#never drawing an instrument again I swear | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daenysthedreamersblog · 4 months

Text

STRANGERS II - HIS DARLING BLUEBELL

I tried to be good. Am I no good? Am I no good? Am I no good?

If I'm turning in your stomach and I'm making you feel sick

part one here

summary: your victory tour has ended, and snow throws a party for you to let the bidding war over you begin. but as the time for the final deal draws closer, can president snow truly part with his favorite little victor?

pairings: president!snow x district6! reader

warnings: MDNI! swearing, heavy drinking, non/dub-con touching / kissing, choking, dub-con, fingering, oral sex, power imbalance, slapping, spitting, me trying to describe hair styles, let me know if i forgot anything!

notes: hope you enjoy part two! tysm for reading 🤍

You couldn't sleep without two bottles of wine at least while also baring the train car door with a chair to keep him out. He never came or else you would have heard the banging. He would have tried and most likely succeeded breaking down the door and once again violating your space. You knew it would only enrage him more, locking him out, but it gave you some sense of peace. Allowed you to find sleep underneath piles of blankets surrounded by empty cups.

You also knew if he asked you nicely you would open the door in an instant, and you hated that part of yourself the most.

The train had stopped a long while ago and you waited for someone to retrieve you. You had removed the chair and sat there peacefully until the Avox came within the room beckoning to follow. You did, you followed them off the train and onto the concrete platform. Taking a deep breath, the smoke from the train blowing off into the winds; you found strength in the scent, found yourself wishing that puff of smoke was blowing you away with it.

President Snow was gone leaving you in worried silence wondering what corner he would be lurking around.

The tribute center hadn't changed in the months you had been gone and the ride up the elevator was actually nostalgic. How different life had been back then, how afraid you were for different things. It dinged on the sixth floor allowing you off and your feet gravitated to your old room. You peered to the right, to the door that would never open again revealing the freckle faced boy you had come here with. He had died in the first five minutes of the games and you never knew his name too caught up in your own woes about dying.

"Good afternoon miss." A bright smile greeted you. "President Snow sent me." She was flanked by two others opening kits of instruments and fabric and colored makeup. She had her hand around your back ushering you to the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up for him hmm?”

The chill went through you; for him. It might be a figure of speech since he was the President and everything was always inherently his. You lived in his districts, you won his games, you would always be his property, and maybe that’s why he felt a right to your body too. You let them strip you, let them wax and pluck and shave down every part of you until your skin was raw.

They sat you down and styled your hair into elegant waves down your back slicking your bangs against your head and behind your ears to let your hair hang permanently over your shoulders and down your back. They airbrushed makeup onto your face covering your lids in gentle colors, putting a soft pink gloss on your lips. And finally when that was done, when they had rubbed your body down with sweet smelling lotions and perfumes, did they slip on the dress.

It was white, a slight sparkle to it when the light hit it, off the shoulder sleeves hanging against your biceps a slight cowl neckline and bodice that hugged your waist, cinching it in tight. The skirt stopped at your feet the two stylist sliding you into white heels.

"You look absolutely ethereal." The stylist mused running fingers along your hair to get it perfect, smoothing down any stray pieces. "An image of innocence." Your eyes flashed to her, pride gleaming in her face, but the others. They seemed sad, almost ashamed as they turned away from you. "Final touches." She slipped the red rose corsage along your wrist the disgusting smell wafting up to your face. "Perfect. Now wait here until he comes to fetch you."

They left like they came, quickly and without many words leaving you in a heart drumming silence. The room felt like it was caving in and suddenly your breaths were hard to find as panic choked you, the bodice of the dress squeezing your lungs. You spun, gripping the back of the chair to walk, soon grappling for the armchair wanting to rip this dress off so you could breath. You forced an exhale out wrapping your arms around the back trying to rip it off. You couldn't do this, couldn't go out there and let him sell you, let him sell your body. You could hear your heart beat throbbing in your throat as you stumbled over to the small cart holding liquor white knuckles holding onto it to stay standing. You snatched the cap off, throwing it across the room and chugged the burning white liquid down until your insides felt on fire, until most of it was gone.

You threw it at the window, watching it shatter to pieces, but the window never broke trapping you in with light reflected shards of glass. You grabbed a bottle of wine off the cart, fell to the floor with a sob, dizzy and heavy with grief. Maybe you deserved all of this after everything, after killing that boy, after surviving, after some elder family member had rebelled. You ripped the top off the wine and drank deep wallowing in self-pity until your doom came for you.

The door open and closed without protest, no chair would keep him out anyways. You listened to the short clips of his shoes as he came around and stood behind you like a shadow, like a guardian angel. He tsked, squatting down, turning your face towards him. He looked immaculate in a white suit, a single red rose pinned to his chest; a perfect opposite to your ensemble.

A single tear rolled down your cheek as you stared up at him with scared eyes, "Please." You whimpered. “Don’t make me go out there.”

He raised his eyebrow, an amused look on his face, "Oh my darling bluebell." His hold on your face tightened as he yanked you forward forcing you to throw your hands out to brace the floor, "My good little bluebell." His eyes flickered around your face, a cold rage settling in and then his hand was around your neck stealing the breath out of you. You gaped at him, mouth opening and closing trying to force the words out, trying to claw up his arm to pull him off, but he only yanked you closer, bodies flush as your vision split and blurred. "As it is given...it can be taken away." He hissed pressing a bruising kiss to your lips, his hand loosing, the gasp opening up your mouth for him to slip inside.

His tongue was dominating, shoving down your throat as he attempted to devour you whole. It was a mesh of teeth and tongue; his kiss starving, hungry, like the Capitol never gave him enough food and he was planning to eat you. Fingers were digging in, carving out a place for him to control, breath by breath he took out of your chest until finally he pulled back, a string of spit trailing between the two of you.

You opened your mouth to speak, to ask him why he was doing all of this, but the words failed as your wide eyes flickered around his face.

He stood up and went to the door leaving you waiting in a pile of tears and broken glass. He opened the door, "Call Tigris." He instructed to someone outside of the door. Then it closed again, and he took a deep breath, your eyes flashed up to him as he readjusted his pants, the hard bulge in them prominent. He clicked his tongue hands resting on his hips as he stared at the ground, and then down at you still shaking on the floor.

Then he threw off his suit jacket. "Fuck it."

He came striding forward once more with purpose, lust blowing his pupils wide. "No!" You cried out falling back on your butt, crawling backwards until your leg snagged on the dress and you went tumbling to the ground. You rolled trying to scramble to your feet, but his hand had wrapped around your calf where the old scar still sometimes hurt. You clawed and kicked at him, "Please!" The sob broke out, feeling him pushing the pretty white dress up, the unbuckling sound ringing in your ears too loudly. "I've been good! I've been so good." You shook your head as he pinned your legs down with his hips. "Please Mr. President sir," Tears rolls down your cheeks. "Haven't I been good? Your good girl, please don't do this." You tried to fake tenderness by running your fingers down his arm, but nothing stopped him. It all fell on deaf ears as his hands found the hem of your underwear and he began to pull down. You thrashed more, cried and clawed at him, but he seemed content to ravage you.

"Coriolanus." A woman's voice shot through the room and he stilled atop of you hands slowly leaving from under the dress.

He sighed, his forehead pressing into yours as if it had been such a ruined intimate moment. He began to climb off, straightening himself up again. "Tigris." He said smoothing down his hair. "Get her cleaned up I'll be back in a half-hour."

You laid there in silence listening to him leave, listening to the door close with his exit the sound throbbing in your head. She finally came around staring at you disheveled on the floor. "Come on." She grabbed your hand helping you up, and back into the chair in front of the vanity. It wasn't horrible considering all that had happened. Your lipstick was smudged with small marks of mascara tracks down your face, which she solved in a matter of minutes. Your hair had only needed a quick brush and more spray to fix. Then you were perfect again; like he had never touched you. The feeling remained; his hungry lips on yours, his devouring hands. Your lip began to wobble as water welled, "Don't cry." You blinked up at her, "Please." She whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at the corner of your eye to prevent the liquid from spilling over. "Are you alright?"

You only stared at her with furrowed brows at the dumbest question she could have asked. You pushed her away gathering shaking breaths as you turned from her.

"He..." She sighed still looking at you. "He is...he just..." You glared at her over your shoulder and she dropped her voice, "I'm sorry he is doing this you."

"If you were sorry," You seethed letting your anger show. It was rare. "You wouldn't fix me up so he can sell me like a prized mare!"

Tigris frowned truly saddened by the words taking a step back like you had slapped her. "I'm sorry." She said again grabbing her things and beginning to retreat. "I'm sorry." She went to the door opening it, "Coriolanus." She said staring up at him. "Can I speak w-!"

"Go." He gritted out as she stumbled out of the door and into the hall. He slammed the door behind her. He stared at the closed door for a second, took a deep breath, then turned to take you in once again, "Perfection." He smiled as you slowly turned to fully look at him. He came forward and your foot slid back, "Oh my little bluebell." He mused continually moving for you. "I didn't mean to mess up your makeup." He took your hands in his not really offering anymore of an explanation. "Can you forgive me?" He kissed your knuckles staring at you expectingly from under his lashes.

What were you to say to the president of Panem? No?

"I forgive you, Mr. President, sir."

He beamed, hands coming around your face, "That's my good girl." His thumb caressed your cheek, "Now give me a kiss." You sucked in a breath and let him guide you to his mouth pressing your lips to his own. He hummed gently against you, tongue sweeping along your bottom lip, but he pulled back your gloss shining on his plush mouth. "Don't want to make us late." He pushed stray pieces of hair off your neck and tucked your arm in his elbow to lead you out of the room. "I have a few people I want you to meet..." He kept talking but you drowned him out as he walked you down the hallway his grip borderline painful.

He ushered you out into the hall with ohs-awes echoing around everyone straining to get a look at the Capitol's pet until the next games rolled around. Snow was speaking motioning to you and once everyone had toasted to him, the Capitol, the games did he begin to pull you around the room; a pretty accessory on his arm.

"Isn't she lovely." He said introducing you to a herd of men staring greedily. You stared ahead, far away as you heard him whisper about you, something about being well behaved, a few chuckles followed and pocket books opened, "Come," He opened his arm wide for you to walk forward. "Introduce yourself."

Your name sounded foreign, like it didn’t belong to you anymore as you shook their hands. "Nice to meet you sir," With each pleasantry and curtsy. It went around and around until you felt dizzy with each turn you made to meet someone new, someone who wanted to buy a body because 23 others had died. For some reason it made you curl against your fearsome President more as if he would stop these vultures from descending upon you; how ironic. You tugged on his hand to make him look. How dark his blue eyes seemed to get seeing you clinging to him like a savior.

"What is it?" He dropped his voice his hand patting yours.

You gazed up with pleading eyes, "I need a drink."

"Yes, of course." He leaned lower stroking your chin, "Not too much remember?" You nodded as he straightened up and smiled.

"Will you excuse me gentlemen?" You peered at the circle of buyers.

One had his arm wrapped around your bicep and your eyes flared up as he yanked you, "I can walk you over there."

No, no, no. You wildly searched for Snow behind his tall frame, and didn't have to look for long as a hand appeared on the man's chest, "Get your hands off her before I have them removed from your body." His voice was low. The man scoffed. This is what they were there for; me, and their president was stopping their grubby, money stained hands. Snow stepped closer, "Did I not make myself clear."

The hand fell off you and you rubbed the redness, "You promised that we-!"

"I didn't promise anything." Snow stood tall staring down his nose at the man. "Especially not to you." He waved a hand and you heard peacekeepers moving in, his eyes met yours, "Go."

"Mr. President, sir." You hid the shake in your voice as you slipped away hearing the whispers of praise about the view walking away was giving them. You didn't look back as you charged to the refreshments table grabbing the expecting flute from the servant's hand. You chugged it swiftly before anyone could notice and then forced them to refill. This time you drank it slower, body still lagging from the liquor you had drowned in earlier. If you kept in a constant daze everything felt a little more distant, like your drunk mind had made it up, fabricated the story.

"He sure does seem to like playing with you." Your head snapped to the young woman, the victor from District 4. "Mags," She smiled. She slid up besides you, nursing her own flute of champagne, "It gets easier."

"When?"

She chuckled, "When they get bored, when other victors emerge. You got bad luck, you're the first female victor since my games." Which was four games ago, "They're salivating simply to smell you." She took a sip from her flute, "You should have never told him you were a virgin."

Your eyes were wild. "H-How?" Don't stutter darling, your mother's voice, It isn't proper.

"You think he wouldn't 'leak' that to the posse he sells us all to?" Mags shook her head, "It's made mutts of them all."

"It was an accident." You took a shaky breath remembering that day on the train. "I thought something was going to happen and I wanted him to st-!"

Her hand grabbed your arm, "He's touching you?" Her grip grew firm, "Isn't he?"

You drained the flute to avoid her seeing your horridly confused face, "Did he not..."

"No, never." Her face held genuine concern. "Some minor comments, but no he never. Didn't parade me around on his arm, didn't coordinate outfits," Mags scoffed, "He made me wear this ugly teal thing as homage to my district." You couldn't speak, couldn't seem to settle yourself. "Maybe because of the whole new victory tour he felt he could get away with more. He does like his power-trips, and you're such a obedient little thing. His cock probably is straining in his pants just looking at you all pouty." You set the flute down holding your hand to your head to stop the thoughts from pouring out, dizzy with her words. They felt so brutal like the blows were hitting you in the heart. "Oh dear. I'm sorry I really never know when to shut-up." She turned you to face her, "It's alright. Here." She grabbed a fresh flute of champagne and forced it into your hands, "The first time is the hardest, after that it gets easier and once they get bored it will stop. You need to be strong okay?" Her hands ran down the skin of your arms as if trying to warm your soul. "It will be over soon. I'm here. I understand, all the victors do."

You drained your flute like it was the air you needed. "Why is he doing this to me?"

Mags only frowned sadly, "I don't know. I used to hear stories about him, before he was President. Rumors says during the 10th Hunger Games he was a mentor, but theres no proof, everything got wiped. Afterwards, he got shipped to District 12 for some rules he broke during school. When he came back he was different; he came back that man." Your eyes landed on him across the room, and he was watching you over the rim of his glass. "Something changed in him out there, and ever since he's been working his way to the top, keeping the Games, making them more brutal and publicized each year."

"What do I do?" You pleaded with her.

She tried to smile taking your hand, but it never reached her eyes, "Be careful. He's dangerous, and let's just say, I'm surprised anyone is going to bid for you seeing the way he keeps you so close." She had this look indicating she wasn't sure what was worse; the leeching men or Snow's protection. It wasn't sound advice, but you tucked it close because what else were you supposed to do; burn the Capitol down.

No one person couldn't do that.

You glanced back at him, anger laced in his stare as men talked at him.

You knew which was worse.

It was midnight by the time you stumbled into your room kicking your shoes off towards the far end of the wall and grabbing the brown liquor you had left from earlier. Your stomach garbled with hunger, but you just tossed the glass decanter cap away hearing it shatter behind you and pushed the bathroom door open. You turned the faucet on setting the glass container down to attempt to undo the bodice of the dress. You got half way down before you gave up unable to reach, too tired, too drunk, too ogled at to care. You climbed into the tub, decanter in hand, the water soaking into the fabric weighing you down as you slid into it. How pathetic. How was this the epitome of desire, a drunken, wet, sad little girl.

Maybe that was how they liked them.

You turned the water off with your foot as it sat just under your chin, wet hair floating around you. You took another long drink eyes heavy, brain swirling with everything Mags had told you tonight. You couldn't make sense of it all, not now, a part of you didn’t ever want to figure it out, it was simply too much to dissect and what good would it do. He was still going to sell you off to whoever he wanted until your name was a joke they spoke over whiskey.

Ugly red rose petals floated around you from the ruined corsage around your wrist. Your ears were underwater, the idea of drowning yourself more appealing the more sleep pulled you under. The water dulled the sound of the bathroom door closing, but there he was staring down at you in the bath. He was dressed down, his suit jacket gone, dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, his perfect hair slightly curled in some parts. He almost looked normal, handsome even if you allowed yourself to admire it. You picked your head up as he knelt beside the tub, "You could have called for help to take the dress off."

"I was impatient." You took a swig from the bottle a glare in your eyes.

"I can tell." He chuckled, his fingers dancing on the edge of the water, playing with soaked rose petals, urging you to disagree with the movement. "I saw you speaking to Ms. Flanagan.”

You glanced over at him. He was expecting an answer and you couldn't tell him the true meaning of the conversation or else Mags could get in trouble. "That it must be nice to be President Snow's favorite victor." You took another drink, "I told her that isn't true, it would be wrong of you to pick favorites."

He smiled to himself, "It isn't wrong; I do have a favorite."

“Did he not…"

“No, never.”

You knew he wasn't lying, knew in the way his eyes drank you in he wasn't lying. He took a deep breath, folding up his sleeves, coming around the back of the tub, "I did a lot of thinking." His hand came up to your neck, running down the wet flesh, fanning your hair out of the way. "And you were right." His lips were pressing against your jugular kissing down and across your shoulders his hands following the same trail.

"About what?" Your chest was rising and falling too fast vision blurring, brain clouded.

His mouth was against your ear, "You have been so good to me." He bit down on your ear. His hand was dipping further into the water until it was fighting your heavy skirt to get underneath, "And I've been so selfish."

You froze as you watched in horror as his hand disappeared underneath the skirts of the dress. He shifted his other hand coming around to float down your chest. He was under the hem of your underwear as your lips parted in a gasp feeling the slide of his fingers against your folds. Your hands were coming up to stop him, "Mr. President plea-!"

Two fingers sunk into you. You cried out, hips bucking at the contact, but his other arm slammed you back into the tub, "Shh, shh, it's okay." He whispered into your ear. "It will feel good." He kissed your neck, his other hands slipping under the neckline to grip your breast. You had your claws in his arm as he slowly moved his fingers inside of you.

Conflicting feelings began to arise within you, you felt fear at the intrusion, but your face burned as pleasure shot through your body. It shouldn't feel good, but he said it would, and so it did. Him touching you this way shouldn't bring a blush to your cheeks, an aching throb to your core. He was curling his fingers inside of you stroking a deep sweet spot you could never reach on the nights you had tried to explore your own body. At the same time his thumb brushed over your nipple kneading your breast into his hand.

You felt your hands slipping off of him.

"Let me make you feel good. I know you want to, can feel your pussy sucking me in." You chewed on your lip turning your face from him as your knees involuntarily curled up, spreading you open more for him, "There you go," his husky voice said in your ear as he once again shifted to push his hand inside further, the other squeezing your breast. You bit back the noise gurgling in your throat; no your body had betrayed you enough, you would not let him hear it too. "I saw you," He panted nearly engulfing you with his chest. "I saw you looking at me, clinging to me, begging me to save you from those men who want to take you from me." His thumb swirled around the sensitive bud between your legs and your hand shot up twisting into his shirt, toes curling, "I wanted to fuck you in front of them all, watch them drool as I take what is mine and not theirs." His thrust were vicious, his thumb pressing down, the other hand pinching and rolling your nipple. "Mine." He hissed against your hot skin.

You threw your head back against his chest the moan breaking from the confines of your throat. His eyes were there to greet you, his hand pulling off your breast to wrap into your hair forcing you to stay put, to keep staring at him. Because he wanted to see your face as he made you come undone, as he burned through you like wildfire. Yours eyes screwed up, fast pants leaving your agape mouth, and all you could do was keep his gaze as he brought you to the peak of ecstasy.

"Cum for me," He growled, "Be my good girl and cum right now." Maybe it was the trained etiquette built in, maybe it was him, but your body clamped down on his hand stars spilling into your vision as you came. It felt like betrayal; it felt wrong to let the pleasure leak out of your body as his hand stayed rooted within you. His mouth was on yours stealing breath from your lungs as he shoved his tongue between your teeth. It was possession and ownership and it was all his to command. His bit down on your bottom lip tugging until his teeth broke skin, and then he was kissing you again the taste of rust filling your mouth, brain unsure what to feel but the pain oozing from the open wound and the delicious pulsing between your legs.

You couldn't kiss him back. Couldn't do anything but lay limp in the water for him. You came down from the high he had given you confused as the bliss danced down your spine. Until finally his hand slipped out of you, the emptiness tugging in a weird place and you stared at him blankly. He kissed your lips again, gently like it would break you. Your bottom lip was trembling as he pushed you forwards undoing the rest of the dress. It felt so wrong, everything, he had violated you in a such a way and you had let him because your body couldn't avoid the pleasure he had made you feel

He pulled you out of the soaking dress, and picked you up from the bath, head lolling against his chest. You were naked and dripping when he placed you on the bed not caring enough to even dry you off as stray red petals clung to your skin. He was still pawing at you as you stared up at the ceiling, hands on your naked flesh, nails digging in where he wanted to grab. "So soft," You heard him mutter his mouth tasting along your body, drinking in your moisture.

Your head was somewhere else, the alcohol, the orgasm, the exhaustion was dragging you under. You couldn't quite see him anymore, "Please," You mumbled his tongue circling your nipple, fingers inside your sopping cunt once more. "I'm so tired." Tears were rolling down your cheeks, or was that simply water from the bath? Why were you crying if it felt good? He hadn't forced himself inside your mouth, inside you, he was rewarding you for your good behavior.

"Shh." He only hushed you. "Close your eyes." You did close your eyes unable to keep them open, a soft whine leaving your throat as he pushed your legs apart, "Look at you," His voice sounded underwater he was still speaking, but you couldn't hear him anymore his hand viciously thrusting inside of you. "Do you like that?"

You were whispering something, but couldn't feel the words your head being pulled into the pillow fingers clawing at him, for him.

"You do." You felt warmth between your legs and soon his head was there, his tongue licking up the center of you a smile beneath it all.

You orgasmed one more time before blackness pulled you under.

You awoke to an empty bed. You groaned barely able to open your eyes the air hitting your bare chest. He had left you here, alone and drenched in your own arousal. Your thighs were soaked and sticky his own pleasure splattered across your breast. You wanted to sob, each shaky breath hurt your ribs, but the tears never came. Because as you stroked your fingers through everything he had pulled out of you, you knew you had let this happen, you had let him do this to you. Your body had given itself over willingly to him as you rubbed the proof between your fingers. You wanted to feel shame; you wanted to feel broken, but all you felt was left over euphoria from what he had given you.

He had never fucked you; you would have known. You would feel the pain of something like that, see the blood as he broke through your maidenhead. No, he had just feasted on your flesh, drained every drop he could and abandoned you here. You rolled over, body sore from what he had done and slowly rose from the bed.

Then you padded to the bathroom, reran the bath, and soaked his touch off.

The stylist team came again, Tigris came again. Curling your hair, pinning it half up-half down, smearing on more makeup, and sliding you into a chiffon lavender dress. Another image of innocence; a sweet girl pliant for men.

"How are you?" She asked placing more foundation in a mark he had pressed into the flesh on your neck. He had tried to be careful, biting and bruising what no one could see loosing control most of the time, but you saw it. Saw the outline of every half moon cut he had made, the teeth indents of his mouth, the deep blues and purples littering your skin. He fashioned himself an artist; your naked body was his masterpiece signing his name is white pleasure.

You blinked up at her, "Why me?" You didn't think you could trust her with the knowledge Mags had told you; that he had never touched her, and instead singled you out.

Her brush slowed, "I don't know."

"I'm no one, just a girl from District 6." You glanced down as she pulled her hand back. "I'm nobody."

"You're not." She whispered. "You're a-you won." Her back was to you as she set down her things, "He..."

You waited until she turned back around to look into her eyes, "He's a monster." She saw some goodness in him that wasn't there and you had no idea why.

Tigris was abhorred. "I don't know why he's doing this. He's possessive and his obsession drives him mad sometimes. I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She packed her things quickly leaving the room in a panicked rush as you sat in silence.

An Avox came by an hour later leading you down the elevator and out where a sleek black car waited on the curb. Your heart stuttered as the door was held open for you a hand outstretched to help you inside. He was sitting within, red leather seats sinking you in. "How did you sleep?" He brushed a knuckle over his lips to hide the smirk as the door closed behind you.

"Good." You lied. It was deep, but waking up was jarring. You still felt the ache of his touch inside of you, the feel of his mouth wrapped around your clit. "Thank you Mr. President, sir."

His hand fell on your thigh. "I'm having you moved to the mansion." He told you, "I don't like you being so far away where I can't protect you." You swallowed the look in your eyes asking him, from what? "These men are desperate for you," He stroked your leg an attempt at a reassuring look in his eyes. "I'm afraid at what they might do before a deal is set. I want you close, where I know where you are all the time."

He wanted you in his cage, but he did have a point. "Thank you Mr. President, sir." Your heart thudded heavily in your chest. You didn't want a deal set, you didn't want other men hunting you down and taking more pieces of you. "Are we..." You gazed out the window. Are we going to one of them now, you wanted to ask.

"Yes and no; he'll come by the house later. I think you'll like him." He turned towards the window. "I want to show you something first." The drive was quiet. You were too afraid to ask anymore question in fear it would break your resolve further. He kept his hand on your leg and when the car stopped he held onto you tightly leading you away from the road towards his home. "You showed me yours; I think it only fitting I show you mine." He whispered close to your ear gripping around your waist as he led you down a side path towards what seemed to be a large greenhouse.

"Oh." You said staring up at it. It was a formidable beast defiantly more kept than your lousy garden at home. Was it even home anymore? You weren't quite sure of anything anymore. He had given you no inclination on when he would let you return. Perhaps when the 'deal' was set you would be allowed to leave until a new victor emerged. He opened the door for you leading you inside letting it click close. The room was covered in roses, just roses. "It's beautiful," You lied taking it all in. He had every color, but white roses took up most of the space, like they were beginning to dominate every root in the soil. It was too pristine, too clean to be anything but frighteningly horrid.

The greenhouse door locked into place, and your breath halted with it. You focused on a blooming white rose running your fingers along the soft petals. You don't know why the idea of being alone with him still scared you when he had seen you at your most vulnerable. "Did you enjoy last night?"

"The party was wonderful." You absentmindedly said; it wasn't what he was inquiring about.

He chuckled his footsteps slow coming closer, "Yes it was a nice party for you," He was standing behind you now. "Everyone was enchanted by you," He trailed his fingers down your skin. "They wouldn't stop talking about all the different ways they wanted to fuck you," His chest was pressing into your back as his hand slithered around your body coming up to your neck to grip your jaw, "But I got to taste your pleasure first, got to feel the softness of your tongue around my cock, got to hear all the pretty noises you make." Your throat bobbed feeling the hardness press into your backside as his thumb pressed into your bruised lip. "I know you enjoyed last night, my darling bluebell, by how drenched my face was buried in your sweet cunt for hours."

Hours. He had been there for hours between your legs, touching you, stealing from you, feasting on you while you were blacked out. You couldn't speak, couldn't move as the vision choked the air from you, his mouth dragging along the tense muscle in your neck.

"Do you still feel me down there?" He was bunching up the skirts of your dress. And maybe deep inside your brain it remembered him drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you because your body heated, your core grew slick. Treachery coursed through you at your body, at the fact it was less weary of him than you were. "You're fucking wet." He laughed as if he too was astounded by the moistness gathering in your panties as he rubbed his hands along the front of them. He became ravenous after then shoving his hand inside of you with such a force you fell forward. Potted plants clattered to the ground in a pile of dirt and glass, but he didn't care. He only shoved his hand deeper his body curling around you, enveloping you, "You're so fucking soft; like fucking rose petals." He pressed a third finger inside of you and you bit down on the scream, a small whine floating through the quiet air as he stretched you open. "You want my cock inside of you don't you?" He bit down on your neck, "You want me to fill you so badly, you want me to be the one to do it."

"No!" You cried out as he slammed your chest to the table the plants once sat on. The room was filled with the squelching sounds his hand made every brutal thrust into you, your arousal dripping down your legs. You gripped the table feeling him pulling your skirts up around your back, ripping off your underwear leaving you bare for him. You knew deep down your body would take him, suck him in greedily, allowing him to live there while you writhed in agony and embarrassment. Maybe it had something to do with the small power you felt that he was unable to control his desire for you, or maybe it was simple need. Wicked, cruel thing human nature seemed to be, she laughed at you while allowing him to take more, more, more.

You kicked your leg out trying to buck him off, but he slammed your head back down slapping your backside harshly, "Behave." He growled. You yelped as he slapped you once more his hand pulling out of you. He held you down by a large hand on your head as you squirmed, listening to him unsheathe himself.

"Please," You whimpered. "Please you don't want to do this. You-you said...you'll ruin me for your deal and-and-!”

He spit in your face the warmth of it landing along the corner of your lips and cheek. It trickled into your mouth and your tongue darted out for more. "Don't stutter." He yanked your hips back, "And be my good girl and fucking take it." You were crying now, crying as more wetness slipped out of you, crying as he ran his cock along your folds, crying as the tip of him lined up with your entrance, crying as you wanted him inside you so badly it burned.

A knock on the glass door stilled him before he could push inside of you and you nearly passed out from relief. "Sir?" Someone called inside, "Your guest has arrived."

You were taking large gulps of air every shake of your body rocking against the tip of him. "I'll be right there." He shouted back angrily. He was motionless behind you a deep frustrated sigh the only reminder he was there, a few moments from taking what he so desperately wanted it seemed. "Get on your knees." He pulled your body up and forced you to the ground, bare knees scraping in the broken glass. "Open your mouth." Your body relaxed as you took him; you knew this, you had been through this, you could take it, mouth moist from his spit. He wasn't as kind as before, if you could even call that kind. Forcing his cock to the back of your mouth, snapping his hips against your face as he yanked your hair around to move your head, "So good. So," Snap. "Fucking," Snap. "Good." He had your face buried within his skin as your tongue involuntarily swiped around him feeling his movements stutter at the unwarranted sensation. "You fucking like my cock inside your mouth." You weren't sure, but it was becoming familiar and the safer option, and you didn’t mind the taste of him. He reached down grabbing your hand pulling it to the shaft swirling around it with your palm, "Do it yourself sweet girl, do what I tell you."

So you did. You did what he wanted you to do, swirling your hand around the shaft, took his cock deeper until you gagged letting the spit spill out of the corners of your mouth. Your tongue ran along the head until his movements grew erratic and his thigh became taut hot ropes of cum spilling down your throat.

"Swallow it." He commanded snapping your jaw shut after he pulled out. "All of it." His breaths were heavy. You gazed up at him feeling the remnants trickle down your throat. His eyes were dark, demanding, obsessive. "I want you to kiss his cheek with my cum still on your breath." He left you on the ground as he went to the door. "Clean her up, get her ready for lunch." He called to some servant.

You glanced down at the dirt staining your chest from where he slammed you, the blood blooming on the dress from your scraped knees, your smeared makeup no doubt. You let them help you up and cart you back to the house.

An hour later, and now a pink dress covering your skin, you sat down at the table. It was a small thing, set to fit only six people in a small room cascaded in sunlight. The windows were open letting in warm air and a breeze that ruffled the curtains. He sat to the chair next to you cutting into his food while he spoke to you...buyer. The highest bidder.

The man was handsome, maybe a tad older than the darling President, but not by much. He had dark hair and darker eyes a slight shadow of a beard gracing his features. He wore a light blue suit that was almost tacky compared to Snow's deep green. You shook your head at the ridiculousness of comparing the two, comparing the buyer to the seller.

And yet, President Snow's presence comforted you, which in turn disgusted you. It gave you a headache and you drank dainty sips from your cup of sparkling wine hoping to avoid the feelings this afternoon was invoking from you. A mere hour ago he was shoving his cock down your throat, and you had savored the flavor of him. Now he was wanting money for your virtue. You glanced across the table once more.

You had won the games, and this was your peace they had promised.

There was no winning. Only surviving.

He left after an hour long lunch barely speaking to you at all, but when he left he grabbed you. He pulled you in close hand blatantly spread across your back side as he forced you to kiss his cheek. Could he smell it? Could he smell his President's cum stuck between your teeth?

When he left Snow had an anger to him which surprised you given the fact he was the one pawning you off, he should be happy.

Your eyes met, sunlight heating your back from the window as you watch his teeth grind together never looking away from you. Then your face began to fall, knees wobbling, at the realization of the reason behind his anger.

He forced you away without another word.

PART THREE HERE!

( its disgustingly smutty so bring holy water )

notes: this had WAY too much plot sorry lmao

tags: @astarborntowrite , @genderfluid-anime-goth , @merlieve , @darktrashsoulbear

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus smut #coriolanus x you #coryo x reader #coryo smut #dark fanfic #fanfic #dark fanfiction #hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coryo snow #president coriolanus snow #dark coriolanus snow #dark coriolanus

379 notes · View notes

ourflagmeansgayrights · 7 months

Text

ofmd s2e1 rewatch where i pause to jot down my thoughts and other random shit

not quite a reaction post bc i've already watched the whole thing. not quite a liveblog bc it's one post and it's probably gonna take me a full hour to get through a 28 minute episode at the rate of pausing and typing i'll be doing

s2e1, s2e2, s2e3, s2e4, s2e5, s2e6, s2e7, s2e8

anyway, pirate time:

i love how much fun con is having choking on his own blood

dream!stede's extremely teary face right before he takes off running down the beach is doing psychic damage to me

also dream!stede's stupid ridiculous outfit with all the long ribbons and shit...

ed and stede make contact so hard shjfkhsgjkfd the loud OUGH sounds from both of them

also the return of ed's old beard! i didnt expect to see her at all this season, so that was a surprise.

"babe" "love" im tearing out my own hair

stede has yet to learn that ripping ass near your beloved can be a love language

stede is a terrible fucking roommate just deal with wee john's gas in silence like the rest of them. goddamn.

WHO HAS THE OUR FLAG MEANS DEATH TRAMP STAMP. WHO IS THAT.

i like when the background OST is familiar to me lol the little strings when stede starts his letter throwing me back to s1

olu: that–that's the swede the swede: Im the swede roach: he's single ;) me: *pissing my pants with laughter*

also the direct confirmation that the swede literally doesn't have a name. incredible

shjkfhdhfkj the crew encouraging him. stede's "it's okay" and roach "be brave" im CRYINGGGGG

stede doing customer service is something that can be so personal. "reservation?" "eat my fuckin' shit" "right! walk-ins, then" average restaurant experience

the random background guy saying "my favorite hand!" abt getting stabbed in the hand is making me giggle. i love the humor on this show

why does stede have so much shoulder movement going on when he's walking through the bar. whore behavior.

"this is for mom!" sorry but i want to know more abt whatever's going on there

also the purple mohawk. dope.

buttons is so distressed LET HIM RETURN TO THE SEA THESE CONDITIONS ARE INHUMANE

"i know the odds of you finding this are slim but so were the odds of us finding each other in the first place" IM RIPPING OFF MY OWN SKIN

also stede's lil sad hopeful smile after throwing the bottle... i care him

i love how they make this wedding fucking suck so we don't feel too bad abt the whole massacre thing. "the natural condition of humanity is base and vile. it is the obligation of people of standing, such as yourselves, to elevate the common human rabble through the sacred transaction of matrimony" if i was at a wedding and the officiant said that i'd also start killing people probably

yayy murder montage :)

FANG BREAKING THAT GUY'S SPINE OVER HIS KNEE

the whole cake scene is so fucking funny im sorry. i love u jim drawing the line at attacking a shitty wedding. i love u archie who wasn't here for the good old days so you dont really see a problem with how things are. i love u frenchie with ur box in ur brain that u never open again. i love u fang it's gonna get better i swear. i love u frenchie again bc u just took the cake right out of fang's hands while he was fucking sobbing hfjhgkjhdkjkf

I MISS IVAN JUSTICE FOR IVAN. wish they could've said he'd just fucked off somewhere instead of dying but i think that would've raised the question of why hasn't anyone else fucked off since they all seem so miserable

very relieved that stede isn't taking the racist/antisemitic caricature drawings of ed to make like a boyfriend scrapbook like some people were theorizing. would've been overkill if after episode 4 from last season stede still didn't realize that ed hated these sorts of depictions of him.

INTERESTING DETAIL THO the background music in this scene is "a pirate's life" aka the song frenchie sang in the pilot. it's an instrumental version obviously but yeah i recognize that tune

also more cool background ppl with dyed hair man i love this show

zheng yi sao flirting with olu is so good. he deserves it.

how nice of ed to offer his drugs to the crew. sharing is caring.

also it's so funny to me that the thing izzy is tormented by is ed saying "you can't do the job, someone else will" the toe thing's happened three times and apparently that was fine but the thing the show edits together right before izzy breaks down into the most pathetic aheemheem whimpers isn't any of that it's ed threatening to fire him

also they cut ed throwing knives at izzy!! what the hell.

releasing the clip of izzy crying kinda ruined it for me when it came time to watch it in the show bc i watched it several times since it dropped and now seeing it in context i was like "ok i've seen this already fast forward." i mean i didnt fast forward through it but i did kinda zone out bc i've seen this bit already. this post kinda sums up my thoughts on it

"trifling ingrate plan" dshkjfshgdskhfjkhgkjh

"SEMI-CLEAN WATER"

JACKIE CALLING THE SWEDE "BOO CAKES"

"i know that guy we had breakfast together!" "you'll be having a lot of breakfasts-es together" "oh, okay" i fucking love this whole dynamic like i can tell they're writing the swede out of most of the episodes for budget reasons (sorry nat faxon) but by god do they give him such an excellent fucking send-off. can't wait to see him again when he's in his trophy husband number 20 era

roach is upset abt not being able to cook, buttons is tied up so he doesn't go running back to the sea (i assume). stede you are not giving your crew the environment they need to thrive.

olu being an optimist :)

buttons opens his mouth to drink the rain and in the background u can see roach yanking the rope around buttons back fhdjskgfjhgkjfh STEDE YOUR SEA WITCH CANNOT THRIVE IN THESE CONDITIONS

stede tries to make things sound good in his bottle letters to ed but out loud he says his actual insecurities... it's so fucking tasty tho that he thinks ed could be doing better without him and THAT'S why he's been stalling so much. not afraid for his life even a little bit he just assumes he's not wanted. brb i have to cry now

"im sorry if that's a little bit creepy" "you are creepy" in this scene where they're soaked from the rain. ofmd said this prince ricky guys is creepy and wet.

stede's fucking FACE when prince ricky says "you're my hero" his fucking "clearly you dont own an air fryer" face I CANT STAND HIMMMMMM (affectionate)

prince ricky "these rubes" "men of our standing" yeah i cant fucking stand this guy (derogatory) i love how he's barely even in this episode

stede's face when the swede is talking abt how happy he is with jackie... my man believes in love so much im gonna cry

also in what fucking way does the swede owe them a life debt. roach and buttons literally tried to eat him

izzy's "you know me better than anyone knows me and i daresay the same about you" this is literally so false i dont even know where to begin. izzy in e6 being like "if i didnt know any better i'd think maybe ed might possibly maybe be actually enjoying bonnet's company" while ed and stede are giggling and making each other friendship bracelets. this guy doesn't know ed at all.

also i cant get over how izzy wont make eye contact he's like staring blankly into the middle distance delivering these lines so flatly until he goes to say "i have... love for you" and in that moment he looks like he'd rather ed were feeding him more toes.

"im worried about you, we all are" not gonna lie my dude you've had a weird way of showing it thus far. where was all that worry when you told him he was better off dead than wearing a robe and singing songs?? where was that fucking love then?

and NOW izzy wants to talk it through. izzy literally voted to make blackbeard great again and now he wants to give open communication a chance???

lmao there's a limit to how many characters can be in a bulleted list so here's fucking. part two. on the same post:

ed asking everyone if the vibe is poisonous and fang cant stop crying and ed's face is just like "eh good enough" im fdhksgfkjtdkh

anyway ed with a loaded gun under his chin talking to himself is hurting me so fucking much actually. ed my beloved babygirl for whom i would die. this poor traumatized man. yes he is making this workplace toxic as hell but god. GOD. im gonna throw up.

the way ed is so fucking casual about shooting izzy in the leg. just calm and jovial as he promotes frenchie to first mate. stepping over izzy all crumpled on the floor. everything about this is so fucking good. i mean it's horrible for ed and everyone around him but for me watching the show this shit is DELICIOUS. i love when the pirates get violent and unhinged i love when this shit gets fucked up. ed's mental state is so bad right now and it is causing me severe anguish but also it is so tasty. fuck.

anyway frenchie trying to turn down the promotion fhjkghdfjkhf

the cut to the swede performing the husbandly duties is INSANE. COMPLETE TONAL WHIPLASH. I LOVE THIS SHOW.

"fuck those hammies up!" spanish jackie i love you

black pete why are you so fucking loud AND WHY WOULD YOU JIX IT LIKE THAT???

why is prince ricky so small. he's like a full head shorter than stede. also this guy is insufferable i love how stede just fucking abandons him fhjkgdhkdfghkj

"the calf muscle is the most mysterious of alllll the muscles" what the FUCK does that even mean. oh swede i will miss you

NOSE REMOVAL FUCK YES. I LOVE THIS SHOW.

obsessed with the swede playing dumb. the dramatic gasp. "wow, so bad!" fhjsghdkjf

"aint you that soup bitch?" "im the money bitch" i love women.

sfdsjkh spanish jackie being into double-crossing. and slapping the swede's ass on the way out. i love this show

i love how zheng says "this much indigo is worth three times what i paid" while spanish jackie and the husbands are still like, right there. and they just don't hear that bit. incredible.

OUGH the back of jim's weird rope armor looks like a ribcage that's so cool

i love how jim is so fucking bad at telling this story. i love how the monkey's paw comes into it. i love fang asking them to do the voice. i love archie trying to hold back her laughter i love jim and fang giggling together I LOVE THIS SHOW

ed's fucking voice breaking through his whole convo with frenchie. im tearing out my own teeth

HEY DID YOU GUYS KNOW THEY HAVE POST-CREDITS SCENES IN THIS SEASON?????????? WHAT THE HELL

i take back what i said about jim being bad at telling this story their version is so much fucking better. squeaky voice "I pray to you, Dark Lord, to make me real flesh! I want to be real flesh!" IM FUCKING OBSESSED. JIM I WOULD DIE FOR YOU

90 notes · View notes

noirvette · 1 year

Text

WE NEVER EXISTED

[band smau]

[FIFTEEN]

masterlist.

prev. | next.

Note: haha... it's a long one guys..

The concert had ended and you couldn't help but think it was the most fun night of your life. South Park certainly knew how to draw in a crowd and give a band their best experience ever. Endorphins running through your body at an all time high, you felt happy, light, floaty in a way. Like nothing could ever tear you down.

"What a night!" Clyde exclaimed, tossing his drumsticks in the air, doing some random juggling routine with them.

Nichole hummed a noise of agreement, "Right! I don't think I've seen so many people of South Park in one place before."

Everyone nodded at Nichole's statement.

"Well, I for one am beat," Stan sighed out, before taking a sip of his water, "I don't think I've sang that many high notes in my life before in one concert."

"You did a good job bro," Kyle slapped his hand on Stan's back, rubbing his shoulder a bit, "You all did."

Clyde stared at the scene in front of him before turning to you mouth open wide in shock before looking back at Stan and Kyle, "Oh my god they're making out in front of us guys!"

You stifled your laugh as Stan turns to Kyle make obnoxious kissing noises towards him, "Style will be real in 10 seconds."

Kyle scoffed and turned to find a place to sit down and Stan threw his arms around Kyle's waist, "NOOOO babe don't leave meeeeee."

"Oh my god you weirdo," Kyle rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, "Fine, fine I'll sit with you, scooch over."

Stan does so and Kyle sits besides him, "Well we've got some downtime before the truck guys come to grab our equipment, what do you guys wanna do?"

"FOOD. OH FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING PRECIOUS TO ME, CAN WE PLEASEEEE ORDER SOME FOOD!!" Clyde falls to his knees, begging.

Kyle took his phone out opening DoorDash, "Yeah I'm feelin hungry myself, what you guys want? I'll start a group order but you all owe me back."

You patted your pocket, "Oh wait where's my phone?"

Kyle's face briefly shows one of panic, "I uh, put it on the charger you left it and I found it dead.. so I plugged it in for you."

"Oh! Thanks Kyle."

"No problem, I'll just pay for you for tonight."

Clyde scoffs, "What is THIS Kyle Broflovski? You pay for our dear bassist but not for your lovely Clyde THE Donovan?"

"Clyde."

"This is like........instrumentalism..Do you just like bassists? Do you hate drummers?"

Nichole looks up in confusion, giving Clyde a side eye, "That.. is definitely NOT a word meant for that use smart ass."

"Uh huh, it sure is, don't change the topic though Nicky.. the important thing here is that no one is paying.. for ME!"

Kyle sighs, "Clyde."

"Uh.. I'm not finished yet," Clyde holds a finger up, "As I was saying, why don't you pay for me too! Do you just hate me, Kyle? I thought we were besties..."

If emoticons could be used as tones... you swear Clyde would sound like exactly like the sad emotion right now.

"Clyde." Kyle tries again.

"Oh my god can you let me do what I need to do?" Clyde frowns in fake irritation.

"Did..are you quoting Tyler the Creator right now? Seriously?" Stan asks.

"Yeah."

You snort at Clyde's antics and Kyle rubs his eyes, "Dude.. You can pay for yourself.. your phone is right there.. and CHARGED. You literally just got an angry birds notification."

Clyde turns around and sure enough his phone sat lit up with an angry birds notification sitting on his home screen, "Oh well this is awkward.. but still! It's the principle of things.."

Before Kyle could utter another word, Clyde continues, "BUT! I'll let you off the hook.. I'll pay for myself; you win this time.. Kyle Matthew Broflovski.."

"NOT THE FULL NAME." Stan bursts out laughing hard and Kyle sits there with his head in his hands, face covered in a slight blush from embarrassment.

Nichole, having tuned the conversation out and scrolling on DoorDash herself, pipes up with, "Does Burger King sound alright? It's either that or McDonalds and I'd rather not have them again tonight."

"Sounds good with me!" You chirp and the other three give their own mentions of agreement.

Kyle sends the link out and then gets up to sit beside you, "What would you like?"

"Hmm.." You lean in to get a better look at his phone and Kyle stiffens a bit before handing his phone to you.

"Thanks," You add your order in and hand the phone back to him, "Hey Kyle do you think my phone's charged by now?"

Kyle hums briefly and without thinking says, "Yeah should be."

"Oh great, where is it?"

He pauses briefly, having realized what he said, "Uhhh... You know.. I'm not sure where I plugged it in, give me a second to place the order if everyone would FINISH," He gives Stan a harsh side eye who just shrugs in return, "And I'll help you look."

Nichole frowns and gives you a glance and you catch it and just shrug, "Alright works with me, just as long as my phone is still here and someone didn't take it.. because you'd be owing me a new phone mister."

Kyle places the order and stands up, "Yup, I know.. That's why I'm hoping it's still here myself. Alright well lets go find it."

Kyle starts walking off towards the trailers and you follow, the other three look at each other and immediately start gossiping once you two are out of ear shot.

"Alright, what the hell is going on between those two?" Nichole asks.

Stan shrugs, "Hell if I know, suddenly they just became like that!" Stan snaps his fingers.

"Okayy.. well they've always been relatively close, I mean not as close as recently but, they've always had an easier connection." Clyde points out.

"Right and this is Y/n we're talking about.. she wouldn't be stupid enough to cheat on Kenny right?" Stan questions and Nichole shakes her head.

"No, that girl is dedicated to him, she wouldn't dream of doing that to Kenny."

Clyde sits for a minute, thinking, "Well what if Kyle's manipulating her? To like fall in love with him? I mean he's liked her since.. how long now?"

Stan looks over at Clyde incredulously, "Dude! That's my best friend you're dissing right now and absolutely not, Kyle isn't that kind of guy."

Clyde shrugs, "Hey bro I was just throwin ideas out there."

"Yeah, shitty ones."

Nichole chimes in, trying to break the random argument that's about to start, "Uh guys."

"I don't hear any genius ideas coming from YOU, Stanley Randall William Marsh."

"WHY ARE YOU SAYING OUR FULL NAMES LIKE THIS." Stan raises his voice in exasperation.

"Cuz it's funny." Clyde simply states.

"Uhhh... Guys?" Nichole says with more urgency.

"Yes Nichole?" Clyde turns to look at her, batting his eyelashes.

"Have.. you two seen twitter?"

You turn to ask Kyle, "You sure you left it in here?"

Kyle scratches his neck and looks around the trailer room, "Yeah, it should be here."

"No it's not." You sigh.

"What?"

"You have a thing, you scratch your neck and refuse to make eye contact when you're hiding the truth."

"A...thing?" Kyle asks confused.

"Yeah like a tell, people have these quirks about them that they do.. when they're lying or if they're happy or you know something like that."

Kyle still stares at you with slight confusion, "And... mine is scratching my neck and refusing to make eye contact?"

You nod, "Yeah.. pretty much."

"So you're calling me a liar?"

"I'm not calling you a truther."

"Don't," Kyle holds a hand up, "Quote Drake and Josh when you're accusing me of lying."

You cross your arms annoyed, "I'm not accusing you of lying I'm stating you're not telling me the truth right now... about MY phone no less."

Kyle sighs in defeat, "Okay.. You got me, but Y/n, sit down."

"Wha?" You start.

"Please."

"Wow, okay.." You slowly start to sit down and Kyle sits down at the couch across from you, "What is this about.?"

Kyle bites his lip and refuses to meet your gaze, "Y/n.. I.."

"Oh my god," You nervously chuckle, "You're scaring me, Kyle."

Kyle runs a hand through his hair and stares at the ground, you can see his jaw is clenched.

He looks back up at you and wordlessly fishes your phone out of his back pocket and slides it over to you.

"You had it? Kyle what the he.." You trail off, meeting his gaze. His eyes tell you that he's nervous.. that he's serious.. and that he's sad.

You swallow nervous again.. you can feel the mood change in the room, really you think it changed a while ago but your nonchalance about the reality of whatever is happening prevented you from fully noticing it.

You're not sure what to be thinking, thoughts run through your mind at the speed of 120 miles per hour. Complete worry stains your body and covers you in a blanket of fear.

"Y/n." Kyle starts, in a full serious tone.

"...Yeah?" You answer apprehensively.

"Kenny's cheating on you. I found out during the set."

White noise. White noise filled your ears, the room was so silent that you could literally hear the noise of dust settling around you.. at least you thought you could. What you could be hearing is the blood draining from your head or is it the blood rushing to your head?

Your heart beats faster and you're pretty sure to Kyle you look as if you just had a heart attack. Frozen in shock... frozen in.. dread? You're not sure what to feel.

Your throat is dry, your mouth is dry, "How..? Who..?" You croak out.

"The podcast earlier released it, it uh, was Red.. They've been together since right after we left for our tours."

"Oh- Oh my god I'm going to be sick." You gasp out.

Kyle instinctively wraps his arms around your body, holding you tight. You know that if you were standing, you'd have collapsed onto the ground. He rubs circles into your back and rubs his hands along your sides to comfort you.

You can also feel Kyle whisper in your ear comforting phrases, at least you'd assume it's comfort. You can't hear anything, the shock of the situation hitting you even harder now you know everything.. or at least everything you need to know.. everything you want to know.

You can't feel tears.. you're not sure why, maybe a part of you expected this... no, no how could you ever expect something like this? Your body is in a catatonic state. You feel sick yet you feel fine. Almost as if your body is fighting itself in a way that you don't know how to deal with.

You feel hollow.. empty.. like someone just ripped a half of you away with no explanation as to why. Except you HAD an explanation.. a horrible, awful, shitty, excruciatingly painful explanation.

You hear the trailer door open and a few gasps, before feeling three pairs of arms circle your body. You felt cold, you felt numb, you felt broken. But above all?

You felt alone.

TAGLIST: @captivq @kimiesstuff @bwljules @the-cooler-kira @1one1person1 @kenny-the-ken @neenieweenie @n0tangeliccc @frogindisguise @revzxn @ryenwritess @mirophobic @gonefiishiing @musiclovebot @bootsieboo @bonez4brainz @s0l4riss @1996kj @sweetadonisbutbetter @scinclaitnoir @okarigold

#we never existed series #south park x reader #kenny mccormick x reader #kyle broflovski x reader

128 notes · View notes

notenderlaith · 7 months

Text

Pictures of Wilbur living my dream because I can't

Just fucking look at him, literally in the lime light. Because he deserves it, because he's worked for it and its paying off like it should. But I can't look at it without this burn that fills me with jealousy for him and rage for myself. I don't know what it is about him, how are we so similar in a way I can't describe. There's something about the way we look at the world, I swear we share the same set of lenses and such similar limitations, yet there he is... and here I am.

I know I'm young, I know he's had it rough, I know, I know. But it's not due to the lack of consideration that I feel this way, its just that I know that I don't deserve that. No matter how much I wish I should. I think about every time I tried to write a song and record it but failed oh so horribly because it just sounded like shit. Pure fucking racket. I think about every damn talent show where I got so many pats on the back but when it came down to the leaderboard I was no where to be seen. I think of every "You just need a little work" and every second chair in middle school band class. How many of those will there be? But worse, how many worse things are there that I have yet to be told?

How many times will I be told by other musicians that I don't make good or real music? How many times will I pour my heart out to my best friends and be told about how I'm not gonna make it? That I'm too ambitious and that I should quit? How many hate comments will I get on a small youtube post with only two likes. How many times will I throw my mic in the back of my closet and tell myself I'll never pick it up again, only to pull it out after a rough night? How many before I'm up there to?

I swear that for every listen one of Lovejoy's songs get, I feel a worm in my gut just chewing away. All the little burrows between my intestines and heart. These worms push on my lungs everyday. The worms wrap around my arteries and my legs go weak, I stagger along every cracked and grass infested sidewalk in the delta. How many worms until I make it? How many more until I strum them all out of me, one by one in harmony with a sea of people who love my passion as much as I do? Or how many more until there's nothing left of me? How long will it take for the worms to eat my eyes out and take away those lenses we share.

I know I need to work more and harder. I need to push harder and harder until I make it, because that is how you make it. You just keep going forward with hope. I have hope but I need to find out what it is that itches everybody. What is everybody's worms. What is eating holes into each of our palms? How long will I take to realize that there will be no miracle? There will be no random natural talent on an instrument I've never seen before. I won't find a way to sing thus far, unknown to the world. I will never play a chord in just the right way, and I know that. So what is it that drives me forward. What about my passion has been dragging me at the end of its hitch. Why can't I get off? There is something that give me hope. No matter what instrument, song, genre, musician, no matter how I've changed I've always wanted to be a musician. WHY

Dear worms, let me achieve my dream or let me be free. PLEASE, let me leave this, draw a line between pleasure and pain. Separate my dreams from reality or make them collide. My heart needs rest, my lungs need to expand, I need to untie my brain, out of the loops and knots.

#wilbur soot #wilbur #lvjy #lovejoy #joe goldsmith #ash kabosu #mark boarman

41 notes · View notes

leighsartworks216 · 3 months

Text

Dominate Person

Wyll Ravengard x male!OC

Wyll and Romero are married in this fic! Because in the story I'm building (which will not be coming out in any sort of order), they've known each other since they were kids and they got married before the events of the game. Not proofread

Thank you @shenanigans-and-imagines for the angsty thoughts that have consumed my soul lol

THIS STORY DEALS WITH HEAVY THEMES

Warnings: swearing, blood, gore, violence, possession, mentions of vomiting, minor religious reference, grief, character death, broken bones (nose)

Word Count: 1,785

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“He’s summoning more undead!” Gale called. Sure enough, when Romero cut down the undead he’d been fighting and turned toward the spellcaster they fought, more undead were clawing out from the ground. He huffed, frustrated as hell, but there was little time to dwell on anything in the midst of battle.

He pierced one through the eye with his rapier, grunting as he yanked it back out of its skull with a crack. “Focus on him! We can manage the summons!”

As he wheeled around to meet the blade of another disgusting undead. Its skin was grey and leathery, just as all the others. Its jaw hung slack, only attached to its body with scraps of sinewy tendons. Its eyes, sunken and pale. If it was Romero’s first encounter with one, he may have wretched having it so close, breathing into his face with the stench of rot. Fortunately, it wasn’t.

A rapier came in from the side, slotting itself perfectly through its hanging jaw and ripping it away from Romero to the ground. Wyll lifted his blade and brought it back down into its ribcage, covered in paper-thin flesh. He shot a smirk over at the bard.

“Fancy a kiss?”

Romero laughed. “From you or these things?”

“Which would please you more?” he teased.

“Well, how could I turn down a kiss from the glorious Blade of Frontiers?”

“If you two are done flirting,” Astarion bit out from behind, where he picked off undead with his bow, “we’re still being overrun!”

Romero pat Wyll on the shoulder, a silent command to stay there, as he ran past. He slipped his rapier back into its sheath at his hip and pulled his lute off his back. Bony fingers grabbed at his arms and back as he ran into the hoard. He freed his arm with a firm yank and played as loud a note as he could. “Detono!” he shouted out with the disharmonious chords. A wave of thunder swept out around him with a monstrous boom!, knocking the creatures off their feet and pushing them away. Most of them stayed down, but the few that got up looked worse for wear.

“Better?” he called back to Astarion as he turned back with a triumphant smirk.

Before he could hear the vampire’s response, movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. Just in time, he turned and raised his lute to take the hit. He was not expecting to see Wyll’s face, contorted with rage, glaring at him from the end of his sword.

“Wyll?” he breathed.

The strings screeched as the metal slid off them, pulled back for another strike. Romero shoved his lute into the attack. Wyll thrust his rapier through the hole, through the back of the instrument, and nearly caught Romero’s nose. He let go of his lute in favor of drawing his rapier again, backing away to get distance.

His mind raced as he watched his lover ripped his blade from the wood. This wasn’t Wyll, he knew that. They’d sparred hundreds of times in their years together, but never in any of those times had he looked so angry. Like every cell in his body had been injected with a pure concentration of fury. Not to mention attacking him during battle.

“Gale! Something’s wrong with Wyll!”

Wyll ran to him and lunged to spear Romero’s heart. He deflected the attack, redirecting it over his shoulder. When Wyll pulled back, he slashed a line across his cheekbone. As he felt the blood trickle down his cheek, dread seeped into his bones.

He would have to fight his husband for his own life.

Gale glanced over. Romero deflected another swing, but in the opening Wyll kicked him in the stomach, pushing him back. He coughed, gasping as he regained his balance and sidestepped a thrust. The wizard cursed. “He’s enchanted! You might be able to knock him out of it!”

Clutching his stomach, he gripped harder to his sword. He was so accustomed to fighting properly when he sparred with Wyll. They’d bow to each other, walk in a slow circle waiting for the first strike, and they’d disarm or pin the other down to win. Now he had to relearn how to fight dirty.

He began deflecting Wyll’s blade to the right, ensuring he could see the motion with his good eye and focus in that direction. Once he had an opening, he let go of his stomach and grabbed Wyll’s horn, manhandling him and flinging him to the dirt. Wyll growled as he landed.

Before he could even think about getting up, Romero was on top of him. He grabbed his wrists and held them down tight, straddling his waist where he couldn’t be kicked off despite all of his thrashing and kicking about. It hurt his heart to see Wyll like this, more rabid dog than human. The bloodlust in his eye. The horrid grimace that twisted his lovely features, accentuating the demonic traits Mizora cursed him with.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, voice quiet. “Just hold on, my love. We’ll save you.”

There was a flicker of emotion across his face. He didn’t recognize it then, but he realized later, when it appeared again in his nightmares, what it was: Wyll’d been told by the spellcaster how to break free.

He gathered his strength and pushed his upper body off the ground enough to butt his horns into Romero’s face. It was a solid hit. With a sickening crunch, Romero’s nose was broken. By pure instinct, he let go of one of Wyll’s arms to grab onto it, but fought the urge enough to grab his horn and push him back down instead.

It was too late.

His eyes flooded with tears from the pain of his nose breaking, an unfortunate reaction of the human body. He couldn’t see anything. All he felt was a hand as his chest. Familiar and wrong. His body was sent backward before his mind could comprehend the words of the spell being cast. He landed hard on the ground, gasping for air. His chest burned, in a way no fire ever could. His hands shook as he clutched blindly at the pain, crying out as he found a bloody, fleshy imprint where the hand had been.

His mind was all at once fast and sluggish, like it was trying to run through waist-deep water. Tears slid from the corners of his eyes to his ears, clearing the dirt and sweat from his cheeks and soaking into the dreadlocks that cushioned his head. Blood poured from his nose; into his mouth, into his eyes, down the back of his throat. Copper was all he could taste as he tried to swallow around the gore, but his throat wouldn’t close around it. His chest felt so tight. He couldn’t breathe. And his body only wanted to wretch from the agony, from the breathlessness, from the iron flooding his mouth.

A body straddled his hips. He forced his eyes open. He fought to see through the red haze, through the tears. He could make out the blurred shape of Wyll over him. The shadows of his arms and hands raised, rapier clutched tightly, like a devout worshipper about to sacrifice the lamb.

The tip of the blade poked into his skin, digging into the palm of the hand print. He whimpered, but the pain was already fading to numbness. All he could think of was his failure.

He couldn’t stop Wyll. He couldn’t save him from this agony. Romero would lay his life on the line for Wyll in a heartbeat, but for Wyll to be the one claiming it… Death didn’t scare him. All he worried for was what would happen to his husband after the enchantment was broken.

Wyll raised the rapier up.

Blood dribbled from the side of his mouth as Romero mouthed his final words.

I love you.

He wished he could say more, say anything. Assure his love he does not blame him for this. Comfort his love, tell him it’s okay as he readied to plunge his rapier through his heart. Instead, he did what he could. He smiled.

It lingered there, even as his eyes fluttered shut and as his chest stopped aching for air. It was the last thing to stay as his fingers relaxed, one hand limp at his side and the other slipping from his chest as gravity took hold.

The rapier clattered to the ground.

Warm, rough hands cradled the back of his neck and held the hand on his chest. “Shit, shit, shit!” Wyll hissed, damning himself, all the gods, all the devils. Tears of his own rushed from his eyes like the currents in the Chionthar. They fell like rain on Romero’s cheeks.

He carefully peeled away Romero’s hand to reveal the damage, and covered it again quickly. His flesh was mangled, almost gooey. The white of bone from his sternum and ribcage glistened in the viscera. He felt sick knowing he did that. He cast that Eldritch Blast point blank. He had no control over it, but the damage glared up at him, blaming him.

He lifted his head, heavy and limp in his hold. He let go of his hand to brush the blood off his face. Dark red smeared and stained his tanned skin, never seeming to come out no matter how many times he brushed it away. His lips were stained, too, like lipstick. The thought tore open his ribcage and clawed at his heart.

Sobs wracked his body as he got off his love, kneeling by his side and dragging his body into his lap. He cradled his head to his shoulder, pressing Romero’s still-smiling face into his neck as he pressed his quivering lips to his forehead.

He knew they could revive him. Somehow, they would carry him back to camp. Shadowheart or Withers could bring him back, or maybe Gale had a scroll somewhere. Either way, this was not grief for lost love. Romero would live and breathe again. This was the grief of murder. He murdered his husband. He burned a hole in his chest, was prepared to finish the job. If Gale and Astarion weren’t there to finish off the spellcaster, what would have happened then?

“I’ll fix this,” he croaks, whimpering as he presses a firm kiss to his hairline. “I swear, I’ll fix this.” Another sob tears through him. His shoulders tremble, chest heaving for air. In a broken whisper, as he tangles his fingers in his hair and drags his body closer and closer until he’s laid awkwardly across his lap, he says, “I love you, too.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #wyll ravengard #romero tulb #wyll x romero #wyll x oc #oc #original character #original male character #x oc #x male oc #x original character #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate wyll #baldurs gate wyll #bg3 wyll #angst

24 notes · View notes

sivyera · 2 years

Note

HIII if you’re taking requests can i make one for dipper with an s/o that’s shy but secretly plays guitar in a band yk like stuff like nirvana or arctic monkeys and they sing too and i’m just thinking abt mabel dragging him into one of their concerts and they’re just both staring at this person that rarely talks singing and playing guitar in-front of a crowd

Perfect.

request → yes

PAIRING: Dipper Pines x shy!reader (romantic), Mabel Pines x shy!reader (platonic)

CONTAINS: fluff

WARNINGS: none

SONG: Genius - Sia, Labrinth

A/N: I'm not a very shy person but I'm pretty quiet so I don't see a big problem about writing this nad I loved that idea so thank you so much for requesting. Also I currently have covid so I apologise for slow updates. Enjoy!

gif is not mine

You and Dipper have been dating a few months and you couldn't be happier. He was so kind to you and he was patient with you all the time.

You weren't really extrovert and you were shy so much people used to talk when you talked or they just looked annoyed when you speak. So you slowly stopped talking at all. But when you met the twins everything change.

Mabel was sweet, very energetic and open-minded so she always liked your ideas and opinions on everything. On the contrary Dipper was nerd and little quiet as you. He always had his head buried into his journal.

And you, you always had something for music but no one actually ever asked so why bring that up. You had two close childhood friends who were playing on musical instruments as well.

One of them find a new drummer so you decided to play in little bar in Gravity Falls. This wasn't your first time to play there and people always loved it.

Your music was magical and your voice was perfect.

What you didn't expect was that Mabel heard about your concert and she was so excited to go.

Mabel heard from Candy that singer of this band had an amazing voice. But Dipper really didn't like the idea of going. He would rather stay in Mystery Shack in his room reading. But there he is, sitting in a back seat with happy Mabel next to him.

'If it's another stupid boy band you are dragging me at, I swear Mabel...' Dipper said annoyed. Mabel looked him with a grin on her face, giggling a little. She knew that Dipper wasn't really into music but when he listen something cool and chill, something with he could read easily.

'Don't worry Dipper you will like it.' she said while she was drawing little Waddles face on a car door. Dipper just rolled his eyes and look on the passing forest outside the window.

----

Dipper was patiently waiting on the band Mabel was so excited about, tapping his foot on the bar ground while Mabel was sitting right next to him drinking some juice she bought.

Suddenly lights slowly dimmed and one big light was aiming on a stage where now was standing you. Wait you?! Dipper rubbed his eyes once again if he wasn't just imagine you. He quickly turned to looked at Mabel and she seemed just as surprised as he was.

But before he could speak, you started playing. When he heard the soft sound coming from you, he was charmed. His eyes were twitching all over your body. How calm you looked.

He thought it wasn't you, you just looked so peacefully. Mabel put a big bright smile on her face, she loved your band already.

You took a deep breath and start singing. You always let out all emotions you had in every song. It was like a therapy for you. Dipper had now his mouth fully open, eyes widen and Mabel swear she saw a little hearts floating around him.

Dipper watched you in amaze when your eyes met his. Your eyes widen a little because you didn't expect him to be here. Dipper gave you the softest smile so you couldn't help but smile back at him.

Mabel watch this interaction between you two with bright smile while she was screeching. She never saw her brother that happy, she was glad he have you.

Mabel wave at you with a braces smile. You already knew she had million questions for you about this whole guitar and singing thing.

But Dipper on the other side was very happy that he learned something new about you. He sure wanted hear more songs from you but he will wait after this concert. And he already knew that this wasn't his last concert.

He fell in love with you even more and he doesn't planning to stop.

I hope you like it!

#gravity falls #dipper pines #dipper x shy reader #dipper pines x shy reader #dipper pines x reader #gravity falls dipper x reader #gravity falls dipper #dipper pines gravity falls #shy reader #mabel pines #mabel pines x reader platonic #gravity falls dipper pines x reader #imagine #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls x reader

273 notes · View notes

vote-gaara · 6 months

Note

This is neither here nor there but I love the idea of gaara being super into music but *solely* to have deep thoughts about the lyrics while almost disregarding the music itself entirely. mcr famous last words 'I am not afraid to keep on living/ I am not afraid to walk this world alone' 🤔 wow just like when I spoke to kankuro. carly rae jepsen call me maybe 'before you came into my life I missed you so bad' 🤔 the depth of yearning for a precious thing missing from your life that you dont even realise you're missing. billy joel piano man 'they're sharing a drink they call loneliness/ but it's better than drinking alone' 🤔 the pain of loneliness leads one to seek companionship in the most unlikely of places. Do you see my vision

Thank you for this ask as it has allowed me to consider aspects of Gaara I would've never thought of.

Mostly, I think Gaara is a little...hmmm....BORING! But then again, I don't think that's true, either. Let me explain:

I don't think that, according to his "default", he has appreciation for things like music, art, fiction or movies. Likely this is the result of how he was raised in isolation, where the feelings conjured by artists eluded him because he couldn't relate to the characters nor appreciate the source the story came from. This habit of disregarding things that weren't "more serious" or "relevant" to his everyday life then carried over to his current self, as since becoming Kazekage, he really has no time to partake in leisure (but very necessary) practices like experiencing art.

Now here's where the complexity of Gaara's character really comes into play:

I believe, wholeheartedly, that Gaara would actually make a FANTASTIC artist, and that he could learn to be moved through art with the right guidance and proding.

Gaara has poor art literacy. He doesn't see a movie or read a book to explore themes; rather he sees them as very objective plot lines such as "first A happened, then B, then C, then it ends."

Basically, Gaara can parse through a story for information but he needs to work on tapping into his empathy for characters that may not exist.

I guarantee that if you get this man into a book club, he would show up to the second or third meeting after reading a few chapters and he would be BLOWN AWAY by what other people had observed; the emotion, the themes, the ambiguity, the subtle things he missed because he wasn't reading the book "correctly."

It would be a borderline religious experience for him, I swear to you.

Even with music, as you suggest. Gaara would see it as "noise" but you get him to really think about what emotion in conjures - what power can be moved through lyrics - and suddenly his mind would be completely and totally blown. Especially if you get him with the symbolism of different instruments. He would suddenly see it as a language that he didn't even know existed (which he would find really cool)!

As I said before, he would probably make a really great artist himself. If you sit him down and you tell him to paint, draw, sculpt, or even write a poem about his life you would get something very moving and powerful. The type of art that brings you to your knees. But alas, he wouldn't really be moved by his own piece, either. Sure, it would be lightly therapeutic for him to have created something from his soul, but it would seem almost mundane to him.

Any art he creates he would see as just being a reflection of his life - or at least how he would see it - and it wouldn't mean anything to him passed "this is what happened to me, and it hurt, but things are better and the world is a better place."

Which begs the question:

Is Gaara really artistically illiterate? Or has he experienced so much in his life that anything that would move the masses, emotionally destroy you or me, simply be too elementary to him?

Either way...I vote that you drag him to concerts and plays, and you share music with him. At the very least, he would (as his current self) appreciate the bonding moment.

#gaara #sing barbie girl gaara #do it #enjoy the bop #kazekage

13 notes · View notes

shamrockqueen · 1 year

Text

Escape the Cold

Chapter 3

Pairing : Soft Bucky x reader

Warnings : Eventual Smut (will be in chapter 4), Soft fluffy feelings, Secretive Bucky

Word count : 2543

AO3 link

MasterList

The morning cycled in through the window near the bed, lighting up the still gently sleeping face of a young woman that had been welcomed into a stranger’s home.

For once you slept deeply surrounded by comfort and warmth. He hadn’t the heart to wake you, and many times through the night he often found himself watching as you slept. He almost felt envious that you could still feel tired, could still sleep, and maybe even still dream. None of which he had been able to do for many years.

But, the sweet surrender to sleep never lasts, and he watches as your eyelashes started to flutter. Your body moves to the natural rhythm of the morning light as it dances across your face.

You rub your sleep filled eyes and turn to see him still in his chair playing mindless cords on his violin. He’d since turned away so you wouldn’t catch him watching you.

A rush of worry and adrenaline propel you upright, now sitting in the soft white fluff of his blankets. Your abrupt movement is enough to steal back his attention. You stared at him speechlessly for a moment, trying to form a proper apology for having not only overslept but also stealing his bed for the night.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to take up the whole bed.” Your voice is so small and worried, he just can’t help but chuckle at it.

"It’s nothing to worry about." He said, "I wanted you to be comfortable." Bucky’s voice is like honey as it calms you back down into the nest of blankets and pillows. He gives you that warm smile, and you swear you melt a little.

You pull yourself onto your side after lying back down, giving you a better angle to look back at him.

"How long have you been awake?" Your little voice calls out.

"Longer than you." He answered with a soft and gentle tone. He sets the violin by the feet of the chair before asking you, "Would you like some breakfast? If you're hungry, of course."

Breakfast? The prospect of food always made you excited. But, having a gentleman such as Bucky fetch you food seemed beneath him.

"I should be the one making something for you. You’re nice enough to have taken me in; the least I could do is be put to work." You mumbled almost to yourself as you tried to get up.

Bucky stops you from leaving the bed yet again with a small wave of his hand. Like an already well-trained puppy, you comply and sit back down.

"Nonsense. You are MY guest now, and you will be treated as such."

"Okay," you softly agree.

He pushes out of the chair towards the bedroom door. "I’ll be right back."

The door closes with a soft click, giving you an opportunity to slip out from under the covers to lightly pace around other furniture.

The room was beautifully designed, like an apartment inside the royal palace. Never in your life had you been in such a beautiful place, and not once did you imagine you would have the chance.

From the ornate chairs and tables to all the books and sheet music that filled or covered almost every surface. Then there was his instrument. The fine reddish wood rounded at the end with a short neck at the top. It would have seemed like any other that could be purchased if it weren’t for the black lines that ran along each ridge like a large drawing in ink pen.

For a well-off gentleman, you’d assume it would be outlined in gold or painted in fine pastels. But the black lines give it a strange professional look over extravagance.

You lean down to run your finger along the smooth wood towards one of the strings. The pad of the little finger catches on the cord to pluck it back and let it vibrate back onto the violin. But, in place of the light twang befitting the instrument, there was no sound at all. You try again with a little more force, but still no note is heard.

The door was pushed open before you could investigate further. You stood up from the chair as Bucky came back into the room with a tray in hand.

"I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long." He smiled that sweet smile at you again.

"It’s been no time at all." In fact, it surprised you as to how quickly he’d come back with so much food.

He sets the tray down on a side table by the bed, giving you a better look at the meal he’s brought you.

A large plate with a few fried eggs still rounded over in the middle with full runny yolks and buttered toast cut into triangles. On the eggs was a drizzle of a creamy sauce with a sprinkle of some simple green herb you couldn’t name if you tried. Upon dabbing the sauce with your finger and bringing it to your tongue, it tasted savory with a hint of lemon.

"It’s a hollandaise," he said still sweetly as he picked up the fork and knife and began cutting into the eggs and spilling yolk over the toast.

The plate was already so big, and filled with more than enough food for your malnourished stomach to handle.

Yet, it wasn’t alone on the tray. At one corner there is a white bowl filled with plump red and blue berries, topped with what must be a sweet cream.

Before you let out any of your buzzing questions, he’s holding a forkful of food to your lips. You only hesitate a second before taking the morsel into your hungry mouth, catching a glimpse of his own tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip.

The flavors are divine, and you have to close your eyes and let them all wash over your tongue as you swallow the food.

Bucky tried to cut you off another piece, but you stopped him by grabbing at the cutlery in his hands. With a now beaming smile after swallowing your food, you tell him. "It’s your turn, isn’t it?"

He’s a bit perplexed and states that "this breakfast is all for you."

Your eyes nearly bug out, "but there is so much."

"Then I suggest you take it all one bite at a time." He said, still giving you an amused smile.

"But what about you?" You giggled back. You didn’t want to be greedy and take too much for yourself.

"I’m not hungry," was his reply.

"Wha..you have to have something." You scramble for a cut strawberry, not paying any mind to getting the cream on your fingers.

He just can’t tell you no, not as your eyes light up and your hand extends to feed him. So he indulges you, taking the fruit onto his tongue. He lets the pink muscle lap a little at the cream left on one of your fingers as he takes the berries between his teeth.

The cream was sweet, pairing well with the fresh burst of flavor from the blueberry he’d bitten into, just as he remembered it. Yet, your smile as you watched him savor the taste was all the sweeter than the fruit could ever be.

With the small satisfaction of making sure he too was fed, you cut yourself another bite of food.

This time he’ll leave you to eat in peace, but his hand brushes your knee as he pushes off the bed. This movement takes your attention away as you watch him sit back in his chair.

The warmth of his touch still lingers on your skin, and it isn't until he asks you, "How is your meal then?" that you remember all the food still sitting before you.

"Y-yes, it’s delicious, and there’s so much of it." He has you giddy all over again as you pick up a slice of toast.

"I can’t believe you made this yourself? And so quickly?" You tear the toast into two before placing one piece on your tongue.

"Time moves differently for some than it does for others."

You can only ponder his words. You could have sworn that he was gone only for a moment.

"Your maid must have had some ready for you, surly?"

Without the violin to occupy him, it leaves his hands to tap uncomfortably on the arm of the chair. "No, I don’t have a maid. It’s only me at the estate..and of course there’s you now to keep my company."

He made it seem like you were a new addition instead of a guest. You couldn’t imagine ever wanting to leave such a wonderful place so if he wanted to keep you, you wouldn’t protest.

You swallow the toast before responding, "A man of your stature, and you choose to be alone."

The line to overstep grew closer and closer the more you asked as his nails started to tap at the wood instead of the pads of his fingers.

"A man of stature, possibly not, but I’m man enough to take care of myself." His hand stilled as he turned from the chair to face you. "I came out here to focus on my music, and at the time I chose to be alone, hoping I would finish it."

"How long have you been working on it?"

"Too long." His eyes fell from you and stared blankly at the floor as he answered you.

"Well, how long is the song so far?"

He lets out a breathy laugh and whispers "endless."

You would never understand the artistic types.

"What is it supposed to be about? You know, even though there aren’t any words, how did you want people to feel when they heard it?"

He liked that your first thought regarded the emotions his music could evoke. Not many people, nobleborn or not, came to the same conclusion. Maybe for you, music held more meaning since it was so rare.

"It started off poorly, mind-numbing, even spiteful. Sometimes I’d want to just smash this damn thing into pieces just to make the noise end. My muse was long forgotten, and I felt I was playing for no reason at all."

His fingers ghosted down towards the swirl of wood at the top of his violin as he continued to speak.

"When anything new did come to mind, it was forced and often angry. Since then the music has always sounded empty, and there was a short time I had stopped playing."

Bucky's hand drew around the neck of his instrument, and he said numbly and dryly, "But now I know if I stop, I’ll surely forget how to do it."

He brought the violin back up to his shoulder slowly before slipping the bow back along the strings to resume the unworded melody, and he continued to speak.

"After that, it just became repetitive, but at least it was somewhat fun again. In a way, it didn’t matter how I made it sound as long as I still liked playing it."

"I’m sorry the music made you want to stop playing. I think it sounds beautiful." You tried to lighten his souring mood a little, and it seemed to work as he turned his head towards you and his blue eyes lightened.

He stilled himself, if only briefly, as his posture softened back into his chair. "That’s not why I stopped playing." He said lowly.

"It isn’t?" You asked.

"No. I had gotten sick, but I was too stubborn to reach out to anyone for help or leave the house. I thought I could just take care of himself." His eyes left you after he spoke, letting them look up at the ceiling instead.

The pettiness and stubborn nature of those who worked above you always made you angry.

"At the time I didn’t want to fill the house with noise as peace and quiet were the whole point of coming out here."

You almost want to scold him for choosing something so ridiculous over his own health. But most of all, it sounded so lonely. He of all people could afford to not be alone.

He seemed to match your melancholy as he continued, only to turn back to his sweeter tone by the end of his sentence.

"It was my biggest mistake..but now the fates seemed to have smiled upon us, as they sent you here." He stood up as he flicked his bow with a flourish in a short set of notes. He approached the bed again to sit on the floor, prompting a laugh from you this time as he continued to play.

James glanced back up at you as you cut the rest of your food to finish it, oddly glad the initial souring of his mood hadn’t ruined your appetite. The lingering of his bow flowed in time with his eyes as they traveled around the nightshirt you still wore.

It had ridden up after you had laid back down, showing off the soft skin of your thigh as it caught on the curve of your bottom to still cover any unmentionables.

Along with that, the opening of the collar hung too low. He could too easily peek into it to see your plush breasts, yet the current state of your clothes went entirely unnoticed by you.

How long had it been since he’d seen a beautifully bloomed young woman such as yourself so exposed and yet still so hidden?

The notes still came out in light, happy tones in spite of his distraction. When you finished the food on your plate, you set the fork down and looked back at the bowl of whipped sweet cream when you tried to feed him some berries.

You want to ask him if he wants some just one last time, but you decide against it. Best to leave in his joyful state this time than to push the topic again.

Even Bucky can’t help it when he hears you enjoying the last of the food, and the music changes a little before stopping all together. But, his next move leaves you speechless as you watch Bucky’s hand leaves the instrument to venture over the bed towards your thigh.

Two of his fingers pressed to your skin; he wanted to go further until they disappeared under the nightshirt. Instead, they lingered down toward your calf as he spoke to you.

"You inspire me."

You have to suck in a deep lungful of air just to respond to him with "That can’t be true."

You didn't know how you could possibly be very good company, but you are glad to make him at least a little happy. He’s clearly very well educated, and you're just some simple factory worker. You couldn’t even read the music he played.

"It is. You make an inspiring audience. Like a painter would have you pose for his palette and brush, my bow plays to the curve of your smile and the flicker of your gaze."

Your jaw is left ajar as you feel your mind drown in his sweet voice. Never could you have imagined you’d be someone’s muse. Not a simple girl like you.

#fanfiction #fanfic #eventual smut #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #soft bucky x reader #Soft Bucky #Soft Bucky Barnes #bucky fic #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky fandom #period piece #period piece au

35 notes · View notes

sylvidoptera · 3 months

Text

The tiny fae sat atop the neck of the ancient snapper, holding on to his bag of parchment and writing instruments. He let his mind drift for the walk, knowing that the habit of countless years would take the larger dragon's feet exactly where they needed to go. Muscle memory was a wonderful thing.

The mental memory, however, was slippery and you always took it for granted until it was gone.

As they reached the tablet in the middle of the clearing, Scribbles could feel his great-great-grandmother perk up. The sight of the polished rocks she'd called her desk for ages would always draw her out of the slightly disconnected place she spent the majority of her time these days. His own spirits brightened instantly and he grinned with anticipation.

While Tomo puttered around her desk setting up everything just so, Scribbles fluttered to the two sides of the path that came through the trees. Most of the locals knew that the famous researcher was now struggling with dementia and would treat her accordingly; but sometimes strangers would come through and laugh at "the daft old lady" who handed out coins for simple answers over and over.

As the fae put the second sign up, its block letters reading "PLEASE BE KIND", he heard himself called back. "Scribbles! Everything is ready! You need to be in place if you're to get any work done with me today!" Tomo's voice was affectionate and filled with the same eagerness that had driven her to learn everything she could when she was younger.

"Yes, Grandmother! I was just putting up the 'open' signs for our sources."

"Good boy! Hopefully we'll get someone who knows what they're talking about today. I swear, some people just are woefully ignorant. But that's alright! We can teach. Everyone likes to learn, right?"

Smiling a little bit sadly, Scribbles nodded. "Of course." He set up his parchment, inkwell, and quills and prepared for what the day might bring. "We can only hope that everyone today will learn something valuable."

As the day wore on, Tomo never lost her enthusiasm. Whether the answers were wrong or right, she learned something (again) or the dragon who gave the wrong answer was able to have a new fact to take home. Every silly little drawing, recipe, or imaginary prose Scribbles wrote down was met with a gently amused patience and joy that her grandson was so talented and creative.

Those who were in the know would quietly drop their coins back into the basket hidden in the bushes next to the tablet. Tomo was endlessly generous, because she didn't remember that she no longer was a highly-paid scholar. Everyone in the area was so proud and so fond, they would simply make sure that she would never run out of coins… for Tomo insisted on paying for correct answers. Her pride and generosity would allow nothing else.

At the end of the day, Scribbles packed up his equipment and looked at the slowly fading light in his beloved grandmother's eyes. "The sun is going down, Tomo. Time to head home. After all, brains need rest to be able to process all this information."

"Right you are! You're such a good apprentice. If you're lucky, my desk may be yours someday. But not for a long time. There's still so much left to learn." Tomo looked over the clearing one last time before Scribbles climbed up on her back. With a deep sigh that was full of contentment - and a hint of unconscious sadness - the ancient dragon let her mind slip into the twilight she'd been fighting as her body carried her home.

Scribbles looked down at the head that held the most beautiful mind he'd ever known. No matter how many times the fog took her away, he would work hard to bring her out into the light. If that meant spending every day like today, so be it.

Wiping away a tear and sitting up straighter, Scribbles smiled as Tomo started gently rambling a story from her childhood. It was one of his favorites. The little dragon pushed away any shadows from his thoughts and enjoyed the rhythm of the familiar words.

Tomorrow was another day… and there were always questions to ask and answers to give. For what was life without learning and love?

#my muse bit me #flight rising #dragon fic #tomo and scribbles #dementia #please be kind

2 notes · View notes

universesrising · 2 years

Text

listing all my ninjago aus [again]

because i have more since last i did this and should update anyway

feel free to ask about any of these i live for rambling about things [and might also draw something if requested]

[i am sorry there are so many words this was meant to be a summary]

the big sip [bigger sip, biggest sip] - ok so basically, the premise of big sip is that the gang loses control of their powers and have to get snatched by wu before multiple bad things happen, the plot changes slightly depending on your flavor of sip. bigger sip has them already reach the uh oh point by the time wu gets them, and [SEABOUND SPOILERS] merge with their elements like nya did that one time in canon. they turn back once wu gets them. biggest sip has them NOT turn back once wu snatches them, and multiple concerns arise from this. big sip is the only au that has fanfiction of it [i’m gonna write the next chapter of the sipquel..... someday]

forever superstar rockin - one of two simple canon divergence aus, this one is exactly as the name implies. during prime empire, jay never switches out of his superstar rockin avatar, and once he leaves the game he simply. stays that way. he does not change back and is stuck like that now. and this is literally the entire au, just him looking like That for the rest of the series. at least the clothes aren’t stuck?? [this also has an alternate setting, where kai too gets stuck in his avatar design. fools, the both of them]

frozen [no not that one] - the second canon divergence au, this one set in season 11 of course. okay so you know that scene where boreal just hecking deletes the entire village? this divergence is basically just. what if kai did not escape unharmed. what if he got hit and just, froze over like everyone else when the rest of the gang got back. that would be terrible. the angst potential. do not be fooled by my lack of coherency explaining this one, i have Many Thoughts about it, i simply cannot speak

no more trauma - bear with me on this one lads, it’s a wild ride. this au started as a complete joke and, it still is, but it’s also still an au. a joke au, if you will. basically the premise is, what if my friend and i’s sonas, yasa and star, who are multiversal explorers of a sort, just. went to ninjago. and stopped every terrible thing from happening right when it’s about to happen. they immediately leave right after, so they get the effect of weird yet helpful cryptids. this is a very strange au, i am fully aware. yet it is so funny

lighthouse - this is a big one, has ties to another au but only in terms of character design. i spoke in length about the plot a bit ago, but basically the whole gang is varying degrees of animal person, [MORE SEABOUND SPOILERS] by the time it starts, nya is already the entire ocean, and jay lives at the lighthouse now. the plot’s just like. jay gets kidnapped by pirates [guess who], the gang saves him, shenanigans occur in which jay is forced to become a ninja again, he HATES it for various reasons, and everything spirals until the end, where jay simply retires. he literally retires back to the lighthouse. there is a reason this is called lighthouse au. there is so much going on here

band [also vigilantes] - this is also a bit weird but honestly all my aus are like that. band au is not what you think from the cover. the gang IS the instruments. for example, lloyd is a microphone. there’s more to it than that i swear, they turn into regular people at night, where they then do vigilante stuff under wu’s guidance. also they still have powers. lloyd’s doubles as a booster for the others because. microphone. hah. also featuring various other characters as the actual band, like pixal. i would like to send you the image of edna playing an electric guitar, because that is canon information. i do not know who nya’s player is please help me. she is a piano

crreature [spelled exactly like that] - this is the one that ties into lighthouse design-wise, because crreature au started by me going “what if lighthouse designs.... but more?” anyway i have also yelled incomprehensibly about this one and will continue to do so for THIS is the au i obsess over. what is the plot. the plot is everyone [except lloyd this time] is humanoid animals of some sort, called creatures in lore, and they live in a reserve owned by wu and there are so many shenanigans. a pool party. jay and nya have a ‘wedding’. zane is constantly interviewed cause he’s literally the only one who can talk. lloyd manages what is essentially a youtube channel,

gaming - this, surprisingly, is the self indulgent au, and not crreature. this is the other one i’ve talked about, especially jay’s role in it. i love gaming au. it’s zane and jay centric since they’re my friend and i’s favorite characters and this, as stated, is the self indulgent au. basically in gaming au, jay’s the companion npc / final boss of a vr rhythm game, and zane is Just A Guy who works for videogame-flavored borg industries. shenanigans with a prototype vr portal allows jay to literally just. walk out of his game into the real world. and zane essentially gets put on babysitting duty. the entire au is just Shenanigans as jay terrorizes the city and zane tries desperately to keep his sanity. this is such a good au. lloyd is here and he works at subway

elemental - “i am the most powerful subway employee to ever exist” - lloyd... that is the summary of this au. in which lloyd is exactly that, just some guy who works at subway. everyone else, however, are manifestations of their elements [and also the elements themselves... it is Complicated]. there’s too much plot to explain here [feel free to ask me to explain it though!], but basically lloyd has to go on a journey to reunite the elements of creation [+ water] in order to prevent some big disaster event from happening. along the way he discovers that oh, turns out he’s the descendant of the guy who made the world and that is why he’s the one who is doing this. cool.

lost lightning - this one is. weird. i introduced it here, but basically lost lightning starts off as a “ninjago without jay” situation up until the tournament of elements, where chen, not having lightning, opens a portal to the first realm to find a dragon to steal. the others follow him and find jay, who in the au is a funky cryptid not-quite-dragon man called a scavenger. after many shenanigans, jay ends up following them back to ninjago, not quite becoming a ninja but still mostly joining the gang, and the series goes along from there with MUCH rewriting to fit the whole... y’know... cryptid man... it’s a weird au, idk what to tell you

oops i did it again [here be dragons] - okay, so legally, this is called “oops i did it again”, but OFFICIALLY, it’s “here be dragons”. this is to lost lightning what crreature is to lighthouse, meaning i took one look at a design and went “what if... it was MORE?” ...here be dragons is, as you can guess, an au where the gang [minus lloyd, as it goes], are dragons. in the au, dragons are very, very extinct. or so they were SUPPOSED to be. zane, in the au, was built to preserve their legacy, but went missing, and upon his discovery ALSO happened to bring the discovery of four more dragons, which are kai, nya, jay, and cole. they’re the last known dragons in the whole world, at least, to anyone’s knowledge. so lloyd has a pretty important job of keeping them safe and protected, not that they. make it easy. they are very feral. help him

AND THAT IS ALL [of my aus]. i won’t list my friend’s aus this time [chicken au is great though and i am bullying them for content] cause this is so long already but i hope you enjoyed reading?? my aus are weird i am aware of this

as said up top though, if you want to know more about a specific one [or want me to draw something for them], feel free to ask! i love answering questions and we need more walls of text in this world [joking]

[edit as of the addition of elemental, lost lightning, and here be dragons: fun fact! here be dragons is called ‘oops i did it again’ because... it is another crreature au. i did it again. i made another one. i cannot be trusted, someone stop me]

#long post #that's what happens when i talk about literally anything #truly the autism braincell in action #anyway like i said ask me things! i will say so many words at you #ninjago #ninjago au #lego ninjago

15 notes · View notes

littleragondin · 1 year

Text

I was tagged by @howdydowdy ages ago (quite literally gosh), thank you a lot! Even if it was incredibly hard to pick up only 8 books oh my god, the show version felt like a walk in the park in comparison lol

8 shows books to get to know me in no specific order

- "Les Fleurs du Mal" by Charles Baudelaire, illustrated by Henri Matisse. I got this book when I was maybe 10? I liked Baudelaire already (I was a very festive child I swear), and I loved drawing and art, so my mother - who loves book as much as I do - got it for me. It cemented my love of poetry, I think. Baudelaire is still a favorite of mine, and Matisse's illustrations just enhanced the experience.

"Alors, ô ma beauté! dites à la vermine Qui vous mangera de baisers, Que j'ai gardé la forme et l'essence divine De mes amours décomposés!" - from "Une Charogne"

- "The Belgariad" (and "The Mallorean" that follows) by David & Leigh Eddings. I have always loved fantasy stories, and this one has been with me for a long time. It's very classic fantasy, Chose One goes on a quest with the help of A Group of Prophecy Designated Companions but it's terribly well done, the characters are lovely, and it's very funny.

Silk: Not to worry, Urgit. Hettar came all the way through the streets of your capital, and he didn't kill even one of your subjects. Urgit: Remarkable. You've changed, Lord Hettar. You're reputed to be a thousand feet tall and to wear a necklace of Murgo skulls. Hettar: I'm on vacation. - from one of The Mallorean books

- "My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness" by Nagata Kabi. There had to be some illustrated work of course. Sometimes you read a story that resonates so much with you it kind of makes your body vibrates - like an echo that keeps responding to itself. This story did that to me, and the art (sketchy, nervous, simple but efficient) truly enhances the feelings.

“Maybe the times I couldn't move were the times I needed to take better care of myself.”

- "Le Petit Prince" by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Another one from when I was a child. I had an abridged version read by French actor Gérard Philippe, and I would listen to that CD all the time. Then my mom (her again) got me the book, and I have read and reread it regularly since then. I think I like different things about it now than when I was a child, of course, but the sadness of the Narrator at the end makes my heart aches the same way it did back when I read the book sitting under my desk at 12.

"Et quand tu sera consolé (on se console toujours) tu seras content de m'avoir connu. Tu seras toujours mon ami. Tu auras envie de rire avec moi. [...] Ca sera comme si je t'avavais donné, au lieu d'étoiles, des tas de petits grelots qui savent rire..."

- "Smoke and Mirrors" by Neil Gaiman. Particularly "Chivalry" and "Murder Mysteries", respectively first and last of the collection. I love a great many of Gaiman's works, so he had to go on the list. I picked this one because it sparked my love and appreciation of the short story format. Plus, I love magic hidden in the mundane (like in Chivalry), and I love retelling of religious stories (like in Murder Mysteries), so it's also a good intro to that I think.

"I feel dirty. I feel tarnished. I feel befouled. Perhaps it is true that all that happens is in accordance with Your will, and thus it is good. But sometimes You leave blood on Your instruments." - from "Murder Mysteries"

- "Oh boy!" by Marie-Aude Murail. She was my favorite author when I was a child/teen, I devoured everything she offered (the Nils Hazard series was such a huge part of my childhood). I picked this one because I loved it very, very much - I remember breaking a friendship because I lent it to a girl who never gave it back to me, lying that her mom bought it for her and that it was not mine. It's a story about grief, about siblings love, about facing adversity together and coming out from the other side, maybe a little worse for wear but still here. All things I still cherish very much in stories today that I'm the adults' age and not the teens anymore.

"Chapitre 13 qui n'existe pas pour ne pas porter la poisse aux Morlevent."

- "This is how you lose the time war" by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone. Sometimes you start a book the way you absent-mindedly brush your fingers against the surface of water, and sometimes that water swallows you whole but you don't drown, the water just fills you. I closed that book with all its words left in me, I think, and I had to catch my breath again. It's about war, and it's about love, time, and choices and sacrifices. It's a small book, all in all, but it took me some time to come back down from it. I think mostly, it's here because it touched me, and it's a good example of why I like words. Also it's epistolary, a format I deeply, deeply love.

"But when I think of you, I want to be alone together. I want to strive against and for. I want to live in contact. I want to be a context for you, and you for me."

- "The Discworld" by Terry Pratchett. I know this one is, like, the worst cheat because it's more than 40 books and I just went and gave them all to you as one. But I can't have them off the list! Not a year goes by without me re-reading some of them, and while I do have favorites they all hold a big place in my heart. The whole collection (in French and in the Atalante edition which is, like, very pretty) was my mom's gift for obtaining my PhD even if I already owned nearly all of them in either French or English, so I guess that gives you an idea of how much I love them.

"Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving." - from "A hat full of sky"

I won't tag ppl because I tagged a lot for the actual show version, and I don't know how much my mutuals would like to do it, but if you do PLEASE tag me so I can see your lists <3

#... can you guess my mom always encouraged my love of books lol #really picking eight was so SO hard because I read so many books and I love so many of them lol #I guess it makes for a good start as any for what kind of books I enjoy!#I tried to not put too many books in French but also #at least Baudelaire and Le Petit Prince I'm sure can easily be found in English so it's fine ^^ hopefully #books #tag games

2 notes · View notes

camelliacats · 2 years

Text

written in your blood (part 4/6)

One last visit to Rowle's—and Flora's—saga with the Carrow siblings, written as my entry for the Death Eater 2022 Fest. Set primarily after this oneshot and this story.

Ch4: "Now: Flora, accomplice" [FFN] [AO3] | ← → | start from the beginning

Pairings/Characters: Thorfinn Rowle & Flora Carrow (mentions of Thorfinn/Alecto & Flora/Amycus), with Borgin

Rating: strong T

Words: ~5,970

Additional info: gen fic, angst, hurt/comfort, violence, Dark magic, Harry's era, 3rd person POV

Summary: Thorfinn's made the same promise twice over already…and he'll make it again, if it means new ally Flora will be instrumental in getting his love and his best mate back. Ch4: There are no more oaths to be sworn, as Flora hatches a plan with Thorfinn's assistance.

Thorfinn and Flora don't speak for the rest of the night after they swear their blood oath. She finds a small copse of trees with soft bushes for cover, and she makes camp there for the morning and afternoon. Thorfinn dozes, as well, since he's tossed his lot in with hers, and he doesn't want to think of the remaining options he doesn't have waiting for him out in the world beyond here…

When they break camp, Flora leads the way once more, following some route she has yet to disclose to Thorfinn.

He's about to pick her brain when she comes to an abrupt stop and crashes into his left side. "Oi! Watch it," he grouses.

"It wasn't me," Flora snaps.

"Sure seems as though you tripped over those fancy-heeled boots of yours."

"I didn't," she states. She takes another step—and again she bowls into him. Flora would've stumbled to the ground if not for Thorfinn reacting on instinct to catch her. "What the hell?!"

"That's my line." He sets her on her feet…but a slow, knowing smirk draws his lips up. "…Flora, where have you had in mind, us going?"

Flora glares at him. "Sunderland." She swallows a lump in her throat when he raises his eyebrows, waiting for more. "I've a great-aunt on my mother's side. I thought it'd be a start."

"Hmm. And that's…?"

"Southeast from here."

Thorfinn can't stifle his wolfish grin any longer. "Try taking another step towards Great-Auntie in Sunderland."

Her glare deepens, but she does so—and this time she doesn't only stumble but turns heel.

"HA!" He smacks his thigh, delighted to see the blood oath in action for once. With Amycus, their road to Alecto had been a relatively easy one. With Alecto, keeping Amycus safe and alive had been all right given that their trio had kept together for years after the Dark Lord vanished.

With Flora, the magic is making her keep their promise as intended.

"Never thought I'd see the day," Thorfinn admits aloud.

"Explain," Flora demands.

"It's the blood oath, witch," he points out. "With how we worded it, it wants to keep us on the right path towards our end goal. That means no going to Sunderland."

Flora scrunches up her nose. "Dammit." She stoops then, brushing her fingers through the dirt until she loosens two large pebbles smooth as can be and stacks them, flattening a blade of grass between them. Flora waves her wand, and the blade wobbles behind them as the Compass Charm points northward. She takes a step, and the blood oath pulls her… "Southwest," she observes.

"What's southwest?"

She sighs. "My father's clubhouse, in Carlisle. A vacation home my mother splits with an old school friend, in Liverpool."

Thorfinn kicks the stacked stones aside and starts marching in the correct direction now. "And anything further than that?"

Flora pales—she looks sickly like a young Amycus back in their second, third year. "No," she replies. "Nothing."

(Of course, "nothing" always means "something," especially when dealing with a Carrow.)

They fly when there's cloud cover—Flora keeps a sturdy Bluebottle in an inner pocket and begrudgingly lets Thorfinn ride behind her since he doesn't have a broom of his own (what's the use when one mostly Apparates?)—and Apparate when short on time and weary of the skies. But the further south they travel, the more westward the oath pulls Flora, until, in the early morning beyond Liverpool, they're nearly yanked from the sky at the border between England and Wales.

And here Thorfinn thought a blood oath never would kill him.

Flora shrieks but steers her Bluebottle up out of the nosedive the blood oath would've guided them to had she no presence of mind. The magic pulls them ever downward, so Flora propels them towards the safety of the ground, and the magic's intensity lessens the slightest once they dismount. "For fuck's sake!" she gasps. She stows her broom and gapes at Thorfinn in horror. "Is it supposed to do that?!"

But he shrugs. "Wouldn't know. I've never defied one of my oaths before."

Her gape doesn't fade. "Oaths, plural? How many such things have you made, Rowle?!"

But the Dark wizard shakes his head, dismissing the thought. "Where to next?"

Flora blinks but takes a step. "If I haven't lost my bearings from that flight…southeast now."

He nods. "I've never been to Wales, so—after you."

Flora purses her lips, but they resume their trek. Clouds arrive again, and Flora takes some cajoling before they both get on her broom once more, at a lower altitude now. But the further south they go, the slower they fly.

"You know what will happen if you fight the blood oath, Flora," Thorfinn reminds her, not covering a huff at the end.

"I think I know where it's taking us, taking me, though—and I can't go there."

"That's not how the oath works. Following it is best."

Once more, Flora lowers them to the ground. But, after they dismount, Flora's shoulders sag, and her hair seems to hang limp with the rest of her. They walk but at a meandering pace. "…I can't do this, Rowle."

He suppresses a sigh. "Why?"

"You wouldn't understand."

Good Merlin, is there some Carrow handbook given at birth? Are they each born with this sense of isolation? But Thorfinn's an old hand at wearing down this type, and he slides his gaze her way. Blue eyes meet charcoal gray for half a beat. "Try me."

Flora's frown ages her; she nearly fits right in with him and the Carrow siblings in their mid-thirties, with that sad air clinging to her. "I think…the blood oath is drawing me to my childhood home."

He doesn't presume to know her story, but her words are open to all sorts of interpretations. Thorfinn keeps his eyes aimed straight ahead at the city in the far distance. "Is being a Carrow a cursed thing?" he asks.

She exhales a low, slow breath. "My parents would have you think so." Another brief glance Thorfinn's way. "Picus, my father—happy financier and proud half-blood. Rhea, my mother—formerly of the Burkes, also a half-blood, and too enamored with the new ways of the world." She hesitates before adding, "My twin sister, Hestia, alike only in looks. Truly nothing but a frightened mouse who would give up her inheritance for another surname." A shadow falls over her features, hardening them. "None of them cares for the old ways, like me. None of them can see the merits of blood supremacy, of casting aside the lesser." Flora grimaces. "Their politics are backwards."

"…huh."

"What?"

Thorfinn chuckles to himself. "Just haven't heard the rhetoric in a while. You would've fit right in, ideologically, with Bellatrix and the rest."

That doesn't impress Flora much, though her grimace improves to her former frown.

"Still, though—Carrow?" he presses, one eyebrow quirked.

Flora rolls her eyes. "I had to explain to Amycus last fall, too. Not from his and Alecto's side, no. There was a split in the bloodline, generations ago. So…it's a distant relation."

Thorfinn shrugs, leaving it at that. In some way or form, all the old families are related somehow, so Flora and Amycus are well in keeping with tradition.

At this time of year (or perhaps Wales is just exceptionally lush and not marked by the English summer rain), they are surrounded by all varieties of green, many lively, some speaking of seasons past. A part of Thorfinn almost admires the inadvertent nod to their Hogwarts House, but Flora's nerves ruin the moment.

"What if I don't go home, just near?" she asks him.

"Worth a shot."

Flora nods. She touches his arm, and they Disapparate from the viridian backdrop to just outside the city limits. "Wrexham," she mumbles. "Home sweet home."

Thorfinn doesn't remark, but he throws up another façade before she enters the mainly Muggle-inhabited municipality. They dodge vehicles and idiots on cycles who think the world is their road, and Flora's footfall turns heavy as they pass a small sign that reads "WELCOME TO ACTON."

Her route becomes odd and angled, taking this turn and that—it must be the blood oath at work, guaranteeing Flora is where she is meant to be—until she finally slows beyond the street with the church. Her gaze tracks to a brownstone near the end of the lane…

…but then she turns back to the church, observing some parishioners outside prepping for an event.

"…of course."

Thorfinn scoffs at her actions. "'Of course'? What? What, 'of course'? You've stopped even though I'd reckon that's your bloody home right down—"

But Flora holds up a hand to shush him…and she's able to walk away from the neighborhood. She retraces her steps, a dark smile on her lips and Thorfinn dogging her heels as they exit just as fast as they came. "I was right. I needn't return home, after all."

He gawks at her.

She waits to explain until they're out of earshot of any passersby. Then she wheels on him, a manic delight in her eye. "Did you notice the Muggles at the parish? What they were handling?"

"Fuck no. Why should I have?"

"They're setting up for some charity event. Mrs. Drummond the postman's wife was holding the cashbox."

Still, Thorfinn gawks.

Once again, Flora rolls her eyes, and they leave Acton, Wrexham, Wales behind. "The oath is giving me clues, Rowle. Home to me means bonds I cannot shake, ties I cannot sever—not yet. And the church…" She produces her Bluebottle and mounts the broom, impatient as Thorfinn clambers on behind her. "It's time to head to Gringotts and clear out my vault."

They fly partway and make use of an old Death Eater safe house in Birmingham (abandoned by Mulciber in the first war but left alone and unknown by the Ministry) to rest before heading to London. Thorfinn reminds her half a dozen times that, given what's just transpired, he can't be anywhere near Diagon Alley or Knockturn Alley.

Flora huffs at him with each reminder. "Seems as though this blood oath is only working to your favor," she notes the following afternoon before she leaves to face the goblins.

Thorfinn nods. "I don't disagree. But, so far, I haven't felt a pull."

She huffs again at his statement but drops the subject. She leaves for London without another word.

Honestly, the time alone gives Thorfinn a chance to think. Did he fuck it up, the oath, when he made those two little changes? And, worse, will it jeopardize his chances of seeing both Alecto and Amycus again? He doesn't really believe so, but the mere notion gives him an anxious itch along his neck that Thorfinn begins to scratch absentmindedly.

The afternoon bleeds away, and Thorfinn dons a fresh façade to venture out and find a quick bite. The hours tick by, and he entertains himself by imagining what Mulciber, Rosier, and Avery might've gotten up to in an old haunt like this back in the day. …night falls, and he seeks supper, and that anxious itch atop his old Azkaban number (one of many indelible marks that will forever be a part of him) increases, worsened by the fact that Flora has yet to return.

He's willing to chance a prison break with her. But he can't do this on his own.

Thorfinn debates going out to search for her when the lone door to the two-room house opens, and he descends on her. "And?" is all he can manage at the moment.

Flora shrinks back from his large presence, but she has color in her cheeks. "I have my gold, no questions asked. My parents never revoked access. And—"

There's more than gold? He backs down.

Flora puffs up her chest a little, proud. "Three of my father's connections were visiting the bank today. I waited to make sure I got to 'bump' into each of them."

Thorfinn scoffs and turns away. "I'm heading to bed."

"Rowle!" Flora tromps after him. "I worked some charm on them…the non-magical sort. Hearing I'm Picus Carrow's daughter, looking to take after her father's business, they've each offered to gift me a donation to assist in my 'fledgling enterprise.'"

He sheds his traveling cloak, bundles it up into a makeshift pillow, and drops it onto the ancient mattress left behind in the spare room. "How nice for your enterprise." Then he drops like a log onto the mattress, too.

But Flora shoves his arm. "You thick bastard—it's part of the plan to free Amycus."

"And Alecto," he reminds her.

She hesitates. "…yes, of course. Look, just—give them a few days, and we'll have more money."

Thorfinn turns his back to her. "Azkaban guards can't be bought off, Flora."

"No, they can't…but everyone who's a step leading towards Azkaban can."

On that tantalizing thread, she leaves him hanging, and Thorfinn smirks in his sleep.

Alecto is a planner, and Amycus chose for himself quite the strategist himself. Alecto ought to be flattered, Thorfinn thinks.

"I'll see Gannin later today, but Soji and Sameer won't be back in town until tomorrow at the earliest," Flora informs Thorfinn the next morning over their breakfast of pasties and butterbeer nicked from the Leaky Cauldron when Tom the barman was Imperiused.

Thorfinn finishes his portion of the flaky food and reaches for the rest of hers, ignoring the foul look she shoots him. "Don't care. Been a while since I got to have some fun," he says with the rest of Flora's breakfast in his mouth.

Flora pulls a face and gets to her feet to get away from him. "Yes, well, catching the barman unawares was best, but making him hit himself can be done another time, Rowle."

He shrugs. But he finishes eating and licks his lips. "Don't tell me we're going to waste more of yet another day waiting."

"No. Because Gringotts gave me another idea." She pauses for Thorfinn to stand, and they exit the safe house. After Thorfinn puts up protective enchantments behind them, ensuring the home remains a haven to them, she murmurs, "We need to discern the current status of Azkaban."

They begin a slow stroll down the street (Thorfinn wearing yet another façade, of course), and Thorfinn mulls her announcement over. "Breakouts happened last time because we had people on the inside, as well as the power of the Dark Lord," he mumbles.

"I surmised as much."

"You can't fly there, Flora. No broomsticks, no wands, no Apparition." He shudders as he recalls the few years he spent there. Granted, his four years seem like a brief stint compared to the time Bellatrix or the Lestranges or Dolohov did, but the place is one that's hard to forget.

(Alecto and Amycus have been captured once before but avoided Azkaban, narrowly. More than a week in that hell is long enough, as far as Thorfinn cares.)

Just in case Flora needs a dose of reality, he halts her by the shoulder and turns her to face him. Thorfinn tugs on the high collar of his robes, where his façade doesn't cover, and an identifying, numerical tattoo that no spell can hide peeks out.

Flora tries to maintain her flat expression. But the slight roll of her neck muscles gives her away as she swallows a chunk of anxiety and fear. "…I understand," she says.

He nods. He believes her. Thorfinn Rowle will happily sacrifice himself and claim sole blame for crimes committed alongside others so Alecto and Amycus can be free. But he can't attempt a prison break halfheartedly or with someone who doesn't care whether his sacrifices are in vain.

They return to London. Thorfinn won't enter the Ministry with her—they can't risk it, because if any place does have reinforced security measures in place, it's the Ministry of Magic—but he can keep watch by the Tube entrance for Ministry workers. Flora claims she's seen her father use it a few times, for meetings, but Thorfinn doesn't care much for such details.

Least of all when he spies wanted posters plastering the tunnel walls.

He walks by them half a dozen times so as not to be too conspicuous, but Thorfinn stops to scan them when the crowds thin. He breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn't find his, considering these appear to be current or updated, in some capacity. On some, in lieu of "WANTED," the word spins and transforms into "CAPTURED."

RABASTAN LESTRANGE—WANTED.

RODOLPHUS LESTRANGE—CAPTURED.

ADRALIAN NOTT—CAPTURED.

PYRRHUS JUGSON—CAPTURED.

AUGUSTUS ROOKWOOD—CAPTURED.

WALDEN MACNAIR—WANTED.

AMYCUS CARROW—CAPTURED.

ALECTO CARROW—CAPTURED.

Thorfinn doesn't even ponder that an absence of a poster implies the Ministry knows or assumes death. His eyes are too busy tracing the letters of the last one he reads, and his chest aches.

He never wanted Alecto to know Azkaban, but he also never wanted her to be caged once more. Perhaps she would've broken free of Petronelle entirely on her own, eventually…but she'd only done it, in the end, with his and Amycus' help.

Now, will Thorfinn and Flora be enough?

A shadow moves, skitters behind him, and Thorfinn's muscles seize. Without thinking, he whirls and casts the Killing Curse—

Thankfully, England's Underground is merely one rat less.

Thorfinn eyes his surroundings. With a quick Anti-Muggle Charm and Haze Hex cast, he works off some of his tension, hunting down more rats. Only, this time, he isn't so merciful and quick to give them death.

He sees Flora coming down the staircase just as the scent of singed fur gets to him. Thorfinn finishes his fun and dispels the magic concealing him from witnesses, and he's momentarily impressed when Flora flicks her eyes to the carcasses on the concrete floor and nods her head in approval. "All set?" he prompts.

"Yes, but I'll inform you on the way." And she doesn't wait for him to fall into step as they head outside for fresh air and to lose themselves in a larger crowd.

They're in Muggle London proper and heading for the dodgy end when Thorfinn leans in close. "And?" he hisses in undertones.

"They're working to replace the Dementors," she confides.

He pauses, eyes wide. "All of them?"

Flora clenches her jaw. "With Aurors," she spits. "But they don't have the numbers to do a complete replacement—yet. That's why we've got to strike as soon as we can."

"I told you, no broomsticks, no wands, no Apparition—"

"Then how do you think anyone ever gets there?" she snaps at him.

He opens his mouth, but no answer comes. In all honesty, he…can't recall. Is that Azkaban's toll on him, or is that one of the prison's safety measures?

Buildings crowd in on each other and streets turn dark where sunlight can't reach them as Flora picks her way through alleys as though she follows a mental map she seems too young and sheltered to know. But, by late afternoon, she and Thorfinn arrive at a narrow, cozy, two-story home with a shabby face and items strewn on the side lawns. Flora marches up the walkway and knocks on the front door.

Someone inside curses and jiggers the handle before it opens. A familiar greasy face with wild but now fully white hair reveals itself as Borgin grins at them, though two teeth he's replaced with gold, Thorfinn notes. "…why, hullo."

"Mr. Borgin—"

Borgin holds up a hand. "Miss, I don't know who you are, and clearly you know me and where I reside. But I imagine you haven't heard. My shop, same as all of Knockturn Alley, is closed."

Flora squares her shoulders. "Borgin and Burkes might be closed, but your business isn't."

For a frigid few seconds, Borgin and Flora face off. His smile doesn't fade, but a vein in his jaw twitches, and his eyes shift to Thorfinn looming behind her. Finally, Borgin caves and waves them inside. "Perhaps we have things to discuss."

The pair enters but can't go very far. Borgin's home is a messier echo of the old shop, as though he had junk in here that never made it to store shelves and then emptied the shop on top of it afterwards. There's a mild, metallic scent in the air, with hints of mildew the likes of which one expects with antiques. A chandelier that Thorfinn recognizes from the store swings gently, dangerously above them in the foyer.

Borgin drops his smile after he closes the door behind him. "We very much have things to discuss," he decides with another look to Thorfinn.

Flora follows his gaze and gasps.

Thorfinn turns and catches sight of his own true reflection in a grimy mirror over Borgin's shoulder. "Borgin—"

"Relax, Mr. Rowle," Borgin assures him in a businessman's casual drawl. "I need to have my own spells in place. Too many valuables lying around, you see. But have I ever turned away your compatriots before? Mr. Malfoy was one of my favorite clients, you know."

Thorfinn grits his teeth. He's never cared much for Lucius Malfoy, but Borgin has a point.

Borgin turns to Flora once more. "And you, my dear? Your fair face hasn't changed. You know so much of me, but I know so little of you."

"My mother was a Burke, Mr. Borgin."

He sniffs, unimpressed. "And?"

"And I know of the troubles my ancestor, Caractacus Burke, went through in order to keep the shop open through its early highs and lows. How he paid…an arm and a leg to keep it going. And the part the original Borgin, your father, had in that."

Whatever implications her words hold, Borgin understands them. His face falls, his eyes widen, and he flinches when he glances to Thorfinn, suddenly aware that it is two against one. "I am an innocent man," he declares.

His guests say nothing.

"The Ministry has never been able to prove my assistance to those who called themselves Death Eaters. They won't, even now. I can avoid Azkaban so long as the store stays closed."

Flora's smirk is soft, almost patronizing. "Is that really going to stop you from dealing in hard-to-come-by goods, Borgin?"

The frail man falters. But he turns from them and heads for his tiny kitchen, where they follow him as Borgin makes himself a pot of tea. "And what, Miss Burke, do you need from me?"

Flora doesn't correct him on her name. She draws her fingers through the dust on the untouched chair at his small table. "Azkaban uniforms, for the human guards. I need you to procure two for me."

He snorts as Thorfinn begins to catch on to Flora's plan. "That's a ridiculous request. Those things are highly guarded, just as the prisoners. Plus, Dementors have run the place for so long—anything for human guards would be terribly out-of-date, my dear."

"It doesn't matter. I still need a pair."

Borgin frowns. "What makes you think I can get them?"

Flora shrugs. "Our kinds of people make connections that are hard to forget."

In the ensuing silence, the kettle bubbles and whistles. Borgin indulges himself and loads up a cup with sugar over which he pours his tea. When he faces Flora and Thorfinn, any trace of interest or amusement is gone from his features. "One thousand Galleons."

"That's absurd." Flora's cheeks flush with color.

"That's my price. I told you, the shop's closed. Keep talking, and it'll be a thousand apiece."

She blanches. "That'll—That'll wipe me out, Mr. Borgin."

"That's not my concern."

Flora thinks for one, two, three, four heartbeats. Then she glumly nods. "Have them by tomorrow, and it's a deal."

"Tomorrow?!" Tea spills from Borgin's lips. "That's—"

"Doable, for you. Have them by tomorrow, or else." She settles him with a cold stare and half turns towards Thorfinn, a reminder that if Borgin doubts her skills, she's got a hardened criminal by her side.

They leave without Borgin seeing them to the door. Thorfinn pauses to redo his façade out on Borgin's stoop, and then he and Flora part, her to meet with Gannin and collect a now very necessary monetary donation, him back to the safe house. He turns in early after picking through scavenged food leftover from the day before, and Thorfinn wills himself not to dwell on the worry Flora has over running out of funds, just as he doesn't stew on the fact that he can't piece together the whole picture of her jailbreak scheme, not yet…

Late midday, later than they would prefer because Soji met with Flora on time on this second Thursday after the war's conclusion (the second Thursday Alecto and Amycus have spent behind bars) but Sameer ran late and then tried to coax a drink out of Flora in the same breath, Thorfinn and Flora Apparate within a stone's throw of Borgin's home.

"I still think this Sameer prick you mentioned would've done with a nice Boils Jinx," Thorfinn mentions as they round Borgin's block.

"And mayhap I would've indulged the idea if he'd laid a hand on me, but he didn't, I have his money, and we're pushing our luck, Rowle." Still, it's the second time she's rubbed a nervous hand along her upper right arm since coming from the goblin bank.

Thorfinn drops the subject. They do have priorities, but he wonders if Amycus might've intervened if he'd been present, least of all since Flora's involving herself with all these others for Amycus' sake.

Borgin's at his door before Flora even knocks. "I see you're still interested."

"If you hoped to renege on our deal, then I'll be the bearer of bad news," Flora informs him once the door is shut behind them. She opens the left side of her cloak, and withdraws a heavy sack for its size. "One thousand Galleons, as agreed upon," she states with a frown.

Borgin all but snatches it from her hands. He disappears into a sitting room behind him; the tinkling clatter indicates he counts his haul. Several minutes later, Borgin returns to the foyer with a small stack of folded blue–gray cloth, which he passes to Flora. "Uniforms, as agreed upon."

Flora passes them to Thorfinn and unfolds the top one to inspect—and glowers at the shopkeeper. "These aren't uniforms! They're nothing but capes!"

"They are old uniform cloaks, Miss Burke. I told you, anything I could procure would be out-of-date, and I never swore I could obtain a whole uniform."

Thorfinn shoves the second cloak into Flora's arms and brandishes his wand. "You might've helped before, but this is low even for you, Borgin—"

Borgin holds up his hands in defense. "Please!" His eyes flicker to Flora. "Miss Burke, these will still be fine. What you seek is stitched into the collars, after all."

Thorfinn creeps near the old man and presses his wand's tip into the sagging flesh of his throat, but he waits while Flora checks the items again.

"Rowle, wait." She sighs and locks eyes with Borgin. "And these are active?"

"Two-way," Borgin replies. "When you're not on the island, the cloak transports you to Azkaban directly. When there, it takes you to the Ministry, so I'd be careful of touching it a second time."

She nods. "Our deal is done."

Borgin only exhales once Thorfinn backs off. "I'd say it was a pleasure, but—Miss Burke—I'd rather not see you again. You understand, of course, given current events."

Flora and Thorfinn delay their exit. "One more thing, Mr. Borgin."

"Hmm?"

"Ferro—is he still in the breeding business?"

Yet another mystery part of the plan that Thorfinn doesn't comprehend, but Borgin does, because his eyes light up and his greasy smile returns. "Yes, Miss Burke, indeed he is."

Flora nods. Just before Thorfinn pulls the door closed after them, with Borgin's guard down, she flicks her wand, and a dreamy expression comes over the old wizard's features. "Can't have him remembering every last thing from our meetings," she tells Thorfinn.

He swallows a lump, hit with the memory of his and Dolohov's failure and subsequent Obliviation at the hands of Potter's Mudblood friend last year at Tottenham Court Road. "Who's Ferro?" he asks as Flora stows their goods in her magicked purse.

"Our next target," she answers, and she holds out her hand.

Thorfinn frowns and offers his elbow instead. They Disapparate a second later.

The salty, putrid smell hits them first, and Thorfinn gags on it. He pulls away from Flora until she snatches his elbow again and drags him behind an oversized shed.

"Flora, what the fuck."

"It's the Fens—what do you expect from marshes?"

Thorfinn scowls at her and gestures to the shed. "Then why?"

"Because no one comes looking for dragons in a humid climate."

The color drains from his face. "I'm not riding a dragon," he states. Unforgivables? Blood oaths? Any hour of any day. Dragons that would roast and eat him alive at their whim? He'd rather walk into his jail cell now.

Flora huffs and brushes a lock of dark hair out of her face. "We won't be, Rowle. Ferro's an old family friend—"

"Sweet Salazar, just what sort of connections does your family have?"

"—and he keeps pet dragons. My parents never thought my sister and I overheard them discussing whether my father should keep the friendship, so I know Ferro used to breed them and sometimes deal in them. Word has it," she adds with a knowing look Thorfinn's way, "that Ferro even knew a certain groundskeeper once upon a time."

Thorfinn snorts at the mention of the half-giant imbecile. "Really now?"

"Rumors. Funny little things. Sometimes there's an ounce of truth in them."

He mulls that over. Rumors about Alecto and Amycus have run the gamut over the course of their lives, but rarely has the truth ever really reared its head in them. Thorfinn sets aside the thought, however. "And the guards' cloaks—do I finally get to know or am I going to have to guess this, too?"

Flora frowns at him. "Amycus was right: Sometimes you're as thick as you look."

He ignores the jibe. "Flora."

"I told you before to think about how anyone would get to a prison in the middle of the North Sea before, if all the usual means are unavailable."

Thorfinn furrows his brow.

Finally, she caves. "Portkeys, Rowle. Portkeys." She points to her collar. "There's an item sewn into the collar of the cloaks that takes them to and from work. Granted, the cloaks are so old since the Ministry ramped up use of Dementors the last several years, but that's likely why these fell to the wayside."

"Then why does your plan involve a dragon-loving gent?"

"Because our zapping into Azkaban alone would be too risky. We need a distraction and to keep our wands, as well." Flora stands. "That's what all the money is for. People succumb to that more easily than to magic, you know. If I can convince Ferro to attempt such a feat, to take his pets out for a bit to stretch their wings to the east…"

Thorfinn's confusion doesn't fade.

She sighs. "Azkaban's magic leaves it Unplottable. It can't be seen by Muggles. But its bevy of enchantments is meant to mess with Wizardkind, too. That magic and the Dementors left behind and everything that island has seen—dragons are highly sensitive to magic. I'm counting on them to react and react badly to it, if they near it."

He supposes the plan's not bad, except… Thorfinn squints and follows Flora with his eyes at first when she heads for the cottage beside the Glamoured barn that shimmers slightly as it begins to drizzle.

Half an hour later, Flora returns with a triumphant glint in her eyes. "Settled. Ferro hopefully will fly out tomorrow—Rowle, what?!"

"There's 'counting' on things and then there's truly taking action," he instructs her, marching up to this bloke's door with Flora at his heels.

There are dastardly things Flora does, and he's been impressed so far. But Thorfinn Rowle does not have his Dark Mark for nothing.

He pounds his fist on the door, and Ferro—a man who fits in well here, could be camouflaged with skin and hair so close to the marsh's hues—cowers when he opens the door. Thorfinn slices his wand through the space between them and holds it in front of Ferro's face. Ferro's dull eyes glaze over under control of the Imperius Curse.

"When it matters," Thorfinn says to Flora, "never leave anything to chance." (Ah, Alecto would like that one.)

(But Flora doesn't, and she gives him the silent treatment for the rest of the evening while they wait for their new puppet to get his dragons in order.)

Sometime when Thursday blends into Friday and still they wait for Ferro to get a move on, Thorfinn contemplates his silent partner. They've spent the whole night in Ferro's oversized toolshed to keep out of the rain, and Flora's not said a word to Thorfinn, nor shared a bite of food. His stomach grumbles, but he's got other matters at the forefront of his mind.

"Did it actually bother you that I put him under my control?"

In the pale, early morning light, he can make out the way Flora picks at a thread on her robes at the knee. "…some."

"Didn't know you were soft," he grouses.

"What if the spell wears off, the closer Ferro gets to Azkaban? He could redirect the dragons at the last second."

Thorfinn sighs. "It's a risk we'll have to take."

Flora quiets again.

With one question answered, Thorfinn chances the other one, the larger one concerning the topic that's not sat right with him since the start of forming this uneasy alliance with Flora Carrow. "You know I want to rescue both of them. But you seem…hesitant, to rescue Alecto." The question is implied.

The shed's silence feels like an unwelcome third occupant. Eventually, Flora's tiny exhales shoo it away. "It's not that I don't want to."

Thorfinn stares at her. "Could've fooled me." He's lost count of all the times she's turned cold at the mention of Amycus' dear sister—perhaps it's a competitive thing?

Flora pushes her hand through her hair. "I want to get the chance to know Alecto, precisely because she's important to Amycus. I'm fond of her, vicariously. Honest!" she insists when she catches Thorfinn's quirked eyebrow. "But…it's too lofty a goal, Rowle. Rescuing both at once." Her hands cover her face, and she pushes the heels of her palms into her eyes. Her voice cracks wetly as she continues, "I can't bear the thought of failing Amycus if I couldn't…"

…he gets it now. The fear of biting off more than she can chew. Flora's coldness stems from a lack of confidence.

They might be distantly related, but Flora's got another Carrow family trait Alecto and Amycus possess.

"Alecto and Amycus are alike in that they hate those who don't try," Thorfinn softly states. He doesn't point out how they're too hard on themselves when it comes to demanding the best, but he suspects Flora has a clue if she at least knows Amycus well enough. "Besides," he reminds her, "it's not just your blood but mine the oath will keep in line, Flora. You won't be alone in this endeavor."

Reluctantly, she meets his eyes. Also reluctantly, she nods. And then she spends the rest of their time waiting by adding some extra charms to the guard cloaks, just in case.

Here, we see the blood oath in action…is it done yet? You'll just have to read on to find out. ;) My Compass Charm first appeared in my drabble, "S.O.S.O.S." Borgin's appearance was fun, as was expanding on Flora's heritage since that ended up coming in handy when meeting with Borgin, tho other names mentioned are OCs. (Srsly, the plot bunnies have mated exponentially with this story, *lol*.) What else… Well, even tho it wasn't graphic, still glad a scene where animals are hurt purposefully makes me :S bc yeah. Makes sense for Rowle to do, in-character, but it doesn't mean it's comfy for me to write as an author/reader. I also gave some first names to Nott and Jugson, altho I laugh at Nott's bc technically I've used that elsewhere in my canon (Maydayverse) fics, but I just rly like the name "Adralian." XD Perhaps it was once a popular name amongst the pureblood families or Wizarding families in general at one point?? Idk.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this! (Time to see Thorfinn and Flora's plans in action…!)

~mew

And if you want to support written in your blood, please swing by its FFN and AO3 versions to review/comment/fav/leave kudos and like and reblog these posts on my HariPo fic tumblr!

#hp #harry potter #thorfinn rowle #flora carrow #no ships #<7500 #gen fic #angst #hurt/comfort #violence #dark magic #rated: PG13 #trio era #3rd POV #thorlecto: written in your blood

1 note · View note