#other thing I’ve read by her so far and it hasn’t delivered in certain ways I expected it to based on JE tho that’s a little unfair of me.

[slothquisitor]

What Moves in the Dark: Chapter Three

A Post-Campaign Baldur's Gate 3 eldritch horror AU.

Chapter Summary: Liv enlists Astarion's help to solve the mystery of the blood disease. Of course, he's less than thrilled about it.

Read from the beginning.

Also on AO3.

In the days that follow Iona’s death, Liv and Kharis don’t talk much. It’s not that there’s anything wrong between them, but more that there just simply isn’t anything to say. They’re both sorry, they both feel responsible, and they both keep the shop going in their quiet steady way. Liv waits, granting them both time and space, but she watches to see if Kharis ever does what he promised. He never tells anyone about the blood though she does catch him toying with the vials, watching the way the blood branches and reaches.

But Liv has spent far too much of her life waiting and hoping for other people to do the right thing, so she intends to take matters into her own hands. 

The night is the same as any other: Kharis bids her goodnight at his usual time, and she goes about closing the shop up for the evening. But when she flips the sign to closed, she leaves the door unlocked. It’s been a tenday since Astarion was here, and she’s expecting him back tonight. She already knows that he’ll be frustrated with her at the lack of progress on his particular problem, but she hopes it won’t matter once she shows him the blood. 

She’s out of all other ideas, and he’s one of the heroes who had saved the city from a mind flayer invasion, so the chances he can help her feel pretty high. Still, she’s not exactly looking forward to telling him his problem hasn’t been her priority, and she rehearses the conversation in her head as she works. 

About an hour after the sun sets, the bell over the door cheerily announces his arrival. The last time he was here, he was dressed casually, his clothes finely made if a little threadbare. Tonight, he’s dressed in light, expensive-looking armor and armed to the teeth. 

“Expecting trouble in my humble shop?” she asks by way of greeting. 

“Well hello to you too,” he replies with a hint of admonishment. “Our little meeting is not the only thing on my to-do list for tonight.”

“Oh?”

“I got a job.” There’s a hint of pride as he says it. “It’s murder. Government sanctioned.”

The glee startles an uncomfortable laugh out of her. “Should I be concerned?”

He shakes his head. “There’s some Bhaalists still on the loose. I’ve been contracted to bring them to justice or whatever it is the Fist do these days. I don’t really care. I get to drain them dry and deliver them to the Constable.”

It makes a certain sort of sense. He’s a vampire after all, so he would need to eat. Murder cultists seem like a fairly solid choice. “I was going to ask about your diet, actually, but now I think you’ve answered my question.”

“Well, I do aim to be proactive, darling.” He says, leaning toward her conspiratorily. He claps his hands. “Now, how have you fared this past tenday? Any progress on a cure for my condition?”

Oh, right to it then? Shit. “Unfortunately, no. I haven’t had quite as much time as I would have liked to devote to it-”

His face falls into something that looks like disappointment before very quickly twisting into disdain. “Well, what exactly have you been doing then? This shop can’t get that busy. Honestly, I debated coming back here at all, but you seemed quite capable. Shows me.”

She almost tells him about Iona then and there. Almost tells him that his problem isn’t the only one in the whole damn world, just to smack the contemptuous look off his face. But she doesn’t because she needs his help. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to work on your problem, but something more pressing has come up. There’s something I need you to see.” She beckons him into the workroom. She can hear him sputtering a bit behind her, his frustration palpable. But he does follow, so she walks over to the lead-lined safe where Kharis has been keeping the vials of blood.

“This had better be worth my time,” he says, a hand on his hip and still standing in the doorway. 

“Remember that blood disease I mentioned?” 

“....Yes?”

She pulls the vials from the safe. “I didn’t tell you everything.” She turns and sets the vials down in front of him on the workbench. The blood inside the vials presses up against the glass wall, as if they are desperate to touch, to reach each other. 

Astarion’s brow furrows. “What in the hells is that?” he asks, approaching the bench, already bent down to look at the vials more closely. 

“Blood I pulled from two separate people.”

He looks up at her, all annoyance and exasperation gone. “I know blood, and it doesn’t do this.”

“The first Kharis pulled from a boy who had died, and the second I pulled a woman just a few days ago,” Liv replies. 

“Where’s the woman? What did she have to say?” Astarion asks, carefully shifting the vials around, watching the way the blood branches and reaches for the other.

“She died. We couldn’t help her.” 

He looks up at her, there’s understanding in his crimson gaze and something that looks like regret. “I’m sorry.”

“This is why I haven’t made more headway on your problem. Last time you were here, only Alfran had died, but we had several people complaining of the same symptoms. Kharis convinced his mother to let us do an autopsy. When we cut him open, his blood grew out of him. We thought it was a one-off, whatever it was that killed him. But then Iona…”

“You think it’s spreading?” 

She’s so relieved to see he understands. “Yes, and I’m hoping you can help me.”

“Help you with what exactly?” 

“Help me figure it out…you solved the mind flayer problem, defeated a giant brain…I thought you’d help me with this.”

His answering laugh isn’t comforting. “Darling, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I think you’re misunderstanding my role in all of that.”

Is he really refusing to help? Can’t he see what a big fucking deal this is? “You were part of the group that stopped the mind flayer invasion, right?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“You’re a hero. Isn’t this what you do ?”

He stands there, staring at her as if she’s someone he’s never seen before. “I…it’s not…” he fumbles with a series of beginnings, shifting uncomfortably. “It wasn’t like we just knew what we were doing from the outset…there was a lot of stumbling around.” 

She doesn’t see what the problem is. “Okay. Let’s stumble around together then. Something is infecting people’s blood and killing them, and I’m going to try to do something about it. I hoped that you would want to help too.”

“And what about my problem? You agreed to help me first; I gave you my blood.”

Is he being serious right now? “People are dying…right now. You…You’re immortal, right?” 

“Well, yes, of course.”

“Great. Then what’s the rush? Look, Astarion, I want to help you, and I will help you. But people are dying, and I need to solve this first. Will you help me or not?”

He’s staring at her with a look of utter disbelief on his face. There’s something here she’s missing, she’s sure of it, but she doesn’t know what that might be. Eventually, he rolls his eyes. “I suppose that if you have my help then you’ll be available to solve my problem sooner.”

Good enough. “Thank you.” She means it. The last few days have felt…heavy. Utterly devoid of hope. They’d taken blood from every other person who had come to see them with similar symptoms to Alfran and Iona, but nothing had been odd about their blood. They had no answers, and she simply kept replaying the night Iona’s sons had brought her in, filtering through what other things they might have tried. Something, anything that might have changed the outcome. 

He nods and waves her gratitude away. “So, where do you propose we start?”

Liv picks up a vial and holds it out to him. “Besides all of the…weird movement. Neither Kharis nor I can find something strange about this blood. But you mentioned last time we spoke that you can smell blood. Could you smell this?” 

He takes the vial from her hand, grimacing. “It’s not going to…leap out at me the second I take the lid off, is it?”

She shakes her head. “No, it doesn’t move very quickly. But…don’t touch it? And definitely don’t drink it.”

“The thought hadn’t even entered my mind.” He says with disgust as he pulls the lid off the vial, and takes a big whiff of it as if it were a glass of wine and not a vial of weird, moving blood. His face immediately twists in disgust. “Oh, gods, that’s terrible.” He replaces the lid. 

“Not like normal blood?”

He hands the vial back to her. “Not at all. It’s…utterly rank. Gods, it…lingers. You really can’t smell anything?”

“No.”

“Ugh.” He gags and begins to pace away from her. 

Well, this is at least something. “If you’re going to retch, please do it in the basin.”

He turns and glares at her. “I’m fine.” But he is somehow even paler than before. 

“Have you ever encountered blood like this before?” Liv asks. 

“Once..but it was different. A drow woman...but even her blood didn’t smell that bad. This is…far worse.” He pauses, suddenly thoughtful. “Except…there was a man a few days ago at the Blade and Stars. He smelled like this…”

“Really?” It’s the closest thing they’ve got to a lead. Maybe if they can find this man, he can tell them where he’s been, what he came into contact with that would have done this. If they can find the source, perhaps she can find a cure. “Do you think we might be able to find him again?”

Astarion looks at her in confusion. “I suppose?”

“We could go see if he’s at The Blade and Stars. Then maybe we could get some more information.”

Astarion sighs and looks less than enthused with the turn his even has taken. “Well, why the hells not?”

***

Astarion is utterly confounded by the woman who walks beside him through the dark streets of the Lower City. He’s still not sure why he agreed to join her little investigation, only that the way she had looked at him, the way she’d casually called him a hero, it had reminded him of how everyone had looked at Tavren. When he’d first met Tavren, he’d hated the way they so quickly handed out help and hope as if those were things that could exist in this cruel world. At first, Astarion had disapproved of Tavren’s kindness, and of the solemn promises they’d made to every person with a sad story they met. But then, Tavern had always kept their promises, and later, Astarion had realized that hope they inspired in others, the brightness that lit up their eyes…they’d earned every bit of that. 

Astarion has never wanted to be the reason for that sort of hope, but then Liv had looked at him with that same hope. She’d called him a hero. And it had felt…good. He’s not sure there are many people in the world who would look at a vampire and call them a hero, but she had. He’s not sure why, but some part of him wants to be whatever she’s seen in him.

“So, are you from Baldur’s Gate?” he asks. He’s pretty sure he knows the answer, but they’ve been walking in silence long enough that it’s making his fingers twitch. 

She glances at him, a soft smile on her lips as if he’s being amusing. “Born and raised. You?”

“If I’ve ever lived anywhere else, I don’t remember it.” And then when she looks confused he explains, “I don’t remember much about my life before I was turned.”

“Is that typical for someone who becomes a vampire spawn?”

He shifts a little uncomfortably, eyes fixed ahead. “No, I believe my experience was rather singular.”

“I’m sorry.”

He scoffs and glances back at her. “Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault.”

If his reaction catches her off guard, she’s infuriatingly good at hiding it. “That just seems really hard. To become something else and then lose who you were…” Her words are soft, there’s a gentle quality to them he can’t stand. It feels too much like pity.

“I didn’t lose anything,” he retorts, suddenly defensive, unwilling to admit any potential weakness. The words are harsher than he intends, but he doesn’t apologize. 

“Well, it sounds like you wouldn’t remember if you did, would you?” she says. There’s a hint of challenge in her gaze and a frank sort of appraisal. He’s suddenly very sorry he broke the silence at all. 

Thankfully, they’ve nearly arrived at The Blade and Stars. “So, what’s your grand plan once we arrive?”

“Well, how close do you need to be to people to smell their blood?” 

No one’s ever asked him this. It takes him a moment to consider. “Not terribly near, though the scents get muddied in a place as busy as a tavern. Now that I’ve had a solid whiff of the blood, I doubt I’ll be able to be in the same room without identifying it. Thank you for that by the way.”

She shrugs. “It’s not as if I knew it would smell bad. Does everyone’s blood smell different?”

“Most people smell the same or close enough to the same. It’s only when I drink their blood that I can really parse the nuances, but people do taste very different.”

“So if you had some of my blood, for example, would you be able to recognize it as mine if you encountered it again?” she asks. The question is so earnest, she’s doing that thing where she’s thinking out loud, working something out. 

The opening is too easy, he can’t resist taking it. “Darling, are you inviting me for a bite?” 

Her cheeks immediately redden as she realizes the implications of what she’s asked, but that’s the only tell. “Not at all. Just academic curiosity.”

“Mmmm. Pity.”

They’ve arrived at The Blade and Stars and Liv has opened the door to the bustling tavern. Music and laughter pour out into the street like starlight. “But you didn’t answer the question.”

“You never answered mine,” he replies as he steps around her to get inside. 

“Grab a drink, make the rounds, let me know if you recognize the man?”

He presses past her to the bar to order and smirks at her while they wait for the barkeep to turn his attention to them. It’s crowded tonight up near the bar, and she gets edged out by a man leaning over to talk to a friend and nearly pushed into him. He expects her to tell the man off, but instead, she just steps closer to him and seems like she’s trying to take up less space. He leans down close, so she’ll be the only one who might hear. “Yes, I’d recognize it.” 

He’s not really sure why he’s flirting with her, just that it’s instinctive, easy. He’s pretty sure he’s going to regret it if she flirts back at all, but so far she hasn’t. She just keeps blushing prettily and ignoring his jabs. It’s delightful.

When their drinks do arrive, wine for him and a Mermaid Whiskey for her, she glances about the place, avoiding an elbow as someone pushes around them. “I’m going to go find a quiet table if there is one to be found. Come find me after you’ve made your rounds?”

“Sure,” he replies and watches her wend her way through the crowd. For someone who seems so self-assured, she moves through a crowd rather meekly. As if she can’t stand to be in anyone’s way, inconvenience anyone. She’s an enigma he can’t quite puzzle out. But that’s not why he’s here. He takes his drink and works the room, this is at least, familiar territory. It’s something he knows how to do and do it well. But after a half hour of flirting and making acquaintances throughout the bar, he sits down at her table. 

“Not a whiff of any strange blood.”

She sighs. “That…is disappointing.” She’s hardly touched her drink, but she keeps toying with the glass as if she needs something to do with her hands. 

He drains what’s left of his drink. “So…what now? Do you expect to traipse around to every bar and tavern in the city looking for him?”

“I mean…maybe? He’s the only lead we have. Everyone else with this condition is dead…and well, I sort of thought if we questioned him that we might be able to find whatever it is they all had in common. Track the source.”

He laughs. That’s her grand plan? Nothing else. “Oh…you’re being serious. That’s it?” 

“I mean we could also walk you through every crowded place we can find to see if someone else’s blood just randomly smells awful.”

“I’m not a fucking bloodhound,” he snaps. 

She doesn’t rise to his level. If anything, she’s calmer when she replies. “Alright then, do you have a better idea?”

He wants to tell her this whole thing is ridiculous, but that blood in those jars scared him. The way they reached for each other, the way it had shifted and moved. Something is very, very wrong in Baldur’s Gate. “The Wide is still busy, right after sunset. We could meet there tomorrow, walk the crowds, see if anyone turns up?”

She looks around the bar like she doesn’t want to leave. Like she could through sheer will alone pinpoint someone in this place to help. She sighs, her shoulders sagging a bit. “Yeah, alright. Tomorrow.” She stands up, and so he follows. 

“I’ll walk you home.”

She glances at him, surprised. “It’s alright. Stay if you’d like.”

He gestures to his armor. “I have a job to do, remember? It’s practically on the way. While I could avoid you the whole way there, it would be annoying.”

She laughs, the first genuine laugh he’s managed to coax from her all evening. “Alright then.” 

Together, they leave the tavern and begin retracing their steps back towards the shop. “So, where does one find Bhaalists in Baldur’s Gate?”

“The sewers, mainly.”

“Charming.”

“Quite. The Netherbrain was kept below the city, so we spent quite a bit of time wandering the sewers in order to track it down,” he explains. 

“I’ve lived here my whole life, and it’s still hard to imagine that it happened at all. Even though I saw it with my own eyes.”

“You’d be surprised what’s lurking in the dark shadows of this city. Bhaalists, hags, there was even an undead mummy lord we killed,” Astarion laughs. It sounds so ridiculous strung together like that.

“Really?” she asks, but she looks properly impressed, and some part of him wants to go on and keep telling her about the adventures he’s had, the good deeds done. If only to keep that look in her eyes. 

He’s about to go on bragging when out of the corner of his eye, he catches movement in the shadows. Someone is following them. He notes it but keeps talking as if he hasn’t noticed. “Tavren never met a lost cause they weren’t desperate to right.” The shadow moves closer, and when it lunges out of the dark, he’s ready, even as it goes right for Liv. 

He darts forward, knocking the blade aiming right for her away while using one arm to press her behind him. As he turns, three more figures emerge from the dark. They are all armed with serrated knives and murderous glares. The one who had aimed for Liv steps forward with a smile. “My Lord Bhaal will rejoice when I offer up your soul to him.”

He’s a little impressed. He must have really left an impression on the last Bhaalists he’d tangled with for them to come seeking him. “Well, it seems as though I won’t have to go wandering the sewers tonight after all,” Astarion says, unsheathing his daggers. He glances Liv’s direction. “You aren’t one of those wizards who doesn’t know any actually useful spells, are you?”

She immediately backs up away from him, and for a moment he’s worried she’s going to abandon him, and make a run for it, but instead, she just glares at him. “Why don’t you find out?” A tiny mote of flame snakes its way through the street, stopping in the middle of the group of Bhaalists. 

And then the world explodes in flame. 

He’s lucky that he’s able to dodge out of the way of the fireball. The Bhaalists are not, and he hears their screams, smells their burnt flesh. As the flames dissipate, he rushes in, daggers drawn, taking advantage of their surprise and cutting one of them down. He hears more than sees the Bhaalist leaping for him, teeth bared, and he braces for the blow, and readies himself to slip away. But the collision never comes. Instead, a bolt of magic arcs through him, and the man lies dead, but still convulsing on the ground. 

There are two Bhaalists left, and now he’s sure Liv can handle herself he turns his attention to the one that had jumped out at them first. Not only will he not have to spend his evening stalking the sewers for Bhaalists, but he’ll also get to eat tonight. He’s not starving, yet. But he doesn’t encounter nearly the same number of criminals and vagrants to feed from, so he takes the blood where he can get it these days. 

He lunges for the man’s throat, sinking his fangs into the soft flesh and burying a dagger into his heart. The man fights for a moment and then goes limp, and Astarion drinks, and drinks, and drinks. The blood is warm and fresh and spiked with a heady mix of adrenaline and fear. It fills up a void within him, the empty chasm where his hunger lives. He can feel the man slipping away, and it’s nice to not care about that, to drain him dry, to feel the last vestiges of life slipping away. Perhaps it makes him a monster to enjoy it, but he does. But, all too soon, the blood runs dry and then Astarion lets go of the man and the body collapses to the cobblestones with a sickening thud. 

It is only then that he lifts his eyes to where Liv stands. The last Bhaalist is dead, Liv has seen to that with some other fire spell from the smell of things. She stands up the street a bit, breathing hard, eyes filled with alarm as she stares at him, at the destruction they’ve wrought. She abruptly looks away from him, and he realizes how this must look. He’s just drained a man dry without a thought. He wipes his mouth with the back of his glove, and it comes away stained with blood. 

He must look properly like a monster to her. He’s not sure how he feels about that.

Liv has gone pale, her gaze fixed on the cobblestones. He doesn’t dare step forward. “My apologies, you are in fact a useful wizard. You’re alright?” 

It takes her a moment to respond, a moment to look back at him. He sees the hard set of her jaw as she straightens. “Of course. I’m fine. You?”

“Despite your best attempts to light me aflame,” he accuses. 

He expects a joke or a quip from her, but instead, she glances at the alleyway, as if she might dart into it. She doesn’t and slowly brings her gaze back to him. “What now?”

He sighs. “Now, I need to alert the Fist so they can clean this up. Or you can. I don’t much care.”

“I’ll go,” she volunteers immediately and is already walking up the street as quickly as she can. She’s clearly eager to get away from him. He sighs and then bends to pick the pockets of each one of the Bhaalists for gold or weapons or anything else of use. 

It would have probably been polite to have warned her first or waited now that the bodies are dead and cooling. Even once his companions had known about his condition, he still remembers the strained looks that had been leveled his way the first few times he’d drained an enemy in battle. But Liv had looked truly distraught, and that’s a disappointment because he’d rather preferred when she’d thought of him as a hero. 

He doesn’t expect her to come back, but she does. She looks steadier when she returns too, less pale, but still not talkative. The bureaucratic red tape of it all only takes about twenty minutes to sort out because these Fists are aware of his contract with Davella. Four Bhaalists are worth a good amount of gold, but that’s something he’ll have to take care of another night. 

When the Fists finally release them, he steps as close to Liv as he dares. She’s been quiet since returning with the Fists, almost as if she’d retreated into herself. She’s barely looking at him, and he curses his stupidity. He doesn’t want to apologize though, he won’t apologize for what he is.

“Let’s get you home.”

“It’s alright. I can manage.”

“And what if any other Bhaalists leap out from the shadows, hmm?”

“Seemed to me that they were here for you,” she says. The words are strained. 

“True. I’ve got a contract on them, fifty or gold a piece. Half is yours if you want it.”

Somehow, she manages to look even more alarmed at the mention of money. “No. It’s yours.”

“And you helped. You killed two of them. That entitles you to half.” Even if she hadn’t dealt the final blow to two of them, she’d still deserve half. Tavern had taught him that much. 

She hugs herself, gaze set straight ahead. “I don’t want it.”

Her reluctance makes no sense to him. She stops in front of The Shadowed Quill and takes out her keys. She seems like she’s in a hurry to get inside. He doesn’t stop her. He’s pretty sure that whatever this is…whatever they were doing, it’s over now. He reminds himself that he shouldn’t care. He didn’t really want to be doing this anyway. 

With the door open, she pauses at the threshold and looks back at him. Well, she's not quite looking at him, but close enough. “Tomorrow night at the Wide?”

He stares at her dumbfounded for a moment but recovers quickly. “See you there.”

And then she closes the door and disappears into the darkness of the shop without so much as a goodbye. He stays there an extra moment, though he’s not sure what he expects. Out of the corner of his eye, there’s movement, a figure receding in the darkened alleyway across from the shop. He approaches the space cautiously, on silent feet, but whatever was there, whatever was watching, it’s gone now. 

He’s alone.

#astarion #astaron x tav #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion #tavstarion #bg 3 fanfic #what moves in the dark #astarion is being a little shit here #and liv is having exactly none of it #we love that for them #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x liv #slothquisitorwrites

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

Hi! What is your very specific Twilight AU?

okay, so. New Moon.

party disaster, dumping her and dipping, all happens normally.

but THEN. Bella finds out she’s pregnant.

(and I know you’re thinking- pre-marital sex?!?! Edward would NEVER! but listen. I am the author now. I’ve been around Christians my whole life. shut up!)

so anyway after a million pregnancy tests and a lot of googling about vampire baby legends, Bella’s like...well this is probably gonna be a situation,

Nessie doesn’t have an insane growth rate here because I hate that, so she has a normal amount of time to prepare, and she’s very...aware that the birth is gonna be Rough at best. So she goes to Jacob

who is NOT a wolf yet but Is aware of the pack and the treaty, and they are closer friends already, and she’s like ‘hey. paranormal emergency. you’re the only person in this town who enables me. help.’

 and Jacob’s like I’m Fucking Fifteen and goes and gets Leah, since she’s technically an adult and a girl

(ms. meyer How did you make one of leah’s only 3 character traits ‘upset she’s infertile’ and then not have her support bella’s choices in breaking dawn please make it make sense)

 so they start brainstorming solutions and the best they can work with is. Bella’s gotta ride out the pregnancy in hiding. they have no way of knowing whether she can survive the pregnancy and the only clue they have about whether the baby will be a monster or not is from google searches, but they also can’t exactly take her to an obgyn when her uterus feels like it’s calcified and her ribs are getting broken and she seems to be craving blood

So, Leah’s got her own little place. Bella moves in there, telling Charlie she wants to move back in with Renee (she knows her parents would never willingly call each other so as long as she keeps up communicating with both of them they should be none the wiser of her growing a little dracula in Leah Clearwater’s basement).

Leah has already defected from the wolf pack at this point (because...the Cullen’s left and she didn’t really like any of the guys anyway lmao) so they don’t run the risk of them hearing her thoughts while she’s in wolf form. She goes out and hunts animals, brings them back and her and Jake drain the blood from them so Bella can drink it. All three of them find this extremely disgusting obviously but Jake’s loyal and a little bit lovestruck, Leah’s a supportive friend and queen, and Bella’s just trying to keep her and her baby alive, and none of them feel like trying to rob a blood bank

Bella is 100% certain the baby will just be a baby who happens to like blood, like she was in bd, but the tentative plan is that if a crazy soulless monster comes out of her Leah will...handle that...

Which neither are thrilled about, so Bella’s just trying to focus on staying positive. And between that, trying to survive and stay hidden, Bella doesn’t really have time to...Check Out the way she did in new moon. Like, she’s absolutely still depressed, and she’s still getting an occasional Edward hallucination because carrying a vampire baby counts as reckless in many books, but she’s just more...resigned and pissed than anything. She’ll have days like the ‘possibilities’ scene, but more often than not she’s just telling the Edward hallucination to go fuck himself when he’s begging her to find the real him so they can have Carlisle deal with the pregnancy 

at some point, Seth gets roped into the whole mess (he’s prone to just breaking into his sister’s house) but since he’s like, 13 and The Best Baby Boy he’s immediately supportive. He didn’t even fucking know about the wolves and the vampires until he walked in on a six months pregnant Bella drinking blood while his sister and Jacob are hacking away at a dead deer, but he’s like...you know when you were 13 and sneaking around about Anything made you feel like the coolest person alive? point is he’s helpful

AND he can get away with spending a lot of time at Leah’s house without anyone finding it weird, unlike Jacob, so he starts spending most of his free time there keeping Bella company and brightening her day up

HE is the one who enables her when she comes up with the name Renesmee lmao

(just because she hates Edward doesn’t mean Esme ever did anything wrong!)

“bella I’ll throw you out of this house if you don’t come up with a real name” “leah she’s white you can’t just disrespect her culture like this omg”

anyway these four become the DORKIEST and WEIRDEST little family it’s cute

so then. labor.

it’s less...graphic than in bd because Bella hasn’t been actively dying the whole pregnancy and she doesn’t snap her spine in half, but it’s still. bad.

she essentially delivers a rock that Nessie then begins chewing her way out of. she’s actively bleeding out. Jacob’s having a panic attack. Leah made Seth watch so he would never have unprotected sex and the scare tactic is working. Leah’s covered in Bella’s blood which is not great considering she’s Holding A Rock That A Vampire Is Emerging From

Leah’s been taking classes and researching deliveries so she needs to stitch Bella up and see what else is wrong but Seth is rocking back and forth on the floor crying and Jacob’s screaming and pacing too fast to grab so she’s like. Bella babe I know you’re dying but you need to hold this thing for me ksjdfllksf

so while she’s handling That, Bella’s got this weird little rock in her arms and is watching the baby slowly fight it’s way out like this is a very fucked up egg or something and she’s just. overwhelmed. maybe it’s the blood loss but she’s looking at the messy, scrunchy little face and she’s already in love and envisioning their lives together.

and then, you know, the baby bites her,

she has just enough time to think ‘how did we not think to prepare for that’ before she can feel the venom coursing through her. it’s just as bad as she remembers from James’ bite but somehow...easier to tolerate. she blacks out pretty quickly

the other 3 notice and are like : 👁👄👁

Jacob...literally explodes into a wolf On Spot

Seth darts out the fucking door he’s seen enough for one day

Leah, sole holder of the braincell, realizes Nessie just bit and isn’t drinking from Bella, and deduces this is like...a survival instinct or something. the baby instinctively changes it’s mother first thing. weirdly...touching? 

So she gets the baby and checks that everything is physically okay with Bella (apart from you know. changing species) and is like...guess this is an issue for 3 days from now Leah

more immediate pressing issues: screaming new born baby and oh, yeah, the giant red wolf in the basement,

“Jacob I know this is disorienting but if you break anything in my house I’ll fucking kill you”

she really just leaves the poor boy to go get the baby cleaned up and warm up some of the frozen blood they’ve got in her fridge (RUINING HER TUPPERWARE, BELLA)

she’s not worried about the wolf pack mind meld yet because she knows Sam took the guys on a mission way farther up the coast for a few days and they’ll be too far away to hear Jake. hopefully, by the time they get back, Bella will be awake and they’ll have made an escape plan by then

and as she’s bottle feeding blood to the baby she’s thrilled that it seems to be like...relatively normal and not s horrific monster or anything. mission: unwillingly murder my best friend’s baby has been successfully canceled 

“Oh Goddamn it....Renesmee DOES fit you...”

Seth, from where he’s cowering behind the couch: “told you”

so, Jake eventually calms down, they spend the next few days cooing over Nessie and brainstorming how to handle Bella when she wakes up a vampire, and also nicknaming Nessie ‘Nessie’ because they know Bella will find that intolerable and they feel she deserves karmic punishment for stressing them out so much lmao

so, three days are up. Seth’s upstairs putting on a way-too-elaborate puppet show for the baby with not a care in the world. Leah and Jake are in the basement because they know Bella probably won’t want their wolf blood and their ready to phase in case she gets a little aggressive

but she just wakes up and is like. hey! how’s it going? where’s my baby?

sjdhfksdj they were expecting feral but Bella still has her super self-control. she didn’t even realize she’d changed into a vampire until they told her lmao

Bella’s a little too freaked out to try hunting yet so they give her some of the stored blood they’ve been feeding Ness and she’s like. good to go. Leah’s about to scream like have the elders been exaggerating this whole time or is Bella truly a freak??? lol

So, they spend a couple days just...relaxing, Bella and Renesmee bonding, they’re trying to come up with fun places Bella can move to with the baby so no one she knows finds out, and every now and then Leah and Jake go out and she tries to help him get the wolf thing under control

and then,,,,the pack get back from their mission early

and immediately are able to read Jacob’s mind

so they head over to Start Shit because there’s two bloodsuckers on their land but,

the pack not attacking because Jake imprinted on Renesmee? tired. the pack not attacking because Jake’s Alpha Genes have taken over and declared Nessie and Bella as part of his Pack and attacking would literally start a war? inspired

so they hash the whole thing out....ultimately Sam decides Bella is more of a victim than a threat, and since neither her or Nessie seem to be going on a bloodlust rampage any time soon...he decides to grant them immunity from the whole ‘kill the vampires’ rule. He’ll let her and her daughter stay in La Push as long as they agree to stick to animals and only hunt out of town. PLUS from what little Bella knows about the Volturi, she’s worried about them finding out about Nessie, so they’ll offer protection if that does happen, in exchange for her being able to help them with intel on any other vampire threats in the area (you know like. if a nomad is fucking stuff up in a nearby city, they’ll send her to talk to them first before deciding if they need to intervene. Sam has become acutely aware he has a lot of teens and kids in his pack, so he’s trying to keep them out of fights as much as possible)  

anyway that’s the story of Nessie gaining like 17 chaotic as hell ride or die uncles,

let’s fast forward a bit

it’s like 15 years later. Bella’s not living with Leah anymore, but she’s got a cute apartment in a nearby town, and owns and runs a bookstore on the first floor of it. she got her ged and did college online and teaches night classes at a community college. She’s still in contact with her parents, who Adore the life out of Nessie. She still helps the pack out and they’re all close. Nessie is a handful but in a fun and lovable way. They go on little weekend trips whenever they have time. Bella’s happy.

but then a. Situation. arises.

basically, the Volturi have been made aware of some unknown vampire chasing others out of the pacific northwest and conspiring with shapeshifters. and you know when Aro gets curious he tends to spin things dramatically. who’s to say this vampire isn’t conspiring against all vampires? against them? why has no one’s special talents worked on her? he simply must find out.

Bella and the Pack get word and decide their best course of action for now is to go on the run. they’re not gonna be able to take on a whole army but if they can bide some time and lay low they might be able to figure something out

except Bella is like....I have a teenage hybrid that the Volturi don’t know about yet...it would be EXTREMELY irresponsible to take her with me

but she can’t send Nessie to Charlie or Renee because they don’t know about her...dietary restrictions. She can’t stay with Billy or anyone else in La Push because the Volturi might trace the pack’s scent there and discover her. She’s panicking, they have to leave in a few days max and she can’t find a safe place for her daughter

and then she’s like.....fuck.

she had run into Jasper a couple of years ago- they have the same forgery guy and were heading to his building around the same time as a coincidence. She promised to forgive him for the party incident if he promised not to tell Edward he saw her and that she’s a vampire now. He agreed, but then told her Edward’s been living on his own for a while now and insisted on giving her his number...she never could bring herself to call it or delete it...but now...if she wants to be 100% Nessie is safe and protected...

fuck

So, the past 15 years have been fairly rough for Edward

he’s still convinced leaving in order to save Bella was the best course of action, but like...the vampires canonically mate for life. that’s his soulmate. he’s absolutely miserable without her. he’s thought about cracking and going to find her again but he always talks himself out of it, convinced she’d just tell him she hates him or something

so as stated in his patented Edward Cullen Self Loathing Guide, first thing to do is isolate yourself from all the lovebirds you usually live with. Sure, he keeps in contact, but...not well. he’s currently living alone and posing as a university student. He’s not even really sure what he’s supposed to be majoring in. He’s mostly been in a haze since he left Forks.

and one day....he gets a call from an unknown number. he ignores it, thinking it’s a spam call. but then it calls like 8 more times in a row and he figures answering might be a bit smarter than simply throwing it at the wall

And Edward...swears he came back to life and immediately had a heart attack the second he hears Bella’s voice

He feels breathless and disoriented the whole conversation, trying to figure out if his memory did her voice any justice, trying to rush out 15 years worth of apologies, trying to comprehend she’s actually speaking to him.

But Bella’s very blunt on the phone. She doesn’t want to let herself get emotional. She’s on a time limit, and she has to focus on getting her daughter to safety

And Edward swears he somehow misheard her the first ten or so times she told him. He had a daughter? that wasn’t possible

“she has the audacity to be your Evil Twin so I’m pretty sure it’s possible”

so she gives him a rundown. she needs to go into hiding, no I don’t need your help with that, gives him details about Nessie, what she’s like, what she likes to do, her diet, her favorite color, how annoyed she is by this whole situation, “Edward I know you don’t love me anymore, but I remember how protective you were, and that’s what I need Nessie to have right now. She needs you right now” and Edward wants so badly to refute Bella’s claim of lost love, to tell her he has absolutely no idea how to be a parent, but...her tone is aching so much he can barely speak. He can’t let Bella down again, and he can’t let this little girl he foolishly created and left down anymore than he already has, either.

So he agrees, she tells him to be at the airport in a few days, and hangs up. 

Edward loses about half a day staring at a wall in shock, before he jumps into preparations.

Bella told him while their daughter possessed some speed and strength, hunting was fairly dangerous for her. She was more delicate than his kind, and had a heartbeat. Reheated blood bags had been their best option, and she also needed human food as well. He also had to get a room ready for her- he wandered around stores for hours, reading young girls minds to see if there was any furniture or decorations that were universally liked- which was of course, fruitless, but he did manage to find a handful of things he was sure Bella would have liked at that age, and prayed for the best. He somehow got himself covered in purple paint that was a nightmare to get off. Bella had sent him some forged documents claiming Nessie was his younger sister he’d won custody of, and he got her enrolled in a nearby school. He lived every day leading up to her arrival staving off a panic attack.

it wasn’t until he was on the way to the airport that he realized he forgot to inform his family about this life update. they must’ve been on a hunting trip, because he got nothing but voicemails 

imagine being Carlisle and you come home to a voicemail from your son who’s banished himself from the family that’s just like ‘hi. you’re a grandfather now. I’m having a nervous breakdown and might crash my car. call me back at your earliest convenience I suppose” like what would you DO

 after he gets to the airport he starts panicking again, realizing Bella had never actually sent him a picture, worrying about how he’d find her, but then- he sees a tiny girl with untamed, dark red curls, features strikingly similar to his own that are pulled into the expression Bella always made when she was reading, absently chewing on her lip, and before she looks at him with her mother’s big brown eyes, he already knows who he’s looking at, and he’s certain if he was human his tear ducts would be having a fit right now

Renesmee, however, seems less willing to have an emotional meeting. She mumbles out a simple greeting before gathering up her bags and heading for the door, Edward rushing behind her to try and help

listen. the awkwardness of Charlie trying to connect with Bella. but 10000x worse because of Edward’s overthinking, self-deprecating ass and Nessie being like ‘ah yes the guy who broke my pregnant teenage mothers heart, fantastic’ lmao

the car ride is p a i n f u l. Edward’s trying so hard for light conversation and Nessie’s barely giving one word answers. Bella had warned her about the mind reading so she was carefully keeping her mind blocked, which Edward is trying very hard to be understanding about instead of annoyed, but By God does he want to know everything about her

when they get back to his place, she quietly thanks him for the room and then promptly locks him out of it lol. He spends the rest of the day just pacing back and forth until he realizes he should eventually feed her lmao

and that’s...kinda how the first couple weeks go. she only emerges from her room if he bribes her with food, she awkwardly tries to dodge his questions, he drives her to school and then begs her to tell him how it went when he picks her up, he spends his college classes distracted because he’s freaking out constantly about how to successfully bond with her. His favorite time of day now is night, because she can’t block her mind while she’s asleep, and even if her dreams are all nonsense they’re still...part of her that he gets to know.

His family keeps begging him to let them meet her, but he’s pushing back because if she’s this bad at adjusting to one new family member, how is she going to handle six more?

(meanwhile Alice and Rose started a group chat with her and are having a ball clowning Edward lmao)

wait ksjflksd I think this vine perfectly sums up the dynamic im envisioning  https://youtu.be/wQZIUHNORHg

anyway they....very slowly make some progress. much too slowly for Edward’s taste, but hey.

Like he finds out snacks she likes. or jewelry she likes. stuff like that and just...wordlessly leaves it around for her lmao. he thinks it’s like trying not to startle a deer, Nessie thinks it’s more like a cat trying to gift you a dead mouse, but either way it’s weirdly endearing.

He notices she always has a huffy little frown when he picks her up on Wednesdays. So instead of begging her for an ounce of information of her school life, he asks her one Wednesday morning if she’s excited for the day and she admits she has an elective class every Wednesday with a girl she doesn’t get along with.

He gets her school photos (and Weeps) and realizes apart from her room the home is fairly barren of decorations, so he buys a bunch of picture frames and hangs up the school shots, and some pictures of the Cullen’s over the years, and the few he has of Bella that he could never bear to part with. Other than catching her smiling at the prom picture of her parents, Nessie doesn’t say anything- but the next time he comes home from hunting, there’s a pile of pictures of her growing up on the table, and he starts weeping all over again as he hangs them up

(there’s one of her and Bella hugging and looking at the camera with identical grins and joy in their eyes, he can’t help but put that in his room. He hopes one day he’ll get to see a scene like that in person)

He starts trying to get her out of her room a little more- he still hasn’t managed to a get a ‘favorites’ list out of her, so he starts playing movies Bella loved, to see if any of them lure her out. some do, some don’t- he got halfway through a Lord of the Rings marathon, which was Torture in his opinion, but then Ness came out and quietly asked if he could restart it and suddenly they became his favorite movies ever.

Bella’s not able to contact her on a set schedule or anything because of her situation (and you can bet your ass Edward’s contacted every vampire he knows and ordered them to help her out if they come across her or the Volturi), and Edward realizes that’s probably taking a toll on the girl, so he starts telling her stories of her mother when he knew her in Forks. She’s particularly amused by the blood typing incident- the first time Edward hears Nessie properly laugh, he literally starts crying on the spot

could you imagine the sheer panic if she ever gets so much as a cold

And yes, she’s still pissed on Bella’s behalf, and yes, she specifically blasts 70s music because Bella told her he hates it one time, and yes, if he looks at her like he’s a kicked puppy one more time she might claw his eyes out, and yes, she refuses to introduce him to her friends from school because she Knows everyone will then start asking her about her ‘hot brother’ and she can’t live with that and also can’t live with him knowing that so she told him if he ever introduces himself to any of her friends she’ll set him on fire, and yes, she’s homesick 95% of the time but...he’s growing on her. like a mold, or something.

(okay, maybe when Seth tried to analyze why Mamma Mia is her favorite musical, he might have had a point. half a point. quarter of a point. shut up.)

And Edward’s still trying to not have a panic attack every time she’s out of his sight- he’s got Carlisle keeping tabs on the Volturi for him, and it’s not exactly hard for him to keep track of her through other people’s minds- but she’s so tiny and her heartbeat is Too Fast and what if she inherited her mother’s unlucky streak??

but they’re toeing the line of co-existing peacefully and Edward’s scared to push it past that

then he has to, because it turns out he sent her to one of Those Schools where the parents have to be involved in the school in some way or another and Nessie’s Annoyed

sdkjfsdkjf she keeps trying to get him to just sign up for like pta meetings or something and he’s like ‘I need you to understand you are the only person in this town I actually know or like I Cannot survive around fundraiser moms I can’t’ 

so she’s like ugh fine I’m in the drama club

listen.....Stage Parent Edward Cullen.......the power this holds...

that’s right this whole post was an elaborate ruse for me to make a musical theater headcanon again lmao

no okay but seriously he starts off just helping build sets and stuff like that but then midway through the year their music teacher gets fired and the schools like begging him to take over because they can’t find someone in enough time that’ll know the music for the show they’re doing and he’s like “I need you to understand Nessie will never talk to me again if I start actually working at her school” and they’re like “She also will never talk to you again if we have to cancel the big musical, though” and he’s like. fuck.

silent treatment for a week and a half

lmao so now he’s trying to juggle being an overly-enthusiastic stage parent who’s making costumes and sets and kinda crying backstage when he sees his daughter in her costume with also being the music director for the damn show and trying to teach a bunch of kids how to read sheet music 

one day he ended up in a coffee shop with the hair and makeup moms, gossiping about the cast’s love lives, and he literally doesn’t know how he got there

is it wrong to pass Nessie in class even though she’s putting all the wrong answers on the test but he Knows she knows the right answers and is only answering wrong to try and get a rise out of him

Bella sneaks into town to see the show- they thought it would push their luck if the pack came, but they sent an ungodly amount of flowers and candy. When she snuck into the house while Ness was sleeping she Was Not expecting to find Edward up to his elbows in sequins, trying to fix a bedazzler he accidentally broke in frustration, muttering under his breath about how if Nessie’s romantic opposite in the show doesn’t keep his thoughts clean he’s gonna kill him- and it just cracks her up. She WAS nervous about seeing Edward again but now she’s assured he’s still a dork lol

So Edward freaks when he sees her but they don’t wanna wake Ness up so they’re trying to be quiet but like. they’re going through it 

Like Bella Wants to be pissed at him but she can’t, she still loves him- and while she can’t just get over what he did to her, it’s also not lost on her that ‘leaving to protect someone I love’ is literally what she had to do to her daughter

And Edward....Edward, who only left to give Bella a chance at a safe, human life, seeing Bella in front of him as a vampire, knowing it’s his fault she ended up that way and she had to go through it alone, had to raise a baby herself because he’d made it so hard to find him...knowing if he’d just pulled his head out of his ass he would have been able to be there for her...would be able to form a coherent sentence around his love right now, would have long and fond memories of Nessie’s childhood, likely wouldn’t have to watch Bella hide from the Volturi...he’s back in a self-loathing spiral already

But they haven’t seen each other in so long and they just don’t want to...deal with the unpleasantness right now, so they just push it aside. Bella helps Edward with the costumes. Edward fills her in on what she’s been missing with Nessie. Bella tells him some stuff about when Ness was younger. They just spend the night talking, and it feels like no time has past between them at all- which just makes the heartaches a little stronger

When Nessie wakes up to her mother there she’s ecstatic- bubbly and loud and glued to Bella’s hip all day, giving her in depth play-by-plays of her school and rehearsals and friends she’s made, bouncing on her toes all morning, hyper, giggly, and- it kind of breaks Edward’s heart a little, even though he knows he hasn’t really...earned this side of his daughter, yet. 

(at least he got his wish of seeing their twin smiles in person)

(he wishes he could see them every second of every day)

so the girls spend the day catching up while Edward mostly feels like a thirdwheel, and then they have to get Ness over to the school so she can get ready

Bella decides to hang out around the school theater before the show actually starts- she leans against the wall next to the piano, the two talking in hushed tones while Edward runs through songs. Bella really missed watching him play- the only thing that managed to drag her away from it was when Nessie called her to the dressing room to help with a hair emergency 

she didn’t talk to him much at intermission, her attention being stolen by the rest of the Cullen family (who had been Very Loudly supporting the show so far, she knew Ness was probably dying of embarrassment backstage)

after the show, the three went back to Edward’s and just...talked. Nessie was gushing about the show and eating while her parents assured her she was the greatest actress ever born, simple stuff like that. she fell asleep sandwiched in between them on the couch 

Bella realizes she’s never going to be able to bring herself to leave again if Nessie wakes up, and tells Edward as much. He clearly doesn’t want her to go just yet either, but...she’s on the run, it’s not like she has much choice 

He has so much he wants to say to her but he just- can’t. it’s not the right time. but he’s hoping she can see that in his eyes

Bella shifts Nessie off her shoulder so Edward can hold her, and she gives him a light kiss and says ‘thank you, Edward’ before disappearing in a flash. she needed to go before she lost her nerve.

Edward can’t bring himself to let Nessie out of his arms, so instead of carrying her to bed he just stays there, holding her, trying his best not to think that that could be the last time for a long time he’d ever see his Bella again, trying not to let thoughts of a life he gave up unwittingly consume him

okay I didn’t mean for this to be So Long so I’m cutting it here uhh...let me know if anyone wants a part 2? sorry lmao

#twilight #edward cullen #bella swan #edbella #twilight saga #asks #molly mumbles #elephantlovingmouse

[imagineyouandharry]

Gypsophila (H.S)

Summary: Prince Harry has been under great pressure to find a wife, and he finds his Queen in a way far more unconventional than he could’ve imagined. 

Words: 5,730

Warnings: It’s a bit strange I guess? Idk lol.

A/N: Someone requested a Prince!Harry au forever ago, and then I didn’t really have an opportunity to write for a while, and then this idea sprung up on me and I’ve been lost in this little au for the past few days. It’s like a little twisted fairytale, taking inspiration from Snow White and Sleeping Beauty mostly. Part two is already a work in progress. If people are interested I’ll even put out a little sort of world building lore post with a map of the kingdom etc (I’ve been in DEEP). This part is a bit choppy and barely edited because I was just so eager to write it and get something out, but I would really appreciate any constructive criticism and editing notes! TYSM!! Long story short, enjoy!!!

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Harry Edward Styles did not believe in true love, in fact, he thought it was the most ridiculous idea ever. Harry’s certain he’s laid eyes upon every eligible young lady, from his kingdom and the ones surrounding, and he hadn’t felt a single thing when looking at any of them. He prayed every night that he would find his love the next day, and finally be able to put his parents out of their misery and ascend to the throne. At the age of 27, Harry’s the oldest person in his family to not be married, no one every waited this long in the royal family. He would’ve had an arranged marriage at 21, though when his parents suggested that he ran away on a sailing ship for two months. One thing was clear to him: though he may not have experienced love yet, he wasn’t going to ruin his chances at true by being forced into a loveless marriage. It wasn’t only Harry’s parents, but the entire kingdom that woke each day hoping to hear that their Prince had found his Queen. They referred to Harry as the Good Prince, his subjects adored him, and lived for his acts of charity and selflessness, and they only hoped he would find a Queen that would treat them the same.

Harry’s outlook on love changed however, after his most recent hunting trip. Sundays are for family and hunting, that’s what Harry was always told. No day was for Harry, he’d come to learn that. Living under a microscope meant for very little alone time, and almost no guilt-free alone time. He and his hunting party rode across the fields and out to the dense forest surrounding the kingdom, and over the two hour journey Harry found himself agitated with the topics of conversation going on around him. He wanted a break, tired of everyone only ever speaking about royal duties or politics. Harry had discovered a fresh water lake if he went off the trail, and when he realised they were edging closer to his favourite place he decided to excuse himself with the excuse of needing to fill his canteen.

The natural spring was a hidden treasure indeed. Harry’s entire kingdom was cut off from the rest of the world due to the thick forestland surrounding it. There was only one trail in, and one trail out, and even then only experienced riders were able to make the journey. The end of the trail, in the deep of the forest, was also often lined with thieves and outcasts making it not the safest journey. This spring wasn’t necessarily hard to find, however thick trees that lined the main trail hid the spring, the gorgeous wild flowers, and clearing of soft grass either side. Harry tied his horse to his usual tree, softly parting the bushes careful to not cause any permanent damage, and stepped his way through. His kingdom was full of hidden treasures like this, tucked away in places only to be found by those adventurous enough.

The sound of the running water was most prominent, however the closer he walked to the spring, the more he could hear a faint, delicate singing voice. Harry couldn’t recognise the song, but it was one he’d never forget now. It felt as though his heart dropped in his stomach, and he had to lightly scratch his arm on a branch to double check he hasn’t died and was hearing an angel of heaven sing to him. He walked closer, with quiet footsteps so not to disturb the singing. He knelt down to the edge of the spring and began to fill his canteen, looking around his eyes eventually focused on the source of his siren, standing in the clearing over the other side of the spring as she picked a bouquet of dainty flowers. Lavender, daisies, bellflowers, poppies. Her body was dressed in sage green, the simple dress showed she definitely was not from a wealthy family, but it was simple and beautiful in its own way. Perhaps she sewed it herself, it did look as if it were made for her. He could see her hair shine from here, and the features of her side profile were striking him even from a distance. She didn’t look real. The strange girl across the spring looked ethereal, like her beauty was too surreal for this planet. Had he hit his head? Was he seeing a forest fairy? He hadn’t even realised the staggering increase in his heart rate as he watched the girl, and listened.

He lost track of how long he had been watching her for, snapped out of his daydream when he heard a “Your Royal Highness! We must be getting on!” Harry heard shouting at him from a distance, most likely back where he had tied his horse. The girl had heard the faint noise and her eyes shot in Harry’s direction. His cheeks flushed with heat as their eyes met only for a brief second, before she ran away. The eye contact brought a slight curve to his lips, although she was leaving, at least he got another good look at her.

“Wait!” He called as he stood up, his hand and canteen dripping wet. His eyes softened as she simply left, looking back briefly in her stride, but he’d blown it. “God fucking damn it.” He cursed under his breath as he began to trudge back to his horse, his feet weighing heavy on the ground.

That was the most he’d ever felt, looking at the stranger across the lake singing as if it were for him, and he couldn’t help but feel like he’d just lost his future Queen. Half of him wanted to wade through the water and run after her, but Harry wasn’t a often disobedient Prince, when one of his parents or advisors told him to jump, his usual response would be “how high?” It’s ironic how for someone who’s whole life depends on finding his future Queen is given so little time to actually explore a social life, or love life himself. He was always set up with suitors who his parents found best. In the rare times he’s able to sneak away he’d gotten around, and most definitely wasn’t a virgin, but he’d never found a girl who had made him feel the way he wanted to feel about his future queen. He only wanted to please his family, and his realm, but this was the one thing where he refused to compromise.

Y/N was as far away from a future queen as it could come, or at least that’s what her step-mother wanted everyone to think. The entire town hoped to marry their daughters off to the elusive Good Prince Harry, however her step-mother only wanted her biological daughters to have that chance. When Y/N’s father passed away her step-mother sent her out to live as a recluse in a tiny cottage in the woods, she had always feared that her beauty would distract future husbands away from her actual daughters, and didn’t want to ruin their chance of being married. Each Sunday she drops Y/N off the supplies she needs, but that was the only human contact she was given. It wasn’t too bad, she managed to keep herself busy with sewing, baking, or whatever other art or craft she could think of and had the materials for. It was lonely though, and she was ultimately alone.

Well, if you don’t count forest fairies. Y/N hated being outcast into the forest, and spent most of her early months in the cottage crying to whatever wild animal she could find that day that would stick around long enough. Eventually, these wild animals started bringing their fairy friends along with them. They would spend their days with Y/N tending to fruit and vegetable gardens, watering plants, having picnics, and making daisy chains. Her life was simple, and although not one she asked, it was one she was growing fond of. Male company was something she could only imagine and long for, or read about in story books. There were dozens of fairies living in the forest, but she’d become particularly close to a group of some of the female fairies.

Each Sunday before her step mother visits, Y/N will pick her step mother a bouquet of flowers in attempt to win her over, in hopes maybe one day her sweetness will earn her way back into town. Y/N had total obliviousness towards her step mother’s plan, and towards what was going on in the city. This year, any woman over the age of 21 was to present herself to the Prince. Y/N’s 21st birthday fell on the day she was scheduled to be presented to the Prince. The letter had been delivered shortly before she was sent away to the forest, Y/N never laid her eyes upon it though. The letter outlined the royal guard would be coming to collect anyone who failed to present themselves on the day, and to Y/N’s step mother that meant the only option was to make it so Y/N never turned 21, or made it to her birthday for that matter.

Seeing the Prince most definitely did spook Y/N during that day in the field, if her step mother ever found out she’d had contact with a male there was no chance she’d ever be allowed to move back home. She did all she could think to do. She ran. She ran so fast that the petals of the flowers she had picked were ruined in her haste, quickly shutting herself inside the cottage to gather herself before her routine afternoon visit from her step mother. Sure she knew of men to be dangerous and terrible, but she feared her step-mother’s wrath more than anything any man could put her through.

Like any other Sunday, she scrubbed the house and dressed herself in whatever new garment she had stitched herself this week. The fairies had been busy this week and she’d had a great deal of time to herself, embroidering colourful flowers into the soft white linen of the new dress she had made. Her step-mother would bring her fabric and thread to sew dresses for her step sisters. It was something to be proud of, but most likely would be over looked. Little was said upon her step-mother’s arrival, but her character seemed off. Her step-mother’s eyes darted around, checking windows as she insisted on making the two of them tea. Y/N sat down at the small dining table, recounting tales of her week, ensuring to leave out anything about fairies or a boy. She watched a small bunny outside the window, forgetting to speak as awe overwhelmed her whilst she watched its tiny nose twitch. Her daydream came to an end when the sound of the ceramic mug hit the hard wood of the coffee table. “Drink while it’s warm, my love.” Her step-mother told her, sitting down in the seat at the head of the table beside Y/N. It wasn’t long after that that Y/N hit the floor, and her step-mother was shrouding herself in a hooded coat and sneaking out of the tiny cabin.

Elsie, a fairy most close to Y/N, who specialises in healing, came to the conclusion that she was only out for about six hours before the fairies found her. They did all they could over the following weeks to bring her back to life, trying as many possible rituals, potions, and spells to give life to her body once more. Nothing was of use though, and instead they decided to preserve her in a glass case in the clearing amongst the wildflowers. She had professed to them that the clearing by the spring had been her favourite place, so they saw this fit. Preserving her in the glass case was simply because the idea of her beauty decaying away made any of the fairies shriek. Fairies never communicated with humans, however Y/N was different. Elsie had always theorised that Y/N had magic in her blood. Amongst the many spells and rituals they tried to bring Y/N back, they threw in a spell that would hopefully bring her back with true love’s kiss. It was like a safety net, or a ‘what if?’ But they eventually tired and wore out, preserving her was well enough for now. They kept her dressed in the new dress she had crafted for herself, it was so beautiful after all. They had placed tiny baby’s breath flowers throughout her hair, and made sure everything was perfect. They even went as far to adorn her in delicate gold jewellery, with beautiful crystals of all colours. Her body rested upon a large rectangular slab of rose quartz.

****

Harry was dreading sitting in the throne room, while all the eligible females from the town were presented to him like livestock. It made him sick, and left a terrible taste in his mouth. All he could think of was the girl from the clearing. Is she a sign? Is he his ticket out of here? Was seeing her fate? Questions like that simmered over his mind and kept him awake at night, he had been sleeping little and finding it hard to focus on his duties. His best friend Niall was he closest confidant, the only one he had told about the beautiful girl in the clearing that day. Niall cared more for Harry than anyone, really. He didn’t just care about his fame or power or wealth, Harry was his best friend and he hated seeing his best mate so down about his love life and the pressure to marry a woman he doesn’t love. He made it his mission to find the woman, and his detective work lead him down a path he didn’t expect at all. First he went to the clearing where Harry filled his water in the spring, that was where he first noticed something over the other side of the spring that he couldn’t quite make out. He followed the spring and found an area narrow enough to cross, making his way to the structure he’d seen earlier. He didn’t know what to make of this discover, a dead girl in a glass coffin. ‘Forever at rest, only to be woken by true love’s kiss’ read an inscription on a gold plaque. He really didn’t know what to make of this. He didn’t know what to tell Harry.

Sweat lingered Niall’s brow as he made his way back to the castle to find Harry, to tell him of his discovery. “Look… I just need you to come with me and tell me what you think when we’re there.” Niall tells him, his voice somewhat breathless. Niall himself was still in disbelief, shock, his eyes wide as he shook his head. “I just- I don’t know what to tell you. You need to see it for yourself.” He adds.

Harry nods. “I’ll come immediately.” Harry tells him, his trust for Niall outweighing anything else going on in his head. Together they rode to the forest, crossed the narrow part of the spring, and towards where Niall had discovered Y/N.

“Is this the girl you were talking about?” Niall asks, however when he looks from the girl to Harry, he knows the answer. Harry couldn’t help but fall to his knees, pressing his palms against the glass as he looked inside. He noticed how long her eyelashes looked, and the freckles on her nose. His nose was almost touching the glass as he leant here on his knees at the side of her, taking her in up close.

“What happened to you?” He whispers, his eyebrows knitting together. Niall gives him a moment before he decides to mention the plaque at the foot of the structure.

“It uh, says something weird about being awoken by true love’s kiss. I don’t know if it’s true, and it’s revolting to think you would kiss a dead body for nothing, but someone has put her here. Someone made this. My grandmother in her old age would mutter stories about forest fairies and their magic… It just makes you wonder, you know?” He ponders, his eyes wandering away. It felt silly to bring up magic, it was something very commonly dismissed.

“Help me get this off.” Harry said as he brought himself from the ground, the soft grass had left green stains on his tan riding pants. He pushed the sleeves of his white linen button down up past his elbows, and the two men carefully lift the heavy glass case up off of the rose quartz Y/N had been resting on. It wasn’t easy, and the glass at the bottom dug into Harry’s fingers before they set the glass piece of the structure down on to the grass. “Alright. Here we go.” Harry said, in attempt to psych himself up for kissing a dead girl. She didn’t look dead though, just sleeping, you could only tell she was dead due to the missing rising and fall in her chest with her breath. “I might start walking back to the horses, give you some privacy.” Niall said, giving him a slight smile. He also didn’t really want to witness someone kiss a dead person, if she didn’t end up waking up.

“Good luck. Take your time.” He adds, part of him had no doubt it was going to work though. The stories his grandmother would tell him of the forest fairies were something he’d always held on to, those stories were amongst his most treasured memories. He’d always had some hope.

Harry waited until he could no longer hear Niall’s footsteps before he leant down close to Y/N, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. He took a moment, if this never worked it was going to be the last time he’d ever see her. He couldn’t fathom coming back to this spot if this didn’t work. His heart began to ache at the thought, it made his chest feel tight, and gave him the urge to rub at the spot.

“I really hope you’re who I think you are.” He whispers as he looks down at her. “This might seem like absolute madness. I don’t even know your name, but if you wake up for me, I swear to you I will be yours forever.” He began, to Harry this almost did feel like a ritual, it felt special, and the words he was speaking were amongst the most genuine he’d ever given life to. “I promise, I will protect you. I will provide for you. I will love you. I will never, ever harm you. I will love you until my very last breath, I just need you to do this one thing for me.” His voice was barely a whisper now, and breaking as hot tears welled in his eyes. He very carefully leant down, pressing his warm, puffy lips against her cold, smooth ones. He didn’t know how long to wait, but it didn’t feel wrong. It was a sweet, tender kiss. His eyes closed, and he felt at peace. It felt more than at peace. The long grass, wildflowers, and tree branches that surrounded them began to stir with wind, petals floating up into the gusts that took them. This girl had a tendency to make him feel like he’s dead and in heaven. Her lips slowly began to warm, and skin began to glow with heat. It felt like they were floating, as if the universe was made up of just the two of them. The flowers beneath him began to grow taller and more dense, and it began to feel like his heart was pulling towards hers. It felt like a tether had been formed, connecting their energy, he could feel as her heart began to pump blood again, and her energy radiate from her skin. It felt too surreal.

Slowly, Harry removed his lips to allow Y/N to breathe. He let a hand lay gently resting on her cheek as he watched her gasp for her first new breath, eyes shooting open as she looked up at him. It wasn’t shock she was met with when her eyes met Harry’s, but peace. The luminous green eyes that were gazing down upon her were like lighthouses, guiding her towards safety. So many questions began to race her mind as she came to reality, unable to decide which one to ask first. As if based on intuition, Harry decided to speak. “I uh- I’m not too sure what happened to you but my friend found you here today and brought me to you. I believe I saw you a few weeks ago, in the same spot. I’m not sure how long you’ve been out here, but there was this little plaque at the end of this thing here, that said something about a kiss to wake you up… I’m sorry for kissing you without your consent, but I couldn’t risk not taking this chance.” He didn’t mean to ramble or to overwhelm her with his spiel, but he was overwhelmed himself with everything that had just gone on. True love’s kiss. His queen. His true love. The other half of his soul, in human form. Y/N’s lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. She closed them once more as she sat up and looked around, swinging her legs off the side of the marble before looking back up to Harry. Her movement had disconnected his hand from her face, and they both longed for each other’s touch once more already. Her eyes began to well with tears as she began to think about how she got here, her last memories.

“I can only assume how overwhelming this must all be for you… We can stay here as long as you need, it’s just us. When you feel ready for it, I can take you back to my home and we can get you showered and fed. I don’t mean you any harm.” Harry doesn’t even need to add that last sentence though, because she can feel it. She can feel his love for her, she could almost hear it if she listened closely enough, as if his heart was now beating a song for her.

Harry stood back, as if to give the doe eyed girl some space. She looked at him as if he was the most precious treasure on Earth, he’d never felt so overwhelmed with love. This was followed by her delicate hands reaching out, taking ahold of his as she brought herself to stand in front of him. “Is it alright if you hold me for a second?” She asked softly, needing time to process things.

It had been so long since she had been touched affectionately, she couldn’t really remember it. Her father was never affectionate, nor her step mother or step sisters or anyone else she’d met. She felt comfortable with the stranger in front of her though, and didn’t have the energy to resist the magnet like force pulling her towards him.

“Of course.” He responds, his voice soft as he wraps his arms gently around her frame, pulling her into his warm figure. Harry was like the perfect, giant teddy bear… but he wasn’t really that soft. Pressed against him she could feel how chiseled his features are. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she relaxed into him, cheek against the skin of his chest kindly revealed by the first few buttons of his shirt being undone. “What’s your name?” He asks, tangling his fingers in her hair to lightly rub his fingertips against the tender skin at the back of her neck.

“Y/N Y/L/N. Yours?” She asks, looking up to the tall, broad man.

“Harry.” He decides on leaving out his royal title or last name.

“Just Harry?” She asks, her eyebrows raising.

“For now. We have plenty of time to talk about me later.” He notes, removing the same rogue strand of hair as before from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. It was almost as if her hair had a life of its own, breathing, like the other flora growing in the forest. He had noticed the baby’s breath in her hair, though her hair moved, they remained in the same places, as if growing out of their place on the strand of hair. “What do you last remember?” He asks, needing to know if whatever put her in eternal sleep had been by accident, or as an act of malice. She looks back away from his face, resting her cheek once more against his chest.

“My step-mother, Styephania came over, she made me tea. That’s all I can really remember.” She said, unable to stop the disappointed sigh from escaping her lips. Maybe she’d had a freak health accident, like a stroke. Just because she’d been mistreated by her step mother her whole life, didn’t mean she was capable of murder. She knew her step mother didn’t put her out here though, this was the work of fairies. They were looking on, hiding in the bushes as they stood witness to young love blossom in front of them, not wanting to disturb the two of them. “I look crazy, and it sounds crazier saying this, but I’m certain the forest fairies are responsible for looking after me and putting me here. The day she came over was the day I think you saw me here, and I’m not sure how I’m meant to feel but I don’t feel like I’ve been a dead body since then. I feel like no time has passed at all.” Harry avidly listened to her speak, her voice like caramel, seeping in his ears and warming his whole body. Harry wasn’t phased by her mentioning fairies, Niall had suspecting this being their work earlier. It was the only explanation Harry could think of. He couldn’t understand why her step mother would leave her here, why she wouldn’t find her help.

He didn’t want to worry his sweet girl now, he wanted to make sure she felt alright, safe, and cared for. His grip on her wasn’t too tight, but firm in a comforting way. “The plaque… It mentioned how you’d only be woken by true love’s kiss.” He figured the longer he waited to tell her the stranger it would be. His cheeks were red, as if embarrassed or ashamed to tell her about the plaque, how strange it all was. Her eyes met his, and the connection gave him whiplash. He couldn’t peel his eyes away, getting lost in the little pools. He wanted to know everything about her, what she liked, disliked, what she ate for breakfast, her favourite songs, flowers, secrets. Everything.

“I don’t know if I know what love feels like. The only men I’ve spoken to are all twice my age. I wasn’t really allowed to see boys. You’re definitely much, much more beautiful than I would’ve imagined a man to be, and I’m certain that my heart is literally beating for you now, since you woke me.” She tells him, the descriptions of heroes in stories she would read, or how she would imagine the older men to look when they were younger, were incomparable to Harry. The compliment made his cheeks flush. With each beat of her heart, it was as if it was pulling her closer to Harry, calling out for him, begging for him to love on her and soothe the ache in her chest.

“How has God made something so sweet?” He mumbles, he hadn’t even realised he’d said it out loud at first. “You’re breath taking. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, and trust me when I say I’ve seen a lot of them. Even from far away, the first time I saw you… You make me nervous. You make my heart race, and my palms sweat, and I get butterflies in my stomach and nervous when I think about saying the wrong thing or not having you like me. It’s as if you’ve been carved by God himself, like he was showing off when he made you so beautiful. I wish I’d met you sooner.” Those last words burn his throat, how easier the last few years would have been if he had just been able to find her sooner.

*****

Harry sent Niall back to the castle first, having him instruct everyone to clear out the path that the Prince and his soon to be queen would take to his suite, he didn’t want to spook her with people around. The guards had to stay though, non-negotiable. He also had Niall ensure the doctor was on standby, just to check on Y/N and stay in the castle over the upcoming weeks in case anything else happened. Security was going to be increased, and tightened, and a warrant put out for her step mother.

The two hour horseback ride to the castle would give them well enough time to get to know each other, Harry and Niall had also switched horses, Niall’s being the slower of the two. “I don’t want to startle you when we get there. I also don’t know how to really tell you this. I’m in the royal family, so the guards and whatnot are something to just be ignored. They’re for your protection. I don’t know if you heard much of what I was telling Niall earlier, but you’re going to be very safe here, and we’ll find out what happened. I’ll look after you, I promise.” His eyes are ahead as he speaks, looking over the vast green fields ahead of them once they eventually emerged from the forest.

“Still just Harry, to me.” She reassured, sensing his nerves about revealing this information to her. His shoulders relaxed at her reaction, and a smile formed on his lips when his mind began to wander into what their future may be like. His queen.

“Hey, one day that’ll be King Harry to you.” He joked, thankful that it was received with a laugh. Her laughter was almost as sweet as her songs, and for the rest of the journey he made it his mission to mine as many possible laughs out of her as he could, like little nuggets of treasure. After making their way through the fields that lined the forest, they went down a long road that served as a divide between two of the castle’s towns, and at the end of that road just past a small valley of mountains was a sight far more glorious than Y/N had imagined. Her village was a small village that contained mostly candlemakers and dressmakers, and it sat further to the east, people only ever going out there to purchase fine candles and clothing. It was niche though, and not many could afford the fineries the master crafters in her village would create. Y/N hadn’t even really seen a home larger than a cottage, Harry’s castle looked large enough as if it could contain its own little world, a complete wilderness of towers surrounded by fine gardens, protected by a large moat with a standalone drawbridge. Harry didn’t even need to announce himself, the drawbridge was already in the process of being lowered for him.

“I had Niall clear our path, I don’t want to overwhelm you. I’ll introduce you to everyone when you’re ready.” Harry reassures her, she hadn’t even thought of anyone else though, too in awe of the sights around her. Flowers she’d never seen before laced these gardens, with fine marble sculptures and fountains protruding from them.

“I can’t believe this is your home.” Y/N whispers, unable to think of anything else to say.

“Your home too, if you’d like.” Harry replies, though his words immediately shrouded him with nerves about rushing Y/N into anything. It was stupid, they were each other’s true love’s, but it felt wrong being strangers, so Harry tried his best to conceal things. He’d never been in a conventional relationship before, never mind whatever this arrangement is or was going to be. He just knew he wasn’t meant to rush things, so he tried to refrain from expressing his feelings as best as he could. Her arms around his waist tightened, Y/N needing to feel as close to Harry as possible. He held the reins in one hand, the other arm resting over hers around his stomach, holding on to her arm to make sure she couldn’t let go.

“I’d like that.” Y/N reassures, gently rubbing his side to soothe him. Harry was too caught up in his own feelings to pay attention to how calm Y/N was. She could feel his anxiety though, and continued to try to soothe him as best she could. Y/N knew very little about Harry so far, but what she did know was that he was kind, caring, and had a lot of worries. She’d never been a worrisome person, and if anything would even refer to herself as naive, it was something she’d always been almost ashamed of but in this moment felt like maybe she’d been made to be by Harry’s side. Y/N liked the idea of spending her days being Harry’s rock, a voice of reason. She’d rather a man like this than one who had no emotions, that was for sure. It could’ve been whatever was now eternally bonding them, but she swears she was feeling his emotions, able to see his aura if she really studied hard enough. She sunk into him some more, her arms around his waist, cheek resting against his back. Harry made sure to take it extra slow, giving his love enough time to appreciate the flowers. She seemed to like flowers, and his mother took pride in this being the most beautiful garden amongst all of the kingdoms. He couldn’t wait to show her all the fineries that came with his life.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #Harry Styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #Prince!Harry #harry styles au #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #new writter #writeblr #fanfic #fantasy #high fantasy #prince

[harryimaginedstories]

on your side

genre: au (while I don’t like the term ‘au-fic’ at all imagine the two characters are in college together and in their early twenties.) angst and some fluff as well.

about 5k words

it’s entirely different than anything I have ever published and I really love it. please let me know what you think and stay safe during these wild and often scary times. 

read more here: my stories

photo: taken from instagram, previously taken by somebody from the movie AWC, which also inspired me (kinda) to even write this.

They started arguing pretty much the second the car door fell shut behind them and even ten traffic lights, countless of turns and getting honked at twice, didn’t stop their heated exchange of words. Harry’s hands held on to the seat tightly, an attempt not to touch her thigh like he normally would, while hers curled around the steering wheel until the white of her knuckles showed. It wasn’t uncommon for them to fight. They had never been one of those couples who didn’t call each other out on their bullshit or who tried hide anger when there was reason to feel it. However, this was the first time that they weren’t on their way home, where their argument could be settled in private. Instead, Harry and Y/N, both infuriated with each other, were on their way to a party. With one generous rotation of the wheel, Y/N parked Harry’s black car in the last free niche on the street of the frat house. The vehicle gave an unpleasant sound and Harry closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring. Before he got the chance to complain, Y/N swung open the door, stepped out and threw it shut hard enough to know it would set him off. 

“Jesus fuck!” Harry shouted, opening the passenger door and stepping out, too. 

She waited long enough to press ‘lock’ on the keys once he was out, then she walked away. With quick strides he caught up with her, and had he not been as angry as could be he would have probably felt hurt at her for not waiting up like she would have any other day.  Walking next to her he turned to look at her profile, trying to catch her eyes, but she refused. 

“Would you mind not taking your crazy out on my fucking car?”

“Oh, so you do care about that then. Good to know,” she snapped back. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Y/N halted and so did he. They were standing on the pavement, one house away from where there could already be heard the dull sound of music blaring and a good meter of distance between them.  Any other night they would be standing there, too. Only not to deliver a few more blows before pretending to be alright while their friends were around. On any other night, Harry would have taken advantage of the warm weather, by letting his hands roam across Y/N’s bare arms. She would have given him a kiss or two and made him a laugh at least as much. He would have reminded her for the fifth time (at least) that she looked beautiful. There wouldn’t be any distance between them, let alone one entire meter.

“There is one thing I’ve been hearing clearly through all of the bullshit you’ve said today,” Y/N hissed, her lips barely moving and her hands curling into tight fists by her side, “which is that you don’t give a fuck about me.”

“Oh my god.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his head falling back before snapping forward quickly, “You’re being such a lunatic!”

Wind picked up some of her hair and pushed the loose strands into her eyes, breaking the angry stare she’d held with him and for a moment, Harry could have sworn she appeared to be younger. Then she brushed the hair off with shaky hands and back she was, angry and exhausted. 

“You’re a dick!” Y/N squealed, 

“Well, clearly we could go on,” he snapped and rolled his eyes, “but our fucking friends are waiting for us so do you think you can manage to avoid me for the next few hours so we can at least settle this at home?” 

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her cleavage which he had tried not to stare ever since she’d put on the blue dress. That damn dress. Focusing on it now it only irked him further. She knew how much he loved it when she wore this particular piece of clothing. It had spent the night on the floor of his bedroom or over the back of a chair often enough. He was certain she’d put it on specifically to spite him. 

“Fine, let’s go. But since you’re unhappy with my parking,” Y/N stepped forward and reached up, pressing the hard metal of Harry’s car keys into his chest, “you get to be the designated driver tonight.” 

Her fist lingered on the fabric of his black T-shirt. Feeling her touch him momentarily paused his thoughts. All anger was forgotten, as if the wind had picked it up, too, and carried it far away. Harry whimpered and her lips parted, their eyes connecting without any trace of hurt in them. Then his hand found hers and she dropped the set of keys into his palm, snapping them both out of their brief moment of peace. 

“I don’t want to see you right now,” Y/N stuttered, blinking rapidly until her eyes turned darker again.

“Don’t come look for me later when you’re drunk and feeling sorry,” Harry replied, before he stepped around her and walked towards the frat building.

Y/N lost sight of him the second he stepped inside. Despite still feeling angry with him, she couldn’t stop herself from briefly wishing he wouldn’t have left her alone. She didn’t like being left alone at a party. Neither did he, for the matter, but she refused to feel guilty for sending him away. Y/N drew a shaky breath and stepped inside, instantly greeted by the smell of alcohol, smoke and pot. A big banner had been hung from one side of the hall to the other, wishing everybody a cheerful start to the new semester. Underneath mingled numerous students, all of which held drinks in their hands. Already Y/N recognized a few of them from some of her classes, she didn’t feel like talking to them however. To her luck she spotted a few friends of her in the first room she entered and was quickly greeted with hugs and kisses to her cheek. 

Dena, a girl Y/N had grown close with through sharing an equal distain for their econ teacher, pressed a drink into her hand and smiled. “You look like you need at least two of these.”

Y/N smiled sadly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well, you didn’t cheer in delight upon seeing us like you should have so,” said Clara, another friend Y/N had made whilst talking badly about her teacher.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.” 

Dena nudged her. “Also, your boyfriend stormed past us earlier so we expected something was up.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Clara asked.

Y/N shook her head and took a long sip from her drink. It tasted of a mixture of beer and vodka, which on any other day she would have refused to drink. “I really don’t.”

“Great. Then let’s just cheer to us.”

The two girls raised their own cups and waited expectantly for Y/N to do the same. Dena grinned at her and cleared her throat. 

“To us, the coming semester, which we will fucking ace. And-” she paused, looking at Y/N, “to knowing when to kick your boyfriend’s ass. Cheers!”

“Cheers.”

Harry stood by the unlit fire pit in the lounge area, where the chairs had been pushed aside to create a dance floor. A scowl was deeply etched onto his face and he had yet to smile genuinely. He blamed the alcohol he wasn’t allowed to consume for how poorly he was feeling, but he knew even if he had drowned his veins in liquor, it wouldn’t be until he’d feel her touch him that he would be in a better mood. He stood back watching with a few of his mates, who were all except one, very drunk, as some freshmen clumsily turned the dinner table into a bear pong station. Matt, the only sober one left, had tried to get him to talk about why his mood was so sour three times already, receiving no answer each time. Harry rolled his eyes upon feeling him nudge his shoulder again.

“Where’s your girl?”

Harry shrugged. “Don’t know.”

He’d been cursing her short height since turning around and looking for her in the crowded hallway thirty minutes ago. She’d slipped past him without him noticing, and while he was too proud to go look for her properly, it annoyed him that he wasn’t able to casually spot her whenever he scanned one of the many rooms that had been turned into a club. He especially didn’t like it since he knew that she was drinking. Blindly he felt for his phone in his pocket, ensuring for the tenth time that its volume was turned up. Should she call him, he wanted to be sure that he wouldn’t miss it.

“Didn’t she come with you?” Matt pressed on, either oblivious to Harry’s annoyance or simply indifferent to it.

“Doesn’t mean she can’t wander off on her own, does it?” Harry replied, his voice rough. 

He’d never really liked Matt. Actually, he’d liked him a lot once. They’d even considered becoming roommates in their second year. He’d liked him, up until he’d gotten together with Y/N and noticed the gleam in Matt’s eyes the first time he’d introduced her to him. Their friendship dissolved fast after.

“I’m sure she can. She’s always been good at enjoying parties, hasn’t she?”

Harry didn’t reply. Once more his eyes scanned the room frantically, detecting every single face in hopes of recognizing the eyes to the one he loved.

“Dude!” Eric, a tall and broad looking bloke who’d just become team captain to the football team, stumbled into Harry’s side, knocking him back. 

“Sorry! Shit,” Eric laughed, doubling over, revealing that he was clearly drunker than he should have been, “I’m sorry, mate. Wow, I need to lay off a little.”

“No kidding,” Harry replied, but smiled when Eric slung a heavy arm around his shoulders. The unmistakable smell of alcohol fanned over his face as Eric talked, and his nose scrunched up. 

“You’ve been wearing a look as depressing as Matt’s sex life-”

“Hey, fuck you, Eric!” Matt snapped, unamused.

“-and I intend to fix that. C’mon.”

Harry didn’t fight it as the taller guy dragged him away, out of the lounge and into another room further down the hall. He certainly didn’t mind getting away form Matt. Regardless of them having been friends once, Matt was the last person he wanted to be around when he was having a rough time with Y/N. The smoke was thicker in this room and the music a little quieter. There were less people dancing and more sitting around on the couches and chairs. A few stood by the wall in small groups and some, the ones Eric was walking towards, were standing opposite a dart board. They cheered upon seeing the two guys approach, making more noise than anybody else in the room.

“You’re on my team and you’re gonna help me win, yeah? M’taking advantage of you being sober as a stone. Your aim is probably better than any of theirs.”

Harry laughed and nodded, accepting to be involved. “I’ll try my best.”

The first dart arrow was thrust into his hand by a guy named Kyle who appeared to be on the same team. Half an hour later and Eric was grinning from ear to ear, writing their leading score numbers onto a makeshift writing board that was really just the coffee table. Something the guys living in this house would be happy to find in the morning.  Y/N watched him. Despite being intoxicated, or perhaps because of how intoxicated she was, she noticed every muscle of his back move each time he raised his arm. Her heart fluttered whenever he laughed and she felt a heat grow at the pit of her stomach whenever he leaned his head to the side, revealing the back of his neck to her. And above his neck was his ear, which hid a spot right under his hairline where he liked to be kissed. Y/N’s lips parted at the thought and her toes curled.  He hadn’t noticed her when entering the room. She didn’t blame him though, since she’d successfully hid herself behind Dena and Eric’s big body also worked wonderfully as a shield. Despite anything she’d said before the party, she was immensely relieved to see him. The vodka-beer mixture which she’d learned had been invented by Clara, was disgusting but also got her drunk faster than she had expected. Or intended. Another round of cheers erupted as Harry scored another point for his team. 

“Not fair. You won’t give them as much as a chance to win.” 

A chill rushed down Harry’s back at the sound of the honey sweet female voice behind him, and Y/N, too, froze in place. Slender fingers touched Harry’s arm, caressing the skin despite being less than welcome to. Upon turning around he was met with Silja, who’s face wore a smile equally sweet as her sly voice. Though standing by the opposite wall, Y/N swore she could hear Silja as if she were standing next to her. She would always be able to detect her voice, especially if the words she spoke were directed to Harry. 

Dena followed her friend’s gaze and raised her brows. “Haven’t seen her in a while. I thought she dropped out.”

“Would have been too nice,” Y/N growled. 

She’d never actually talked to Silja herself and she surely didn’t intend to. Before getting together with him, Y/N had been mostly oblivious to who was genuinely interested in him and who she imagining to be. Only with Silja there had never been any doubt. Even before Harry had become hers, she’d felt a bitter taste collect in the middle of her tongue whenever the pretty brunette girl tried to talk to him. Once her claim on him had become justified, she disliked Silja and her upfront behaviour all the more.

“Hey, you know you don’t have to worry about her, right?” Dena said quietly, reading Y/N’s expression, “Harry has rejected her what, three times already? Even before he was with you. He’s not interested in her.”

“I know. I’m not worried about that,” Y/N said quickly, stepping around Dena to get a better look at her boyfriend and the girl that had yet to remove her hand from his arm, “I trust him.”

“Doesn’t make her less of a bitch,” Clara grumbled, also staring at them intently. 

The three girls watched Harry turn to look at Silja. He gave her a tight lip smile before he stepped away to make room for the next player, conveniently shrugging off her hand in process. To their dismay, Silja followed him.

“I haven’t seen you this summer,” she complained in an uncomfortably high voice, that was laced with feigned displeasure, “Where were you hiding?” 

Harry sighed, wishing Y/N would find him already, and rested his back against the wall. The last thing he needed for this party to become worse were the advances of the woman standing before him. “I wasn’t.”

Their summer had been great. They spent it looking for a flat to move into together. One weekend they’d taken the train out to the ocean and spent two days in a pretty bed and breakfast, where nothing distracted them from each other and everything, even their sheets, held the faint smell of sea salt. He wasn’t about to tell any of that to Silja though. 

The girl pouted, smudging her lilac lipstick at the corners. “Didn’t you miss me at all? Not even a little bit?” 

“No.”

She smiled. Her neck moved to the side as her eyes mustering him. “You and your attitude. I really missed that.”

Harry let his head fall back and for a moment Y/N forgot to eye the girl hitting on her boyfriend and instead stared at his throat. She longed to kiss him there, too. The darkened expression taking over his relaxed face quickly brought her attention back. Thinking about kissing him had made her miss the words Silja had said to upset him. 

“You’re wasting your time missing me.”

At last, Silja’s smile dropped. “You’re still with her, then?”

“Yep,” he replied shortly. 

 “Fine,” Silja pushed the long brown locks off her shoulder and crossed her arms, “maybe if she fucked you right you wouldn’t be such an asshole all the time.” 

“Fuck off, Silja,” Harry snapped, pushing himself off the wall to instantly tower over her.

“Harry! Your turn again, mate.”

Without giving her as much as a second look, Harry turned away and followed Eric’s call. Dena’s hand rested on Y/N’s shoulder, squeezing her gently whilst smiling at her. Y/N exhaled loudly and relaxed. She didn’t doubt Harry’s capability of getting rid of Silja. She’d also truly meant it when she’d said that she trusted him. But after their argument she wasn’t so sure that he didn’t want to receive some affection tonight, be it from anybody. While she would have hated it, simply entertaining Silja’s flirting wouldn’t have been cheating. A warm feeling overtook any worry left in her body upon watching him turn Silja away. He didn’t bother look at her again but walked back to his friends to resume the game, treating her like she wasn’t even there. He didn’t even give Silja the satisfaction of remaining angered by her words. Giving up her attempts, Silja walked away and left the room quickly, her cheeks slightly rosy in embarrassment. 

“Remind me to kiss him later for that,” Y/N said, her voice holding more love for him than she would usually let on whilst angry. 

Clara laughed. “So you’re not mad at him anymore.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me that I was or I might still be.”

“What were you two fighting about anyway?” Dena asked. 

Y/N took another long sip from her drink, before remembering that she’d wanted to not drink any more for the night. Oh well. 

“He didn’t come home last night. Without notifying me. He fell asleep at stupid Rick’s place and neither of them bothered shooting me a text or ringing me about it. I spent all night worried sick.”

Y/N’s expression hardened at the thought of waiting up for him. She’d paced around the living room of their new flat before settling on the couch, vowing to stay awake until he returned. She’d had half a mind not to call his mother or sister, not quite worried enough to ask them. 

“I didn’t see him until an hour before coming here ‘cause I had to work today. So we didn’t have time to properly fight about it.”

“Didn’t he say he was sorry?”

“Sure he did, as well as stating that I was overreacting and not his mother.”

“Ugh, men,” Dena grumbled, then she changed the subject, “Let’s get refills in the kitchen!”

Harry got bored of the game after the fifth round, but stayed to play until the team he’d joined won by a margin. Then he politely excused himself from playing another round. Though she’d told him she didn’t want to see him, Harry really wanted to see Y/N and he figured over an hour of distance sufficed for her to calm down. Maybe she would even allow herself to be happy about him finding her. He strolled around the room, then went looking in the hall and finally searched the lounge. If only she were a little taller, he thought once more. All of sudden he heard a loud shout. It wasn’t one of the usual party hollers, it was one that held no joy at all. With swift strides Harry crossed the room, turned left in the hallway and entered the kitchen. This time he didn’t have to search to see her. Y/N was sitting on the counter, her legs dangling down and her hands curling around the stone surface. Across from her was the kitchen table on which all of the different liquor bottles had been placed. It was also where the single shout turned into several. A guy Harry hadn’t ever seen around campus before stood next to a broken bottle of vodka. His hand curled into a fist and his face was red. Opposite him stood Dena, a girl Harry barely knew beyond her being a friend of Y/N. Next to Dena was a guy named Dylan, his face painted with guilt and worry. 

“You fucking broke my shit!” the stranger shouted. 

Y/N flinched. It wasn’t Dena who’d pissed off the wrong guy, but Dylan who had tried to make a drink for them. She didn’t feel any less involved if the guy were to be shouting at her. The second the bottle had broken and the tall stranger exclaimed that it’d been his, Y/N had felt fear curse through her. She hated it. She hated how a man shouting was so scary that she froze in place.  Just like she always did when afraid, her eyes began to search for Harry. Heavy like a wave and equally overwhelming was the relief when she saw him lingering in the doorway.  Their eyes met. Y/N visibly relaxed. She could read the question in the look he was giving her and she eagerly nodded. There were so few people scattered around the small place, Harry had no trouble reaching the counter.  Once in arms reach she held out her right hand, whimpering when his fingers slotted through hers and holding on tight. Any anger towards each other was forgotten the moment their skin touched. Y/N gave a determined pull until he stood next to where she was sitting, her legs touching his waist. Harry didn’t say anything, but he allowed her to let go of his hand to instead hold on to his shoulder. His own settled heavily on her thigh, relishing the feeling of her bare skin. He didn’t complain when her fingers curled tightly around the fabric of his shirt, nor did she mind how intimate it felt to have his hand on her naked thigh. His eyes quickly scanned her face, waiting for her nod, confirming that she was alright. Y/N smiled gently, relief mirroring in her eyes. Harry returned her smile. His heart clenching when he noticed the faint veil of alcohol before her eyes. Ever so slightly, their heads leaned towards each other, then his nose softly touched her forehead.

“He didn’t do it on purpose,” Dena said defensively, “and these bottles are for everybody to use.”

Harry shifted closer to Y/N but removed his nose form her hairline. Unwillingly he turned his attention back to where the argument grew. The stranger’s head, figuratively doubling in size by the minute, was red and looming over Dena like a balloon hovering in the sky. He had to admit it was impressive that Dena, equally short as Y/N, refused to back off.

“I wasn’t asking you! You and your friend better figure out how to replace my drink and you better do it fast!”

“Mate, lay off a bit, will ya? They didn’t do anything on purpose,” Harry interrupted, his voice calm and steady, “Why don’t you just grab one of the ten other bottles and leave ‘em alone?” 

The stranger, slightly shorter than Harry, turned to look at them. Y/N tightened her hold on his shoulder. She was mentally preparing herself to jump off the counter and at the stranger’s throat instead, should he as much as try to pick a fight with Harry. Noticing her shift beside him, Harry’s hold on her intensified.

“Leave them alone?” the tall guy snapped, “that was twenty fucking quid he broke!” 

“Bit embarrassing that you’re whining about twenty quid,” Harry said, wearing a smug grin, “and picking a fight like some kind of neanderthals who found out somebody’s pissed into his cave.” 

Dena giggled and so did Y/N, along with some bystanders who’d gathered to watch. The bloke narrowed his eyes, first at Harry, then at the girl sitting beside him. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N interrupted him. “Quit looking at me and spare me any sexist bullshit you’re about to say.” 

The guy rolled his eyes, then smiled. “You’re pretty for a bitch.”

Y/N’s hand yanked Harry back by his shoulder equally fast as he’d pushed off the counter to lunge forward and at the guy. The movement caused him to knock against the counter uncomfortably. She didn’t let go and didn’t move, despite Harry’s enraged breathing getting louder.  

“Fuck you!” Harry shouted, eyes wide. 

Anger oozed out of his pores and heat settled in the small kitchen. Calm and collected only a moment ago, he was all the more scarier now that he was enraged. Scary enough to make the stranger take back a step. Y/N loosened her hold on Harry’s shoulder, sliding her hand down to press against his back instead. She rubbed his spine gently, hoping to ease him by letting him know she was okay. 

"You need to leave,” Y/N stated, her voice calm.

“Definitely,” Dena agreed, her eyes trained on her friend before finding Harry.

He didn’t return her gaze, his eyes remained on the tall blonde. They stayed put until the guy lowered his empty cup to the table, the movement slow and deliberate. He clearly didn’t want it to look like he was leaving because he was told to, so he took his time. But finally he turned away, before at last leaving the kitchen and hopefully the party all together. 

Harry shuddered upon feeling Y/N’s nose against the shell of his ear. “I’m fine, Harry.”

“What a wanker.”

“A fucking wanker,” Y/N replied, her smile practically audible in her voice. 

Harry turned around to face her, all of his attention returning to where it belonged: her. His eyes looked into hers intently, reading every answer to all of his unspoken questions.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. Are you?”

He nodded. “Did he try anything before I came?”

“I noticed him about zero-point-five seconds before you arrived, Harry. I’m fine, I promise.”

Her hands gently took hold of his face. The fingers of her left hand traced along his jawline as tenderly as one would the rim of a glass in hopes of eliciting a sound. That’s how Harry sometimes felt when she touched him. Like she was being as tender as she could possibly fathom to be. 

“Does that mean you’re gonna go back to being mad at me?” As he spoke, Harry moved closer. His hands rested on each side of her hips, allowing his body to get closer to hers as he leaned forward.

Y/N laughed and shook her head, their faces so close they almost touched. She enjoyed the warmth of his breath fanning against her throat. 

“Are you? You were at least as pissed off as I was.”

He shrugged, then playfully nudged her nose with his. “No.”

“Then I think I’ll let it go, too,” she answered, faking to be coy, “For now, you still owe me an apology later.”

Harry laughed. “That’s fair. Promise to mean it this time, too.” 

Her eyes narrowed. She took hold of his chin, holding him still so she could kiss him without giving him the chance to deepen it. The feeling of his mouth slotting with hers, be it as briefly as it was, ignited her like nothing else could. Any remaining worry was pulled from the corners in her body where it had hidden, and was thrown out not to return. Harry took over. All of the space inside her that could belong to an emotion, now belonged to him.

“I knew you didn’t mean it earlier,” she breathed accusingly against his lips. 

“I meant it a little,” he said, curling his hand around her wrist to pull away the hold she’d taken and he kissed her a second time before she could complain. 

Despite their desperation their teeth didn’t clash together, nor did their noses unintentionally bump. They’d kissed too many times not to blindly meet each other without missing. His tongue glided along her bottom lip, hers pushed his aside so it could trespass into his mouth. Frantic hands held on to her hips and her thigh, eager fingers remembered to be gentle as they settled on the back of his neck. Harry moaned and Y/N pulled away.

“Thank you,” she whispered, just enough space between them so she could speak. 

Harry’s kisses trailed down from the corner of her mouth to her cheek and her jaw, his lips warm, wet and determined. He allowed one kiss to last a little longer, followed by a small lick to her earlobe.

As satisfied as could be as long as they weren’t alone, he raised his head to look at her again. “What for?”

“Being on my side even when we’re fighting.” 

The smile gracing her features was so genuine he could have melted, just like her words were spoken with more love behind them than he could detect. He smiled and willingly moved his head to the side, so she could kiss below his ear. The heat in his belly grew and he let her know by squeezing her hips.

“Ditto.”

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[xjoonchildx]

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter one: fan mail

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 2.8K

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

***************************

You stare at the words for a moment before folding the paper in half and slipping it back into the envelope you pulled it from.  

Honestly?  

It’s not the first time you’ve gotten a threat. It happens from time to time in this line of work.

But this note plucks a chord of anxiety inside of you. Must be the eleven missed calls you suspect go hand-in-hand with your little love letter. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing for a half-hour now.

“Are you okay?”

Hyejin’s voice filters through your thoughts. She’s taken stock of the strange look that crosses your face in the split-second before you school your features back into a mask of calm.

She’s observant like that.

“Oh yeah, it’s nothing,” you say, shaking your head.  “Just some fan mail.”  

Your phone buzzes against the papers on your desk -- again -- and Hyejin raises an eyebrow.

Make that twelve.

“Tell you what,” she says, standing to stretch her legs. “I’m ready to go blind from reading these files and I could use an Americano.  You want one?”

“Actually yes,” you exhale.  “That’s exactly what I need. You’re a lifesaver.”

She gives you one last are you sure you don’t need to tell me anything? look before opening the door to your office.  You reassure her with a soft smile but the second the door to your office closes, you blow out one long, heavy breath and reach for your phone.

you: what the hell? [ 3:15 PM ]

namjoon: this can’t wait [ 3:15 PM ]

you: clearly [ 3:16 PM ]

namjoon: come in ASAP [ 3:16 PM ]

You groan.

Namjoon knows you avoid that place at all costs.

It’s not a good look for you to be seen there -- and so as a rule -- you’re not.  Your brother is usually understanding about your stance on the matter. But it’s not like him to push so there’s probably a damned good reason why he’s summoning you to his office like some wayward employee.

You glance back at the stack of files on your desk, riddled with notes and highlights.  Even after a morning spent tag-teaming with Hyejin, there’s still a shitload of work to be done. But then you look back at that envelope sitting on your desk and pick up your phone again.

you: give me thirty minutes [ 3:19 PM ]

namjoon: okay [ 3:19 PM ]

Paperwork is going to have to wait.

*****************************

You’re not a moron.  

You know what people say about your family, what they say about you.

You know what they whisper when you show up to charity galas and fundraising dinners. You know what they murmur the second their false smiles fall and you turn your back. They say that the money that paid for your prep schools and top-notch legal education is blood money; paid for by one of Seoul’s oldest and most powerful crime networks.  They say that you took a job prosecuting crime to assuage for your family’s sins.

They’re not wrong.

Your father -- your cruel, unsophisticated father -- shelled out top dollar to put you in fancy schools and fancy clothes and fancy riding lessons.  He threw elaborate birthday parties where he showered you with extravagant gifts in front of guests who were only there to celebrate because they feared turning down the invitation.

So others saw your material good fortune and mistook you for a pampered mafia princess. None of them had to come home every day to the stench of death and destruction. None of them had to endure the gossip and the looks and the cold shoulders.

That was a burden you shared with only one other person.

You and Namjoon huddled together during your lavish and turbulent childhood, leaning on one another for strength because no one else understood. He was the only safe harbor you had in the storm you both lived every day.

And then you left.

You walked away from your father and the Gajog and crossed the country to study law.  Far from the vicious gossip and prying eyes and violent drama that always awaited you in Seoul.  You walked away and decided that you weren’t going to live that life anymore.  

But you also walked away from Namjoon.

Now it’s a cold comfort, seeing your brother seated so naturally at the throne of power your father vacated when he died.  The old-school brute-force organization your father ran for decades is a thing of the past.  In its place, a well-oiled, highly-organized machine -- making far more money and far fewer mistakes.  

Namjoon single-handedly pulled the crime syndicate into a new era, dusted it off and dressed it up.  He legitimized parts of the business, took up residence in one of the city’s most expensive buildings, and basically dared law enforcement to come get him.

They still haven’t.

And there isn’t a day that Namjoon doesn’t cross your mind.  

There isn’t a day that you don’t pray that the menace that existed inside your father never takes root inside of your brother.  You pray that he can shoulder the burden of his responsibilities without rotting from the inside out.  

If anyone can, you tell yourself, it’s him.

**********************

Namjoon cuts an imposing figure behind his grandiose wooden desk.

He’s seated when his assistant first opens the door to his secure private office, but as soon as you follow her inside he makes to stand.

He looks so tall now, you think -- as though it’s been years since you’ve seen him.  

In reality, it’s only been a few months since your last brief encounter, but it’s still hard sometimes to recognize the handsome, polished man in front of you as the kid you grew up with. You’re hit with a pang of regret that it’s been so long since you’ve seen one another face-to-face.

Two men stand guard on either side of Namjoon’s desk, which doesn’t surprise you. Your brother is always surrounded by guards these days.  

The only one you recognize is Min Yoongi, who gives a slight bow in your direction as you cross the broad expanse of the office.  You’re certain you’ve never seen the second man, who stands eerily still on your brother’s other side.  You can feel the stranger’s stare from a distance and avert your eyes.

You bow to Namjoon and take a seat in the plush chair facing his desk.  A fond look passes over his features but when he opens his mouth to speak his tone is businesslike, serious.

“I know you don’t like coming in here,” he begins carefully, “and so I have to apologize for asking you to make an exception.  I hope you understand this can’t be helped.”

“Yes, of course,” you say softly. “Sorry it took me a while.  I’m buried with a new case.”

Namjoon nods.

“That case is the reason why we’ve run into a bit of trouble in the past few days,” he admits. “Some of our friends across town are pretty upset about it.  Apparently very agitated and hoping to leverage the fact that you’ve been assigned to this case to their advantage.”

“I see,” you murmur.

You knew the men you’d been assigned to build a weapons trafficking case against were part of a rival organization -- but on paper they were low-level foot soldiers, considered expendable in a business like theirs.  Why the Ssijog were so worried about losing a couple of nobodies from their ranks was a bit puzzling.

“I guess that explains this,” you say, reaching into your bag for the letter delivered to your office.  

You hand it to Namjoon and he reads the words with a tight expression before turning it over to the man you don’t recognize.  It’s a relief when the stranger’s focus moves away from you and onto that paper. You take the opportunity to get a closer look at him.

The first word that comes to mind is sharp.

Everything about the man is sharp -- from his meticulously tailored suit to his severe jawline to the angles of his body.  Intense dark eyes set in honey gold skin and black hair carefully styled off of his face. You’re caught staring when his eyes snap up from the paper and back to you.

You clear your throat, gaze darting back to your brother.

“They want you to make this go away.”

You sigh.

“I can’t do that. I don’t have that kind of authority. And besides, it would attract all the wrong kinds of attention to me and -- “ you pause, choose your next words carefully, “ -- to my ties to this organization.”

Namjoon concedes your point with a slow bob of his head.

“Right.  So we have a problem,” he admits.  “Because the message we’re getting is that they’re willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want.  And it’s been made quite clear to me that hurting you is not off the table.”

You take in a deep breath.

“This is Jung Hoseok,” Namjoon says after a short silence, motioning to the stranger at his side. You straighten when the man acknowledges you with a barely-there bow.  

“I’ve assigned him to your detail.”

“Detail,” you repeat slowly.  “Like a bodyguard.”

“Exactly like that.”

“Namjoon, I -- “ you look away from the man to turn your attention back to your brother,  “-- I can’t have one of your guys following me around.  People are going to talk.”

“Amsaja,” he sighs, “They talk anyway.”

You bristle at his use of your childhood nickname.  

You know it’s meant as an endearment but it still feels infantilizing in front of his men -- one of whom hasn’t seen you in years, one of whom knows nothing about you at all.  You’re a grown woman, a successful prosecutor, and more than just Kim Namjoon’s little sister.

“Joon -- “

There is annoyance behind the way you fire off his name and one of your brother’s eyebrows lifts in warning.  A silent reminder that in this room, in this building, in this realm, he is the absolute authority.  You swallow back the argument on the tip of your tongue.

“Namjoon,” you start again, this time with a restrained calm.  “Please. Let’s have this conversation in private.”

He drums his fingers across the surface of his wooden desk before nodding his agreement and raising a hand to motion his guards out the door.  You wait until both men are gone and the heavy door to Namjoon’s office clicks shut to speak again.

“You’re putting me in a terrible position here,” you exhale. “I’ve worked so hard to -- distance myself.  I can’t walk around with a reminder of my family history at my heels.”

Your brother stands from his seat and walks to an ornate sideboard, pours liquor from a heavy crystal decanter into a highball glass.  He takes a slow drink before speaking.

“You are worried about your image; I’m worried about your safety.  Those two concerns are not equal. Not to me.”

Your face heats at the kernel of truth in your brother’s assessment.  

Certainly, it’s about how it looks, but it’s so much more than that. It’s about the life you’ve worked so hard to build away from the drama surrounding your family name.  It’s about a future that depends on the burial of your past.

Namjoon leans against his heavy wooden desk, arms crossed.

“You should know me by now,” he continues.  “If I thought these were empty words, I wouldn’t have bothered you with them.”

“I know that,” you admit quietly.  Doesn’t make the pill any easier to swallow, though.

“Hoseok is under orders to stay with you at all times. Obviously, he won’t be physically at your side while you’re working, but he will be close by.  And he will be staying at your apartment for the time being.”

You blink.  “In my apartment?”

A flash of irritation crosses your brother’s face. “Yes, in your apartment.  I’m privy to information you don’t have.”  He takes a long drink from the highball glass.  “It’s necessary until we have this situation under control.”

“I don’t know this man,” you argue, and that eyebrow lifts again at the rising heat in your tone. “Can’t you give me Yoongi or Seokjin or someone else?”

“No.”

“Thanks for considering that, Joon.”

You don’t even bother to hide your displeasure now, climbing out of the plush chair and walking over to the massive window that makes up the back wall of your brother’s office. You look down at the street. From this height, the cars below look like toys and the people look like ants.  

Namjoon joins you in front of the window, drink in hand.

“I don’t want to fight with you, I want to protect you. Jung Hoseok has worked for me three years now and he spent many more years serving in the military.  He is the man I want for this assignment and I need you to trust me on that, too.”

You say nothing, staring out the window and feeling suddenly exhausted.  You hate everything about today -- the letter, the case, this arrangement you now have to endure.  You hate that this is the first real conversation you’ve had with your brother in months and you’re locking horns.  

“Okay,” you whisper after a while, reluctant to let the tension escalate. Your brother has asked so little of you since you severed ties with the Gajog -- and effectively, with him.  You swallow past the taste of guilt when you turn to look him in the eye.

“I’ll play ball, Jaegyueo.”

Your brother seems to soften when you use his childhood nickname in return, shoulders relaxing as he takes another sip from the highball and looks out over the city he basically runs.  

“Thank you, Amsaja.”

*************************

Hoseok

“Has she seen this?”

Hoseok stares down at the glossy photograph in his hands.  

There’s little to be gleaned from the details in the picture.  There are no shadows, no reflections, no personal items to give away any clues as to who took it or when.

You are asleep, one bare shoulder peeking out from underneath your plush bedding -- your hair spilling out onto your pillow. You appear blissfully unaware of the danger standing just a few feet away.

“Hell no,” Namjoon exhales.  “And I would like to keep it that way. She’d probably never sleep again if she saw that shit.”

Hoseok hands the photograph back.

“I need the two of you to figure out who got into her apartment.  And then I need you to bring him here.”

Namjoon doesn’t finish that train of thought -- he doesn’t have to.  Hoseok and Yoongi hear clearly everything he hasn’t said.  

“We’ll find him,” Yoongi vows, and Hoseok nods his agreement.  “It’s gonna be handled.”

Namjoon scrubs a hand down his jaw, eyes still glued to the picture on his desk.

He’s an uncharacteristically even-tempered boss, particularly in this line of work.  Seeing him this unnerved is unnerving to Hoseok, who’s seen him handle countless shitty situations with an unnatural calm.

“She’s my sister,” Namjoon says quietly.  “I don’t expect any of you to understand our dynamic, but I need you to know that her safety is my top priority.”

“Understood,” Hoseok murmurs and in that moment, the heavy door to the office opens wide. Namjoon shoves the photograph into his desk drawer.  

Hoseok studies you as you trail Namjoon’s assistant across the length of this massive office.

The first word that comes to mind is small.

You’re much smaller than Hoseok imagined you’d be, basing that assumption almost entirely on Namjoon’s tall and solid frame.  Physically, you are nearly the opposite of your brother, delicate features set in smooth skin, any appearance of height owed directly to the high-heeled shoes you’ve carefully matched to your business suit.  

Hoseok notes that you have the same stubborn set to your jaw, though -- a defense mechanism that slips momentarily when you lock eyes with your brother.  He catches the brief flash of sadness in your face before you manage it away.

In the years he’s been with the Gajog, he’s only heard your name a handful of times --  almost always followed by hushed exchanges and pained expressions.  Never once has anyone breathed your name in front of Namjoon, though.  That appears to be an invisible line everyone understands not to cross.

But now you’re here, in the flesh. One piece of the puzzle revealed.

Hoseok watches your exchange with Namjoon with curiosity. It’s not the easy back-and-forth one would expect to see between a pair of siblings -- but there is an underlying affection between the two of you. A quiet respect.

Amsaja, Namjoon had called you.  Lioness.

Hoseok doesn’t see a lioness when he looks at you, though.  

He sees a rich girl desperate to prove how much better she is than her own flesh and blood.  He sees a social climber so eager to make a name for herself in this city that she walked away from her own brother to make it happen.  

This is the moment that Hoseok decides that you’re not the kind of person he could ever respect.

Because unlike you, he would never put ambition above loyalty.

Never.

**********************

tag list:

@yoongbug @brilliantlybasicb @lemonjoonah @illnevertrustmyselfagain​@sunkissed75 @taetaewonderland @shadowhale​

#hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts mafia #hoseok mafia au #bts tsundere #btscreatorscorner #btswriterscollective #ksmutclub #ficswithluv

[amidstsaltandsmoke]

62 and 76.... Because payback 😇😇😇😇

DELETE THOSE HALO EMOJIS RIGHT NOW!!! Ok, this one got away from me because me writing smut always = the length of a novel, but saucy times are ahead!! I didn't proofread so ignore any mistakes 😅 I hope you like this Jonerys train ride to smut town (even if it was an attempt at payback, PFFFFFT)!!! ________________________________ Prompts: "“You’re not as quiet as you think you are," and “Daddy!” “So...date number three, eh?” Missi waggled her perfectly manicured brows at Daenerys through the computer monitor. “That sounds promising.”

“I hope so,” Dany said, flitting about her bedroom as she tried on different outfits and presented them to Missi and her mirror. She had a difficult time deciding what tone to set. She presumed it was safe to up the ante to something a little sexier by the third date. It had slowly been escalating that way, and if the way Jon devoured her with his eyes and his hands indicated anything, she reckoned that clothes were just going to be an obstacle this evening, anyway.

“Well, what’s he like? Tall, dark and handsome?”

“Am I that obvious?” Dany sulked halfheartedly, then smirked. “Yes, except not so much tall, but I think he’s perfectly sized.”

“Aaw,” Missi cooed, leaning forward and setting her chin on her fist. That mirth returned just as quickly, though. “Just how perfectly sized?”

“Missi, you filthy girl,” Dany chastised good-naturedly. “That hasn’t happened yet, but I’ve no doubt that he can deliver.”

Of course, Dany had more than just thought about when they might get to that point. It was going so well so far that neither had seemed quite ready to make that next leap, but her gut told her that that drought would be coming to end shortly.

“He’s great,” Dany continued, digging through her closet for another option. Four dresses down and yet not one had completely screamed ‘you should probably rip this off of my body yesterday’. “He’s got a really dry sense of humor, which I love. He’s the perfect mix of polite and saucy. He’s obsessed with wearing all black, but somehow I find that incredibly sexy. Like...a mystery man. I’m fairly certain he could break my back if he wanted to, but I might need to coax the animal out of him.”

Missi spluttered. “Break your-?! Oooh. Oh, I see,” she drawled, tapping her index finger against her temple with a slow nod. “You know, on that note, may I make a suggestion?”

“I’m all ears,” Dany said perhaps a little too hastily, jumping back into view of the screen as she shimmied into a little black dress.

“Oh, wait! That one!” Missi half shouted when Dany reappeared and zipped up the side.

“Really? More than the red?” She looked down at herself. It wasn’t the slinkiest number she owned, but she definitely didn’t hate it. It tapered at her waist and flared down to just above her knees, and the eyelash lace straps were off-the-shoulder.

“Really,” Missi said, solidifying the decision. “You said he loves wearing black, so it’s perfect. Plus, it’s seductive and classy. You look great.”

“Okay,” Dany breathed, “okay, good.” Dany looked up at Missi’s face with a determined expression. “Okay, now what was that advice you were going to give me?” ********

After Dany had finished up curling her hair, she had threw on some matching strappy heels, just finishing up with a couple light dabs of perfume when her doorbell rang. She didn’t know why she was suddenly so bloody nervous when she had felt fine all day. All week, actually, especially after the high of their second date being such a fun time the past weekend. Maybe it was Missi’s...suggestion...that had her a little rankled. Dany didn’t feel particularly confident about trying it out if things heated up later, but after she told Missi a little bit more about Jon’s personality, she was insistent that it wouldn’t ruin a thing. In fact, she had been willing to bet an organ that it would turn him on even more.

Stopping before the door, she collected one deep breath, if not just to steady her heart. He was sure to feel it when they hugged. Not to make him wonder if she would ever answer, she unlatched the door and pulled it open. All of that work to calm herself had been for naught. Tonight, he’d pulled half of his hair back, and he was donned in his usual all-black attire, but this time it was a button-down shirt beneath a slim jacket with slim-fit trousers.

His hand was casually tucked in his pocket, and his smile immediate when he got a view of her. “Hey. You look gorgeous,” he grinned crookedly.

“Thank you. So do you,” she returned, tucking some of her hair behind her ear as she stepped out to join him, her clutch in hand. She made sure to lock up quicky, his hand slipping around to her back once she was done and tugged her close, pausing just before her lips for silent confirmation.

She tilted her chin up and gave him her answer, their lips slotting together. They broke away sooner than she would have liked, but they did have a dinner reservation to make. Plus, it probably wouldn’t do well to have a full on makeout session in the apartment hallway.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he murmured, pecking her lips once more, twice, until she was grinning ear to ear.

“I haven’t tried to stop thinking about you,” she replied saucily, noting how dark his eyes became at the sentiment. A look she very much wanted to see again later.

Jon’s voice was raspy and thick when next he spoke, but she could see he was waging some sort of internal war within himself. “We’d best get out of here before we start something indecent and scare your neighbors.”

With a skip in her step, she happily accepted his proffered hand and joined him out to his car.

********

As was expected, dinner had been wonderful. He’d surprised her on the location, choosing a rooftop terrace right in the middle of the city, which looked out at the harbor and the setting sun. The palette of the sky with the clouds reminded her of spun cotton candy.

They exchanged stories of their families, their previous disaster jobs, and what it was like for each of them to make big moves to the city from a country life, the sacrifices they’d made to make such a decision and the adjustments.

He kept her laughing until her cheeks ached and her eyes watered, and the way he took her in the whole two hours they dined and conversed had her skin tingling all over. Maybe some of that was aided by her wine, but she at least had the wits left in her to nurse her two glasses. It was starting to get dark, and the garden lights on the terrace had been switched on, and the nightlife crowd seemed keen to populate the area. Their tranquil bubble felt a little disrupted. Jon sat back in his seat, elbow propper up on the back of it.

“Want to get out of here?” He asked, and she nodded, grabbing her purse. After a few minutes of bantering back and forth on who would pay, Jon won over, but Dany made sure to leave a generous tip.

Hand in hand, they weaved through the hoards of people that had gathered inside since they’d arrived, which was a slow process.

Abruptly, Jon pulled her a little closer and took them into a men’s restroom. She opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but he drank down her words with his mouth, his body pressing hers against the door. Dany moaned as his tongue speared her mouth, his greedy hands taking handfuls of her where he could, but there wasn’t so much give in a slightly constricting dress.

She could feel his erection against her abdomen, delerium already looking to take her under, her arms locking around his neck for better leverage. Her fingers idly toyed with some of the curls that had been left down at the nape of his neck, sweeping her tongue over his to get a taste of him.

Jon fit his thigh between hers, pressing against her cunt and making her head toss back to thump against the door with a gasp. She rubbed herself against him while his warm tongue laved down her neck, leaving small nips of teeth inbetween.

Somewhere in her haze, she remembered what Missi had suggested, but she was so beside herself with lust that she couldn’t think of when the appropriate moment would be. However, one thing she did know was that she wanted to see him come undone. Already he was doing the same to her, and he’d barely touched her yet. If he could get this much out of her just with his thigh as friction, she looked forward to seeing what other talents he might unravel for her.

Seeming to read her mind, his free hand dropped to lightly trace up her inner thigh, her skin quivering under his touch and her breaths coming in as short pants of anticipation. His lips were all over her chest, her collar bones, and his fingers traced the hem of her panties, her stomach twitching.

Just as he shifted lower, grazing over her covered cunt with little pressure, a desperate whimper on the brink of release, the handle to the door wriggled. They both froze, whilst Jon planted a strong, firm hand against it to ensure it didn’t open. He separated from her skin with a wet pop. “Occupied!” He called to the other side.

Through the music in the background, the other man’s words were muffled, and then he returned with a clear, “there’s three stalls in there, ya bloody wanker!”

Dany held her breath, and Jon lifted his black-as-pitch eyes to gaze hard into hers, his breath fanning over her face. Without a word, he slipped his fingers beneath the lace of her panties and brushed them over her soaked center. She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes squeezing shut as she fought off a sound that definitely would have been heard through the miniscule barrier behind her.

“I need to piss!” The stranger shouted once more, and Jon had had it. Frankly, so had she; it wasn’t completely romantic to have some drunk man reminding them every thirty seconds that he needed to relieve himself.

He was careful to move her away from the door and cut her an apologetic look, though kept her out of sight and removed his hand from beneath her dress while he wrenched the door open with his other, just enough to be seen and heard. “They’re all out of order. Go upstairs,” he ordered, then promptly closed the door in his face.

Jon quickly looked around the room until he seemed to find what he wanted: a rubber door stop. He picked it up and crouched down, jamming it as hard under the door gap as he could, giving it a test, and finding it satisfactory, he moved to the sink and washed his hands. His eyes were hungry on her in the mirror, and she squeezed her thighs together. “We could always go back to my place,” she offered with a thin voice, her mind rightly frazzled by his attentions.

After he dried his hands, he approached her and pulled her against him once more, his desire still just as evident as minutes ago. She looped her arms around his hard torso, under his jacket, a soft smile on her face. “I don’t think I’d make it to your place without causing a public scandal. And by my observation…,” he lowered his lips to the shell of her ear, sending a full-body quiver down to her toes, his hand curling around her upper, inner thigh, fingers just grazing over her cunt. She rose up on her toes, her forehead bumping against his chin. “...Neither can you.”

That much was good to know, that he was just as wound up as she was. He seemed to know how to keep it a little more tamed than she did, but she was determined to get it out of him by the end of the night.

His fingers continued their path until they discovered her clit, a wanton groan passing between her lips. Jon tested and teased to see what she liked most, what made her react the best, coating her with her own juices, making her writhe on her heeled feet. As soon as he crooked two fingers inside of her, she buried her echoing cry into his shoulder, her hands that had been grasping at his sides now raking nails where they clutched to him for dear life.

“You’re not as quiet as you think you are,” he husked, and for a beat she was horrified; her ears were half muted by the blood rushing around them so violently, feeling herself on the edge of crumbling, but then he pulled her earlobe into his mouth and growled, “I want to hear you, Dany.”

She pulled away so she could see him - so he could see her, and the power that he had over her then - just as his thumb began to circle over her clit in tandem with his fingers pumping. His beautiful lips fell open and she couldn’t resist them, reaching forward to clamp one between her teeth, finally, finally getting a heady reaction out of him in the form of a groan and he sped up his pace. Dany suckled on his lip, but quickly cuffed her hand around his neck, her hand curling into a fist as her back bowed and her muscles strained and strained until-

His hand disappeared, and she nearly wept, a millisecond away from cresting but now there was nothing to bring her there. With her head in the clouds, it took her a second to realize he shrugged out of his jacket and laid it out on the countertop, then he was back, lifting her up with her legs around his waist while he kissed her like a man starved.

Her heart was thrashing in her chest, their kisses sloppy and messy as they each fought for air at the same time. In no time at all, she was planted on top of the counter, his suit a protective layer. “I don’t want to ruin this,” she protested, but he gently hushed her, swallowing up her worries with his mouth.

Jon found the zipper to her dress and pulled it down, and she helped by pulling the top half below her breasts, eager to have him completely fill her, but to gauge his reaction. His hands were ginger as they roved up them, exploring this new flesh, thumbing over her pebbled nipples and pulling a soft moan out of her.

“Do you know how beautiful you are, Dany?” He croaked,situating his hands back at her waist and diving down to replace his hands’ actions with his mouth.

In response, she cried into the open room, pushing her chest forward and holding his head closer against her. She would be dreaming about this for weeks to come, she already knew it, while he sucked each sensitive bud into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth.

“Jon…,” she heaved, and she needn’t say anything else as he stepped back and got to work unbuckling his belt. While he did that, their eyes never leaving the others, she was even faster unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it down his shoulders, stopping short and breaking from his gaze to let her eyes feast on his body. All smooth, lean, pale skin and cut muscle, she used the soft pads of her fingers to slither down the length of him, smiling when his muscles jumped.

Shirt discarded, she followed the movements of his hands as they shoved down his trousers and boxer briefs, his thick, flushed cock springing free. A part of her, for just a time, couldn’t decide if she wanted it worse in her mouth or in her cunt.

But she needed the release from him, and she needed it now. He bunched up the skirt of her dress and moved it out of the way, and she took advantage of his position and ran her hand over the smooth, drawn skin of his cock, smoothing her thumb over the weeping head.

She observed him as he huffed out a harsh breath, hands spread wide over the counter, head ducked with restraint twisting his features. Scooting forward to the edge, she stretched her legs wider and circled the head of his cock over her cunt. Jon whimpered against her shoulder, opening his mouth to sink his teeth into her flesh and making her jerk forward, his cock sliding over her sopping slit and forcing a shout from them by the shock of it.

His hand tangled in her hair and he smashed his mouth against hers, removing her hand as he took hold of his cock and slid it between her entrance and her clit several times, her mouth falling open with a silent noise.

In one push, he slid home, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head where she saw stars of white burst behind her lids. Jon groaned wildly, giving the both of them a little time to adjust to the intrusion, until she couldn’t wait any longer and moved her pelvis as best she could in her position.

It was enough to get him going, slowly dragging out to his head, and back in, her cunt clenching around him. She braced her arms around him and used her forearms atop his broad shoulders for some leverage, refusing to look away from him to the best of her ability.

With every squeeze of her channel around him, his jaw muscle ticked and brows wrinkled at the middle. The thing she wanted to say was on the tip of her tongue, but it still didn’t feel right just yet. “Faster,” she gasped, his solid left hand grasping her hip to keep her steady while the other went to her clit, thumbing circles over it in rhythm with his thrusts, which were picking up.

Every forward lunge he exhaled sharply, the movements becoming more shallow the closer he got to spilling. Dany pressed her forehead against his, her skin pimpled with gooseflesh and foreign noises ripping from her throat, things she didn’t know she was capable of producing.

He was still being a little too careful, and she needed that final shove to let go, so she flattened a palm behind her on the surface and gave herself just enough strength to meet him thrust for thrust, undulating her hips in small, jerky circles, his lovely face screwing up in response. His eyes momentarily fell to watch between them. “Fuck,” he choked.

Dany threw her head back, the combination of his thick cock burning and incinerating her from the inside out, his thumb working her clit, her being right on the cusp of her orgasm, and just the sight of all of him alone was too much to bear. “Daddy!” She bellowed, her eyes flying open as she feared, for a fraction of second at his sudden silence, that she had completely fucked herself over, and not in the way that she had hoped to finish.

But to her utter delight, a chest-deep growl tore from him and he gathered her up posessively, finding what she would have surmised to be an impossible angle, opening her up further and picking up where he left off, but each stroke of his cock was a filthy drag over her clit. Dany practically screamed as he struck a spot inside of her that was likely to have her collapsing onto the floor if he didn’t have the hold on her that he did.

The noises he was emitting spurred her further, and dully in the very depths of her mind, she acknowledged that an achievement had been unlocked, and Jon was no longer caging the beast. He suckled at her neck with what air he had left, until his movements evolved into something more erratic, and she was gone.

“Oh...Jon,” Dany sobbed, wave after wave extracting lewd, boisterous chants out of her, her skin damp and sticky, cold and hot all in equal measure.

A few hard pumps later Jon followed, mewling and grunting and stilling as he emptied inside of her. His forehead rolled onto her shoulder, heat rolling off of him in waves. She was so spent and sated that she wished she could drift off to sleep right there.

“I think I died for a moment there,” he wheezed, coaxing a drowsy snort out of her.

“You and me both,” she murmured, relaxing in his hold.

He helped her get her dress back on properly, over her body that felt no more useful than dead weight. Gently, he pulled out of her, then reached over to the box of tissues and tenderly cleaned her up. Her face flushed furiously, even though they’d just fucked in a public bathroom, but the gesture was so intimate that she was rendered speechless. Since that was the case, she lifted his chin and kissed him.

His lips pulled into a grin. “What was that for?”

“Because I wanted to,” she replied, laying one more on him before letting him go. He was reluctant to, but they couldn’t hold up the restroom much longer unless they wanted security to barge in on them in the state they were in.

Jon tossed the tissue and when he turned, she got her first full glimpse of his ass that was more luxurious than this fancy building. Her eyes bugged, eyes glued to the perfect pert globes until they were covered by his clothes again.

He was oblivious, but that was yet another thing that she looked forward to seeing in her dreams every night.

Helping her down from the counter, he made sure her dress was back to rights, then folded up his jacket and slung it over his arm casually, taking her hand.

There was no preamble - they simply ducked out of the room as if it were natural for them to have both been in there. Dany didn’t even dare to look to see if anyone was staring, keeping her head down and on the floor, chewing on her cheek.

Once outside in the car park, they both erupted into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. “I’m sure we’ve already been blacklisted, but I honestly couldn’t care less.”

They stopped at his car, and before he could let her go to open the door for her, she leaned against it and brought him with her. “It was well worth the trouble.”

Jon smiled and placed a kiss on her forehead, lingering there for a second longer. “So...is that a go for a fourth date, then?”

“It would’ve been even ifthe bathroom sex never happened,” she assured, “but, I have a special request.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Aye?”

She gave a single nod. “Can we start the fourth date right now? I need to see this-,” she grabbed two handfuls of his ass, and he grunted, “again. For...science.”

“Hm,” he hummed, closing the small gap between them to press his lips against her still-swollen ones. “That depends. Are you going to call me ‘daddy’ again?” He whispered.

“Did you like it?” She inquired, genuinely curious, but also crossing her fingers that he had. She was eager to be on the receiving end of all his wicked tricks.

“I thought I made it obvious,” he said against her, pulling back to see her clearly, “did you like it?”

Feeling sassy, her lids grew heavy. “I thought I made it obvious.”

Jon yanked her against him as he stepped back, smirking at her yelp. He leaned around her to pull the door open. “I don’t think you made it obvious enough. Might have to show me again.”

Standing on her toes, she pecked his cheek. “Gladly.”

#jonerys #jonerys drabble #couldn't sleep so dabbling in the drabbles prompts #ENJOY YA PERVS!!!

[salmon-sushi]

single parent club | aobajohsai & fem!reader

summary: Oikawa’s gift from his fan club gives you the opportunity you never thought you’d experience.

genre: crack, lots of braincells lost here and platonic relationships!

words: 3.1k

a/n: guess who wrote this instead of listening to her online class? also @akasuns​ thank you for wanting to read more of my works 🥺 i’m really honored!!!

index

The early morning mist begins to clear, the rising sun casts a rosy hue across the morning sky and the birds begin chirping their morning melody to welcome a new day. Kindaichi breathes in the much needed fresh clean air, his eyes blinking blearily in an attempt to stay awake as he walks to the gym at the start of the Golden Week. He pushes the heavy metal doors of the gym using his right leg and sees the sun pouring through the windows of the school’s gym, making the gym glow in soft orange. 

“Morning.” 

Kindaichi yawns his greeting as he stretches his arms and back. Not hearing hollers from his teammates, he looks around the quiet gym, rubbing his arms when the temperature gets a bit chilly before finding the team’s libero and second year setter eating leisurely. He swears that he hears some sniffles from them, “What are you guys eating, Yahaba-san?”

The second year setter turns around and shoves a box of chocolates in Kindaichi’s hands, his voice muffled as he attempts to speak with his cheeks puffing like a hamster, mouth full of sweets. “Oimmffhmfmffh.”

Watari clicks his tongue in distaste as he shakes his head before sighing, “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” He raises his hand before slapping Yahaba’s back with a loud smack. Kindaichi pales when he sees Yahaba’s whole body shake, mentally reminding himself to never piss Watari off.

“What he means to say is that Oikawa-san gave us his gifts from his fanclub.” Watari explains while Yahaba wipes his suspiciously teary eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “He said that he couldn’t possibly finish all of the chocolates anyway and that he didn’t want to share with the other senpais for some reason.”

Kindaichi picks up a piece of chocolate and twirls the confection around his fingers before popping it into his mouth. His eyes widen when the chocolate immediately melts in his tongue, the sweet taste, the creamy feel makes him feel like a newborn baby, “Hey, it’s pretty good.”

“Right?” Yahaba sniffs his nose, “Man, I want a cute girlfriend to give me one of these chocolates too. Hey, Watari, how do I get one?”

The libero’s smile becomes tight as his friend begins to nudge his side with his sharp elbow. Watari silently grips Yahaba’s wrist, which made Yahaba yelp in pain, “Not trying too hard would be a good start.”

Kunimi hums in agreement, making Kindaichi jump, “What the hell, when did you get here?” 

“I’ve been standing next to you the whole time.” 

Kindaichi awkwardly nods his head as he averts his gaze from his glaring friend. His hand reaches for more of the milky, buttery chocolate while leisurely talking about their upcoming training regime during the entire Golden Week.

“Aw man, I gotta admit those are the best chocolates I’ve ever eaten.” Yahaba sighs as he pats his stomach in satisfaction.

“Do you reckon Oikawa-san has more of those?” Kunimi asks excitedly. Kindaichi raises an eyebrow at his friend, whose impassive face is in contrast to his elevated voice.

“We can ask him when he gets back–”

POOF!

The gym’s metal doors are slammed open and you enter with a wide step while greeting loudly, a quirk you always did everytime you step inside the gym. You look around the empty space, only finding a cart filled with untouched volleyballs, the net hasn’t been set up yet and an empty box decorated cutely before discovering four babies in your school’s volleyball shirt. 

You suck in a sharp breath, feeling panicked and wondering if the coaches mentioned about bringing their children along to practice, which is impossible because they won’t be arriving until late afternoon. Walking slowly and cautiously towards the group of babies, you finally recognised the hairstyle of each child. You tilt your head in confusion, “Eh?”

“Is this a joke?” You asked yourself.

Just to be sure, you call each of their names loudly, making sure your voice resonates throughout the quiet gym. But only the babies reply in their gibberish language, which only confirmed your far-fetched theory. “They’re babies. I’m sure of it.” 

Looking around and making sure that nobody else is in the gym, you let out an excited squeal, “I’m finally able to realise my trashy novel fantasies!” Wiping a stray tear with a finger, you sniff, “I’m a single mother now!”

Placing a hand on your forehead, you twirl around dramatically before falling down in front of the babies with the grace of a swan on the gym’s floor, earning happy babbles and applause from them. You silently lament about wanting to wear a fluffy long skirt instead of the school’s tracksuit, just so that you could feel like Snow White and the four dwarfs– you mean, babies. You keep a neutral face as you silently creep your hands towards the unsuspecting Yahaba baby while the other three babies are focused on the empty box in front of them. Lifting your hands, you tickle the child as you coo at him, laughter filling the gym’s empty noise as the baby squirms under your mercy.

The remaining third years finally arrive and they greet you casually before stopping in their tracks. “Whose kids are they? The coaches?” Matsukawa asks as he shoves his hands inside his pockets.

Shaking your head, you hand a tired, red faced Yahaba to the middle blocker, who then awkwardly holds the baby in his arms, “Nope. Guess again.”

Hanamaki sends a glare to a scowling baby whose hair is parted in the middle, reminding him of a certain junior who refuses to move during practice, but he decides against it, “Nah, where are our little kouhais though?”

Your body slumps as you groan, rolling your eyes before Oikawa steps in front of you and points at the babies on the floor. “Now, now, [Name]-chan before you create your monstrous sounds–” 

“Hey!”

“–these babies are our kouhais, right?”

His question received no reply, but no objection either. Matsukawa silently settles the baby in his arms on the ground and slings a hand around Hanamaki’s neck before moving towards the exit. Iwaizumi crosses his arms and glares at the two friends, “And where do you think you’re going?”

Hanamaki raises both of his hands in a calming gesture, “We’re off buying food. For the kids.”

Matsukawa waves a hand with a smile on his face, “Want anything from Family Kart?”

The captain hollers that he wants onigiri, along with a few chocolate bars for their precious manager in case she decides to be a monster with all the groans she’s producing. Feeling annoyed, you pinch Oikawa’s side and flash a sweet smile when the captain cries in pain as Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow, “Didn’t you just eat breakfast?”

Oikawa smirks as he manages to slap your hand away, placing a hand on his hips as he tilts his head to the side, “This is why we’re different in terms of height, Iwa-chan.”

“Huh?”

Seeing Iwaizumi already raising his fist, you quickly stop both of them before Iwaizumi proceeds to demonstrate violence towards impressionable children. The last thing you need is a baby fight. Silently panicking, you begin to think of possibilities of baby injuries– you know next to nothing when it comes to treating injured babies. Worse, the babies are actually the first and second year regular players of the volleyball team and for them being stuck as babies in the start of Golden Week. “Imagine explaining this to the coaches!” you scream mentally.

Iwaizumi notices you beginning to lose your cool, he pats your back, “We’ll help you take care of them.”

“Only you, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa pipes in.

In your eyes, Iwaizumi is your saviour, while Oikawa is nothing but dust. You stick your tongue at the captain, in which he is happy to reply with his own while pulling his lower eyelid. Iwaizumi grits his teeth, his body tensing before he sucks in a deep breath. His body visibly relaxes and he exhales slowly, the tension in his face begins to fade and he looks calmer than before. “Right, only I will help you, [Name].”

“W-whoa, Iwa-chan,” Feeling demure, the blush on your face sears through your cheeks and for a minute, you think your face is on fire. Suddenly, Iwaizumi becomes dependable, not that he isn’t before but– “That’s so cool! I’m totally living the trashy novel plot!” 

Looking away shyly, you stutter your thanks to the boy. Oikawa huffs when he witnesses the interaction, taking out a ball and proceeds to throw it up in the air as he runs up to deliver a powerful serve.

“Oi, Shittykawa! We’re not practicing near babies.” Iwaizumi warns. The captain bites back his complaints and silently sits himself at the corner of the court, letting the ball drop and roll away freely. Seeing you and Iwaizumi being somewhat parental towards the first and second year babies churned something in his stomach. Watching you meekly hand over a Watari looking baby to Iwaizumi with rosy pink cheeks, Oikawa couldn’t help but groan, “Iwa-chan! Why are you helping [Name]-chan anyway?”

Both you and Iwaizumi turn to face Oikawa with unimpressed expressions. Feeling somewhat pathetic but his heart wouldn’t settle until he says what he has to say, Oikawa gestures his hands at you and the babies, “She’s a girl! Girls can take care of babies alone, right? Let’s practice!”

Iwaizumi widens his eyes in surprise before snickering, “Wow, Shittykawa. You just proved yourself to be a deadbeat dad.”

You’re also quick to rub the salt in the wound, cackling wildly, “Yeah, Oikawa.”

The captain gasps as he stands up, making his way towards Iwaizumi and sweeping babies Yahaba and Watari from his friend’s arms, “Hey! I’ve taken care of my nephew before and I can take care of Yahaba and Watari! Plus, they’re easier to care for~” he sings.

Iwaizumi looks doubtful when he sees Oikawa telling the babies that he wouldn’t be a deadbeat dad. Silently, he goes to Oikawa and helps him out by playing with the two babies with him. 

You gasp sharply in surprise after discovering Oikawa’s real intentions. Standing up, you poke a delicate finger to his chest, “So that’s your plan, Oikawa!”

The captain merely raised an eyebrow while looking at you amusedly. “Oh?”

“You’re planning to take my husband away with your single father act!” Oikawa yelps as your hair smacks his face when you turn around, looking at him over your shoulder before scoffing, “Disgraceful!”

Iwaizumi blushes when he hears you call him your husband, he splutters, “W-what, husband? [Name], I–”

Before the ace could take a look at your growing red face after your bold claim, Oikawa laughs high and mighty with a devious look in his eyes, “It seems that you’re not a slow shrew after all, [Name]-chan.” He runs behind Iwaizumi and grabs his biceps, “But it’s too late for you! Iwa-chan will fall for my single dad charms in no time!”

Iwaizumi glares at his friend as he starts to feel uncomfortable now that he is the center of the attention. “Oi, stop it, both of you.”

However, his words are ignored as you gasp in shock and grab babies Kindaichi and Kunimi, who look very happy to be carried in one arm each. You glare at Iwaizumi with tears in your eyes, making the latter deflate under your stare as you whisper, “How could you do this to me, Iwa-chan?”

You are touched when you feel two pairs of tiny hands pat your face, it's as if Kindaichi and Kunimi could feel your sombre mood, regardless of their age. You make your way to the other side of the court with the babies, making Iwaizumi push Oikawa away from his arm, trying to calm you down as you let out sniffles of your crying.

Oikawa stands still as he watches his friend patting your back awkwardly, that is until he sees a coy smirk gracing your smug face. “Ha, I win this round, Oikawa~” your eyes seem to say.

There is no way Oikawa is losing to you.

He tries to recreate a dramatic spin he saw in the soap opera his mother loves to watch but he fails miserably as he falls down with the elegance of a chicken trying to fly. But Iwaizumi wouldn’t bat an eye. Grumpily, he lifts himself up and smiles when both Yahaba and Watari clap their hands for him. “At least my performance is appreciated,” Oikawa thinks.

“Thanks, Yahaba-chan and Watacchi.”

Meanwhile, Iwaizumi then realises that you’re fake crying because at this point, your cheeks are dry and you’re only blubbering instead. He looks up at the gym’s ceiling and sighs heavily, “Why am I even friends with them?”

A sharp cry pierces the gym and Iwaizumi quickly looks at Oikawa’s corner of the court, finding both Yahaba and Watari crying. Oikawa starts to panic as he pats the babies’ backs but they are unrelenting. He bites his lip, “What’s taking Makki and Mattsun so long? We might need to change their diapers! Pants! Whatever!”

Feeling spiteful, you giggle at Oikawa’s predicament, “Kindaichi and Kunimi are literal angels! They would never cry–”

Tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling from Kindaichi and Kunimi’s faces as they join the crying fest. 

Iwaizumi stares dumbly at the floor while Oikawa laughs as you panic, asking the babies if something’s wrong. He thinks of his position as the team’s vice captain. When he first accepted the position, he didn’t think much of it. In fact, his first impression towards vice captains is that they are usually the ones who did nothing at all. Looking at Oikawa who is all but happy to join the babies in torturing their manager, Iwaizumi thinks, “Shouldn’t the captains be responsible?”

Then, he glances at you whose hands are flailing around as you are near in tears, “Managers too.”

But no, his captain and manager are both general annoyances, however endearingly so. Iwaizumi debates lying down on his back again, to have a silent mental breakdown with the chaos in the gym as a background noise, but he decides against it. Remembering how Matsukawa, Hanamaki and you were crying for him to survive in public, he thinks it would be best if he just went through this now instead of dealing with more of Oikawa and your antics.

“I think they’re hungry.” Iwaizumi helpfully informs the two of you after clearing his throat several times. Blinking twice, both you and Oikawa perk up, running towards your bags. You rummage your bag and find several boxes of Pawcky, “I have some Pawcky with me!” 

“And I have spare milk bread with me!” Oikawa tells you. 

With Oikawa and your combined strengths, the both of you manage to feed the children together without any fusses. With Oikawa tearing the food into smaller pieces for the kids, you quickly fill up the bottles with water in case they become thirsty. Iwaizumi becomes speechless at the perfect teamwork between you and the captain. The babies then soon fall asleep and the both of you slump onto each other. Oikawa grins at you, “Phew, we make a pretty good team, [Name]-chan!”

You beam at him, “For once you’re right, Oikawa!”

The both of you pat each other’s back and sing praises to one another as Iwaizumi sighs tiredly while he rests his heavy body against the gym wall. “Great,” he grumbles. The gym has become considerably warmer, with the bright light pouring from the gym’s windows, making the floating dusts visible to his naked eye. 

POOF!

“Our children!” Both you and Oikawa scream in panic. Iwaizumi quickly stands up in action, coughing when the puff of smokes nearly engulfing the three of you. A familiar voice asks, “What, what happened?”

Watari rubs his eyes with his hands as the other three baby turned normal guys cough their lungs out from the smoke, he is met with the view of their manager and captain clasping their hands together, with tears streaming from their eyes. Oikawa holds your intertwined hands together and brings them near to his face, “Oh, [Name]-chan! They grow so fast!”

The dazed libero looks at the team’s ace questioningly, to which Iwaizumi only replied with a pitying smile, “Trust me, you don’t wanna know.”

Only then, Matsukawa and Hanamaki return from their hours-long worth of shopping for food. “You guys sure took your sweet time,” Iwaizumi says gruffly. Matsukawa averts his gaze from Iwaizumi’s scowl while whistling a tune as Hanamaki asks amusedly “Eh, they’re back to normal?”

“Normal from what?” Yahaba asks but his question is ignored by his senpais. Poor Yahaba.

As a sign of reconciliation, Hanamaki passes a bottle of banana milk to Iwaizumi, patting his back as Matsukawa passes bento boxes around to the team, “Thanks for the hard work, ace.”

A loud clap interrupts the warm atmosphere and Oikawa stands up with his hands on his hips, “Alright everyone, gather up!”

“We are already gathered, Oikawa.” Hanamaki snickers.

“Hush, you.”

You silently stand behind the captain with a resolute expression in your face as Oikawa begins his speech, “I have realised that [Name]-chan and I are not really responsible, personality-wise.”

The atmosphere turns serious, the faces of the team morph into surprise. 

“So, from this day forward,” you continue, “We’ll get our acts together and form a strong bond in order to guide this team to the nationals!”

“And crush the Ushiwaka bastard!” Oikawa adds.

Iwaizumi’s intuition rings “Dumbass alert! Dumbass alert!” but he shoves the thought away. However, Iwaizumi remembers the sheer chaos created by the two of you just moments ago, so he grabs a ball, just in case.

You nod at Oikawa and the captain holds your hand, raising it as he continues, “We will become co-parents to you guys!”

A fast ball hits Oikawa’s face before knocking off to your forehead. You cry at the burn on your forehead as Oikawa crumples to the floor, clutching his face in agony. 

“Iwa-chan!”

Extra:

You rub the reddening spot on your forehead, pouting at Iwaizumi, “Violence against a helpless woman? I thought you are better than this!”

However, Iwaizumi looks dead inside, his voice low, “At this rate, I don’t see you as a woman, [Name].”

You gasp along with Hanamaki and Matsukawa. Your heart beats faster than ever, “What does Iwa-chan think of me, then?”

“You’re more like a–” he pauses, contemplating his words. He looks at you and your red forehead, you really do look like a sad piece of work. He deflates, “–an annoyance. But not really.”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow as he slaps Iwaizumi’s shoulder, “Huh? You called me a bug once when I really annoyed you, Iwa-chan!” He then nudges Iwaizumi’s side, “You wanted to call her a bug, right? It’s okay. [Name]-chan is a big girl, she can take it–”

“Thanks, Iwa-chan.” you grab a tissue offered by Hanamaki. “Being a bug is cool too.” you cry, blowing your nose as both Hanamaki and Matsukawa gasp at Iwaizumi scandalously.

“Can we get to practice, now?” Iwaizumi asks, red faced.

#haikyuu #aoba johsai #seijoh #fem!reader #haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #hanamaki takahiro #matsukawa issei #kindaichi yuutarou #kunimi akira #yahaba shigeru #watari shinji #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #hanamaki x reader #matsukawa x reader #kindaichi x reader #kunimi x reader #yahaba x reader #watari x reader #fem!manager #nad writes #seijoh x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu crack

[rosereview]

Favourite Webtoons Part 2

Okay so since the first part didn’t have every single one that I loved, I decided to make another part and I’m sure I’ll do more in the future. So here again are my favourite Webtoons and if you’re interested in more, here is my part 1 of the list. 

KillMax by Kennycomics & SilentMaru

KillMax has such a cool concept and beautiful visuals that I instantly loved it. Sadly it was slow going for the creators getting pages out and now they are on hiatus getting ready for season 3, but I really think it is worth the read. It was hard to remember certain things because of the large gaps between getting pages out but I reread it multiple times and that in itself was very enjoyable so I do recommend. It’s about a witch girl who gets famous on the internet which grabs the attention of witch hunters and I love the badass-ness of the main female character and also male lead as well. So if you like strong female characters, then definitely give this a read because you will not be disappointed. 

Siren’s Lament by instantmiso

This was the first completed Webtoon I’ve read and I loved it so much it’s crazy. The only problem is that I am so sad it’s done! I wish I had more because I loved the characters so much and the art style is so beautiful (like all of the Webtoons I’ve talked about so far). This story is a romance with a love triangle where somehow you are always rooting for all three of them to be together because as a group they are just absolutely adorable. The concept is that the main lead is turned into a siren but only gets half of the “curse” from the siren guy she kissed so they have to figure out why it happened that way. The whole plot was beautifully done and like I already said, all of the characters are so likeable and all of their relationships are adorable but still complex, so I highly recommend. 

To Love Your Enemy by Jungyoon & Taegeon

This one I recently started and it is very cute and fun to read. I don’t think it’s my favourite Webtoon ever, but it updates twice a week which is wonderful, and the beginning for me was very solid. It’s also a romance with the trope of fake relationship + hate to love, and I think that was my favourite part— the two characters falling in love with each other. But now that the story has progressed so much I don’t really know how I feel about the whole romance aspect of it. I think now it’s just that I’m anxious for the characters because (SPOILER, although it’s a romance so not really a spoiler because we all know what happens) they are together and I want them to stay together. Once romances get to the point of the two leads getting together, the next big storylines and plot points are the drama of them trying to stay together and that’s a little nerve racking further in this Webtoon. But I still do enjoy it very much. Also forgot to say what it’s about, but it’s about a girl that worked in a pyramid scheme (I think) finally gets out of it and goes to university where a guy there knows who she is and hates her for what she’s done, but then she starts a rumor that they’re together and it goes from there. 

Men of the Harem by Alphatart & Yeongbin

Another one that I started recently and which doesn’t actually have a lot of pages out is Men of the Harem, which I am loving so much! This one was recently started so a lot of the story foundation is still being made and the real drama hasn’t started yet, but the potential for this story is very promising. It’s a fantasy that has our lead becoming the Emperor for her kingdom and she surprises everyone by wanting to create a harem of men instead of being a normal female emperor and having only one male consort. Honestly I just love that concept in and of itself and the story so far has been delivering in the best way possible. I love that we have a strong female ruler that breaks the rules of being the stereotypical girl and makes the power move of having her own harem. So if you’re into that then you’ll love this Webtoon.

The Advanced Player of the Tutorial Tower by Bangguseok Gimssi & Omagam

This one was also started recently so there aren't many pages out but it is really good so far. It’s about our modern world being overrun by monsters and people have to start fighting them to stay alive. But there is also this tower that randomly selects people to complete it where they either die or defeat all the monsters inside alive and become monster fighters/hunters in the real world to protect the normal citizens. There is a lot more to it than that but that’s the bare bones, and the main character was put into the tower when it first appeared and completed it but was never let out until 12 years later, so he’s now the most powerful monster hunter guy in the world. I love having a main character that is all powerful because I always love seeing the bad guys underestimate them and then get destroyed because they’re so cocky. So if you like action (and I think this is actually the only non-romance Webtoon on either of my lists) then you’ll love this one. 

The Remarried Empress by Alphatart & Sumpul

Another strong female lead in a patriarchal fantasy setting with romance and drama created by the same creator as Men of the Harem. This one updates twice a week and is so good it’s crazy! The main character is the Empress of this kingdom because she had an arranged marriage with the Emperor, but they were always good friends growing up so it’s supposed to be all good. But then dummy Emperor dude goes out and gets himself a stupid mistress who ruins everyone’s day and who has an agenda of her own. This one does get you really angry at certain characters but you also fall in love with the lead so much it’s worth it. Also her new love interest is absolutely great, so read it for that reason too! But yeah, if you like fantasy, fantasy politics, drama, romance, and magic then check this one out. 

Unholy Blood by Lina Im & Jeonghyeon Kim

The last one I want to mention is this one, Unholy Blood, which is a vampire Webtoon that is such well developed plot/world building-wise that I think it’s worth it just for that reason. The main character lives in a world where there is a vampire disease that is running wild in the form of crazy vampires turning humans and killing them on the streets. Because of that the world lives in fear with a curfew and the police are doing all they can to destroy the vampires, but they have their claws in every part of society. The main character has some traumatic stuff happen to her which makes her have to go find all these evil vampires responsible and kill them. It’s very action packed with a tiny bit of romance later on, but like I mentioned already, it’s the whole world, concept, and plot that makes me love it coupled with awesome badass characters as well. 

The concludes my second list of recommendations and favourite Webtoons. I hope some of these interest people and make them want to read them or just get on the Webtoon app and check out some other stuff because these creators really deserve the support. 

Until next time!

~Rose Reviews

#siren's lament #instantmiso #the remarried empress #alphatart #sumpul #killmax #kennycomics #silentmaru #to love your enemy #jungyoon #taegeon #men of the harem #yeongbin #the advanced player of the tutorial tower #bangguseok gimssi #omagam #unholy blood #lina im #jeonghyeon kim

[wrenhyperfixates]

The Gift

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Tony says no pets in the Tower, but since when has Loki ever listened to him? Warnings: like one curse word A/N: Any Tom Hiddleston stans out there should get the Easter egg in this one :)

Disclaimer: Picture not mine

“Oh, come on, Tony! Please,” you whined for the fifth time that week. “Not even just a little one?”

“Absolutely not. It’d make a mess of the place. Not to mention that this isn’t exactly the safest place for a pet.”

“So it gets into a lab accident and we have a super dog. Not the worst thing ever,” you said, half joking, though Tony actually seemed kind of intrigued now. You changed your tactic before he got any ideas. “Besides, it won’t make a mess. I’ll train it. And not all dogs shed.”

“I guess, but someone might be allergic,” Tony countered, thinking he delivered a winning argument.

“We can get a hypoallergenic dog,” you shot back, though you’d already checked with almost everyone and no one said they were.

Tony grumbled, running out of excuses to give as to why you couldn’t get the pet you’ve been pleading for the past few months. Tony had become somewhat of a father figure to you during your time in the Tower, and you’d been pretty sure you could use that to your advantage. Sadly, though, nothing had been working. In fact, that relationship had been more of a detriment to you than anything else as you didn’t want to make him upset with you. Otherwise, you might just go out and buy the pet of your choosing. Maybe even more than one. Although, to be fair, it was Tony’s building, and he was allowing you to live here rent free, so you should probably just drop it. But you really wanted a pet, and you knew you weren’t the only one.

“Sorry, but still no.”

“Fine,” you relented with an overdramatic sigh. “For now, anyway.”

“Thank you,” he said, going back to whatever he was tinkering with before you came in.

You pouted in the lab for a bit, hoping he might change his mind, but to no avail. Eventually you slinked out and went into one of the common rooms, plopping on the couch between Peter and Bucky.

“So, how’d it go?” Peter asked after popping a handful of Skittles into his mouth.

���No luck," you responded sourly, stealing some of the colorful candy from him. “None of my strategies are working.”

“What if we tried for something smaller?” Bucky offered. “Like a gerbil.”

“I guess,” you grumbled as you flopped back in exasperation. “But we’ve had our eye on that Cocker Spaniel for a while. A gerbil just wouldn’t be the same.”

“Yeah, I know.”

You all sat in silence for a bit and watched as Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck argued about what hunting season it is, mulling over the situation. Admitting defeat seemed to be the most likely option at the moment, but you hated to just give up when you were sure there was a way to get what you wanted and not have Tony be upset with you.

“I’ve got it!” Peter suddenly shouted, bubbling with excitement. “We go and adopt it and then tell Mr. Stark that it just followed us home!”

“Except he wouldn’t let us keep it even then,” you stated, having already thought of that yourself.

“So we hide it. Simple,” Bucky chimed in. “By the time he notices, Peter will be so emotionally bonded to it, Tony wouldn’t dare take it away.”

“Great idea, Mr. Bucky,” Peter said, high-fiving him.

“Yeah, if only there weren’t cameras everywhere. Not to mention a home system that tells him everything,” you added, growing more upset at the lack of options by the minute.

You pushed up from the couch as the episode’s end was heralded by Porky Pig’s “Th-th-that’s all folks.” After waving bye to your friends, you headed to your room to brainstorm in silence. The figure lurking in the shadows didn’t even register in your mind, so you had no idea that a certain god heard your whole conversation. Not only that, he was about to fix all your problems.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mr. Loki, where are we going?” Peter inquired as he and Bucky were led into the city by the trickster god.

“All will be revealed, spiderling. I assure you.”

Bucky just shrugged when Peter looked at him, and so they continued following Loki through the busy New York streets. After hearing about your plight, he had hatched a plan to get you what you wanted. All it took was a bit of research on that infernal computer device, and he was pretty sure he’d found the right shelter. It was a far walk from the Tower, and since neither he nor his travel companions could drive, he resorted to taking the subway, an experience he’d rather not have again. Finally, they arrived at the destination, and Peter was about to burst with excitement.

“Mr. Loki!” he gasped. “This is exactly where we were looking for dogs!”

“But I have a feeling you knew that already,” Bucky said.

“Indeed,” Loki replied. “I must confess that I overheard your conversation in the common room yesterday.”

“Oh I get it now. You’re doing this for-”

“No time for speculation, we are here to get me a pet,” Loki interrupted, “Go on. After you, spiderling.”

Peter, still blissfully unaware of Loki’s true intentions, led the way into the shelter. They were greeted with the sound of happy barking and the distinct smell of dog treats. Loki had to admit, he wasn’t the biggest fan of animals. He found some to be more agreeable than others, such as a good steed, but overall he thought them to be more of a nuisance than anything else. Thor had bought a cat for Jane once, and it tore up half of his capes before he presented it to her. Loki was glad his brother kept it away from him and his belongings. Not to mention he didn’t appreciate the sheer number of similarities people said he had with felines. Dogs, however, he was fine with, so long as they were trained properly.

“Hello, how may I help...” the girl behind the front desk trailed off, her eyes going wide with excitement upon realizing who the trio was. “Y-you’re... Oh my gosh. My friends are never going to believe this! But, uh, how may I help you?”

None of the heroes were particularly comfortable with the attention and star struck gaze of the girl, so it took them a minute to get over their sheepishness. Loki looked at both his companions before realizing he would have to do the talking. He sighed but knew the look on your face would be worth it. You’d look at him the same way you had so many times before, whenever he did little things for you, whether it be rubbing your shoulders after a stressful day or brewing you a cup of tea on a chilly morning. The two of you weren’t dating, exactly, but you weren’t exactly not dating, either. Loki found himself incapable of asking you to make it official, lest it ruin what you currently had. He didn’t know what he’d do if you no longer casually held his hand or rested your head on his lap while reading in the evenings. Even though he was fairly certain you felt the same way, that last bit of doubt wouldn’t leave him alone. Besides, despite usually being quite a great thinker, he couldn’t come up with a good way to confess. He supposed that kissing you would do the trick, but he wasn’t brave enough for that, so getting you a dog would have to suffice for now.

“My friends here were looking at some of your dogs recently, and there is one that they are quite smitten with. We are here to adopt it.”

“That’s right! A Cocker Spaniel named Bobby,” Peter offered. “He hasn’t already been adopted, has he?”

“Nope!” the girl responded in a perky voice. “He’s all yours as soon as you fill out the proper paperwork.”

“Mr. Loki, are you sure about this. Mr. Stark told me I couldn’t get a dog.”

“Exactly. He told you, not me,” Loki replied, picking up a pen.

“Well, yeah, but I don’t really think he meant it just for me. I think it was more of a general kind of thing.” Loki and Bucky looked at him in exasperation for a second, wondering how he could still be so innocent, before he caught on. “Oh, ok. I get it now. Carry on.”

The three boys huddled around the page as Loki filled it out, providing Tony’s credit card as payment when the time came. It seemed appropriate, Loki thought, that Stark should have to pay for making you upset, and taking that in the most literal sense was the only somewhat acceptable way, it seemed. No longer could The God of Mischief go around stabbing those who hurt the ones he cared about. In a way, he missed the good old days, as he referred to them, but his new life led him to you, which made the rest of it fine with him, he decided, as he finished his signature with a flourish.

“There,” he declared, admiring the loop of his fancy, cursive L. “Finished.”

The girl disappeared into the back, only to return with Bobby a moment later. After giving the paperwork a quick once over, she handed the leash over to Bucky, who couldn’t stop the smile from growing on his face. Peter immediately bent down to scratch the dark brown dog behind his ears.

“Who’s a good boy? You are! You’re a good boy!” he cooed.

“Spiderling, he hasn’t even done anything yet,” Loki said, somewhat perplexed, as Bobby rolled over onto his back, stopping at the god’s feet. “Though, I do suppose he is a rather good boy,” he added, an inexplicable smile tugging at his lips.

One stop at the pet store and a taxi ride later, both unknowingly paid for by Tony, they arrived back at the Tower with the newest member of their family. It wasn’t even ten minutes later that Tony strolled into the room where they were playing with Bobby. He stopped dead in his tracks as he noticed the dog, happily playing tug of war with Bucky.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing at the Cocker Spaniel.

“A dog,” Loki deadpanned.

“Yeah, no shit. I mean what is it doing here?”

“I adopted it. Really Stark, for a supposed genius you ask a lot of obvious questions.”

“Don’t get snippy with me, Rock of Ages,” Tony quipped back, gritting his teeth a little. “This is my Tower and I say no pets, except for maybe a goldfish.”

“Yes, this is your Tower, but it is our home, is it not? As thus, we should be allowed the simple pleasures of life, such as having a pet. After all, studies show that having a dog can reduce stress, something I’d say is rather important for people in our position.”

Tony glared for a minute, not really having a good response to that. Then he called your name, certain you were behind this.

“No, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. “They had nothing to do with this. Don’t blame them.”

“That’s right,” Bucky also defended you. “It was all us.”

It was already too late, though, and you appeared in the doorway. Loki had been planning on presenting your gift to you in some cute or clever way, but all he had time to do was a magic up a bow on the pup’s head, a green one, of course. Bobby started happily yapping at your arrival and trotted over to you, looking for a scratch behind the ear.

“Oh. My. Gosh. He’s adorable!” you exclaimed as he rolled over for belly rubs. “You finally got a dog for me, Tony? Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Sorry, but I can’t take credit for this,” he said, turning down the hug you were offering him by putting a hand up. Then he pointed at the mischievous trio whose doing it was.

“Well actually, it was mainly Loki,” Bucky said, nudging the god in the ribs.

“But Mr. Bucky, we all- Oh wait. Awwww,” Peter gushed as he realized what Loki was feeling.

“Oh. In that case, thank you Loki!” you shouted, throwing your arms around him in a hug.

Without a second’s hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you, too, returning the embrace. “You are quite welcome, my darling.”

You nuzzled into the spot where his shoulder met his neck. In turn, he put his head on your own and breathed in your scent, forgetting the others in the room for a minute. It seemed you had, too, because you looked equally startled when Tony cleared his throat.

“Ok, fine. He can stay,” Tony conceded, “but only if he doesn’t wreck the place. And keep him out of the lab.”

You all chorused your thanks and, despite his harsh tone, could tell that Tony had already taken to Bobby, who was now the center of attention again. After playing with him for a bit, Bucky made some excuse about having to leave and took Peter with him, both of them wanting to give you some alone time with Loki.

“This really is very sweet, Loki,” you told him after a few minutes.

“Think nothing of it. It is my gift to you.”

“I feel bad, though. I don’t have anything for you,” you said, biting your lip. “Well, actually, I do have one thing that I can give you.”

“Oh? What would that be, my darling?”

The end of his sentence was nearly cut off by your lips crashing into his. The kiss was a little sloppy, but filled with so much love and desire that neither one of you cared. After gathering his wits, Loki kissed you back, cupping your cheeks as you grabbed his shoulders, still a little unsteady from surging forward.

“That,” you breathlessly whispered, pulling away as Bobby began barking again.

Later that night, Tony found you and Loki passed out on the couch, Bobby sprawled out across both your laps.

“Huh,” he mumbled, draping a blanket over your shoulders. “I guess it’s a good thing they got that dog, after all.”

#loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki friggason #loki fluff #fluff #mcu loki #young loki #loki oneshot #marvel reader insert #marvel #marvel fanfiction #reader insert #loki fanfic #mcu reader insert #mcu fanfiction #thor odinson #gender neutral reader #loki pov #reader pov #second person pov #tony stark #ironman #bucky barnes #winter soldier #the winter soldier #peter parker #spiderman

[inmyarmswrappedin]

So, because Fatou’s season ends today and, as far as we know, Druck hasn’t been renewed yet, I want to go over the things I feel the team did well in this season and the things I hope they take with them when they sit down to write the next season (which I’m manifesting will be Ava’s).

I think that s5 and, perhaps to a bigger extent, s6, were the team’s attempt to address fan feedback for and criticisms of s3 and s4. So I have hopes that, after possibly the most scrutinized season of any Skams, they are still willing to read even more feedback and sit down once again to craft a couple more seasons (possibly even 3 or 4 more seasons!).

So, without further ado, things that were done well! (Do I have to add “in my opinion”? Do I??)

I liked that for both s5 and s6, the thorough-line for the season wasn’t made obvious or shared in a press release, but rather it was up to fans to connect the story threads for themselves.

I loved that the team sought to address one of the biggest criticisms of s3, that is, that Matteo was given so many symptoms of a mental illness, but it ultimately went unaddressed in the narrative. They did this by giving Nora a dissociative disorder, and Fatou dyscalculia. (Matteo has been headcanoned as being mentally ill and having a disability.) It allowed the teams to develop both fan theories into full-blown seasons and give each of them the importance they deserved.

I have said this already, but I really appreciate that the team chose misunderstood, misrepresented and underrepresented mental illnesses and disabilities. I feel like s5 and s6 will be referents for many years, because they really took the time to portray a dissociative disorder and dyscalculia in a down-to-earth, unhurried way that isn’t meant to shock and awe, but simply allow us to understand why and when Nora and Fatou will struggle. Druck got the viewers to anticipate when Nora and Fatou would struggle, and that’s the first step in being able to anticipate and accommodate the needs of the Noras and Fatous of the world. I really can’t overstate how important this is and what a difference it makes in a real, tangible way. These seasons aren’t meant to be enjoyed for voyeuristic reasons, but they will legitimately help people.

One of the biggest criticisms of s4 was that Amira and Sam didn’t connect as women of color. In fact, it seemed like in s4 Sam was treated as another white friend, when in s2 both she and Amira were the victims of Kiki’s racism. The team addressed this by giving us Ava and Fatou’s friendship, which I want to say might be the first friendship between main characters of color where their race is a substantial reason for their bond. (There are the Sanas with their Jamillas, but the Jamillas aren’t main characters, and then there are friendships like Jo and Megan and Zoya, or Imaan and Liv, or Luca and Yasmina, but iirc in every case their bond as women of color isn’t made explicit.)

Another criticism of s4 was the way Kiki turned into the world’s most understanding white friend offscreen. The team addressed this with the Ava and Mailin storyline, which I think was wonderfully and subtly set up in s5, then built on with the biology test leaked answers.

On the topic of race, I think a major criticism of s3 was that David’s ethnicity wasn’t acknowledged (to the point where a white actress was cast to play his sister gvhvhv). The team has made up for this with Josh (more in the s6 sm than in s5, but I still count it) and with Kieu My. Fatou and Kieu My bonded over being first/second gen children of immigrants, and in doing so, they acknowledged that these characters aren’t white and have different experiences than white Germans.  

The first 6 episodes of this season were some of the finest writing in the Skams. The storylines all connected and built on each other. The motifs were just so good and beautiful and fitting. The themes were all clearly defined and easy to follow.

The tortoise plot was one of the most fun and imaginative storylines in any Skams, it connected Fatou and Ismail in a believable way. And not to rave about a fucking tortoise, but animals can be really uncooperative and that tortoise delivered every fucking clip. Druck has a reputation for being one of the most depressive versions of Skam, but the Maike/Burger plot was just plain fun.

I feel like some of the old gen’s instas were a bit self-indulgent. I’m thinking specifically of Matteo’s memes and how they they weren’t necessarily the kind of memes a gay dude born in 2001 would pick, but someone a decade older. I think this is much better done with new gen. Fatou’s memes reflect her age and her sexuality, and not just that, but Ava, Mailin, Kieu My, Josh, etc. all pick memes and even focus on different aspects of recent news, based on their gender, race, personalities, interests, etc.

I appreciate that the team found a way to fit a sex scene between Fatou and Kieu My to add to the small catalogue of wlw sex scenes on Skams (I’m including the scene in lovleg or we’d only have two lol). While I understood the reasons eskam opted not to include one, I thought there were ways to feature a sex scene that didn’t sexualize the actresses and didn’t require nudity. Cases in point: the lovleg scene, and this scene in Druck.

And it also needs to be said. This is the first original season with a main of color, and the third season overall (after Liv and Imane) where 10 episodes are given to a character of color and no one else. Of the three, it’s certainly the season that loved and respected its main the most. The bar is so low it’s in hell, but Druck did clear that bar!

With all that said, let’s talk about the things I would really want the team to address in following seasons:

The thing I most want them to fix might be small or unimportant for a lot of people, but I think it’s at the core of why the season has been unenjoyable or certain plot points haven’t come across the way the team wanted, for many people. I am talking about the overly expositional nature of the writing.  It appears as if the team approached the writing of the clips with the intention of hitting each beat as noted in their agreed upon outline, and absolutely nothing else was to be added. This is an issue both in s5 and s6. It’s just less noticeable in s5, because s5 is setting up stuff for Fatou’s season, and possibly even seasons that haven’t been written yet. The fact that absolutely every second counts makes for a stressful watching experience for me, because the narrative tension is always heightened. Whereas with Skam, the narrative tension would build throughout the clip. Take the Pride scene in Skam, for instance. The clip allows for Isak and Eskild to get increasingly more agitated as they butt heads. I feel like if this Druck team had done the Pride scene in s5 or s6, the clip would’ve started with both Isak and Eskild already on edge, and cut much of the dialogue that got them there.

On the topic of naturalistic dialogue, this season doesn’t have it. Here is an example from ep 10 clip 2, Wieder vereint/Reunited 11:37.

Fatou: I’ll get a certificate too and bring it over to you. And I checked it, I only have to change one course and my schedule will work.

Teacher: Miss Jallow, you are not the first one to come to me with an epiphany. We could fill entire school weeks with the lessons you missed. In addition, Doctor Steinberg told me about your, well… activities. You don’t have a lot of arguments on your side. 

Fatou: But I’ve spoken to all of the teachers and they said they are okay with it. 

Teacher: You seem to have friends among the teaching staff. Mrs Pavlovic put in a word for you. Okay then, do it and go before I change my mind. [translated by @kieu-tou! Thank you!] 

Like. This is the bare bones version of a dialogue. This should be the first draft, not the final version. The coordinator goes from absolute no to yes, with just one line from Fatou. The coordinator gives reasons that would necessitate more than one sentence of counterargument, like Fatou’s absences and the Biology test leaked answers. The coordinator even says Fatou doesn’t have a lot of arguments on her side, and yet it takes Fatou one line to change her mind!

And of course we viewers don’t want or need a lot of time with the coordinator. And particularly at this point in the season, no one would enjoy a naturalistic dialogue with the coordinator of all people.  But my point is that this is an issue with the dialogue all this season (and last season as well, but this season has been more scrutinized), the reason I picked this example is because of how easy it is to see here.

Which brings us to the pacing of the clips, and specifically the Friday clips. Because the script goes straight to the information the team wants to convey to the viewers, skipping the build up to it, many Friday clips have fallen flat, felt abrupt, and have been, tbh, unsatisfying. Again, I had this issue in s5, but as that season went on, I felt like the team had a better grip on Friday clips. But then they did it again in the first Friday clip this season, and so I think this is something the writers really should work on. The first Friday clip in Isak’s season closes on Isak being sandwiched by Emma and Even on a bench, visually setting up the love triangle, or more accurately, the personifications of who Isak should want to hook up with and who he really wants. But in order to get there, we’re shown a good amount of info, from the way Vilde, Eva and Sana are handling Noora’s absence, to Chris and Kasper, Even hovering around Isak, Emma trying to impress Isak, Isak escaping and, like, draping himself on the walls because he’s so over it all. Isak playing a game on the bathroom to stall for time. The paper towel maneuver to immediately give us a sense of what a weirdo Even is. A conversation between Isak and Even that gives us some clues about Even’s shame, as well as establish interests in common (like weed), and this is all before Emma even joins them! Just think of all the stuff we learn about who Isak, Even, Emma, Eva, Vilde or Sana are as people, before we get to the point of the clip! Fatou’s season simply didn’t have that. Compare it with the first Friday clip of Fatou’s season where the cashqueens quickly talk about the leaked answers, one of the major storylines this season that only gets a couple lines, before Fatou says she doesn’t want to talk about school (Fatou’s struggles with school, another major storyline), and then we’re onto the point of the clip, which is that Kieu My likes girls too. AND FADE TO BLACK. When people say they want longer clips, what they mean isn’t artificially inflate the clip length or add more plot stuff. Just let us watch the characters interact with each other so that we get a feel for how they relate to each other. I know I wish we’d have gotten more of Ava and Fatou interacting with each other before things turned to shit, and Ava with the other girls, so that I know why they all like and value Ava so much. I wish we’d have gotten more of Kieu My talking to the cashqueens about, like, why she didn’t make use of the biology test answers, instead of getting it on a chat. Or food combos they don’t like. So it makes more sense that later on Kieu My actually thinks she and Fatou are friends.  And every line doesn’t have to count. In Skam España, the characters are constantly talking and not everything they ever talked about ended up being relevant. When one of the characters lied about her house undergoing renovations to hide the fact that she was poor, the characters joked about Italian marble and put on bad Italian accents and made that Italian hand gesture. None of this was important to the plot because those renovations weren’t real to begin with, but they made viewers feel like these were real friends joking around, instead of characters needing to hit every storyline beat in a clip.

I have this joke with my friends about Druck always going 🤪🤪 in the last third of every season, in which a season that was very tightly written and cohesive suddenly pulls something inexplicable and pretty much impossible to resolve in 1-3 episodes. Hanna’s season suddenly switching to Mia, Björn creeping on Mia in episode 9! of a total 10, David getting outed in episode 8 and then disappearing for a whole week, Amira’s season pivoting to Mia and Hanna. It has happened in every season except Nora’s, so I thought the team had learned its lesson, but then the forgotten date with Ava happened. To be clear. It really makes no sense that Nora would have hung out with Ava several times since Tuesday, and the topic of the cashqueens being officially introduced to Kieu My wouldn’t have come up. it’s just not realistic.gif I feel like at that point the writing for the rest of the reason became super contrived to keep Fatou miserable and apart from Kieu My and Ava to artificially delay the reunions until episode 9 and 10. Why add a cheating insinuation and the main checking her partner’s messages in episode 8 if you know you won’t be able to properly resolve it? Why make Kieu My mock Fatou’s “uhm” if it’s not going to be addressed in their reunion clip? Kieu My had taken the initiative for a lot of the relationship, so it’s okay for Fatou to take the initiative when it comes to making up. You don’t have to add things that can only be resolved through an expositional info dump. (Please no more exposition than it’s necessary! I think we’ve established that at this point lol.) In the case of Fatou’s season, this is even sadder because I feel like Kieu My’s intimacy issues could’ve been the reason to drive them apart for two weeks, rather than the Maya/uhm stuff. This could’ve also been resolved through Fatou and Kieu My explicitly negotiating their boundaries and how they want to be comforted and how they want to comfort each other, which I thought was the issue with Fatou rejecting Kieu My’s attempts to help while wanting physical touch, while Kieu My didn’t want to be touched but rather seen.  

There are going to be many thinkpieces on why a myriad of stuff didn’t work for people, so I’m going to keep this simple and address one last thing. I think that choosing to focus on Nora’s mental illness and Fatou’s disability is a great choice that doesn’t complicate the themes too much, but Druck (and all the Skams, but I’m invested only in Druck succeeding at this point) still struggles with being intersectional. This is the major reason why the Ava/Mailin storyline ended not with a bang, but a whimper. There just wasn’t enough work done to connect Fatou’s struggles not just to her disability, but also to her race (and even her sexuality). I think that if people really want (and lbr, it’ll be mostly poc who will put in that effort and work), they can see how Fatou’s race affected the way other people and especially adults reacted to her, but this wasn’t made explicit. If Ava and Mailin are going to argue about racism all season, why not connect that with Karin firing Fatou from Aquarius? As it stands, Karin fired Fatou because of a disability neither of them knew Fatou has, and that was the resolution to that storyline. Why not make it explicit that the Physics teacher had preconceived ideas about Fatou because Fatou is black? Why wasn’t Fatou’s disability addressed in the meeting with the coordinator? Why didn’t Fatou express to Mailin that Fatou, too, had issues with how Mailin was acting wrt racism? It felt like, with the way the season was putting so much emphasis on racism, all these threads were going to be connected. In the end though, it almost felt as if only Ava is affected by racism (aside from Mailin mentioning Fatou in the last episode). It’s not like talking about how racism affects Fatou is going to make the topic redundant for Ava’s or Ismail’s season. As a light-skinned black lesbian with a disability, Fatou’s life is going to be impacted by racism in a different way than Ava’s will, as a dark-skinned black fat straight cis girl, or Ismail’s, as a Turkish-German possibly Muslim possibly non binary person. All these experiences are specific enough, and different enough, that they can be touched upon in different seasons without becoming redundant. The fact that Fatou’s season almost seemed to forget at times that she is a black lesbian, doesn’t bode well for Ava’s and Ismail’s season to acknowledge all their struggles.

The bottom line is that this season really was great and did a lot of good, and I feel like the writing just needs to be tweaked a bit for further seasons to be even better and more enjoyable overall. I am very pleasantly surprised by how the team took s1-s4 fan feedback to heart and worked to implement suggestions, and so I really trust them and hope they keep working on the show. It’d be a shame if Druck wasn’t renewed, with this team at the helm.    

#druck #this post is 3K+ words in word I'm so sorry #but I really hope it makes its way to the writers and is helpful

[riversofmars]

Mirrorverse cut/alternate scenes

For @capybaraonabicycle​, as promised, and anyone else that cares, 5k worth of cut and alternate scenes from “Through the Looking Glass”. Finally had a chance to sort through them lol. <3

Alternate version of Clara trying to convince 13 to help her

“Why would I trust you.“ The Doctor shook her head, finding it hard to believe that she thought her so naive. 

“You know me, don’t you?“ Clara offered softly.

“I knew my Clara, I don’t know you.“ The Doctor replied firmly, reminding herself that there was a big difference, no matter how much she wanted to look into those big eyes and believe her. 

“And your Clara, does she care about you?“ Clara asked leaning closer. 

“Yes.“ 

“And I care about you, too.“ Clara reached out and cupped her cheek. 

“Maybe you care about her, not me, you don’t know me.“ The Doctor pulled away defiantly. 

“I’m finding you a lot easier to care for than her right now.“ Clara smiled softly. “Alright fine, you have no reason to trust me, I get that. How about you ask me some questions?“ She straightened herself up. “Get to know me. Maybe we can find a way forward together.“ 

“Did she ask you to speak to me?“ The Doctor needed confirmation. 

“Yes.“ Clara nodded matter-of-factly. 

“So she trusts you.“ The Doctor carried on.

“Absolutely.“ Clara agreed again.

“And you would still betray her?“ The Doctor couldn’t believe it but at the same time, she couldn’t discount the possibility. If this Clara was also a sort of evil counter part to her Clara, it certainly was something she should deem her capable of. And if she was capable of betraying someone that regarded her a trusted advisor, she was probably just as dangerous as the Emperor herself and not a suitable ally either. 

“She’s gone too far. We all know it. Holds too little regard for those loyal to her…“ Clara explained. 

“You mean to you.“ The Doctor deduced, trying to read between the lines. 

“Let’s just say her moods swing… and her favour falls elsewhere.“ Clara answered. 

“You’re jealous.“ The Doctor realised as slowly the pieces were falling into place. Clara shrugged as if it didn’t matter. 

“Maybe.“

“But jealous of what? Or who? Do you want her power or her?“ The Doctor couldn’t read her expression, she just smirked, indicating she was getting close to the truth. 

“So either, you want to punish her for ignoring you and go after her power. Or you’re trying to play me and you think if you can deliver me to her, her favour will fall to you? Which is it?“ The Doctor shot back firmly. “I’m fairly certain, whichever it is, you’ll have to go through River first.“

(…)

“Maybe we can topple them, you and me, no-one would have to know you’re not her… Why don’t you stay for a little while Doctor? Believe me, I’m the closest you will get to having your friend back and I think we can help each other, a lot…“

“You can’t be serious.“ The Doctor tried to pull away.

“She doesn’t appreciate me. I think you and I can have a much better relationship and help each other out. There are things I want and perhaps, if you were to stick around and work with me, we can both get what we want…“ 

(…)

“How long has your wife been dead now? When did you last see her? Must have been quite some time.

“Please, stop.“ The Doctor averted her eyes quickly. 

“Oh darling, I’ll be gentle with you.“ Clara smirked, reaching out for her cheek to make her face her again.

(…)

This time the Doctor managed to push her over and free herself. She scrambled to her feet putting some distance between them and Clara sighed exasperated. She stood and her demeanour was changed, she dropped her act.

“What you’re doing here, what she is doing… you know it’s insane right? You said it. It needs to stop.“ The Doctor exclaimed. 

“And you think I should put an end to it?“ Clara tilted her head in amusement. 

“You could, with the quantum shade… have you never been tempted.“ The Doctor gestured towards her while Clara idle ran her fingers along the swirls of the tattoo. 

“Oh Doctor, there are beings even a Quantum Shade won’t cross.“ Clara laughed as if it was a preposterous suggestion. “Besides, it’s treason, to even suggest it.“

“You were trying to rope me into your scheme only a moment ago, all lies then?“ The Doctor bit back. 

“I thought you might be sympathetic to the cause.“ Clara shrugged and sat back down. She crossed her legs and spread her arms out to rest them on the back of the sofa. She regarded the Doctor who looked back at her with disdain. 

“You’re all as bad as each other.“ The Doctor growled, scolding herself for being tempted to believe her at one point. “I’m already marked for death, aren’t I.“ She touched her hand to the back of her neck.

“Not by me. Not yet anyway.“ Clara hummed. 

“I think the Quantum Shade would find my life rather hard to extinguish as well.“ The Doctor tried her best to sound confident in that fact. Surely her unlimited regenerations should be difficult for the Shade to deal with.

“Perhaps.“ Clara didn’t seem to care one way or another. “So Doctor, what do you think? Can we become fast friends.“

“I don’t know what game you’re playing but… either you will report everything back to her or you truly are working your own agenda in which case, I wouldn’t give you the information either.“ The Doctor shot back and looked around, finding herself in an almost identical situation as she had been with the Emperor. The only exception was that Clara remained seated and fully composed, her expression unreadable. Where the Emperor had been quick in her temper and cruel in the execution, Clara appeared devoid of all emotion now, cool and collected, unnervingly so. 

“That’s a shame, Doctor, a real shame. I was so hopeful that you would listen to reason…“ Clara said at last. “But I should have guessed, you’re just as stubborn as her, aren’t you… You have more in common than you realise.“ She mused. “Your bullheadedness will be your downfall.“

“Have you ever seen her fall down?“ The Doctor shot back, anger rising inside her. They kept making fun of her, kept painting her as weak and pathetic, even though they didn’t know the first thing about her. Clara tilted her head raising her eyebrows, waiting for her point. “Because if we have one thing in common it’s that I always win as well.“

“We will see about that.“ Clara chuckled and got to her feet at last. “I promise you, that won’t be the last injury you sustain here…“ She pointed to her shoulder as she strolled towards her. 

“I’m not scared of you.“ The Doctor bit back, standing her ground. 

“Then you are very brave and very stupid indeed.“ Clara laughed and came to a halt in front of her. “Do have a think about it, Doctor. Think about who you want to cooperate with. Maybe if you chose to trust me, we could at least have something together…“ She smoothed the collar of her coat and the Doctor pulled away. 

“I’ve never liked Clara in that way.“

“Oh, I know… Doesn’t change the way I feel though, does it.“ Clara sighed, her expression unreadable. “And it has no bearing on this dilemma of yours… How about we talk again tomorrow, have a good long think about it?“ As if on cue, the Monk stepped back into the room. 

“I don’t think we have anything else to discuss.“ The Doctor retorted icily, determined to have the final word. She turned making her way to the door. The Monk nodded to Clara, indicating he would take it from here while the Doctor voluntarily switched the deception filter back on as she stepped out of the room. She just needed to get out of there and walked down the corridor they had come, breathing more easily.

Alternate version of 13 scheming with the rebels 

13: “How can I help you?“

Missy: “Well, you do look like her…“

Monk: “We have informants around the palace too, they can keep us up to date with the Emperor’s movements.“

13: “You want me to impersonate her?“

Monk: “You would be able to move around the palace freely, you just… need to change your mannerisms a bit…“

13: “And what would you want me to do?“

Missy: “There is only one thing the Emperor truly cares about, just one.“

13: “River.“

Missy nodded. 

Manton: “She wasn’t always like that you know? She was with us once.“

13: “You kidnapped her?“

Manton: “We’re not proud of it but… we were kind to her, we raised her well and she wanted to help us, she despised what her parents were, what this world was like…“

13: “But she fell in love with her.“

Missy: “And with the power.“

13: “Just one different choice…“ “In my universe, River was also taken from Amy and Rory… and she was raised to kill me. But she chose not to.“ 

Manton: “Maybe it’s still there, you know? Maybe she’ll see…“ 

The Doctor shook her head. River’s love for the Doctor had undone any hold the Silence had had on her, this would be no different. 

13: “River would have died… did die… for me. She would do the same for her. You won’t turn her to your side in the same way as they were never able to turn her back against me.“

Missy: “She is her only weakness, Doctor.“

13: “Her weakness is her disregard for everyone else, her selfishness, her cruelty.“

Missy: “You might think that, but that’s to the reality we live in. It’s survival of the fittest, everyone else bows or gets cut down.“ 

13: “We will see about that.“

Missy: “So you will help us.“

13: “If you tell me what I can do, I will.“ 

Manton: “The easiest thing, surely, would be to have her replace her.“

Missy: “No she needs to get back home.“

13: “I can’t stay here and I don’t want that responsibility.“

Monk: “And that’s what will make you a kind and just…“

13: “No, I need to get back.“

Manton: “Who says you will find a way back? There hasn’t been a crossing in hundreds of years, yours was an accident, you don’t even know if you will ever find a way back.“

13: “I have to! I can’t stay here, I can’t… She them, see her, like that, every day, I can’t bare it.“

13 and talking to a lucid Kovarian about the universe’s past

Kovarian: “They stole a TARDIS and travelled the universe cause they were bored, found a species they liked in humans… so much violence, fighting each other, needless wars, destruction of their planet… They would rob banks and wreak havoc, gave them a taste for it… And then came the Time War…“

13: “What happened?“

K: “The Doctor destroyed them all… the Daleks… wiped them from the face of the universe…“

13: “It isn’t just a trick or…“

K: “Oh no, Doctor, they still tell stories about it… all that destruction…“

13: “And that’s when the Empire started expanding?“

K: “Oh no, that’s when the Timelords decided they had enough. Not even them, a race known for it’s hunger for power and dominance, could stomach it. So they exiled them. The war hero, the butcher. And they disappeared into a little bubble universe.“ “If anything, it only fuelled their fire more… That’s when they returned to Earth and they found the people who now reside by their side now… They all have their own stories with them.“ “That’s when they met Amy and Rory and things began to spiral. They were so perfectly matched…  That’s when the stories started… do you… in your universe, does the Pandorica mean anything to you.“

13: “The Pandorica contains the mightiest warrior in history. There was a goblin, or a trickster, or a warrior. A nameless, terrible thing, soaked in the blood of a billion galaxies. The most feared being in all the cosmos. And nothing could stop it, or hold it, or reason with it. One day it would just drop out of the sky and tear down your world.“

K: “They didn’t have a name anymore, stopped calling themselves the Doctor… they’d just… go from world to world and destroy and conquer…“

13: “It didn’t start with Gallifrey then?“

K: “If anything, it ended with Gallifrey.“

13: “Where are all the Timelords? This is Gallifrey, is it not?“

K: “Of course it is.“ “But do you think she would forgive them for casting her out, if you do, you’re even more naive than I thought… They returned eventually and of course they found them… And took her revenge… She left the general alive… killed their families instead… had them swear their allegiance…“

13: “It’s no wonder they despise her…“

K: “They are too scared to do anything… there is plotting and scheming but she is the most powerful being in this universe and surrounded by people she trusts… with River and Clara… She’s far too powerful.“

13: “Has no-one ever tried to stop her.“ “What have you been doing this whole time?“

K: “We tried, we really did…“

13: “River…“

K: “Did something similar happen in your universe?“

13: “You could say that…“ “Did you…“

K: “We’re not proud of it… to take someone’s child but… we raised her well, we looked after her, surely it was a better childhood than she would have had growing up amongst that violence… and she started out wanting to help but…“

13: “She fell in love with them… some things seem to be inevitable, no matter the timeline or universe.“

K: “That was when we lost, Doctor. When she turned on us, all hope was lost.“

13: “All hope?“ She looked to Missy who was dishing out food.

K: “Missy, yes, she tries… we do our best to look after the people here but it’s been a long time since any of us have tried to do anything. But the voices of unrest are getting louder. They just don’t look after their empire. You can’t just keep conquering, you have to look after you people as well, rule if you have to, but look after you people.“ “Maybe you arrival can spark something…“

13: “I doubt that very much…“

K: “I think you’ve already done something.“

13: “What?“

“Look around you Doctor.“ 

Cut flashback to the Pandorica

“What the hell are we doing here?“ Amy stepped out of the TARDIS and looked around. Earth. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere. How boring. 

“Just following an invitation“. The Doctor answered ignoring her displeasure. 

“Who from?“ Rory asked, equally as annoyed as his girlfriend. 

“A very special someone.“ The Doctor replied with a sense of excitement. 

“Not the one with the hair again.“ Amy groaned. 

“What can I say, she intrigues me.“ He smirked.

“And what exactly are you planning on doing here? This seems really bloody boring in comparison to what we usually do.“ Amy huffed looking around the countryside. 

“Well, it can’t all be burning down civilisations and bathing in riches now, can it.“ The Doctor chuckled. Though he couldn’t deny, he was rather sceptical himself. Usually, an invitation from River Song spelled excitement. The rolling British countryside seemed the complete opposite. 

“We’re literally just here so you can get laid, aren’t we?“ Rory rolled his eyes and the Doctor shrugged.

“Hello Sweetie.“ A voice sounded behind them and the Doctor grinned. About time. 

“Ah we were just talking about you.“ He smirked looking around. He looked River Song up and down appreciatively. Oh how he longed to work out this woman’s secrets. They had met a few times now and with every meeting, his intrigue grew. “I like your guns.“ He observed.

“Is that a euphemism?“ River smirked and stepped closer.

“Yeah, we’re here too, by the way.“ Amy huffed. “What are we doing here?“

“I have a present for you.“ River answered her question but addressed the Doctor who’s grin widened. 

“Are you the present cause that’s certainly something I would appreciate.“ He smirked. 

“The Pandorica is here…“ He answered in amusement. 

“The Pandorica is a fairytale.“ He laughed.

“What’s the Pandorica?“ Amy raised her eyebrows, it sounded as though things might get interesting after all. 

“It’s said the Pandorica contains the mightiest warrior in history. There was a goblin, or a trickster, or a warrior. A nameless terrible thing, soaking in the blood of a billion galaxies. The most feared being in all the cosmos. And nothing could stop it, or hold it, or reason with it. One day it would just drop out of the sky and tear down your world.“

11: “If the shoe fits.“ 

River: “A nameless thing… What do you call yourself these days?“

11: “Haven’t decided. Sweetie always works.“ 

River: “Alright, Sweetie. Everything that’s ever hated you is coming here tonight, looking for the Pandorica.“

11: “That’s my kind of date night.“

Amy: “I think I’m gonna be sick.“

Alternate version of 13 making out with Mirror!River while pretending to be the Emperor

Mirror!River: “I’m glad you’re okay…“

13: “Did you worry about me?“

“You know I did…“ She pressed a firm kiss to her lips, it was full of relief and devotion and it took the Doctor’s breath away. She returned the kiss, knowing if the didn’t she would be found out but she couldn’t control the feelings it invoked inside her. It isn’t fair. How was she alive and her River wasn’t? It was cruel. “They tried to take you from me so many times, so every time I worry that maybe…“ River broke off, she couldn’t finish the thought and the Doctor looked into her eyes, shook to the core by the depth of the emotion in her eyes. How was someone like her capable of it? How did someone like the Emperor deserve this level of devotion? It wasn’t just jealously and frustration, it was anger and rage that bubbled up inside the Doctor. This wasn’t fair. She envied their life together. It wasn’t about their power or the lifestyle but the simple fact of them being able to be together. Staying together. In a linear fashion. They had everything her and River never did and never would. How did she get to live and her River had had to die? No good deed goes unpunished. Maybe the Emperor had been right. Maybe they had all been making the wrong choices all along. Why couldn’t they have made the selfish choice? Just once? The Doctor felt herself being dragged down in a spiral of emotion. 

She lunged forward and kissed River deeply, forcefully, passionately, with no small measure of aggression. She knocked her into the wall and River gasped in surprise, her eyes widened in shock. She wanted to say something but the Doctor didn’t give her the opportunity. She pushed her hands into her air. God, how she missed that feel of her soft curls around her fingers. She ripped her head back and River actually whimpered, part pain, part arousal. The Doctor kissed her again, pulling at her lip with her teeth. She brought her hand up and curled it around her throat. 

“You underestimate me.“ The Doctor growled and tightened her grip on her. River pushed herself against her and the Doctor felt herself loosing her inhibitions. What did she have to lose? She was already trapped in a terrible nightmare. She had failed at bringing her wife back, she probably wouldn’t get another chance now, if she ever managed to get back home at all. And here was this River, alive, breathing, gasping, whimpering, as she held her close. Beautiful, intoxicating River Song. How, perhaps, wasn’t even all that different from the woman she loved. They all carried both light and dark inside them, she was beginning to see that now. She hated her for being the one that lived.

Was it wrong to take out her emotions on her? Who was there to judge her? This was the closest she could get for being with River again. Not to mention it was her most convincing play.

“I’m sorry for doubting you.“ 

“You will be.“ 

Alternate/cut scenes from the Wedding flashback

Kovarian: “It’s from River…“

Manton: “Why would she be contacting us now?“

K: “It’s an invitation…“

M: “We can’t trust her, since Berlin, she’s… there are so many reports of her meddling through time and space, bumping into the Doctor, causing chaos together…“

K: “And now they’re getting married.“

M: “They what?“

K: “It’s an invitation to their wedding. On the planes of Utah, April 22nd, 2011, 5pm.“ 

M: “It’s a trap.“ “Why else send us this?“

K: “Unless… what if after all this time, she’s finally realised. We raised her well, we tried. What if she’s realised that what they’re doing is wrong and she's giving us a last shot at stopping him.“ “And even if it is a trap… we have never been able to catch up with him, at least this time we know where he’s going to be, we can’t pass up this opportunity.“ “Well, what does one wear to the wedding of your adoptive daughter and the most deadly creature in the universe?“

——

“Why Utah.“ Amy looked around as they stepped out of the TARDIS. The sun was blaring down on  Lake Silencio and the surrounding dessert. It didn’t agree with her pale skin. 

“It’s a still point in time. Easier to create a fixed point.“ River explained. “We don’t anyone to be able to rewrite any of this.“

“But Utah? It all just sand and dust! You could have at least put up a marquise or something.“ Amy huffed. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll be a wedding to remember.“ 

“Right then, where is this aisle? And where is the Doctor.“ 

——

River blinked against the blinding sunlight of the Utah dessert. There was this unsettling, yet terribly familiar feeling, that she had forgotten something. That’s when she realised it probably had something to do with the gun in her hand. The gun she was currently pointing at her soon to be husband. Or had they had the ceremony already? All of a sudden, she couldn’t remember. She knew that feeling, something or someone was messing with her memory. She looked around and saw them again, the Silence. They stood amongst the crowd of invited guests, representatives from the civilisations they had conquered, all bearing witness to their union. It was all coming back to her now. What a triumph it had been supposed to be. On the planes of Utah, at a still point in time. They had meant to turn their wedding into a fixed point, easier to do at a still point, so nothing could ever undo their bond.

(…)

11: “And yet she didn’t chose to do your dirty work.“ 

Kovarian: “River, please, put an end to this, you’re the only one who can.“

11: “Yes, very clever of you, to use her in that way, to appeal to her better nature and all that. All your mind control and conditioning…“

K: “We never did anything of that sort.“

11: “What else is an upbringing? And you would turn her against her parents, against me.“

K: “Any decent person in the universe must take a stand against you.“ She looked to the guests, fear and dread painted on their faces. They weren’t here for the joy of it, it was an obligation. 

11: “You’ve been foolish to come here but of course we knew you would.“ 

K: “River, please…“ The window was closing. If River didn’t take the shot, they would have to try their luck, there would be a blood bath. 

River looked back to her husband, all memory of the silence in the crowd gone again. Attention back on the gun in her hand. What was she planning on doing with it?

(…)

11: “You would try and steal my wife away on our wedding day, I suppose you would try after stealing a child…“ 

Suddenly, they were surrounded by stone statues. 

Kovarian: “But they are…“

Manton: “They can’t be…“

11: “Weeping Angels, yes. I didn’t use to believe in them either, but bumped into them a few times now and thought surely they can be useful. Always running and hiding when you look away, the ultimate cowards, jumping back in time every time you touch them just to get away… but you know what a little bit of love and attention can do.“ “So clever, this, love it, really clever if I say so myself. Stops them from jumping back in time, anchors them to a timezone. So instead of running away, they make you disappear, send you back. So in case anyone fancies a trip to early days Utah, I’d stay quite still.“ “I thought we might need some security around the place.“

Alternate 13 and River reuniting in Clara’s quarters scene

River: “What is happening?“ “I was in the Library, you were there, so young and I…“

13: “I… used something called an extraction chamber, ancient Timelord technology, extracts a person from their timeline at the moment of their death.“

R: “So I’m… dead?“

13: “Technically… you’re caught between a heartbeat and your last, one day you will have to return to it, your death is a fixed point, the consequences would be…“

R: “Then why did you do it?“

13: “I missed you.“ “I just… needed more time with you. I wanted you to travel with me again…“

R: “So where did we travel?“ “Some sort of parallel universe?“

13: “More like a mirror universe, it’s almost as if everything is flipped on its head. The Timelords have conquered the universe, oppressing the peaceful Daleks and Cybermen… Missy… I’ve met the Master and she is… good and kind and… and I’m… Clara.“ She pointed over to her as if it didn’t need saying. “Amy, Rory, you… we’re all…“

R: “Through a mirror darkly.“

13: “When I used the extraction chamber, I got knocked into this universe, I didn’t know I succeeded in bringing you back until Clara crossed over and brought you here.“ 

R: “And what is my purpose of being here? I doubt she did it out of the goodness of her heart to reunite us.“ 

Clara: “She’s a clever one, isn’t she.“ 

13: “Clara wants my help to secure power.“ 

C: “In exchange for your life.“ 

Cut/alternate dialog between 13 and Missy back at the camp

Missy: “I was so happy when you turned up. It was like having my childhood friend back only just the good bits, before he turned…“

13: “Same.“ “But that is not enough for me to stay here. I know most of my friends, they’re gone but… I can’t bare to see them like this. And River…“

M: “Tell me about her.“

13: “What?“

M: “I want to know about her. About your wife, what was she like?“

(…)

13: I just thought if I could…“

M: “But an extraction chamber, Doctor…“

13: “I used it once before… stupid really… and it cost me a lot then too… but at least she’s out there, travelling the universe, I know she’ll return eventually so… no harm no foul? I thought that… now that there are no timelords left I could… no-one to police the bloody thing…“ “We could have eternity together and then when it is my time, she would return to her moment of death and we both just…“

M: “It’s a wonderful idea… but how many people do you actually know that would go to their death knowingly?“

13: “Clara will… else my universe would have broken apart long ago. I would. I have done it, many times… And I know River would, too. She… we… are not like the people you know.“

M: “Then I hope you will succeed Doctor, truly.“

(…)

13: “What are you hoping to accomplish here?“ 

M: “I don’t know. But I can protect the people here, not everyone is like them…“

13: “Of course not, there are good and bad people everywhere, it’s just the other way around here…“

M: “And everyone has both good and bad inside of them as well, Doctor. No-one is born good or evil, they’re all choices. Choices made due to different circumstances and values and…“

13: “I can see that. I could have gone her way… I really could have… and in my world, you did… And I tried so hard to get you back, get my best friend back. Another failure added to a long long list.“ “She’s kept them all alive and close… Amy, Rory, Clara, River… Maybe she is right, maybe I was just too weak to protect them.“

M: “Kindness is not weakness, Doctor.“ 

13: “Here it certainly seems to be.“ “What’s worse is, I don’t want to be part of any sort of assassination attempt, not even on someone like the Emperor…“

M: “Regrettably, I feel the same way. She may be… cruel, violent, a terrible person but she’s also… she used to be my best friend. I know I might not be able to get her back, in the same way as you didn’t get your Master back… but I don’t want her to die. I want to stop her, not kill her.“ “And I don’t want Clara Oswald to stand in her place, either.“

13: “The we disregard Clara, whatever she is planning and we come up with something of our own. Whatever she tries to do tomorrow, she will need me, that puts us at an advantage. There will be confusion, whatever happens, we can use that.“

M: “And we can free your wife. Maybe, if we can uncover Clara’s plot, the discord amongst the Emperor and her so called friends will give us an opportunity.“ 

Alternate Version of the gladiator games, the Emperor decides to kill River herself rather than having her and Missy shot

“I’ll do it myself.“ The Emperor decided and before her wife or anyone in the royal box could protest, she made her way down the stairs to the arena floor. 

“Round two it is then?“ River grinned excitedly. “You might want to step back for this.“ She gave Missy an apologetic smile. She could only assume that she disliked fighting just as much as the Doctor did. She watched the Emperor as a guard rushed towards her when she reached ground level. He offered a long sword to her. “What? No weapon for me?“ River called out.

“Wouldn’t be much of an execution then.“ The Emperor smirked. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing…“ Missy reached for River’s hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze. 

“Not usually but when has that ever stopped me.“ River winked and let go of her hand, gesturing for her to get out of the way.

“This time, I won’t go easy on you.“ The Emperor said, pointing the sharp blade at her. 

“Likewise.“ River grinned as she kicked off her heels. She wasn’t exactly dressed for a fight, she still wore the same gown she’d come to the Emperor’s quarters in to impersonate her wife, but she would make due. They started circling each other. River had scanned her surroundings, there were no weapons to be found.

(…)

Emperor: “She betrayed you, you know.“ “She was sneaking around the palace, trying it on with my wife while you were trying to get to her, probably.“

River: “Who can blame her? I mean, look at us.“ “You think I’m so insecure that I care? Do you have any idea how many times we’ve each been married to other people? You think what we have is so small and confining? You don’t know the first thing about what we have.“ “We don’t tie each other down.“ “Well, unless we do but that’s an entirely different context.“

E: “She left you here to die.“

R: “Did she? Or did we just split up to carry out our bits of the plan? Because we’re not joined at the hip and able to look after ourselves?“ “You’ll see, she’ll be back.“

Cut dialog between the Emperor and the Doctor after the Doctor outsmarted them and decided not to kill her

13: “Don’t mistake mercy for weakness. How are things ever going to change if you don’t break the cycle.“

Emperor: “The moment you leave, someone else will take my place, you’ll see, you just don’t understand this world, Doctor.“

13: “I understand enough. It won’t be easy but if good people band together and make a promise and stand their ground their cause will outlast you and any other destructive force looking to tear it down.“ “Because that’s the difference, equality, freedom, kindness, they are ideals, they are ideas and you can’t destroy ideas, you can try and bend and distort them, doctor them, if you will, but they can’t be destroyed. People can be destroyed. Not ideas. And there will always be people prepared to stand up for their ideas.“ 

E: “And they will DIE!“

13: “And what will you die for? Who I am is where I stand, where I stand, is where I fall! And even if I never get to return to the people I love, I will stand by my ideals, if that means staying here and keeping these people save then thats what I will do.“

#Mirrorverse #fanfiction #doctor who #cut scenes #river song #thirteenth doctor #thirteen #eleven #eleventh doctor #yowzah #space wives #Mirror Universe #through the looking glass #clara oswald

[magicalforcesau]

Letters (part 2)

As Obi-Wan and Satine continue their written correspondence in the back half of their Hogwarts career, their bond strengthens to the point where it might not strictly be platonic.

ao3 link

Fifth Year Summer

Dear Ben,

I GOT MY MENTORSHIP REQUEST APPROVED! I’m going to be a peer mentor this upcoming year! Oh, I know this is going to be another responsibility when we’re already saddling quite a bit with OWLS and our duties as prefects. While it was your initial idea to join, I have no regrets. If I’m to influence the minds of thousands from the Ministry, it will do me good to have practice on a smaller and more impressionable scale. Besides, far too many first years are led astray in my opinion. Having firm and caring guidance will be most beneficial.

I hope you can write to me with the same news, even if I still believe you are pushing yourself far too hard. Just please consider your own mental health for this upcoming term. You’re already wound tighter than anyone I know. I would truly not like to partake in the bets that Fives and Echo make behind your back about when your head will explode. I believe either myself or Cody would win. We know you best.

Speaking of being wound tight, I have been dedicating my summer to the practice of enchanting muggle objects as per our homework assignments. Turns out, it truly is not that difficult. I’ve been careful not to alter anything that would come into contact with other muggles, but I look forward to showing you the results of some of my recreations. Between you and me, I’ve been constructing some that were not on the instructed list.

You’re not technically a prefect yet, Obi-Wan Kenobi, so don’t even think about making a wise remark about how you could see me in trouble.

Yours Truly,

Satine

Dear Satine,

I, too, just received confirmation that I’m to mentor a first year this upcoming school year! Regardless of your speculation and wariness, I stand by my decision. We will be kept busy, but idle minds mean time wasted. If you hadn’t agreed on principle, I don’t believe you would have signed up right behind me. As for my extracurricular activities, pretending as though I am not stressed in the slightest about the prospect of the coming year is futile, but I hope to work through it and to become a better student as a result of it. My father has relented on training by Quidditch form. There are bigger things to worry about such as OWLS, which is why I’m to be locked in all summer. No complaints there- I’d much rather read.

Speaking of reading, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the books you snuck into my trunk. Yes, I found them and they were quite a welcome surprise. A bit of relaxing education is just what the doctor ordered. Not literally, because I loathe visiting my family’s practitioner. He takes the term “witch doctor” to new levels and I will leave it at that.

You’ve always been far better at charming objects than I ever have. To be fair, I still don’t have a full understanding of what certain muggle objects actually do, but I’ve got most of the list marked off by this point. While I promise not to report you for deliberate rule breaking, I do admire your gumption. I hope you’ll one day let me see what you’ve crafted. You know I adore learning the novelties of the muggle world. I believe last we spoke, you were telling me about ‘computers’.

As always, I’d love to know more. You have a manner of speaking that simply can’t go unnoticed, at least not to me.

Best,

Obi-Wan

Fifth Year- Winter

Dear Satine,

I apologize if this owl reaches you at an indecent hour. I know how you are about your beauty sleep. It’s been strange being back home, even if for a couple of weeks. It’s only made me realize just how unreal this year has been in terms of excitement and mystery. Though I do not blame the boy for any of it, I won’t lie that it was a much quieter school without Anakin Skywalker present. I wouldn’t change any of it, of course. I believe I am making a difference in working with him. He has a bright mind, if he chooses to use it.

I still can’t get the vision of him foaming at the mouth on the floor out of my head. There’s no doubt that someone has it in for him. I can only imagine who. While eccentric, Anakin is still just a child. He’s harmless.

At risk of drastically changing the subject- my true reason for writing was to thank you again for the watch. My parents have ingrained in me the importance of writing thank you notes regardless of the nature of the gift. However, this might be the first time the sentiment has felt important in action. It may sound ungrateful, but a boy can only receive so many tie clips before he starts to sound a bit robotic in his delivery.

However, please note that every word I say, I mean through my very bones. I hope you didn’t take my silence at receiving it to be anything less than breathlessness. You always keep me guessing, Satine Kryze, and I would have you no different. I am still in awe every time I catch a gander at my wrist.

You did a marvelous job in transfixing and refurbishing it. Seriously, it is of no wonder that Charms comes easier to you than it does to me. Had I not known otherwise; I would have assumed this watch was always crafted with the intention of being magical. Even if it were just a standard watch, it would still have meant more to me than anything I’ve received simply because it came from you. My friend. I’m not sure I deserve it.

I suppose I’ve no excuse for fear of being late any longer, now do I?

It’s never coming off!

Obi-Wan

Dear Ben,

I’m no longer, by any means, insinuating that the boy is trouble. Or more accurately, I don’t believe he’s cognizant of these omens. What concerns me, is Qui-Gon seems to believe that a dark time is upon us. He won’t share his suspicions outright, but I can tell just by how he talks to Anakin with a certain level of wonder and curiosity. Surely, you see it too.

Even still, I say, when school starts up, we try and start our own investigation- off the books and away from Anakin, of course. We needn’t worry him more than he already is. Perhaps while Gryffindor has the field for Quidditch practice we can better research. There’s been too many strange occurrences this year for it to all be coincidental. I’d argue this is the tipping point.

We can further discuss a game plan back at school, but at risk of hurting feelings and potentially endangering lives, we should keep this between us.

I am, however, glad to hear you enjoyed the watch ♥

Yours,

Satine

Sixth Year- Summer

Dear Satine,

I received my OWLS results today as I’m sure you did the same. I wanted you to hear from me, personally, that I am, in fact, alive and well despite what I received as scores. I’m surprised at how alive and how well, quite actually.

For some context- I received all O’s in everything… With the exception of Arithmancy- of which I got an E. I’m not positive where exactly I went wrong in studying for it. I don’t recall the exam being particularly difficult. It’s never been a prized subject of mine as you well know, but I’ve always delivered nothing less than near-perfect marks.

My parents took the news surprisingly well. As opposed to blaming me for slacking off or being distracted by frivolous things such as friends… They were in support of me. In fact, they’re positive that the school is deliberately discriminating against me. I think it might have to do with the recent revelation regarding Anakin being the chosen one. They’ve been much kinder to me and the choices I’ve made as a result of my association with him. Where they believed I was wasting my time, I apparently “saw” what they couldn’t- even if my decision to mentor Anakin had absolutely nothing to do with the matter.

I still have not yet mentioned my pursuit of becoming an Auror. You have to space this kind of news out when you can. They’ve supported me on this, but I’m not sure they’d take that in stride. My parents have been itching to have me become a lawyer or a politician for as long as I can remember.

How were your scores? I’m sure you did brilliantly. I should know, I studied alongside you during all of this madness. I’m eager to properly celebrate with you when we next meet. My mother asked me where I’d gotten the watch the other day and I exclaimed that the brightest witch of my age crafted it for me personally… She assumed it was Ventress, but you’ve always thrived in the chaos of being underestimated, now haven’t you? I will never make that mistake.

Truly,

Ben

Dear Ben,

Don’t you ever scare me with such a dramatic introduction ever again! I nearly had a heart attack, assuming you’d gone and failed your OWLS in a fit of insanity. Given how unusual our fifth year was, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if it had another anomaly to toss our way. I thought I was going to have to portkey to you and shake the living daylights out of you for being so foolish.

You landed on your feet, as you always do and seem to make it look incredibly easy to those that do not know any better. We’re matching, actually, except my E was in DADA- likely during the practical session when I wouldn’t cast that Sectumsempra spell. To have us perform such an act on a defenseless animal is cruel (even if it was a spider), particularly in the name of ‘testing’. If they must endorse the epidemic of violence, can they not simply provide test dummies?

I’m actually surprised I scored that high, since the instructor looked at me like I had ten heads. I spoke to Cody today. He passed, despite how hard he doubted himself. We both knew that he would do fine, of course.

Ventress has been around a lot more frequently, hasn’t she? I know that she’s been quite displaced ever since Dooku’s outing. She’s quite smug and entitled for someone who hardly does anything aside from being an errand girl to a Sith terror. I’m sure she’ll be continuing her tricks this year. To think your family thinks you could be as shrewd and awful as her.

How is Anakin this summer? I contemplated sending him an owl just to see how he was processing the more recent revelations, but it would most likely sound more from the heart if it came from you. You were truly excellent with him this year, if I hadn’t already mentioned it. I know I convinced you to break away from the status quo and lean into your desires to become an auror, but you’ve got a real knack for teaching and seeing the best in people. It’s truly one of your best traits. That, and the fact that regardless how much of a mess you are, you always manage to look pristine from head to toe.

Actually, that last bit is borderline infuriating. I hope to see you before the summer lets out. I understand why that might be difficult, but it seems with your parents’ investment in Anakin, you might have a valid reason to be away from the homestead more often. If you understand what I’m saying.

Best,

Satine

Sixth Year- Winter

{A draft from the desk of Obi-Wan Kenobi}

[Boldened text in parenthesis] = out loud thoughts

Dear Satine,

How do I say this without sounding like a damn fool? You kissed me!

It’s been brought to my attention by literally everyone that we have a certain noticeable chemistry. [Why am I saying what everyone else thinks when I should be saying what I think?] Usually, when we are together, we argue. A lot. Sometimes, I’m surprised we haven’t strangled each other yet by how heated some of our debates become. You have this ability to get under my skin in a way that no one else possesses. Truthfully, I love [Too strong! Don’t go scaring her off now] truly appreciate that about you.

But there are times when I get this feeling… And it’s come on more and more the longer I know you… Like we could get beyond the possible strangulation phase and onto something… Better. [What is wrong with me?] You challenge me and I think sometimes I’m able to challenge you as well. I think having people in your life that push you to be the best you can be is a sign of true companionship friendship. You’ve become a constant in my life that I wouldn’t shake even if I could. Looking back, it’s only natural for me to grow feelings for you.

Where I tried to convince myself those feelings were simply an intense comradery, I cannot deny that I do not notice how the light casts on Cody’s hair or linger on him as he walks away [Blast that makes me sound like a pervert] wonder what his hand would feel like in mine. My heart doesn’t quicken if Cody touches my shoulder or laughs at one of my jokes. Cody doesn’t sit incredibly close to me at the dining hall, but if he did, I would be more confused than completely entranced. Cody is my other best friend, but my entire day is not made or broken by seeing him smile.

I wouldn’t be jealous if the seventh year boys decided to notice that Cody was beautiful.

And you are disarmingly beautiful, but I’ve always known that, even if I try to ignore it.

You can imagine how terrifying all of this is to realize at the remarkable hour of 3 in the morning- a mere 3 hours after you decided to kiss me under the mistletoe. How am I supposed to think of anything else now or ever again? Which leads me to think [Don’t be presumptuous] wonder… If you share these feelings. And if you do, we’ve got quite a predicament there. Because if I could blissfully convinced myself that we could never be, I’d be able to bury that deep within me, but even the idea of hope that you could see me in that light… I fear that would be all too tempting. The evidence says that you might. You’ve always been a better investigator than myself, but I can’t shake this feeling that we have these spellbound moments where everything slows down. And it’s just you and me. During those moments, everything is alright.

Usually, when I’m troubled as I am now, I do not hesitate to reach out to you. You’re my co-conspirator, my fellow prefect, my best friend. However, given the situation, that’s not very easy to do. Even if Qui-Gon speaks of it like it is . I wish it were, because now all I can imagine is the mark you’ve left with your kiss. It’s the same sort of feeling I get every time I touch the face of the watch you gifted me last year.

Should I ever muster up the courage to send this letter to you, which I definitely shouldn’t, because you deserve the sort of man that would bare his heart in person, please understand that while I’ve dedicated my life to studying magical text, I’m not nearly as well-versed in the subject of love. Since I’m so certain you’ll never read this, there’s no point in denying that it’s anything less than love.

Love,

Ben

Seventh Year- Summer

Dear Ben,

I wanted to ensure that you were on the road of being okay, all things considering. I tried to wait to give you space, but I couldn’t make it more than a week without knowing you weren’t going mad locked up in that house of yours. I’m not even positive you’ll write me back, which is infuriating, but understanding since Qui-Gon’s passing is not one to be taken lightly by anyone, but especially you. I wish I could alleviate the pain you must be feeling in any way.

I’m relieved just a little bit, knowing that Anakin is in your care. It was very surprising of your parents to offer him refuge, as he’s currently got no one else to possibly lean on. Hopefully the two of you can find some solace in each other during these difficult times. I care for both of you very much and my heart aches knowing I am virtually helpless in making this any better. I know you are likely placing an immense amount of pressure on yourself to distract you from addressing your own mentor’s death, but while your parents might encourage this behavior, it’s not a true way of coping. You need to let someone in.

Stay safe. Do not hesitate to reach out (no matter how cliché that sounds). Even if you talk to Cody instead, that’s fine. Just… Don’t lock yourself in that head of yours and go rogue. I’d miss you far too much.

With Love,

Satine

Dear Satine,

I’m not okay, but I’ll have to be soon. Anakin is safe and on the same boat. I’ll write later with a real reply. I’m not quite in the spirit right now. I just wanted you to know that I haven’t gone completely mad in absence.

~Obi-Wan

Dear Satine,

I’m sorry to be writing to you so late in “true” reply. I’ve been quite busy with Anakin this summer. It has been helpful having someone else around. While a gray cloud still seems to follow him around, I’d say he’s faring better than expected. It’s alarming how resilient the boy is, but also incredibly depressing that it needs to be that way. We’ve discussed the matter of Qui-Gon’s death a couple of times. While you won’t like this, I think there is some closure to knowing that Anakin’s attacker, who became Qui-Gon’s murderer, is dead.

Meanwhile, I must confess that it still haunts me every night. I haven’t said anything to Anakin, because like you rightfully assumed, I’m not about to unload that burden onto him. He feels it’s his fault just as much as I do. We’ve taken to playing Quidditch outside. My family owns several acres of land, so we are able to get out of earshot every now and then. Anakin actually gets on quite nicely with my parents, which is a massive relief. Getting back to school for our final year will be a good way to get back into routine. On the other hand, I’m dreading trying to attempt adjusting to a school without Qui-Gon.

I suppose studying my brains out for the NEWTS alongside you will provide for ample distraction. You, alone, are admittedly very distracting. I am referring to your character of course. A general statement.

There’s always Quidditch, unfortunately, which isn’t nearly as fun and carefree as playing with Anakin in the yard. Despite how massively competitive he is? He’s just turned 13 and he’s loads better than me already. I still hate the flying aspect.

I’m writing you, of course, because we just got notified that I’m to be the Head Boy to your Head Girl. This incredibly tragic time has truly made me appreciate the people I have in my life. You are, without a doubt, shining at the top of that metaphorical list in bold and underlined print. I wouldn’t be Head Boy had it not been for you.

A lot has changed thus far, Satine, and I’m growing tired of being afraid. Life is too short and it’s always going to throw negatives at us- some that are absolutely debilitating. However, there is always the light, which has made me think that perhaps this year, some changes don’t have to be bad. There are many things I’d like to discuss with you, in person. Because this sort of conversation should be the kind that happens face-to-face.

Would you like to meet before school?

Truly Yours,

Ben

#obitine #Obi-Wan Kenobi #satine kryze #the clone wars #star wars #hpau #magical forces au #fragments of the garden

[wide-eyedscottishlass]

Scarlett and the Professor - a startling revelation

[continued from]    [contains brief NSFW material]

The way that Scarlett had kissed him when they parted lingered in Hennessy’s mind far longer than was fit for his intentions towards her. As he fell asleep in the nights that followed; when he woke up in the dark, needing to use the loo. Making him wonder if she was sleeping soundly, warm and soft, and far from his bed. Making him hope that he was the stuff of her dreams. 

But this was ludicrous! Untenable and undisciplined. And even as he watched her, innocently sitting two rows back from his desk—modestly attired in a knee length dress of pale peach, silk chiffon, the flawless skin of her throat and decolletage  beckoning to him nonetheless—he sure as hellfire intended to do something about it. 

Thus far, she had made no obvious attempt to garner his attention. Throughout Monday’s class and today’s—which was quickly winding down—Scarlett had played the part of a model student. Seated demurely while studiously taking notes, alert and attentive, and even raising her hand in bids to answer questions. True, when he allowed himself to call upon her, the slight flush that colored her cheeks was surely on his account, but she answered so confidently that it almost felt like she was daring him to correct her. 

She’d worn her hair loose today and on Monday too, instead of her customary chignon. Distracting him with thoughts of how it felt pooled in his hands, spread across the skin of his chest, and—for Christ’s sake!–brushing against his thighs when she worshipped him with her mouth. Goddammit! How the hell had she insinuated herself into his forebrain this way, and after such relatively little time? It boggled the mind. 

Hennessy was particularly aware of her scent; the combination of her shampoo, the natural aroma of her skin, combined with her light, delicate perfume. He knew that couldn’t be helped, of course, as he’d worn her scent on his skin during their many hours of sin, and it had lingered on his sheets until his cleaning woman had changed them out. Whenever Hennessy walked the aisle where Scarlett sat, it assaulted his senses, made his mouth water, and caused him just the slightest hesitation in delivery of his lecture. 

Even now, as he backed up the aisle on his way to his desk, she didn’t even react when his fingertips just grazed her arm where it rested on her desk. Scarlett before the series of sensual lessons he had granted her would have given a quiet gasp and wouldn’t have been able to tear her eyes from him. This Scarlett was gazing at the blackboard while she absentmindedly nibbled on the end of her pencil, seemingly unaware of how that action made him lick his own lips as he considered the taste and texture of her pretty, precious mouth. Hennessy realized he must do something soon to change the trajectory he was on. 

He was so immersed in his thoughts that the noon bell took him by surprise, but he quickly recovered and muttered his dismissal. Scarlett was up and out of his classroom with the rest of the students, not even granting him a moment’s acknowledgement of their wicked secret. How was this to be borne! No lover had turned the tables on him so effortlessly before, and without even trying. But what could he do about Scarlett? 

Hennessy took to his chair, mulling over his options, and each seemed less satisfactory than the previous one. His mobile buzzed with a text alert, and he grabbed his phone from the pocket of his jacket, which was draped across the back of his chair. “Well...I’ll...be...damned...” he grinned, his dexterous fingers skating across the keypad in reply. This is practically a deus ex machina, he chuckled, with timing that couldn’t be more perfect. 

                    _______________________________________

Hennessy was nursing his second scotch on the rocks, taking his drink slowly as he figured he’d be hitting the road not long after his awaited guest arrived. This wasn’t so much a bar, as a seedy, roadside dive, but considering the nature of their meetup, it suited the mood perfectly. His belly felt tight with anticipation, further piqued by the burn of the liquor as he scanned the room, satisfied to see that the other few, isolated patrons were involved in minding their own business. 

She was late, of course, a perpetual habit which he’d grown accustomed to years ago, but he expected her arrival at any moment now. And sure enough, as though he had summoned her by thought alone, his favorite tall and leggy redhead strolled through the door.

Sylvie Martin, Professor of Biology, specializing in Humans and Primates. Sylvie Caldwell nee Martin, he reminded himself as she approached and he caught the flash of her huge and rather gaudy diamond engagement ring. Interestingly, she was wearing it on her right-hand ring finger rather then her left. A portent of good things to come, as far as Hennessy was concerned. 

She wore a snug, silk dress with a Mandarin collar and a slit up one side, with a dark green, Oriental print embossed on it’s emerald green background, along with her trademark spiked heels, in matching green. Sylvie knew that color flattered her best, and she certainly was a sight for sore eyes. Once she spotted him, she moved with unflappable focus towards his booth. “Darling...Henns!” she greeted him as he rose to embrace her, allowing him the familiarity of lingering his palm against her back. No bra...all the better, he thought, breathing in Dior’s J’adore, which had always been her favorite perfume, and wondering if she had arrived sans thong as well. He’d likely discover the answer for himself soon enough. 

“Sylvie, you dazzle me as always,” he proclaimed, kissing her cheek, “And honestly, the island hasn’t been the same since you decamped.” Hennessy motioned to the cocktail waitress to bring the round of drinks he’d preordered for them; a dirty martini for Sylvie and another tumbler of scotch for himself. He waited for his guest to slide into the booth and then joined her, not at all hesitant to press his thigh against hers. “So tell me, darling- what brings you back to us now? Business...or pleasure? 

“Hennzy,” she smirked, tracing the rim of her glass before eyeing him sideways, “A little bit of business, as I finally found a buyer for my old place.” Sylvie turned to him and ran the same finger along his cheekbone. “And as for pleasure, well...” she sighed and batted her eyes, “...I was counting on you for that.” 

“Moi,” he exclaimed, feigning shock, “I thought those days were done! I mean, what would Gerald say?” 

“That he married an insatiable tart,” she huffed, then took a deep swallow of her martini, “And that a leopard can’t change her spots, no matter how much luxury you lavish upon her...” 

“Ahhhhh, my poor, dear Sylvie,” he tutted, biting his lip against a smirk of his own. Hennessy had been certain when she’d left the University without giving even a week’s notice, and had barely bid farewell to even her closest friends as she pursued the 50-something tech mogul that had feted her through a whirlwind courtship---following him to his home base in the States---that she would be back one day. In the finest gold digger tradition, they had married within a month. Hennessy hoped now, as he had when he first read her text announcing the news, that she’d been smart enough to get a generous prenup. “I’ll be only too glad to help, of course,” he patted her hand in mock consolation, knowing that her heart had never truly been invested in that relationship, “Just tell me what you need, darling.” 

Sylvie laughed slyly, confirming what he had expected from the moment he had gotten her text this afternoon, “Well, we could start with a night full of shameless shagging.” Leaning into him, she murmured in his ear, “You know that you were always my favorite fuck buddy for that, Henns.” She tugged his earlobe between her teeth as she pulled away, and his prick twitched with the need she had awoken. “Please don’t say no, darling,” she pouted as she eyed him hungrily, “It’s been ages since I’ve been properly railed.” 

Why the hell not, he thought, astounded that the universe had hand delivered the perfect answer to his dilemma. She’s the most delectable, effortless and no-strings-attached distraction that I ever could have asked for. Hennessy grabbed his glass and downed the remaining liquid in a single, hearty swallow. “What the fuck are we waiting for,” he growled, “Which will it be, darling- your place or mine?”

                    ___________________________________ 

As Sylvie had arrived by Uber, they took took the Spitfire back to her hotel. Never one to stand on ceremony, she didn’t even wait two minutes before she snaked her hand across his thigh. “Mmmmm...good old Hennessy,” she purred, “And your...mmmmm...incomparable...dedicated...always delicious cock...” 

He shifted slightly, instinctively thrusting his pelvis up to maximize her access, even while warning her, “Christ, woman---let me get us there in one piece first...”

“I can’t help it, baby,” she whined, “I’ve missed this...missed you...sooooo verrrrry much.” 

Hennessy turned her way just enough to note the naked lust in every line of her gorgeous features. There’s never been anything subtle about her, he recalled, as a moue of distaste whispered at the back of his mind; but sometimes a man wants subtlety. Sometimes he wants a woman who’s soft and pliable, and...aching to follow his lead.

He gave a rough shake of his head, banishing that very uncharacteristic course of thought, and pressed his foot down harder on the gas pedal. Sylvie threw back her head at the sudden acceleration, laughing hard and taking that as a sign of his eagerness. “Oh, Henns, you know I’ve always adored when you go fast!” She gave the bulge in his trousers a hearty squeeze. 

He grunted back, then plucked her questing hand from his crotch and raised it enough to give it a half-hearted kiss. “Not in everything, Sylvie,” he reminded her, his eyes remaining squarely on the road ahead, “And never when it’s crucial to go slow.” 

“Hmmmmm...right. I’d forgotten that sometimes a devil like you can show the patience of a saint,” she trilled, taking back her hand and laying it next to the gear shift, “So I suppose I’d better follow your example---for the time being.” 

“You best believe it, Syl...” Much to his chagrin, Hennessy was beginning to remember the slew of things about his friend-with-benefits that used to get on his nerves, and always ended with them going their separate ways for months at a time. Until one or the other of them had an itch for the kind of raw, filthy sex that had been their perpetual default setting. Of course, that was exactly what he was in need of now. At least once we begin, he reckoned, she’ll just shut up and put her mouth to better use than stating the obvious. 

She stayed fairly silent for the rest of the trip, likely having picked up the vibe that he wasn’t in the mood for trifling. Sylvie did grab his hand when they exited the car---pulling him along from the parking lot and through the airy lobby, and then into the elevator up to her suite. As soon as the doors slid shut, she had draped her arms around his neck, pressed her body to his as tightly as she could, and captured his mouth with a relentless, probing kiss. Hennessy had answered her advance by cupping her bottom in both hands---finding that ‘yes’ was the answer to his earlier speculation that she might be completely bare under her dress. 

He was thinking what a cliche this was, and that he wished she was making their liaison at least a bit challenging. Worse still, Hennessy was finding himself more than a little sorry for Sylvie, wondering just how miserable she must have been since the fresh bloom of her hasty marriage had faded away. That she’d fooled herself into thinking she could endure a union that had no true spark, and that Caldwell’s money would be enough to make her happy with a man who clearly didn’t understand or appreciate her true nature. 

But as she swiped her keycard to grant them entry to her rooms, Hennessy reminded himself that he wasn’t here to be her therapist or confessor. He wasn’t going to ask about what problems she was having---be they marital or otherwise---and he hoped that Sylvie wouldn’t try to tell. They each had pressing needs to fulfill, and as far as he was concerned, this was simply a palate cleanser. A chance to put some distance between himself and the threat that he was developing an obsession for the most unlikely of candidates. 

Once across the threshold, Sylvie headed towards the bar cart, where sat a sealed bottle of Glenlivit  12-Year, alongside a covered ice bucket. The sight immediately sobered him, as though the universe wanted to remind him of the very memories he was trying to blot out. It’s just coincidence, he tried to convince himself; besides which, Sylvie knows what I like. Of course she’d have that waiting for us, on the presumption that we’d end up here tonight. Hennessy didn’t say a word as she poured out for the both of them---moving to her side instead, to take the tumbler she offered him and set it back down on the bar.

Perplexed, she started to ask why, but he shook his head and then took her face in his hands, to land a needy kiss upon her willing mouth. All that he wanted now was to be in the moment; to spare no thoughts for the past several days, nor any for the future beyond what would happen in the confines of these rooms. 

Ensnared in hungry, almost violent kisses to begin with, their hands plucking at one another’s clothing, they ended up on the sofa with Sylvie straddling his hips, bending low to slather his skin, his nipples, the contours of his ribs, with further hot, impatient kisses. Hennessy was well aware where she was leading, and he thrust both hands into her flame-red tresses, gradually guiding her down to her inevitable destination. She slid her body further down so that she could undo his trousers and nuzzle his erection through his briefs. 

He groaned at the scrumptious sensation, watching her intently, and she looked up at him with a knowing smile. “Bet I still give the best head on the island, Hennzy,” she proclaimed, then wet her lips and smacked them hard. 

“I’ll be the judge of that, Syl,” he countered, laying his head back while tightening his fingers in her hair, “Talk is cheap. Just fucking show me. Right fucking now...” 

She tugged his clothing far enough down to give herself full access to his works. And good god, yes, she hadn’t lost a trick; her tongue was as silky and as talented as he remembered. Her fingers knew just what he liked. Her mouth welcomed him greedily, and it all felt bloody fantastic. 

Yet something was missing. Something elementary, but vital enough that despite how great it was, he felt a sort of cool detachment. That he was experiencing a purely mechanical act, carried out by rote, devoid of...joy. Stripped of warmth and any connection beyond the physical. Sylvie was dedicated alright, relentlessly sucking and taking him deep, caressing his bollocks and teasing them with her manicured nails, groaning as she worked him---and yet, Hennessy didn’t feel any nearer to his climax. And shockingly, he didn’t care if he came or not. 

Without intending to, his fingers went slack in her hair, although Sylvia didn’t seem to notice. He squeezed his eyes tighter, aghast at the sudden notion of losing his erection before she was finished with him. Desperately, he searched his mind for images to help him stave off a humiliation he had never experienced before. His heart jumping ahead, supplying the answer which he couldn’t deny.

Scarlett. 

His soft, compliant, delectable Scarlett. 

Hennessy drew a sudden gasp---Sylvie would take it for a gasp of pleasure---as the images flooded his mind. Scarlett kneeling before him in the sand, woefully inexperienced and skittish, but bravely following his first demand of her. In his study, sliding onto the floor from his lap, eager to please him, to taste him, but turning shy in the aftermath, at the relish she had taken in their shared sin. His Scarlett. The pure dedication in her eyes as she looked up at him before she began, and the small, sweet sounds she gave over as she generously loved him---which always felt like proof of her devotion. The astonishing beauty of her head and hands adoring him, reflected in the mirror above his bed. And then how she clung to him afterwards, leaving trails of soft, loving kisses on his thighs. 

“Yes...yes...mmmmm...that’s my girl,” he murmured, beginning to thrust himself into Sylvie’s mouth. “My darling, little lamb,” he panted, repeatedly hitting the back of Sylvie’s throat, as he imagined it was Scarlett doing the deed, with her pretty, pouty mouth. Her tender, loving tongue. “Fuck...oh fuck, that’s good baby,” he groaned, the need to explode into his orgasm building and building all through his pelvis and his loins, as it hit him that when Scarlett did him, each moment of bliss she gave him arose from her generous and loving heart. “Mine...mine...” he cried out, arching his body off the sofa cushions, grunting with each hard pump of his hips and tugging hard on Sylvie’s hair. “...mine...my jo...” he sighed as he finished, the euphoria and warmth spreading through his veins, mercifully allowing him to forget for a little while that he’d been forced to fantasize in order to reach his to satisfaction.

Sylvie propped herself above him, her lipstick smeared, her mouth and chin slick with her saliva and his semen, and looking very pleased with herself. “God, how I’ve missed that, Henns! Just like old times,” she laughed, “But what’s with this little lamb shit? Where the hell did that come from?”

Hennessy had no problem fibbing his way through that faux pas. His mouth dropped open as though he was shocked and he huffed cynically, “Honestly, Syl? I have no fucking clue...” 

She narrowed her eyes and frowned slightly as she looked for the lie on his face. “Alright then- but don’t do it again. If you’re going to call me by a pet name, I’d rather it weren’t a farm animal.” 

“Got it,” he winked, “Let’s forget it ever happened.” 

“Forgotten already,” she told him, then brushed a quick kiss on his mouth, before clambering off of him. The top of Sylvie’s dress was bunched around her waist, but she didn’t seem to care as she headed to refill her glass and fetch his. This time, when she offered him the scotch, he took it and immediately swallowed half ot it---for he knew he couldn’t avoid what was coming next. 

“So, Henns...”Her voice had taken on a pouty, singsong quality, “Not to be gauche, but you owe me one now...” 

Christ! Was she always like this, he wondered; and was I just blinded by the sex? 

”...well, at least one,” she added, “Although I know you’re good for...many more.” She tossed back the rest of her scotch, gave a shake of her head as the burn went down, then wagged her head in the direction of the bedroom. “How about we crack on, as you Brits like to say?” 

“Righto.” Hennessy finished his drink and stood up, resigned to the unsavory outcome he’d wrought for himself. Knowing that he was obliged to a small degree---the wheels in his head busy spinning as he searched for a way to extricate himself with his dignity intact, before he was quite literally in too deep.

tagging:  @strangelock221b​  @thelostsmiles​  @letterstosherlock​ @splunge4me2art​ @tsukuyomi011​  @emilyinnj4real​  @aeterna-auroral-avenger​ @frowerssx2​  @groovyfluxie​ @humanbornarchangel​  @elizaaugust  @ravencatart  @doctor-stephenstrange​  @ben-c-group-therapy​   @cumbercougars​

#my writing #Scarlett and the Professor #buyer's remorse #Scarlett Campbell #OFC #OMC #not my OMC and used with permission #(as long as tacit permission remains) #Scarlett's wicked Professor #Professor Hennessy #Hennessy. #OFC. #Sylvie Martin

[travllingbunny]

Tribes of Europa, season 1 - thoughts

I finished season 1 of German post-apocalyptic Netflix drama Tribes of Europa a couple of days ago, and I have... lots of thoughts and mixed feelings.

It's a standard post-apocalyptic show with all the usual tropes, but mostly well done, and has potential. I ended up liking it better than I expected, mostly because one of the storylines (Kiano’s) turned out to be pretty good/interesting.

The main problem of the show is that most characters, so far, don't have a lot of depth. An exception is a female villain who has proven to be quite complex and interesting. On the other hand, while  I loved seeing Oliver Masucci, in a role completely different from Ulrich Nielsen, and he's great and charismatic, I feel like I've seen the exact same lovable rogue-turned-mentor character a dozen times in various shows and movies. The main trio of young protagonists have the potential for interesting character development, but it remains to be seen what saason 2 does with it.

At least there's one thing that makes the show different than most post-apocalyptic shows I'm aware of - I can't think of any others that take place on the European continent? Usually it's North America, Australia, or UK. So, that's interesting... But then, after I finished it, I started thinking a bit more about some of the elements of the worldbuilding, which are a bit... questionable? I'm reserving judgment till these things are explained.

Spoilers under the cut.

In the first episode, the show did the GoT thing of introducing us to a likable family and then having siblings separated by fate and trying to get back together, while having different storylines. But they should've spent a bit more time with them together and explaining their history.

The show also does that thing where the siblings look nothing like each other and are played by actors of different ethnic origins, so I was waiting to hear they were half-siblings or some other explanation, but there was none. Well, OK then.

One thing I wasn't crazy about is that Kiano had a girlfriend we saw for about 20 seconds and then she apparently got killed for no particular reason. I can't say it's even fridging, since he never even mentions her afterwards and he has a lot of other reasons to hate the Crows.

But Kiano's storyline turned out to be the most interesting , and most disturbing, the kind that can make or break the show, depending on how it deals with issues like slavery, rape, trauma. So far, the show has dealt with it well, which made me like the show more than I thought. (It definitely beats The 100 - a show it was the 100 in the Netflix promo campaign - in that respect. I was already scared it would do something similar to The 100, which really dropped the ball when it touched on such issues in a really clumsy way in season 3.)

Lord Varvara has turned out to be the most interesting and compelling character, and excellently played by Melika Foroutan. (I wish I could say the same about the Crows’ big boss, Yvar - but whether it is mostly due to the OTT costume and makeup or the similarly OTT acting, I had a hard time taking this guy seriously.) She is not exactly morally grey - she is definitely a villain, slaver rapist and murderer, but her role as a former slave - a victim of abuse turned abuser, and someone who upholds the ideas of Social Darwinism - makes her role very interesting and ambiguous. I think that (especially based on some hints) that she used to be a sex slave, too, and if she was also made to be a Crow by her former slave master, that would probably mean Yvar used to be her master. That could lead to some interesting tension and conflicts, as she probably hates this guy deep inside, but still has to vie for his approval, even now that she has “made it”.  And she sees to see something in Kiano that makes her think they are similar, that he is 'strong' like she thinks she is (on the other hand, she despised her other slave who had a huge Stockholm Syndrome for her).

I'm curious how they deal with Kiano's character development next season, and how far into moral greyness or darkness it will be willing to go with him. Varvara is a blueprint of what he could become.  He didn't exactly show much concern for the lives of other slaves, except his father.  

Liv's storyline was also pretty interesting. with her navigating the political issues of the Crimsons. I liked that the Crimsons as a whole turned out to be more morally grey than I initially expected - with their strict military discipline to the point of authorianism and lack of tolerance for dissent. 

I don't know if the show expected me to side with the general (aka "Father") or think his views were right, as Liv did? I did not.. "Let's make peace and unity with slavers"? No, dude. But I’ll go with the idea that we are not necessarily supposed to side with him rather than David just because Liv did; or that a third option may be found (such as causing a rebellion among the Crows themselves, which would be my preferred direction of that storyline). 

(I also rolled my eyes whenever he started going on about "old European dream" or whatever he called it. No, my dude, you need to brush up on your history. Your plan is nothing like the EU, unless your plan is to go and deliver a bunch of demands to the Crows:  "Unless you guys: abolish slavery; ensure human rights for everyone; install a viable non-slavery based economy etc.. - we're not letting you into our new unified Europe!" He also may needed to be reminded EU was formed after Axis powers were defeated.)

I've heard that a lot of people didn't like Elja's storyline because they found it the least interesting, and sure, it wasn't very emotional and didn't have much character development, but I'm very curious about the mystery of the Black December, the Atlantians etc. so I liked it.  And I liked the fact that Elja wasn't a naive kid and could deceive people and keep secrets when he needed to.

But there are certain problems I have with the show’s world-building... which, at its worse, may end up being just as problematic as The 100′s was.

While I like the idea of a post-apocalyptic show set in continental Europe, and with languages other than English - almost all of the characters are only speaking German or English (the latter, I guess, for the same reason it's widespread today - people speak it as a second language and use it to communicate). We should really see more people who speak other languages. So far, that’s only happened sporadically - but my problem is more with the fact that the most villainous tribe, Crows (murderous, slave-owning Eurotrash-like villains with very Social Darwinist views) -  even though they speak German or English 99% of the time - very notably use certain words from Slavic languages - and only for specific terms like "lubovnik" ('lover' - actually sex slave), "boi" (fight/battle), "svobodnik" (free man?). These were very recognizable. I have no idea what "Bozie" means, but I read somewhere it comes from Russian. What's supposed to be the backtory behind that? Sure, I am for more language diversity, but did a German show have to give the kind of barbaric-version-of-fascist villains these questionable Slavic references?  That would be uncomfortable in so many ways.... It's not just Slavs, because another notable Crow character, Grieta at some point used Romanian (and the actress is Romanian), but I hope they're not going with the Evil Barbaric Eastern Europeans here. To be fair, many Crows were clearly slaves at the beginning, which complicates things... but Varvara says her real name - slave name - was Sophia, which could be anything - while her Crow names is Varvara - which definitely sounds Russian or Bulgarian (or, I guess, it could be Greek).

On the other side, opposed to the Crows, we have the more “civilized” tribe/army of former Eurocorps, whose members have so far only been heard speaking English, German and, at one point, Dutch - curiously called Red Crimson Army (!), I have so many questions...

Another questionable thing, pointed by the host of the Culture Cave YouTube podcast, who did an overall favorable review of the show, howeverpointed out that the Crows - the villains - are the only ones who don't conform to gender roles? And the males who are the most 'effeminate' looking are baddies. I didn’t even think of that initially, but thinking about it... yes, it has been like that so far, hasn’t it?

I’m reserving judgment till next season, but I only used to give The 100 the benefit of doubt with its questionable world-building, and we know how that turned out.

#tribes of europa

[writefinch]

Dear Dairy, Pt.1 (cn: noncon, Mm, kidnap, emphasis on *forced* feminization, induced lactation, milking, bondage, drugging, induction of gender dysphoria in a cis guy, things of that nature)

7th July 2018

Cold day today. I dusted off my scarves for the first time this year. Not literally, they'd been vacuum sealed and packed away when the weather turned in October. I threw out the red and yellow knit scarf, something I should have done last year, as it's far too Harry Potter. I was going to pick out the UMIST scarf but that felt a touch dull for the first scarf of the year. In the end I picked out the green silk paisley, which I felt provided a contrast with the pink shirt. I wore them with the second-hand grey Armani that I've yet to have tailored; I haven't yet decided if it's worth the trouble. I'm leaning towards yes, as I received two compliments today, one from Jason's database administrator, a charming and flirtatious--to say nothing of attractive--lady from Perth. We've talked about the possibility of meeting up for drinks at some point, and I'm increasingly inclined to take her up on the offer.

Experiment C2 is adjusting to his newfound freedom since his release last week. It was sad to see him go, and I'll cherish the time we spent together, our first night especially when he violently objected to the idea of servicing me. Oh, how he kicked and fought, clawing at his neck chain, scratching me, biting, swinging wildly. He bloodied my nose rather viciously and left me in no mood for sex that night, to the extent that I almost let him go entirely.

Of course, his demeanor changed altogether after I bagged him. A clear plastic bag over his head, taped around his neck, watching him gasp and writhe for air that isn't there, screaming his silly little head off until he's sure that he's taken his final breath, then tearing a tiny hole over his nostrils. I let him suck in four generous lungfuls of air before I bagged him the second time, and I went through seven bags before allowing him a rest. After that he became such an agreeable and solicitous cocksleeve you'd have thought he was raised in a merchant marine!

Still, he was unsuitable both physiologically and psychologically for the experimental interventions, and I only have so much space in the cellar, so I had to let him go. Some of my social acquaintances are keeping a close eye on him. He's been told that running his mouth will lead to nothing but the cold grave, and I believe he's a bright enough lad to take that to heart.

I'm beginning the search for his replacement tomorrow.

20th July 2018

I've found him! I've found him I've found him, he is everything I've been looking for, he is perfect, it is as if God placed that boy on earth for no other purpose than my need for him. I can barely contain my excitement.

He is an itinerant surf bum, twenty years of age, single, underemployed, estranged from his family. He has flowing blond hair, a few wisps under his chin that can barely be called a beard, deep brown eyes, and a lithe, rangy figure that seems to be slowly growing into the top-heavy carrot-shaped build of a classic surfer. He's been living in town since May, surfing most days, doing temp jobs, lodging in the spare bedroom of a friend of mine.

What a perfect physique! His body is accustomed to being dashed over rocks and whipped by surf, what fun I will have finding and surpassing his tolerances for pain! Oh, to restrict and ration out air to a boy who has trained himself to hold his breath underwater since he was a young teenager, to see those taut muscles stretched over a rack, I cannot wait, I can't wait.

I won't speak or write his name. I now take every action with the foregone conclusion that he is mine, and that he is already Experiment C3. In my mind, he is already in my cellar.

My friend has kindly allowed him to get behind on his rent, and C3 apparently plans to move to Sydney in ten day's time, driving out across the country in his decade-old Ford Ka, surfboard strapped to the roof. When he disappears a few days before that, people will assume he left to avoid paying his rent.

They won't be wrong, in a sense. C3 won't be worrying about rent for a long, long time...

26th July, 2018

It hasn't been an easy choice, and it is in fact a decision I've been struggling with for some time now, but I've decided to let my hair go grey. I'm almost forty for heaven's sake, and I noticed my first grey a year before the financial crisis. Ever since then I've been religious in my application of dye and toner, carefully concealing each and every one of the pale little buggers that pops up, but it's gone from something I'd do after a haircut to something I'm doing twice a week. I won't rush it, I'm going to ease off the dye over the course of the next year or so, but by next July I'll be au naturelle salt and pepper.

Work remains dull but tolerable. I know I'm blessed to be able to do most of my duties from home given my hobbies, but there's a certain sense of removal from everything, as if it's not really a job at all and I'm back at university doing a coursework-intensive compulsory module. On the other hand, I do enjoy going to the office in a way that I did not when I was going there five days a week!

Experiment C3 is screaming his head off again, I think. It's very faint, and I've turned off the air conditioning in the sitting room so I can hear it coming up from below. I suppose I can't blame the boy, given the circumstances. He hasn't seen me since the drugs wore off, and he's in the same configuration I first kept C2 in: his feet are in snowboard boots and locked into clips in the floor, his neck is in a steel collar connected to an eyebolt on the floor by a one-metre chain, his wrists are cuffed and pulled up towards the ceiling by another chain, he has noise-cancelling headphones strapped over his ears blaring white noise, and he's wearing a blindfold snug enough to prevent him from even blinking underneath it.

He's been there for seven hours now, since three in the morning. He can neither stand nor sit nor lie down, he cannot turn around, he cannot see--though it is pitch black in the cellar even if he wasn't blindfolded--he cannot hear his own voice, and I very much doubt he has any idea how he got there.

As I said, I haven't been down to see him properly yet, so I'm monitoring him at a distance via CCTV and also his pulse and blood oxygen readings. I'm keeping him watered through an IV drip and I'm not at all worried about feeding him just yet, though I'm sure he'll be getting hungry given that I emptied out the contents of his guts with an enema while he was still unconscious. I want him properly good and woozy from sleep deprivation before I introduce myself, either forty-eight hours or until his vitals get a tad skiffy, whichever is shorter. By my word, I am not an impatient man!

Of course, given the close monitoring required, I'll only be getting a few more hours sleep than he will. I suspect I'm getting the better half of the deal. Ah, the poor thing just wet himself. He needn't worry, it's all going into the bucket between his feet, and it'll go to good use later.

I've calmed myself down since his capture, for practical reasons as much as anything else, but I am still abuzz with energy. I am already looking forward to writing my next entry!

28th July 2018

I introduced myself to C3 today.

He spent an impressively long time in the stress position before he was unable to push his legs and instead dangled from his wrists, almost twelve hours, at which point I let the wrist rope go slack and allowed him to collapse. To prevent him from sleeping I intermittently blasted him with high pressure cold water whenever his pulse dropped below 100, for about a further four hours until I decided he'd had enough rest and strung his wrists back up.

He lasted five hours that time, so I let his wrists down again and stood sentry with a paintball gun, giving him a good and proper three-round burst whenever he stopped whimpering. Up again, barely an hour, down again, where I pinned him to the floor with wiring from an electric fence, set to deliver low-intensity zaps across his arms and chest whenever it seemed as if sleep was a possibility. He only got a few shocks, I think the first few put him in such a state of alarm that he didn't dare relax enough to be given another.

I strung him up a few more times, sometimes combining the motivators--his quivering thighs made a delightful target for paintballs as he tried to hold them in a crouching squat--until we reached the forty-ninth hour. I then played my recorded introduction tape through his headphones. It was identical to the one I'd played for C1 and C2, which was itself similar to the one recorded for B4 through B9.

Of course, as the deaf and blindfolded boy was crouch-squatting in place hearing my voice tell him that his old life was forfeit, that he was livestock now, that he would be used as a sex slave, that disobedience would only lead to misery, and the details of the hormone treatments he would be on, I was standing in front of him, masturbating.

My timing was impeccable. Just as the last lines of the recording said "if you're wondering when you'll meet me, I'm right in front of you," I came all over his whorish face. I'm afraid I'm no Peter North, I've no more than four spurts and the first one is always rather watery, but I nailed him right between the lips with one burst and smeared the rest over his face with the tip of my cock. He froze up rather delightfully during the whole ordeal, barely flinching as I cleaned off the tip in his hair.

I took the microphone and spoke directly into his headphones. I told him he'd been in his predicament for two days so far, that he was to obey my simple instructions, and that if he did he would be allowed food and allowed to rest. I told him that I would not require him to speak at any point during these instructions, and that if he so much as whispered I'd keep him strung up without food for another two days. He nodded in agreement, which earned him a hard slap, as I'd not asked him to nod or shake his head. I told him then to nod if he understood, which he did.

I freed one of his arms at a time, telling them to keep them in place and move them only as and when I told him to move them. He obeyed--a far quicker learner than C1--and I put him into the straitjacket. I unlatched his boots one at a time, putting him in ankle cuffs with a short length of heavy chain between them. I injected him in the buttocks with his first dose of anti-androgens, a painkiller, and his hormonal cocktail, and I removed the IV from his arm.

At that point I led him to his cage, a 2x3 metre cell, 1.5 metres high. I removed his blindfold, though it did him little good as it was pitch black in the entire room--I'd switched off the lights and was working via a set of light amplification goggles--and pushed him onto the wipe-clean bedroll.

"Lie still like a good little boy until the lights turn on, and then you can help yourself to some food," I said to him. He made a sound as if to respond, then silenced himself, lying still in his bonds.

The lights were on a timer, and they came on harsh and bright when I was upstairs, watching him through the CCTV on my desktop with a fresh pot of coffee. Three of the walls of his cage were walled off with a tarp, allowing him to see about a fifth of the basement through the remaining wall. Inside his cage was his bedroll, a doggie bowl full of oatmeal and bananas, a small plastic trough filled with fresh water, and a litter tray.

I considered staying up and watching him, seeing the fear grow in his eyes, his first attempt at eating cold food without the use of his hands, the humiliation of pissing in a litter tray, but I was exhausted. As soon as I've finished writing this entry, I'm going to take a well-deserved nap.

4th October 2018

The truffle salt from Coles is a waste of time. Don't misunderstand me, it's useable, it's palatable, and it has the necessary truffle aroma. "Has" is the key word there, it's got the half-life of Fermium and after a week in the cupboard it's now just table salt with black specks in it. I think I'm going to invest in some decent truffle oil at Christmas.

C3 is coming along marvelously. The combination of injections and a high-fat, high-calorie, vitamin-rich diet have had a visible impact on his physique. His skin has softened even further from a clear and healthy surfer's complexion to almost peachlike smoothness and he now has visible jiggle on his thighs, stomach and buttocks. Most importantly, he's now the not-at-all-proud owner of a set of A-cup breasts, complete with sensitive, pebble-sized nipples.

His breasts are extremely sensitive. He's told me as much directly, but I've confirmed it through experimental means. A few light stripes under the nipples with the cane used to bring a wince to his face when he first came under my care, now it brings him to his knees, and the mere sight of the thing leads him to cry and whine rather prettily.

He did have some issues with portion control, in that he wasn’t eating the full servings of food I had prepared for him. This was unreasonable and short-sighted on his part: while plain, I have not asked him to eat anything that I wouldn't willingly eat myself, and while I am not a professional cook I am certainly a talented amateur.

The solution was a simple one: if even a smear of food remains in his dish, I do not feed him for the next two to four days. I only had to enforce this rule twice, and he's finished every meal I've put in front of him for the past two months.

He's gone without sleeping for the last forty-eight hours, he's gone without speaking for the last three weeks, and I've added a low dose of LSD to his drinking water. Tonight he should be somewhat tractable for the induction of a hypnotic state. I am not trying to control his behaviour--there's nothing I want him to do that I couldn't compel him to do through more reliable means--but for an in-depth interview. In concert with a lie detector and a regulated dose of barbiturates, I am going to make him bare his soul to me.

There are a few specifics I'm interested in, such as confirming my assessment of his sexuality and gender identity, and it never hurts to shore up my security by inquiring of any planned means of escape or rescue, but in great part I am doing this for morale effect: I want him to have no respite from me, even inside his own mind. He will learn that he has no more control of his thinking than he does of his eating, sleeping or exercising.

Speaking of which, I had to leave him in an armbinder for a few nights when he insisted on doing press-ups in his cell. The additional restraints distressed him greatly, and he's seemed afraid to even move lest I restrain him further. That was back in August, and I have since acquired an elliptical trainer which I allow him to use daily, good behaviour permitting.

I will write again tomorrow with details of tonight's interview, and I only hope it's more productive than C2's interview was.

5th October 2018

Well, that was elucidating.

I left C3 unrestrained for the interview. It was his first time free of shackles and cuffs outside of his cage since he'd arrived, as I wanted him to be relatively comfortable and I was confident that his drug cocktail would prevent any serious escape attempts.

He is not a natural hypnotic subject and I was only successful in inducing a semi-trance state. I don't think he achieved a trance, but I think he believed he was in a trance, and for my purposes that was more than sufficient. He talked for hours and provided an unabridged history of his life so far. His parents, his brothers, his schooling, his love of surfing and camping, his romantic attachments and rejections, his childhood friends and bullies, his fear of dogs, his earliest memories, his deepest shames, enough to fill a short memoir.

The interview lasted for ten hours, with breaks every two hours to allow him to pee (as I'd also allowed him to drink lime cordial from a cup while he spoke) and to adjust his dose of drugs and deepen his trance state. He cried frequently and easily. He bears a great amount of shame and guilt for someone so young and so relatively innocent--raised by Catholics, naturally--and spent half of the fifth hour in uncontrollable hysterics. I let him rest his head in my lap and stroked his hair as he cried, and he clung on to me like a man drowning. Once he ran out of tears he had a bout of cathartic laughter, and after that a calm passed over him, and he remained in a state of detached, cooperative calm until I ended the interview.

Of course, most of this was filler and background information for the parts that truly interested me: his sexuality and gender identity. Both were perfect. His sexuality is less important but still delightful. He is entirely heterosexual and repulsed by men. He still has nightmares about the one time I have molested him so far, when I coated his face with cum shortly after his chapter. You wouldn't believe how hard I got as he told me that!

He sometimes masturbates in his cage, which he tells me is mostly from boredom than any sexual desire, and he fantasizes about sex with women. He has little interest in sadomasochism, no interest whatsoever about taking a submissive role, and aside from a weak interest in pegging he is plain vanilla. He has fantasies about sex in public, fucking multiple women, being woken up by receiving oral sex, and seducing older women.

His gender identity is much the same: male, through and through. He has insecurities about being slight and physically unimposing--related to bullying in school--and about being insufficiently masculine. He takes pride in the callouses in his hands and the scars on his body from surfing, and wishes that the thin, pale stubble on his face was thicker.

It's of little surprise then that he finds the changes from the hormones to be a cruel and unwanted imposition. His breast growth makes him feel powerless and disgusted with himself, he can feel his muscles weakening, the tenderness in his breasts is terrifying and degrading, and even the topic of penile and testicular shrinkage made him choke up and sob. He says that even when I allow him to sleep, his mind feels clouded and he finds it increasingly difficult to identify the particulars of his emotional state, which swings and changes in ways he is not used to.

Again, I must reiterate how promising this is. My experiments concern the induction of sexual neuroses and physical development on non-consenting subjects. C1 was unsuitable because he--well, she, more likely--was a little too keen to embrace the role I had planned for her.

C3 is sleeping now. I haven't actually left our impromptu "therapy room" and he's drifted off with his head in my lap. He needs the rest. I have big plans for him, after all.

24th October, 2018

I took a trip to the cinema today. Specifically the single-screen cinema in the back of the adult bookshop. C2 is turning tricks for the manager. I don't think it's his first career choice but for some reason he's been unable to get a job anywhere else in town. He tried being an independent streetwalker for a while, which didn't work out well for him as he was quickly picked up by the local police and treated rather roughly. Almost as if they were keeping an eye on him!

The manager of the adult bookshop got in touch with him, I believe he was waiting for him outside the local lockup in fact, and informed him of a safe, reliable means of plying his trade. Now he sucks cock in the back room cinema along with a handful of other whores in exchange for a roof over his head and ten percent of the ticket sales.

He was apparently given a second tour of the police cells for not handing his tips over to the manager in a timely and honest manner, so his left eye was still swollen shut when I saw him today. His garb was delightful: pastel pink yoga leggings with the Adidas stripes down the sides, and a duck egg blue midriff-cut t-shirt with "BOY" on the chest, with a female gender symbol in place of the O.

I sat down next to him in the otherwise empty cinema and flashed him my ticket, which had set me back $84--worth every penny--and he flashed me a charming smile. There was no glimmer of recognition in his eyes, like all of my experiments and side projects he'd never seen me without a mask. He put his hand on my thigh and told me his name, which I've already forgotten. The feature began, a rather energetic video from the noughties with Kelly Wells, Hillary Scott and Layla Riviera, prompting C2 to get on his knees in front of me. He gagged a little when he unzipped my jeans, not because I was unwashed but because I'd applied a generous quantity of deodorant and aftershave so that he would not recognise me via scent.

I enjoyed a slow, leisurely blowjob for the next hour, where he displayed all the basic techniques I'd so painstakingly taught him as well as a few new ones he'd picked up more recently. There's something to be said about consuming porn this way, not just the oral service but also watching the film from the beginning, without skipping forward to my favorite parts or switching between videos, letting myself slowly build towards my climax at the same pace as the on-screen action. I came just before the money shot, pulling out to cum all over C2's face as Kelly Wells guzzled piss on the big screen, and let C2 lick and suck my balls until the credits rolled.

Before he or I got up, I took out $20, waved it in front of his eyes, and then used the notes to wipe cum up from his face. He flinched at the roughness, scowled, told me to cut it out, and put his hand on my leg as if to push away from me. I said three words.

"Punishment position three."

It was as if I'd reached inside him and squeezed. He let out a pitiful squeak, straightened up on his knees, pushed out his chest, put his hands behind his back, closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and let his tongue hang out. I stuffed the cum-soaked banknotes between his mouth.

"Be good, C2," I told him as I stood up. He didn't move a muscle as I walked out of the cinema, and as the door closed behind me, I heard a single muffled sob. It was an enjoyable experience and I certainly needed it after the last few days because C3 has really been a handful.

It began on the weekend when the first signs of lactation appeared. C3 has been getting increasingly upset with the changes to his body, his widening hips, his weight gain, his shrinking musculature, his shrinking genitalia, and his C-cup breasts. The breasts are especially upsetting, he complains that they ache constantly and are tender to the slightest touch. In any case, when the first droplets of milk dribbled out of his nipples something snapped.

Through tears, he told me that he refuses to eat, that he cannot live with the things I am doing to him, and that I should either let him go or kill him. Obviously this is unacceptable. I told him I was not treating his request with any seriousness, and that if he did not eat his meal, he would go without for the next several days. He nodded forlornly, but still refused the food.

I strapped his hands into leather mitts to prevent him from improvising methods of self-harm, and continued as normal. For the next three days, he refused to respond to commands or obey orders, remaining silent and going limp. He wailed in pain when I caned his soles and slapped his tits, but he continued to wallow in self-pity.

He was ravenously hungry by Wednesday, but when I gave him the opportunity to eat, he would not. I left the bowl of food in his cage overnight, and in the morning it remained untouched. He had not thrown it out or despoiled it, he had simply ignored it in an admirable, if misplaced, display of willpower. I gave him one final warning that there would be serious consequences if he did not eat now. He refused, so I applied the consequences.

I fitted him into a padded restraining board, on his back, his arms, legs, chest, stomach, forehead, chin, wrists and ankles held in place by canvas straps. He could not move an inch, not that he was trying particularly hard. A hollow dildo gag with a breathing hole went into his mouth, principally to prevent him from trying to bite off his own tongue. I catheterized him and inserted a hollow plug into his backside, not overly gently in either case, much to his consternation.

Then, intubation. I fed a heavily-lubricated silicone hose into his left nostril. He thrashed and twitched, as is expected when such a procedure is performed without the aid of benzodiazepines. Undeterred, I asked him to start swallowing, lest the tube end up in his lungs. He did as much gagging as swallowing, but after a few eventful minutes I felt the tell-tale glide of it being pulled down his esophagus and into his stomach.

Once the tube was taped in place under his nose, I attached the free end to a pump until it drew fluid out from within him. A few drops of this fluid onto pH paper revealed it to be stomach acid, which hopefully meant that the hose was not in his lungs. I then attached the hose to the feeding machine, and explained to C3 exactly how it would work.

He would have his meals and water combined into a slurry, kept at a cool four degrees celsius, and injected into his feeding tube. The pressure inside the hose would make breathing difficult or impossible while the food was being pumped, and the volume of his meals--around a litre and a half of slurry--meant that each feeding would be spread out in thirty second bursts, delivered semi-randomly over the course of an hour.

As I told him this, I undid my belt and began to masturbate. Despite the obvious temptations, I had not molested C3 in an overtly sexual manner since that first facial at the beginning of his captivity. By combining molestation with removal of autonomy, I wished to impress upon him the importance of obeying me with whatever autonomy I allow him to have.

I pressed the button on the feeding machine as I approached my climax. C3 squealed and gurgled like a drowning cat from the sensation of ice-cold sludge pumping through a tube in his sinuses and down into his throat, choking as the diameter of the tube expanded enough to cut off his breathing. He thrashed in his restraints with such force that he almost moved the gurney beneath him!

Seeing tears stream from his eyes was too much, and his eyes were precisely where I aimed. I landed a good few ropes on each eye, which he scrunched shut in disgust. When the tube stopped pumping I pried open his eyelids with my fingers and made sure a good quantity of my burning, stinging cum got in each eye, then smeared the rest across his face. He tried to blink it out, with little success, and before he could do much else I applied the padded blindfold. He hates and fears the eye-shutting pressure from the neoprene padding at the best of times, and wasn't overjoyed to wear it with his eyes gunked up with sperm.

He's been like that for the last three days, unable to move, speak or see, fed three meals a day through his nose. The only interaction he's had is when I've unrestrained his individual limbs and allowed them some movement, one at a time, to prevent bedsores and deep vein thrombosis, and when I come down to grope his sensitive tits. He is only able to relieve himself through the catheter and through enemas.

After a few days of stick, he's almost ready for the carrot. Tonight I am making pork carnitas with soft tacos, which he has told me is his favourite meal. I have also purchased one of the Harry Dresden books, which he told me he is an avid reader of. When dinner is ready, I will make him an offer: he will ask me for normal food and apologize for forcing me to use the feeding tube. In return he will be allowed out of his restraints and returned to his comfortable cage, along with his favourite meal and a good book, which he will be allowed to read during his spare time as long as he behaves himself.

I hope he accepts, for his sake and mine.

16 November 2018

C3 had his first true milking today! I've been teasing dribbles of milk from his nipples with my fingers for weeks, but today the volume was so high that I had to deploy a handheld breast pump. He whimpered for the duration but was obviously relieved by the reduction in pressure. It was as if he found the whole ordeal rather humiliating.

The milk is rich, a touch gamey, and less sweet than expected. I don't think the taste will be anything to write home about while his stress levels are so high, and I think that will be the case for some time. I've taken half for myself, and I'm mixing the other half into his food.

He's been docile since the force feeding. The intensity and inevitability of the punishment is part of it, but the rewards are equally important. My deal is that he can ask for anything once. Obviously I laugh at certain requests--he's not getting a phone or a two-way radio--and some things require compromise, but otherwise I have been accommodating. His cell now contains a lamp he can turn on or off, two dozen books and graphic novels, an old mp3 player, and a box of wet wipes. His relief from the constant boredom of being confined in a cage for twenty hours a day is palpable, and he has chosen the comfort that obedience brings over the misery that stems from disobedience.

He has asked if he'll ever be free from this basement and I truthfully said yes. One day he'll be walking around outside free of physical restraints and he will sleep at night in a bed he can truly call his own, though I'm unsure if he'll ever truly be free of me. He takes comfort in the fact that he has not yet seen my face or anything that might identify me, as he reasons that I am therefore not incentivized to bury him in a shallow grave to protect myself. His conclusion is correct but his premise is wrong; he'll know who I am eventually and I still won't fear him.

I'm currently milking him once per day regardless of his feelings on the matter, and I think this has hidden from him the fact that he now needs to be milked. Without his daily milkings the pain in his breasts would become unbearable, and soon he will develop mastitis if he's not milked. This will form another important part of his development: begging for things that are distasteful but necessary. With the exception of the wet wipes, there is nothing inherently humiliating in the things he's asking for. I believe he'll find begging to be milked intensely humiliating, and more humiliating still because of the tolls I'll extract from him when he goes down that road.

A brief note on his physical changes: his breasts are bigger but they remain C-cups for the time being. There are now a striking set of stretch marks on the sides and undersides of his breasts, along with some smaller, subtler ones on his thighs and buttocks which have also thickened up nicely. At some point I'm going to give him a regular schedule of retention enemas until he gets stretch marks on his belly befitting a pregnant little broodslut. His skin is delightfully soft and I'm shaving his face daily until the home electrolysis kit arrives. The combination of hormones, daily exercise bike sessions, and a lack of any upper body resistance training has changed his physique from a surfer's build to a more bottom heavy one.

As soon as I have finished writing this entry I am going to give him two gifts. The first gift is an ear piercing. It will be home to a yellow plastic tag, a miniature version of a cattle tag. The second gift is his name. He's not C3 anymore, and he's certainly not whatever stupid name he called himself before I acquired him. He has lovely tits and he's a milk cow, so his name will be Cowtits.

Cowtits. I think it suits him.

[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums: a Great Album that your average rock critic would actually agree with me about! Find out how Kate Bush got her groove back with her fifth LP, Hounds of Love, and whether she ever came down from that hill. Full transcript below the break!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Ever since I first conceived the idea of Great Albums, I’ve always intended it to reflect nothing other than my own personal “canon”--not necessarily a list of albums that were influential, successful, or acclaimed by anybody’s standards but my own. But in this installment, I’m making a somewhat uncharacteristic move, and diving into an album that really doesn’t need me to advocate for it: Hounds of Love, by Kate Bush, often considered Bush’s greatest masterpiece--if not one of the greatest albums of all time.

Released in 1985, Hounds of Love was Bush’s fifth studio LP. Her career had started off surprisingly strong in 1977, with the release of her debut single “Wuthering Heights,” written when Bush was only 19 years old. With a high-concept theme, based around the titular novel by Emily Brontë, it would set the template for much of Bush’s subsequent career: irreverently eccentric, high-concept art-pop with the intensely personal passion of a singular singer-songwriter. But just how much patience for that sort of thing does the general public have, beyond letting the occasional “Wuthering Heights” through as a sort of novelty hit? Bush’s subsequent work in the early 1980s met with inconsistent reception, with her fourth LP, 1982’s The Dreaming, marking a particularly low point. The first album that Bush produced all by herself, The Dreaming took even more radical creative liberties, pushing her sound into increasingly experimental territory.

Music: “Get Out Of My House”

Following the fairly cold reception of The Dreaming, Bush took several years to produce her next album, but it would prove to be the one that redeemed her career, and arguably turned her into a bigger star than ever before. Hounds of Love managed to stay true to the core principles of the Bush aesthetic: moody and introspective, full of rich and complex narratives, as well as musical risk-taking. But it honed and refined that sound into something that was also remarkably pop.

Music: “Running Up That Hill”

“Running Up That Hill” was one of the biggest hits of Bush’s career, and arguably dethroned even “Wuthering Heights” as her signature song. I think the secret to its success is its ability to balance Bush’s experimental impulses with an intuitive, deep-felt emotional quality that makes her best work resonant in an accessible way. On paper, “Running Up That Hill” is as high-concept as anything else in Bush’s catalogue--a song about making a deal with God to swap sexes with your lover, and feel what life is like in another body? But at the same time, the song has an ability to “work” even if you don’t know all of that. Who hasn’t longed for a way to bargain with supernatural forces, for a chance at the impossible? There’s a certain applicability to its themes, which I think is a chief reason why it’s inspired so many covers and reimaginings over the years. But even when one listens to the original, the stately washes of digital synthesiser and the powerful conviction that propels Bush’s vocals make it easy to sympathize with. It feels grounded and physical, rooted in the most carnal aspect of the human body. Positioned as the opening track of the album, “Running Up That Hill” feels like an obvious lead single--in the best way possible. But it’s worth noting that not everything on the album is quite so radio-friendly.

Music: “Cloudbusting”

Perhaps one of Bush’s most compelling narratives, “Cloudbusting” is also, ostensibly, fairly high-concept, portraying a heavily fictionalized episode from the life of Wilhelm Reich. A controversial figure both in life and legacy, Reich is best remembered for his work in psychology, heavily influenced by the spectre of Sigmund Freud. But “Cloudbusting” focuses on his later-life fascination with the physical sciences, and his belief that a mystical energy called “orgone” was responsible for both human emotional woes as well as disturbances in the Earth’s atmosphere. Reich attempted to develop a machine that could manipulate this energy, and hence achieve the longtime dream of technological weather control, but there’s no evidence his “cloudbuster” really worked, or that there’s any such thing as “orgone.” But Bush’s “Cloudbusting,” and its accompanying music video, portray Reich as a tragic hero, silenced by government authorities who sought to destroy what they couldn’t understand, conflating his work with cloudbusters with his censure by the FDA for his questionable medical devices.

The song was inspired chiefly by the memoirs of Wilhelm Reich’s son, Peter, with Bush explicitly portraying Peter’s naive childhood perspective on his father, and that does allow for some substantial nuance here...but at some point we have to ask ourselves what responsibility an artist has to the truth. “Cloudbusting” is the musical equivalent of a film that’s “based on a true story,” and I see no reason why music can’t be just as capable of spreading misinformation as the Oscar-bait biopics of Hollywood. Just how accurate, or how beautiful, does a work of art need to be, for us to allow a bit of playing loose with the facts for the sake of a great story?

Setting aside these quandaries presented by its subject matter, “Cloudbusting” undoubtedly delivers musically. Across its sprawling runtime, it develops and earns a sense of grandeur, building from its infectious percussion and cresting with Bush’s fragile, but assertive prayer: “I just know that something good is going to happen.” If you listen closely to the percussion tracks on the album, you’ll notice that there’s no cymbal or high-hat utilized anywhere, which helps give the album its particular hazy, meandering ambiance.

That effect is perhaps even more pronounced on the second side of the album. Hounds of Love is divided quite sharply into two sides. The first side, also sub-titled Hounds of Love, opens with “Running Up That Hill,” and finishes with “Cloudbusting,” which serves as something of a bridge between the two, combining a singable hook and a pop-like verse-chorus structure with a taste for more visionary narrative. While the first side is home to all four of the album’s singles, the second side, sub-titled The Ninth Wave, strays much further away from the standard expectations of pop.

Music: “Under Ice”

Going by the tracklisting, there are seven tracks that make up *The Ninth Wave,* though their smooth transitions and willful defiance of verse/chorus structure create a seamless oratorio or song cycle feel, not unlike many of the great “album sides” of the prog tradition. The Ninth Wave also departs from the feel of the first side in its instrumentation. While the Hounds of Love side has its fair share of exotic instruments, such as a balalaika on “Running Up That Hill” and a didgeridoo on “Cloudbusting,” The Ninth Wave is more richly baroque, with elements like that jarring violin on “Under Ice.” As it progresses, the breadth of timbres increases, climaxing in the Celtic-inspired “Jig of Life.”

Music: “Jig of Life”

The explosion of folkish, backward-looking sounds of “Jig of Life” and “Hello World,” with their fiddles, whistles, and full choir, represent its protagonist’s return to the realm of the living, after the trauma represented by earlier tracks like “Under Ice.” The abstract, though affecting, narrative presented by The Ninth Wave seems to be a tale of death and rebirth, with a narrator who drowns themselves, only to be reborn--whether literally revived from a failed suicide attempt, or metaphysically reincarnated after a passage through the realm of the dead.

Much more has been written about the themes of *The Ninth Wave* than I’m getting into here, but suffice it to say that many people consider it the relative highlight of the album. But I think it’s worth questioning that a little bit, and taking the time to look at Hounds of Love a bit more holistically. Just because the first side is a bit less overtly experimental doesn’t mean it doesn’t have just as much to offer, artistically, or that it isn’t a part of what makes this album truly great. At the end of the day, I think we can probably agree that far fewer people would have ever heard The Ninth Wave if it weren’t for those more accessible singles on side one, moving copies of the record and adding to Bush’s widespread acclaim. Without “Running Up That Hill,” Hounds of Love might have gone down in history as a fairly niche cult classic like The Dreaming, instead of the era-defining album that it got to become.

On the cover of Hounds of Love, we see an image of Bush reclining and embracing two dogs--who were, in fact, her own pets. The image’s saturation in purplish pink and Bush’s perhaps sultry expression combine to create an impression of traditional femininity, which resonates with the album’s themes of gender and sensuality. Framed in by large white borders, we might read the composition of the cover as evocative of a personal locket or memento, a sort of furtive glimpse into Bush’s more private or intimate essence, fitting for the introspective and emotional focus of much of the music. This “framing” is perhaps also evocative of the idea of the domestic sphere of life--and hence, again, of femininity.

While the title track of the album portrays the “hounds of love” as figures of menace, who are said to “chase” after its narrator, the submissive and comfortable-looking canines portrayed in the cover art seem like a foil to that idea. In the history of European art, dogs are often used as symbols of fidelity, particularly in the context of romance. Titian’s Venus of Urbino, painted in the 1530s, is often considered the progenitor of the Western “nude” as an archetype. Alongside the titular goddess, paragon of eroticism and the feminine, the painter has also included a lapdog, peacefully dozing beside her. It’s tempting to see the composition of the cover of Hounds of Love as doing something similar, invoking confident sensuality alongside a symbol of faithfulness to portray the essence of idealized love.

After the release of Hounds of Love, Bush would once again take several years to produce her next LP, 1989’s The Sensual World. More closely related to The Ninth Wave than the A-side of Hounds of Love, it was nonetheless another commercial and mainstream success for the artist.

Music: “The Sensual World”

From the mid-90s to the mid-00s, Bush took an extended hiatus from music, focusing instead on her family and her personal life. Despite uncertainty surrounding the future of her career, she would eventually return to the public spotlight in the 21st Century, and remains active, if somewhat intermittently, to the present day. At this point, it’s safe to say that Bush has a fairly enviable position, having lived long enough to become a cultural institution, and able to bask in the cult following her unmistakable and distinctive work has earned her. For as much as I’ve praised the more commercial side of Hounds of Love in this piece, I still believe in the power of the truly unfettered creative soul, and I’m still happy for Bush that she’s achieved that kind of freedom.

My favourite track from either side of Hounds of Love would have to be “The Big Sky.” In the context of the album, it stands out for its rousing, triumphant crescendo of energy--a marked difference from the languid, introspective sensibility that dominates most of the material. And it manages that without bringing the cymbals back, either! Thematically, its emphasis on weather and the sky prefigures that of “Cloudbusting,” perhaps providing a more hopeful and naive vision of what weather can do, which resists being “clouded” by political drama. That’s all I have for today--as always, thank you all for listening!

Music: “The Big Sky”

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