princess. Don’t say that.”

She turns you around slowly and ducks down to grab your under shirt and lift it up over your head. With it off, she pulls the same thin white robe you’d worn before and after your bath last night and helps you slip it on.

“Never forget that you are doing us a favor by agreeing to this foolhardy scheme. I told his Majesty that it would never work but when I met you, I suddenly realized that maybe, with the right girl, it might actually be something we can pull off.

“You gave me the confidence to take this post without fear. If anyone can marry King Steven Rogers and keep war at bay, it’s you.” She chafes your arms, more affection. “Trust me, Princess. I know what I’m talking about.”

A look into her emerald eyes tells you that she does indeed feel confident in you and it eases your worries a bit.

“I’ll work really hard.” You promise her, and she smiles.

“I know you will.

You fall asleep in the bath, the lavender and jasmine concoction along with the pomegranate soap and rose oils make you sleepy.

The heat from the fire, the hot water, it all lulls you into a truly relaxed state and you don’t even feel Natasha as she scrubs you down.

Suddenly she’s shaking your shoulder gently and your eyes pop open.

“Wake up, your Highness. Just a quick brush of your hair and you can go to sleep.” She says sweetly.

You lick your lips and get to your feet, stepping out as she wraps you up in a warm towel, then proceeds to brush your hair.

You very nearly fall asleep again on the edge of your bed but then she’s finished, and she helps you put on your nightgown.

It’s long and white and almost as sheer as your robe with puffed sleeves and a scoop neck that ties just along your clavicle to keep it shut.

“Um…” Natasha suddenly worries as she pulls the bottom of your nightdress down.

“What is it?” You ask her sleepily.

“I have something for you, but I forgot it in my room. Don’t fall asleep, alright? Lay down but try and stay awake. I will return in just a few moments.”

She bounds from the room, her black dress sweeping behind her majestically.

You slide back along your super soft and plush mattress, your body almost melting into it as your head finds your mountain of pillows.

For a few minutes, you wonder how it is you got so lucky. Sure, as Nat had said, you are giving up a lot of freedoms for this, but you’ve never slept in a bed this comfortable. You’ve never eaten food as delicious as you’ve eaten today. You’ve never fallen asleep in a bath of sweet floral water or smelled this good afterwards. You’ve never gone to bed with a full belly and you’ve never worn silks and jewels worth more than any amount of money you might have made in your lifetime.

You are truly blessed, and you vow to work hard to make certain that his Majesty did not make a mistake in choosing you and that Natasha’s hard work will not go to waste.

Despite your trying, you do end up dozing off. The bed is too comfortable and the fire too warm.

The door opening is what snaps you out of your slumber and you blink away the sleep before sitting up to watch your lady come in wearing her own nightdress and a thick red robe around it to keep her modest.

“Here you go.” Natasha says happily, the tease of a wily smirk on her lips.

“What is it?” You ask, staring down at the small silver compact case she’s holding out for you.

“Open it.” She urges, sits on the side of your bed and lets you take it.

You search for the small clasp at front and flip the lid slowly.

For a moment you forget how to breathe. The man inside, this small portrait, robs you of all rational thought.

He’s beautiful.

“He has blonde hair.” You say breathlessly.

“Yes.” Natasha nods, sounding amused. “It’s shorter in that photo. He’s grown it out some now. He also has a beard now. Very kingly.”

His strong jaw angles sharply. He has a long straight nose. Full rose-pink lips. Stunning storm blue almost gray eyes. His brow is slightly severe in the portrait. Stern. But it only makes him more handsome.

“I…” You begin, worried suddenly. “What if he doesn’t like me? I’m not at his level.”

With a frantic heart, you look at Natasha and she smiles with more amusement.

“I told you, you are beautiful. You are more than a match for him. In four days’ time, we won’t have to worry about that because he will have written about how beautiful you are and how much he can’t wait to marry you.” She lies.

You look back down at him and try to calm your heart.

“I want him to like me.” You admit, admiring his beauty.

“Most women do.” Natasha teases. “I knew you’d like him.”

“I hope he’s as kind as he looks.” You sigh, wishing you could know him already but also scared to disappoint his own expectations.

“He is. He may just need some coaxing. He was very saddened by his wife’s death.” She nods.

“I will do everything that I can to not only ensure the safety of our kingdom, but also to make him happy.” You gush. “I want to make him happy, Natasha.”

Natasha chuckles. “Of course, you do. And I’m sure you will. Now, get some sleep. I’ll be back in here in a few hours.”

Her warning falls on deaf ears however because you’re engrossed in his portrait.

“Can I keep this?” You ask her as she rises to her feet and pulls the blanket out to get you underneath it.

“It’s yours. I had one made for you. If you want a more recent one, you’ll have to get one from him once you’re married.”

Could this Adonis really marry you? Live his life with you? Be your husband? Your King?

“Goodnight, Princess.” Natasha whispers as she shuts the doors, knowing that as you lay down with your eyes glued to that portrait, nothing will break your concentration.

And she’s right. You stare at King Rogers’s portrait until his image is burned into your retinas. You blink and his face is there.

Soft golden hair. Piercing blue eyes. Perfect pink lips.

You fall asleep stroking his face, wondering if you’re foolish to get quite so enamored with his looks when you don’t know him one bit.

But…he’s to be your husband. Better to love him than to not.

All you can hope is that when he sees your own face in paint, that he will not be too disappointed.

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angies-aesthetics · 3 years

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hiya!! If i may, could i request a tarot reading for my angie yonaga cannon? in my cannon i survived, so if there is any way you could do a reading at least including my future post game, as well as maybe something about how the game went, that'd be great (but really you could anything you want to). thank u!

hello hello!! I’m so sorry this has taken me so long, but here you go!!

Beginning spread: These cards will highlight people, situations, or influences from the past that still affect you. These cards may also show you a learned lesson in your history that was effective to your later.

Lovers: Keywords: partnership, duality, union. The number one meaning inside the Lovers is harmony, attractiveness, and perfection in a relationship. The consider and the team spirit that the fanatics have offers each of them self-assurance and strength, empowering the other. The bond they have created is powerful, and it can suggest that the two are joined in marriage and other near and intimate relationships. The acceptance as accurate with and the harmony that the lovers have gives them self belief and strength, empowering the other. Another meaning in the back of the fanatics card is the concept of desire - a preference between things that are opposing and mutually exclusive. This will be a dilemma that you want to think about carefully and make an excellent decision for your situation.

Knight of Pentacles: Keywords: Efficiency, hard work, responsibility. The Knight of Pentacles is set the daily responsibilities and the obligation that one has to benefit through a specific project. This knight has the patience to perform all his given duties and is considered reliable and dedicated to his paintings. To see this card is an indication that there may be a want to be straightforward and dependable. This knight has the patience to perform all his given duties and is considered reliable and devoted to his paintings. You are fully committed to your assignments, and you make sure which you complete your paintings efficiently. You are honest, loyal, and do the first rate you can to make sure the job will be completed appropriately.

Ten of Cups: Keywords: Inner happiness, fulfillment, dreams coming true. From its blissful depiction, we can count on that the Ten of Cups encompass happiness, joy, contentment, and emotional pride in your family, courting, or companion. It represents an idyllic nation of comfort, harmony, peace, and love, making you feel like paradise. This is where all your dreams, wants, desires, and wishes are fulfilled, and you feel a complete sense of pride. So take a moment and breathe, look around you and be glad about all of your benefits. This card signifies something that so a lot of us are looking for. To see the Ten of cups indicates an accurate emotional fulfillment - one where the lonely self-pride of the Nine of Cups is shared with others to create an authentic experience of network and own family.

Middle spread: These cards will highlight people, situations, or influences from the past that you found during the middle of your timeline, possibly offering that solution to the beginning spread.

Fool: Keywords: innocence, new beginnings, free-spirit. The Fool card is numbered 0, which is considered to be several endless potentials. Consider him a clean slate, for The Fool has yet to develop an unmistakable personality. He is the symbol of innocence - his adventure to return will form his individual yet. To see The Fool usually approach a beginning of a new experience, one wherein you can be filled with optimism and freedom from the ordinary constraints in life. When we meet him, he approaches every day as an adventure, in an almost childish way. He believes that whatever can happen in existence and many possibilities can be deception out there, in the world, ready to be explored and developed. He leads a simple lifestyle, having no worries, and does no longer appear troubled by the reality that he can not tell what he will stumble upon ahead.

Ace of Wands: Keywords: creation, willpower, inspiration, desire. Wands symbolize creativity, and the Ace of Wands is the boldest among the cards inside the suit. It isn't always the sort of creativity that you analyze from faculty or as a hobby. Instead, it is bravely finding your voice; it creates an area where you can increase your very own vision. In other words, it's miles related to willpower and creativity inside the cosmic sense. When you draw the Ace of Wands, it indicates that you need to move for it simply. Take the chance and pursue a concept that you have in mind. Take the first steps to begin the innovative project. The Ace of Wands calls out to you to observe your instincts. If you believe you studied that the project you've been dreaming of is a great concept, then simply go in advance and do it. The Ace of Wands calls out to you to follow your instincts if you watched that the project you've been dreaming of is a superb idea, and then just pass beforehand and do it.

Five of Cups (Reversed): Keywords: acceptance, moving on, finding peace. When the card is reversed, the Five of Cups shows a significant recovery from the regret as well as proper acceptance of your past. You are beginning to realize all of the implications of your actions, and you have finally come to appreciate the lessons learned from that experience. You may even start to recognize the overall value of the painful experience you had in the larger scheme of things. You see that the suffering and grief that you endured gave you strength and imbued you with resilience. Finally, you are ready to pick up the two remaining cups, which are still full, and go on with your life in full force.

Ending spread: The natural follow on or outcome of the previous spreads.

Three of Swords: Keywords: heartbreak, suffering, grief. The Three of Swords depicts the message of rejection, betrayal, harm, and discouragement. In moments like those, we're correctly served using the mind. If you could suppose logically about it and put it together for the experience, the effect of this pain can be minimized. But take into account too that pain and grief are a normal part of life because they make us admire what pleasure and happiness we have and teach us. Through pain, we discover ways to avoid mistakes that might lead us to change and grief. It is consequently a necessity in the adventure of life. The Three of Swords, therefore, is a depiction of struggling that is meant to make us stronger, more careful, and extra vigilant. Sometimes life gives us no choice - we're knocked down. But what determines one's destiny is the selection of whether to remain down or rise again. Sometimes life gives us no choice - we're knocked down. But what determines one's destiny is the selection of whether to stay knocked down or upward thrust again.

Four of Pentacles: Keywords: conservation, frugality, security. The Four of Pentacles card is capable of generating each destructive and high-quality perception. On the one hand, the cardboard signifies that you have efficiently controlled to accomplish many things. Moreover, through your dreams and have managed to attain a wealth of cloth within the process. However, on the alternative hand, there's a full-size chance that you may start valuing things best for their cloth worth. You have worked challenging to get to the factor where you are now, and it is simply herbal on your desire to make sure you stay stable. But this additionally has a threat to turn you into an overly possessive or greedy person who wants to ensure that no one is capable of taking away your wealth. There is a risk of showing you into a very possessive or greedy man or woman who wishes to ensure that no person can get rid of your wealth.

Page of Swords: Keywords: curiosity, restlessness, mental energy. Bright and alert, the Page of Swords is a person who in no way seems to expire ideas. She is curious, usually asking questions, and proficient with a pointy tongue and quick wit to match. Her aptitude for language also makes her an extraordinary communicator, and along with her love of thoughts, you could discover her constantly engaged in a few passionate debates. Her flair for language also makes her an excellent communicator, and together with her love of thoughts, you may locate her always engaged in a few passionate debates. She seems to thrive on almost a kind of nervous energy, as if there was an excessive amount of inner her to say, the wheels in her head usually turning. As an information bearer, she can also bring news via her suit - moreover, gossip, felony matters, agreements. Alternatively, you could find yourself required to use her energy - be alert, keep your eyes open and stay sharp and vigilant.

#mod angie; divinity!

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queerchoicesblog · 4 years

Text

The Carpathia (SC Titanic, Zetta x Adele Series, Ch. 13)

So, folks, here’s the new chapter of the series. Thank you so much for your support, hope you enjoy it!

Little disclaimer-favor: especially since the tags don’t seem to be working anymore, if you do enjoy it, please consider supporting the author & sharing this. A little gesture that means a lot!

Word Count: 3000+

Zetta x Adele Tag: @storyscaped @storyscapefanficarchive @marmolady @animus-and-anima @hayley-carter19 @escako @everlastingchoices @andrxrneda @aestheticsayeed @indescribablechoices @ahrielstuff @bornonawdnsday @nazario-sayeed @h-doodles @adele-serda @marlcasters @brightpinkpeppercorn @nightwhite13 @ramenwithaspoon @michelleconnoly @charliejane-blog @ghost-of-yuri @choicesgremlin @shadeofangelus @lanzhansguqin @orange-elephants

Zetta x Adele Series Tag: @eternal-langdon @nydeiri

➡️ Ch. 1, Ch. 2/1, Ch. 2/2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8/1, Ch. 8/2, Ch. 9, Ch. 10/1, Ch. 10/2, Ch. 11/1, Ch. 11/2, Ch. 12

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The lights of dawn warm our cold cheeks as hope kindles again in our hearts after the horrors of the night. A wave of relief wash over us all as we see another steamer, our savior, slowly reduce its speed until it comes to an halt not far from us. Waiting for us. Those who still have an ounce of energy in them cry tears of joy: never such sight has been more blessed. We are safe. We did it. Thank God we did it. "Is...is that real?" Adele's voice is barely a whisper. She hugs herself as she tries to sit straight, her eyes searching the horizon. I am about to say something but her sister anticipates me. Turning her head back towards us after spotting the ship, she gives a little cheer. "It's a ship! It's a ship!" she confirms with another cheer. Then she smiles broadly at Adele and meets my eyes again. "You were right, ma'am! You were right!"

The relived happiness exuding from here is heartwarming. You could see that could she, she would jump up and down and hug everyone at reach. The gleam in her eyes is almost blinding: she put all the fears of the night behind her and is now focusing back on the moment. On living. On this new dawn. "Why, I'm always right" I say jokingly, winking. I'm surprised I can still do that after tonight. But after all, a few hours ago I was winking and sharing a little joke with my love at the bottom of the Grand Staircase. Despite everything, despite the impending tragedy. "And it's Zetta for you, honey" I add as the officer stands and give our oarsmen the order to row us towards the steamship. It takes time to coordinate all the lifeboats in this sea of ice. We can see it now in the morning light: we're surrounded by a web of icebergs just like the one I saw with horror from the deck. They're everywhere, cruel testament of the mournful events of the night. Why no one spotted it? Why were we racing at high speed? I decide to leave my questions unanswered and hug my love as we move again. They don't matter now. All that matters is that we're alive. It takes hours and hours to line all the vessels alongside the steamship called 'Carpathia' and bring us all abroad. Which is easier said than done. Those who can climb up rope ladders, others are hoisted up in slings and the children in mail sacks. Our vessel is among the last ones to be boarded so when I finally set foot on the main deck of the ship, it is already crowded with passengers from the Titanic. As I take a few steps forward, the scenes of joy I witness move me to the point that I distinctly feel a lump forming in my throat and my eyes welling. I probably needed this: thee has been a moment I started losing hope to see this beautiful dawn. And this sight is...another dawn, in its own way. Families and friends reunited and hugging each other, cupping their faces and crying all the tears they've suppressed so far. It's a balsam to my aching heart. I hear someone saying something near me but I cannot tell if they're talking to me. I turn and a stewardess is standing at my side, handing me a wool blanket with a gentle smile. I smile back at her and wrap the blanket around my shoulders. I am freezing despite James's jacket so I am eternally grateful to her when a little warmth embraces me. I savour the feeling for a moment then I search my companions. They are all standing a few steps away. Hileni pulled Adele into a tight hug as Sabine is gathering blankets for them. Matteo and Jamie awkwardly stand side by side. Jamie is saying something I cannot hear that makes Teo shake his head but my nephew insists. He looks like he's begging him. It seems to be important...I can only hope he's not being unreasonable again. I walk towards my dear ones and approach my little Napoleon. Dark circles frame her bright eyes and mine too, probably. The night was rough, to put it mildly. We share a tired smile then I hug her. She tenses up at first, not expecting it, but soon relaxes in my arms. We're soon approached by another steward who invites us to follow him. They're gathering the rescued passengers in the dining rooms and serving coffee. We share a look and oblige him. We leave the deck and follow him and other passengers down a series of corridors and stairs. We must look like ghosts to the Carpathia's passengers stepping back at our sight. They wanted to witness this historical moment but they didn't know we would look that bad, I read it on their bewildered faces. When we finally reach one of the dining room a waitress welcomes us with a sympathetic smile and guides us inside. The room is almost full, only a bunch of table are still available. We all follow her, except James and Teo. We are already heading towards the table the waitress pointed when they leave. Last thing I hear from them is Jamie asking directions for the infirmary then they're gone. I'm too exhausted to inquiry further: if they're hurt or sick, the ship doctors will take care of them. We will check on them later. The waitress invites us to take a seat into a table nearby, before turning to attend other passengers. The table is a bit small for all of us but we hardly notice. We seat in silence until steamy cups of coffee are served. I take a huge gulp that almost burn my tongue but it's...resuscitating. The hot coffee injects new life in my veins. Surprisingly, Hileni is the one breaking the silence. "I've...I've heard that it was your birthday yesterday, ma' - I mean, Zetta" she says after clearing her throat. It's still quite weird to her to call me by my name only or so it seems to me by the way she stutters over it. "Belated congratulations" Hileni adds with a sheepish smile, her eyes wandering from me to Adele as if checking if she said the right thing. I wonder what exactly she knows about us, how much my love told her. Not knowing if I'm just an employer or something more than that in her mind, I thank her and flash her a grateful smile: I almost forgot yesterday was my day. I raise my cup and repeats in my best acting voice the words I said at my party: "Thank you, old friends and new, for being here with me to celebrate my twentieth birthday" They ring a bit hollow now, away from the Café Parisien. Adele and Sabine smile weakly, probably reminiscing when they first heard them, while Hileni looks at me with amused curiosity, raising her own cup. This time I change my next line, though. "...And that's all that matters now. All of us being here, together, drinking coffee at this table on another ship" I embrace all of them with one look. "It's the best birthday gift I could ask for after last night. I wouldn't trade it with anything" I add softly and God knows I mean every word. It's the first time that I see Sabine almost on the verge of tears at my kind words. I place my hand on her shoulder and squeeze it gently as she tries to shake the lump in her throat off taking a gulp of coffee. I continue sharing details of what a beautiful work my little Napoleon and Adele did with the decorations with Hileni. I know it may sound silly -some would even say disrespectful maybe- now talking about those things but my mind is frozen and it's the only happy thing that comes into my mind at the moment. For some reason I feel like I should talk, say something even little things like that to prevent us from drowning in our sorrow. I know that moment will come and I dread it: when it will all sink in, we will be shattered and we will need each other. For now I must try to fill the silence, the void...to patch our wounds even if temporarily. Adele is awfully quiet but her sister listens with interest and...gratitude, I cannot tell. Sabine tries to recover, sipping her coffee and adjusting her blanket. I'm telling Hileni that I will teach her how to waltz too when we will be in America and recovered from this tragic night, that Sabine and I will show them both around when someone startles me. All of us, to be honest. A hand grabs my shoulder and I turn to see a young woman standing at my side. Her hair and overall look dishevelled, she either refused or let go of her blanket as she's just wearing an unbuttoned wool coat. It takes me a moment to recognise the young lady Sabine and I bumped into as we ran to the promenade and saw the iceberg. I suddenly remember as a flash her walking past us at the arm of a young man. Now the look on her face is no longer numb...what's in her eyes is pure dread and frantic despair. "Pardon me, ladies, but I was wondering if you could help me? I'm looking for someone, maybe you've seen him. Here's a picture of him!" Both her voice and her hands shakes as she show us a miniature picture on the inside of her necklace. The young gentleman who was with her on the deck. In the picture he's wearing a uniform and a dignified smile is curling his lips. I grimace as we take a look and she continues, almost feverishly. "Name's Henry, Henry Atherton. He served in the Navy and...and he has quite an accent when he speaks, he's from Liverpool..have you seen him? We separated on the deck, he said he would get the next lifeboat I- I didn't want to go without him but he insisted saying we will be meet again when rescued but I can't find him anywhere, have you seen him?" My heart sinks as we all grimly shake our head saying that sadly no, we didn't see his Henry. Her face falls too but she won't surrender so soon. How long has she been searching for him? I wince at the thought of it. Sabine suggests her to go to the main deck: many survivors are still there or to ask directions for the other dining rooms. The young woman nods frantically and announces that she will go back to the deck. "Godspeed, we will come find you if we see him, Miss...?" I add as she's already resumed her search. She turns back and share her name before fighting her way through the crowd. Silence falls at our table as we share un uneasy look. I noticed a ring at her finger, I wonder if they're married, maybe even newlyweds. Maybe they decided to honeymoon on the Ship of Dreams...I pray she will find her Henry and her heart won't be broken in such a tragic way. In the days that follow, three days that resemble a haze, we soon realize that so many hearts broke or are bound to be shattered: so few of us made it to the Carpathia. Which means too many poor souls went to their watery grave. Fathers, husbands, wives, friends, crew, maids...even children. I hear that lifeboat 12 was filled with the corpses of those who froze to death on the vessels waiting for our rescue and abandoned there. I'm grateful I had already left the deck by that time and was spared such a sight. On a bright note, it seems the officer who came back to look for survivors manage to save three people in the end. The joyful hugs of sweet reunions of the first day become rare as hopes die when so many loved ones fail to reappear in the crowd. One of them is Henry: if he was here now, the poor girl would have no reason to sob uncontrollably in the arms of a maid. As we sail towards New York our hearts fill with a weird mix of relief of being alive and sorrow for all the lives lost at sea. Sabine takes charge of our group. I remember she mentioning being used to grief as she buried her family when she was young, and she tries her best to comfort me and the others. She tries to keep us busy, no matter how silly the tasks she suggests sound: "if the hands are busy working, mind aches less and heals faster", she explains, probably translating a motto a wise relative used to say to her. So she braids Hileni's hair and converses with her in French, or suggests card matches or literally anything that would prevent us from be quiet. Teo and Hileni sometimes oblige and joins her while James is ever absent. Always somewhere else, always lost in his own thought as if losing himself in a stupor. I wish I could talk to him but I have no words for him. Not now, at least: the wound is still too fresh. I return him his jacket and quickly hug him but that's all I can do for him. The one who concerns me most is Adele, surprisingly. The girl who left me speechless with her silver tongue during our short trip is now as quiet as a tomb. She tries to shake away her sadness when Hileni is around but the light in her eyes is fading. It's a terrible thing to see and it makes my heart aches even more. I find the idea of separating from her unbearable and I can only hope my closeness helps her somehow...even if I start doubting it. I escort her around the ship for walks because I can't bear the thought of her succumbing to her grief. I hold her close, uncaring of what others may think, but she's a ghost, a shadow of her usual self. I try not to think of what awaits me in America and make sure she eats, sleep, survive. I caress her hair hoping my presence is of some comfort to her. Maybe America will do her good too as it did for me. After the first year with Franz, that is. Maybe a change of scenery, a new job away, a new place to belong will help her moving on. Away from her past in England, from danger and this watery graveyard. I hope so...I can only hope so... One night I wake up before dawn and see her spot empty. A wave of dread runs down my spine as the worst thoughts crowd my mind. The others are sleeping, they didn't notice. Without thinking twice, I wrap a blanket around my shoulders and start looking for her, stopping every member of the crew on my way. Have they seen her? It's one of them telling me that he thinks he saw a girl meeting my description heading towards the main deck. I ran there full speed as I picture the worst: Adele diving overboard, Adele disappearing or freezing in the chilly night...but Adele is doing nothing of that. She's just...crying. She's crying, hugging her knees on a bench facing the ocean. Tears stream down her cheeks and she looks into the distance, into the darkness. I notice an officer nearby, probably wondering whether he should intervene, but when our eyes meet I gesture him I know the girl and he could resume his patrol. I walk towards her trying my best not to upset her. She doesn't seem to acknowledge my presence, lost in her own thoughts and sorrow. When I'm close enough, I reach out and caress her hair. My touch is gentle but sadly I startle her anyway. She looks up and meet my gaze: her eyes are puffed and red, I wonder how long she's been here alone on the desert deck. I smile down at her and nod to make room for me. She hesitates for a moment then scoot over and let me sit beside her. I wrap the blanket around her too and pull her close. We don't have to talk now, I can stay here, quiet and let her cry but she doesn't have to be alone. I kiss her forehead and caress her cheek: I'm right here, my love. Adele rests her head on my shoulder, grateful that I'm not forcing her to find words for the grief she's mourning. She holds on to me, wrapping her arms around my waist as if I am an anchor, her anchor in the storm shaking her soul. I stroke her back as her tears soak our blanket but I don't care. What I care and hope is she will feel a bit better after this: her wounds will take time to heal completely but grief needs tears at some point. When her breath slows down and normalises again, I sigh in relief: the storm is subsiding. That's when she speak, her voice hoarse from crying. Her words flow like waves and I'm glad she's opening up and not letting her sorrow eating her out. She's scared and broken. The horrors of that night are still vivid just like the memories of those left behind. The future is uncertain: she has lost everything, even the little she had, her savings...what are they gonna do in America? She blames herself: it's all her fault, she should have never dragged Hileni into this, how can her sister forgive her? However, I feel the real question here is how my love will forgive herself... I would like to say something but she continues. She has lost everything, including the only friends she made on board. "You and Sabine excluded, obviously" she adds, making me smile a little. I ask her who she's referring to. With a heavy sight, she explains she has not seen her cabinmate ever since. They parted ways on the ship, the water was rising fast in the Turkish Baths when she gave her friend directions to the decks. Adele is worried she didn't make it. "She broke her leg in the collision" she explains grimly before adding. "She provided the posters and pictures for your party. She...she had this dress made for me" Oh right, I think I remember. The cabinmate who is a huge fan of mine and works for Maison Lucille? I ask if it's Corinna she's talking about. "Her real name is Lena" she says but I glad to see her lips curl into a weak smile at my question. Then her eyes fall on her blue jacket and she goes quiet again. She categorically refuses to take it off. Ever, not even to replace it with something warmer. A sudden realisation hits me. I ask her if another friend gave it to her even if I already know the answer. So that's how I learn about Charlie Stoke, brave young steward who helped my love without never asking anything back. A fast friendship as it happens on ships, a friendship tragically interrupted. They parted ways in the engine room, she says. As soon as I hear it, I turn her to face her. My stomach turns at the mere picture of it. "The engine room? You went down there when the ship was sinking?" I ask searching her eyes. I am grateful I get to know this now: if I had known back then, I would have been shattered, utterly defeated. My foolish desperate love... "Yes, all the corridors were flooded and it was the only way out, he said. He was...right" she explains then she lowers her eyes and fresh tears run down her cheeks. "He didn't join you on the deck..." I wince, connecting the dots. No, he stayed down there to help the firemen keeping the lights on till the very last minute. That poor boy gave his life to save our, so many other lives who will never hear once of him. I immediately understand why he and Adele became so close friends in such a short time, two selfless and idealist gems casting a light so bright in this delusional world. I suddenly wish I got the chance to know this Charlie, we were strangers yet so close at my party... I caress my love's face as she regrets not saving him. She tried to stop him but he didn't listen to her. But then, maybe he would have been furious to her for not respecting his decision, his sacrifice. He allowed her to stay a bit longer but then encouraged her to go to the boats and survive this ordeal. "And I respect his decision, he saved my life and Matteo and Hileni but I feel...so lonely now. Without him and I know it's selfish of me when he-" Her voice breaks as her grief strikes hard. I pull her into an embrace and cradle her into my arms. I'm so sorry, my dear love, I'm so terribly sorry... When we part, I brush her hair away from her face, gently, and lean closer and kiss her tears away. No one is in sight or near enough to notice us. Then, I meet Adele's troubled gaze. It softens as I cup her face, stroking her wet cheeks with my thumb. "You are not alone, Adele, no matter how lonely you feel in the aftermath of this tragedy. You have Hileni and it's because of you, thanks to you she's here, quietly sleeping belowdecks. You went down to the belly of that ship and brought her to safety. You saved her. And Teo: you remember how you stood up for him with that officer? You fool" I smile tenderly at her, even if my forehead had certainly covered with cold sweat back then. "And Sabine! I'm pretty sure she has a liking for my former secretary. Tomorrow or when we reach shore we will try and find your cabinmate too, huh? If she's anything like you, I bet she's here somewhere. And...most importantly-" I take a pause: I want her to remember what I'm gonna say next. "You have me, Adele. You will always have me. I don't want to part from you anytime soon. I'll find a way, we'll find a way and- and maybe I can help you starting anew in New York, huh? I would gladly do it, if you let me. No, don't give me that look, my dear suffragette, I know you're an independent woman, I just wanna help" Adele suppresses a giggle at my last comment but I'm sure my words moved her. In full response, she reaches out and places her hand over mine. I follow her gesture and intertwine our fingers after one last stroke to her cheek. I look down at our hands as I choose carefully what to say. "I still want to believe that a renaissance is about to come. Mine, yours" I search her eyes again. "It's always darkest before the dawn, sweetheart, but our renaissance is just out there. I'm sure of it" Adele ponders my words then offers me a weak smile where I sense a little sparkle of hope. She rests her head on my shoulder again, pacified, and asks me if we can stay there a bit longer. Who am I to say no to my troubled Angel? "Tell me about New York. Is it bigger than London?" she whispers, cuddling up to me. I smile to myself at the thought of the city that I call home. The idea of sharing it with Adele makes me unbelievably happy. I tell her of the boulevards and high buildings, so high they look like they're touching the sky. Then the parks, my beloved Central Park, and the theatres, the cafes and restaurants, the movie theatres...the atmosphere. I have never been in a city like that. It's thrilling, vibrant but also quiet and comforting. You just need to know where to find what you look for. I savour the feeling of joyful anticipation of guiding my love through the streets and my favourite spots. To host her at my place and chat freely with her, not needing to refrain our affection. A smile is still lingering on my lips as I conclude my speech and press a quick kiss on the crown of her head. "You'll love it, Adele. I'll show you"

#storyscape titanic #zetta serda #adele carrem #zetta x adele #zetta x adele series

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avengerscompound · 5 years

Text

Alternate Methods

Alternate Methods: A Bucky Barnes Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 1817

Rating: E

Square filled: @buckybarnesbingo - U5, Magic

Warnings: Enhanced Reader, Smut (F|M, vaginal sex, sex using powers)

Synopsis: When training gets too much for you, Bucky takes you to take your mind off it.

Alternate Methods

Bucky watched as you sat with Loki and Wanda. No one was really sure what it was that convinced Loki to help you with your powers. Tony had suggested perhaps he was just bored. Steve said maybe it was curiosity given the potential power you held. Thor was, of course, convinced that he had changed now and was doing it because he was a good person. Though it could be that he just wanted to believe that about his brother rather than actually believing it. Whatever the case, he’d taken you on as a kind of apprentice. According to him and Strange your powers were linked to the Dark Dimension It flowed through you like you were a doorway to its power.

Bucky wondered if that’s what Loki was interested in. Strange had definitely been concerned by your connection to that particular realm. He’d wanted to take you with him. You had refused. He tried to force it. You’d shown him exactly what you thought of that idea.

The compromise had been Loki and Wanda train you. Well, Loki would train you. Wanda would do her best to help where she could and she’d keep Loki in check. It was hard to say exactly what Loki got out of the exchange because watching the three of you, mostly what seemed to happen was Loki got frustrated you weren’t as adept at controlling things as he was.

“Not like that, you stupid girl.” Loki snapped, as you pulled what appeared to be a glass shard from the air.

“You said conjure a blade. This is a blade.” You said defensively.

“That is a Space Shard. If I had wanted you to conjure a Space Shard I would have said so.” He hissed. “Now put it back.”

“Fine.” You said rolling your eyes and opening your hand. The shard seemed to just dissolve into the air and you sat back and tapped your hand impatiently on the table.

“The more you tap directly into the magic from the Dark Dimension, the more it will corrupt you. Do you want to be a soulless puppet being used at the whim of another, because I’d be more than happy to oblige if that is what you desire. Perhaps you should ask the soldier over there what that feels like.” Loki hissed, making a sweeping gesture in Bucky’s direction.

“Loki!” Wanda yelped. “That was uncalled for!”

“Do not deem to tell me how to do this, little girl.” Loki snarled.

Bucky cleared his throat and all three of you turned to look at him. “Might be time to call it a day.” He said.

Loki rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He said. “You meditate tonight. Try to feel the energy of this realm.”

“Okay.” You said with a sigh.

Loki shook his head and got up, sweeping out of the room.

Wanda touched your hand gently. “It’s fine. You’re doing fine. I know the stuff he’s showing you doesn’t come naturally to you the way the other things do, but that’s why he’s teaching you.”

You sighed and nodded. “Yeah. I know. It just feels stupid not doing the things I can do. You know?”

She rubbed your hand and got up. “Relax. Meditate. You’ll get there.”

Wanda patted Bucky’s arm as she left the room and Bucky watched you as you flopped down on the table, burying your head in your arms. He approached you and sat beside you. He gently touched your shoulder and rubbed it in soothing circles.

“Sorry about what Loki said.” You said, tilting your head to look at him.

Bucky shrugged. “Loki is Loki.” He said. “He’s not wrong though.”

“About which bit?” You asked.

“Being someone’s puppet. You don’t want that. If using your magic means someone can use you like that, you need to not use it.” He said.

“I know.” You said frowning.

Bucky took your hand, linking his fingers with yours. “Come on. Let’s go meditate.”

Bucky led you to the room you shared and spread out a mat on the ground, while Alpine made it as difficult as possible for him to do. Getting in under it. Attacking the corners, winding his way in and out of Bucky’s legs. You twisted your wrist and all the candles in the room burst into flame. You dimmed the lights and came and sat on the mat opposite Bucky cross-legged.

“You going to do the talking or am I?” You asked.

He let out a breath. “For you? I can do it.”

You nodded and closed your eyes.

“Let your muscles become loose and relaxed, starting with your feet... your ankles... lower legs... knees.... upper legs... pelvis... torso... back... shoulders... arms... hands... face... and head.”

Bucky walked you through the meditation. He tried to relax as he had you focus on your breathing and become aware of the energy of the room. As he felt his own muscles relax, Alpine climbed into his lap and curled up. The heavy weight of the cat on his legs was a reassuring pressure for him.

After some time, he gradually walked you back through it, so you were more aware of your own body again and when he said open your eyes, his eyes met yours.

You yawned and stretched. Bucky wasn’t sure, but it almost seemed like your skin was crackling with energy. “Man,” You said, in a voice that was a little heavy and gravelly like you’d just woken up from a deep sleep. “For a while there I couldn’t tell where I ended and everything else began.”

“See,” Bucky said, putting his hands on your knees. “You’re connected to this world too. The magic in it is yours too. Just because you can open a door to something else doesn’t mean that’s all you are.”

You smiled and leaned forward and kissed him. “When did you get so smart?”

He smiled softly. “Aww, darlin’, I was born that way.”

You giggled and climbed up into his lap. Alpine made a disgruntled meow and climbed up onto Bucky’s shoulder, glaring at you. “Aww, I’m sorry, kitty.” You said, scratching behind his ear and leaning in. Alpine took a few seconds to forgive you before he stretched forward and bumped your face with his. “Thank you, Aly cat.” You said.

The soft motor rev of Alpines purr started up in his ear. “So, Bucky,” You said leaning in and rubbing your nose on his. “Magic sex?”

Bucky chuckled. “What have you got planned?”

“You ever seen the original Ghostbusters?” You asked.

“No.” He answered as he looked up into your eyes.

“Well, you’re in for a treat.” You said. “For two reasons. Because we can watch the original Ghostbusters after.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh as he went in and kissed you again. Alpine jumped from his shoulder and up on to the bed with a disgruntled huff. You pushed Bucky back on the mat and straddled his waist, grinding against his cock as you kissed him hungrily.

His cock began to harden immediately. Even though he was generally quite used to your touch now, he was still on a hair-trigger when it came to sex. All you had to do was touch him in a slightly sexual way and he’d start getting hard. He could feel the heat of your cunt against his cock, even through the clothes you each wore. His sweats and your yoga pants just felt like an annoyingly thin barrier between both your bodies.

There was a tingle to your lips as he kissed you passionately. Almost like the crackle of electricity, but not quite. He moaned against your lips and began to rut up against you. There was a crackle in the air and you both began to levitate off the ground.

“Fuck,” Bucky said breaking the kiss. “Is this safe.”

You looked down at him with lush blown eyes. “Yeah. Trust me. I promise this is this world magic.”

There was another crackle and both yours and his clothes seemed to dissolve into the aether. You ground down against him even as you kept him aloft. His cock slid up and down your already slick cunt. He groaned and leaned up nuzzling at your breast and sucking on them.

You let out a soft moan leaning behind you and teasing his balls as you rocked against his cock. His adrenaline was pumping as his need for you grew. You rotated in the air and shot up, his back hitting the ceiling hard enough to knock a breath of air from him.

“Careful now.” He said. His hair hung down around his face in sheets, and he tried to brush it back so he could keep watching you.

You leaned back giggling. “Sorry, Bucky.” You said, taking his cock in your hand and guiding him into you. He moaned as your cunt squeezed his cock, the wet, heat engulfing it.

You started to ride him, swirling your hips as you defied gravity and bounced on his cock. Bucky’s heart was racing but he thrust with you, as he held onto your hips. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you. You looked so alive. So full of life. Like the very world around you fed you.

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed as he held on, letting the pleasure course through him. You began to rub your clit as you seemed to get lost in the wave of pleasure you were riding. Bucky could feel you moving against him and the wall against his back, but he couldn’t tell which way was up. He kept fucking up into you and when your body spasmed and you came, you cunt squeezed and fluttered around his cock. Milking it. Dragging his own orgasm from him.

He bucked up suddenly and the two of you flipped, spinning through the air as he emptied inside you. For a brief moment, he felt like he was spinning through space itself. Then he was back on the mat, completely entwined with you, as his cock pulsed with his release.

He lay panting, holding you close and buried inside you as his heart slowed back to its usual steady rhythm and his breathing settled. “Magic sex is a trip.” He said.

You giggled and nuzzled into your neck. “I like taking it with you.”

“Pity you can’t just do that when you’re training.” He teased as the two of you untangled from each other.

“I mean I could, but it might make Wanda blush a little.” You joked.

Bucky laughed and kissed you tenderly. “Movie now?” He asked pulling back.

“Mmm… that sounds good.” You agreed.

The two of you got into bed and Alpine curled up in his lap, purring happily now he didn’t have to worry about being disturbed by anymore magic trick for a little while.

#buckybarnesbingo2019 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #magic #alternate methods

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spyder-m · 4 years

Text

Shumako Week 2020, Day Five: Put Some Love Into It

@shumakoweek Day Five: Coffee / Cooking / Dinner Date.

AO3 / FF.net

Summary: When her sister spoke fondly of the coffee sold by a shop in Yongen, Makoto felt compelled to try it. AU

Makoto wasn't entirely sure what had brought her to the coffee shop in Yongen-jaya. The cafe had been out of her way, the complete opposite direction from both her apartment and the University campus.

It seemed like a lot of effort to go to for something she could have just as easily bought from a vending machine, or one of the many chain stores dotted around the city.

Yet, hearing her older sister speak so fondly of the store's coffee had piqued her interest.

Sae was a perfectionist. For the coffee to have left such a good impression on her, it must have been of the highest quality.

Seeing as she rarely stopped by their apartment, perhaps Makoto had also hoped they might run into each other there.

Leblanc was tucked away in a narrow alley, boasting its own hustle and bustle unique from the sprawling metropolis. There were smatterings of children, families and pets, moving about between the local businesses.

Bells chimed as Makoto stepped through the front door, her body enveloped by warmth and the permeating scent of cigarettes and the store's many roasts.

It drew her eyes to the shelf lined with a variety of beans and spices. Makoto considered herself quite capable in the culinary department, yet she never realised there were so many different blends of coffee to choose from.

The range was rather overwhelming.

"Oh, welcome."

A middle-aged man stooping over the counter set down his newspaper to greet her. He stood beside a contraption made of numerous bulbs and clasps, appearing more like something out of a laboratory than any machine she’d seen in cafes.

"What can I get for you?"

"I- I'm not quite sure." Makoto answered, eyes drawn to the menu board. "There certainly is a lot to choose from."

"A newbie, huh?" The owner chuckled, before turning and setting to work. "Hold on. I can make you something I think you'll enjoy."

Hesitant, the strap of Makoto's bag slipped from her shoulder as she seated herself at the counter.

A black cat sauntered down the stairs with a stretch of its limbs and a long, deep meow, sniffing at her feet, curious. Makoto eyed the animal. For many businesses, its mere presence would be an obvious health violation.

Did Leblanc also double as a cat cafe?

"Here you are." The man called, Makoto's focus shifting back the counter-top as a steaming cup was placed before her.

"Oh, thank you."

Coffee was something Makoto had developed a taste for in high school; the caffeine helping her concentrate during long study sessions. While, over the years, she'd found a tolerance for the bitter nectar, it was never really something she savoured or choose to drink for any purpose other than necessity.

She was, by no means, a connoisseur.

Yet, the care shown to this particular blend was apparent to her from the moment it settled on her tongue. No sooner had the first sip of rich, brown liquid trickled down her throat, that Makoto was struck by a realisation.

She had never truly drunk coffee before.

The city was crowded by people all in a hurry, rushing to make a train or their next meeting. They needed their coffee prepared as quickly as possible, the margin for quality wasn't quite as high.

Yet, in this shop, tucked away from the rush and demand, the owner had been afforded the time and luxury necessary to capture a roasts potential. Customers would wait patiently, sitting, engaged in relaxed conversation; almost an entirely different culture that Makoto had not been privy to.

Nursing her drink, Makoto began mentally mapping out alternate routes she could take to class; wondering if she could feasibly pass Leblanc on her way to University.

She would definitely be coming again.

The cafe provided a safe haven for Makoto when mid-terms rolled around.

Even having stayed at the top of her year and been entrenched in regular study sessions for as long as she could remember, the academic demands of University still gave Makoto challenge.

She was now competing against some of the best performing students from across the country, many of whom; like her; had scored the highest grades in elite prep schools. Makoto still held the coveted, number one spot but was having to work harder than she ever had before to maintain it.

Though normally favouring the library to study, Makoto had opted to avoid heading there for today. The facilities were packed out at this time of year, with students all trying desperately to fit in a last-minute binge of the term's curriculum, praying that the information would stick.

Finding a place to sit would be a nightmare.

The ambiance of Leblanc, however, would allow her the concentration necessary for one last refresher of notes for her next exam. As well as a much-needed shot of caffeine.

"Oh. Welcome."

The unfamiliar voice startled Makoto, drawing her to a person behind the counter she did not recognise. Dressed casually in a button-down shirt and jeans; he peered towards her, his dark, shaggy head masked by glasses.

He was young, much closer to her in age than Sakura-san; or any of the cafe's regular clientele, for that matter. Seeming out of place amidst the shop's rather rustic decor.

Makoto wondered, momentarily, if she had mistakenly stepped through the wrong door, the evening having coated the streets in darkness.

Yet her eyes carried over the familiar canisters of beans and spices, suddenly enveloping her again in that eerie, nervous energy she had felt before. This sense of being out of place that Makoto thought she had managed to dispel. As though, in this stranger’s presence, the safe haven she had sought was slowly slipping away, an alien replica forming in its place.

"H- hello," she ventured after a moment. "Is- Is Boss around?"

The man behind the counter shock his head, black waves of hair rustling slightly with the movement.

"He had to step out for a moment. Left me in charge to run the store."

"Oh."

While the young man seemed pleasant enough, any further thought of conversation was stifled by Makoto's struggle placing the young man before her.

From the apron, and his position behind the counter, it was obvious he was working here. Yet, Makoto found this confusing. She had thought Sakura-san ran a one-man operation. Leblanc didn't seem like it did the business to afford, or even warrant, other employees.

Still, no other possible explanation could come to her. The only family Boss had mentioned to her had been a daughter, so this couldn't have been relative of his.

As she usually stopped by in the morning, it made sense that she wouldn't have seen him, until now.

Conscious suddenly that she had been standing, silently pondering, for several seconds; the part-timer still watching her expectantly; Makoto flushed.

"W- well, in that case. May I have a cup of Jamaican Blue?"

It was the first blend Boss had made for her. In a way, the aroma and flavour that had forged her connection to the Cafe and Boss. Perhaps retracing that palette would remind her of the comfort this room had brought her, making her feel home in her own skin and extending an olive branch to the stranger before her.

Blossoming perhaps a similarly fruitful relationship.

"Sure thing," the barista saluted. "I can't promise my coffee will be as good as Boss', but I am learning."

Though she wouldn’t dare admit it aloud, his words held true. His coffee was not as refined as Boss’. Still, it was familiar in its care, in the depth of its flavour profile. As she sipped from the cup with a contented sigh, it was clear to Makoto that he had followed the man’s instructions closely and would bud into a fine protégé.

"So, what brings you here tonight?" The barista asked her between sips.

Normally such a conversation might bother Makoto, particularly when she had plans to study, but the man's easy smile and soothing timbre were welcome. Setting down her cup, she replied.

"I'm in the middle of exams at Tokyo University. I was hoping to get some last-minute revision in and needed the kick."

"Tokyo, huh? Isn't this kind out of your way? Or do you live around here?"

"No, I don’t. But the coffee is worth it. It's ruined me for anything else in the city."

"Really?" He chuckled. "Perhaps I could teach you then? That way you don't have to keep coming here."

Makoto smiled softly at the man's quip, but in all honesty she enjoyed coming here. Despite the laborious trips and extra train fare, sitting and savouring each finely prepared roast made it worthwhile. The store had a different atmosphere from anywhere else in the city.

"Oh, no. I couldn't trouble you. I don't have the equipment at home anyway."

She could only imagine how much she would need to save to be able to afford a proper coffee siphon like that. Nor where she could source beans the quality that Sakura-san used.

"Oh yeah, that's a problem." The part-timer nodded, scratching his head. "Still, it couldn't hurt to try."

Makoto's fingers stroked against her chin, weighing the temptation in her mind.

Though she had more pressing obligations, she couldn't deny her curiosity. She had watched Sakura-san prepare coffee many times and still hadn't been able to wrap her head around everything it involved.

"Are you sure it’s okay?"

"Why not?" The barista shrugged. "It's pretty much dead here, anyway."

Her books and plans to study momentarily forgotten, Makoto set her bag down; slipping on the apron that was handed to her in its place.

He led her meticulously through the process. Measuring out and grinding the coffee, using timers and thermometers to make sure everything was precise. Even breaking things down slowly, Makoto was a little overwhelmed.

To think that Sakura-san and his apprentice had to recall such an involved recipe off hand, all to make a single cup of coffee.

It was no wonder why they were of such quality. The love and effort that was devoted to each blend could not be substituted.

His tutoring was disrupted by bells tinkered as the front door opened. Heart catching in her throat, Makoto turned as Sakura-san took her in; apron and all; with a look of bewilderment.

“Niijima-san? What are you doing here?” His employee waved from beside her with a sheepish grin “And you?

As Makoto attempted to stammer out an explanation, Sakura-san’s eyes narrowed at the space between, a mischievous, knowing glimmer crossing his features.

"Oh. I’m sorry,” He said, voice suddenly devoid of any confusion. “I didn’t realise you had company.”

“Boss, I-” Makoto's head bowed, apprehensive to meet his gaze.

“Please, don’t leave on my account. This old man’ll get out of your hair. Just make sure you lock up, kid.”

Though she wasn’t looking directly towards him, from her periphery, she could’ve sworn she caught Boss winking behind the counter, in their direction.

Puzzled, she glanced over at the man beside her who shrugged, a breathless laugh trailing from his lips.

It struck her as odd that the part-timer didn’t seem at all concerned about being caught by Boss in such a manner.

“I’m sorry. I hope you aren’t in any trouble.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it.” His hand waved, non-plussed. “I doubt he’s gonna fire me flirting with a customer. If anything, he’s probably pleased.”

“Y- you were flirting with me?”

“Well, I guess it wasn’t the most conventional method, but...” He blushed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, that’s what I was going for”

“Oh. I- I see.”

Though she hadn’t thought anything of it, in hindsight, it seemed a rather strange offer to make out of the blue. From the way they had been standing close to one another, his hands helping to guide her through each step. Now that he had clarified, it seemed obvious.

Shrinking in on herself from embarrassment, Makoto struggled to peel her gaze from the floor. The chain of events she had just endured leaving her mortified.

"It's uh... It's getting late. I might take this to go, if that’s alright.”

“Oh. Sure.”

Makoto wasn't even sure if Leblanc offered take-away drinks, typically, but the barista nonetheless retrieved a Styrofoam cup from behind the counter. Hands dipping into his pocket, he fished out a black marker and began to scrawl something on the side of the cup, pausing briefly to glance up at her.

“You know, I never caught your name.”

“Huh? Oh, it's Niijima. Niijima Makoto.”

Makoto frowned, wondering what reason he could possibly need her name for. She was the only one in the store, there wouldn't be any need for him to call it out.

“I'm Amamiya Ren.” He replied as he set the cup back down and began pouring out her coffee. “Pleased to meet you, Niijima-san. Seeing as you're a regular here, I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.”

Ren was careful to turn the cup away as he handed it over, shielding whatever he'd written from view. Bursting with curiosity, Makoto held off the urge to turn it around until she'd made it outside, beyond the reach of his gaze.

She was surprised to find printed there carefully was not her name but a series of digits – his number, presumably.

Rolling her eyes, a fond smile lifted Makoto's expression as she took another sip; the rich taste seeping tantalisingly between her lips.

She would definitely be coming back.

#persona 5 #p5 #shumako #shumakoweek #shumako week day 5 #fanfiction #au #makoto niijima

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