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sup-hoes-its-me · 3 years

Note

I have a Shikamaru request! It’s a bit long winded so dust with me 😊. Shikamaru is assigned to protect reader who is the last of her clan that a lot is not known about. (So he also has the secret mission of finding our more about the clan and their abilities). They end up falling for each-other (of course). And after reader finds out she is pregnant she learns that Shikamaru was meant to learn about her. I’m seeing some angsty fluffy goodness! And hopefully a happy ending. 🥰

Healing You (Shikamaru x Reader)

A/N: Thank you for your request! These long detailed ones are perfect and give me just enough information to give you the perfect story. I skipped the pregnancy part because im not totally comfortable with that...hopefully you still enjoy.

word count: 5500

Shikamaru had been anticipating this mission for a while. The Hokage told him it was of utmost importance to be ready at any time for this clan princess to show up. He was expected to drop all other missions or plans to escort this woman, whoever she was across the country to her homeland deep within Frost country. He wasn’t expecting much, actually he was expecting probably the worst client ever.

For someone to request escort at the drop of a hat like that, someone with enough money to do so as well... Shikamaru could only assume they were an asshole of the highest caliber. Probably some old woman or a spoiled little child, someone he definitely would not get along with for a month long mission just the two of them. He could remember the urgency in Kakashi’s tone when he assigned the mission, the amount of trust behind his words.

Shikamaru walked into the office casually, hands shoved deep in his pants pockets. Kakashi sat there alone at his desk, looking through paperwork and sifting through piles of white sheets, each with different names and faces. He must have thought long and hard about who he was to pick for this mission, the boy concluded.

This was going to be tiresome, he deduced quickly. Another tedious mission.

“Shikamaru, I have an important mission for you,” the man said clearly. “You can look through these files, if you want, but we don’t have any clear information on this one, I’m afraid.” He tossed over a folder full of records. Death receipts, birth certificates, first hand accounts of battles witnessed. He didn’t know what to make of what he was looking at other than a common last name running across the pages.

Hirawa.

“What is this about?” he questioned.

“In about a month's time, possibly longer, possibly shorter, I don’t have an exact date, you will escort Princess Y/N Hirawa, of the hidden Hirawa clan to the Land of Frost.”

“Who’s on my team?”

He shook his head at that question. “No one. This is a solo mission, and I’m entrusting you alone with this. It’s important you keep your mouth shut about all of this until we know it’s safe, for you and the princess.” Safe? Just what kind of mission was this anyway? Obviously it had something to do with this clan, not that he’d ever heard of them. “She has a bounty on her head, quite large at that. But we believe she can become the key to mastering some ninjutsu, particularly medical jutsu.”

“Well, what’s her clan’s kekkei genkai?”

“That’s what we don’t know, and for you to find out. All we know is that there's some dangerous people out there who want this power, and we need to protect her at all costs, you understand,” he stressed, and Shikamaru nodded. This wasn’t that big of a deal, he guessed. Protecting one girl from some rookie bounty hunters, not to mention he was being sent out alone. This was going to be a walk in the park.

The worst part of it all would be putting up with some troublesome girl for an entire month. Making conversation and having to pretend she wasn’t getting on his last nerve. That would tire him the most.

“Rumor has it, she was never able to awaken her ability, so I’m hoping you can help coax it out of her and see what we’re dealing with.”

“Of course. I’ll figure it out.”

“Good. I’m counting on you. You should take the files to look over in your free time, you’ll have lots of it before this mission. I have copies here for myself,” he motioned to another folder on her desk filled to the brim with papers just like the one he was holding. It was strange to have so much information at their fingertips, but not enough to put a description to their kekkei genkai. They must be secretive, similar to how the Uchiha hides their secrets on the stone tablet, or something.

He left the Sixth Hokage’s office and walked away to his home, where he could more closely go over the information in this folder, try to deduce something from all this random information. He would get to the bottom of this, he was a genius after all. Whether he had the help of this woman or not, he would figure it out for the Hokage.

And so, here he stood outside of Kakashi’s office with all his supplies packed in his bag, dressed for a long mission away from home. The princess had arrived. He was to meet her and then immediately they were supposed to leave off to her homeland.

The Anbu officer to his left opened the door, and motioned for him to walk in. So uptight for just a little meeting, was all this security really necessary, he wondered to himself. As he looked into the room, he spotted Kakashi standing along the window behind his desk with a smaller woman at his side, wrapped up in thick robes made of wool, embroidered with thick silver and white yarn.

Admittedly, her clothes looked incredibly expensive. He questioned how she wasn’t sweating bullets with the typical warm weather outside here in Konoha. He was expecting her to turn around, to be this hideous creature.

“Ah, Y/N, it seems your escort has arrived,” Kakashi hummed, placing a soft hand on the woman’s back as she turned around. When he finally got a good look at her face, he was taken aback, nearly enough to throw him off balance. She was decidedly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life. Wrapped up in those blankets was a young woman, who couldn't be much older than he was, with piercing eyes that immediately cut through his.

Her hair fell just perfectly around her face to frame her features, the soft color suiting her eyes and skin perfectly. Her eyelashes flickered over her eyes a few times as she gazed over at him, and he felt swoon. She had the softest skin he’d ever seen combined with those mesmerizing eyes and the shape of her face which looked like it belonged cradled in his hands.

He felt this inert urge to run in the opposite direction from her, out the room and down the hall, back to home where he could catch his breath. He already knew his cheeks were turning bright red under her stare, and he could tell Kakashi was judging him with those dark eyes of his.

“It’s nice to meet you, Shikamaru Nara,” she hummed, and he felt faint. Even her voice was precious, almost like she was singing. He choked down his breaths, trying to keep his cool the best he could. It was uncharacteristic of him to act this way with a client. He was just her escort, not some pervert. They were going to live together for basically a month, he needed to get a grip on his emotions. “Your Hokage was telling me great things about you.”

“Oh, uh,” he paused, frozen without words to leave his lips, just an empty mind full of her image. He shook his head a bit, eyes now glaring down at the floorboards beneath him. “You too, Princess.”

“Please, just call me Y/N. Princess is just too formal for me,” she told him, waving off the title almost as quickly as it left his mouth. “Kakashi, it was nice getting to know you this morning, I hope to see you and your wonderful village again soon.”

“You’re welcome back whenever you like.”

She rounded the table and approached Shikamaru carefully, eyeing him down as she did so. She took in his appearance and his stance, the emotions she could see radiating off his person from his body language. From the looks of it, he simply appeared flustered and confused. Not exactly the most ideal for the situation at hand, but they would manage. Men usually had a similar reaction when they saw her for the first time, either they were in awe or they were trying to kidnap her.

He nodded in her direction and then to the Hokage before turning around and starting out the door, the girl following closely behind him. He could hear the swishing of her thick robes around her ankles, just barely skimming the floor. He still didn’t know her personality at all, but he wouldn’t mind looking at her once in a while on this trip.

“So, why are you heading to the Land of Frost?” he asked, and she sighed.

“One of the village elders is dying. They believe my kekkei genkai is the only way to reverse the incoming death, and its consequence on my people,” she explained.

“Why doesn’t another one of your clan members do it? Surely the rest of your family lives-”

“There is no one else. I am the last living Hirawa,” she told him simply, and he could sense a bit of ice dripping off her tongue at those words. How could she not be upset recalling the annihilation of her entire clan. “The problem is that I haven’t been able to awaken my kekkei genkai. I’m not sure what they want with a useless Hirawa like me.”

“Listen, I’m sorry about your clan, but calling yourself useless really isn’t-”

“How would you feel, Shikamaru, if you were the only person in the world with the ability to save a human being from their certain death and you couldn’t even activate that gift? You have to understand how that feels for me,” she told him solemnly, her head hung low as she walked toward the gates of the village right beside the boy. People looked at her as she moved through the village, they stared in awe at her clothes and her face and the unique glimmer in her eyes. And she cowered inward, tucking herself into her robes and the fur of her hood even further, away from the prying eyes of this village.

He stayed silent, not really knowing how to respond to what she’d said to him. The sadness and the anger in her tone, deep within her words, was immeasurable. She was in pain, a conflict with herself. He wasn’t going to get into that just yet. They’d only met a few minutes ago.

They left the village together and started on their journey. It was going to be a long month, that’s for sure.

________

It had been a week of walking through the forest already, days of sleeping on the ground beneath the stars, eating rations out of his bag over the fireplace. Originally, he thought this mission would be easy, that she seemed like a normal-ish girl who wouldn’t give him any trouble, but he was wrong.

She was too quiet. It was strange, walking with someone for hours without a single word shared between them. He tried to start up a conversation, and she would reply with one word answers, sometimes if he was lucky, two or three words. She rarely looked at him, choosing to either stare at the ground where she took each step, or up at the stars and the vastness of it all. She was lost in her own mind.

Every night, as they were falling asleep, he could hear her looking over at him, scanning his form for a sign that he was still awake. He would remain still, facing the opposite way on his side, head propped up on his bag. Then, when she thought she was safe, he would hear the sobs run through her weak form. She would shake and quiver, curling in on herself and crying out into the forest for only Shikamaru and the moon to hear.

He felt terrible for her, needless to say. The guilt he felt just from hearing her cries, and knowing her internal struggle was enough to make this trip difficult. His heart hurt for her, as strange as that was to say. Normally, it was easy to remain objective, but with Y/N, it was different. He felt attached. He felt like her problems were also his. It was maddening.

She laid on the ground beside him, the majority of her soup still in her bowl and her water bottle resting at her side. She stared up into the clouds, occasionally, her eyes would slide over to see what he was up to and then she would look back at the sky. “You need to eat. We have a lot of walking until we reach the next town, probably a week’s worth. I can’t carry you if you get too tired,” he told her, pushing her bowl closer to her side.

“You know, Shikamaru, sometimes I wonder why people like you Leaf nin even protect someone like me. What’s the point? I’m useless to you and the enemy,” she muttered hopelessly. He still pushed the soup closer until she sat up and took the bowl into her hands, taking a small sip from the spoon. “I just don’t get it. How can you call me princess when I’m just as normal as the next woman on the street?”

“Listen, I don’t know what anyone else has told you, but that’s a load of bullshit.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, just because you can’t access your abilities right now doesn’t make you useless. You’re still a person just like everyone else,” he explained, stabbing his spoon into his soup as he found himself getting a little worked up. He couldn’t stand this self-pitying bullshit from her. Yeah, she was sad and all, but she didn’t have to rub it into the wound like this.

She looked surprised at his words.

What did she expect him to say? That she was right and then just abandon her out in the woods? He was beginning to think this girl was just plain stupid.

“It’s just been impossible since the incident to think of anything else. I’m sorry for upsetting you,” she sighed, taking another sip of her now cold soup.

He questioned carefully. “What incident?” He was on a mission after all. To discover her clan secrets and bring them back to the village to study. Even if she was being emotional, he could still gather some intel.

She bit her lip, and looked up to the sky again, blinking back tears from gathering in the corners of her eyes. She took a few deep breaths before explaining herself. “The day my clan was massacred. The day that those people slaughtered my sensei in front of the entire village and then killed my parents.”

He paused, lifting his eyes to look at her. She was crying, as he expected, silent tears dripping from her eyes into her lap. But she was holding strong otherwise, not a falter in her voice or a catch in her breath. She wasn’t even shaking. She was really serious about keeping these emotions private, in the middle of the night where he couldn’t hear or see.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he assured, but she shook her head.

“I’m fine. I should talk about it anyway. I haven’t had a person to talk to in years, you know.” Sitting on her face was the saddest of all smiles, a weak attempt at remaining strong. She wiped at her eyes with her wrist and continued. “I’m not even sure why they wanted us all dead, but it had something to do with the war and my clan’s actions. They were barbaric. They slit the throat of my sensei in town square and we watched her blood drip across town while they carried her head.”

“Oh, damn.”

“I know,” she agreed, “As sick as it is to say, I’m glad they only stabbed my parents with a sword. We used to be royalty, it took them killing an entire army of soldiers to get to the throne room to kill them. I was only a child hiding in the curtains, I had to watch without making a sound. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t even breathe, or they would have killed me too.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. That’s horrific.”

“When they left, it was only me. I had to walk my way to one of the outer villages for help. I was a mess, covered in my parents blood. They’d stolen everything. All the secrets of the clan. I never got the chance to read the sacred texts. I only know from my Sensei the very basics of what we can do.”

He absorbed what she had said, taking in each word. Admittedly, she lived a terrible, horrible life, one to rival Sasuke at that. He asked, “You haven’t been able to retrieve any of the texts, have you?”

“No, unfortunately. That’s why it’s taken me this long to figure out how to unlock my ability. I literally do not know how,” she confessed, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. “It feels strange, knowing I have this ultimate healing ability and I can’t even use it to save anyone.”

“Ultimate healing ability?”

“Well, yeah. That’s our kekkei genkai. We can heal basically anything besides death. Blindness, deafness, rotting limbs, in some cases, paralysis. I’m not sure how it works, but that’s what it does. That’s why they want me to come home so desperately. I’m the only one left who can heal her.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he stated bluntly, and she tilted her head to the side in confusion.

“What?”

He reiterated, “You’ll figure out how to use your kekkei genkai. I believe in you. You’re beautiful, smart, and modest, not a fool.”

She found her cheeks begin to heat up at his words, and she leaned back, her eyes catching onto his. “Thank you, Shikamaru. It’s not everyday I get earnest compliments like that.” It was true. Normally, she did get compliments, but not the nice kind. She would often get harrassed on the street by men without brains, or recieve backhanded comments from people of her own village who hated her for what she could not be.

He shook his head, “Well, you should. You’re a strong woman, you just need more faith in yourself. You have almost no self-confidence whatsoever.” He was right about that too. Sad, wasn’t it? “You’re obviously a good person, so be proud of yourself. Not a lot of people could have gone through what you did and still be on the good side to this day.”

“I-” Y/N froze, her eyes growing wide. “Did you hear that?” she asked, her eyes flickering from Shikamaru into the woods. There were voices, soft and quiet voices, but they were still there, hush in the background. He stood up on his feet, and motioned for her to stay down close to the ground.

“Come out, whoever you are.”

And, indeed, a group of men emerged from the forest, at least ten of them. They sauntered up to the pair and the leader smirked. “We’re not here to hurt you, Leaf shinobi. Just hand over the princess and no harm will come to you,” he said, his voice musty and disgusting, like he’d been smoking cigarettes everyday for the past ten years. They knew, clearly, that a leaf shinobi wasn’t just about to abandon their charge and go running for the hills. His request was a joke.

Y/N wasn’t a fighter. She couldn’t help even if she wanted to. She was solely a healer, and even then, her skills were shaky at best. She could only do the most menial and mediocre of work on her patients. Shikamaru was against these men completely alone.

She felt fear creeping up her spine and sending shivers through her body. She barely knew the boy, had only known him for a week or so, but damn, did she like him. He was kind to her, one of the kindest people she’d met in a long time. She wanted him to be safe, to save her and come out on top like the shinobi of the Leaf are supposed to.

He turned around and waved for her to run. “Princess, Imma need you to run. I’ll come find you when it’s safe. Just go.”

She was hesitant to take off, but one stern look from him shot down any thought of staying. The woman gathered up her robes and ran in the opposite direction of the crew and her protector. Immediately after she left, she heard screaming from behind, the shouts of men in pain and men filled with anger. So much yelling. She held her breath, and kept running, running until she could only hear the faint yells of the men. She couldn’t hear Shikamaru. He was far too quiet to have those loud theatrics on the battlefield.

Y/N took cover in the roots of a tree, and just listened, felt what was going on around her. She studied the chakra signatures floating through the air, counting how many men still lived and how many were alive and well. Likewise, she kept close track of Shikamaru’s energy, making sure he was still going.

If he died, she didn’t know what would come of her. Would she be sold off? Murdered? She knew of the unspoken bounty on her head amongst the criminals, and that struck fear in her heart. All she could do was pray for Shikamaru’s survival.

After what seemed like hours but in reality only about 10 minutes, the screams and shouts finally came to a halt. The chakra signatures of most of the men were completely gone, meaning they had died sometime during the battle. Only some remained, and they were weakened severely, probably passed out or bleeding out.

Shikamaru’s alarmed her. It was weak, almost as weak as the rest. She crawled out from under the tree and started back in the direction of the campsite, keeping her head low nearly in a crouch to stay unseen. There was no telling what was happening over there or who was still out here.

When she got to the campsite though, her eyes widened and she nearly screamed. While the rest of the men collapsed on the ground in bloody heaps, Shikamaru lay in the middle of them, bleeding out from a ginormous wound protruding from his side. She fell onto her knees beside his barely breathing form and held her hands over the wound, trying her best to run her chakra through her, but she was weak. Only a faint light emanating from her hands, not enough to come close to saving him.

“Shikamaru? Shikamaru, can you hear me? Please, try to stay awake, okay?” the girl pleaded, resting one of her soft hands on his cheek. He sighed into her touch. It was just as he imagined. Warm and gentle, like the caress of a feather. At least, if he were to die, it would be in the arms of an angel, he decided.

“You need to head back to the Leaf. Tell Kakashi what happened,” he sputtered out, blood leaving his lips and dripping down the sides of his face. “I lived a good life.”

“No, no, no. You are not dying on me. Not happening,” she whispered. She continued to pour her chakra into his wound, not that it was doing anything serious. Tears filled her eyes and she bit her lip, trying to keep them from falling, but she couldn’t help it. All these tears plagued her life. Memories that made her cry. All the pressure. All the death. Poor Shikamaru lying here dying after saving her life. “I’m going to save you,” she muttered firmly.

Pressure built up in her chest and she pushed further and further, digging deeper into her chakra reserve. It actually hurt the amount of effort she was putting in. It was exhausting, and after about a minute, she was gasping for breath. “Stop. It’s okay, princess.”

“Dammit, Shikamaru, I told you not to call me princess, “ Y/N shouted, and in that moment, she felt something shift inside her. A well of energy she never knew she had opened up and she felt it being filled not by her own chakra but by the men around her. Her body absorbed every last bit of chakra in their bodies, filling hers completely. When Shikamaru looked up at her, he noticed a slight glow coming from her skin that wasn’t there before.

It seemed she awoke her kekkei genkai.

With all the newfound energy she had, she channelled it into saving Shikamaru. Right in front of her eyes, his wound began to close and blood sunk back into his body. He groaned at the feeling, shifting uncomfortably on the ground. Finally, she had done something great.

And as she watched the last bit of his wound shut and the blood to seep back into his body, she found herself grow lightheaded.

As she was passing out, she heard him calling her name, and the only thing she could do was smile. She did it. She saved him. Her vision went black and sleep overtook her swiftly.

________

After Y/N saved Shikamaru and awoke her kekkei genkai, the boy gathered up both of their belongings, hoisted them over his shoulder, and then carried her in his arms to the next village. She wasn’t waking up anytime soon, he found that was probably a bad side effect of using the ability. It completely drained her. He just knew he had to move before any of those guys woke back up. He was not ready to fight again.

He enjoyed feeling her in his arms, pressed tightly to his chest with her head lolling side to side. Y/N was sweet and cute, with her little, “don’t call me princess” proclamation before saving him. It seemed she was just as much a princess as everyone thought she was, and a powerful one at that. She basically brought him back from the dead, and he would be grateful for his entire life for what she’d done for him.

The two of them rested for the night in a village inn just a couple miles away before waking up the next morning and setting off with a new bounce in her step toward your homeland where she was sure she could save the village elder now. He watched as the girl walked eagerly in front of him, swinging her robes by her sides and letting her hair loose instead of a tight braid.

This side of her, it was gorgeous. She was gorgeous. Maybe, he found himself harboring just a tiny crush on the girl who saved his life, the girl who took his breath away when they first met. Maybe he liked her a lot. It was pointless to have such feelings for a girl he would probably never meet again after dropping her off in her homeland.

But he could enjoy his time now, with the girl of his dreams at his side.

He found himself wanting more time with her. Much more time. He knew they only had about a week before they arrived in the Land of Frost, and it was depressing him. He wanted her to come back to the village with him and live there, just so he could see her face everyday and hear that sing-song voice run off her tongue.

Was that so much to ask for? Well, yes, but he still wanted it…

They found themselves stopped for the night or two in a village on the coast. She was tired from all the walking and sleeping in the grass. She was willing to spend a few dollars to have a nice bed to sleep in for the night. She booked a room at one of the inns in town and collapsed into the mattress in the room, throwing her robes to the side and cuddling into the comforter. It had been so long since she was living in such comfortable conditions.

He took a seat beside her and pulled out a book, flipping to the most recent page and diving in. He was more than happy to finally rest. He was lazier than she was, after all. They had been walking for almost a month now, he was tired of it. The only thing that kept him going was seeing her smile every now and then, especially the ones directed at him, or in response to something he said.

Something about those smiles just made him feel good inside. It was sickening. These mushy, gushy feelings he was having. He was beginning to think he might be falling for the girl, like, falling in love. He was disturbed. Was he really that weak to a pretty face, soft hands, and a warm heart?

“Shikamaru?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll be home in a week, and you’ll have to go back to the Leaf Village,” she said. He nodded. At that point, they would go their separate ways and it would all be over, this friendship they had. He’d never felt so torn about a mission until now.

He replied casually, “Yeah. Time flies, huh?”

She held her breath for a moment, thinking over her next words very carefully. She’d actually been pondering when she was gonna tell him over the last few days, thinking over every way the scenario could play out. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to leave you, Shikamaru,” she confessed, finally letting go of the breath she was holding.

He raised a brow, setting down his book and turning to face her. “What do you mean?”

“Well...it’s just that your Hokage seems to really like me, and I don’t really have a home anymore with my clan gone,” she mumbled, twiddling her fingers in her lap. “I was thinking maybe after I heal the elders and the village that I could go home with you instead. Live in the leaf village.”

He just looked at her. Had all his longing been for nothing? Could she really mean it? Coming home with him? Could his future really involve seeing her every day, introducing her to his best friends, and healing his people when they were injured?

“I mean, if you don’t think it’s a good idea, though, I totally get it-”

“No! I-I love that idea, actually.”

“Really?”

“Would I say it if I didn’t mean it?”

He watched as her lips curled into a bright smile and she clasped her hands together. “Shikamaru, I’m so happy. You and the other Leaf nin are the only people to show me any kindness in a long time. I get to go home to people that will care about me.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty good at that back in the Leaf. Caring, that is.”

She fell back against the bed and sighed, curling up in the sheets once again. He watched as she smiled into the covers and closed her eyes, relishing in this feeling of newfound freedom and happiness, of the hope she found in him and the village. Despite finding women troublesome most of the time, he was willing to go through trouble for her. He felt like he’d do just about anything for this girl.

So unlike him. Tch. Get a grip, Shika.

Her next words had him melting like putty in her hands though. He just couldn’t help it.

"I'm glad you were assigned this mission with me. You helped me awaken my abilities, and I think it was fate that brought us together for that to happen," she sighed. "This meeting, you and I, it was always meant to be. I'm sure of it now."

"Maybe you're right. I wouldn't know," he replied.

It was quiet for a while, just her lost in her own dreams, her own thoughts. Her eyes trailed over to him, and she just knew she was swoon. With his lazy grin and his thoughtful gaze. It was so obvious to her now.

She confessed, “I think I like you. As more than just a friend, Shikamaru. I know I probably shouldn’t be telling you this considering I still need you to escort me to the village and all, and you might not want me to go back to the Leaf with you now, but I just-”

He couldn’t wait anymore. He was going crazy. Finally, he kissed her.

She felt his hands resting on either side of her head and his lips pressed carefully to hers, testing the waters. She brought her own hands up to cup his own, bringing him closer and deeper into the kiss. She smiled and sighed, enjoying the feeling of pure bliss. It had been so long since she felt something so good. Something so sweet.

“You like me too?”

“You’re dumb as hell.”

And he kissed her again. And again. And maybe a couple more times after that.

#shikamaru x reader #naruto x reader #shikamaru x you #naruto #shikamaru nara #shikamaru imagine #shikamaru one shot #naruto one shot #naruto imagine #imagine #x reader #oneshot #naruto x you #naruto x y/n #shikamaru x y/n

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

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yoga!din thoughts:

they've been fucking around for awhile, but only in the studio. never beyond the studio doors, not even in the cramped, single-person bathroom across the hall. their relationship is purely physical—probably couldn't even consider it fwb. he likes her, is irritated by her, likes the smoothness of her pussy. she likes him, is fascinated by him, likes the rigidness of his cock. it doesn't go much further than that.

that all changes when they run into each other at the grocery store.

I-

christ on a cracker here we go. I’m ready to die now. Cause of death, yoga!Din oh NO-

This... I have no idea what any of this is, but Jess and I have been having a good ol’ time with it. I also want to give a shout out to Rachel for always being a rock in these unprecedented times and taking interest in this main man and I’ll probably be sending you similar messages for your masseuse au to torture you and im not even a little sorry about it

(warnings: SMUT, spanking, language, so pls minors, politely, go home thanks)

She always does this—why does she always do this?

She drifts down the aisles with the practiced effort of a trapeze artist, juggling the load of groceries bundled to her chest.

Get a cart. Just get a damn cart—a basket, something.

But no. She doesn’t. It happens every time: she goes in for one item—maybe two—and two turns to three and three turns to four, and suddenly they’ve multiplied like rabbits and she’s got half the store in her arms.

Trail mix from the bulk bins, almond milk, coffee grounds, bananas, spirulina powder, those delicious chickpea chips that were buy-one-get-one—how was she supposed to just walk past that—spinach, tofu, zucchini noodles, salmon fillets—

And she nearly drops it all when she spots him. Dark hair, dark eyes.

She stalls out, puttering to a halt. He’s reaching into the frozen meats section, rifling through the various cold cuts. She’d recognize the yawn of his back anywhere, the slope of that broad plane— his arms too, how his tricep cuts across the tawny gold. The shapes they can make.

The positions they can bend her into.

Maybe it’s best if she just turns around now, sneaks away, pretends like none of this ever happened—she could do that. That would be easy—the easier of the two options, to be sure, because the alternative sounds terrifying and messy, and maybe if she just backs up nice and slow—

Din wheels his cart forwards and glances up. Shit.

He’s not sure what he’s even looking at at first. His feet slow, and there’s a groove creased into his forehead, brow ticking down. She’s here— right here in front of him. How can she be here? How can she be anywhere but where he knows her best—knows her at all? Inside that room, woven limbs and sweaty skin on glossed wood floors. How can she be here—outside that sacred space—in his fucking grocery store?

They stare at each other. She breaks first.

“Hi,” she mumbles out, beguiling.

“Hey,” Din responds, gruffer than he means.

“Hi,” she says again, pressing her lips together to hide a smile.

A grin tugs at him too, but he tampers it; they let a silent, pregnant beat pass between them and then—

“What are you doing he-“ “Have you been here befo-“

They’re speaking over each other—nervous and out of step—and they share a huffed chuckle. They’ve never been this before. They’ve always been physical and brash and bold and they’ve never needed words—they’ve shown each other exactly what they meant and what they wanted through touch—and now, when they need them most, they’re at a loss.

“Just getting some supplies,” she answers him with a shrug, causing one of her many parcels to slip from the precarious tower she’s constructed, and Din, ever agile, catches it before it strays too far.

“My hero,” she quips dryly, gratefully, as he carefully places the package of tofu on top of the heap. He makes a face, wrinkling his nose. “Is that stuff any good?”

“It’s an acquired taste,” she smirks.

He’s closer to her now, less than an arm’s length away, and Din’s eyes flit to the fading mark at the swallow of her neck, peeking up from the collar of her shirt— the mark he left there just days prior, when she ground down on him, supple frame speared by his cock, rocking frantic and needy up and down on him, whimpering hushed noises into the empty studio. His hand splayed the width of her back, cradling her to him as she rode Din, stretching around him fucking perfectly.

“Fuck, this pussy takes me so well,” he seethed through a clenched jaw, her breasts rutting against his chest with each bounce of her hips. He growled. “You’re so - shit - you’re tight-”

Din gave her ass a sharp smack before pawing at it, grabbing a fistful of the flesh there and she moaned— she fucking moaned, depraved and oaky, and knocked her head back, lips falling open and eyes rolling shut. Din groaned at the sight—this woman, this fucking thorn in his goddamn side—sheathed around him, writhing as he fucked up into her—and she had the audacity to moan like that.

“You like that?” He slapped her ass again and she whimpered, clawing at him, tangling her fingers into his hair, nails scraping over his scalp. He had to resist the urge to shudder—snapping his mouth tight around a whine.

Normally, she’d meet him with some sort of resistance. She was cheeky and smarmy and they both knew it—it’s a game they played—perfectly balanced, perfectly opposed. But she couldn’t help it—she was too far gone, too fucked out, and the words unspooled from her lips like yarn.

“Yes-yes—fuck, Din- please.”

That earned her another swift crack, the pillowed flesh prickling red from the sting of his palm, and it tore a guttural sound out of her, wrecking through her pretty throat. “God, you’re a filthy little thing. So f-fucking filthy for me-“

He ripped her orgasm out of her, his fingers snaked between their bodies, furiously working at her clit in tight, wet circles. It felt like a punch to his gut, as her pussy clamped down around him and gushed.

When he finally came, spilling into her slicked cunt, he had to bite down on her neck just to keep from fucking shouting.

He tears his gaze off the bruise, returning to her face—and it’s hardly any better. The corner of her mouth has turned up, just barely, the whisper of it wry and aching. That look—that infuriating, debilitating glint in her eyes—has settled and it makes his cock twitch against his jeans.

“Having a barbecue?” she asks, nodding to his cart, the beer and buns and patties there.

He clears his throat, “Something like that.”

Fenn insisted on it—’I’m not wasting the perfect weather. We’re all doing something, whether you like it or not’— He could only fight her on it for so long. Lesser men have tried and failed, and he knew it best to quit while he was ahead.

“Sounds fun. It’s supposed to be a beautiful weekend.”

“Yeah, so I hear.” Din has to fight the roll of his eyes.

The spell had been broken. They’d spirited themselves away—lying to each other and themselves—as if their tryst existed above consequence, above ramification—like they weren’t even real people. Just ideas, ideas they’d fuck and then suddenly and conveniently vanish—out of sight, out of mind; would disappear as the sun that set on them, blurring lines into the dark.

But he sees her here, clumsy willow arms and cotton tee and cut-off shorts and those beautiful fucking legs he loves wrapped around him so much, and she’s glowing despite the ugly fluorescent sheen cast up from the linoleum tile and—

It’s different. She’s different. Fuller. He knows her now—like this. And he can’t unknow her.

His throat bobs. Maybe he should ask her if she’s free. If she’s got plans. Maybe—

“I’ll see you on Wednesday then,” she says, something unreadable in her voice.

Din swallows. He nods. “Wednesday.”

Oh fuck, he likes her.

She tips her head to him, grinning something small, and shuffles off towards the register.

He watches her go, eyes following as she rounds a corner and slips away. She can feel them on her, his eyes, boring into her backside—all the way to her car, through the town, up to her driveway, into her kitchen where she cupboards her groceries—she feels him, the heavy heat of him, melting against her spine.

@djarinsbeskar @frannyzooey @pedros-mustache

#yoga!din #I am unwell #good bye #modern!din #din djarin smut #mando smut #I ain’t sorry #din djarin x female oc #mandalorian smut #thirsty thursday #amirite

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brightly-painted-canvas · 3 years

Text

How does it feel? (drabble, The Old Guard - Andy & Nicky)

I had this vignette sitting in my heart for a few days and I figured out I should write it down before I ended up losing its warmth. I am a sucker for fics about Andy’s and Nicky’s relationship and this is somehow a small attempt at describing how they communicate, even over a difficult topic like mortality.

It’s morning. Early and quiet.

Andy is sneaking inside the safehouse from the back door, sure she’d be the only one up at this hour until she rounds the corner and sees Nicky at the kitchen table, kneading bread with swift but vigorous movements.

She quickly considers her options: Nicky has for sure noticed her already, so heading toward her room without saying ‘hello’ doesn’t sit right. She also had wanted a cup of coffee to wash down the stale taste of alcohol sitting under her tongue after a long night of cheap drinks, so the kitchen had to be a brief stop before hitting the bed.

She quietly steps inside, scanning the situation: flour stains are all around the main surfaces, the oven is already turned on and a fragrant smell of sweet baking cookies is filling the air of the small room.

Nicky doesn’t even lift his head, he just fixes his big, pale eyes on her and smiles that minute smile of his.

“Coffee?” he asks, his deep soothing voice still rough with sleep.

Andy nods once and Nicky is already moving, briefly wiping his hands on a clean dishrag before reaching the cupboard for a mug. The family-size moka he insists on keeping in almost all the safehouses they use more frequently is already filled with blessedly warm, bitter coffee.

She sits on one of the kitchen table’s chairs, near the momentarily abandoned bread dough.

Once he has placed the mug in front of her, she grins and says: “You’re a saint.”

He snorts.

It’s an inside joke between them: she doesn’t believe in anything holy. He doesn’t anymore (maybe).

But if there ever was anything worth calling sainted in Andy’s long life, it would always somehow be related to her Nicolò.

He wouldn’t agree, of course.

Nicky gets back to his task of kneading bread to perfection, quiet and precise, like all of his movements.

Andy sips her coffee and enjoys the silence, the brief interruptions dictated by the oven’s ticking and the bread’s slamming over and over on the table’s board.

She observes Nicky’s profile like she has done so many times before, noticing his somehow always disheveled hair having grown a bit too long, the dark circles under his eyes having deepened in the last months, enhancing the tiny white scar under his left eye, the one connected to the cut on his mesophrium and over his right brow.

He was never specific about his life before his first death, but Andy somehow knows the story behind that long scar. She remembers the feelings she had in reaction to that lighthearted confession he uttered: disbelief and outrage.

After all her years wandering the Earth, that tiny information still had her despair about humanity, its obstinacy in bringing suffering to its own, repressing and oppressing what is pure and good and beautiful.

What she hates the most has always been feeling powerless in the face of injustice.

But if Nicolò may once have been a scared, vulnerable boy, he wasn’t anymore.

Andy’s gaze lingers on his strong arms, his wide shoulders, the set of his angular jaw, the muscles moving under his pale skin: he is a remarkably powerful man now, her brother. A forever 30 years old warrior who died in his prime, never to be seen aging and wilted if not for many, many years to this day. And not by her, it seems.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, breaking their prolonged silence.

Nicky hums, a singular small sound, affirmative.

“What’s on your mind?” she follows, knowing all too well it’s pointless: Nicky never answers these questions if he can avoid it, if it’s someone else other than Joe asking, if Joe somehow doesn’t know already.

This time as well, he shifts his gaze to meet hers and smiles, tiredly but reassuringly.

Andy prides herself to be able to read all her brother’s tiny reactions, unsaid truths, hidden emotions: Nicolò may be the hardest one to read, but she has always managed.

She doesn’t know it as deeply as Yusuf, but she understands his core in her own way.

She uncurls her hand from around the mug’s handle and places it upon Nicky’s dusted with flour’s one, which immediately stills over soft bread dough.

Their eyes are still locked and Andy thinks back at all the times she had read deep into these pools of grey mist and green waters, threading out his emotions like a Moira spinning a seafoam yarn.

When he’s this particular type of quiet, unguarded and open, she can read him like a well-known piece of poetry, an ancient song.

“How does it feel?” he asks, and Andy feels like flinching, but he already has his warm hand turned, cupping her smaller one, resting the tips of his fingers on her wrist like it’s a casual position, not a subtle way to feel her life pulsing.

Oh, she thinks. Oh, my sweet one.

They hadn’t had time yet to talk about any of it.

They had to run and hide and let the dust settle, had to decide over the consequence of Booker’s actions, had to figure out Copley, had to wait for her to heal for the first time in forever, had to care about Nile.

Nicky had only had time to exhale a tiny sigh while still strapped on a medical bed, give his wise speech over immortality (wasted on the obtuse mind of an already dead man), ask her if she felt like facing yet another tiring battle.

He had accepted everything that came after with his usual grace, his absolute faith: trusted her leadership without faltering once over almost one thousand years, shielded her with his body like it was meant to be used that way, sacrificed yet some more pain, another death, to survival.

They had yet to talk about it, like they always do somehow in some way at some point, the two of them.

In their long, silent moments shared, just like this one, they always end up talking about what matters the most.

“I feel finite.” she replies, smiling privately at her beloved little brother.

He smiles back and Andy knows he has tricked her once again: he has let her in only to be able to see her in return, to gaze into her soul. Her clever, smart little brother.

She truly envies how effortlessly he manages to do that.

“It’s good.” she adds. She lifts her hand from his soft grip, caressing up his arm to his shoulder, the side of his face, the tip of his too long ash brown hair.

He lets her touch him gently, strokes the skin under his eye with her thumb, and holds the side of his head in her palm.

You are mine: my kin, my family, she tells him, through her silence. I will leave you, but you’ll always have me. I am right here.

“Finally.” she sighs, contentedly, conveying her calmness with her touch, the long awaited peace to her eternal inner turmoil now right there, close to the surface: she has a time now.

She doesn’t have to long for an end that never comes, anymore.

His smile is a blessed thing, once again: a brief glance at unfiltered grace, the purity of a cherished soul she saw growing, learning, mending, finding its purpose and balance.

She is old and tired, but her love for this one will always bring her back to her primitive emotions, her loyalty, her animal instinct of offering and receiving protection.

She often recalls with amusement having been worshipped as a god, in the past: she had with Nile, right after meeting her. She sometimes thinks about what those ancient, forgotten people would had said and done for her Quỳnh, her Yusuf, her Nicolò. Her Sébastien and her Nile.

She’s sure they would have fallen for this remarkable man’s eyes like they did with hers, with his secret smiles and gentle voice. Worshipped his proud profile and handsome body in a manner that would have made Yusuf bristle with jealousy, exactly like he did back in the Renaissance, when a bit too many artists had their greedy eyes on the classical features of the other half of his soul.

She chuckles low, lost in her silly thoughts. Nicky doesn’t ask, but looks glad to see mirth on her face.

The oven rings and Andy lets her baby brother go with a last stroke of his soft hair. He moves his head just enough to place a small, grateful kiss on the skin of her fingers.

“Let me get you those biscotti, they should be perfect with coffee.” he says, turning around to open the oven: warmth engulfs the tiny kitchen and Andy is sure it won’t take long for Joe and Nile to wake up now, following the sweet scent of food with rumbling stomachs, like the puppies they not-so-secretly are.

It means her quiet time shared with Nicky is coming to an end.

She accepts a plate of still hot cookies with a satisfied hum that turns into a shameless moan once she tastes the first one: “You’re my favourite!” she exclaims, like she often does in these cases.

“You don’t have favourites, remember?” he smirks, getting back to his softened bread dough.

“That doesn’t sound like me at all.” she smiles with mischief, gulping down some more coffee, as heavy steps start resounding from the floor above them, down the stairs, and Joe’s voice calling for his husband heralds his appearance at the kitchen’s door.

Hope you enjoyed! Sorry for any mistake, English is not my first language.

I’m on Ko-fi!

#fanfiction #drabble #the old guard #andromache of scythia #nicolò di genova #andy & nicky #sibling feels #I made myself emotional (just a bit) because FOUND FAMILY #I love them so much

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whorphydice · 3 years

Text

Change

Welcome to the renaissance, have a fic.

Real talk, this is not in one of my major AUs because I wanted to do something general at first. So, here you go, some Orphydice.

More coming soon.

One, Two, Three, Four

Tomato, Tomato, Peach, Tomato

It should be enough, it has to be enough. That’s what she repeats to herself, as she stacks jar after jar. Recounting after recounting, time after time.

“We have enough.” She repeats her mantra, out loud this time, as she replaces the

final glass jar into the cabinet. “We have to have enough, it has to be enough.”

It’s an endless game, an endless worry.

Eurydice grips her well patched sweater tighter, pulling it closer around her small frame. The end of summer breeze catches her dark hair, brushing it back over her shoulders where it just meets the top of her shoulder blades. She lets out a heavy sigh as her dark eyes scan the shelves again. The shelves are nearly as full of supply as her eyes are with worry. “We have enough.”

“We do.” The gentle voice comes from behind her at the same time long arms wrap around her waist, coming to rest on the slight curve at her hips. His face presses into the curve of her neck, breathing in the scent of her. “It’s not like it was, the weather is kinder.”

It was not the weather itself that was kinder, but rather the gods who controlled the fate of seasons were at ease, and at ease because of Orpheus himself.

“But what if it isn’t” It comes out as a whisper, rather than the confident tone she intended, relaying her lack of confidence.She freezes for a second, worried that he will take this to mean she doesn’t believe in him. “What if they change their minds.” It was never about Orpheus, no. She had more faith in the poet who changed the world than in anything else, but Gods, Gods were fickle. Gods were cruel. It wouldn’t take her by surprise, to wake to a storm so fierce it shatters the remnants of their already cracked windows. It wouldn’t take her by surprise, to see they had fallen into displeasure with each other once more. It wouldn’t take her by surprise, if they left the mortal world to suffer the consequences.

“Then we change them back.” It’s a simple statement, and she can hear the smile in his voice as he says it, can feel the way his cheeks lift into the smile against her neck.

“I’m serious, Orpheus.” Eurydice turns in his arms, her hands rest on his forearms as they fall from her waist. “What if things are exactly the way there were before, what if midway through winter we’re choosing between food or firewood, what if-“

“We won’t have to, Eurydice, look at me-“ He cradles her cheeks in his hands, gingerly tipping her face so that while they were not eye level, they could look into the eyes of the other. “It could be the worst storm in our lives, it could be the worst winter you’ve ever seen, and Eurydice I will never let you go without. Not again. We will have enough, Eurydice, because you are enough. And as long as I’ve got that.. I’ll find food. We can cut down half a forest for firewood. As long as I have you.. I can find the rest.”

Eurydice squeezes her eyes shut and can only nod, afraid her voice and tears would betray her, afraid they would reveal the very real fear that consumes her any time the wind blows. Instead, she leans in to bury her face against his chest, the comforting feeling of his hand brushing over her hair steadying the pounding she feels in her chest. If he can feel the warmness of her tears against his shirt he is kind enough not to mention it. Fear is not something she wants to admit to feeling.

Nothing changes after all. The phrase, it haunts Eurydice, even as Orpheus shows more than ever his capability to listen to her needs. Even when Orpheus shows day in and day out that he is trying, when he promises that he will always listen to what she needs. Even when the pantry is stocked at the woodpile grows, even when she can see the change in the way the weather shifts gradually and gently season to season… change is unpredictable.

“We can fix the windows.” He offers, breaking her from her reverie. His hand runs over her arm as he looks around their tiny home, carefully observing any deficiency.

She sniffles, leaning back to look up at him. “What? The windows?” She cocks her head as she catches the window in her view. The cracks are enough that water can trickle down their wall during the heavier summer storms, but not so much so that autumn leaves could pile at their bedroom floor.

“We can patch them. Keep the cold out. And I can start patching up the blankets- oh! Wait right here.” He slips away with a smile on his face, crossing the short distance across the length of their studio home to the chest at the foot of their mattress. He pushes the quilted blankets that rest on top of it aside, so that he can dig deep inside of it. Orpheus reaches the bottom, hands wrapped around a well worn, torn wool jacket that had once kept Eurydice warm on the most bitter winter nights. It’s seen better days, but as he approaches her with it stretched out in front of him, recognition fills her face as her deep eyes widen in a mix of shock and disbelief.

“Is that- where did you find that?” She grips the fabric with one hand, pulling it against her chest in awe. “The fates they took it from me, when they took our things in the bag-“

“I never did find the bag.” He admits, a red tint filling his cheeks gradually. “But I had found it.. before Mr. Hermes told me how to find you. I kept it, for when I got you home..” He fiddles with his suspenders, almost nervously, as he recounts to her his decision to keep something that had once belonged to her. “And I had lost you, but I knew, when I got you back… I couldn’t not keep something that had once been yours.”

She hears the words he says, though she is so distracted by the gesture that the words are nearly lost on her. This jacket, as worn and torn as it was, had kept her alive. It had been her blanket during a sleet storm when she slept under a bridge. A pillow, when her only mattress was the cold concrete of an alleyway street. It may not look like much, but to Eurydice, it had been her lifeline. She flips it in her arms to run over the buttons, and when she goes to touch the empty spot where the first button had fallen off in a blizzard years prior, she is treated by a little silver button secured with red string in an X shape over the center of the attachment. This wasn’t her work. Neither was the patch she now recognized on the sleeve of the jacket, covering a whole she could recall in her struggle against fate, sewn on with the same red yarn-like thread. “I didn’t- this isn’t-“

“Oh I um… I fixed it. I hope that’s okay… I just didn’t want you to get it back and for it to be too-“ He is cut off when he is tugged by a suspender to her level and her lips catch his in a deliberate, but intense kiss. When she pulls away from him, his cheeks are now substantially pink, but for the first time that afternoon a smile graces her face.

“Thank you, Orpheus. I never thought- thank you.” He had promised to keep her warm, after all. Eurydice knew that no, this old wool coat was not going to put food on their table. It was not going to fuel a fire when a winter storm raged on outside their door. It was not going to bring a paycheck home. Yet, this jacket, stolen from her by fate, was hope. Maybe things could change, after all.

#hadestown #hadestown au #hadestown fic #orphydice #orpheus and eurydice #orphydice fic

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every1studio · 4 years

Text

REQUESTED: “consequences” mafia edition [ateez]

genre: SMUT (if you are uncomfortable by mature content, please don’t indulge into this read) + slight fluff + female reader

ficstyle: bulletpoints + oneshots + [PART 1]

request: “ Could you do a long part 2 to the booty smack mafia ateez reaction? (You make it smutty if you want) “

note: this would be my first SMUT SMUT, so keep that in mind when you read this and HAPPY HOLIDAYS

HONGJOONG

“now, sweet little kitten, what can I get ya?”

you swallowed the nervousness in your throat

“I don’t want to drink anything...”

he got close enough for you to feel his breath on the nape of your neck

“you’re not going to let me drink by myself, are you kitten?”

you couldn’t look at him in his eyes; his voice was alluring enough, you couldn’t imagine what looking at his face would do to you

but he turns your face to make you look at him

“or do you want something else?”

you could feel the vibrations of his voice as you clench the growing heat that settled in your panties

“cat got you tongue kitten?” he smirks as he leads you away from bar

“I don’t even know your name. this would be considered stranger danger AND sexual harassment..” you tried to put up a front

the man chuckled as he ran his fingers through his hair as he kept eye contact with you, “didn’t think that this would bother you so much.. you could call me Hongjoong..”

even without a drop of alcohol in your system, everything moved so quickly

you found yourself in the back of his spacious Mercedes-Benz

your hair was tousled; but he liked how it framed your face

he liked your painfully satisfied face when he pulled it back into a makeshift ponytail

the straps of your dress had slipped from your shoulders; but it made your décolletage all the more delectable

he couldn’t help but dust deep, purple lovebites across them

and he could not get his face out of your pussy

“kitten, you really are something.. you have got to be my new favorite flavor”

you could feel him smirk from under you as his arms hooked your legs around his head

you released your hands that were buried in his hair and covered your face; you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by what he just said

“d-don’t say th-that...”

Hongjoong stops and climbs up to meet your face; that was the 5th time that he denied you of an orgasm

you whimper at the emptiness as you look at him through your hands

“why not, kitten? you look so pretty like this.. you look so pretty for me..” he leans in for a kiss, with his lips glistened against the light, you could taste yourself on him

you were so distracted by the kiss, you didn’t notice his angry-red tip lining up with your pussy

the moment you felt the stretch you had to pull away from the kiss; the mafia leader was about the perfect size and girth for you

“you are just perfect fit aren’t you, kitten~” he gives out a raspy groan as he was still trying to fill you up to the hilt of his base

but when he got there, he took his time; dragging against your walls at an agonizing pace

you gripped onto the collar of his opened shirt, “you need to move faster.. please..”

Hongjoong used one of his hands, a hand that probably got whatever it wanted, and turned your chin so that you would look at him straight in his eyes

“what makes you think you’re the one calling the shots here, kitten? I wanna play with you a little bit more..”

(mischievous dom) you cursed in the back of your brain

you knew that he’s got you wrapped around his fingers like a kitten with a ball of yarn

SEONGHWA

“the only apology I’ll accept from you will be in a form of kiss.. would you be a dear and apologize to me one more time?”

you were so flustered by his visuals that you excused yourself to the bathrooms

Seonghwa tried to hold you back but you had already slip into the crowd

a group of girls had followed you; the same group of girls that were trying to woo the mafia leader himself

“you owe Seonghwa money or something like that?” one of the overly lip-lined girl closed in on you tried to wash your hands

you had to shove them to get to the sink, “Seonghwa who? I have no interest in said-man..”

they all kept on chittering about how you weren’t enough for him but you could care less.. right?

you flicked water in their faces, “how about you try a little harder if you really want his attention, instead of swarming around me like little mosquitoes...”

they screeched and tried to come for you but a clear and loud voice echoed within the stalls

“I hope you ladies aren’t trying to cause a fight in my establishment..” Seonghwa loosened his tie and shoved his hands in his pockets

they shook their heads as they tried to fix their appearance to be noticed by him

but he wasn’t looking at any of them but you

he turned to look at them; he jerked his head to the exit of the bathroom

they exited and they gave you the death glare

you quietly tried to slip away from him again but this time he was able to grab your arms and pin you against the exit doors of the bathroom

he was able to hold your wrists with one hand and lock the doors with the other, “you’re not gonna run away this time.. if you’re a proper human being, you should apologize, no?”

“I.. I’m sorry...” you turned to look away as you pouted in slight frustration, “is that enough for you..”

“I know you heard me earlier.. I’m not going to accept that as an apology..” the moment after he said that, he latched onto your neck and wedged his leg in between your legs

you couldn’t even move from his grip, “wa-w-wait..I-”

he made you completely breathless; almost embarrassed by how wet you felt yourself getting

Seonghwa could feel it too, so he flexed his thigh as he felt you rubbing yourself on his leg, “look at you getting what you want even though you didn’t even apologize.. what a spoiled brat..”

he nibbled on your jawline which was the sprinkles on top of a sundae

“I’ll d-do anything.. I’m sorry..I.. I really am..”

he lets go of your wrists and combs the hair out of your face, “are you real-”

you interrupted him by tugging him by his tie and locking onto his lips

you could feel his lips curl up into a smirk

in one swift moment, he swoops you up and place you on the cold marble counter

“too late to be a people pleaser now, sweetheart.. I’ll show you what happens to bad girls who don’t listen..”

YUNHO

“time starts now”

you could feel him grind against your leather thigh-high boots

a sense of pride washed over you

you raked your nails up his neck and grabbed onto his hair with a little bit more force than necessary

you were surprise that he was giving into his pleasure for pain in public

it made you smirk with pride

you pulled him down to your neck to whisper into his ears; caught you off-guard when he started to suck right below your ear

“look at you losing yourself in front of all these people.. you think you can do whatever you want with whoever you want just because you own this club, doncha babyboy?”

you could feel him pull his hand off of his hair and wraps your arms around yourself, “don’t be so high and mighty.. and Yunho to you.. that’s I’m still in charge here, miss..”

“Y/N..” you huffed

you could feel his voice vibrate against your hair even through the loud booming bass of the speakers

he relaxes his grip on you and takes you to another part of the club; exclusive to only him and whoever he wants

you tried to hide your smile when you saw how impatient he was, trying to rush into a room

“needy, are we?” you couldn’t help but tease

with a swift tug, he threw you onto the silk clad mattress and cowered over you

“yes I am.. and you’re going to do whatever it takes to please me..”

this new surge of power made you soak right through your panties

you started off by sliding his tie from around his neck and tied his wrists to headboard

he was getting addicted to your nails raking against his skin; drooling at the lingering, phantom pain that it left

your teasing lip against his pulse; never giving him the full satisfaction of a deep colored hickey

and the countless of times you rode him almost into bliss until pulling himself out of you

at first it was so hard for you to fit around him, sure being a big guy, he was bound to have a big dick

you thought you were wet enough to ease himself into you but BOY WERE YOU WRONG

it was a long night that went straight into dusk

you somehow found yourself wrapped around his arms as he softly snored

you couldn’t believe that this teddy bear of a man was a mafia leader, you tried to slip away from him

but with his eyes still closed, he pulls you back into his warm body, “you haven’t pleased me enough yet.. stay in bed with me until I say so..”

YEOSANG

“you can’t be a gentlemanly mafia leader, Yeosang... those don’t coincide with each other..” you murmured as you took another sip of your 3rd drink of the night

Yeosang’s smile is rested in his palm

he slowly takes the drink away from you has he inches closer to you, “I think that’s enough for you tonight, milady..”

you definitely felt tipsy but you were still lucid

you tried to take your drink back but Yeosang sensually inhales your scent as he nuzzles into your neck

“you don’t want to listen?”

“i’m fine.. I can drink more..” you managed to say, you started to feel a growing heat in your lower region

it was like Yeosang knew by the way you tried to move away from him

“don’t think you can hide that from me, princess.. I could smell you from miles and miles away..”

although you didn’t mind having his undivided attention, you were worried about the people around you

Yeosang just knew; he just knew everything that you were thinking or feeling

he lifts you up, bridal-style, and drops you off at one of the tables

it was one of the VIP tables, where you can see everything but no one can see you

unless they really squinted

“you like knowing that there’s people out there, possibly looking at you.. hearing you.. or even smelling you..”

you whimpered as you felt his hands massage at your breasts; slowly making you shimmy your way out of your clubbing attire

you were shocked at his size that was pressed up against your thigh

you had an idea that he was of a respective size

but you were you were surprised when you felt his hardened cock rub against your leg; feeling his true size

it made you drool

and it did

Yeosang noticed and had slurped it up, “you want my cock.. don’t you~”

you nodded like it was the only thing you knew, “yesyesyes.. I want it soo bad..”

he flipped you so that he was slouching against the seat and you were met face to face with his belt that sat above his bulging, throbbing cock

“you’ll do a good job for me.. won’t you, princess?”

all of a sudden, you wanted to whatever he wanted, however he wanted

frankly speaking, you wanted him to order you around; knowing that in the end you’ll get what you want if you listen

SAN

“you will be mine.. and what’s mine lasts forever..”

you shook with fear as he tucked the strand of hair behind your ear

sure, you were scared but you were just as turned on

he was immensely good-looking despite of how much blood he had on his hands

San could feel you shake under his touch

“I wouldn’t hurt you.. I want you to last forever..” he starts to draw circles on the small of your back

“unless you want me to..”

you noticed that as he said that, his pants were fitting a little tighter than it was just a couple seconds ago

you didn’t mean to look for as long as you did, but San felt an overwhelming sense of ego when he noticed you

he taps at your chin to have you look up at him with your doe-like eyes

“eyes are up here..”

a rush of adrenaline made you do things you didn’t think you’d do, especially to a feared mafia leader

you hooked your finger through his belt loop and dragged him into a closet where his gang kept some of their empty weapons

San smirked as he grabbed one of his favorite pistols, “don’t worry, sweetheart, these are all for show.. unloaded and all.. but you don’t care, I can see it in your eyes..”

you drags the muzzle along your jawline and excruciatingly slow down and around your breasts

you weren’t hyperventilating but you were breathing heavier than usual

“wanna show me how you’d suck me off? I like to see if my merchandises is in mint condition~”

San lifts the pistol straight at your mouth, knowing that his fingers were off the trigger made you feel a LITTLE bit safer

you placed one of your hands on his hand and the other onto the base of the pistol

it was a weird feeling but you couldn’t help but feel aroused by his little eyebrow raises when you changed up your little actions

from trying to fit the whole pistol in your mouth to slurping up your drool from the sides

San’s sudden jerk of the pistol startled you; he discarded it as he forcefully grabbed your chin

“I’ve had enough with watching.. I think I wanna take her out for a little whirl..” he says moments before he shoves his active tongue in your mouth

he twirls you around so that you’d sit comfortably on a crate, “I take excellent care of my possessions but just so you know.. I can’t promise that you won’t a bruise or two..”

you brought his delicately strong hands up to your throat, “I-I don’t mind...”

San leans in closer and closer to you lips, “of course you wouldn’t..”

MINGI

“like this?”

he smacked the other side of your ass just as hard maybe even harder

at this point your legs completely gave on, you had no choice but to lean on him

to your surprise, you felt an uneasy yet welcoming warmth pool in between your legs

“j-just like that..” you mumbled for only himself to hear

his hand was still on your butt as he somehow maneuvers your panties down your legs

he bends down to pick it up

he takes a whiff at it before he shoves it in his back pocket

you couldn’t believe how helpless you felt

“don’t tease me like this..” you clenched your legs in between his as you pathetically whimpered

Mingi couldn’t wait any longer

he brought you outside

you hissed as you felt the cold fence against your back

in contrast to the cold, your radiating heat sat right on top of Mingi’s thigh and his warm, thick lips latched onto yours

you couldn’t help but want more and more of him

you frantically tried to get him out of his clothes; which he successfully ripped open with one hand movement

“I’m not going anywhere, baby.. why the rush?”

he wanted to hear from your lips, why you were rushing?

“I need to feel you in me...” as if your statement wasn’t needy enough, the way you said it made Mingi want to ram his cock into you the moment you finished your sentence

“say no more-” he doesn’t even take the time to take off your clothes

he pushes up your dress so that it bunches up above your hips and he picks you up so that your entrance is literally inviting his tip in

“you’re in for a ride, baby girl..”

WOOYOUNG

“my. fucking. pleasure.”

he had such a tight grip on you

if you fought any harder, you would fall off of his shoulder

you were irritated but you were left with nothing to do until he put you down

your ears perked as heard the sound of the elevator doors open

he places you, basically tosses you, down

your heels caused you to become unbalanced; making you fall backwards onto the rails of the elevator

moments as you fell onto the rails, he placed both hands on the rails, barricading you inside

you stared straight into his eyes; they were filled with an immense amount of fiery passion and lust as yours was filled with loathsome lust

you couldn’t help but feel extremely attracted to him

but just because he was a feared being, doesn’t mean that can treat everyone like he owns them

“what do you want from me,” your voice was stern but laced with a suggestive tone

“besides fucking up until my name, which is Wooyoung if you didn’t know already, is the only thing you know? I just want to get to know you.. take you on a couple of dates.. maybe even take you where ever you want to on our honeymoon..”

you scoffed as you gave him a half-hearted laugh, “what a way to get to girl’s heart huh?”

Wooyoung closed the space between his lips and yours, “I believe I didn’t stutter when I said that I’m gonna make you fall for me..”

you wanted to prove him wrong, so you played along with his game, “then what are you waiting for? do it-”

he flips you around and presses his hard-on in between your ass, “I’m gonna make sure that I’ll prove to you that I’m a man of my words..”

he starts the roughly grab at your breasts, taking them out of your strapless dress and stimulates your nipples

you couldn’t help but throw your head back at the sensation

he wastes no time and sucks at the nape of your neck

one of his hands push your body back into him as it snakes down to your clit and takes no time but to get you as wet as possible

“that’s it, baby. get louder for me.. I wanna hear your voice echo in this elevator..”

in your mind, you told yourself not to give into his requests

but with how good he was making you feel, how could you not?

JONGHO

“you’re nothing but a little princess in a queen’s crown.. I’m gonna show you what little princesses like you get treated like”

you chuckled as you ran your fingers through his hair

“you’ll show me what little princesses like me get treated like? I’d like to see that very much~”

Jongho could get addicted by your sultry voice that could be saturated with honey

you just wanted to see how rough he could be with you

all guys have something to prove; they feel like it’s their entitled right to

your hands gracefully slid down to caress his face; massaging his cheek that you slapped

but he firmly brings his hand up to grab your wrist

“don’t think that you can get yourself out of this by doing whatever you want.. I’m in charge here...”

you batted your eyelashes as you shimmied your way closer to him

“you’d like to punish me, wouldn’t you?”

Jongho cocks his head as smiles

he brings you into his chest; you didn’t even notice his raising hand from behind your back

you yelped as you clenched onto his shirt; he slammed his hand onto your ass, harder than he did the first time

your helplessness fed into his pride, “a queen can try and be a queen but a princess will always be a princess...”

you pulled him by his blazer into your car; thank God for self-driving systems because you couldn’t keep your hands on the wheel for more than 2 minutes

you and Jongho waltzed into your home but you two couldn’t even make it to your bedroom

unlike Jongho, you paid attention to your surroundings

as you walked through your grand doorway, you grabbed a chiffon scarf and casually placed it around his neck; knowing that you’ll save it for later

you moved him passed the staircase and onto the roomy couch in the living room; in which the couch had lovely metal armrests

you shoved him onto the couch and before you could give him the chance to get up, you pushed his shirt over his head and through his arms

you swiftly took the scarf and wrapped his wrists to the armrests

you smirk as you had the chance to reclaim your dominance

“Jongho.. you need to properly punish me..” you rigorously rubbed ass onto his bulging hard-on

“I-I swear you’ll regret it once I get out of this..” he hisses through his teeth; tugged at restraints until his fingers went purple

“I guess I better get to it,” you huffed in satisfaction; who said a queen couldn’t be an actress?

[ masterlist + guidelines ]

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jeannereames · 3 years

Text

Writing Historical Fiction (Well)

From an anonymous ask:

"What advice would you give to someone who wants to write about Alexander?" Sorry I didn't clarify, I was thinking of writing a fictional novel (but do not plan to publish it, lol)

If you’re just writing for yourself with no plans to publish, you don’t have to worry about constraints like wordcount and publishability. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to sell mainstream historicals. Selling a genre historical is easier (historical fantasy, historical mystery, historical romance). But there’s a reason it took me 30 years to get Dancing with the Lion into print. Yes, some of that time I was actually writing it, but much more was devoted to finding a market for it, and notice that I did, finally, have to sell it as genre even though it isn’t really. (It was that or shelve it forever.)

Yet if you’re asking for my recommendations, I assume you want to write something that’s marginally readable. Ergo, what follows is general advice I’d give anybody writing historical fiction.

For historicals, one must keep track of two things simultaneously: telling a good story, and portraying history accurately enough. It’s possible to do one well, but the other quite badly.

First, let’s look at how to write a good story.

There are two very basic sorts of stories: the romance, and the novel. Notice it’s romance small /r/. A romance is an adventure story; in romances, the plot dominates and characters serve the plot. A novel is character-driven, so plot events serve character development. Dancing with the Lion is a novel.

Once you’ve decided which of those you’re writing, you have a better handle on how to write it. You also need to know where you’re going: what’s the end of the story? What are the major plot points? Writers who dive in with no road map tend to produce bloated books that require massive edits. That said, romances will almost always be faster paced, in part because “what’s happening” drives it. Whereas in novels, the impact of events on characters drives it. Exclusive readers of romances are rarely pleased by the pacing of novels. They’re too slow: “Nothing is happening!” Things are happening, but internally, not externally.

Yet pacing does matter. Never let a scene do one thing when it can do three.

You will want to pay attention to something called “scene and sequel.” A “scene” is an event and a “sequel” are the consequences. So let’s say (as in my current MIP [monster in progress]) you open with a fugitive from the city jail racing through the streets with guards following: he leaps the wall of a rich man’s house and ends up in the bedroom of a visiting prince. That’s the scene. The sequel is the fall-out. (House searched, prince hides fugitive, prince gets fugitive to tell him why he’s running.) Usually near the end of the sequel(s) to the first scene, you embed the hook to the next (a slave of the rich man has been found murdered outside the city walls). The next scene concerns recovering the body and what they discover (then fall-out from that). Etc., etc., etc.

That’s how stories progress. Or don’t progress, if the author can’t master scene-sequel patterns.

It also means—again—you need to know where you’re going. Outlines Are Your Friends. But yes, your plot can still take a sharp left-hand turn that surprises you…they almost always do.

When I sat down to write Dancing with the Lion, I knew three things:

1) I wanted to write about Alexander before he became king.

2) I wanted to explore his relationship with Hephaistion.

3) I especially wanted to consider how both became the men they’d did.

With those goals in mind, I could frame the story. Because I always intended Hephaistion to be as important as Alexander, the novel opens in his point-of-view to establish that. And because I didn’t want to deal with Alexander as king, the novel had to end before he became one. History itself gives a HUGE and obvious gift in the abrupt murder of Philip. Where to open was harder to decide, but as I wanted to explore the boys’ friendship and its impact on their maturation into men, I should logically begin with their meeting, and decided not to have them meet too young. From there, I spun out Hephaistion’s background, and his decision to run away from home to join the circus, er, I mean Pages. 😉

IMO, Alexander’s story is Too Big to do in a single novel, or you get an 800+ page monstrosity like Chris Cameron’s God of War. The author must decide on what piece of the story she wants to tell. (Or, like me, view it as a series.)

So that’s (in a nutshell) how you construct a story.

As for the historical side, there are three levels here:

1) What the world looks like (details).

2) The events that take place.

3) How people living in that world understand life, the universe, and everything.

Number two is probably the easiest. Numbers one and three require deeper research on all sorts of things. Sometimes historical novels spend all their time on number one and completely forget number three exists.

The past is a foreign country. Just as you wouldn’t (or at least shouldn’t) write a novel set in Japan (if you’re American) without learning something not only about the physical country but also the customs…same with stories set in the past.

This is why the Oliver Stone movie failed. He put modern people in a costume drama. He didn’t understand how ancient Macedonians (or Greeks or Persians) thought. So he committed crazy anachronisms like the oedipal complex between Alexander and Olympias. Freud may have named his theory after a Greek hero, but it’s largely a foreign idea to the Greek mind. (Whether it’s valid at all is a topic for another day).

The author has to let ancient people be properly ancient.

Problem: what do you do when they’re SO foreign they’re impossible to understand for modern readers—or their attitudes are outright offensive?

Well, if you don’t plan to get your story published, you don’t have to worry about that. Or not as much. But if you want to share it with others, you might still want to consider it.

There are two basic approaches:

1) Introduce your world through a “stranger” who enters it.

2) Spread out more “modern” views among various characters in the story, to give modern readers something familiar to hang onto.

The first of those is by far the most common. So in Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander, Claire Randall—quite literally a modern woman—introduces the modern reader to Jacobite Scotland. As she learns about her new world, so does the reader, and in Claire, the reader has a voice to express both their fascination and their horror of that world. In Judith Tarr’s Lord of the Two Lands, she uses Meriamon, an Egyptian priestess, to enter the Macedonian world of Alexander. Judy can then contrast Egyptian and Macedonian cultural values in order to explain them. Meriamon asks questions the reader wants answers to—or Niko (or Alexander) ask questions of her about Egypt.

The second choice (which is what I did in Dancing) is to identify cultural mores likely to offend modern readers: indifference to slavery, glorification of war and conquest, Greco-Macedonian attitudes towards women, and Greco-Macedonian attitudes towards sexuality. Then to assign one of the characters to voice a more modern view. Alexander gets to be a proto-feminist, and I gave points of view to two women. One of those women, I made a slave. Hephaistion gets to express a more modern view regarding the horrors of war. Sexuality was a bit tougher, but I used the boys’ atypical relationship—that the younger is the one of higher status—to illustrate Greco-Macedonian assumptions about what a male-male relationship should look like.

That approach presents more hurdles, but for my purposes, I preferred it.

I harp on this because it’s the biggest problem for historical fiction: not having historical characters! It wrecks what might otherwise be decent research into the details. No matter how much you look up what they ate, how they dressed, the way their houses were laid out…if you have them behaving anachronistically, it’s a bad historical. Or if you have circumstances that just wouldn’t occur.

Let me give an example. I’ve said before that, when I started writing the novel in December of 1988, Dancing always began with a run-away boy (Hephaistion). But in my initial version, he showed up in Pella incognito. The more I read about Macedonia, however, the more I realized that was virtually impossible. There just weren’t that many Hetairoi. He’d have been recognized, and probably sooner rather than later. So I went back to the drawing board and, instead of having him try to hide, he comes right out and says who he is, and that he wants to join the Pages. It might take away the “mystery,” but set up more interesting dynamics: would Philip let him stay? What would his father do? Etc.

That requires the author know enough about the culture to know what’s possible, probable, and impossible. It also requires the author to be willing to change original plans in order to reflect reality, not insist on doing ___ anyway.

A good example of jettisoning history in favor of “what I want to do!” can be found in David Gemmell’s Lion of Macedon. So many, many things wrong with that book, starting with his choice to make Parmenion a Spartan for no historical reason whatsoever—but (I assume?) because Spartans Are Sexy. Parmenion likely belonged to the royal house of Upper Macedonian Pelagonia. Although even if he didn’t, absolutely nothing suggests he wasn’t Macedonian, and quite a lot says he was. The whole duology (with included The Dark Prince) was essentially Blue Boltz ™ Epic Fantasy Does Greece. The fact he actually included a bibliography in back, and got weird, isolated details right only added insult to injury.

Yet Gemmell was a best-selling British fantasy novelist who knew pacing and how to spin a good yarn. For a reader with zero knowledge of Alexander, it would stack up as a predictable but tolerable fantasy set.

Remember that as an historical fiction author, your job is to practice the art of getting it right. If that isn’t important to you, please God, write something completely made up.

At the spectrum’s other end is Showing Notecards on Every Page. You’ve done ALL that hard research, and you’ll be damn sure the reader knows it!

Um, the reader doesn’t care. The reader wants to be transported to another world. How locals in that world shoed horses (or if they shoed horses at all) is irrelevant. It matters only if your main character’s a farrier. And even then, it matters only if said-farrier is having a conversation with someone else while shoeing a horse.

If people want all the little details of history, they’ll read a history book.

Now, how much detail is “too much” can vary from reader to reader, and often has something to do with the genre.

Regular readers of historical fiction are fans because they enjoy history. So they’ll expect proper world-building. But they don’t want the Dreaded Information Dump. Weave in details. The Dreaded Information Dump is a common beginning-author error across the board, but especially bad in certain genres, such as historicals, fantasy, and SF.

What’s an “information dump”? It’s where the author provides details the reader doesn’t need at that point in the story. What the character looks like, is wearing, their family background, what they had for breakfast….

As mentioned, details should be woven into the story organically. What your character had for breakfast matters only if, later, it’s giving him/her gas: “Damn those beans in my breakfast burrito!” Some details may be useful to set a scene and prevent characters from walking around, having conversations in a void, but again, a light touch.

Similarly, One scene, One head. We do NOT need to see everything from each character’s point of view. No, really. We don’t. And dear God, please don’t “head-hop” inside of scenes (unless you’re writing omniscient, but be sure you know what omniscient IS). Drives me BUGGY.

Anyway, back to the Notecard Showing Problem. As noted above, genre expectations and reader preferences often dictate what IS “too much detail.” Generally, historical Romance (the genre) and historical mysteries go lighter on detail than historical fantasy or plain historicals. That’s because the former two have genre conventions that work against it. Romances preference the love story front-and-center at all times, and mysteries have a mystery to unravel. E.g, they’re plot driven. By contrast, historical fantasies tolerate more world building because world building itself is a feature of fantasy (and science fiction too). And the appeal of mainstream or literary historicals IS the world building, so you get massive novels like Ken Follet’s Pillars of the Earth.

I’m blathering now, but hopefully this gives pointers not just about writing Alexander, but writing fiction period, and historical fiction in particular.

#historical fiction #writing #the writing life #writing how-to #Alexander the Great #Dancing with the Lion #ancient Greek fiction #scene and sequel #asks

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lindendragonart · 3 years

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AHIT Headcannons?

Hmmm, kinda vague question but I'll see what I can do. Oh actually, looking at my drafts I do have some space kids personality headcanons so I'm just gonna copy paste it here and add to it.

Some Hat and Bow personality headcanons, particularly for my au (which I'm probably gonna stockpile until I'm done)

While both Hat and Bow are both playful, as kids usually are, Hat is more outgoing, while Bow is more on the shy side, though she loves adventuring and making friends just as much as Hat does.

While both are generally kind people, Hat can be smug and mischevous sometimes, Bow can too, but milder and way less often, and she knows when to stop.

Hat means well, but sometimes she cannot properly read the situation or people's emotions which, along with her slight lack of social skills, can sometimes make her say things that are not completely appropriate for the situation at hand. Sometimes, what she says may even come off as a little brash. Bow is more emotionally intelligent out of the two of them, so she is better at properly handling certain social or emotional situations.

Their backstory I've basically taken from Lemonadesoda's fic "Hide and seek" except Bow is there too. In short, their parents died when they were little so they were left in the care of the parents' colleagues but they see the kids as an incovinience and don't pay much attention to them, one day an evacuation takes place on the colony and the kids accidentally get left behind. They put a ship together out of scrap and go to fly back home but get stuck on earth when they lose their Time pieces.

Bow is slightly taller than Hat

Oh! Just remembered, alien species headcanons! Got them saved on my phone

Alien society

Time pieces are generally used as spaceship fuel, to produce energy, and as a regular citizen you may have the right to reverse a recent, minor incident. Anything more mayor done by an unexperienced or hasty mind could have grave consequences (like Mustache Girl's unstable time rift which would have eventually collapsed and killed the whole planet)

All citizens are under a moral code where they are sworn to protect the proper flow of time. Only authorities authorized by the CEO of time may use the Time pieces for bigger scale endeavors such as reversing major catastrophies, but it's a slow process and by the time they fix one, a hundred more happen in just one sector alone, so don't get your hopes up about having your tragedy reversed.

The aliens actually did visit Earth centuries before, but they have a policy not to interfere with outside communities too much if their society hasn't technologically advanced enough yet, so as to not sully their natural progress or ruin their culture due to colonization or similar. They are allowed to essentially "hang out" should the native community be willing to continue benevolent contact, so they do end up sharing information about each others culture and technology, which is why Earth has an affinity for hats with special abilities like the alien society does.

The aliens also found out about cats while on Earth and they liked them so much they took some home, so now they are a semi-popular pet there. (look I just really needed to explain why Bow's default outfit is cat-themed)

The alien society has developed a vaccine that can permanently grant your immune system the ability to succesfully fend off most foreign diseases. These are also given to any outsiders joining their society to prevent them from immediatelly dying from their diseases. On the topic of that. All space travellers must go through a decontamination process before setting off, so as not to infect foreign worlds.

Alien biology

Aliens don't really keep track of their age unless it's for legal reasons due to all the time shenanigans that happen while traveling screwing with their passage of time, but generally speaking, aliens grow up at a similar speed to humans until they mostly stop growing at around 10-11 in Earth years, then they stay mostly the same until hitting a growth spurt at 15-16 that will continue until they hit 18-19.

Their blood is a kind of reddish+magenta, would definitelly look off to a human.

They come in all the skin tones humans can come in, with the addition of more pinkish skin tones

Most of them have saturated, brightly colored eyes like blue, red, yellow and purple. Brownish/ dull colored eyes are kinda rare, which is how you may be able to tell apart a human from an alien at first glance.

Their species has through the centuries of space-traveling adapted to being able to eat many things which may be poisonous to the average non-space faring creature, to ensure survival on a new world.

As we see in canon, they are incredibly strong compared to humans too.

Random headcanon about the horizon

The Horizon is a plane where all "magic" comes from. The aliens learned to harvest it and weave it into hat yarn long ago, while on Earth, the horizon leaks through in more impure forms, once the magic finds itself in a creature or object, it can form different characteristics depending on the person, forming the types of magic people like Vanessa and Snatcher wield. Having magic on Earth is kinda like having a symbiotic spirit that has no consciousness of its own. Earthlings do not understand most of it, and simply call it magic.

Also here are some Subcon headcanons but they will be short cause they are either widely known about or I talked about it before

Vanessa's mother was abusive and would lock her in the cellar (without chains) when she misbehaved. Vanessa had no control over her life which later made her possesive and controling towards the prince.

The Prince knows about Vanessa's mother being horrible to Vanessa but not the full extent of it.

Vanessa frequently guilt tripped the Prince with her own insecurities and how her mother treated her, and the Prince always either gave in because he didn't want to upset her further or got backed into a corner with it when he actually tried to defend himself, dismissing his own concerns as trivial.

Snatcher steals souls because Vanessa's powers are still running rampant and might even freeze the whole world if Snatcher doesn't use soul power to melt the ice. Kind of a "forced to become a monster to protect himself from one" situation.

Okay I hope that answered everything! Thank you for the ask

#lindendragon #my stuff #ahit #ask #anon #ahit headcanons #hc #headcanons #aliens #hat aliens #asks #answer #save #ahit bow kid #ahit hat kid #ahit the prince #ahit snatcher #ahit queen vanessa #alien

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xllxxrbxg · 3 years

Text

so ayon nga hehe

so ayon nga mga marecakes hehe narrate ko na lang nangyari today.

so i was like chilling today right im all set for school because i did my homeworks naman days before it was needed so i was like, "aight lets get this shit today". tapos karlo message me he wanted cuddles eh i was like hMMM... we just made out the other day eh and its like tuesday palang today !! i told him nalang na make it happen, not rlly thinking he would make it happen. but this mf took it as a challenge and actually made it happen.

before all that tho i was badtrip because ha made a very uncalled for rape joke and it fucked me up in the head, plus the fact na im being taken to someplace unfamiliar. i was very tensed the whole ride there. anw he didnt get the hint na it was THAT awful to me, but its aight we resolvedt it already. i'll keep a tab on this tho. for me that was a red flag.

anyways we made out in this tambayan place their family owns. basically it has a large parking lot and across that space was this little studio type housie house. the place had a large ass gate, wasnt really paying attention to what he was saying about the place because i was still tensed with the bad joke he made. anyways we went in and it was a very nice place. outside the house, it wasnt that obvious, but when you go in, it legit looked like one of those sala sets in malls with the note "thank you for not sitting" typa shit. so yeah it was nice it had same vibes with vista mall maybe because of the ceiling yellow scattered lights and of the fresh ass furniture and the whole place itself. it was a pretty decent size, not too big not too small for at least two people to share in the long run. it also had this aircon i always wanted the expensive ones u see in 5 stars. anyways it was quickly cold. there was also the bathroom that had a shower, then theres this chair where you pull a button and a foot rest will pop up lmfao. there were also two other sofa charis by the window. the window was the type then you push back up, not much windows tbh. but thats aight and reasonable since it has an aircon. i was tensed at first when the room was opened. it was obviously recently used idk maybe by his relative. WAS TENSED BRO same feeling when you enter an empty room newly unlocked by your teacher. THAT. that typa anxiety. anyways eventually joined him to sit by the small bed. was pretty much good for one big ass person to comfortably lie on, but fitted both of us nicely. didn't really bottom at that sesh so i don't really remember if the bed was uratex when weight is applied on me but it probably is AHSHDHASHDHSAHDSAHAH ok mej funny yun goiz liek- HAHA ok serious na nga hmpz. we cuddled first before doing nasty stuff. it was nice. i'd exchange all those laplapan just to wholesomely cuddle in peace and probably have a great nap together. i like the feeling the warm feeling. it was nice. yes. anyways,, yeah it was nice. cant stop talking about how nice it was because it was nice. heck... it was so nice. it was so heart heart. idc about my coochie getting rubbed, CUDDLE ME BITCH. anyways we started kissing and the rest is historyYYYYYY. jk. basically the make out routine starts with cuddling then kissing then he touches me until it reacher the forbidden softie softie, main bec he likes hearing my sexy ass moan. even before in tinder when i vm my boytoys for the first time the first thing they say my voice is smexy. cant blame them i agree. even when im alone and i randomly fake moan gat dam bro i get turned on too LMFAO. so yeah i moaned bec it was music to his ears and turned him on big time. was ngl kinda steamy when we breathe in each others mouth thats one of my favorite parts of it and also when i suck on his tongue. or also when i moan into his mouth. yep. also when he cusses it means im doing a great job. hehe. nice stuff ryt there. we pause sometimes to rest, then go aead again. i got many rounds that day. we did same stuff on the bed several times. then he pulled me so i'd be on top. im such a great top bro he aint know hoe to topppp. then was cuddling on top of him and then accidentally (wink wink) grinded on his rock solid stuff. he was turned on sabi nya shit anuyon sabi ka ah ayaw mo ok BUT THEN he was like gusto ko. tnagina pabebe yarn. anw i started kissing then grinding and he was cussing bec im so good at it. later my pants were off and later his shorts too. so we were underwear-away from grinding on directly. was nice got me tiredt. THEN HAHAH i saw this 5 peso coin by the bed and i was like eto yung token sa rides AHSDHASHDASHDHA WOF YAN TEH? tangina tawang tawa sya gago ang funny ko tlg san ka makakakuha ng kallapan na funny. tas nilagay ko sa gilid nya singko started grinding again. bet u he was grinding too. AND IT WAS SO HARD IT LOWKEY HURT TO GRIND ON. GEEZAS. so basically the whole bed was shaking. and i did my deed as a good girl to keep the music on (aka moaning) because there was no music. felt like

asmr. boring af. unlike when we make out sa car, theres always music. i like making out on the white chev instead of the fortuner BECAUSE THE FORTUNERS WINDOWS AIN TINTED what in the world was i thinking making out inside an untinted car INSIDE A PARK WHERE THERE ARE LOTSA PPL PASSING BY. anyways back to the bed, we paused, cuddled. then i was badtrip again for some reason so i got up to get dressed but we eventually made out again on the sofa hehe. legs spread again bec he liked touching there so i let him. then eventually was begging me to allow him to eat me out but i was like BROOOO NOOOO you gon taste it and it be not groomed yet in anyway but he was alr there begging looool he looked so adorbs but NOOO. i asked wala ka man benefit jan, sabi nya ikaw meron. tas sabi ko why do u wanna do it, he said he wasnted to satify me liek HNGGGGGG ok i would let you but it really not be groomed oakay NEXT TIME for sure. AND HECK the lights were on. it was daylight and the lights were on like hasdhahsdhashdas it feels liek im being eaten out at the home decor station at vista mall U GUYZ. anyways ayon. after non i think he tried carrying me for some reason. and i knew he found me heavy lols. but yeah i was a cute little moment he carried me around the room pretending its a mall and he's touring me and shit, "to your left, is the sala set, to your right is the flat screen tv..." things like that HAHAHA funny cute moment. anw later on we found ourselves sitting on the little bed again i was on top of him. he didnt want to lay down bec he alrady made the bed lol so we started grinding again sitting, me on top doing my best !! giving my all !! bec he also had a finger down there as i grinded on his stuff so it basically felt like a direct grind lols. anyways was nice. then later on we made out standing up. was kinda hard because he was 7 inches taller. OH AKALA NYO TITE SIZE YUNG 7 INCHES NOH. hinde. so ayon we were making out and he was shy to ask for a deep throat HAHSDHAHDHAS HECK NAW BITCH U TOLD ME A RAPE JOKE. so this is the part where i get revenge. he was standing there, and i was teasing him. was acting clueless, but he hinted he wanted his belt off so i took it off. was honestly confused with the belt. lol. anw i got to remove it and said, so ano next? playfully hhehhehehe. anyways ayon nga eventually me teased him everrr soooo slowly his dick went from solid-jelly-solid-jelly. LMFAO omfg will i cause him illness? omg. anwwww ayon. later on i removed his shorts as he asked. then i stepped aaway from him across the room because he was doing the shy type hands while hsis shorts was by his foot. and i LOL'd at him for a good few minutes just clapping my hands out of entertainment HAHSDHAHSDAS. then he asked me to put my hands inside, did it slowly and i told him to smile ka nga muna. AND HA THE MF WAS SHAKING. LOL. my fucking powerrrrrrr. anyways later on i was teasing out the underwear, then later i got my hands in again and then touchedt the dick *YAY* finally we got there!! anw it was only for a few secs and i told him its over HAHAHA. then i put his shorts back up again, but subtly teasing that i would suck. bec the shorts were by his ankles so i had to kneel. did i suck? no. did i make sure he thought i was? YES BITCH. and then he lay down fretting because i didnt suck his dick and then while was laying down i opened his shorts again to pretend that his dick was a computer mouse and told him "lets play solitaire, o kaya counterstrike or maybe purble place. gawa ng cake hehe" lmfao mfer be cry laughing because he dont know what to do bec he was teased. so ayon we ended that way and i thought he was bad trip bec of what i did. but he assured me na di naman like dapat lang duh. anyways ayon hehe.

uwi na kami after nakauwi ako 1. andon kami 10. hehe. hinatid nya man me pauwi. tho yung byahe pauwi di pa kami nakakalayo sa place he pulled over so i was confused bec there were no big vehicles incoming but to my surpris he started kissimg me again lol bro deins ka ba nasasawa. anw yon. was nice naman. making out with a guy from a rich fam is nice bec yall dont need to pay to rent in motels lol but still has pressure, bec if we end on a bad note, i swear most of the blgs here are engineered by his relatives. thats how prominent they are. the place we went to is owned by his uncle, who works at legazpi rn thats why the place was vacant. theyre making a mall i think idk. so thats why his uncle is making another like that na place dun. so he has somewhere to stay. like what in the wealth... its crazy how people have money. and for sure even if the place we stayed in was small, it costs millions fr. anyways ayun yung promised detailed chika ko. hehe ciao. mej pokpok nga me pero look at me suffering the consequences, may sipon na ako aside sa ubo because he had mild sipon. now my sipon is malala compared to his, and he alr is recoveredt tangina unfair. but yesterday he insisted to see me to drop off some meds and he hugeed me and cried. because i asked for a time out the night before. bec i was having a hard time. he allowed it but over thinkedt it so yeah he cried while hugging me tight in the car. and kept on saying sorry mainly bec of the sipon thing. but it was, i felt, directed to the other stuff he had disappointed me with. anyways before that sabi nya ok lang ba sayo mag punta munang emall may bibilhin lang, sabi ko naur im sick. it was bec he wanted to buy me gummy worms lol. cute. u shoulda bought them before going to me, mofo. jk. loveee u penggg.

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xhxhxhx · 4 years

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Saw something in the further reading section of Michael Kulikowski’s Imperial Tragedy (Profile, 2019) today:

There are countless books on the fall of the western Roman empire, and more appear annually, with variable scholarly trappings but nearly all quite conventional. Still, ripping yarns and neo-Victorian analyses can be found in any bookshop. So, for those so inclined, can thinly disguised nativist tracts on how immigration (and ‘immigrant violence’) brought down the empire. To name names would be invidious.

I thought this was a dig at Peter Heather, Professor of Medieval History at King’s College London and author of The Fall of the Roman Empire (Oxford, 2005) and Empires and Barbarians (Oxford, 2009), so I looked it up and discovered that not only was I right, but Kulikowski has serious beef with the guy:

Peter Heather has been fiercely criticized by members of the so-called Toronto School of History. Michael Kulikowski, who belongs to this group, has accused Heather of neo-romanticism and of wishing "to revive a biological approach to ethnicity". Kulikowski claims that Heather "manifests a clear methodological affinity" to the 19th-century writer of the Goths Henry Bradley.

But Kulikowki’s beef is nothing next to the righteous fury of Guy Halsall, Professor of History at the University of York:

Guy Halsall has identified Peter Heather as the leader of a "counter-revisionist offensive against more subtle ways of thinking" about the Migration Period. Halsall accuses this group, which is strongly associated with University of Oxford, of "bizarre reasoning" and of purveying a "deeply irresponsible history". Halsall writes that Heather and the Oxford historians have been responsible for "an academic counter-revolution" of wide importance, and accuses them of deliberately contributing to the rise of "far-right extremists".

Halsall got so mad at Heather, first at the 2011 Leeds International Medieval Conference and then online, at his blog, that he threatened to leave academia entirely:

Well, it's more or less a year since I started doing this blogging lark 'seriously' (the inverted commas are obviously necessary). And, as they say, what a roller-coaster of a year it's been. I've shut down the blog twice, brought it back twice, come to the verge of formal complaints being sent to my university twice (once justifiably, once most certainly not), lost at least one friend, lost 99% of the respect I had for someone I had hitherto held in high esteem, quite possibly lost the chance of a job I wanted because of this blog, taken some pretty visceral abuse, and so on. All good fun!

On the other hand I have learnt some lessons. One is that even bastards have feelings. Another is that if you have twenty-odd followers and maybe 100 hits a day, that (allowing for hits from people looking for something else, like Elizabeth Kostova's novel The Historian or ever-popular balding guitarist The Edge) does not mean that only twenty or thirty people in the whole wide world read your blog. Thus you need to be a bit more careful about what you say and how you say it. I've also learnt that eminent historians don't always read what you write very carefully, and just how deeply-ingrained the elitist culture of the British historical profession is, as well as just how few principles are actually held by the overwhelming majority of the practitioners of said profession. And this in response to something that I actually thought long and hard about how I wrote.

And as a result of all this I have realised that no good is going to come of me continuing to smack my head against the glass ceiling that those of us not from 'a particular socio-educational background' (you know the one) eventually run up against. I have instead come to the decision, essentially, to give up on it and 'seek my fortune' elsewhere than in the confines of the academic career-path, as it is now constructed in the UK at any rate.* I'm actually quite excited about this as I think it offers a lot of possibilities, creatively and ethically. It's been a liberating decision. Those of you who know that I set most store by the writings of those co-opted into the canon of the existentialists (almost none of whom ever called themselves by that name) will appreciate exactly why I am proud of this decision.

To some extent it makes up for the bad faith I showed in backing down and removing my post on why it matters to get angry about the lazy and irresponsible (indeed, yes, just downright knuckle-headed) way in which some historians in and/or produced by our most prestigious Thames Valley-based university write about politically and socially sensitive topics like migrations.

Halsall ultimately sanitized the 2011 IMC paper that started the war with Heather -- the neutered version is still up on his blog -- but the original was apparently quite something:

Perhaps unsurprisingly for those who’ve heard him speak or read him on the Internet, this was the one that really started the war. [Edit: and, indeed, some changes have been made to these paragraphs by request of one of those involved.] The consequences, if not of this actual speech, at least of its subsequent display on the Internet, have been various, unpleasant and generally regrettable, and I don’t want any of them myself.

Thankfully, the purged parts of the original were reproduced by some noble soul on the Civilization Fanatics forums before they were lost to the ages:

Thus we can have Ward-Perkins’ sneering parody of late antiquity studies and Peter Heather’s distortions of counter-arguments. In many people’s minds the choices before us are evidently, either, that nothing happened, or, that there was a huge catastrophe caused entirely by invading barbarians. Obviously this is not the case. Plenty of people other than me -- most famously, Walter Pohl -- have written about serious, dramatic change happening in the fifth century without blaming it on the barbarians and without denying that there were migrations in the fifth century. Yet this -- if I dare call it such -- third way seems nevertheless to be very much a minority position.

But I am not convinced that a simple lack of exposure to sensible alternatives really explains the continuing, fanatical devotion to the idea of the barbarian migrations, especially outside the academy.

I have recently said that:

“When a British historian places an argument that the Roman Empire fell because of the immigration of large numbers of barbarians next to arguments that the end of Rome was the end of civilisation and that we need to take care to preserve our own civilisation, when another British historian writes sentences saying “the connection between immigrant violence and the collapse of the western Empire could not be more direct” [a direct quote from Peter Heather’s Empires and Barbarians (Oxford, 2009)], and especially when the arguments of both involve considerable distortions of the evidence to fit their theories, one cannot help but wonder whether these authors are wicked, irresponsible or merely stupid.”

Obviously, these are not mutually exclusive alternatives.

Are these writers setting themselves up as ideologues of the xenophobic Right or have they simply not realised the uses to which such careless thinking and phrasing can be put? You can draw your own conclusions, although it is worth noting that Ward-Perkins has been happy enough to write on this subject for the neo-liberal magazine Standpoint, which regularly publishes pieces attacking multiculturalism. There comes a point when one has to admit that actually the most charitable explanation for all this really is that these writers are simply a bit dim.

Outside academic circles, it is certainly the case that the adhesion to the idea of barbarian invasion has a heavily right-wing political dimension. Apart from the barbarians’ role as metaphor, already discussed, it is worth, very briefly, thinking about the other reasons why people are so ready to pin the blame on the barbarians. Slavoj Zizek’s Lacanian analysis of antisemitism provides some valuable ways forward. Essentially, the barbarian, like the figure of the Jew, acts as a screen between the subject and a confrontation with the Real, which Zizek sees, slightly differently from Lacan, as the pre-symbolised; things that haven’t been or can’t or won’t be encompassed in a world view. Zizek showed that arguments that “the Jews aren’t like that” are almost never effective against anti-Semites because what real Jews (or actual immigrants, one might say) are like is not the point. Similarly, arguments about the empirical reality of the fifth-century cut little weight with those wedded to the idea of Barbarian Invasion. Just as the anti-Semite takes factual evidence as more proof of the existence of the international Zionist conspiracy, the right-wing devotee of the Barbarian Invasions sees factual counter-arguments as manifestations of the liberal, left-wing academy peddling its dangerous multicultural political correctness. I have read a great deal of this on internet discussion lists -- including a review of my own book, and one of James O’Donnell’s! Michael Kulikowski received a similarly-phrased review from a right-wing academic ancient historian.

The barbarian is the classic “subject presumed to”. The barbarian can change the world; he can bring down empires; he can create kingdoms. The barbarian dominates history. “He” is not like “us”, enmeshed in our laws, our little lives and petty responsibilities. The barbarians -- and you only need to read Peter Heather to see this -- are peoples with “coherent aims” (a quote), which they set out single-mindedly to achieve. No people in the whole of recorded human history have ever had single coherent sets of aims. Well -- none other than the barbarians anyway.

Halsall has never resiled from his belief that Heather was essentially a fascist, nor backed away from his commitment to resign from his post in righteous indignation -- maybe not in 2011, or 2019, but certainly by 2023 at the very latest:

My anger about all this is justly infamous but has been badly misrepresented. I do think that some things are worth getting angry about, and the misuse of the Barbarian Migrations and the End of the Roman Empire to fuel xenophobia and racism, and the way some modern authors pander to this, is one such. However, to look at the origins of this ire and animus, I invite you to compare my engagement with Peter Heather’s work in Barbarian Migrations, and its tone, with Heather’s engagement – if you can call it that – with my work, and its tone, in Empires and Barbarians. I never expect to be agreed with; I do expect basic academic courtesy to be reciprocated. If people see fit to treat me intellectually as a second-class citizen, the gloves will come off. That may stem from my own biography as (unlike so many) a first-generation academic not educated at the 'right' schools and universities, but there we are. I will be leaving the profession within the next four years (well done, guys) so I have nothing to lose by not apologising for that.

Kulikowski might have gotten in a good dig, but Halsall will always be a true master of the art of Being Mad Online.

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nautiscarader · 4 years

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Wendip Week day 5 - Time Travel

(Ao3)

Also this was supposed to be short and yet it is 2.5k and still has no plot

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

- I'm really glad you agreed to help us. - Wendy gave her best friend a kiss to the cheek and waved her children goodbye - We're gonna be by ten. Tyrone, Emma, be good to auntie Tambry. - We'll be back before you know it. - Dipper said, as much to his children, as to the babysitter.

The door to their cozy, two-storey wooden house closed, and the sound of engine soon reached them from the outside, as Dipper and Wendy left for a well-deserved evening alone to celebrate their anniversary. Tambry grabbed a can of Pitt Cola from the kitchen and jumped onto the sofa.

- So, what do you guys want to do? Play some board games, or do you want me to tell you stories? Heh, I have some pretty embarrassing stories about your folks and-

It took Tambry a paralysingly long moment to notice that she has been talking to no one the whole time. She jumped to her feet and frantically looked around, trying to spot all the possible places for a seven- and ten-years old, quickly coming to realisation that there were way too many of them.

But there was only one where a noise was coming from.

The basement.

At once, Tambry dropped her can and rushed downstairs. Other parents might have worried that their children would accidentally break bottles of wine, or cut themselves on some of daddy's tools, but in Dipper and Wendy's case, the consequences of wandering into their basement unprotected were far, far more severe. Apart from the sharp tools and bottles of intoxicants, their basement was a home to their treasure vault.

In the past twenty or so years, the couple (with occasional help from Tambry and others) have travelled around States and the world, to all the places Ford has marked as "of interest". And over the two decades, they have collected many treasures, as well as many objects of interest they kept in their ultra-secure vault, locked not only with technology, but also spells and enchantments.

And when Tambry saw it it wide open, it did not surprise her in the slightest. After all, those were Wendy and Dipper's kids. Tambry's mind went berserk, trying to imagine what the kids could have touched, and as she got into the vault, she saw the Time Tape, a relict from Wendy and Dipper's short-lived part-time job as time agents.

The kids turned their heads around, and just as they began disappearing, Tambry launched herself forward, and as her finger brushed the wobbly, ephemeral surface of time rift, she was pulled forward, but instead of slamming her head against the opposite wall, she began falling, deeper than she ever had, flying though time vortex itself, filled with clocks and occasional telephone boxes, some of which contained two stoned guitarists.

Just as she thought she would feel sick, she felt pain in her arm when she collided with ground.

Tambry turned around, her mind still on Wendy and Dipper's kids. She recognised the place already: she was on the same hill where Woodstick concert was taking place, evidently still with the crowd of attendees. The whole place was filled with people, but as she looked around, Tambry immediately saw two familiar figures: one red-haired boy and one brown-haired girl, just on the verge of the forest, and she leapt towards them, shouting with her last breath.

- Tyrone! Emma! - she grabbed their shoulders Why did you-

But as she looked at the two children, her heart sank as she began noticing subtle differences. Emma didn't have green eyes. Tyrone's hair wasn't as long. And he wasn't as tall as he used to be a moment ago. Emma didn't have a beauty mark on her cheek.

The strange kids stared at her in confusion, but as she was about to ask what happened, she heard a murmur from the crowd behind her. And when she turned around, she nearly fainted. She suddenly realised that the crowd she passed by weren't random people.

As the dozens, if not hundreds of children turned their heads at the same time, in a near-synchronised motion, Tambry began noticing the same features over and over again: red hair, freckles, chestnut hair, birthmarks, brown and green eyes...

- Hi, Aunt Tambry! - spoke the children in blood-freezing, eerie, collective cheer. - What the fu-

And then, she was falling again, through the asphalt, the ground, and the vortex again, but this time, with all the red- and chestnut-haired children. She was still frantically looking for Tyrone and Emma, but she quickly realised it was a futile attempt, and by the time she thought that, she felt pain in her back again, as she landed, this time, in a spacious, gold-and-marble hall.

She expected she would hear hundreds of cries of the children, as they would landed and sprain her ankles or broke their arms, but so far, she was the only one who mis-landed, while every sing;e child or teenager around got onto their feet as if they just exited a school bus.

- Emma? Tyrone?

Tambry asked, being helped by two children, and to her relief, she finally found them, rushing towards her with tears in their eyes.

- Auntie Tambry, we-we are sorry... - Emma cried, closing her arms around her waist. - Yeah, we messed up... - the older boy spoke, without meeting her eyes and joined his sister. - That's... that's okay, kids, everything is fine...

Tambry knelt and brought them into a tight, warm hug, glad things finally started making sense.

And as she opened her eyes, she saw a giant, floating head.

- EMMA AND TYRONE PINES!

The Time Baby boomed, filling the air in the courtroom with its mighty voice.

- YOU HAVE BEEN PULLED FROM YOUR ORIGINAL TIME STREAM TO ANSWER FOR YOUR CRIMES AGAIN THE TIME ITSELF. - it continued, reading from a piece of paper - TOGETHER WITH YOU, WE BROUGHT ALICE PINES, DAN PINES, PETER PINES, STAN II PINES, STANFORD II PINES, STANISLAU PINES, TERRANCE PINES, DEBORAH PINES, ANNE PINES, DANNY PINES, TYRONE PINES, TYRONE PINES, PHOEBE PINES ...

For the next five minutes, the giant, floating baby continued listing - from the sound of it - names of every single son and daughter of Wendy and Dipper present in the hall. And then it spoke Tambry's name as well, as if she was a punchline to a very long joke.

- DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? - Uh, yeah, about that, I don't. - Tambry spoke, crossing her arms. - Who-who are you guys? I know Wendy and Dipper have been busy once they retired from adventuring, but not THAT much...

Immature snickering erupted around her.

- Auntie Tambry, it's real simple. - Emma tugged her shirt to bring her attention. - All of us here are kids of our parents from alternate universes. Our time-siblings if you will. - Yeah! - another girl, around age of fifteen agreed - Like, in our timeline, our mom and dad are bad-ass freedom fighters... - ...our parents were the same age when they met! - ...my dad moved to Oregon permanently! - ...my mom moved to California! - ...our parents first broke up but then got together again! - ...our parents attended the same sports school! - ...our parents run a coffee-shop!

Everyone in the hall, including the primordial, pan-dimensional Time Baby, collectively groaned.

- Okay, is there *someone*, who can explain to me how to untangle this mess? - Tambry cried in anger - Because I didn't sign up for this... - "Untangle" is, in fact, the correct word.

The crowd of one purple- and many chestnut- and red-heads turned towards the new voice, and just when Tambry thought that something would start making sense, she hiccuped when she understood who just greeted her.

- Waddles! - the crowd of Wendy and Dipper's offspring cheered in unison, and ran towards the chubby pink pig that flew into the courtroom in his leaving chair, Tambry more perplexed than a moment ago. - Indeed, I am Waddles, though not the one you know. I am a distant descendant of the one, brave pig you call Waddles, and who is known in our civilisation as the "Oink-Father". - I need a drink... - Tambry hid her face in hands. - But Tambry here is right - Waddles continued, as he circled the room, until he flew towards the screen - It would seem that one set of children travelled back in time, modified the past, altering their future. Then, another set of kids travelled from the now-changed future, their present, to the same past, hoping to fix it, but modifying it again. Repeat that around, er, seventy-two times, and you get the results!

Waddles spread his stubby trotters, pointing to the crowd of time-travelling children, and continued.

- Your many time travels have twisted the time continuum into a knot-like structure. What's worse, the many parallel universes you've created have ended some of them, and began new ones.

As he spoke, the singular line on the enormous screen began twisting and turning, until it resembled a ball of yarn that has been a target of a whole litter of hyperactive kittens.

- However, hope is not lost. You will find that in order to solve this multi-dimensional conundrum, we must simply use a trivially easy algebraic property of inverting the product.

At least a dozen of children around Tambry let out a collective gasp of understanding and began nodding.

- Er, come again? - Tambry spoke to the talking pig, feeling somewhat overwhelmed. - Simply speaking, you first put on your underwear, and then your pants. But if you want reverse the process, you must first take off your pants, and then the underwear.

The future Waddles looked down at his body.

- I assure you, this analogy is true, even though I have very little experience in that matter. - So... you mean that we need to find which groups of kids brought which one with them, put them in order, and then, like, escort them back, one by one, from the end? - Precisely!

Tambry cursed her best friend under her breath.

- I will never babysit any of you. - she grumbled - I might even never speak to Wendy again either. - she threw a paralysing glare at the crowd of children around her. - Heh, funny story - one of the teenage boys spoke - In our universe, you and our parents... er, kinda-sorta... Ah, never mind, you'll find out. Maybe. - Okay, someone give me some ultra-strong coffee from the future, or something, and let's do this.

And so, it began. Tambry lined up each group of kids together, and after much reorganising they began jumping through time. From universes that looked completely similar to hers, through those still aflame in Weirdmageddon, to those that were literally the mirror ones of hers, complete with traffic signs flipped horizontally, Tambry began the longest school trip of her life, escorting the cavalcade of children, trying her might to keep them holding their hands in line, which was much easier said than done when you are attacked by pterodactyls, or have to swim through the river of chocolate.

After hours, maybe days - she couldn't tell, and she was afraid to ask the children, who she suspected had an answer - she was left with just two kids. The ones she swore to protect, and whom she has failed miserably.

- Okay, guys. Can you tell me WHY IN HECK did you decide to do this?!

Emma and Tyrone looked at each other with shame, and showed her a photo on Tyrone's smarter-phone. A photo only they could have taken. Wendy Corduroy, age 15, kneeling in front of 13-year-old Dipper Pines, as she was telling him goodbye after their first summer spent together. Their future father was still perplexed by Wendy's act of taking his hat and swapping it for hers. She was saying something, but only they knew what they talked about, though Dipper's reddened cheeks gave Tambry a good indication what was Wendy's farewell message.

- We... we wanted to give our parents something for their anniversary. - And we thought we could go back to when they first met, you know, and take a picture. - Emma looked at her younger parents - Look how cute they are! Especially dad! - Yeah, he was heads over heels about your mom. - Tambry smiled. - Except we messed up... Turns out it really matters if you spook that goat and she runs left instead of right! - Hey, it's okay. - Tambry ruffled the boy's hair. - You put all the things back in place?

The two nodded eagerly.

- Okay, we can go back.

Tambry took the time tape, and was about to pull it one last time, but she decided to give it to the children.

- You do it. You know better than me how to use it.

For the last time Tambry felt the now-familiar feeling of her insides somersaulting, and, for the first time, she has managed to land on her feet. Seventy time travels taught her when to flip instead of flopping, something the children seemed to have grasped instantly.

She opened eyes. They were back in the vault, in one piece, and just as she was about to say something, she heard the familiar sound of engine.

- Quick! get into positions!

She prompted the kids to run upstairs, while she closed the vault's door and followed them soon. By the time Wendy and Dipper opened the door, Emma and Tyrone have managed to bring the plates of snacks, open, empty, and scatter a dozen of cans of soda, and set up entire board and pieces of "Crippling Economy" on the table, to make sure their parents wouldn't suspect anything.

- Hey, kids! - Wendy spoke, knowing she shouldn't worry too much as their house was still standing. - Did you miss us?

The two adults couldn't even take off their coats, before their children jumped to greet them with the most affectionate of hugs.

- Alright, alright! - Dipper smiled - We got you presents, don't worry... - No, mom, dad, we got you one!

The two nodded and presented to them the freshly printed photo, and watched as their parents' faces brightens in awe.

- Dipper... - Look, we were so young... - You were so small! - But you were as beautiful as today.

The kids let out a simultaneous "yuck" as their parents kissed, knowing to prolong the moment for maximum embarrassment.

- Wow, kids, thank you. - Dipper hugged them again - But where did you get it? - Auntie Tambry was going trough her phone and she found it. - So... we decided to frame it! - That's very thoughtful, you guys. And, hey, where's Tambry?

Just as Wendy asked, a loud snore reached their ears, and the four fund Tambry sleeping on the couch in the living room, the same one she expected to slack off on the entire night.

- You must have seriously tires her out. - Dipper spoke with hushed voice. - Eh, you know how it is - Emma shrugged.

The Pines family tip-toed from the living room in order not to wake Tambry up. Just as Wendy was about to hang the new picture on the wall, she started thinking "Was Tambry even with us when Dipper left..?". But she was too tired to remember this, and she let out a prolonged yawn, ready to tuck their kids in their beds and join her husband in their bedroom soon.

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

Also, this fic contains names that coincide, completely coincidentally, with Wendip kid OCs by @fereality-indy, @nina-a-pines, and Supergroveraway.

#wendip #wendipweek #wendip week 2020 #nautiscaraderfics #time travel

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thebestpersonherelovesbucky · 4 years

Text

This is just some Evanstan that I dabbled in years ago with priest!Chris and demon!Sebastian. I never really got the chance to finish but I figured I could share some of it just for the hell of it. ((heh, get it?))

Demons don’t always lie.

They can, of course.

They can spin yarns as twisted and long as the roots of the oldest trees themselves. But what fun can come from telling lies to creatures who will believe a flower is not poison just by capping it with a blossom? Creatures who will walk the path to Hell just because it’s lined with rose petals?

There is none. Which is why it is better to tell truths.

A truth, however, is not always as simple as humans believe. Truths can be just as twisted and long as silver-tongued lies and have just as many consequences. For when a demon tells the truth, take great care in listening to what they say. Each and every word. They may not be lying, but the truth they tell may very well not be the truth you hear.

This is the harsh lesson learned of every human who unknowingly makes a deal with a demon.

Rain pounds on the church. It’s one of those nights. It’s been years since they’ve been able to afford a new roof. Thin and creaky, it makes even lightest of rains sound like thousands of angry footsteps running across it. Thunder claps hard and frequently, after bright strikes of lightning that flash through the church. Coating the altar, the almost-ever empty pews, the long, maroon carpeted aisle in an eerie white light before it all falls dim again.

Father Christopher–just Father Chris to the neighborhood kids and still Chris to his family and friends–sits in the back office. Lit only by the table lamp. His eyes strain as he counts through the week’s offerings, comparing them with the church’s financial books. Uneven. By a lot. A whole lot. Chris sighs and slouches. Feels those all-too-familiar tears begin to prick at his eyes. They hurt as they try to push their way out. He won’t let them.

Chris takes hold of the gold cross around his neck. Simple, plain. A gift from his mother the day he told her he planned on being ordained. He wanted to help people. Thought priesthood was the best way. Now he whispers prayers to a God that might no longer be listening.

The lights flicker with another crash of thunder. Big, fat drops of rain slam up against the stained glass window. Chris closes the books. He locks the money up in the safe. There’s raffle this weekend. For the Christmas tree sale at the end of the month. Maybe that will give them enough month for the rest of the month’s bills.

Turning the office down--lights off, computer off, everything in order--Chris puts his jacket on and heads into the church to leave for the night. He bows his head at the altar, blessing himself before bending down on one knee. Offers a quick prayer to the Blessed Mother and to his Lord and Savior, and would have just left, made it home to his quarters across the street if not for the light. Like an eye glaring at him in the middle of the dark, wooden wall across the aisle.

Over the confessional booth.

Chris stops and stares at it. Unblinking and heart pounding. He glances at the front doors. Shut up tight and locked just as they have been for hours. As they’ve needed to be for the past few months if someone is there alone. The neighborhood is just not the way it used to be, not like it was when Chris was a child. Has someone broken in? A polite thief that just happened to lock the doors behind them? Chris might chuckle if he didn’t feel so oddly off-balanced.

Danger has goosebumps rising up on his skin, pulling the fine hairs up along with it. He could leave, of course. Just walk right out those doors and lock them up behind him. Call the police and wait for them to arrive. But it…doesn’t feel right. Chris’s a priest. Meant to help people no matter what the situation. Wind shouts up against the front of the building. Sings a melancholy tune that shoots through the Holy water.

He takes one last look at the doors, his last means of escape, and then back at the confessional booth. Chris swallows the hard lump that’s formed in his throat and shrugs out of his jacket. His feet drag across the carpet, bring him over. Hand trembling slightly, it feels draftier than usual in here, he steps into his side of the booth. The door seals him inside. A coffin-like fit as he sits on the wooden bench inside. The air feels dead. Unmoving. Sweat dots his brows, wiped away by the back of his hand as he sucks in a few deep breaths. Quells the quickly forming anxiety attack before it takes over. Chris has never felt so unnerved in here before.

Chris uses another private moment to gather his bearings. Still unsure if there’s anyone there at all. If there’s a threat or just someone who needs help. Thunder shudders in the skies above. He slides the partition open.

“H-hello?” Chris says.

There is someone there. Chris can just make out their silhouette as they shift positions. His stomach clenches.

“Are you the priest here?”

“I…” His voice is strained. Hard to get out. “I am. Are you in need of guidance, my child?”

Chris hears a soft chuckle. “Guidance? In the business of offering directions these days, are you?”

He hesitates. Has heard the few who still come for reconciliation try to dance around their confession.

Chris responds, “But when He, the Spirit of truth, comes, He will guide you into all the truth; for He will not speak on His own initiative, but whatever He hears, He will speak; and He will disclose to you what is to come.”

He’s met with a moment of silence. A brief sniff and a long, heaved out sigh.

“John 16:13,” he replies softly.

“You know the Bible.”

“I read it in my youth.”

“How old are you?”

His voice is quiet when he says, “I’ve seen some years.”

“Do you need help, my son?”

“I don’t know that you can give me the help I need, Father.”

“What sort of help do you require?”

“Well…” He pauses. Might lean his head back against wall. “I have blood on these damn hands of mine.”

A chill shudders through Chris’s entire body. The once hot, stuffy booth feels laced with ice. For just one second, he could swear misty fog comes out with his breath. A trick of the light. Had to be. Chris is tired. The storm. Stress. This confession.

“We’re speaking…metaphorically…of course?”

Not much can be seen outside of the confessional booths, but the entire place must light up with another strike of lightning. The illumination climbs in and jumps up at Chris from the crack under the door. What little light the bulb above him provide snaps out. Chris glances up. Hears the person a thin wall away move. The light blinks back on.

“If you say so.”

Chris thinks over that for no more than a few seconds. Needs to address the obvious before anything else.

“Have you hurt someone tonight?”

“No.” His answer comes out cool and casual. Too light to be a lie. Chris is used to being lied to. “Can we do this right, Father?”

“Right?”

“Yes.”

At first, Chris isn’t sure what he means. Not until he sees the shadow of a person slide off the wooden bench and fall to his knees on the stool facing him. The red light above his side of the obscured window goes on the second he’s kneeling. The penitent makes the sign of the cross and laces his fingers.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” he whispers. “It has been…” He stops. Doesn’t pick up again on his own.

Chris does for him. “A long time since your last confession?”

“Da. Yes. I can’t remember.” Chris sees his head shake. “No. That’s not true. O minciună. Forgive me. I do remember. It’s just...complicated.”

“It’s okay. What sins are you here to confess?”

“My relationship.”

“Your relationship? Are you in some sort of trouble, son?”

“I’ve done bad things, Father.”

“Because of your relationship?”

“Yes.”

“Is there fear in your relationship?”

The light above him flickers again. Chris glances up at it. The wire it hangs from seems to be swaying slightly. As though an uninvited wind has passed through unnoticed.

“You don’t know what fear is,” his penitent answers.

“Would you like me to call the proper authorities for you?”

“No. They can’t help me. There’s only…one who can help me.” He pauses again. Takes a deep breath. “I was hoping, maybe, you could send a message for me.”

“Are you…are you talking about God? Are you asking me to send a message to God for you?”

“Is that not what you do?” he asks. “Talk to God for those of us who cannot?”

Chris doesn’t realize he’s holding onto his cross again until he turns it between his fingers. A nervous twitch. One he picked up a long time ago. The urge to do something with his hands. Fingers busy at all times.

“Everyone can talk to God, my son. You just need to accept Jesus into your heart.”

“Nu. No. It does not work like that for some of us.”

“It works like that for everyone. God is in all--”

“No!” A hand slams up against the copper grille. “Not everyone!” There’s a strange sound. Feral. Like the growl of an animal. Chris backs away a bit. “Forget it. This was a mistake.”

He rises to his feet. Rushed. His pace hastened like he wants desperately to escape the booth. The door is already opened by the time Chris catches up with him. Hops to his own feet and almost opens the door. Forces himself not to. That’ll break the confidentiality sought for. He can’t do it.

“Wait!”

He’s got his hand gripped so tightly around the knob it almost hurts his palm. There’ll be an intent, that’s for sure.

Chris doesn’t hear anything for a moment. Not until the second door closes. Quietly latching and then there’s silence again. Eerie, unnatural silence that slips through like a breath over a pair of lips. His eyes flick up to the red light above the window. It’s off.

Off.

On.

The brightness of it, even though there’s no real shine to it at all, startles Chris when it flares up. He needs to put his hand on his chest. Push down on it to keep from breathing too hard.

“Why?” He’s asked. “Why do you want me to stay?”

Chris is still on his feet. He sits down. His knees are shaking so hard he’s not sure how he managed to stay up so long.

“I want to help you,” he whispers back. “You sound lost.”

“I am lost,” he replies. “But you can’t help me.”

“I don’t think you believe that.”

“Chiar așa?” He might chuckle. Chris isn’t sure nor does he understand the language he’s spoken more than once now. Latin based, he believes. “And why is that?”

“You didn’t leave. You could have. But you chose to stay.” Chris strokes his fingers over his chin. Feels the rough stubble there and does it again. And again. “You want me to help you.”

“You won’t even do what I asked,” he points out.

“I’ll pray for you,” Chris says. “If that’s something you want. But…isn’t there more I can do for you?”

Fingers’re picking at the tiny spaces in the grille. Pink skin that pushes through for a moment in one spot and then again in another.

“You want to call the police for me? You think that that will help, da?”

“It might.”

“It won’t, though. I know it won’t. It’ll only get more of you hurt.”

“Who’ll be hurt?”

“People.”

“Listen to me. If someone is threatening you, threatening to harm you in any way, we can offer you sanctuary here.”

“You still do that sort of thing?”

“You can stay here if you feel you’re in danger. We can call a safe house for you.” It wouldn’t be the first time Chris has had to do it. He’s helped usher more than a few abuse victims in the less than two years he’s been here. “They’ll escort you to a safe place.”

��There is no place safe.”

Chris can barely hear that. The words have come out like the shadow of a breath. A tremble hits him hard. He wants to hold this person. This penitent that’s both unnerving and heartbreaking.

“Please…” Chris whispers. Presses his palm to the spot those pink fingers last touched. “Let me help you.”

“And what will happen when you don’t?”

His voice is different. No longer soft, holding hints of arrogance and beyond-the-years wisdom. It’s smooth as velvet and yet rough like a back alley fuck. Chris feels his throat tighten. He knows that voice. Somehow. Been hearing it his whole life. In the back of his head. Feeding him lies and insecurities.

“W-what?”

“What happens when you don’t help me? When you let me down? Just like you always do?”

“Always…?”

“Let everyone down, Father. This is what you do, isn’t it? What you fear the most?”

“I don’t…”

“Come now, think about it. Who haven’t you let down?”

Chris’s hands shake as he pushes those images from his head. Of his loved ones’ downcasted eyes on him. Disappointed, ashamed.

“What about your family? Where are they while you’re here?”

Chris doesn’t want to think about it. About all this time that’s separated him from them. They’re proud of him. They are.

“What about the family you wanted? The kids you wanted.”

No. He can’t think that way. Or about the pitter-patter of little feet that’ll never grace a home.

“You don’t even believe in God anymore, do you?”

His stomach flips at the mention of thoughts he’s never spoken aloud. Thoughts whispered in his ear during the blackness of night. It’s getting cold in here again. A cool breeze slithers along Chris’s skin. Pricks at it. Hurts even.

“Think of all the people in your congregation.”

Not all that many. Enough, though. Too many that he preaches to every Sunday. Chris shivers. Rubs his hands across his arms as he tries to keep warm, thoughts of his own shortcomings and failures floating around his ears. Rising out of his soul and latching onto him tightly.

“All listening to you. Up there while you talk about things you don’t even believe in. You preach and you guide and read from your silly little book and they all watch you knowing that you’re nothing but a hypocrite. Help me? How can you help me when you let everyone else down?”

“Please…stop…”

Tears are sliding down Chris’ face. He wipes them away and feels more when that voice goes on.

“Help me? Tell me something, Father. When you lie awake at night thinking about all the things that you’ve sacrificed for the God you don’t even believe in, what hurts more? Letting your family down? Your community down? The Vatican down? Yourself down? Maybe the whole fucking world down. You’ve done it your whole God damned life, haven’t you?”

“I…”

“Haven’t you?”

The light above his head bursts, glass shattering over him. All’s left now is the harsh, red glow of the small bulb above the window. Chris is shaking. So hard that the rosaries he wrapped around his hand sometime during those taunting words were being carved into him rattle against the wall. He’s shivering. From the cold. He’s so, so cold. And dizzy. The dark walls spin round and round. Darkness descending upon him. His elbow leans up against the windowsill and Chris’s head feels so heavy, he has to rest it in his hand.

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Ever since you were a child.”

It’s not a question.

Chris whimpers. “Yes. I…I can’t do this. I’m a failure.”

“Why did you even become a priest?”

“Because…I wanted…to help…people.”

“But you don’t.”

He cries harder. “No.”

“Because?”

“I…can’t do anything right.”

There’s a clicking noise. Quick, rapid movements that sound like lots of tiny bits falling to the floor. It takes Chris a moment to realize it’s his teeth clacking together. His shivers have gotten violent. That is his breath he’s seeing. Coming out of his mouth with each heavy, miserable pant.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening. Why is he saying these things to this stranger? Confessing fears that keep him up in the middle of the night. Anxiety in the form of monsters and lies that creep up and nestle comfortably in his mind until he figures out a way to best them.

Chris squeezes his eyes closed. Tears sneak out anyway. Streaming down his face and make a mess of his cheeks, his lips, his nose. There’re noises in the booth with him. Creaking noises. Ice cracking and slithering up the walls. He can’t see it. He hears it. Creeping closer and closer, caging him in this freeze he can’t escape. A cage of ice lit up in fires of red.

“Please…don’t…”

“They needed you. And you weren’t there.”

“It wasn’t my fault.” His voice cracks. “Please…”

“You let them die.”

Chris shakes his head. Over and over and over. Face scrunched, painfully. Buries it in his hands and can’t find the words to refute these accusations. In the back of his mind, hidden behind all these evil thoughts that prey on him whenever possible, Chris knows it’s not true. He knows he did everything he could.

“When was the last time you prayed for forgiveness?”

Chris’s hand finds the end of his rosaries. His lips fumble over Hail Marys as he’s asked the same question over and over again.

“When was the last time you prayed for forgiveness?”

The creaking ice gets louder and louder. It booms in his ears, so loud he can barely even hear his own breathing. Echoes of it carry along the walls of the church. Cracks and snaps as it thickens and hardens. Leaves Chris trapped in this eternal icy tomb.

He slams palms against his ears. Tries to block out the sounds. Needs to block out the sounds. It hurts. The ice, the noises, the questions…

“When was the last time you prayed for forgiveness?!”

“Everyday!” Chris screams. He drops to his knees on the kneeler and sobs into his folded arms. “Everyday...”

“And you think becoming a priest could absolve you of your sins? You think your soul won’t writhe with anguish and misery in the icy fires of Hell? You think you can find forgiveness for yourself just because you became a priest?”

“I’m not going to Hell,” Chris swears it through his teeth. Feels a bit of the ice retreating. “God…wouldn’t…He wouldn’t punish me.”

“Wouldn’t punish…” A sick, twisted laugh filled the entire booth. More than one voice. Wrapping around Chris and making him cold once more. “Is this the same God we speak of, Father? The same God who banished humanity from paradise over a fig?” His voice is getting louder. Unearthly loud. “The same God who flooded Their most precious creation in a hissy fit? The same God whose fire tore through Sodom and Gomorrah? Do we speak of the same God, Father, who stole the lives of innocent firstborns? That God? That God, Father?”

“STOP IT!” Chris punches the wall. Has to. He needs to get him to shut up and can find no other ways to do so. Chris is breathless. Vision faded and blurry from all the tears. There’s a pain in his throat as he finds his voice, pushes it out meek and hoarse to ask, “Who…who are you?”

“When seeking answers, Father, one must first ask the right questions.”

Most frost bursts from Chris’s lips. He can see it now. The ice, just a thin layer of it crawling, inching--achingly slow--out of the grille. Tremors rock through his body as he stares wide-eyed at it.

“What are you?” he whispers.

The grille is meant to keep people on either side unseen. Chris can just make out the thick set of lips that come up close to it now.

“I am the things that go bump in the night.”

Chris smothers his face in his arms. Nausea rolls all over him. Wave after wave of sickness that he swallows down. Skin pale and clammy. Terrified.

“I’m sorry…” he weeps. Doesn’t know why. Chris just feels an overwhelming need to find forgiveness. “I’m sorry…sorry…I’m sorry…”

“Sorry? Father, are you all right?”

His voice has changed again. Changed back to that lost soul who first started talking. Chris picks his head up. From a seated position. Not on the kneeler, but on the bench. A breath catches in his throat. He glances around. The light is back on. No broken glass. No cold either. There’s no ice. Nothing. Not even a lingering chill of any kind. Chris feels warm and comfortable, physically. Fingertips brush his cheeks. There aren’t even any tears. None to be found. He’s not been crying at all.

“Father?”

Eyes droopy and heavy, Chris is afraid he may have fallen asleep. Had a nightmare. Horrible, twisted. Real and vivid like the very worst of his own fears sneaking up and suffocating him.

“Are you still there, Father?”

His voice sends a shiver through him. Like the one in his dream--nightmare.

“I…I think it’s best if you leave,” Chris says.

Those fingers are back again. Pushing at the grille. Chris wonders if they long for physical contact. Contact he cannot give.

“Perhaps you are right.” It sounds like he might be crying. He sucks in a jagged breath, even sniffles, and Chris can see him wipe his arm across his eyes. “I...Father?” Chris doesn’t answer. He whispers, “I’m sorry, Father.”

The light above the window goes off. When it does, Chris feels a huge weight slip away with it. As though he’s had a massive headache caused by the glaring red eye that’s been cured with its departure. The door opens and doesn’t close again. Chris can’t hear anything else, but he stays in the booth for a little longer anyway. Not just out of confidentiality. He can’t move. Can’t really feel much of his body.

His mind is hazy. His stomach feels queasy and he’s not sure why. Something just happened. Something as heartbreaking as it was horrifying. Bits and pieces of fuzzy memories brush the edge of his brain and fade away again.

When he regains the sensations in his body, when his legs no longer feel like jelly, Chris is tired. Exhaustion aches in the very marrow of his bones. He might not even make it to his place if he doesn’t get out of here soon. Picking himself up, he wants to get out of here. The room spins around him. Chris holds himself up, hand pressed up against the door. He needs to go home before he’s ill.

He manages to get the door open. Stepping out, he’s greeted by a loud boom. A noise that echoes throughout the whole church. Vibrates through his entire body. The front door crashing into the wall. Left wide open. It’s still pouring. Rain hitting the church hard as though trying to break through the roof. Chris’s place is only just across the street. He doesn’t need to bother with his jacket. The door to the other side of the confessional booth is ajar. His hand reaches for it. For both a bit of balance on his wobbly feet and to shut it before he gets outside. Chris peers inside.

Small chunks of ice melt into the carpet. An intricate layer of frost sparkles across the grille.

Someone was here.

Someone not of this world.

Someone who sounded so desperate for Chris’s help and just didn’t know how to go about asking for it.

“Come back,” Chris whispers. “Come back tomorrow and, please, let me help you.” A name sits on his lips. He doesn’t know why. He’s never met anyone with this name before. Yet it’s there. In his mind. In his heart. In his soul. “Sebastian...”

#evanstan #chris evans #sebastian stan #FICTION #priest/demon au #long post #i had to take a break from titanic it was making me cry #my stuff #forgive me father for i have sinned

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rainbows-fanfics · 5 years

Text

The Heart of the Spider

Summary: Jack goes off to to find Sally, reunite with her, and save the Town. Except things are different now, and they don't go according to plan.

Pairing: Jack Skellington/Sally

Warning: LOTS OF ANGST.

----

He was fast to get to his wanted destination, the words of the Hanging Tree and the Corpse Child repeating relentlessly in his skull. It was a fear he wouldn't wish to impose on anyone, not even his worst enemy - the encumbering feeling of knowing the person you loved was in danger. That they were taken beyond their will, forced into imprisonment, and possibly tortured or manipulated when you weren't there. And that was the fear Jack had to face as he raced across the Graveyard, refusing to imagine his beloved harmed in any way, or treated anymore as a slave than she already had been. That had been his fault from the start: forcing his people to succumb to the rule of a manipulative, sadistic murderer whose purpose was tormenting anyone he could get his hands on... When Ethan told him Oogie's baddies had kidnapped Sally, he didn't know what to think. It was an initial form of both shock and anger - their previous encounter on that fateful Christmas day rang true to his mind. Surely Boogie had learned nothing by taking someone so dear to him, the same person who ultimately determined his fate the moment he decided to keep her in his clutches...the woman whom he had taken now, except this time, Jack wasn't there to swoop in and save her. And that was the concern gnawing at his bones as he pressed his heels further into the dirt, kicking up the remnants of dead bugs and disturbed cobwebs as he arrived at the crypt.

He felt so confident when the plan of a rescue mission became clear to him. But the exhilaration that fueled him on the way somehow diminished, and was now replaced with wariness as he looked over the tall building. Not only was he dealing with the possibility that the love of his death may be harmed, or trapped, or captured, or possibly dismembered somewhere inside - but when all is well, he'd have to face her. After 2 months of leaving Sally alone, to fend for herself in these dangerous times...after a long time of being away from her; dealing with the consequences of his absence. It was him who put her in this position, who couldn't be there when she truly needed it. And if that didn't eat away at what was left of his confidence, he was sure it would eat away at hers.

He took all of this in a brief moment of pause, then resumed his way by walking through the empty corridors. He looked around in search of her red yarn hair, or anything that stuck out from the grayness of the walls and the dust collected in the air. But he didn't have to go very far before he found a figure standing across the large room, their gaze locked on the floor with their arms clutched to their side. He felt a hefty triumph in his chest as his eye sockets widened. He couldn't stop her name from slipping off of his tongue. The name of a woman whom he missed dearly, and craved again for a long time...a beautiful ragdoll that he worried so much about, to be in one-piece, and perfectly okay! "Sally!" She became aware of his presence instantly and jumped. She turned quickly to face him. Both of their gazes met for a solid minute. And in that time, Jack inched closer to her figure, strutting at a quicker pace to get to her and reunite with his love again. To have her scream his name, run into his arms, and hold her close in compensation of their lack of contact for the past 2 months...for everything to be left behind them, and to be fully reconciled. To finally hear her voice again and stroke her soft cheeks, to run his hands through her yarn hair again and know that, this time, he's truly home. But when he got a better look at her, he recognized that something was different. Something that was most likely resulted from his negligence. She was crying.

The moment he saw the tears stream down her face, he wanted nothing more than to console her. And that's what he did - stepping up and wrapping his arms around her smaller figure, bringing her as close as possible to him. She didn't fight or protest, but turned very weak in his arms as she clutched at his sleeves. He could feel her tears falling on his undershirt, and every time he heard her sniffle, his bones grew more numb. This moment lasted for several minutes, with Jack combing his hands through her hair and using the other to rub her back. She dug her head further in his chest and he felt her grip start to tighten. Her fingers began to wobble and so did her legs, and he had to keep an arm around her waist to stop her from falling.

"It's alright," He assured her. "Shhh. It's okay. I'm here now."

She shook her head gently. "Jack....you're finally back..."

Her sniffling started to cease, but the tears were still very prominent. He began to sway them a little to the side, trying to assure her that his presence was real and he was there now. "--Things will be okay now, my love. I'm here to fix everything."

He finally gets a better look at her eyes as she slowly brings her head up and gazes at him. She reached an arm to his skull to caress the side of her finger along his jaw. He took his bony hand to bring it to hers and give it a slight squeeze. Another noise emerged from her mouth, but it wasn't a sob. It was a sound of relief. His chest softened when he felt her squeeze back, but she withdrew her hand to remove herself from him. The moment their embrace was broken, Jack was enveloped in a cold feeling. He was dumbfounded when she turned away from him to clasp her hands down at her waistline, staring through the large window that illuminated the room.

"You've been gone for a...a very long time, now." "I know I have. It was...a lot longer than I intended. I meant to come back a lot sooner."

Her eyes drifted down to the floor again. She continues, very quietly, "The town has changed a lot. When Oogie took over - things took a turn for the worst. Everyone had to hide, and the few who were unfortunate had to serve Oogie. We've needed you more than we ever had before."

She finally turned to look him in the eye sockets. He recognized the dull look in her eyes, the presence of stoicism striking through his bones as if they were paper. Her next words make him ache even more, the reality impounded relentlessly into his skull. "-But you weren't there."

"I..."

He failed to get the right words out. She stared at him for a few moments before turning away again, crossing her arms over her chest and digging her hands deeply into her skin. He took a step towards her, to place his hand on her shoulder and remind her that he was there now, but then he saw her flinch. He didn't know what hurt worse at that moment - facing the cruel results of his mistakes, or knowing that he had broken one of his promises to Sally. "I'm so sorry. And I wouldn't say that if I didn't mean it. I wasn't thinking when I put Dr. Finklestein in charge of the town while I was gone. I should've let the Mayor handle everything. I could've stayed longer, to make sure you were okay. Or brought you with me. That's what I should've done. Not-"

"You shouldn't have left us."

Those words left her throat in sobs. He reached out to touch her again, but she stepped back before he could, which very well was the equivalence of a knife piercing his phantom heart several times. She was only telling him the honest truth - facts he needed to hear. And right now, he needed to hear what Sally had to say. "You're our leader, Jack. Everyone relies on you. They look to you for guidance, for your protection, and most of all, they trust you. What I just don't understand is..." She knitted her eyebrows together before drawing her eyes slowly up to him. "Why did you leave when everything you've ever wanted was right in front of you?" He pursed his lips. That hit him like a stone wall. And every part of it was true. That was something he realized far before he ever took that trip - on Christmas night, when he attempted to fill the emptiness in his soul by taking over someone else's holiday, where he learned that all he truly wanted was someone to understand and love him for who he is. And he got that. He had Sally in his death now. Someone so kind and understanding, who risked everything for him...she had been by his side ever since, and he left her. Why did he ever leave? Why had he felt so discomforted with his death again? When all he needed was to just take the further step...that would've prevented the town being taken over, and it certainly wouldn't have resulted to this.

At his silence, the tears returned to Sally's eyes, falling down even faster this time as she conceals her face with her hands. He went to hold her again, but stopped himself short. Even someone as clueless as him could take the hint...he couldn't pretend everything was fine. That he could magically make everything better just because he's back. He had to patch things up one at a time, slowly progress through them...and gaining Sally's trust again...dare say, her affection once more...that was something he had to naturally do. Not impose it on her in any way.

"Sally...I understand you're upset with me. You have every right to be. And I don't feel good about what I did. Not at all. I left just to realize that I should have stayed all along. I can't even begin to imagine everything I put you through. You and the town...it's my fault everyone is where they are, and it's my job to fix everything and set things right." She doesn't say anything, which adds to the weight on his shoulders. The guilt churned some more in his rib cage as the silence prolonged. He was always thankful for Sally being so understanding, but if he had screwed up so bad that she even she couldn't forgive him, then he knew he made the biggest mistake of his death. The last thing he ever wanted was to lose her, but it gave him unimaginable pain just to know that he had hurt her. He wasn't sure if he could live knowing he shattered her faith in him. "Do you know..." She wiped the tears from her eyes. "Do you know how much I worried about you? How much I looked at your house and wondered where you could be? Some even thought you were dead, and I..." She stopped to swallow. "I didn't know what to think. I didn't hear from you for so long, and I got so lonely. When Oogie took over, I didn't know if you'd ever come back. And what hurt the most, Jack, is that you never said goodbye." Her eyes, now very moist, met with his. Her words hit him like bullets. "You never told me why you wanted to leave. You didn't talk to me much and, before I knew it, you were just...gone." She rubbed the side of her arm slowly. "It hurt knowing you didn't open up to me. That you didn't trust me to know or, or that you didn't even bother telling me why. I thought I was your dearest friend, and we promised we'd listen to each other..."

She started to cry again. He couldn't take it anymore and threw himself on her, taking her hands and holding them tightly in his own. This brought her gaze to his, her eyes reddened and her cheeks completely covered in tears. He could feel her shaking under his grasp, but it wasn't out of fear. It was out of dejection and misery, and he was the cause of it. He couldn't bare that thought. He couldn't handle anymore of hearing how much he had hurt the only person he loved more than anything else in the world. He couldn't forgive himself for doing this to her.

"I love you. I love you with all my heart, my soul, my being, Sally...You're the one for me, and I'm the one for you." His grip softened when he realized he was hurting her. He rubbed her palm apologetically. "It was selfish of me, what I did. It was wrong, it was selfish, and it was...it was unforgivable. You mean everything to me, but these past 2 months, I made it feel like you didn't matter. Which is the last thing I ever wanted to do." He felt the tears threaten to leave his own eye sockets. He held them back, but they stung as he continued, "--The fact that you're doubting you were ever my dearest friend...well, that's the worst thing I've ever done to you. The truth is that you're the love of my death, Sal. You always have been. Even as careless and selfish as I can be, you were always there for me. But I wasn't there for you." He noticed her cheeks were starting to dry. "You don't ever have to forgive me, but I want you to know that leaving you was absolute torture, and being without you for so long hurt in ways I can't describe. You've always been my reason, and after everything is fixed, Sally, I promise...you won't ever have to go through something like this ever again. And that's a promise I'll keep, I swear to God." Her eyes tear up again, but he there's a different look in them now. They're sparkling, filled with relief and joy. He wiped the rest of the tears off for her. When he withdrew his hand, he noticed the small smile growing on her lips. Then he felt a wave of relief wash over him, and the weight finally lifted off his shoulders. But he knew there was going to be a very long time after this...a time where he had to prove to her that he'll be keeping his word on this. That he'll treat her so much better than what he put her through. To regain her trust and...and possibly-

"I love you too, Jack...I just-AH!"

In the midst of her sentence, a web circled around Sally repeatedly before taking her off to the ceiling. Jack jumped in surprise and naturally reached for her, but a ginormous spider jumped down in front of him before he could get to her. He had to take several steps back and shielded himself from its screech. When he looked above, he found the love of his death hanging precariously from the ceiling. Clenching his bony fists, he knew just what he had to do now.

#The Nightmare Before Christmas #Jack Skellington #Jack X Sally #Disney #fanfiction #TNBC #Jack and Sally #Oogie's Revenge #long post

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takingcourage · 5 years

Text

With Kisses Four

Pairing: Sir Luke Harper x MC

Word Count: 1,550

Summary: Three times that Sir Luke Harper kissed the wrist of his ladylove (and one bonus kiss, just for fun!).

Note: As you’ll see, this came out much more drabbley than I anticipated, but I decided to just go with it. Credit for the title goes to the incomparable John Keats.

This story was written as part of my 150 Followers Celebration and fulfills kiss prompt #11 (A kiss on the inside of the wrist). I hope you enjoy!

The first time Luke kissed Helena’s wrist, it was an act of defiance.

He assisted her into Clover’s saddle, the easy weight of her step beneath his hands reminding him just how much had changed in the few weeks since they had met. Luke took a step back and watched her, marking her confidence in hooking her leg around the pommel, determination in the very arch of her back.

Over the past month, she had grown accustomed to the side-saddle, though Luke almost wished for the days he’d ridden behind her to keep her steady. Did she know that he now fell asleep each night wishing to hold her again? To share candid stories about their lives, far from any listening ears? How much he wanted to run his hands through the silken hair she wound on nervous fingers when she thought no one saw?

One dark curl had fallen loose, rising from her neck as the wind urged it forward. Eying it, he almost missed the movement of her left hand dropping to the side. Though her right still held tightly to the reins, it was as though she wanted him to stay within her reach for just a moment longer. He did not waste the opportunity, but clasped the hand between his own.

"Come, lady Helena. We must be off." He could not see the duke, but the insistent words that carried over the evening breeze kindled a fire in Luke’s spirit.

The voice of that man -- her fiancé -- should have been enough to drive them apart.

But still he held her hand in both of his, thumb caressing the hinge of her wrist. Helena's head was trained forward to avoid detection. Yet, with a single finger she traced the flat of his palm. His returning touch was delicate -- almost reverent as his large hands ghosted over her skin.

In the distance, he heard the duke speaking to one of the servants. The content of his speech did not matter; it was enough to know that the man was still distracted.

Luke lifted her skin to his lips, kissing first the dainty fingers, then the back of the hand, and finishing with the even surface of her wrist.

He felt her shiver as his lips brushed over the sensitive flesh. In each touch, there was the promise of perseverance, of hope, of love. The assurance that he would stand beside her as long as he had breath.

Helena’s eyes fell on him for brief moments, a sign that the duke's attention was still diverted elsewhere. The trust and affection in her dark eyes was enough to make the lump rise to his throat. She turned her wrist to squeeze his fingers, then pulled the hand away to follow the man whose claim on her was but a hollow mockery.

Fingers aching for her touch as he watched her ride away, Luke remembered anew why he had promised always to fight for her.

_______________________________________________________________________

The second time he kissed her wrist, it was to acknowledge their triumph.

Lost to time, they murmured sweet nothings at the maze's center, basking in the presence of one another. "You will be my wife." The words had been incredulous, scarcely believing that the events of the day had left them with such bounty of fortune.

"And you, my husband. In every sense of the word." Helena spoke against his throat, voice trembling in vibrations against his skin. He shuddered into the touch, pulling her closer to his side with the arm that was draped around her shoulder.

"No more secrecy," she added, fingers coming to rest atop his own on the wooden bench. He rolled his hand over, sliding her slim digits between his.

“And no more separation.” This realization brought no small measure of relief, his mind suddenly filled with thoughts of how difficult it had been to leave her at Edgewater. How determined he had been to do anything he could to save her from the duke’s machinations. His promise not to leave her had led to consequences neither of them could have imagined -- but there were so many rewards as well.

“Whatever trials stand before us, we will face them together. Though I hope they are not many,” she admitted honestly.

“Aye.” Even with its trials, a life spent with her was almost too much for him to comprehend. Luke buried his face in her hair, savoring their last moments of solitude. “People are bound to start noticing your absence soon, my Helena,” he said finally.

“You’re probably right.”

“Shall we?” Luke stood, taking her hand again to accompany her through the garden.

“If we must.” She held to him tightly as they wound their way back through the hedges, her form melding perfectly against his own. Her light footfalls were scarcely audible beside him, though he felt every step in the rhythm of her movements.

Again he was struck by the overwhelming truth: she was free.

That knowledge made every step sweeter, for at last they could walk without cause for fear.

At the edge of the maze, he slowed his pace and she followed suit, drifting nearer to him as the lights from the tall windows illuminated the path ahead. Helena’s eyes gleamed with joy through the darkness, unblinking as he lifted their clasped hands to kiss the skin beneath.

The time had come for them to face the world. Together.

Hesitant to break the contact entirely, his pinkie hooked her own for the last of their steps through the garden.

_______________________________________________________________________

The next kiss he pressed to her wrist was marked by tender affection.

Helena was in the drawing room when he returned from the stables, night already slipping quietly toward morning. As soon as he entered the room, it became clear that the letter she’d received from Edgewater earlier in the day had contained more trying news than either had anticipated.

Luke set aside his overcoat and surveyed the scene before him. A pair of wooden needles suggested that she’d spent the evening knitting her thoughts into the neat rows that lay beside her. The strand of worsted, still looped around her smallest finger, told him that sleep had not been part of her plan. That hand, yarn and all, lay at her breast, fingers held tightly as though clutching something she was afraid to lose.

His heart beat out with a thrum that resonated through his whole chest. Helena always slept in this way, curled against him with her hand tucked close. Most often, her other arm was thrown across his chest, fingers fanning over his ribs.

But tonight, that hand was tossed to the side, hanging precariously from the end of the seat. Though the room was warm, the chill from the outdoors still clung to his flesh. Seeing her bare skin, he could not stifle the desire to warm it.

He knelt at her side, lifting up the arm that dangled from the edge of the settee. The feeling of his lips was enough to rouse her, and soon her merry eyes danced at the sight of him.

“You’re back.” The tired smile was almost consolation for having spent so much of the evening on business. “How was --” her words cut off in a yawn.

“I can tell you all in the morning. For now, my wife, we should sleep.”

She made no protest, but laid the knitting aside so Luke could gather her in his arms.

Luke carried her to bed, looking forward to the day when Edgewater would be settled and his wife’s worries put to an end.

_______________________________________________________________________

Some months later, it was another wrist he kissed -- this time in utter contentment.

Luke was used to waking early, but the task which called him from bed on this morning was more pleasurable than most. Leaving his wife’s sleeping form, he rose, making his way to the cradle that stood against the far wall.

Their baby was stirring, though he had not yet begun to cry. Luke lifted the weeks-old child, holding him close as he ventured toward the fading moonlight. Pulling aside the curtains, he leaned beside the window, angling his son to see the lands which would one day pass to him.

As they watched the sunrise together, Luke shared with him stories of his own father’s courage and fortitude against all odds. He told him of the late Earl of Edgewater’s gentle spirit and kind sincerity.

How Luke hoped that the traits of both men would pass to his son.

The babe gave a toothless grin, staring out at the world with eyes that Helena insisted were going to one day be green. Luke hoped, perhaps selfishly, that they would instead darken and turn brown. The child had already inherited his father's hair. It seemed only fair that his eyes should take after his mother.

He held out a finger to the infant, the first step of a game which they had played since the child's birth. The tiny hand grasped it, holding tight with a grip that bound Luke’s heart even further. Gently, he pulled finger and the wrist followed.

“Fortune has favored me indeed,” he whispered into streams of sunlight, leaning down to press his lips to the baby’s smooth, warm skin.

#part of me is cringing at how sappy this is #but most of me just wants to give sir luke the world #and it's also father's day #so...#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #desire and decorum #sir luke harper #harper x mc

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codynaomiswireart · 6 years

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“Gauze in the Wound” - Part 13

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 and 12

Wow, this story just keeps getting harder and harder to write! Sorry about the long wait for this chapter. Hopefully it's worth it though.

Also, bringing some more OC's into the mix! Usually, when writing fan fiction, I try not to add too many new characters that aren't canon, but with the way the story's going/will go, it just feels called for this time around.

Sabine and Pontus character descriptions for those who are curious - https://codynaomiswireart.tumblr.com/post/174347636560/tangled-the-series-ocs-sabine-and-pontus-have

Elsewhere, deep in one of the forests of the Seven Kingdoms, a bright white stag went bounding through the thickets as the elder eagle screed overhead, relating to the king of the wood the stirrings that were occurring at this very hour in the kingdom of Equis. Help was surely to be needed soon, destiny was at hand, and they must make all haste if they were to make it in time.

With a sweet, keening call, the stag announced his arrival at the cottage in the glen where a single lantern glowed dim in the dark shade of the moonlit canopy, marking the front gate to what appeared to be a meager, humble abode. A few seconds later, another glow came alight inside the thatched-roofed cottage, and a figure carrying the light could be seen dimly through the windows as they made their way to the front door.

“Oh, Pontus!” Sabine greeted the hart with a gentle, wrinkled hand in his bright white muzzle. “What is it old friend? What’s happened?”

With a few more grunts, gestures, and a trilling interjection from the elder eagle as he alighted by the door, Sabine was able to get enough of the message to understand.

“Great trouble in Equis. Must go immediately. We will lead you there.”

“Right-o then,” Sabine said as she beckoned her woodland comrades into her cottage. Such a sight would’ve been seen as counterintuitive to anyone who did not know the magic of that house, but in reality, there was almost no faster way to get around the forests of the Seven Kingdoms than via Sabine’s Safe House.

“To Equis then,” Sabine announced as she turned the dials and lit up the crystals on the old, enchanted astrolabe mounted to the back of the front door. The dark blue glasswork behind it shimmered with various constellations and planetary symbols as the device came alight, and the whole frame of that house vibrated and groaned like a rapidly growing tree before becoming completely still again moments later. This done, Sabine hurriedly grabbed a dark cloak, first-aid kit, and her trusty winding staff that sat waiting to the side of the door. Then she and her company stepped their way back out over the threshold and into a whole other part of the Seven Kingdoms, now within the territory of Equis.

“Lead on you two!” Sabine said as she mounted up onto Pontus’s back, and the stag and eagle rushed off towards the south and west where they could sense fateful battle was soon to be at hand.

“Varian!” Xavier yelped in surprise from the back of the crowd, having just recovered from the shock of seeing Varian, Queen Arianna, and a giant feral Ruddiger of all things standing between them and the separatists’ hideout. By now, the separatists themselves were scrambling to get back up from the ground, and were getting into a defensive formation as they readied their bows and blades to combat the new, unexpected threat that stood in their way.

“Xavier, are you all right?” Varian called back to him, his voice serious as both he and Arianna stood poised to strike with their weapons aimed at the crowd. Ruddiger’s throat vibrated with low warning growls, deterring any sudden movements or shots fired from the opposing side. As the beast flexed his huge muscles under his thick, leathery hide, it was clear to the archers that no arrows would be taking him down easily.

“Varian! Y-you shouldn’t be here!” Xavier exclaimed, his tone somewhere between frightened and livid. “And your majesty! What were you two thinking!? You should’ve stayed safe back at the castle! Don’t you realize what could happen if they got a hold of-!?”

“Eeeeeeeeeee! Ha ha ha!”

Suddenly, a sharp, screeching, completely unanticipated cry of delight shattered the tense atmosphere, and all eyes couldn’t help but stop and turn to its source.

“Oh my gosh brother, you were right!” the lady spy said as she clapped her hands together and bounced like a child on the balls of her feet, her eyes wide with wonder as they fixed on the shaggy behemoth that stood before them. “Ha ha ha! Look at him! Isn’t he just amazing? He he! And SO cute!”

Varian blinked a couple times, completely thrown for a few seconds by the randomness of having someone gush over Ruddiger in his giant beast form, and during such a time of crisis as this. Varian glanced bewilderedly back and forth between his gigantic, snarling guardian and the lady separatist who beamed up at him as if she’d just seen the most adorable of kittens playing with a ball of yarn on the carpet at home.

“Awwww, aren’t you just the best thing ever! C-can I pet him, please?”

“You stand back!” Varian yelled, and Ruddiger roared defensively in response to the urgency of his master’s voice. The Saporian agent let out another series of giggles as he did so, though she did step back a pace or two at their warning.

“Now, let’s try this again,” Varian began, and pausing as Queen Arianna now made to speak.

“In the name of King Frederic of Corona, and I, her majesty Queen Arianna, we demand that you release Xavier of Corona. If you fail to comply, you will taste the wrath of the crown and our allies, and suffer the consequences.”

“Never!” the commander shouted to the queen in reply. “How dare you make such a threat to Saporia, you Coronian scum! You have no authority here in Equis, and we outnumber you ten to one! All of you!” the commander called back to his comrades. “Ready your weapons, and attack on my signal!”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Varian said, his voice now turning astoundingly cool and confident, and his face even managing a small sneer as he reached into the pack at his hip and pulled out several glowing vials. Fanning them out between the fingers of his free hand, Varian tried to look as confident and intimidating as he could, given his age and current stature. Which, surprisingly, ended up begin quite a bit, especially given the stark contrast between light and shadow that was splashed across his features in the pale light of the full moon behind him, and the glowing vials he held at the ready.

“Unless you guys just really want to be run over by several hundred pounds worth of sheer muscle, feel the pain of several thousand pounds per square inch of jaw strength sink into your guts, and taste the cold steel and bitter chemicals of ancient alchemy, I suggest you all stand down, right now.”

Arianna’s eyes narrowed, and she had to struggle to withhold any words of annoyance at Varian’s deliberately leaving her out of his equation for their fighting force (not that this exclusion surprised her, given how obstinate he could be). And she also tried not to shudder at Varian’s drastic change in tone as he said those harsh words with such smugness, for it was very unnerving to see how quickly Varian could shift his apparent mood when he felt the need. Only minutes ago, he had been near to tears at seeing Ruddiger’s painful transformation, and had comforted the creature with words and gestures so tender that it was hard to believe he had been capable of any villainy at all. But now, Arianna felt a chill run down her spine as Varian re-donned that snarky, twisted, hostile demeanor that he had taken on that one fateful day, and that always left one with a moment of doubt upon witnessing it as to whether or not the boy had actually ever displayed any such tenderness before in his life.

The difference was truly night and day – a contrast as stark as the light and shadow that currently outlined his features.

“At least we’re on the same side this time,” Arianna thought to herself as she worked to hold her bow steady, and she felt her arms begin to ache with the effort to hold it taut before her. She really hoped this confrontation would end soon, and with their victory. …Somehow. “I hope you have a plan Varian.”

Meanwhile, Varian did his best to maintain his show of confident control as they faced the line of Saporian warriors, and he tried desperately to hide the fears growing behind the mask that was his smirking expression. While Varian’s original plans (the ones before factoring in a giant Ruddiger that is) had been to depend more on stealth and trickery rather than any direct confrontation in pulling off this mission (a tactic that had worked extremely well for him in the past), that option was no longer viable given the separatists’ proximity to their headquarters, and Ruddiger’s sudden new show of muscle. As such, the next best outcome was to avoid any physical conflict through intimidation of the Saporian forces, and simply get them to surrender Xavier back to them peaceably. For if there was one thing that Varian’s time as a rival to Rapunzel and Corona had taught him, it was that a display of power could do wonders for getting your enemies to cooperate with you, whether you actually had that power at your disposal or not.

True, Varian had actually been quite powerful back then. And with Ruddiger and a few tricks up Varian’s sleeves, it could be argued that he still had some power in a sense here and now.

But it wasn’t anything like what Varian had had before, and there were plenty of disadvantages and doubts to be factored in. But Varian couldn’t have afforded to have that show back then, and he couldn’t afford it now. It was all mind games really in the end, and Varian had to make sure that he didn’t lose this round. So, Varian dug deep and resurrected that part of himself that delighted (or seemed to delight) in such things as this, and did all he could to project that as he stood his ground, looking his enemies in the eyes.

But again, Varian found himself thrown for a moment as he threats were met not with the commander backing down, nor with the next likely response of a hailstorm of arrows sent their way. …But with a slow applause.

“Well played master alchemist!” the one whom the lady agent had referred to as “brother” now said as he took a couple steps forward, giving off a few slow claps as he did so. “Well played indeed! It appears things have come to an impasse now, wouldn’t you say?”

“Wha- …what are you talking about!?” the commander shouted at the male spy, looking as confused as Varian and Arianna – though with an added dash of anger – as he rounded on his comrade. “This is no time for exchanging pleasantries! Have you also gone mad tonight!? Ugh! Everyone else! If we rush them now we can take them! On my mark! All of you! Ready, ai- Gah!”

Varian’s eyes widened, and for a split second he’d thought that Queen Arianna had let fly one of her own arrows, and that Varian had somehow missed seeing it fly through the air. But as the commander fell forward, Varian realized the shocking truth.

He’d been hit from behind! By one of his own men!

“My apologies,” the male spy continued calmly as one of the larger agents came forward, slinging the limp body of the commander over his shoulder before retreating with him back behind the line of troops. “He is a rather short fuse I’m afraid, and it wouldn’t do at all to have him-”

“You…you monsters!” Arianna now cried out as she aimed her bow at the spy. “How-how could you kill one of your own like that!?”

“Hm? Oh, I see,” the male spy continued, not at all shaken by what had just transpired. “Now don’t go worrying your pretty royal head my dear. He’s merely unconscious. That would be a stun dart, not an arrow, that you would’ve seen sticking into his back.”

“But…but what about-?”

“When he wakes up? Tch! He won’t even remember the last few moments before he was hit. And when he does wake up, we’ll just tell him that you – our enemies – did it to him. Heh! Has worked several times before now, and he still doesn’t suspect a thing. Right lads?”

A series of snickers broke out from the rest of the troops at these words, and Varian and Arianna couldn’t help but exchange a fretful glance between themselves as they heard it. Had they all gone mad? And more still, if the Saporians had, did this make things easier or more dangerous for their own side?

“Enough of this!” Arianna tried again, feeling her queenly and motherly instincts for protection flare up inside of her as she once more aimed her arrow at the agent, who now seemed to have taken the lead as the commander was incapacitated. “This is your last warning! If you don’t return Xavier of Corona to our charge, we will have no choice but to attack!”

“No your majesty!” Xavier cried, but he was interrupted before he could say more.

“My dear, please, we do not want to fight,” the agent stated calmly as he put away his own weapon, and with the others all following suit. Varian and Arianna both frowned hard, neither one of them putting away their own weapons as heavy suspicion crept into both of their minds.

“Huh! Do you really expect us to believe that?” Queen Arianna retorted angrily. “You raided the forge, assaulted several of our citizens, kidnapped one of them, attempted to kidnap another, sabotaged our fleet, set fire to multiple buildings in our capital, and you still somehow expect us to believe you mean us no harm? Sorry, but we are not so foolish as that.”

“Oh, I didn’t say we didn’t mean you any harm my dear,” the agent continued to explain, both Varian and Arianna having to struggle to hide their confusion at this statement. “Mark my words your majesty, Saporia will rise again, and you, your king, and all your kindred will only be able to watch as we reclaim the land that was meant for our ancestors and their descendants.”

Varian thought this agent must either be incredibly brave, or else had a death wish like no other. Varian had never seen such steeliness in the queen’s eyes before, and it was a wonder to him that she didn’t let an arrow fly at the man here and now. But somehow, Arianna restrained herself, though her clenched jaw and furrowed brow testified to how close she was to delivering the first blow of a potential melee.

“But I do speak truly when I say that we do not want to fight. Not this night anyway.”

“Then hand Xavier over, and we can all go home,” Arianna growled through clenched teeth, the tip of her arrow glistening on the moonlight.

“Ha! Now you’re the one who is being rich, your majesty.” The male agent scoffed. “As I said before, we are currently at an impasse. And I see no reason why we should just hand the blacksmith back over to you without…some form of compensation for this action.”

“You wanna make a deal then? Well, I’ve got your deal,” Varian now made to interject before Arianna could reply again, and Arianna could feel her pulse quicken with anxiety as she wondered what Varian had in mind as he reached into his pack, letting the glowing vials drop back in, though still keeping the Demanitus steel sword pointed before him and his eyes looking forward at all times. After a second of shuffling about in his pack, Varian pulled out the book that contained the notes for creating Demanitus steel.

“Here’s the formula for creating Demanitus steel,” Varian said, not daring to glance at the looks of horror on Arianna or Xavier’s faces as he held it up for the agents to see. “The formula in exchange for Xavier. That’s my offer. Take it, or leave it.”

“NO VARIAN!” Xavier yelled. “Don’t give it to them! Not for me! My life isn’t worth endangering the lives of-!”

“Shut up you!” one of the burly agents guarding Xavier snapped at him. “Unless you want to be gagged or knocked out, you’ll shut your cakehole, see?”

Varian glared hard at the agent that yelled at Xavier, but quickly turned his attention back to their leader as he waited for his answer. He also tried to tune out Xavier’s desperate words against the action just now. Varian couldn’t afford to show any second-guessing. Not in this instance.

The male agent seemed to think hard for moment as he stroked a thoughtful hand across his goatee several times. He appeared to be genuinely considering the offer, and everyone waited with baited breath for his answer. After a moment, the agent gave a small nod. “You’ve got a deal, master alchemist.”

Varian couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief. “Right then,” he said as he made to step forward to make the trade, ignoring the feeling of Queen Arianna’s wide eyes on him as he moved forward. “Let’s get this over with.”

But just then, Varian was stopped as the agent raised a hand in signal for him to not come any closer.

“However,” the agent said in a tone that made Arianna and Xavier’s skin crawl, and Varian feel again on edge. “I would like to add another offer to our end of the deal, if quite agreeable to you of course.”

“Ugh, what is it?” Varian asked irritably, and tried hard not to show his growing sense of urgency, as he knew that it was only a matter of a few more minutes perhaps before Ruddiger resumed his normal, smaller form. If that happened, the impasse would no longer be held between the two sides. They didn’t have much more time, and Varian hated the idea of things stalling for too long.

Then, in response to Varian’s inquiry, the male spy brought his hand down from a “stop” signal…and instead held it out to Varian as if offering him a handshake, and his lips curled back into a smile.

“I offer for you, Varian, son of Quirin, the chance to join our ranks, to become one of our brethren, and to become part of the Separatists of Saporia.”

Varian couldn’t help but have his eyes go wide with surprise as he heard these words, and it was a whole couple seconds before he managed some sort of response. “What?” Varian asked the agent to repeat.

“I offer you a place among us, Varian,” the man repeated again, with his sister nodding enthusiastically behind him. “Join us, and be free of the shackles that is the kingdom of Corona!”

Arianna now began to feel her blood run cold, and she was forced to finally lower her bow a little as her arms began to shake, and her heart rate spiked in her chest. Arianna looked over at Varian, and though his expression was still stunned, and his eyebrows knit together in hard thought, she also detected a slight softening in his eyes as the man’s words began to sink in – their vocabulary obviously chosen very deliberately for Varian’s situation. And this was the final horror that made Arianna’s heart falter the most, as she detected the slightest lowering of Varian’s sword in response.

…He was actually considering it!

Xavier also detected this change in Varian’s countenance, and shook his head, trying to deny it, but not being able to do so honestly. “NO VARIAN, DON’T!” Xavier tried shouting again. “Don’t listen to him! He’s only trying to- mmpphfff!”

“I told you to keep quiet!” the burly agent standing next to him hissed as put a gag on Xavier.

“Hey! Leave him alone!” Varian yelled, his sword rising back up a few inches as he was momentarily snapped out of his thoughts at the sight of his mentor being handled so roughly. But before Varian could say any more to the effect, the male agent continued to speak.

“Steady on now my boy, we won’t hurt him. I give you my word that whatever you decide tonight, the old man will be free to go once our negotiations are complete. But again, I ask you Varian, will you not join us in our campaign against Corona? It is no secret to us that the king has held you prisoner these last several months. And for what? For you taking measures that were only called for because he couldn’t do his job properly, and left his kingdom and its citizens to crumble in the cataclysm that had been unleashed by the mysterious black rocks? What sort of a king is that who would abandon his people in their time of need? But we Saporians aim to fix that – to make a new kingdom that will care about its citizens, and not let the elite hide away in their towers while everyone else must suffer. I’m sure it is no slip of fate that we are meeting here now, and the king and his guards are nowhere near here. Would you really be such a fool as to let this opportunity of escape from their tyranny pass you by? To join forces with us, and get the justice you’ve waited so long for?”

…Varian’s own heart was beating loud in his ears now, a whole storm of emotions was beginning to rage inside of him, and his thoughts were flying thick and fast across his mind and his heart. It was a real strain to try to keep his expression somewhat neutral as the seconds ticked on by.

…It felt as if a layer of his old wounds was being reopened again, the man’s tempting offer pulling at the gauze that had been applied there over the last several months…

…Varian’s sword point lowered a little more.

“Varian-!” Arianna tried to interject at his side, hoping that somehow she would know what to say to him, and realizing how terribly the situation was suddenly turning against them. But the man interrupted her again.

“Besides, what have any of these people ever done for you that you should continue to serve them, eh?” he said. “What have they ever done to make up for what happened to you and to Old Corona? Are you not still waiting for recompense, or even a simple apology? Are they still not inhabiting their lofty towers, and coming down only when one of their own is in trouble? When one is deemed worthy of their time and attention? Did they not attack you those months ago and lead you away prisoner from your own home? A home you were left alone to defend because of their neglect? Where is the justice in all that?”

Varian’s sword lowered even further, his eyebrows scrunching together hard.

Arianna’s brain was working rapidly, trying desperately to come up with something – anything! – to say that would steer Varian away from disaster, but she couldn’t think of what to say. Behind the two of them, Ruddiger gave a small whimper as he could detect the distress whirring within the two of them, and also inside Xavier as he continued to struggle against the gag and his bindings that held him back tight.

Varian now moved to tuck the book of Demantius steel loosely into his pouch as he made to grasp his sword with two hands, for he looked as if the sword had suddenly felt too heavy for him to hold up with just one. It all felt so heavy – everything. And Varian wasn’t sure he could bear it anymore! Hardly even thinking about it, Varian found himself taking deep breathes again as Xavier had taught him, trying hard to keep himself together, feeling as if he was coming near to a metaphorical precipice, and trying to decide whether or not he should take the plunge right off it.

“And why not?” he couldn’t help but think to himself, his sword beginning to lower again. “He is right after all. You’ve never even gotten a single apology from any of the royals in this whole thing! They never even tried to-!”

[“Varian, I’m SO sorry, I didn’t mean-”]

“Pfft! Yeah, and a fat lot of good those stupid words did you! It’s not like Rapunzel actually came down from her ivory tower and actually did anything for you anyway. None of them came down to help you for anythi-”

[“I’m coming with you…You need me to do this.”]

“Oh…Well…Y-yes, the queen is here. True. She did do that. B-but she only did that because of Xavier remember? He’s really the only reason why she’s out here at all. Not you. That would be the ‘one of their own’ bit, remember? Xavier counts, but you don’t. Not like that. Not to them. You never have. You’ve always just been the child menace, the dangerous alchemist. You weren’t ever worthy of their time and attention. Not in their eyes. You’ve only been a means to an end for them really, when they actually did need your talents. Even when Rapunzel first sought you out, it was only for what you could do for her. I mean, who would even want to bother to go out of their own way for you and-”

[“I want you to be my apprentice.”]

“Ah…um…yeah, there is that isn’t there. …ALL of that...”

[“…You didn’t have to do all this for me. Really. But you did...”]

And…a-and it was with his help you got the sword in the first place, right? To free Dad? And Friedborg helping you with Latin? And Pete and Stan? You were glad Stan wasn’t dead after he took that dart in the raid, remember? As he was trying to protect everyone? And you didn’t like decking Pete like that either yesterday. They aren’t…bad guys, are they? Not really. And the Captain? Well…Not sure about him honestly, but he was worried about you when it looked like you may have been sick. Or when you had that night terror. There’s no doubt it would come to blows with them again if you joined the Separatists to fight them. Those guys would definitely die before they saw Corona overrun.

“…Would I really want to fight them again? See them get hurt? Would that even be justice?

[“You could go on being their enemy. Though – if I may be so bold as to point out – you have tried that already. Has it really been all that you wanted?”]

“But…don’t I deserve justice!? Don’t I want to see justice!?

“…What is justice?”

“What is justice?”

The words left Varian’s mouth before he could even think to stop himself, and all eyes stared at him in response.

“Hm? Sorry, what?” the man asked him, apparently thrown by Varian’s response with a question of his own, and his sword tip halted in its descent.

“W-what is justice?” Varian repeated, the question hanging in the air for a moment, sounding like a large, strange, rhetorical statement.

“What is- ? What kind of a question is that!?” the man’s sister now spoke up. “Pfft! Boy, those Coronians really did do a number on your brains didn’t they?”

“Please sister,” her brother scolded her. “No need to be rude to our newest recruit.”

“Hey, I haven’t agreed to anything yet!” Varian said back, trying hard to ignore the cringe that flashed across the queen’s face as he said “yet”. “And-and you didn’t answer my question. What is justice?”

“Duh! Everyone knows that, little brother!” the lady agent replied. “It’s people getting what’s coming to ‘em, that’s what! It’s kicking bad guys’ butts, really sockin’ it to ‘em, and making sure they don’t cause trouble anymore for the good folk. It’s dishin’ out just desserts to the elite, making sure they aren’t holding back what’s rightfully someone else’s, and making sure the cosmic scales are equal my friend. You screw it up, you gotta face the music. You do wrong, and you gotta pay the price!”

“…Dad didn’t think so.” Varian said softly, and earning looks of surprise from everyone as he uttered those words.

[“…It would’ve been me you know…It should’ve been me. But Dad pushed me right out of the way before it happened, and now…”]

“If…if we all got what we deserve,” Varian continued, his voice shaky, and his knuckles turning white underneath his gloves as he gripped the handle of the sword harder, “If we all have to face what we did, I…I wouldn’t even be here right now. But Dad, he…he…”

It was all that Varian could do to hold back his tears again, though he felt as if he had no strength left to resist as Arianna slowly approached and placed a hand tentatively on his shoulder. She was very uncertain as she attempted this action. She didn’t know if it would infuriate Varian, or if he would just shrug her off in indignation. But he didn’t do either of those things. Instead, he just stood there, staring blankly down at his sword as the moonlight glinted off of it, seeming to be barely aware of Arianna’s touch.

“So, you’re saying you’re fine with everyone who wronged you getting off scot-free, is that it?” the man questioned harshly.

“NO! I don’t mean that! I mean…” Varian stammered. “I- I…I don’t…I don’t know. I don’t know what I want!”

“It appears things are even worse than I thought,” the man said, pinching the bridge of his nose as both Varian and Arianna looking up sharply at him. “They’ve made you both spineless and heartless. Figures. That’s what they do to everyone who listens to them. Tell me, boy, why are you here now and not in Old Corona trying to free your father at this very hour?”

Varian’s blood simultaneously ran cold and boiled as he listened to these words. “Wh-what do you mean?” Varian asked tersely.

“Just seems strange to me,” the man continued on with a casual shrug. “If you love your father as much as you claim to, why did you not make all haste to Old Corona when you had the chance instead of coming here to rescue an old man you’ve known for but a couple of months?”

“HOW DARE YOU!?” Arianna shouted, lifting her hand from Varian’s shoulder and setting it to her bow again, standing so that she was now between Varian and the Saporian agent with Varian having to look over her shoulder to see what was happening. “You have no right to say such things to him!”

“Perhaps you are right about that, your majesty” the Saporian agent replied calmly, crossing his arms in front of him. “But I suppose it’s only natural for someone to feel concerned when they see someone get so brainwashed as to neglect the wellbeing of his own kindred in favor of those whose only kind deed to him was to give him tea and cookies for a few weeks.”

“A whole lot you care!” Varian now growled from behind Arianna, though still feeling a cold jab of doubt as the thought began to sink in further, cutting into his tender wounds like a cold, steel knife. “B-besides, Old Corona is under tight guard. If I had gone alone, I-I would never have been able to-”

“Oh, don’t try to give that excuse boy. If you were confident enough to believe you could take on us with your brains and bag of tricks, surely you would’ve been able to get through the guards at Old Corona and to your father without any trouble. But why didn’t you? I’ll tell you why. It was because you’d barely even thought of that being an option up until now, haven’t you? Your captors have got you so on their lead and into their way of thinking that you can’t even think for yourself anymore. And what would your father think if he knew? What would he think if he knew you had the means to free him, but you didn’t? How disgraceful! Instead of saving him, you went running in a totally different direction, leaving him longer to die because you-”

But the agent had said too much this time, and the scales tipped rapidly in the other direction.

“YOU SHUT UP!” Varian now cried, pushing passed Arianna (now standing side-by-side with her again) and pointing his sword hard at the agent. “What do you know anyway, huh!? You don’t know my dad! You don’t know anything! He…” Varian swallowed hard, remembering again that feeling of his father shoving him out of the way as the amber crystals shot out towards him, and the way he’d looked at Varian as he told him to stand back as they encased his form.

“…He wouldn’t have wanted me to abandon Xavier!” Varian continued boldly, aware now that for the first time since Dad’s encasement, he was actually considering what Dad would’ve really wanted of him – remembering back to his dad being a village leader, of being selfless, of being a hero. “If he w-were here, he’d probably have come himself. And-and it’s not like you’re any better than everyone else you know! I would’ve already been to Old Corona and have tried freeing him by now if you hadn’t attacked, taken Xavier, and ruined everything!” Varian now couldn’t stop the tears as they streamed down his cheeks at the thought, but he didn’t stop yelling as he felt them fall. “You don’t care. You just want to use me too like everyone else, don’t you!? How do I know I won’t be the next one you stab in the back once I’m useless to you!?”

Here, a couple of the agents tried to shift themselves in front of the unconscious body of the commander. Varian quickly swiped a hand across his face to clear his vision.

“I refuse to be played by you anymore, and I’m done talking. I don’t know what I gotta do for justice, but I know it’s gonna be nothing to do with you. I…I have others who can help me with that.” Here Varian risked a quick glance at Xavier before fixing his eyes back on the male agent. “Now, hand over Xavier like we agreed, and I’ll give you the formula. We’re done here.”

Arianna was just about as stunned at Varian’s whole outburst as everyone else. It had been clear that Varian had found the offer of joining a rebel faction and enacting justice on Corona to be very tempting, and Arianna was certain that if he had been presented with the offer not too long ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about taking it. But now? Well…apparently, things were different now, and Arianna would be sure to have a long talk with Frederic about it once they got back home.

Taking her own steadying breath, Arianna now made to step forward. “This really will be your last chance. Hand over Xavier, now.”

Here, the male agent only let out a long sigh through his nose, eyes shut, appearing to be holding in an outburst of temper. But finally, a small smile crept its way back onto his face, and he looked back up again to face the queen, Varian, and Ruddiger, all waiting for his response.

“I am sorry boy,” he began again. “But I’m afraid the formula on its own would be useless to us for some time before we could understand it, and we cannot pass up the opportunity of having our own master weapons manufacturer and Corona’s own lady queen as our prisoners.” The male agent now shouted over his shoulder to the others. “To the ready now, all of you!”

At this, all the agents now unsheathed and held up their weapons again, and Arianna and Varian both started back in alarm, with Ruddiger letting off a loud growl from behind them.

“What!? But you said-!” Arianna gasped as she held out an arm protectively in front of Varian.

“Oh please, this is war your majesty! Did you honestly expect us to back down nicely? And dear boy, I am sorry about this. Truly. We had hoped you would see obvious sense and come to our side willingly, but it appears you’ve spent too much time in the enemy’s camp. But don’t worry. You’ll come round soon enough once we put you to work in our campaign. Oh, and your attack animal? I do know that he only has so much time before he turns defenseless again. I knew if I couldn’t convince you to join us, I could at least stall for time and strengthen our odds of winning a fight. I’d suspect he has about a minute left before he turns back again, wouldn’t you say?”

Varian clenched his teeth hard, and his blood boiled within him. “You…you SCUMBAG!” Varian shouted, infuriated at being toyed with and outsmarted by the man, and feeling personally violated at having his emotions and motives being used for that purpose so insensitively like that.

“I am sorry. But you played your own cards well Varian. I’m impressed. It was truly a delight to have you as an opponent. But no more. All of you! Attack!”

“NOW!” Varian shouted his own command as he quickly swiped a handful of vials from his pack, chucking them hard forward as Arianna also let fly an arrow from her bow, and Ruddiger dashed forward with a great, loud roar of rage.

The battle had begun, and there was no turning back now.

For those of you who caught it, congratulations! Sabine's Safe House was largely inspired by Howl's Moving Castle! Other details about her house (and her magic) will be further explored later on in following chapters, so stay tuned!

Some of the dialogue in this chapter was also inspired by the song "Where is the Justice?" from the Death Note musical (sung by Jeremy Jordan, Varian's English voice actor!), and from the confrontation scene between Diggory and Queen Jadis from 'The Magician's Nephew' by C. S. Lewis. (Hopefully the idea of his characters' dialogue influencing fan fiction isn't causing Mr. Lewis to spin too much in his grave, and hopefully I "did it justice". :D ...I'll see myself out.)

"Where is the Justice?" song (Warning for younger readers: some mild profanity in the lyrics) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eL2f44geLz4

#tts #rta #tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #fan fiction #gauze in the wound #long post #varian #xavier the blacksmith #queen arianna #ruddiger #rudiger #battle!ruddiger #beast!ruddiger #the separatists of saporia

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