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randomestfandoms-ocs · 6 months

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Harry Potter OC Masterlist ( L-Z )

[ INVICTUS SERIES ] [ A-K ]

Name: Laurel Prewett

Story: Wilted Rose

Series: Garden Song

House: Ravenclaw

Era: Golden Era

Face claim: Kennedy McMann

Name: Lianne Slughorn

Story: Still Waters

House: Slytherin

Era: Golden Era

Face claim: Ashley Liao & Natasha Liu Bordizzo

Love Interest: Ernie Macmillan

Name: Lucinda Bones

Story: Bones’ Gambit

House: Slytherin

Era: Golden Era

Face claim: Leah Jeffries & Savannah Lee Smith

Name: Lyarra Vance

Story: Evergreen

House: Hufflepuff

Era: Golden Era

Face claim: McKenna Grace & Anya Taylor-Joy

Love Interest: Rolf Scamander

It wasn’t unusual that no one knew who Lyarra Vance’s father was. She was born during a war; when communication was closely guarded and only necessary information was shared, when those who weren’t committed sought comfort with whomever may have been sharing their safe house for the night. A one night stand was hardly worth alerting the Order about, even when Emmeline found herself pregnant. She simply, quietly, withdrew from field duty and took to managing communications and information, giving birth to a beautiful baby girl, and never even told Peter that the child was his. And really, Lyarra never needed to know the gruesome truth about what happened to him. She knew that her father died in the war, that she had his nose, that he hadn’t known her mom was pregnant, and that Emmeline had no regrets. But when she starts Hogwarts, she finds herself falling deeper and deeper into a web of mysteries, and the truth about her father is only the tip of an iceberg that threatens to send the Wizarding World back to war.

Name: Lysithea Selwyn

Story: Edge Of Dawn

Series: What Died Didn’t Stay Dead

House: Ravenclaw

Era: Golden Era

Face claim: Emily Carey & Lily Collins

Love Interest: Fred Weasley

Lysithea Selwyn could remember a time before the visions. They hadn’t started until the summer after her first year of Hogwarts, nightmares of girls with her face all meeting violent deaths. Waking up screaming every night, feeling the echoes of their deaths in her bones, she knew that they couldn’t be mere nightmares. But it isn’t until her third year, until her first class with Professor Lupin, that she gets her first hint at the bigger picture: she isn’t the first girl to wear this face.

Name: Maia Lupin

Story: Blood Moon

House: Ravenclaw

Era: Golden Era

Face claim: Meg Donnelly

Name: Malea Selwyn

Story: War Of Hearts

Series: Family Jewels

House: Slytherin

Era: Marauder's Era

Face claim: Josephine Langford & Margot Robbie

Love Interest: Regulus Black

Name: Maretta Longbottom

Story: Hours Before Morning

House: TBD

Era: Golden Era

Face claim: Odeya Rush

Name: Maristela Carrillo

Story: Faithless Love

House: Slytherin

Era: Golden Era

Face claim: Rachel Zegler

Love Interest: Blaise Zabini & Theodore Nott

Maristella had her entire life figured out. The perfect Slytherin princess, ambitious and calculating and willing to do anything to get what she wanted, and she knew exactly what she wanted. She wanted everything. Top grades, a ministry career, the perfect, successful life, and she was going to get it all. And if that meant dating both Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini until one of them finally admitted that their fourth year joke had gotten out of hand, then she would not be the one to break first. No matter where it took her.

Name: Meissa Black

Story: Alchemical

Series: Family Jewels

House: TBD

Era: Golden Era

Face claim: Avi Lake & Thomasin McKenzie

Name: Miranda Granger

Story: Tragedy Tonight

House: Gryffindor?

Era: Golden Era

Face claim: Malina Weissman & Emilia Jones

Love Interest: Harry Potter

All Miranda Granger had ever wanted was to be special. Sure she was a genius, but Hermione still beat her at every test, at every… well, at everything. Until one day, while trying to reach the top shelf in the library, she found herself floating. And for an entire glorious, secret, month, she was special. Until Hermione showed the same abilities and it was back to second place for Miranda. And when they both got invited to Hogwarts, she resigned herself to another seven years in her sister’s shadow. Until, on the Hogwarts Express, they find a compartment with two boys and a rat and, for the first time in eleven years, Miranda sees the opportunity to be something more than Hermione Granger’s lesser half

Name: Nineve Weasley

Story: Reckoning

House: Slytherin

Era: Golden Era

Face claim: Sadie Sink & Kat McNamara

Name: Phoenix Dumbledore

Story: Dwell On Dreams

House: Beauxbatons; Hufflepuff

Era: Golden Era

Face claim: Anna Cathcart & Kaylee Bryant

Love Interest: Fred Weasley

Phoenix Dumbledore knew why she hadn’t been sent to Hogwarts; knew that her Great Uncle Albus wanted nothing to do with her; with Aberforth’s orphaned granddaughter. But when the Triwizard Tournament roles around and Madame Maxime insists on bringing the prodigal witch as part of her delegation, Phoenix knows that she can’t hide from her legacy any longer.

Name: Rosalind Greengrass

Story: Songbird

Series: Lament

House: Slytherin

Era: Marauder’s Era

Face claim: Florence Pugh

Love Interest: Regulus Black

Name: Sadie Bishop

Story: The Ending Is The Same

Era: Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them

Face claim: Blake Lively

After the tragic and unexpected death of her husband and child, Sadie Bishop withdrew from both the magical and no-mag societies. She went back to her maiden name and slowly started to reenter the world, but promised herself that she wouldn’t get involved again; that she would keep her distance. The only exception was her best friend of twenty years, Percival Graves. And she could have kept it that way, she really could have, until a British wizard showed up in New York and she heard Percival introduce her with her married name, the name he knew she hadn’t used since the day she buried her husband.

Name: Tabitha Scamander

Story: Chasing Twisters

Series: Chasing Storms

House: Gryffindor

Era: Marauder's Era

Face claim: Giorgia Whigham & Teresa Palmer

Name: Venus Malfoy

Story: Writing On The Walls

House: Slytherin

Era: Golden Era

Face claim: Kiernan Shipka & Jenny Boyd

Love Interest: Cedric Diggory; Harry Potter

Venus Malfoy’s life had always been planned out for her. She was a Malfoy; the Malfoy Princess; and she had to do what she was told. She would go to Hogwarts, carry on the Slytherin Legacy of both of her parents’ families, and then marry a suitably well-bred man of her father’s choosing. But when whispers start to rise about the Voldemort’s return, Venus has to make a choice: to do what’s right, or what’s expected of her.

Name: Verona Rosier

Story: Violent Delights

Series: Invictus

House: Gryffindor

Era: Marauders Era

Face claim: Millie Bobby Brown & Zoey Deutch & Natalie Portman

Love Interest: Sirius Black; Regulus Black; Feliks Volkov

Verona Rosier had her entire life planned out from the day she was born. Just like her brothers, she would carry on the family legacy and be sorted into Slytherin, she would maintain perfect grades, and, when the time came, she would marry Sirius Black, just as her father decreed. She would produce perfect pureblood heirs and be the perfect pureblood wife. Every moment was meticulously planned out, and Verona had accepted that — but when the Sorting Ceremony comes, and the Hat, barely even touching her head, shouts “Gryffindor!” her perfectly planned life shatters in an instant.

Name: Violetta Greengrass

Story: Angel On Fire

House: Slytherin

Era: Golden Era

Face claim: Emma Myers & Natalie Alyn Lind

Love Interest: Draco Malfoy

Name: Zaria Selwyn

Story: War Of Hearts

Series: Family Jewels

House: Slytherin

Era: Marauder's Era

Face claim: Sydney Sweeney & Samara Weaving

#harry potter oc #masterlist #randomestfandoms construction

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thesevro · 3 years

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desert rose / ryomen s.

ryomen sukuna x reader angst word count: 1.4K words

WARNINGS: Explicit SMUT, angst, character death

➠

SUKUNA TREMBLES WITH wrath. Pain and rage surge through him like a twin pair of vicious snakes.

"I told you to leave her alone, you deranged paupers." A snarl curls his lips. "And yet you still didn't listen.

"So now you have to watch me burn your wives, and cut all your minute little pricks off until you die twitching with your hands around your sorry cocks."

Sukuna grabs one woman by her neck. She clutches a child to her breast, one she shoves into the hands of who must be her husband. Sukuna holds that man in place with cursed energy. Holds the family hostage as the rest of the village goes up in smoke around them.

But through the chaos, many still choose to watch the brutality.

A black nail traces the woman's stomach, slides up to hold her face in his fingers. The nail rips her garments with ease.

None of you will ever be the same as her, Sukuna thinks with dead eyes, sliding his finger into the woman's mouth with an unnatural gentleness before pointing it upward and driving the finger in further. The tip of his nail meets the wet mass of her brain after a few moments.

The woman struggles in his four arms, flailing about like an asphyxiating fish. Her husband watches in horror. Screams with her as her throat erupts with gurgled screams of agony.

Sukuna blinks with slow somnolence. Sees the child wailing in its father's arms as its mother dies in his. He retracts his finger from inside the woman's brain. She cannot die without seeing this.

Sukuna pulls the child out of his father's arms with only one hand. The father lets his flesh and blood go with an ease that sickens Sukuna.

If this were his child, he would protect it with his life, with whatever powers fate would let him have past death. You would never forgive him if he let your child go.

The things we could have done. Sukuna holds the child by its head. Its arms and feet dangle helplessly. The mother watches with terrified eyes as Sukuna crushes its skull inward with five fingers. His thumb pops one of its eyes open. Its blood wets its mother's and father's faces.

The things we could have made. He smells smoke as he tosses the dead child aside and onto the dirt. It is trampled upon by the scrambling feet of its fellow village men and women.

Sukuna raises his hand into the air and over the head of the woman in his arms. She lets loose one last scream before he plunges his hand into her stomach to split the flesh there wide open.

He fixes numb eyes on the only one left in the tiny family he has murdered. The man shakes his head. Knows what approaches him as Sukuna drags him closer by his neck.

Sukuna bends closer to stare straight into the man's scared eyes. He speaks his question with the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

"Do you regret letting them die?" he asks. "If you don't, then I will let you live. I will see it as a show of courageous human apathy."

The man nods slowly. Then his head bobs in vigorous nods. Sukuna kills him immediately.

How dare you care so little about your wives. Sukuna drops the corpse. Disgust contorts his features. When it was so easy for you to take mine, the only person I have ever loved.

Sukuna looks up at the black sky. Gray smoke curls upward to darken it further.

"(Y/N)," he says, so softly the fires swallowing up entire houses drown his words out. "Come back to me, my love."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Um... um, Sukuna-sama, do you know what a flower crown is?"

The King of Curses tilts his head. He regards your open face with curiosity. Most of his previous concubines had only let him have his way with their bodies. You... you have been trying your damndest to make him as open as you.

It had revolted him at first. Now... it no longer bothers him as much.

"No," he admits without care. "Show me, human."

"Would you kindly allow me to sit in your lap, Sukuna-sama?" He starts at this. "I will not be able to put it in its correct place if I remain here. You are... very tall, after all."

Sukuna offers you a begrudging nod. You brighten. He does not know it but the smile on your face has lifted the frown from his.

Sukuna opens his arms to you as you rise from the grass. You barely fit into his lap. Too small to seat yourself on him properly.

He holds you upright with two hands on your waist. Sukuna cocks his head at you as you purse your lips and your face goes red. Your heart palpitations have risen to a surprising one-hundred and fifty-four.

You do not meet his eyes as you raise your arms to sit the makeshift crown of flowers on his head. You grin at how it looks on him. It is a laurel of pink and white.

Yet you still do not share his gaze.

With the most infinitesimal edge of violence Sukuna moves one hand up to grip your chin between two long fingers to force your gaze onto him. Your eyes flash with fear.

"I—I'm sorry, Sukuna-sama. Was I acting too intrusive? I did not wish to—"

"Quiet, human." His hand parts from your chin to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. You look so surprised by the gesture that it hurts him. He only wants to see you with that smile on your face. "I'm sure you were able to make it look... satisfactory on me."

"Oh." Your smile is hesitant this time. "Thank you, Sukuna-sama."

"Although, human," he says, "I need none of your apologies. So you must stop spewing them like the whores of your village spit praises at your backwards men."

A soft giggle leaves you at this. When he sleeps, the sound lingers with him.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"S-Sukuna-sama!" His name is a moan out of your mouth. It sends shivers down his spine. Reminds him of how roguishly animalistic being human can be as remnants of the human parts of himself tell him to fuck you until the sun rises.

"That's it, human," he sneers. "That's how you fucking do it. Riding me so well."

It is the first time he has let you lead the pace. Somehow it gets him off more than it should. You squat over his cock, riding with him fervor he only ever sees from you when you are around him. Your hole spills slick all over his cock. Clenches him hard enough to drive his head back into the pillow.

One of his hands reaches forward, sliding over your leg to rest between your shaking thighs and settle on the puffy pearl of pleasure budding at the top of your weeping cunt.

He briefly considers using the nail of his index finger. But the possibility of hurting you while he was this high on sex... it would pose as too great a risk.

Sukuna instead thumbs at your clit with a pressing finger. His whole body seizes up as the warm fist of your pussy wraps tighter around his cock. You toss your head back and whine his name, begging, begging so enticingly for more.

So that is what he gives you. It is what he will always give you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You had brought peace to the land, and ruin to his heart.

Does he regret loving you? He never will. Pain has not stopped him in the past.

This village will not be the last. These women will not be the last he kills. These men will have to watch as he steals the lives of the ones they love.

He will make sure they suffer as he did when you gave him your last smile with that bullet in your back. Will make sure they have to watch as the life seeps out of the ones they love, just as he held you to his chest as your blood painted his hands.

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna x reader smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #pwp #itadori yuji #yuji #itadori #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo satoru smut

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downywrites · 3 years

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Karl has some traumatic memories from his last timewarp. His husbands help him forget. (Tw- derealization(?))

Flashing lights.

That was all he saw.

They blared at him, screamed at him for help. And all he could do was watch.

The bright green flames leapt and spun, destructive dancers pirouetting beautifully over flesh, bone, fabric, wood.

The withers shrieked, their bloodcurdling screams matching the pitches of the men and women who ran. The footsteps thundered on the walkway. Karl watched, detached, as the wood crumbled below them. They fell, and none reached the surface of the water again. He turned his head, muted horror turning into its truest self at the sight of crimson dripping across the stone floor. Red and grey clashed so horribly, they said. It never matched the milieu of any ball, they said. And yet, it did. The macabre scene filled his eyes like a sea of red. The fabric of his shirt, stained like the mind of its owner, shifted as he sunk to his knees. He crawled towards a familiar face, eyes brimming with tears as he cradled his cold, dead body. He looked up. Heterochromic eyes met with soulless ones. Barely audible over the din, a single, broken syllable escaped his chapped, bloodied lips.

“...why?”

The ebony mask simply smiled back at him. The axe raised high, gleaming a shimmering ruby color in the sun’s dawning light-

He sat up straight, eyes as wide as dinner plates. He glanced to the side, hands and legs shaking under the covers, at the warm, golden light of his digital clock. His breath stuttered. The sweat on his face and arms gave him a glittery sheen in the dim lighting. The blankets around him felt like snakes wrapping around his limbs, hissing and slithering all over him. Legs wobbling, he shimmied out of bed, fluffy, warm, comforters giving way to precious, cold freedom. A small sigh of relief escaped his lips for a moment, before a discomforting feeling filled his chest once more. ‘Just a dream.’ He repeated his words in his head like a mantra as he shuffled down the wooden stairs of his home. The wood creaked as he went down, well-worn spruce shifting slightly under his feet.

A flash of fabric.

The handrail, well-waxed and polished to a t, glinted in the light of the moon.

Like an axe, poised for the kill.

His breathing went shallow again. He didn’t remember when his breathing evened out. He didn’t know, not until the moment was gone.

Like them. The people he loved, slaughtered in front of him.

And now the breathing stopped. His lungs filled with water, water that wasn't there. He stumbled down the last few steps, scrambling for purchase in the dim, almost suffocating grey of the moonlit night. A full moon, perhaps?

Just like that night.

An involuntary gasp escaped his mouth. He sunk to the floor, eyes squeezing shut on their own. Shaking his head slightly as if he could escape the choking feeling in his chest, he curled up into a ball, shivers wracking his body. ‘Just a dream, just a dream….just a Dream…..’

“Karl?” “Karlos?”

Their voices? He didn’t trust himself to speak. They were gone, weren’t they? He saw them die. Watched as they were torn apart by the man he used to know, used to be close with. His chest heaved, a wrecked sob escaping his mouth. A pair of arms wrapped around his form. Warm. Almost too warm. Like…

“S-sap?” The arms tightened around him like a band of iron. Karl wasn’t sure if he liked that or not quite yet, but he sure wasn’t going to push them off anytime soon. “Yeah, Karl. It’s me. Breathe for me, okay?” He tried his best to inhale deeply, but the air never came. Panicked, he tried to breathe in with his full chest. No luck. His breathing became even shallower than before, if that was possible. What was possible? He didn’t know. Not when he was hearing and feeling hallucinations of his dead husbands. They were dead, right? He saw them. He saw them….

“Karl, that time trip you took...what happened?” There it was again. His other husband’s voice. How was his hallucinations so vivid? He knew it wasn’t possible he was alive. He saw his prone form on the floor. His golden-yellow wings bloodied and spread like the wings of a laurel, only that the only thing anyone had won that day was the victory of an early death. “No, no, no! Stop messing with my head!” He wrested himself to his feet, pushing the hallucinations off. “You aren’t r-real! I know it! I saw you d-” He cut himself off with a small sob, legs wobbling slightly where he stood. “I-I...you’re gone...t-there’s no way you..” His voice wobbled as he spoke. He opened his mouth again.

No words came out. A hand wrapped slowly around his. Opening his eyes slightly, two shapes blurred in and out of focus. “Karlos.” Another hand wrapped around one of his hands. The familiar beat of wings. A small gust of wind. “Look at us, mi amor. We’re here, look.” The shapes moved. They...moved? None of his hallucinations ever did that...He opened his eyes wider.

There, in the shadows of the home, stood his husbands, alive and well.

Quackity looked at his face with an expression of hopeful hopelessness, eyes swimming with emotions his gambler countenance wouldn’t be able to handle. On the other side, Sapnap looked at him with an expression of pure sadness, quite like a kicked puppy. His tail drooped behind him, limp with worry. Karl’s eyes blurred again, this time without his tears getting in the way. He rubbed his eyes, slipping his hand out of whoever’s grasp that was. Quackity’s hand fell to the side as he did, wing-ears drooping slightly. He sniffled a little, eyes tearing up in a mixture of relief and pain. “I-I-” A small sniffle. “I’m sor-rry.”

Quackity moved forward carefully, tenderly wrapping his arms around his form. The warmth of his arms made him snuggle into it a little more, comfort oozing out of his husband’s embrace. The orientation of his head shifted for a moment, but to what angle, Karl didn’t know. “Sapnap. Come here.” Sapnap moved closer to the group, before wrapping his own arms around the bunch. Karl giggled quietly through the sniffling he was doing. “Y-you all are r-real, right? I’m not g-gonna wake up alone?” His husbands awwed sadly at his words. “Oh, Karl…” The arms around him tightened, but this time he didn’t feel trapped by them at all. “We’re real. We promise.” A small purr came from the blaze hybrid. His tail whipped and curled around his leg, a small point of heat emanating from its tip.

“Come ‘ere, you two.” Sap and Quackity let go, making Karl whine slightly at the loss of warmth. He made grabby hands at the two. The duck hybrid extended his wing, brushing against his neck as he stretched it out. Karl giggled softly, rubbing it under his chin willingly, before grabbing onto it for support. He followed the movement of the wing, digging his fingers into the fluff and down there. Quackity tried to hide the small giggle that escaped him with a pyjama-covered hand. One of Sapnap’s ears twitched from the noise. He turned to look back at the two, a slight smile gracing his features. A dull fang peaked out of his top lip, snagging slightly as his face morphed back into a neutral state. His tail wrapped around Quackity’s arm, warmth from the limb suffusing his limb.

As they began to near the mental health room they have in the home, their eager footsteps betrayed their excitement. Karl followed behind closely, trying his best not to slow down and accidentally pull at his husband’s wing. His mind swirled with questions. It whispered thoughts into his ear, planted doubts into his mind. ‘They aren’t real. They’re figments of your imagination. You’re dreaming.’ Unable to take that seriously, he pinched his own arm harshly as he walked. The ‘dream’ didn't stop. The men in front of him carried on, excitement growing as they walked across the carpeted floor. The sounds of the owls hooting outside the mounted windows did not cease. His heartbeat stayed constant, a steady, confident beat compared to the shakiness of his legs. ‘I am not dreaming. They are alive and well. They are, they are, they are.’

“Karl, we’re here!” They ducked into a room, pulling him along as well. He yelped slightly at the sudden change of direction, before stumbling to a stop. His eyes widened at the sight in front of him. Quackity and Sapnap smiled at him expectantly, eyes aglow with happiness. He took a look around, squinting to take a better look at the area. The majority of the room was full of pillows and stuffed animals, little trinkets and knickknacks that Karl were drawn to, for some reason or other. The room’s lights shifted from purple to a soft green every once in a while, along with the signature soft, golden yellow of all of the rooms in the home contained, bathing the whole place in his favorite colors. The whole place seemed to be padded. Eyes wide in surprise, he tapped the ground, feeling it squish under his feet when prodded. He looked up again, tears threatening to fill up his eyes once more. Pointing to himself, he stuttered in a mix of giddy happiness and confusion. “F-for me? Wh-why?”

Sapnap grabbed both of his hands with his own, clasping them together. “Karl, we’ve noticed you’ve been a little...off.. after your last trip, so...while you were recovering in the sick bed, we were making you a safe space. You know, like I said we would during the championships…” He scratched the back of his head with a hand, before clasping his hands together once more. Karl’s chest bubbled with warmth. Touched, he bumped heads with his husband, nuzzling into his neck a little. A chuckle made the top of his scalp rumble. “Hehey..” Emboldened by the reaction, he walked forward, forcing him backward. Once his back hit a pillow, he gently tipped him over, letting him fall onto the springy surface with a small ‘oof!’ He looked down at him, mismatched eyes almost glowing in the soft light of the room. His eyes flicked to the side. “Quacks, come help me for a sec.” Puzzled, Quackity moved closer. “With what?” A mischievous glint, buried deep in his eyes as he glanced back at him, sealed the deal. “Oh, that kind of help.”

Giggling nervously, Sapnap shook his head and pushed lightly at whatever he could of Karl. A small tint of pink colored his cheeks. “Kahaharl, dohohon’t!” The smile on his face and the thumping of his tail on the soft mattress betrayed his true feelings towards his situation. Quackity was quick to point that out. “Don’t? Well, it looks like you really want it, judging by the way your tail is wagging.” Butterflies burst to life, taking flight in the pit of his stomach. He covered his face, small little giggles escaping him. He tried to tamp down his smile from behind the shade of his hands, only succeeding in making himself look even more flustered as the two of them cooed above him. “Thihihis isn’t a fahair fihight!”

Karl grinned, kneeling over and sitting on his knees. “Oh, of course it isn’t. We’re going to go to Quacks next, if you can still stand once we’re done with you.” The duck hybrid paled. “What?” The man, slightly worried for his own sake, kneeled next to him, hands at the ready. Karl’s soft hands wandered up to the blaze hybrid’s neck, scratching lightly at the flesh there. He was immediately greeted with a few giggles from the man below him. Sapnap scrunched his shoulders up, accidentally trapping his fingers. “Cuhuhut ihit ohohut!” “Oh, but I can’t, Sappy! You trapped me here! Oopsie, looks like I’ll have to stay here until you let me go~”

Sapnap squealed slightly, a noise that elicited another aww from the duo above him and to his side. A small poke to his side made him squirm more to the other side. “Quahahacks, nohoho!” Quackity smiled, wings fluffing with excitement. “Don’t run away from me, mi amor~ you know I’d never hurt you!” The thumping on the mattress increased in speed. “Aww, did you like the sound of that?”

Sapnap’s blush deepened behind his hands. “N-Nohoho!” The duck hybrid gently rubbed circles into the skin in between his sides and stomach, feeling the muscles shift and jump underneath his hands. A small squeak escaped Sapnap’s lips through his soft laughter. Karl grinned, teasing him lightly for it. “What a sweet little squeaky toy you are! And this little squeaky toy gave me a gift, so...it looks like I need to reward him.” He tugged at his hands, only for him to realize that he was still stuck. “Sappy, would you mind letting me go?”

The blaze shook his head slightly. “Ihihi- yohohour fihihingers-” He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What about my fingers? Are they moving? Does it… ti-ti-tickle?” Sapnap curled into himself even more, pulling Karl in closer and dislodging the duck hybrid’s hands. Quackity cooed at his husbands, eyes softening even more. He moved in closer, inserting his hands into the flustered blaze-ball the two of them made. He poked at the pudge on his tummy, giggling softly as the abs underneath twitched at the sensation.

In this position, Karl and Quackity could see how much their husband was loving the attention. His spaded tail wagged on the mattress, finally free from the cushiony cage it was trapped in. A small, teasy grin graced Karl’s features, pulling his arms out of Sap’s grasp. Noticing the lack of Karl’s hands and voice, Sapnap uncovered his face, peeking out behind them like a child playing peekaboo. “Uhhh...Kahaharl?” The feeling of someone grabbing his tail made him gasp.

Eyes widening, he uncovered his face completely to look at Karl. The time traveler’s smile widened up to his eyes at the shocked and excited look on his countenance. The tail wagged a little in his semi-firm grip. Quackity, taking advantage of the moment of inattention, shifted up to scratching behind his ears. Sapnap’s ears twitched almost violently. Sapnap closed his eyes, pushing slightly into Quackity’s hands. ‘Ehehehe, Quhahacks…”

Karl rubbed firmly at the space of the tail, making its owner scream with laughter. The feeling of his husbands tickling one of his melt spots and one of his death spots simultaneously was blissful torture. He threw his head back, horns snagging slightly at the fabric and sending even more ticklish shockwaves throughout his body. “KAHAHARL! OHOHOHO-OHOHO MAHAHAY- AHAHA!” He went limp as Quacktiy rubbed behind his ears again, eyes tearing up in his mirth. Karl scratched lightly at the spade, being careful not to damage the soft velvet on the surface of the appendage.

Small hiccups wracked the flailing body below him. Sapnap tried his best to avoid hitting either of his loved ones. Quackity glanced at Karl as a silent hint to slow down a little. After all, both of them knew just how long Sapnap would forestall stopping a tickling session, with the demonic amount of stamina he had. The time traveller slowed down a little more, fluttering his fingers over the stem of the tail and rubbin the thin yet muscly part of the tail. Sapnap’s hysterical laughter slowed down to a few residual giggles from the light tickles on his tail and behind his ears. He slumped down into the pillows, melting almost fully into the soft material below him. The affection gave him a warm, almost bubbly feeling in his chest.

It felt different warm. Not like the lava baths he gave himself in the nether, no, but some other type of warm. He always felt it around these two. He felt it with other people, too. With Dream and George as they sit on a cliff and watch the sunset. When he helps people with their old items and house as they moved to and from the SMP. When he sees Tommy and Tubbo smile. He didn’t know what the feeling was. Maybe he should ask the other two...

Quackity and Karl exchanged another glance. Surprisingly, Quackity was the first one to break the gentle blanket of silence. “So, is Sapnap out like a light, or…” Sapnap rose from the cushions slowly, eyes glimmering with an emotion that neither of them could pick up. “I think I get to have my revenge now, don’t I?” Karl grinned again, eyes squishing slightly. “Well, I mean, we still have to reward Quackity, don’t we?” A small gulp from the duck hybrid piqued their attention. Quackity stood up and took a step back, wings spreading out in slight excitement and playful fear. “Hehehey, nohoho neheheed to behehe hahasty…” Karl was grateful for the diversion of messing with his husbands. If he didn't have it, he would still be grappling with the voices. The voices….were they still there? What if this was all fake? He shook his head, hair flicking with his head movements. ‘I’m fine.’

Quackity looked at him, slightly confused. He took advantage of that confusion. He rushed towards his husband, tackling him onto another mound of pillows. The resulting squawk made him giggle. “Noho! Nononono!” Sapnap moved much slower than Karl, slinking towards him in full view. Quackity’s eyes widened even more. Butterflies took flight in the pit of his stomach. ‘Nononono, mi tesoro, nononono-” Sapnap paid no heed to the avian’s begging, resolving instead to stalk towards him like a tiger hunting its prey. “Oh Quackity~” A small purr in his ear made him squeak. “How did you get so good at that?” Karl made a noncommittal noise at that. “Another bird taught me.” Quackity hissed under his breath. “I’m going to steal something from that dumb eagle.” Karl tut-tutted in his ear, nibbling slightly at it. “Nuh-uh. It’s time for your reward, but I won’t hesitate to punish you for your kleptomaniac tendencies.”

Quackity’s wings flapped slightly at the sensation. A few giggles escaped his mouth. “Quackity, am I allowed to flip you over?” A small trill answered his question for him. Karl flipped him over, exposing the man’s back and wing bases. He massaged the avian’s clothed back gently, eliciting a few coo-filled giggles. Sapnap finally reached Karl’s side. He whispered into his ear softly, as to make sure the duck wouldn’t hear. “You know this means that you’re next, right?” “Only if you catch me first.” Sapnap couldn’t argue with that. Teeth poking out of his smile, he scratched at Quackity’s sides, purring deep in his chest. The duck hybrid giggled at the sensation. “Mihihi tehesohoro!” “Yes, my little duckling?”

Karl joined in, tracing a single finger down his spine. “IhihiHIT tihihickles!” Karl, upon reaching the seam of his shirt, darted underneath it, softly spidering his fingers on the duck’s lower back. Sapnap moved his hands from his sides upward, moving closer and closer to the base of his wings. Quackity squeaked at the changing of spots. “Ehehehe! Kahaharl!” Sapnap pouted dramatically. “Aw, not calling for me? I can make you screech my name, you know.” He leaned closer to his ear, words enunciated by his fangs. “Mi patito~” He drew out the word slowly, watching as the man to the side of him had a full-body spasm at the nickname.

“SAhap! Yohohou bihitch!” He raised one coal-black eyebrow. “Oh? How mean.” Clawed hands rested on golden-yellow. Quackity’s breath caught. “S-sahap, mihihi amohohor..” Karl traced shapes on his back, making him giggle even more. Butterflies took flight again from the anticipation. The duck hybrid whimpered slightly. Karl’s voice came from the other side of him. “Light?” “Greheheen.” Karl nodded, looking at Sapnap expectantly. And the blaze hybrid did not disappoint. Sapnap dug his fingers into the wings, carefully rubbing at the skin and muscle beneath. A screech of happy laughter blessed (and absolutely destroyed) their ears. His wings flapped wildly, prompting Karl to rush over and hold them out.

Sapnap rubbed and scratched at the wings, avoiding pinfeathers and growing feathers with the care and precision only a lover would be able to muster. He moved closer to the oil glands, careful not to squeeze them. He scratched his nails lightly on them, listening to the begging and screeching of the man below him. Quackity was in hysterics. “IHIHI-MIHIHIHI-MIHIHAHAHA!” Karl dug his fingers into the edges of the wings, scratching lightly where he could. The extra stimulation was just a cherry on the cake. He slammed a balled fist into a pillow, shoulders shaking in laughter. “AHAHA! OHOHOKAY, SAhAHAP!” Sapnap grinned, moving back over to the secondaries and teasing underneath them. “Yes, my ticklish little duckling?” “YEheHELLOW! SLOHOHOW DOHO-WN!”

Immediately, the tickling sensations stopped. Quackity almost wanted to ask for more, but he knew his body wouldn’t be able to handle that. He wheezed for breath, wings folding in and fluttering a little. Karl and Sapnap looked on, a little bit concerned for the rather frail duck hybrid. He turned himself over, flopping to the mattress with a little struggle. His limbs felt like jelly, but he presumed he would manage. “...thahat wahahas fuhuhun.” As the duck rubbed off all of the tingles with his deft fingers, the residual giggles slowly calmed down to a small, almost silent chuckle every once in a while. Sapnap grinned at the man, eyes soft. “Was that fun, Quacks?” He looked up at him, smiling wide enough to tempt Sapnap into questioning which person he’s swindled this time. He nodded, wing-ears fluttering happily.

“So, I’m guessing the next person is…” He trailed off, looking at the time traveler. The blaze did the same thing, a mischievous smirk widening on his face. Karl stood up quickly. Quick as a flash, he darted out of the room. “Oh no, you didn’t!” Sapnap chased after him, tail trailing behind him. Quackity laughed, slowly walking behind the two of them. As they played and cuddled with each other, the sun rose, its orangey-pinkish hue kissing the horizon. The lights did not flash for the rest of the day, no. Not when his husbands were near.

Somewhere in the prison, Dream’s face contorted into a small frown. The slightest of chills ran through his spine, making him sigh. This wasn’t the first time this happened.

How many more people would he lose before he escaped?

#lee!quackity #ler!sapnap #ler!karl #mcyt tickle #dsmp tickle #my writing #sfw tickle #downy writes #downywrites #i didn't edit this haha #enjoy :3 #karlnapity

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luminescencefics · 4 years

Photo

in the crowd

Here’s my submission for the HS Fic Slam created by the lovely @oh-honey-styles! Big thanks to Anne for putting this all together, I can’t wait to read everybody else’s submissions. Here’s a blurb about the gif above with the prompt “I saw that, you checked me out.” (Essentially my fever dream of going to one of Harry’s live shows written in like 25 minutes haha). Enjoy! x

900ish word count

My masterlist // moodboard // read below:

***

You didn’t necessarily want to be here, per se. But your best friend, Callie, scored comped tickets from the radio station she worked at earlier that day, and she had begged you to come with her, declaring it was the perfect excuse for a girls night out.

The free tickets were in the coveted friends and family overflow section, which granted you prime viewing access to the stage only a few rows back. The personal upside was that your section was only a few feet away from the bar just towards the exit of the pit, which would come in handy for the remainder of the night.

You were using the concert as your pregame for the rest of the evening. It’s not that you weren’t a Harry Styles fan, because Watermelon Sugar definitely came up on your beach playlist far too many times for you to not remember the words, but you were just looking forward to the next part of the night. The part where you got to dance with your three best girlfriends, drinking all your stresses from the work week away at a club in downtown LA. You didn’t get to see your friends often, but whenever you did, you made sure that girls night out was a memorable outing for all of you.

The four of you began the night at Katsuya, so you were all dressed for the part. As you settled into your seats near the pit, a strong tequila on the rocks in one hand, you observed your outfits compared to the other girls around you, and instantly felt a little awkward. You were sporting black leather pants, the kind that left little to the imagination, showcasing all your best assets. A white bustier bodice top that left a sliver of your skin showing from the waistline of your pants was overtop, with a matching All Saints leather jacket to cover up your cleavage. You felt tall and sexy in your strappy heels, towering over the rest of your friends beside you.

Honestly, you didn’t really care about the Harry Styles concert if you were being truthful. But Callie really wanted to go after watching him leave the radio station that afternoon, and the promise of free drinks and good music was really all you needed to agree to come.

The opening song began and the screams were so loud you felt your feet shaking in your heels. Suddenly, he appeared center stage, beginning his set and singing effortlessly. You were bobbing your head to the first two songs, not knowing the lyrics but appreciating the music. You were also appreciating the way he looked, all tanned skin and fluffy curls, long body with a structured torso, impeccable taste in clothing and sinewy hips. He definitely ticked off all your boxes, and the thought of watching him for another hour and a half really didn’t sound so unbearable anymore.

You were the perfect amount of drunk once the fourth song came, the earlier buzz you had from drinks at Katsuya fading into a delicate layer of inebriation. Harry had waltzed over to your side of the stage at this point, eyeing the crowd and waving at adoring fans. When his eyes fell over to your group, you were almost certain that he was looking straight at you, head tilting in a curious way as if he were trying to remember every line on your face.

He left just as quickly as he came, and suddenly you needed another drink. After sneaking away and returning as the next song started, one you surprisingly knew quite well, you took a long sip and watched him. He commanded the stage in a way that made you wonder if he was an alpha by fault—taking ownership of every space he ended up filling. It definitely made your head spin with other inappropriate thoughts, but you couldn’t help it. He was handsome and staring at you and you truly had nothing to lose at this point.

Your early inklings of him checking you out were almost confirmed as you watched him whisper over to his guitar player during a break in the set, feeling two eyes watch you from above. It was only when a dark-haired man sporting a black lanyard peeked over in your direction from the pit, his eyes shifting from Harry towards yours with a bright smile on his face, you knew that he had definitely noticed you.

So you made the next move.

When the song changed from a slow, easy tune into something slightly more upbeat, you handed your almost-emptied tequila drink to Callie, gripping your leather jacket and ripping it off, making sure your chest was perked, showcasing the cleavage in your tight top to the singer whose eyes conveniently shifted towards yours. He backed away from the microphone stand, eyes completely locked on yours, and looked at you from the tips of your painted toes to the tops of your hair. He had a slanted smirk on his face, white teeth beaming in a way that made you know that look was solely for you.

You knew he was quite skilled in reading lips, with the way he’s done it effortlessly to other fans throughout the night. So with one last look you mouthed, “I saw that, you checked me out,” up to him, your rogue-painted lips forming every word with ease.

He simply nodded in your direction, shrugging as if he were completely innocent, before moving to the other side of the stage so that attention wouldn’t be drawn to you. Callie though, caught every word, and you just laughed with her as the show took a quick intermission and Harry returned moments later in a white button-up t-shirt and a Gucci suit overtop.

A few songs later, and a new refill for you, he began singing a popular song from his first album that had your hips swiveling. He was showboating during the instrumental section, prancing around the stage for his screaming fans below. You were close enough to notice the sweat brimming at the top of his hairline, sliding down his sharp cheekbones before pooling at the hollows of his collarbones. The exertion from performing caused a few of the buttons on his dress shirt to pop open, the material turning a bit translucent from the sweat, allowing your eyes to trace the etchings of dark ink swirling around his skin. Just as you were noticing the laurels above his hips, he was suddenly in front of you, eyebrows lifted mischievously with a daring grin on his face.

He copies your words from earlier. “I saw that, you checked me out.”

You simply shrug like he did, biting your lower lip to try and keep your smile from breaking through your face. But he notices it just like he’s noticed practically every move you’ve made that night, and you swear that you can see him groan when his head tilts back, showing the bob of his Adam’s apple.

Your drink was finished by the time Harry began singing his encore. Callie leans over in your direction, letting you know that her boyfriend was waiting for them at Hyde Sunset. You could still feel Harry’s eyes on yours, and a small sliver of you had hope and a pinch of excitement for what could possibly happen next, so you decide to stay, informing your girlfriends that you’ll just call an Uber home from the venue.

They nod and leave, and just as the crowd was screaming as the song ended, a burly man with a black collared-shirt, the words SECURITY printed on the front, appears from the pit, a small piece of paper being thrust in your direction.

“From the boss,” he utters, head shifting to the stage that was just occupied by Harry.

You nod and unfurl the paper, grinning when you read the uppercase scrawl that was hastily written in the dim lighting from the stage.

Please tell me you want to see me as badly as I want to see you. -H x

When your eyes fall over the number scribbled on the bottom of the paper, you immediately compose a message on your phone, grinning at the fact that your gut instinct was right, and tonight was definitely going to be full of excitement.

***

A/N: If you’re curious what happens after....

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry x reader #1dff #1dff updates #HSFICSLAM #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing

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for-fucks-sake-h · 4 years

Text

Wanna Be Yours

Bandana wearing sub H feat. edging, love, and a deep devotion.

Rated: M, mature || Word Count: 4.4k

The room was dimly lit by a few candles and a small desk lamp tucked away in the corner. You could hear his deep, steady breaths behind you as you massaged coconut lotion onto your legs, knowing the scent was exceedingly heightened for him.

You were waiting for it - the small beg that would inevitably fall from his lips when he couldn’t take it anymore. You’d been here before, you knew the routine.

So you busied yourself with the lotion, pretending that your skin wasn’t on fire with need. You couldn’t look at him too much or you’d lose all of your will power to wait for the beg. But you wanted it so badly.

A small whimper fell from his lips, sending even more arousal to pool in the pit of your stomach. He was so close to giving you what you wanted you could feel it. For as patient of a man as he was in nearly every aspect of his life, this was the only time he let restlessness get the best of him.

And then you heard it, a breathless “please baby” that instantly sent a zip of pleasure down your spine.

You sucked in a breath, snapping the top of the lotion closed as you slowly turned to face him, blindly placing the bottle back on your dresser.

He was sprawled out on the center of your oversized bed, each of his wrists cuffed to the outermost prongs of your metal, wrought iron headboard. His head was tipped back fully against the mattress, his neck strained as he thickly swallowed and his chest rose and fell intensely. You could see the way his ragged breaths pulled on the muscles of his stomach, clenching and pulsing weakly. You noticed the way his lips still glistened, having had you sat on his face moments ago - when he brought you over the edge with just his mouth and desperate grunts against your core. Your knuckles turned white from the death grip you had on the iron prongs of your headboard, rolling your hips against his tongue as your thighs squeezed his head. You practically drowned him in your juices and yet he couldn’t get enough, happily gasping for air and begging for more as you climbed off him.

His legs were spread open - thick, creamy thighs on full display to your eager eyes. And on even more of a display, just begging for attention, was his cock - thick and full and beautifully extending away from his pelvis. He would twitch every so often, the appendage pulsing with the blood from the rest of his body, all focused and pumping into his length.

God, you loved him like this. You could basically see his need vibrating off his skin, pulling sharp breaths from his lungs and causing sweat to coat the dip in the center of his chest. You’d already edged him four times, bringing him right there, but then pulled away - letting him suspend mid-air at the start of an orgasm and watching as it fizzled away. Each time he whimpered and cursed through it, and you left him laying there with nothing but choked cries and breathless pants until he settled himself, just to do the same torture to him again, over and over.

Fuck, he was so good each time, taking whatever you gave. He’d murmur how good it felt and how much he loved you, each time becoming more and more desperate. The last edge though, you could tell his insides were burning, and his orgasm was so bottled up by that point that he was on the verge of crying. And that was exactly where you wanted him.

You quietly made your way over to him, carefully stepping over his clothes that had been stripped off nearly an hour ago. Black jeans, his boxers, a black and white polka dot button down, all haphazardly scattered next to the bed when you made him strip for you, hungry eyes devouring each other as each article of clothing hit the floor.

You admired him for a moment, watching as he licked and bit his bottom lip, attempting to stifle his pants and quiet whimpers. You reached out slowly to pet back the curl that had fallen onto his forehead, his neck straining in your direction in search of more contact. His skin was clammy, a tell tale sign of just how turned on he was. As if his cock wasn’t enough of a sign, twitching against his will, a dribble of precum connecting from his rasberry tip to his stomach. It looked painful, and there was a part of you that hoped it was.

“Being so good,” you soothed as you ran your fingers through his knotty hair.

He mewled softly at the affection, craving anything you were willing to give him at that point. His cock twitched harshly when your fingers gripped his roots, barely even tugging, but enough to have him moaning. He was so sensitive when he was like this and you loved it. The sounds you could pull from his beautiful mouth from a feather-like touch made your body pulse.

You leaned down, your breath fanning across his tingling skin as you pet his hair back once more. A soft brush of your nose against his cheek had him swallowing in anticipation. You kissed him softly, your mouth grazing against his sharp cheekbone until your top lip caught on the edge of his bandana. You smiled slightly at the thought of him sitting on the edge of your bed, hands holding to your hips as you pulled the black and grey skull printed fabric from his hair to secure it over his eyes. He was so pliant; letting you blindfold him, letting you ease him into bed, letting you cuff him to the headboard, all while being quiet even though his skin was already crawling with need. He was so good.

You kissed your way across his cheek, softly biting the side of his chin before you pulled your mouth up to his. His breath came out in puffs, and you were so close you could tell when he licked his lips without even looking. He stayed completely still as you grazed your lips over his, teasing your tongue across his full bottom lip, loving the way his breath caught in his throat. You knew he wanted you to kiss him, his mouth begged for it without moving. And when you bit into his bottom lip, sucking it gently as you pulled away with it tucked between your teeth, the most broken moan caught in his throat that he immediately swallowed back down as soon as you released him.

You smoothed your hand across his shaky chest - rising and falling harshly with a thin sheen of sweat coating his warm skin. You turned your head to look down the length of his torso, appreciating the way his stomach clenched under your hand as you made your way towards his cock.

“Please touch me,” he whispered, so soft you almost missed it.

You scratched your nails along his pelvis, trailing back and forth between his laurels. His cock jumped at every touch, extending away from his body so beautifully, just screaming for attention.

“I am touching you.”

“Please,” he exhaled once more.

“Where, love?” You promoted before pressing a kiss to his chest, just above his heart. “Just tell me where, H.”

“Please… touch my prick,” he whined softly, his head rolling to one side as if his eyes weren’t covered and he could look down at you, wait to see if you were really going to give in.

“See,” you brought your lips to his jaw, brushing over his stubble, “all you had to say.”

You tickled your middle finger across his base, slowly pulling the digit up the length of him. It was a ghost of a touch really, but it had him sucking in a breath as his cock twitched. And when you teased the tip of your finger around his swollen, raspberry red tip, he let out an actual moan. A deep, tortured moan that traveled straight to your core.

You were torturing yourself as much as you were torturing him.

So you sucked the skin just below his jaw, swirling your tongue over his heated skin as you wrapped your fist around his tip. He released a breathy “ahhh” as you slid down his length, his precum coating your palm just enough to glide easily. His head tilted back as you pumped his length, and you watched as he thrashed his head side to side slowly. He couldn’t stay still, constantly tugging on the cuffs and twisting his head. It was like he couldn’t get enough but was so overwhelmed he didn’t know what to do with himself. And you loved it.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” a wet kiss to his throat, “so hard.”

“Fuck,” he whined, his hips pushing up into your hand, begging for more.

“Want that? Want me to fuck you, H?”

“Yes, shit -” he choked on a moan as you bit into the meat of his right pec, before sucking a deep, purple mark into his skin. His cuffs rattled above you, his hips flexing once more as you continued to give his length languid strokes. “You’re killing me, love.” You could hear the exhaustion in his voice, sleepy and completely worn out.

You didn’t say anything, instead stippling wet kisses across his chest. His breathing was heavy, his butterfly expanding as he desperately sucked air into his lungs, his stomach tensing on each stroke of your hand. You traced your tongue over the outline of it - first the body, then each wing. You could do it with your eyes closed, following the ridges and curves of his muscles by memory.

You eased up onto your knees, carefully nestling yourself between his thighs, just admiring him. You knew he was fucked out already, you didn’t even need to see his eyes. His breath was shaky, his thighs twitching in time with his cock. His head was tilted back, neck on display as he waited for your next move. Your next touch, your next stroke, your next kiss.

You ran your palms over the tops of his thighs, squeezing the tiger specifically for a moment before you eased off the bed. You watched as his head turned in your direction, knowing that he was listening for any kind of movement that would give away what you were doing. You imagined he had some inkling though, this wasn’t your first time after all. So you opened your dresser drawer with ease, letting him hear the oak glide out, pause, and then glide back in place.

He mumbled something just then that you couldn’t quite make out, turning to look at him and the way he had his head turned in your direction. You quietly walked over to him, going to stand at the end of the bed as his face stayed turned to his left, in the direction of your dresser.

You would never get over seeing him like this. His body beautifully laid out for you, every inch of him on display, every curve of muscle tense and begging for release.

“What was that, love?” You asked softly after a beat, his face immediately pulling in your direction.

His response was barely above a whisper, but eager nonetheless. “Please fill me.”

So he did know what you were getting.

You crawled up from the foot of the bed, settling between his thighs once more. You pushed them open, his shaky breath only intensifying as he waited. He sucked in a breath through his nose when you licked his balls, and exhaled through his mouth when you gently sucked one into your mouth to roll it across your tongue. You scratched your nails down the outside of his legs, gripping right above his knees for a moment before slipping your hands to the mattress.

As soon as he heard the cap of the bottle flick open he became a babbling mess. “Please - god, love...” He was breathless, and moaned without even being touched. His hips tilted, looking for the contact he was so desperate for.

You squirted some of the cold lube onto your middle finger, watching him writhing against the mattress, his anticipation at an all time high. The guttural moan that pulled from his throat was almost violent, his head flinging back when your finger breached his tight hole. You watched his face as you slowly slid into him, admiring the way his mouth fell open into a perfect “O” before he was biting his bottom lip to stifle his moans. He attempted to push his hips down more, a breathless “more” slipping from his wet lips.

You pumped your finger slowly, twisting on each withdrawal before easing another inside, filling him exactly the way you knew he liked. The sounds he made were gorgeous; deep, raspy moans falling from his open mouth on every pump. “God… being so good for me Harry,” you complimented softly as you fucked him.

“Feels so good,” he breathed, swallowing harshly before moaning again. His hips moved with you, trying to push himself down onto your fingers as much as he could. You sucked a kiss into the inside of his thick thigh, biting gingerly as he groaned.

You shushed him softly when he whined as you withdrew your fingers, quickly grabbing the glass plug that sat beside you to squirt some lube onto the pointed tip. His head lifted from the mattress, mouth hanging open as you teased the cold glass against him, rolling it across his hole teasingly.

“Please,” he urged desperately. You could see his furrowed brows above the bandana, and the deep flush of his cheeks. If you could see his eyes, you knew they would be heavy and fluttering, completely fucked out in the most alluring way.

His head snapped back when you eased the plug into him, groaning low in his throat as you filled him slowly, until only the pale pink flower design was visible. Just the sight of him filled like that made your core pulse with need. He looked so good, and it was taking everything inside you not to devour him. You were just as turned on as he was, and definitely just as needy for him. And that was just one of the things that made your relationship special - you needed each other in the same way.

You kissed up his thigh, gripping his base to tease your tongue across his tip. His groan was so deep when you eased him into your warm mouth, panting and cursing as you bobbed slowly. You teased your tongue across his length with every pulling suck, hollowing your cheeks as you lifted, your hand following up his wet shaft. He liked it messy - soaking him with your mouth as you pumped your hand over him.

“Shit… fuck, love,” he breathed, just before another groan pulled from his throat when you twisted your wrist as you stroked down, your mouth following right behind. You looked up through your lashes, watching his chest heave as you held him deep in your mouth. His head was still tipped back, his neck fully strained. The vein that ran up the left side of his throat was so prominent it begged to be kissed.

You sucked harshly as you pulled off him, running the tip of your tongue over his slit just to get one more choked groan from his gorgeously flushed mouth. You crawled up his body, taking your time to suck marks into the skin of his hip, his stomach, his ribs, the curve of his chest, over his heart, his neck. You straddled him, perfectly seated in his lap as you scratched your nails down his chest and stomach. He groaned at the feel of you, his cock tucked against your soaked core.

You both moaned as his tip brushed across your clit on every flick of your hips, your nails digging into his chest harshly as his neck strained as his head tipped back further. His jaw was so strong, the deep cut of it often having you mesmerized. You couldn’t stop yourself from falling forward so that your body fully pressed to his so you could nose at his jaw, your hips still rolling the tiniest bit of friction over his length.

His skin was on fire, and he groaned as you bit at his jaw, sucking yet another mark into his flushed skin.

“Feel okay?” You murmured against his pulse.

He moaned softly, flexing his hips up into yours more. “I have to come,” he whimpered.

“You will, baby.”

“I…” he swallowed again. “My dick feels like it’s gonna fall off,” he chuckled lightly.

He was rock hard, extending up the length of his stomach as you dragged your core over the underside of his cock over and over. You reached up to thread your fingers through his hair soothingly, gently detangling the thick, knotted locks until you could glide your fingers through it easily. He hummed throughout, like a puppy when you pet them, soaking up all the attention and love just from your touch.

“Gonna be good and make me come again though, right?”

He was nodding quickly with a silky moan, “Yeah, yeah. Want you to come.”

“Mm,” you moan against his throat, “Always so good for me, H.”

“Please, love.” He flexed his hips into yours again. If you just, tilted up the tiniest bit, he’d slip right into you. “Take me,” he begged. “I’m yours.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the sentiment. He may have been fucked out, but you knew he meant every word he said. He wasn’t just saying things to get you to give in. Whenever he was in this space, he was the most honest. Things slipped from his mouth that came directly from his heart. He didn’t think or second guess himself ever. He just was, and it was the most beautiful thing you ever experienced.

So with your heart beating rapidly for this stunning man, you eased up until his tip was perfectly aligned with your entrance, and sunk down on him in one go - his full length gliding into you easily, just as you knew he would.

“Oh fuck, yeah.” He breathed around a moan, pushing his hips up so that he was fully seated inside you.

It was overwhelming to go from being so empty and needy to completely full, in every single way. You circled your hips slowly, keeping him deep as you adjusted to his size. You squeezed your fingers in his hair tighter, tugging his head back half an inch, enough to send a shock of pleasure down his spine and a groan up his throat.

“I’m yours too,” you sighed into his neck as you slowly lifted your hips, just to deliberately drop back down onto him.

“Yeah,” he whined, “Yeah you are. You’re mine. God, baby - fuck me. Please fuck me.”

You adopted an easy rhythm, each drop of your hips into his just as deep as the last. You swore you could feel him throbbing - that, or you were so turned on that it felt like your pussy had its own heartbeat. Maybe a bit of both, but either way, it felt incredible. And paired with the noises and gasped curses coming from Harry’s mouth, you just wanted more.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, hovering over him to watch his head crack back on his neck as he tried to stifle a moan.

“Just like that,” he groaned, his cuffs clinky noisily above you as he tugged. “Please don’t stop. Please, please.” His voice was broken, the beg so strong it made your skin tingle.

You could see the way his eyebrows were raised, creasing angrily as he laid there, letting you take him for everything he was worth. Not being able to touch you, not being able to see you, barely being able to move. You had every advantage over him, and yet he never felt more free.

You squeezed his hair again, getting a low hum from the back of his throat in return, just before you took his mouth in yours. His lips were so puffy, his cupid’s bow tucking between your lips perfectly. You were the one humming as you sucked, loving the taste of him and how his lips molded to yours so easily each time. His mouth was lethal, always giving and taking the perfect amount to have pleasure rolling across your skin.

“Feels so fucking good,” he moans under his breath as he starts to meet your hips with his own small thrusts.

His voice was like honey, slow moving and sweet as anything. The words rolled off his tongue as if he was drunk, practically slurring together in one drawn out sentence. You knew he was close. His head was fuzzy and every moan that slipped past his lips was deeper than the last. It just made you work your hips over his faster, wanting - needing - to get him there.

“God, you’re so snug. Fit around me perfectly. Fucking made for me,” he babbled as your lips dragged across his cheek and down his jaw.

You dropped your hips onto his harder, the sound of skin slapping mixing with your moans and echoing around you.

“Mhm,” you agreed against his jaw. “Just like you’re made for me. No one has ever felt as good as you.”

“Fuck, oh fuck - god.”

His groans came on every drop of your hips, and when he felt your core spasming around him it took everything inside him not to let go. You were close, he knew you were. He was hyper aware of the way your hips rolled on his, your clit rubbing against his pelvic bone on every thrust. He wanted to hold out for you.

You whined his name roughly, sucking a kiss to the side of neck as you ground your hips down on his deeper. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you lifted yourself up, nails digging into his thick chest as you fucked him harder. “Oh my god,” you breathed as your head fell back on your neck.

“Fuck, please, please - you have to come. Please,” he rushed, swallowing down a moan.

“I’m so close, baby.”

He groaned louder, the sound shooting sparks across your skin and your arousal coating his length more on every drop of your hips. He was so deep, it felt like he could hit the actual essence of your core.

You didn’t even think about it, all of a sudden you were falling back down onto his chest and slanting your mouth over his, reaching up to frantically push the bandana up and away from him. His head lifted from the mattress, his arms pulled taut above him as your hands pushed through his hair, tugging mercilessly as his tongue met yours. He was completely still except for his lips chasing yours, absorbing every ounce of pleasure you gave as you fucked him into the mattress. Hard, deep pumps of your hips, each one bringing you closer and closer.

You tugged his head back down to the mattress, one of your palms cupping the side of this throat as your other squeezed his hair tighter. His lashes fluttered in a daze before wet irises met yours. His brows creased deeper and his mouth hung open in a silent moan as he held your eyes, sinking into the mattress more, letting you take him.

You were a moaning mess above him, entranced by the look of awe written all over his flushed face. And when a tear escaped the corner of his eye, stippling down his temple and into his hair, all you felt was heart clenching love.

You grazed your thumb over his wet skin, just for a choked moan to slip up his throat and another weak tear to slip down his cheek when he squeezed his eyes closed. You cupped his face, kissing him once more before resting your forehead on his.

“Oh my god,” you breathed against his warm lips. “Come with me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned deeply, pushing his chin up to catch your lips again, moaning into your mouth as you finally brought him over the edge with a few hard thrusts. The choked moans that came from his mouth, the look on his face when you pulled back enough to watch him come, his tensed arms and even tenser stomach, every single part of him sent you spiraling.

You clenched around him tighter, riding out your high as he practically cried through his. You’d never seen him come so hard before. He was so vocal - moaning and whining as he drenched your walls. It felt like it went on forever. Every time you squeezed him tighter, his hips would push into you further, as if he wanted to make sure he was as deep as possible. And he was, he was as deep as he could physically be. But you were so linked emotionally - more than you ever thought was possible - and it only intensified when you were physically linked.

You hadn’t even fully come down yet, but your shaky hands reached up to unhook the cuffs, because you knew he needed to touch you. And you needed his touch too.

Aching arms wrapped around you one by one, squeezing you close to his chest as you tucked your face into his sweaty neck and stroked your fingers through his hair. His breathing was shaky for a while, slowly evening out as you played with his hair and kissed the spots you knew soothed him - his jaw, his cheek, his temple.

You slowly lifted off his softening length, both of you moaning quietly as he slipped from you. But he didn’t let you go far, squeezing you closer to him yet again. You were silent for a while, listening to him breathe and holding him close. You knew the bath that you would inevitably take together could wait a little while longer. You knew that Harry just needed you for a little while longer.

“I love you,” you breathed against his throat.

He angled his face down, nudging your head with his chin as a signal to give him your lips. And you happily obliged, kissing him slowly as your tongues met with the tiniest lick of fire.

“I love you so much,” he murmured, kissing you once more before whispering a soft “thank you” just loud enough for your heart to hear.

***

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it. Don’t forget to show all the other PYPFC writers lots of love on their pieces!

Huge thank you to my babes @andwhenshesays and @oh-honey-styles for beta-ing and being the best hype women, I don’t deserve them one bit. Check out the edit @harryspearlsx made here, I’m obsessed!

Pick Your Poison Masterlist || My Masterlist || Ask Box

#harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #pypfc #wby

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chromosome23hq · 3 years

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trigger warning: blood, death, minor violence

“It’s that time we’ve all been waiting for! Who’s going to be 1997’s Halloween Costume winner? Is everyone ready? Let the countdown begin!”

Once upon a time...

In a magical land called New York City...

There lived a girl named Rebecca.

She was kind, too kind for her own good. She believed in the best of everyone, despite how often she was shown how untrue that was. When her powers developed, all she wanted was to help. It’s why, when her friend was crying over a ball stuck in a tree, she focused her mind and lifted it out and on the ground. Her friend was amazed. Her friend also couldn’t keep their mouth shut.

That was when poor little Rebecca’s troubles began.

Her parents couldn’t handle a daughter like Rebecca. They feared her every move. One glance could send them jumping back, as if she aimed a knife to their throats. There were no more bedtime stories, hugs, or ‘I love yous’ for Rebecca. No, it was replaced with glares, silence, and her name being spoken like poison.

Rebecca. Rebecca. Rebecca.

Finally, they had enough. One day they were there, and the next they were gone. Rebecca was all alone. The state, unaware of what they had on their hands, put her in the nearest foster home. She faced the same coldness, the same rejection, but this time no one knew what she was.

Until, of course, she ripped that boy’s fingers clean off. All she had wanted was her necklace back, a gift from when her parents still loved her. She wanted to be treated the way she treated other people. The boy didn’t care, lost in his own trauma, acting out for attention that wouldn’t come. Rebecca simply couldn’t reach his grip with her hands.

So, she used her mind instead.

But she had no control over her powers, or what direction the chain would go. Have you ever heard the sound of chains cutting through bone? It was such a quick noise in Rebecca’s case, yet it’d ring in her ears for days later. As would that boy’s screams.

Charles Xavier would take her in within the month. There, at Xavier’s, her troubles seemed to come to a stop. She even used a different name for awhile, after all the baggage with the one she’d used since birth.

She was to be called Rosie.

Rosie would grow up well at Xavier’s, thrived even. She’d become a beloved history teacher, and be one of Charles’ most loyal supporters. If she was ever to be absent or off campus, she would notify him and the rest of the staff.

That was why it was odd when no one saw her the day before Halloween. There were no classes, but she was usually around still. She used the week up to the holiday to dress up in frilly costumes from that she adored. Yet, no trace of her was found from her classroom to her bedroom.

Panic came steadily and quietly.

Rosie. Poor Rosie.

Someone had asked for her help in a costume store a day before she went missing. Rosie, like a fool, helped without thinking about why she couldn’t see the strangers’ face or why an employee wasn’t asked instead. Instead, she turned her back to them.

The crack of her skull would be muffled under the crowd of people doing last minute shopping. Her body would seem like a prop in a sea of monsters displayed around.

That was when poor little Rosie’s troubles ended.

But so began the troubles of everyone else.

“Congratulations to our winners, Milo and Laurel! Milo and Laurel decided to rock the night as Thomas Edison and the Edison Bulb, which lit up our worlds! And you will never believe what you two are winning! Let’s bring out--”

0A creak was all the warning anyone got as a bucket from above tipped over. Blood spilled out all over the two contest winners, covering every inch of them. A severed head toppled in front of them to lay at their feet, so both Xavier students could see they were drenched in the blood of their beloved history teacher.

It took a moment for a reaction to occur. Most people thought it was a joke, a prank based on Carrie to scare everyone. It was Halloween after all. No one could tell how lifelike the head was, down to parts of the bone still protruding and the start of decomposition on Rosie’s face. Only Milo and Laurel knew that.

It was why their screams were first. They were how people discovered how very wrong their assumptions were. That moment of hesitation, of belief everything was alright, was all that was needed for phase two of the plan.

Masked, cloaked figures appeared in the crowd out of nowhere, and began to slice and stab the person nearest to them. It didn’t matter who you were. All they wanted was blood.

Oh, and they would get it.

Screeches were all anyone heard, as people either froze in fear or ran to escape the escalating madness. It didn’t matter. No one would be unscathed, whether it be by knife or their own mind, or, as the person behind all this hoped, both.

As quickly as the figures materialized, they were gone again. The wreckage they left was permanent. Blood dripped, people cried in pain, and the metal bucket finally crashed to the stage below.

This will mark the end of this year’s Halloween Street Fair.

Too bad, right? I was just starting to have fun.

....

Hello all, it’s Admin Tibby again. Here’s when things really start getting good.

You are now allowed to start doing threads in response to the murder of Rebecca, but you can keep going with your ones from earlier in the night if you so desire. Reminder that the event is running until November 12th, after which no more threads taking place on Halloween can begin. You can continue whatever you’ve started until they’re finished, but no more can be started.

As for who’s behind the murder of Rebecca and the attacks in the crowd? Well, all roads lead to Nathaniel Essex. And that’s all I’ll say for now. As for the stabbings that happened, you’re all more than welcome to say if your muse was stabbed during it ( you can decide how minor or severe it was too )! We realized that we never asked the members if it was okay for their muses to get hurt so we decided against coming up with our own list. However, muses who entered the Halloween contest CANNOT be victims of the stabbing.

But, if your muse is the violent type...who’s to say they can’t participate in the carnage?

Happy Halloween, everyone.

NOTES FROM THE ADMIN TEAM : : We apologize for causing anyone’s anxiety to rise due to the appearance of Rebecca / Rosie in the discord. We wanted to do something creepy for the holiday season and and amidst our own excitement, we forgot to think about the mental health of our members. We once again apologize for this and will do better in the future to keep in mind what is best for our members. Thank you all again and have an amazing day. - Admin Kashia

#c23plotdrop #blood tw #violence tw #death tw #halloween 97

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thestylesindependent · 4 years

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The following is an excerpt from A Field Guide to Internet Boyfriends: Meme-Worthy Celebrity Crushes From A to Z (Running Press) by Esther Zuckerman, senior entertainment writer at Thrillist. Opinions expressed are those of the author.

It’s virtually impossible to dig into the history of celebrity crushes without discussing boy bands. Stemming back to the days of the Beatles, boy bands have been crush incubators, known as much for their music as for their ability to pose on posters that hang on teenage bedroom walls. While the modern idea of boy bands existed before the ’90s, the decade turned boy bands into an industry with the likes of Backstreet Boys and *NSYNC eliciting mobs of screaming fans. For the first decade of the 2000s—after the leftovers from the ’90s faded from relevance—it seemed like the era of the boy band was over. And then a couple of lads from England—and one from Ireland—came along.

One Direction was not born organically. Each member of the fivesome auditioned for The X Factor as a solo act. Then Simon Cowell had a genius idea: Individually, they would probably generate some amount of buzz. Together, they would be unstoppable. Cowell was right. One Direction mania jumped across the pond and initiated a new era of boy band worship. This group was different from its ’90s predecessors. They were shaggy and didn’t really dance. But their fans were also different. These were kids raised by the internet, and they expressed their love for Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, and Niall Horan as such. Stanning for One Direction involved slash fiction and Tumblr.

But when the time came, One Direction faced an age-old boy band question: What happens when they break up? Who becomes famous? For years, the pinnacle of post–boy band success had always been Justin Timberlake, crying a river all over the radio. (He also found controversy along the way. No, we will never forgive him for throwing Janet Jackson under the bus at the Super Bowl.) But who becomes the Joey Fatone? One thing was always certain: Harry Styles was a goddamn star. Styles had always been the likeliest candidate for post-One D fame. He was the most rambunctious of the group, as at home palling around on talk shows as he was crooning on the stage.

Still, no one could have predicted what he was about to unleash. Styles, on his own, somehow surpassed the prom¬ise of his early career. The individual that emerged was like the love child of David Bowie and Stevie Nicks, all flowing blouses, wide-legged pants, and funky vibes. He occupies a space in between the masculine and the feminine and is an ally without being obnoxious about it.

When he left the womb of One Direction, his goal was to write his own material. The sound that emerged was not Timberlake’s white boy soul or the radio-ready pop of his bandmate Zayn Malik. Instead, it was a throwback hybrid of folk rock and pop—not a complete copy of an era that was not his own, but more indebted to his predecessors than his contemporaries.

The narrative around Harry Styles is that he is a Very Good Boy. It starts with his devotion to his mother, with whom he is reportedly very close. More proof of his sweet¬heart status can be found in the story about how he ended up being a polite houseguest to his friend The Late Late Show with James Corden producer Ben Winston for twenty months. As his star was rising in One Direction, he was crashing with an Orthodox Jewish family. “That period of time, he was living with us in the most mundane suburban situation,” Winston once explained. “No one ever found out, really. Even when we went out for a meal, it’s such a sweet family neighborhood, no one dreamed it was actually him. But he made our house a home. And when he moved out, we were gutted.”

It’s anecdotes like this—revealed in the singer’s first Rolling Stone cover story, written by none other than Almost Famous director Cameron Crowe—that frame Styles as a superstar who is relatively down to earth, a nice person who cares about being good to those around him. I mean, one of the songs on his recent album Fine Line is titled “Treat People with Kindness.” Styles once said: “There are others. People who are successful, and still nice. It’s when you meet the people who are successful and aren’t nice, you think: What’s yer excuse? Cos I’ve met the other sort.”

Styles gives off the impression that if you were to hang out with him you’d probably have a pretty pleasant and slightly wild time. Profiles of Styles tend to include stories about parties on beaches where nudity or clothes swapping is involved. He’s spoken about how doing mushrooms influenced his latest record, Fine Line, and once led him to bite off the tip of his tongue. But even though that detail sounds like it might belong in an outtake from a seedier history of rock ’n’ roll—think: Mötley Crüe—it’s bizarrely wholesome coming from Styles, who has gone out of his way to promote a message of inclusion.

Though he’s publicly only been linked to women, he’s never exactly declared himself straight, either, and has alluded to bisexuality in his lyrics. One time, he declared, “We’re all a little bit gay, aren’t we?” Regardless of how he himself identifies, he’s made it a mission to promote a safe-for-all environment at his shows. On one tour stop, he took note of a girl in the crowd’s sign which declared she was going to come out to her parents because of him. He asked her mom’s name, quieted the room, and shouted, “Tina, she’s gay,” triumphantly. It’s an especially welcome development for someone whose early celebrity was defined by slash fiction with which some of his bandmates were openly uncomfortable.

His style started to evolve with his own fluidity as well. He took to wearing ruffles and low-cut shirts with wide-legged trousers. The effect was circus ringmaster mixed with ’70s Laurel Canyon chic. There’s a cheekiness to the look, evidenced by photo shoots in which he affects like he just told a dirty joke. He has said he dresses this way not because he’s trying to allude to anything, just because he thinks it looks cool. And, the thing is, it does.

Harry Styles may have been made in the confines of the boy band universe, but when he struck out on his own, his message became freedom. He makes the music he wants, wears the clothes he wants, and encourages everyone around him to love who they want—even if that’s just Harry Styles.

#harry styles #a field guide to internet boyfriends #nov2020 #billboard

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kingstylesdaily · 4 years

Text

'A Field Guide to Internet Boyfriends': Read the Harry Styles Excerpt

source: Billboard.com

#kingstylesdaily #Harry Styles #hs: news #hs: billboard #november 2020

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bluezey · 3 years

Text

Inside Onward - The New Iandore

I just got a 2 in 1 laptop tablet combo for Christmas, which means Inside Onward is the last fanfiction I wrote on this hunk of junk laptop. And I couldn’t be prouder of that. Honestly, not only is this the longest fanfic I’ve written, I kinda stopped up and teared up at the last paragraph, not wanting to see this end. Thank you all for reading.

The familiar chime of the smartphone alarm rang through headquarters. Followed by another familiar wake up call of a chipper voice exclaiming, “It’s morning! It’s morning! Wake up, sleepyheads! It’s a new day!”

Fear woke up with a yawn, his arms and nerve stretching as far as they could reach. He then gave a lazy smile to Joy, watching him bound across the room, waking up Anger and Sadness. “Come on, you guys!” Joy cheered, still dressed in his pajamas, but raring to go. “You don’t want Ian to be late for school!”

Fear climbed out of bed and began getting dressed. “You heard him, guys. Let’s go.”

Once dressed and with notebook in hand, Fear followed Joy, Sadness and Anger out the bedroom door and down the stairs onto the Headquarters floor. Greeting them was Disgust busy at the console. “There you guys are,” Disgust said, hands on his hips. “Thankfully, I didn’t need your help getting Ian ready today.”

“That’s good to hear,” Fear commented, scribbling that note down in his notebook. “Disgust is present obviously, then there’s Anger, Sadness, and-“

“Me!” Joy chimed, before interrupting himself with a gasp.

Fear looked back at Joy, confused. “What?”

“You’re finally wearing the sweatshirt again,” Joy awed with a big smile.

Fear looked down at his Willowdale College sweatshirt. “Oh, well, I was just waiting for the right day to wear it.”

“What’s so special about today?” Disgust asked. “We’re just doing an oral report in history.”

“Not that,” Fear commented as he made his way to his locker. He opened it and pulled out a cardboard box. “See, I didn’t feel right if I was the only one who got to wear Dad’s sweatshirt. So, I made a few orders with some mind workers over at Dream Productions wardrobe department and… ta da!” Fear finished, pulling another replica of Dad’s sweatshirt out of the box.

Joy jumped up and down with, well, joy. “Our own sweatshirts! I’ve never been so happy! Oh, I’m gonna try mine on right now!” Joy exclaimed, snagging the sweatshirt from Fear’s hands.

Fear watched as each emotion took a sweatshirt and tried them on, each one fitting them perfectly. Anger rolled up the sleeves on his, Disgust adjusted by placing his comb and pocket mirror in his jeans pocket, and Sadness gladly snuggled up inside the hoodie of the sweatshirt.

“Glad you all like it,” Fear told everyone. “Now come on, let’s get Ian fed and off to school!”

----

The emotions gathered around the console, proudly watching Ian standing in front of the entire class, telling his story about his first epic quest for his history class. Months ago, Fear wouldn’t dare dream of the idea to his worst enemy. And here he was, just as excited as Joy is to let Ian stand out and tell the tale.

“And I believe, with a little magic in your life, you can do almost anything,” Ian concluded.

“Is that how you fixed the school?” one classmate asked.

“Yes,” Ian replied as he picked up his wizard’s staff, which was leaned against the chalkboard beside him.

“Is that how you also destroyed the school?” another student asked.

Ian sheepishly held his staff and replied, “Uh, also, yes?”

Fear shuttered nervously. “I hate Q and As.”

“Okay, so we had a hiccup,” Joy shrugged.

Disgust grinned as a bunch of familiar classmates approached Ian. “Here come Ian’s friends.”

“Great speech, Ian,” an elf student said.

“You coming to the park later?” a troll student asked.

“You know it,” Ian replied.

“Yay! Play time at the park!” Joy cheered.

“Joy,” Disgust told Joy. “Teenagers don’t have play time. They hang out.”

“I hope we don’t get too much homework,” Sadness sighed.

----

“Mom, I’m home,” Ian announced as he walked through the door. As the teenage elf placed his staff by the front door, he was almost caught off guard by a slender serpent bodied pet dragon leaping up and encircling his body to greet him.

“Hi Blazey, we’re home!” Joy almost sang as he took over at the controls. “Who’s a good dragon? Who’s a good dragon?”

After Ian gave Blazey a good scratch under her chin, the dragon ran off as Laurel entered the room. “So, how was school today?”

Ian folded his hands behind his back with a smile, as Joy and Disgust helped him respond, “It was pretty good.”

“Well, alright,” Laurel replied with a smile.

Just then, Colt entered the room, coffee cup in hand and a brand new wedding band on his finger. “Hey there, Ian,” he greeted. “You working hard?”

“Nope,” Ian replied. “Hardly working.” The emotions’ laughter almost drowned out Colt’s braying laugh.

Fear turned and watched Family Island light up with Ian’s response to Colt. After giving a careful double take, Fear left the emotions behind at the console and quickly made his way to the window. He overlooked the islands with a smile, starting with Family Island, now with a new Colt Bronco statue next to the Laurel statue. He panned over the Islands with a smile, observing every single one. Science Island, with its influence on space. School Island, proudly highlighting Ian’s math skills. Friendship Island, expanded to accommodate all of Ian’s new friends. Smartphone Island, a little smaller, but still a piece of Ian. Wizard Island, with a glow shimmering from atop Ian’s staff like the light of a lighthouse. Fear smiled wide as he scanned every single island.

Then stopped at Dad Island.

Thankfully, it has changed to show how much of an impact just one day with half a dad had on Ian’s life. Along with some pictures of Dad and a large replica of the Dad audio cassette, there was a large replica of striped purple socks draped on one side of the island, and a statue of Dad’s legs sitting on the edge of the other side. Dad’s legs were beside Family Island, making it look like they were connected. But, Fear’s smile faded, knowing that wasn’t true.

“Well well,” Joy commented, standing behind Fear. “If I’m not mistaken, I think Dad Island is a little closer today.”

Fear jumped from being startled, before giving a nervous smile. “Oh, hey Joy,” he exhaled a sigh, going back to looking melancholy over the island. Fear promised that Ian would finally meet his Dad, and he would be a better person because of it. But, only one part came true.

Joy watched Fear for a moment, then gave a supportive smile. “Hey. We’ll get Dad on Family Island one day.”

Fear gave half a smile. “Thanks, Joy.”

“I’m serious,” Joy replied. “We may not find another Phoenix Gem, but I’m sure there’s plenty more stories of Dad out there.”

Fear gave a full smile at Joy as the happy emotion gave the fearful emotion a big, warm side hug.

“Get off of him or you’re dead meat!” Anger shouted.

Fear and Joy turned to see onscreen Ian successfully grabbing Barley, flipping him out of his grapple and slam him onto the ground. Joy and Fear could hear Family Island chime behind them.

“Woo! Nice one, Anger!” Joy exclaimed, running up and giving the red emotion a fist bump.

“Phew! Thank goodness I wasn’t here for that,” Fear commented as he approached the console. “Barley sneaking up on us still scares the heck out of me.”

Ian took up his staff as he and Barley stepped out of the house. “So, how’s the new van?”

“Oh, Guinevere the Second is great!” Barley commented. “I’ve almost got enough saved up for a sweet paint job.”

“No, please, don’t,” Ian replied.

Barley looked surprised and confused. “Why not?”

“Stand back, boys,” Disgust told the other emotions as he took the controls. “I’ve been waiting all night for this.”

“Cause I already took care of it,” Ian replied, motioning his staff to the side of the van.

Barley turned and was immediately jumping and screaming with joy. On the side of the mandarin orange van was a mural of a Pegasus from Barley’s first van, with the same background color as old Guinevere. Upon the mighty steed was Barley in his adventure outfit, boldly his sword onward, with Ian dressed as a wizard at his side.

The emotions cheered as Joy exclaimed, “He loves it!”

Disgust brushed a blue curl from his face as he replied smugly, “Yeah, I know.”

The brothers climbed into the van and Barley backed out of the driveway. “Now, the best way to the park is to take a trail that I like to call the Road of Ruin,” Barley told Ian.

Ian gave an unimpressed shrug. “Nah, too obvious.”

Once again, Barley was thrown off his guard. “Wait, what?”

Joy turned to Fear with a big, bold grin. “You ready?”

Fear grinned back, a little less big, but still bold for a Fear. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“On a quest,” Ian quoted, as he took up his staff, “the quickest path is not always the right one.”

And with that, Joy and Fear slammed their hands down on a button between them on the console.

Ian held his staff aloft until the tip reached the ceiling. “Avi Volanta!” Ian declared, and Guinevere the second was enveloped in sparking white magic from the inside out. And, as Barley took the wheel, the van lifted off into the air and flew over the rooftops of their neighborhood. The brothers cheered in their success, and a rush of adrenaline from flying above New Mushroomton.

Inside Ian’s head, the emotions cheered on their Ian, with Fear occasionally reminding them all to focus on keeping the van in the air. They don’t want the brothers to crash!

----

Later that afternoon, as it was becoming evening, Fear snuck off real quick one more time. He made his way to the center of the Headquarters floor and tapped his foot on a button, making the core memory holder rise from its hiding place. Fear took a quick glance over the core memories, one for each part of Ian’s personality. After taking a brief pause on the blue and yellow memory powering Dad Island, Fear knelt down and inspected the core memory powering Family Island. While still in the holder, Fear brushed his finger against it, making it move to a memory of Laurel holding infant Ian while singing him to sleep. He moved his finger against it again, and the vision changed to Ian standing at the altar with Barley at Laurel and Colt’s wedding. He brushed against it once more, and the memory changed to kid Barley helping Ian learn to walk, followed by a vision of grown Ian hugging Barley back atop the remnants of the cursed dragon.

Each and every vision was still shining a bright and cheerful yellow, and Fear couldn’t be any more glad to see that.

“Come on, Fear!” Joy called out from the console. “Ian and Barley just made it home!”

“Oh! Coming!” Fear tapped his foot down on the button, and the core memory holder returned to its resting place, core memories and all. Fear returned to his place at the console, with his friends and coworkers, as Ian and Barley stepped into the front door of the Lightfoot home.

#inside onward #pixar inside out #pixar onward #sir iandore of lightfoot #ian lightfoot #barley lightfoot #joy #sadness #anger #disgust #fear

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afaimsarrowverse · 3 years

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The 14 Creepiest Arrowverse Villains:

Yes, this one should have been made for Halloween. But after the year we just had, let’s take comfort in the fact that were are not forced to ever meet this guys here on the street in the dark. While two of the villains on this list had rather big seasonal arcs, I specifically disqualified characters from here, have proper motivations and character arcs as well as villains, who are creepy but at the same time quite a lot of fun. This why you won’t find Alice, her Mouse, Ramsay, Eobard, the Trickster, Mallus, Neron or even the Thinker here.

This list mainly consists of people we want to put back in the box, they got out of, until not seeing them at least for a season or so, and who we want to yell at: „What’s wrong with you!“ while they are on screen.

14. Toyman Senior (Winslow Schott Sr., Supergirl, Henry Czerny)

Technically this one should not be on this list, because he was redeemed in Season 5, however that happend after his death and on Earth Prime rather than Supergirls Original Eart,h so we will ignore that for now (also I wrecked my head whom from „Supergirl“ to put on here, so I overlooked that on purpose). Toyman is more creepy as a concept than in reality. He blows up kids (and other than the Trickster is no fun at all while he is doing it), threatened the life of his son to get his wife to leave him and did God knows what else to said wife and son. And did not even stop terrorizing people after his death. Can you imagine growing up as Toyman’s son? Poor Winn, you truly deserved better!

13. Bug Eyed Bandit (Brie Larvan, Queen Bee, The Flash, Arrow, Emily Kinney)

Yes, it’s because of the Bees. Because she controls Mechanical Bees that sting and kill people! I am sorry, but what’s your problem, can’t you just kill your enemies like a normal person, Brie? Not to mention the whole Felicity-thing, because yes it’s totally normal to go around and kidnap and threaten to get what you want and then try to murder again. I still do not get why they let her into the Young Rogues anyway, but then … most members of that gang were all wrong, weren’t they?

12. Garfield Lynns (Arrow, Andrew Dunbar)

Most of us have tried to forget about Season 1 Episode „Burned“ for several reasons. But the villain of it is also one of those. Because, yes Mick was a Pyromanic as well, but for more complex reasons. Garfield Lynns was a fire fighter who started burning people and ended burning himself to death because of reasons and … well let’s be honest, he was nuts and burning people is not cool at all!

11. Jake Simmons (Deathbolt, Arrow, The Flash, Doug Jones)

That’s what you get, if you hire a creature actor (no offense, Doug, we love your work!) to play a psychopatic villain. Occasionally kind of fun, yes, but mostly Simmons is crazy and creepy, and we never liked him very much, but crucial Captain Cold killed him with a flimsey excuse, which no one ever bought, and let’s put it that way: If Leonard killed him just like that, there had to be something wrong with him in a big way, and yes, the hints were there, so, yeah, what a creep.

10. The Mist (Kyle Nimbus, The Flash, Antony Carrigan)

A former Mob Hitman that looks like that and can turn into Mist. Do I have to say any more? I would take Victor Szasz over this one any day. Because Nimbus … well you would not want to meet him during a misty night, would you?

9. Murmur (Michael Amar, Arrow, Adrian Glynn McMorran)

This one actually cares about his grandma, I will give him that, but SOMEONE SEWED HIS FUCKING LIPS TOGETHER! So you don’t really like looking at him, and he kind of went over board after he was pressured into joining Damien Darhk with, you know, killing everyone and joining HIVE, who as you recall planned to end the world as wen know it, so what about everyone elses grandmas, they can just die or what? No, Mister Amar, there is quite a lot wrong with you, that’s for sure.

8. Everyman (Hannibal Bates, The Flash, Various)

That one could be a tragedy, but well, he got so mixed up and wrong in the head, that he became a danger to everyone else. He is creepy trapped between shapes and he is creepy in other shapes because … you don’t just go around and kiss random women, who think you are somebody else. That is just wrong. But Bates is kind of mostly wrong, so, yeah.

7. Anthony Ivo (Arrow, Dylan Neal)

Ivo is Sara’s Personal Case of #Metoo, which really should be enough to earn him a spot on this list, but there is also his habit of keeping people in cages and the whole „You have to choose, whom I shoot dead!“- thing and all of that is only the tip of the iceberg. Not even Dylan Neal can stop me from wanting to scream at the top of my lungs: WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! at Dr. Ivo.

6. Nocturna (Natalia Knight, Batwoman, Kayla Ewell)

We all know the story how Nocturna was not allowed to show up in the Animated Batman Series in the 90s, because she was considered too disturbing (Morbius on the other hand was allowed to show up in the Spider-Man Cartoon but had to … undergo some changes, which made a perfectly good vampire into the creepies cartoon-villain ever unleashed on kids and scarred me for life, but that’s another story). Here she finally is, and yes, she is rather disturbing. Because she acutally knows very well that she isn’t a vampire, but still strings her victims up and bleeds them out, after biting them with laced spikey teeth. It would be kinky, if it were the least bit sexy, which it totally isn’t, so yeah, put her away for good please.

5. Vandal Savages Hawk Creatures (Legends of Tomorrow, Various)

Season 1 of „Legends“ was quite different than what came after, but „Night of the Hawk“ was an early highlight. While it was kind of a parody, being Season 1 it still played it straight for the most part, which resulted in an episode with the vibe of „American Horror Story“: We are in on the joke, but it’s still Horror. No wonder, after all Joe Dante directed this one. Vandal Savage turned poor teenagers into hawklike monsters, that no one would want to meet … ever. So yeah, thanks, but no thanks.

4. August Cartwright (Ethan Campell, Batwoman, John Emmet Tracy, Sebastian Roche)

Oh, God, that guy. So his mother wasn’t particulary ... nice, but that is no excuse to kidnap, gaslight, and brainwash a young girl, keep that girl’s mother’s head in a fridge for years, turn said girl into a slave and get her to make facemasks out of actual human face! Nor is that any excuse for fear-gasing your own son just because you are mad at him. Or anything in any way related to face-stealing, ,killing, identitiy theft, or anything else Dr. Cartwright has ever been up to. Like, seriously it has been a long time a character that desevers to be hated that much has been on our televions screens. Creepy Creep!

3. Duela Dent (Batwoman, Alessandra Torresani)

Female Slashers have become kind of a common trope in fiction by now, but Duela is kind of different. Suffering from a pretty extreme version of of body dysmorphic disorder Duela sees beauty through a different lense than the rest of the world (we will never forget what she deems to be her face being perfect, even though we desperatly want to). So yeah, she slashes faces, mainly her own, is out to punish people, who force beauty ideals on her and othes, and somehow has no problem with … donating her face to Alice. … Can someone please get that poor woman help, I mean, seriously?!

2. Rag Doll (Peter Merkel, The Flash, Troy James, Phil LaMarr)

He did make Joe West throw up. And not only him. Rag Doll is plains disgusting. So disgusting actually, that the producers dialed him back in Season 6 and used more CG and less pratical „Troy James freaks us out“- bending. But while he could be fun all elongaty, we actually prefer him as his creepy original Season 5 Self. He is demented, wears a creepy mask, acts creepy, and we really don’t want to see him do his stuff but can’t look away at the same time. I have no idea why he was in the Young Rogues either, because he is really mainly creepy – und would be the Overcreep on this list, if it weren’t for….

1. The Dollmaker (Barton Mathis, The Broken Doll Killer, Arrow, Michael Eklund)

I am still amazed to this day that they were allowed to make this episode. You have to remember „Arrow“ had been only on for one Season at this point and „The 100“ was still about to premier. The CW was yet to change it’s image. Still they somehow got to made the Dollmaker-Episode, which left us disturbed to this very day. What Mathis was doing to his victims …. Well not only Quentin got nightmares about it. Poor Laurel went understandable full addict after almost being made into a puppet by him. So, Rag Doll might look creepier, but the Dollmaker is one of this Serial Killers we never want to even hear from again. It’s really no wonder he was an one-off, like I said, I am still amazed they were even allowed to make the episode on Network Television let alone The CW at all.

#Arrowverse #Creepiest Villains #Arrow #The Flash #Supergirl #legends of tomorrow #Batwoman

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edgeofmyniall · 4 years

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ten: take me there

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“Tell me 'bout your mama, your daddy, your hometown, show me around. I wanna see it all, don't leave anything out.I wanna know everything about you then and I wanna go down every road you've been, where your hopes and dreams and wishes live, where you keep the rest of your life hid .I wanna know the girl behind that pretty stare. Take me there...”

“Sit on my face.”

“Do what?” Ginger’s voice rang shocked and hushed. She would be mortified if her parents overheard her.

“You heard me.”

Ginger’s heart raced. She felt like a teenager again fumbling through her words with the boy she liked. Her face turned beet red and her mouth was dry. She, for once, had no words. She wished for this moment for weeks and now the first time she is able, she’s starting to chicken out. At twenty-six, she was acting like a sixteen year old with a boy sneaking into her room.

“My parents will hear me,” she whispers her excuse. She could feel her hips being magnetically pulled to Niall’s mouth. She wanted him so bad.

“Not if you keep quiet,” Niall laid down on the bed with his head resting on the pillow Ginger hadn’t slept on in two years. It smelled faintly of Ginger’s perfume, and as Niall made himself comfortable, Ginger stood in the middle of her room biting her nails.

“What if we get caught?” Ginger asks. Her dress sways from her anxious movements. Niall lifts his head for a mere moment.

“Ginger, you’re an adult. Grow up and let me eat you out!”

Nervous, Ginger strides over to her bed. She knows the bed squeaks when a person rolls over or moves too much. She uses the dark headboard to her advantage, her grip tight on the wood as she straddles her hips over Niall’s chest. Her heart is racing and she knows that her agonizing wait will be over soon. She’ll ride his face until her body passes out from exhaustion and the thought thrilled her.

She holds her wait as she hovers over Niall. His black eyes grow as he looks at the naked and exposed vagina of Ginger. “Yer not wearin’ any panties,” he growls, his dick hardening.

Ginger giggles as she girlishly bites her lip from excitement. She doesn’t know when the right time to roll her hips on Niall’s mouth will be. Are they going to talk or get straight into business?

“You have the perfect pussy,” Niall reaches over Ginger’s thigh and his thumb slowly circles her clit- the sensation almost taking her over. She arches her back and her breathing is eradicated. “The perfect legs, tits…” Niall breathes as he imagines taking Ginger’s big breasts inside his mouth. The way her nipples feel against his tongue. “Perfect voice to scream my name…” He licks his lips as Ginger begins to unconsciously rock her hips.

“Niall,” Ginger breathes- her eyes open from where they had closed on their own. Niall’s words had lulled her into a passion coma. His face was beautiful. Every single feature of his was her favorite. And she wanted more than anything to see her cum all over his face.

“C’mere…”

She rolled her hips over his mouth, his tongue lapping her entrance. She forced her fist to her mouth to contribute as a filter from her moans. She found her rhythm as she rocked her hips letting Niall’s nose hit against her swollen clit. Niall’s lips linger on the fleshy pick skin as he delves his tongue inside of her tasting her wetness. She was so wet for him. And he wanted to taste her forever.

Ginger swallowed a scream as NIall’s nose rubs against her clit as his tongue dove deeper inside her. Her legs began to shake as a fire burned inside of the bottom of her torso. Her muscles tighten in her body as she rolls her hips vigorously against Niall’s mouth. His hands dig into the sides of Ginger’s hips as he rubs his nose along her clit for longer. His tongue flicks against the pink walls, his tongue feeling the groovy roof of her womanhood.

Ginger feels her body about to expire, but rolls her hips harder, pushing herself farther down on him. She wants Niall’s tongue deep inside her. Her knuckles bleed white as her grip on her wooden headboard becomes harder. She knows the build up is becoming too much for her and she feels herself about to squirt.

Hearing Niall whine as her moaning continued was what pushed Ginger over the ledge. Her undoing flowed into Niall’s mouth and over his chin and cheeks. She screamed into her hand as her vision blurred and her body convulsed her thrusting into sparatic rolls. The crashing waves of her orgasm stifled the room as Niall grunted inside of her.

She lets her grip of the headboard go and Ginger falls against the bed. Her feet were still straddling Niall’s face as her legs laid across her chest. She tried to catch her breathing as her heart raced from pleasure, but she felt the bed bounce slightly underneath her heavy body.

She turned to find Niall tugging his dick in his hands. She had been in her own world of recovery hat she didn’t hear Niall’s pants unzip. His eyes were screwed shut as he tried to stifle his moans. Watching Niall get himself off made Ginger’s nipples ache. She wanted to taste him again. She wanted him inside of her still.

“Fuck,’’ Niall whispered as he grabbed the back of Ginger’s head and brought her mouth the tip of his cock. The warm salty cum spurted inside her mouth. The taste of Niall overcame her and she pulled her head against Niall’s grasp and swallowed his undoing. The two fell into silence as they tried to wind down from their sexual experiment. The only sound was the heavy breathing and the lone stomach growl that came from Ginger. The two fell into a fit of laughter before Ginger sat up on her elbows.

“Wanna grab some lunch?” Ginger quirked her brow up. She knew exactly where she was taking him.

“As long as I can have you for dessert…” Niall said, his voice hinting for another round.

Ginger had already opened her bedroom door, purse on her shoulder when she retorted in a sing-song voice: “Always.”

~~~~~~

Ginger was leading Niall down the sidewalk downtown. The shops were open and almost everyone they passed Ginger waved to. They were holding hands as she tugged Niall to the comic book shop that her middle school friend’s uncle had opened.

“You seriously know everyone here?” Niall stated as an observation more than a question. The sun was beating down on the two of them as Ginger licked her cookies-n-cream ice cream from the old time parlor they had just left.

“It’s just Brian. He used to drive my school bus,” Ginger smiled as the glass door dinged as she pushed it open with her now free hand from letting her grip from Niall go. The store was lined with shelves on the three walls. The glass windows that let people look in was covered with vintage posters of superheroes and villains. Niall thought he had stepped into hell when all of the shelves were crammed with toys, collectibles, and figures that were in such a disarray that his stomach knotted. Lining the walls and shelves were glass cases that were filled with memorabilia and toys lined the top of the glass. The back of the store was taken over by bags of dice and cards of games that Niall didn’t recognize. The glass case that was home for the register was the neatest spot in the store. The inner shelves were lined with first edition comics that were held in plastic protective sleeves.

Ginger licked her ice cream as she left Niall to his own demise. She thumbed through old comics that were alphabetized. Niall slowly walked around the glass counter to look at the shelves. There was just enough space in this small compacted store for one other person behind the counter. Everything seemed to tower over him. He didn’t understand Ginger’s desire for messy. He wanted things neat and in their place, but Ginger threw her stuff around and called it her “organized mess”.

The one small trinket that stood out to Niall was a Funko pop figure that the company had made into a key chain. It was something he thought Ginger would like and he found it quite funny. He took the key chain off the shelf and carried it around the store, hiding it from Ginger when she would glance at him. Her smile warmed him. He was a lucky guy, finding a woman that liked to be around him and loved him for his antics. He was lucky that even as a global superstar Ginger saw passed the bright lights and money of fame and saw the real Niall. There was never time that he had doubted the intentions of her. She was real in a world dying to fake it out. She was honest in a room full of liars and she was vulnerable in a room full of hardened hearts.

When Ginger turned to leave, Niall smiled as he pushed the glass door open, the small brown bag held in the same hand.

“Whatcha get?” Ginger bit into her waffle cone. The white and black ice cream was smeared on her nose. Niall reached out and wiped the sticky residue with his thumb and tasted the sweetness of her ice cream.

“Nothin’ really, just a souvenir,” Niall smiled as they went into the next shop.

It was a local boutique that had transformed from a printing shop. The brick wall was partially covered with painted stucco. The lilac walls were lined with pictures of various spots of Laurel Springs. The store was filled with a few people, none of which Ginger paid any attention to. She was more concerned with looking at the clothes and listening to the pop music playing. She was humming as Niall followed her around the women’s clothing. She swayed her head back and forth as the songs continued to play. Niall took notice of the few people staring at her…or him- he wasn’t too sure. He kept his head down and watched Ginger hold a yellow flowy shirt. She shrugged her shoulders and put it back on the metal rack. Niall felt out of place, like an ant under a microscope looking for his anthill, but it was worsened when his newest single played over the speakers.

He was afraid Ginger might make a big deal out of it like she does when they’re alone in the car or cooking, but she only smiled to herself as she looked up at him and wiggled her eyebrows.

Niall stood with Ginger’s melting ice cream cone as she tried on various shirts and pants. His favorite was a pair white washed ripped jeans that fit Ginger’s curves just so with the black bleached band tee. She looked beautiful and perfect and he wanted to take her in the middle of the boutique.

When Ginger paid, she threw her half eaten cone in the public trash. Outside the sun was shining and the wind was gently blowing. Ginger drive Niall around to her “famous spots”: where she and her friends hung out regularly, where she had her first kiss, where she started her period. Everything she said, every word she spoke Niall clung to. He was soaking Ginger in like he was a sponge. He wanted to know all of Ginger and she was showing every aspect of her life. Even the parts she didn’t want to show.

It was in a local restaurant where they stopped for a small snack, that a ghost from Ginger’s past appeared. Pushing a flowered stroller was a blonde bombshell that was followed by a small toolset boy and a built man. Ginger’s heart stopped. She felt her face go flush and her legs begin to shake. After all these years, he still was just as handsome as he was in high school.

The small boy tugged the man towards the blonde beauty and when the father looked up, he saw the woman who loved him when he least deserved it.

“Ginger?” the man asked as he stopped at the couple’s table. He balanced a diaper bag on his shoulder.

“Hi Danny,” Ginger smiled. A little too big for Niall’s comfort but he remained silent. There stood the asshole that crushed Ginger’s heart all those years ago. He balled his fist in his lap as his leg bounced.

Ginger stood and embraced Daniel in a hug. He still used the same cologne and it was intoxicating. Her arm rested on his firm bicep before letting go. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. When did you get into town?” Daniel blushed before looking over to his wife who was standing a few feet over from him looking annoyed.

“Just today. We went shopping,” Ginger gestures towards Niall with her hand before becoming embarrassed, “Oh this is Niall, my um….”

“Boyfriend,” Niall stood and shook Daniel’s extended hand firmly. He squeezed his hand enough to know that he was the alpha male. “I’m her boyfriend.” Niall draped his hand over the dip of Ginger’s back, pulling her closer to him.

“I’m Daniel. Ginger’s friend.”

“Yeah, that you were,” Niall remarked, his voice harsh. His brow was furrowed and the grip on Ginger became tighter.

“Um well I better go. Lila is giving me the look,” Daniel awkwardly laughs. He smiles at the two of them, his eyes lingering on Ginger. “Nice seeing you again.”

The couple sit back down at the table and as the server refills the drinks, Ginger’s phone dings.

~~~~~~

“So you’re tellin’ me that you had your first kiss under the bleachers?” Niall and Ginger were standing at the fence of the high school football stadium. It was getting dusk and the two were on the last leg of their journey before going home.

“Yeah well, I thought it was romantic at the time. He was a total killer with his braces,” Ginger laughed. Niall’s hand rested on her back as her phone went off once again.

“Someone’s popular,” Niall said, a bad feeling growing in his stomach.

“Yeah, it’s my friend Taylor… she wants to meet up tomorrow,” Ginger lied.

“Mm.”

~~~~~~

Dinner at the Blake house was everything Ginger described. They went around the table after blessing the food to say what they’re favorite part of their day was. It was Niall stepped inside of a fifties television show.

“Showing Niall around,” Ginger smiled as she took in a bite of her father’s homemade burger. She grabbed another fry off her plate and waved it around. “The comic bookstore looked a little empty.”

“And what about you dear?” Pennie asked. Her graying black hair was pulled into a low bun. Her face done small wrinkles and laughing lines. Niall pictured Ginger looking like this when she aged.

“Meeting you guys,” Niall smiled as Jack clapped his hand on Niall’s back. This was the family he never had, but the secrets he knew was what kept him far away. He couldn’t trust Jack after knowing he cheated on Pennie.

After dinner, Jack and Niall took Texas outside for an evening walk and so they could talk man to man. Ginger and Pennie stayed in the kitchen to wash the dishes.

Pennie hip bumped Ginger whose hands were submerged in soapy water. “He’s a catch, Ginger,” Pennie looked at her daughter and smiled. “Even if…”

“Mama, I- I don’t know what to say. I tried to stop it but…” Ginger trailed off, her voice cracking as tears bellowed up.

“I know, Stella told me. She always overshadowed you and you just let her. Dad and I wanted to help but we felt like this was something you needed to learn,” Pennie rested her head on Ginger’s shoulder. “As long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters, baby girl.”

“Love you, mama.”

~~~~~

“So you dated Stella and now you’re dating my daughter?” Jack pulled out a pack of spitting tobacco as the two men walked down the dirt driveway to walk the family dog. Niall stuffed his hands in his front pockets, trying to concentrate on anything beside this conversation.

“Yeah seems so.” Niall said coldly. He had an issue with Jack simply for the fact that he repeatedly hurt Pennie, a woman he barely knew.

“Were you and Stella together when you and Ginger got together or was it…”

“Sir, no disrespect, but you should be the last one worried about how me and Ginger got together,” Niall huffed. His chest was hot as he thought of Ginger’s phone digging over and over again.

“I see Ginger told you about my past,” Jack breathed in deep, “you probably think I’m a piece of shit, don’t ya?”

“Yes,” Niall was honest with his answer. “If you didn’t want Pennie, why not call off the marriage? Why do that to her and Ginger? Stella?” It was a long minute before Jack answered.

“You see son, sometimes your heart dictates what you want. I wanted Pennie and the other girl. There’s no questioning it. I loved both of them. At the same time, but what I thought I wanted wasn’t what I needed. What I needed was a good ass kicking,” Jack smiles before he continues. “You still love Stella?”

“I care about her, yeah.”

“And you love Ginger?”

“With everything. I actually see myself settling down with her,” he spoke the words he had been feeling for all those quiet months. “She’s my best friend.”

“Ginger is your Pennie. You realize what you needed before things got too messy,” Jack swung his arm over Niall’s broad shoulders. “You make her happy.”

“Yeah…” Niall isn’t too sure about the latter anymore.

~~~~~

Ginger was in the shower when her phone dinged again. Niall was laying in her bed when his curiosity got the best of him. He knows looking leads to heart break but he had to know. He picked up the phone, letting the screen light up and his heart ached as he placed it back on the nightstand. He knew this was too good to be true.

Ginger walked in towel drying her hair. She sat on the bed and leaned to Niall, her lips gently scraping against his beard. “How about that dessert?”

Niall did something he promised himself he would never do. He lied to Ginger.

“Not in the mood,” his voice harsh as he rolled over. The lights cut off and he heard Ginger tapping the screen of her phone.

~~~~~~~~~~~

@oyesmendes @klairelavarias @dontgiveupthedayjob @hannahollan1181 @kare38 @verorax @stayclose-holdsteady @halfpinthoran @angrynarry

#niall horan #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fic #niall horan smut #niall horan fanfic #1dff #1dfanfic #1dffupdates #niall horan au #niall smut #niall au

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concealeddarkness13 · 3 years

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WHG Post Games Boat Heist Part 5

Last boat heist piece! And then just post heists and we’re done! Tagging: @ratracechronicler (also thanks for Elvira and Rebecca!), @maple-writes (also thanks for Cirrus and Asher!), and @pen-of-roses (also thanks for Lynn and Rowan!)!

Triel (this is the next day)

Elvira and I met up with Nora, Chaudhary, and the rest of the assistants near a bar. I grinned at Mirabel and Sidney, since I hadn’t seen them yesterday, and we exchanged greetings. It was almost time, so we toasted each other, downed our drinks and headed for the dear president.

And he was actually where he was supposed to be! Last night must have spooked him. I grinned and walked up to him with arms wide as if I was expecting a hug. “And the dear president remembered! Thank you so much!” He eyed my assistants, and he raised his eyebrows. I laughed. “Oh, I thought I would need assistants for the interview. There are so many questions to ask, so I wanted them to write it out as well.”

Elvira stood behind me, looking Very Serious and holding a Very Convincing Clipboard. The others would fall behind and take care of the Peacekeepers.

I steered him over toward the right side of the boat, and I smiled my best smile at him. “So, let’s start with an easy one. Who was the tribute you were most cheering for in this year’s Hunger Games?”

He laughed. So fake. “Of course, I cheered for Poli. I always knew he was going to win.”

I knew you’d say that, you lying bastard. I laughed and wrote insults down on my clipboard. I could only imagine what Elvira was scrawling behind me. “I totally believe that. Now, which was the most gruesome death?”

He looked a little unnerved by the question. Good. Out of the corner of my eye, Nora and the others were working on Operation Dunk the Peacekeepers. He frowned. “I…don’t see the relevance of the question?”

I laughed. “Oh, it’s entirely relevant. I mean, you perform this charade year after year, and you celebrate all the deaths as if they don’t matter. As if that isn’t a precious life expiring right before your eyes. They’re children, my dear president, and you don’t care, do you?”

He glared at me and turned around to see all of his Peacekeepers were gone. Nora and Chaudhary waved at him as his eyes landed on them.

Elvira smiled sweetly. “Ah, President Snow? I’m afraid you won’t be able to summon your lackeys to do away with the uncomfortable questions. Not this time. Rather, we’ve done away with them. One by one. Until one remains in the spotlight.”

He glared at us, and his hand reached for his pocket, but I was faster. I activated my magic, and multi-colored light danced on my skin like fire. I transformed the small amount of water I always kept on hand into a sharp crystal and aimed it right at his heart. I smirked as he stared at it with horror in his eyes. “Not so fast, my dear president. If you try to call any back-up, they’ll find your body bleeding out on this deck, and we’ll be long gone. So, let’s play by the rules, yeah?” I laughed as he moved his hands away from his pockets, up in the air. “So, next question, all these children’s deaths are on your hands. How many people would love to see your corpse on national television?”

Sid raised a hand, and the others in the background did the same. I smirked at the dear president. “Unfortunately, I’m not in the mood to have president-cide added to the list of crimes I’ve committed. Too many people chasing me.” I nodded at the others. Nora walked over with a smirk and emptied his pockets, and Elvira sneaked around while he was glaring at Nora and pulled him by the shirt toward the rail, and I did the honors (after deactivating my magic) of giving enough upward force to send him toppling, screaming, into the water.

I smiled over at Elvira and held out a fist to fistbump. “Well, that went smoother than I expected.” Elvira reciprocated the fistbump.

I tipped my hat to Nora. “Thank you. Anything I can do to help after you so graciously helped me?”

“I think the publicity’s helped me enough, Sparrow,” she said, adjusting one of her braids before she turned to address the crowd that had gathered on the bottom deck after the dear president drank lake water. “Ladies, gentlemen, and spectators galore, today you bear witness to the turning of the tides of history. Far from the harbingers of good news and angelic messengers of old, I am here to tell you to be afraid. Be very afraid.” I had to stop myself from laughing. So serious. “I can’t promise your way of life is coming to an end, but I can assure you it will never again go unchallenged by those you’ve scorned and reviled. So clutch your precious pearls. This world is still our oyster. And when the real pirates come to tear apart your charade, you can always count on Captain Eleanor Skeates to bear a hand.”

My phone buzzed, and I glanced at it. Shine was ready. I gave a thumbs up to Nora, and she nodded. Elvira was singing “What Shall We Do With a Wicked Tyrant” with the rest of the crew as they waited for their ride. Nora’s tender had been invisible before this, but it appeared on the starboard side. She gave me a look that invited me for drinks later, but before she could leave, I dashed forward and snatched at her hat, and she let me, she just casually took my hat. We put the hats on in sync with flourishes and shared a meaningful look no one else would understand. Nora and the others swung ropes over the water and got to their ship.

Elvira and I headed off to where we would meet with the others to escape to the airship. The Peacekeepers would be too busy with saving the dear president from the lake to bother with us. Elvira looked over at me with a Meaningful Look. “Nice hat.”

I smirked. “Thanks. I acquired it recently.” We shared a smile and continued to the airship.

Nesri

After Shine completed the new and improved disablers, I volunteered to go disable Lynne’s shocker, and also disable Alastair’s shocker. I kept glancing at Cirrus as we waited for the right time. Had we really kissed last night? I just flushed as I leaned against him. There were more pressing things to think about, but my thoughts kept wandering back to the kiss.

It was finally time to head out. Triel headed out first, and we all filed out after her. I made my way, casually, over to where Lynne’s room was. I knocked on her door and adopted the same stance Zenith always had. It seemed right for a pretend Peacekeeper.

She opened the door and eyed me suspiciously. “What do you want?”

I grinned. “I’m gonna help you out!” I pushed past her and put my hands on my hips.

Lynne breathed in deep and slow. “Are you here just to torment me? I know the Capitol is controlling you.”

I wagged a finger at her, still smiling. “That’s where you’re wrong, my friend! The Capitol is actually controlling you by making you believe what they want you to. I’m sorry Zenith decided to be a stick in the mud and pretend. He wanted to get you back quickly, since we weren’t prepared to bust you out yet.”

She grit her teeth and shook her head. “I—I can’t believe you. Not when you’re wearing that.”

I cracked my knuckles. “Well, that won’t be for very long.” I rushed her, but she sidestepped, her expression hardening and all vulnerability disappearing. I rushed at her again and managed to snag her arm. I held on for dear life. “I know how the Shades can be. They fuck with your head, make you think the way they want you to. But whatever they say is a lie.” She whirled around with a snarl and punched me in the stomach repeatedly. She wasn’t that practiced at it, so it wasn’t too bad, but still. “I promise. Don’t listen to them. Or the Capitol. I’m here to help.”

She hesitated, tears welling in her eyes, and I whirled around behind her, took off the bandage, and placed the New and Improved Disabler to her shocker, and it did its disabling with a satisfying fizzle.

Lynne blinked and turned to me and frowned. “You weren’t wearing that just a second ago.”

I snorted. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to wear that Peacekeeper trash anyway. Not flattering enough.” I grinned at her. “We disabled the shocker and the machine that was making you see us in Peacekeeper uniforms. Now, we just need to grab Alastair, disable the shocker he has, and head over to the rescue zone.”

She sucked in a breath, and tears streaked down her cheeks. She flung her arms around me and sobbed into my shoulder. “I was so scared. The—the Shades gave me their magic. And I’m still in pain. And I thought you were trapped and I had to find a way to save you. And I’m not as competent as I thought, so what choice did I have? And…I’m just so glad they were lying.”

I hugged her tightly with a laugh. “Me too. Let’s get going.”

The airship was invisible, but I could still feel the hum of the engines as we approached it. A ladder fell, looking like it was connected to nothing, and everyone was here. No one looked hurt either. I grinned at everyone as we waited in line to climb up. No one in the crowd did anything. They were too busy watching the president, and the Peacekeepers were too busy rescuing the president. We were doing great!

When I put my feet on the deck of the airship, Shine’s awesome machine allowed for me to see the airship, even though it was still invisible to anyone not touching it. Triel went to check with Shine, and the rest of us crowded into the same room we had when we escaped from the arena.

The airship took off, and everyone stayed quiet. Rebecca watched the windows, probably to check and see if anyone was following us. Elvira was looking around at everyone over and over. Lynn was hugging Rowan, and Laurel hurried over to both of them. Zenith was checking Lynne and Lynn’s wounds. Where had he even found the first aid kit? Lynne was leaning up against Alastair. Asher didn’t seem to be doing good. Cirrus was having to wrestle him down, and Amy, the Avox Cirrus had helped, was waving around a weapon she must have stolen from a Peacekeeper. Good for her!

Triel walked in with a grin. Her clothes were wet, as if it had started raining, but the sky had just been clear a second ago. She clapped her hands. “Congratulations on a successful heist! I couldn’t have done it without you!”

“We did it,” Rebecca whispered, a smile tugging at her lips. “So, we’re really getting away with it? There’s not, like, a squadron after us?”

Elvira looked over at Amy. “Ah…You must be Amy?”

She nodded eagerly, ignoring Cirrus’s request to put the weapon away. I liked her. She was awesome.

Lynn looked up. “This is real, right? You’re all really here, this is really happening?”

Rebecca nodded. “We are. You don’t still think we’re Peacekeepers, do you?”

Triel shook her head about Rebecca’s previous question about the squadron. “The winds were favoring us today. No one was able to come after us.” Asher grinned at that, looking out of it but proud about something.

Lynn shook his head about Rebecca’s other question. “No, not Peacekeepers, not a dream, real. You. The you from the Games at least.” Rowan hugged both him and Laurel.

Lynne frowned. “So, what’s going to happen now? Will we be running from the Capitol the rest of our lives?”

Triel smirked. “It just so happens that a mansion that was built specifically to evade the Capitol’s eyes was bought with some totally legal money. It’s a few hours away from most of the Districts and equipped with anti-Capitol machines. You can stay there. It’s a safe haven for us.”

Cirrus turned to face her. “How long until we can tell people we aren’t dead?”

“You can tell them now. I think it should be okay to stop by your Districts so you can talk to your loved ones. If you think you could be safe staying there, you can, or you can come to the safe haven. It’s your choice.”

“Also, we got a train,” Rebecca said. “We’re kinda on the run from the Capitol, anyway. But I’m definitely down at crashing at your mansion. You?” she asked Elvira, who nodded in agreement.

Lynn, Rowan, and Laurel shared a look before Lynn spoke. “Rowan and I will stay at the mansion, we don’t have much else, but Laurel has to visit her family first and tell them.”

Triel nodded and headed off, probably to tell Shine to stop in the Districts. I grinned at the newcomers. “But you missed something spectacular! I totally kicked Cirrus’s ass in a spar.”

“Liar.” I grinned over at Cirrus as he crossed his arms. “We have witnesses you know.”

Zenith shrugged noncommittally, eyeing me. I laughed. “Well then, what about when I hit you in the face with a piece of popcorn?”

He rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t count.”

I grinned. “Rebecca one-upped you. She caught her piece.”

“And ate it,” Rebecca added smugly.

“Maybe you should spar her too.” Cirrus was trying to sound irritated, but it was more like a joke. “I bet she’d kick your ass too.”

I pretended to think about it. “I agree. She’s much more intimidating than you.”

Asher laughed, and Cirrus huffed to himself. Ha. I won.

Rebecca punched her palm. “I forfeit immediately.”

Triel came back in, eyeing me. “And who’s the one who dumped a whole popcorn bowl on your head?”

Lynn eyed us with confusion. “Just what did you all get up to while we were there?”

“Very time-sensitive and important things,” Elvira said, face in one hand. “There were unbearable spans of killing time waiting for necessary information. It was either death by boredom, despair of your fate, or commit popcorn warfare.”

Zenith grumbled, but lightheartedly. “Too much.”

And I said at the same time, “Shenanigans, tomfoolery, etcetera.” I crossed my arms at Zenith with a smile. “Who’s the one that walked into the apartment in the middle of the night, cursed with magic, and had to beg Asher to knock you unconscious?”

“That was Zenith!” Asher laughed, throwing his head back. “Got himself cursed!”

Zenith sighed, but a smile was tugging at his lips. “Who’s the one who had me and Elvira swap bodies and then race?”

He grinned, teeth a little sharper than I thought they usually were. “Are you just mad you lost?”

Zenith grumbled something about toenails, but he didn’t decide to comment.

Triel smirked. “I’m sure we’re all looking forward to swapping stories; I just have one more bit of information to give you. Even at the mansion, we’ll still have our airship. If, at any time, you want to go somewhere, or go to the mansion from somewhere else, just let me know. Shine’s already hacked into your phones and put in a good number to reach us at for instant communication.” She winked.

Rebecca whipped out her phone and texted something, maybe to Shine? They were buddies now, after all.

We kept talking as Raian showed up with warm drinks for everyone. It was so calm and peaceful. We had finally escaped from the Capitol.

#writeblr hunger games #whg #writeblr

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downywrites · 3 years

Text

Uhh...Karl. Yes. Bird is sorry for the wait.

Karl has some traumatic memories from his last timewarp. His husbands help him forget.

TW- Badly written ptsd I guess?

Flashing lights.

That was all he saw.

They blared at him, screamed at him for help. And all he could do was watch.

The bright green flames leapt and spun, destructive dancers pirouetting beautifully over flesh, bone, fabric, wood.

“...why?”

The ebony mask simply smiled back at him. The axe raised high, gleaming a shimmering ruby color in the sun’s dawning light-

A flash of fabric.

The handrail, well-waxed and polished to a t, glinted in the light of the moon.

Like an axe, poised for the kill.

His breathing went shallow again. He didn’t remember when his breathing evened out. He didn’t know, not until the moment was gone.

Like them. The people he loved, slaughtered in front of him.

Just like that night.

“Karl?” “Karlos?”

There, in the shadows of the home, stood his husbands, alive and well.

Somewhere in the prison, Dream’s face contorted into a small frown. The slightest of chills ran through his spine, making him sigh. This wasn’t the first time this happened.

How many more people would he lose before he escaped?

#downywrites #dsmp tickle #mcyt tickle #ler!karl #ler!sapnap #ler!quackity #lee!quackity #lee!sapnap #my writing #oh yes and #switch!sapnap #switch!karl #switch!quackity #sfw tickling

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firesoulstuff · 3 years

Note

Captain Canary + We’re telling our children about our catastrophic first Christmas together.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27544165/chapters/69605802

Rory is the last to the party and Sara can’t help but to smile with sympathy as the fifteen-year-old flops rather depressively onto the couch. Her eyes are red rimmed and she gives one sniffle, which thankfully neither of her siblings comments on.

Next to Rory is Emily, ten-years-old and while Sara and Leonard thought she was over the trauma that can come with baby teeth falling out this one was, from what Rory and her reported, tough. So she’s sitting with a roll of toilet paper held tightly in her lap just in case.

Daniel, their seven-year-old, somehow came out of this Christmas Eve mostly unscathed. Despite Rory’s reports of him having been standing right in front of the tree when it fell over, and touched the hot pan while she was busy dealing with Emily and her tooth, and had wiped out running down the hall to get her when Emily started bleeding again.

“Ok.” Sara says, now that they’re all gathered. “Now that we’re all calmed down, you’re father and I thought we’d tell you guys a Christmas story.”

“Like the movie?” Emily asks, while Leonard starts passing out some to-go cups of hot chocolate he went out for while Rory took a shower and Sara cleaned up the house.

“Not exactly.” Sara says with a grin, then she eyes her oldest. “You said this is the worst Christmas ever?”

Rory huffs, “Wasn’t until I was put in charge.”

Sara frowns, so does Leonard.

“Rory, I’m glad your mother and I make it look easy, but holidays take practice.”

She scoffs again, her hot chocolate still clutched in her hand.

“They do.” Sara insists, “Which brings us to the story. You guys can ask Uncle Ollie, Rene, or whoever if you don’t believe us, but I promise you everything we’re about to tell you is what happened.”

Leonard nods as he settles onto the armrest of the couch beside her.

“Sorry kiddo.” He says, looking at Rory. “But the mess you made tonight doesn’t even compare to your first Christmas.”

“So you really want to go home for the holidays?” Leonard asked as he stood Rory up, holding her under her arms and helping her bounce on the mattress.

Sara was packing clothes into two bags, one for each of them. She’d already packed for Rory, enough for a month even though they were only planning for nine days.

“Yes.” She said as she folded up another sweater and added it to the bag. “Thawne and his little crew have been quiet, your holiday coincides with my holiday this year, and neither of our families have met Rory yet. We’re going.”

He rolled his eyes and focused back on Rory, still happy to bounce on the mattress.

He couldn’t find it in him to argue with her further. She was right in that their enemies of the year have been quiet and thus they’ve hit a dead end with finding them, and he isn’t so stupid as to think the next holidays will work out so nicely again any time soon. Not that he’s really done much for Hanukkah in a decade or so, but now with Rory he wouldn’t mind doing more. So, with Hanukkah starting on Christmas Eve this year they’d come up with a plan. Go to her dad’s for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and on December 26th head to Central and stop by her mom’s for the day, then spend the remainder of Hanukkah with Lisa until coming back to the ship on New Years Day.

So that was the plan, unfortunately there was one major flaw in it they really should’ve considered; just because their villains were taking a holiday break didn’t mean Team Arrow’s were.

“I’m so sorry baby.” Quentin said as he handed Rory back to her and pressed a kiss first to the baby’s cheek, and then to hers.

“It’s ok dad.” Sara said as she took her daughter. “You go. Call us if you need help.”

He didn’t look happy to be going, but he nodded to the three of them and with a hasty promise to be back soon he left.

“You sure your father should be going out to track a mass murderer on Christmas Eve?” Leonard asked and Sara tipped her head back and sighed.

“No, but I’m not going to stop him.”

Leonard hummed, and just as he did Rory gave a little cry.

“Oh, what’s wrong baby?” Sara asked, hiking her daughter up higher in her arms. Rory only began to cry more with that. She sniffed at her diaper but nothing smelled particularly rancid, and she had eaten not too long ago.

“Maybe the time jump wore her out.” She theorized. Rory had taken a nap right before they left, but it wasn’t the longest nap and she was still prone to some disorientation after time jumps. “I’m gonna put her down.” She informed Leonard, and he nodded, and followed her.

They went into the guest room and Sara paced the room, rocking Rory and murmuring to her whilst Leonard set up the pack-and-play they’d brought along for her to sleep in.

“Shh. Baby.” Sara whispered to her daughter, “Shh, it’s ok. It’s ok.”

While she moved in circles in the room her eyes caught sight of the decorations, and she swallowed a lump in her throat. Her father had moved into this apartment after the divorce, after her death, and since Laurel had already been out on her own this spare bedroom had always been just that, spare. That being said, both she and Laurel had stayed in here over the years and there were little touches of them both. Her father had framed her high school diploma along with Laurel’s law degree. There were pictures of them both, happy and laughing together. She recognized the throw blanket folded at the foot of the bed as one Laurel had bought him one Christmas when she’d been at a loss for anything else to get him and he’d complained that she stole all the blankets in the living room.

“Sara?”

She shook her head and snapped from her thoughts, focus back on the crying baby in her arms and her boyfriend standing next to an assembled pack-and-play, looking at her with mild worry.

“This is the first Christmas since…” She trailed off. From what she’s been told Laurel’s condition was very touch and go for a while after Darhk stabbed her but she finally stabilized. Stabilized but didn’t wake up.

That was back in April.

“Come on.” Leonard said, “Put her down, then let’s see if we can fix your dad a half decent Christmas Eve dinner.”

A half decent Christmas Eve dinner, somehow Sara didn’t think that was going to happen.

After looking to see what her father had in his fridge Leonard decided to run to the store and he came back with half a pound of hamburger, a box of spaghetti, and some pasta sauce. Spaghetti and meatballs isn’t terrible for Christmas Eve, and it’s definitely something they could manage with limited time.

You know if they didn’t have a baby refusing to sleep on their hands.

“Do you think she has a diaper rash?” Sara asked, currently Leonard was in the guest room trying futilely to calm Rory to sleep while she was in the kitchen rolling the hamburger into meatballs.

“I’ve checked her diaper three times, I think I would’ve noticed a rash!”

She rolled her eyes, and just then she heard a splash and a sizzle. She whirled her head around and cursed under her breath at the sight of the spaghetti starting to boil over. She turned the burner off and then grimaced upon seeing the bits of raw meat now stuck to the dial. While she started to clean up Len came out with Rory in his arms, still crying with no signs of stopping.

“You should’ve waited to start the spaghetti until after the meatballs were done.”

She turned her head to glare at him, to which he merely rolled his eyes and then before he could say anything more her phone began to ring.

They looked at each other, each silently asking who was going to answer the phone. She had raw meat all over her hands, but he had the screaming baby. Eventually Leonard crossed the room but only enough to turn on the sink for her so she could wash off her hands. By the time she was done her phone had stopped ringing but she still pulled a paper towel from the counter and dried them off, the took her phone from the counter and saw she had a missed call from Oliver.

She sighed, even when they were in town Ollie never tended to call with good news.

“It was Oliver.” She informed Leonard, already hitting redial. Len didn’t look too thrilled about it having been Oliver, as he knows just as well as she does-

“Sara?”

“Ollie, hey. What’s up?”

There was a hitch of breath on the other end, never anything good.

“You and Leonard need to come down to the bunker.”

“What, why?” “Because a few weeks ago one of my recruits sold us out to Prometheus. Prometheus hasn’t made a move on the bunker yet because he knows it’s too risky. We have reason to believe he’s going after someone on the team tonight and-”

And perfect timing.

She saw a glimmer of something in the window and had the phone dropped to the counter and her other hand grabbing a knife before the window crashed in. She threw the knife and ducked, landing next to Leonard curled up under the edge of the counter with Rory in is lap, still screaming.

“You ok?” She asked.

“Peachy.” Leonard seethed and Sara nodded.

She then jumped up and hurled a knife over the counter and across the room, landing it square in the throat of their attacker. She waited a moment, looking at the body clad in something reminiscent of league garb but it never got up, and she knows enough about death to know when someone is faking it.

Slowly, she and Leonard came out from around the body. Their hood had fallen off, revealing a young man whom Sara didn’t recognize, but she wasn’t so naïve as to think he was Oliver’s Prometheus.

He would’ve been smarter, this is just some lackey sent here to send a message.

“Come on.” She said, grabbing her knife from his throat and shaking off the loose blood.

They gathered what they would need for the night and headed quickly to the bunker, where they were each met with a hug from Quentin. Ollie had them call the police and then he went to go handle the getting rid of the body.

“Don’t you need one of us there for that?” Sara asked and Ollie shrugged.

“You were attacked with a baby in the house, the police will understand why you left.” She smirked at him and then, right as he left, she suddenly realized something very, very important.

She turned around and saw Leonard behind her, a smirk on his face that matched hers in spades.

“It’s quiet.” She said, “How?”

“All I know is I handed her to that kid with the magic rags and she stopped crying. As for the why, I don’t care.”

She chuckled and leaned into his side. He put an arm around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then her father came over.

“Quite the Christmas Eve.” He remarked and Sara smiled.

“Don’t know why we’d expect anything less.” She said, and then she frowned as she thought of something. “Your apartment’s a mess, we were cooking when that guy attacked us.”

Her father laughed, “That’s alright baby. So long as you guys are safe.”

She smiled, and looked past him over to Oliver’s recruit holding Rory, and then she chuckled as she remembered his name is also Rory.

He seemed good with her; she was actually falling asleep by the looks of it. She then looked up to Leonard. He was safe and real and he’d come home with her for the holidays.

As her father walked away, off to take his granddaughter from her new friend, she leaned up and kissed Leonard on the cheek.

“Merry Christmas Crook.” She said, “Sorry coming to my family almost got you killed.”

He chuckled. “No more so than usual.” He said, “Besides, that danger doesn’t end when we get to my family.”

“You guys were attacked by an assassin on Christmas Eve?” Rory asks, by the end of the story Daniel has fallen asleep on the couch, while Emily is still awake and listening intently.

“You’re surprised by that?” Leonard asks, raising his brow at their oldest, and she doesn’t have a defense ready for him.

So, Emily raises her hand.

“Yes Emily?” Sara asks.

“Why did that man want to kill you?”

“Because he was a bad man.” Leonard answers easily, as this isn’t the first time they’re had this conversation.

Emily nods, satisfied, and Rory huffs.

“Ok, but it wasn’t you guys who ruined Christmas Eve, it was him. The worst you did was let the spaghetti boil over.”

“Ok first, you didn’t ruin Christmas.” Sara says, “Second, the point is the bad guys didn’t come here tonight, and that’s the important part.”

“Exactly.” Len seconds, “We left all three of you here, and we came back to all three of you here, with the only spilled blood being because of a tooth falling out.” Rory hums, “You two have really low standards.”

Sara smirks, as does Leonard.

“Maybe.” He agrees, getting up and walking over to the couch to scoop up Daniel. “But I like our standards.”

#captain canary #fic rec #christmas rec

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bi-outta-cordonia · 4 years

Text

Sky and Moon, Part II

This thing has been kicking my butt for weeks now but it’s done and I’m done with it! Part 2, where the thing happens and maybe these idiots will actually start trying to make something of this. Maybe!! This is part of a running thing at this point and Tyril is officially the character I’ve written the most for at this point.

Blades of Light and Shadow. Tyril Starfury x f!elf MC (Ashala Venralei). sfw, mostly T rating for some mentions of mature situations. Tags include: Tyril is kind of a coward but listen he’s trying, some big make outs I’ve been a lil too eager to finally get to, uh also some fights, mostly practice, but Tyril has been just a bit irritating for my poor girl to deal with.

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

Gallius, the Unmoving. She swallowed her sisters and became the immovable, bare-naked creature that looms over all Morella. Her cracked surface and scattered pieces were the final result of her violent consumption, so the legend says. While her sisters accepted their fate, their bodies writhed and screamed when it came time to fulfill that destiny.

Confronting the inevitable remains difficult even for the gods it seems.

The moon hangs high in the sky, bathing the earth in pale light that faintly illuminates all the move about the realm. The first thing he notices is that Imtura remains missing from camp. Her words to him may change things depending if his stubbornness continues to hold him hostage. Nia sits absently scratching a sleeping Threep, an occasional smile tugging at her lips when he purrs and rubs at his face with a paw. Tyril remains in the shadows for now and watches carefully as Mal slowly trudges through the camp.

“She was trying to kill me,” he sighs, exasperated. He drops onto the log he was sitting on hours ago and ignores Nia’s stifled laughter.

“I’m sure you would’ve been dead by now if she desired such a thing!” she explains.

“You think you know her sooo well until she’s got you pinned between a rock and a hard place while she’s,” he frantically waves a hand, “throwing fireballs about! I want to be happy that she’s getting better at battle magic but then she singes my arse and I have to remind myself she’s trying to kill people when she does that.”

Tyril’s head bows—Ashala came to him on a night he was keeping watch asking about elven battle magic. She’s still searching for answers to questions she isn’t ready to know.

Even with the markings on her and the extensive teachings her parents bestow upon her, she is not fully knowledgable of elven practices. He gave in then, the culmination of their late nights together leading him down a path of curiosity he’s apparently decided to indulge.

Mal sighs and props himself up on his arms. “That Ashala is something else.”

“You’ve mentioned that before,” Nia says, gently setting Threep on the ground. She rises and reaches out to warm her hands over the fire. “Would it be too forward to ask if anything…er…if you two might…?”

A heavy silence hangs between the two of them for a long while and Nia looks up. Mal’s entire game is deception and sleight of hands—if there ever was a moment he let his true feelings slip through, he’s done well to conceal them. Tyril waits, his gaze briefly flicking towards the direction beyond the trees where Ashala still remains.

“It’s been tense around here,” Mal says instead. A part of Tyril seizes up but he remembers himself quickly. Mal’s eyes focus straight ahead and his brow furrows. “Tyril and Imtura still out there?”

Nia shrugs. “I saw Imtura a little earlier but Tyril hasn’t come back yet.”

“Figures…” Mal mutters, lying back down.

He tries to ignore the venom dripping off the tip of his tongue. The resentment Tyril harbors isn’t for Mal—it should be for his own indecisiveness and for the coward that still crumples at the first sign of something gone wrong rather than facing his shortcomings.

“Hey, Nia—” She lifts her head and looks at Mal again. “You ever feel like you know something’s about to go wrong but you keep on wishing something else would happen? Like there’s a storm brewing—and it’s definitely coming—but some tiny part of you still hopes it’ll change course?”

Nia doesn’t answer for quite some time, choosing instead to stoke the dimming fire with carefully constructed orbs of light. Her magic bursts over the flames, reigniting the embers licking at the empty air all around.

“Sometimes,” she finally responds. “The way I’ve come to think of this world—all the bad things that happen in it—there are just some things out of our control and some things that just happen no matter how hard we try to change that course.”

Mal lets out a bark of laughter. “Of all the people! I thought you were going to rave about putting faith in the Light!”

Nia sighs. “I do believe in the strength and kindness that can come from trusting in the Light. I choose to believe that there is good that can come from what I’ve learned and that I can use that knowledge to help others. But all too often, people forget that the Light does not grant us omniscience and it cannot change fate on request.”

Tyril recedes further into the shadows, eyes briefly shutting and boy shuddering as he takes a breath. He knows the game of give and take, push and pull—Undermount shows him that the Light is a boon where faith is waning but it is not a being that grants wishes so easily. It gives knowledge and takes parts of the soul in exchange. Nature must maintain its balance.

“Is it wrong that I want something bad to happen?” Mal asks. “Not necessarily to a person, but just—say for a situation instead? As in I hope something doesn’t turn out a certain way so I don’t have to wonder if I’ve been wasting my time…”

Tyril shakes his head and beats down the bitterness that rises up in him. His ears twitch when Nia responds.

“I think its natural to wish for things to turn out in your favor. No one wants to lose anything—we all want what we truly desire in life. But even still, we can fail. Despite that, I choose to move forward and do what I can. I would rather try and then fail than rest on my laurels waiting for an outcome I can’t predict.”

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

Each white mark is strategically placed, forming a trove of patterns that look all too familiar. His father once told him of a story about a house that submerged itself in the power that came from knowledge as opposed to the power that came from playing the grand political game. It was a house that dealt only in rediscovery. They often searched for old philosophies, literature, techniques, and magics—the only thing that mattered to them was reclaiming all the lost remnants of the Old Kingdom that were left in the wake of the Shadow Court’s destruction.

Ashala’s brands are similar to the ones his father described back then.

Lumeniese and Sabien: the tragedy of the twin trees,

Myyori, the Wandering Maiden,

Thyrithet and the White Bull—

She conceals the rest behind long black robes and the best leatherwork she can afford. His face heats and his eyes dart away thinking of all the times he laid up on nights wondering what the full work looks like.

Ashala’s hands extend out and away from her body, palms turned upward and brilliant balls of light pulsating in each hand. Energy pours from the marks, stirs deep inside him as her subconscious draws from the power all around her. It gives and she takes. Dew droplets from the tiniest blade of grass, a hidden insect stirring heat as its tiny legs frantically move—circling and funneling through that conduit that is her body into the flat of her palms. Nature provides and demands in the same breath, it cycles but she is smart enough to ask for the minimal. There is no need to be greedy with the Light.

He steps through the clearing and she ignores him.

Tyril’s fingers part and stretch slowly—the bitter taste of electricity from the skies tingles on his tongue and the crackle of static ripples up the length of his arm, raising locks of his hair on end. Sparks tingle through heated skin and his lips tremble. Small bolts of lightning pop and crack the air, some shooting out of his palm into the very ground around Ashala’s feet.

Her head perks up but she keeps her back to him. Ashala’s fingers twitch and her magic swallows the bolts of power he scatters at her feet. Piece by piece, she consumes everything. They’ve done this song and dance a million times—a process of giving and giving until the reserve deep inside him quivers just a bit. When she consumes enough, he drops his hand and shakes his head so his hair falls back into place.

Stray wind rustles the trees surrounding the clearing. He grips the hilt of one of his blades.

Fire blazes towards him and he leaps, crossing the distance in three strides before his blade collides with a transparent barrier. He grits his teeth and she barely tilts her head. Planting his foot, he pushes off the invisible construct and throws a hand up as bolts of ice fly past him. Fire arcs through the black night and cracks at his feet like a whip. The orange trail breaks from her palm and speeds towards him, its form shifting as blackened eyes and fangs descend from a burning maw.

Tyril cuts through the creature and pivots easily, blocking Ashala’s knife stabbing straight at his heart. Her golden eyes finally meet his, controlled rage swirling within the depths, and he throws his weight behind his blade. His mouth opens and she cracks him across the face with a wave of raw telepathic magic. He wipes the blood from his lip and slams her in the stomach with a blast of his own.

She flies back but tumbles onto her feet, skidding across the wet ground, and slaps the ground with her hand, raising a wall of dirt and grass from the bowels of the earth. Tyril braces, harnessing the subtle wind blowing through the clearing and halting it in place. He takes up a defensive stance with his blade and spins, cutting the first pillar of rock she throws at him right down the middle. Blow by blow, her hands mold and shape the earth, shooting piece by piece of stone at him. One by one, he switches, turns, and spins as the wind shapes his blade and in turn cuts down every block of earth coming towards him.

There’s a small shout that comes from her end and the wall comes careening towards him. A flick of his wrist and he quickly sucks the dew from the grass and traps the wall of dirt behind a cage of pure water. Tyril yanks the wall to the side where it collapses uselessly in a heap of mud.

He barely manages to catch her wrist still bearing the knife and arcing straight for his heart. The blade grazes his armor but her free hand lifts and he’s forced to drop his sword to grab the wrist holding a ball of fire in her palm. They stare deep into each other’s eyes—the controlled anger is no longer controlled.

Hurt flits through her gaze and he wants to shrivel up. Yearning follows, but the tears well up in the corners of her eyes and he knows what this is about. He squeezes her wrist painfully tight, pressing his thumb and middle finger on her pressure points, forcing the blade out of her hand. His body pivots and they both go tumbling to the ground. One knee pins her body and he slams her wrists to the ground, funneling enough of his magic to drown out the power that courses through her.

Her head snaps back and a bitter laugh bubbles in her throat.

“Submit!” he snarls. “Ger avet tina’lashen!”

“Speak plainly, fool!” she spits back, body thrashing under his weight. “I won’t give in to something I don’t understand!”

It cuts.

She can’t know the way her words slip through the chasm of his ears and buries deep in his head—he hasn’t exactly made this easy for either of them. Tyril squeezes her wrists and she finally looks at him, anger and confusion mixing in an uncomfortable union within her eyes. A tremble rises in him and he stares at her, dark hair falling all around her in a dark curtain.

Ashala holds his gaze for only another brief moment before she turns away. “Get off me.”

Tyril rises slowly and does nothing when she climbs back to her feet. He watches her back for a time as she tears through the belongings wrapped on the ground. His mouth opens but no sound comes out.

Fixing things—he’s supposed to be fixing things. But every action rips open a new wound. He takes and she does nothing but give. How is he meant to fix this? How does he even start?

“What else would I expect?” His head snaps up in her direction. “I don’t know what you want. I try to see you and you won’t show me anything. I’m trying, Tyril, I am trying!” When she snaps towards him, his heart further shatters. Tears streak down her face but her furious expression doesn’t change. His fingers twitch and she angrily rubs her cheeks. “I just want you to talk to me!”

“Ashala—”

“I’m so tired, Tyril.”

He rises to his feet, both hands raised in the air. Silence hangs over the clearing, not a sound between them even as her tears fall and his heart slams violently against his ribcage. On her own, she seems so small.

Sex for the sake of it, romance built on political mobility, and a genuine love he ran away from because he couldn’t stomach the idea of being responsible for someone else’s feelings for him—everything about this couldn’t be further from the types of love he’s come to know.

Tyril takes a step forward and swallows a shaky breath—she doesn’t move.

“Throw it,” he says.

Her brow furrows. “Throw…it?”

He gestures at the item in her hand—a bottle of salve wrapped in a cloth. Tyril takes another step forward and points to his head. “Throw it.”

She looks at him as if he’s grown three heads. For all the awkwardness he’s generating, he might as well have. Her gaze flits to the bottle and back to him.

“I will do no such thing,” she says.

“Humor me—”

“No.”

His lips press together. “I just—”

“Throwing a bottle at you is not going to temper the frustration inside me.” She stuffs the bottle back into her pack and rounds on him, crossing her arms. “I do not exercise violence against the ones I love when I am angry at them.”

His hands flail.

“You just—” He looks around at the damage they’ve done—scorch marks streaking across the ground, a giant pile of mud and grass, and magic still teeming in the air. “You just tried to stab me!”

“Because I hate you.” He tries to ignore the way his heart shatters at the words finally tumbling from her lips. Ashala averts her gaze for a moment. Her hands gently rub at her arms. “I hate the way you look at me. I hate that your mouth opens but nothing real comes out anymore. I hate…a lot about you right now.” His head bows. “And you’ve done nothing to reverse these feelings,” she continues. “I never thought I’d yearn for the version of you I met in the beginning, always bemoaning humes and the simplistic education of elven culture they provided me. At least you—”

“I don’t!” He snaps, flinching as soon as the words leave his mouth. “I’m sorry…I didn’t…That wasn’t right of me to criticize—not then and certainly not now. What you’ve managed to learn—what your parents taught you—was impressive on its own. I never should have said those things.” She stares at him for a moment, eyes boring deep into him as he slowly approaches. He stands directly in front of her now but ensures there is an appropriate chasm of space between them. A rueful smile tugs at his lips. “I like to think I’ve changed. Or rather, that I’m trying to.”

“I…suppose you have. Somewhat.”

“Not in the ways that matter, unfortunately,” he says, laughing just a bit. His hands go limp at his sides because he knows he can’t trust himself. He can remember the last time she let him touch her unprompted. His hands flex recalling the memory of soft wrists and overworked hands. “The truth is stranger than you think. Or maybe it isn’t—I’m not entirely sure. I’m not usually this unprepared.”

“I can see that,” she says. Her silence is profound and he wonders for a moment if pressing any further is even worth the damage he’s already done.

“I would’ve been married by now.” He waits for her expression to change but it doesn’t. She knows enough about matters of nobility to know the idea isn’t unusual, but he hasn’t exactly been forthright either. “My wife would’ve been a good marriage match but I never would’ve slept with her. Ours was a bond built on friendship and our union would’ve been purely political.”

Her eyes search his. “And she was good to you? She cared for you as you did for her?”

“This is…” His voice wavers at first. “I want to say ‘yes,’ because she did in the beginning. She changed—her demeanor shed and her words became more cruel as time went on. It’s…” Tyril shakes his head and pushes on. “This…This isn’t what I…I was trying to...”

She gives him the room to let the silence fester for a moment, neither one of them quite sure how to proceed from here. It’s a story for another time but there is a fundamental purpose. He swallows and stares at her.

“I’m afraid of you,” he starts. “People tried to kill me in Undermount—outside of it too, but I was never afraid of what came next. I was damn near a child when my parents decided my place as heir and I shouldered that burden without question.” He thinks of the bright eyed boy he once was—the arrogant prince and the studious pupil. A life a luxury and all he ever wanted was always at his fingertips, yet none of that could prepare him for this moment. “The first person who told me he loved me—I ran away from him. His family discovered our relationship and encouraged him to use me for their gain—he told them he would be disowned first and confessed to me later that week.”

Her eyes widen and her mouth opens. “Why?”

“Because I was a fool,” he answers and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Love is so perfectly defined in our culture yet it isn’t until now that I’ve realized just how terrifying the notion truly is.” Tyril pauses for a long moment. “I’ve run from so much—from Lusehene, from my shame… I’m tired too, Ashala. I’m so incredibly tired.”

She touches his shoulder and the act almost steals the breath from him in an instant, the very thing he’s wanted since he saw her hours ago—a gentle and warm hand, heat pulsing through her palm. She pulls away too quickly but her mark already lingers. He can’t bear it anymore.

“You are running from me?” she asks. She pities him and he hates it. He hates that she can understand his meanings so quickly when he’s not trying and he hates that he has to show her all the mangled emotions inside of him when he finally wants to let her understand. “Was that all it was? Was I so blinded by my anger that I refused to see it? Perhaps we are both cowards, Tyril. Maybe we both aren’t so good at anything.”

“No, don’t. It was me that ran away,” he whispers.

“Yet it’s always you that comes back,” she counters. Ashala shakes her head. “You claim you are afraid but you want to try anyway? I’ve never known a more indecisive man.”

“Indecisive…” He repeats, lips quirking a bit.

His choices used to be so easy when everything was for house and glory. Casting another house into ruin was a feat he could pull off without a second thought. Playing on old feuds and manipulating others was an art he mastered as a child. Love was no less a political tool. Love built on powerful friendships, love built on romantic and sexual bonds, love of family, love of all kinds has always been ingrained within Undermount’s society, holding up its foundations and crumbling just as easily when the moment calls for it.

But it isn’t as simple as knowing how to use and shape it when necessary. He knew what his former lovers meant when they told him they loved him—safety, security, and escapism. Undermount is a society that demands much and relies on total obedience to the systems that keep it running. Playing the game is how one survives.

He could love them—he did love them. But he loved the system that provided him comfort much more.

He loved knowing his feelings were his own and his motivations didn’t need further interrogation. He loved knowing he was protected because he knew how to play the game correctly. He loved so many and they loved him too, but he loved knowing that he never had to worry about getting hurt because the game was the best lover he ever had—it would only betray him if he didn’t play it right.

“I’m afraid of you,” he says softly, eyes locking with Ashala’s. His body angles closer and she doesn’t move. He wishes she would move. Do something—run away from him. “I am afraid of what this is doing to me—what this will inevitably do to me.”

She blinks. “Speak plainly.”

Tyril stares deep into her eyes and he lifts his hands, gently and slowly. Fingertips graze the dark fabric clinging to her shoulders and her warmth weakly filters through the barrier. The first time he laid a hand upon her was her shoulders, strong and sure, the weight of the entire world resting on each as her journey pulls her along. She flinches very slightly but doesn’t break their gaze.

“These feelings in me are entirely new,” he starts. He shuffles closer, fills the entire space between them. “Trepidation, hesitation—I open my mouth to say something and my thoughts are overwhelmed by what my heart feels. I know the parts of me that have felt something like this before and my instinct is telling me that the cost outweighs the…the pain that vulnerability brings…” Ashala watches him quietly. His jaw works and his fingers curl, scraping the fabric clinging to her body. “I care about you. It’s strange even to say it out loud because it’s everything I swore I wouldn’t do out here. My mission is supposed to come before everything.”

“Why?” Her hands clasp his on her shoulders. “Why treat yourself this way? To what end?”

“It’s how I survived Undermount. Love is not foreign but it isn’t as freely given either.” Arrindale, Pythia, Lusehene—all he gave but each coming with insurmountable cost. What would he give in exchange for these bonds? What would they give in return? “Lovers, marriages, friendships—everything I ever felt and felt with someone outside of family was built on costs and benefits. What did a friendship earn me? What would I lose in exchange for a night of unattached sex? Thoughts, feelings—everything was a weight on my back. You called me indecisive but back then? Every choice I made was clear.”

Her quiet conceals a building storm, the surge of which will either break his heart for the last time or terrify him even further.

“Tyril…” She grips his wrists. “I don’t—”

“The first man I ever laid with seduced me for the sake of advancing his family’s station,” he interrupts. “Our relationship was built on a love that was fleeting at best but our intentions were clear. When I laid with a woman, our love was built on physical desire only. She needed an outlet and I used her as she used me—we understood the intent clearly.” His fingers spread and he squeezes her shoulders. “I have always been sure, always. I have taken risks and weighed the outcomes so many times in my head it even happens in my sleep. But now? Now I’m risking it all knowing that this fight—this war against the Shadow Court—could very well snatch it from me again!”

She grips him by the shoulders and pulls him close. Their foreheads touch and the breath rushes out of his lungs. Warmth abound everywhere and he missed this. He missed her touch, her skin, her smell, her power—and he’s so afraid of how quickly everything comes down all around him at her gentle urging.

“Tyril…” Ashala whispers, arms winding around his middle now. “Oh, you foolish, foolish man. Who told you to do this alone? Why would you think the burden is only yours to bear?”

“Because I am a prideful idiot,” he answers in a shaky breath. His hands cup her face and they part so he can look into her eyes—her haunting golden eyes that have kept him up at night and stolen every minute he’s spent in his dreams. “I care for you. I want you. I told myself I wouldn’t do this until my mission was completed but I care for you so much it hurts. I care for you so much it frightens me.”

“Of course you wait until now to say these things.” Tears prick the corners of her eyes and he catches them with his thumbs. “You are such a confusing man, you know? Irritated one minute and then thoughtful the next—you say things that make me wish you’d let me grow close and now you say I scare you?” She leans into him and smiles. “I see this man—beautiful and regal—an elf like I dreamed of once. A prince, even. Then you ran into me in the street and almost drew a blade on me. I hated you but then I saw you. You showed me and I showed you too. I stopped trying to show anyone anything about me for so long and then you…”

“I don’t know what happens from here,” he says, gently resting his forehead upon hers. “I don’t know if it’s...if I’ve squandered what we have but I wanted you to know. I needed you to know that my feelings—complicated as they are—remain genuine.”

They are trembling in each other’s grasps, shaking and breathing in shuddering gasps as the weight of everything lays itself bare beneath the moonlit night. Ashala tucks her head to his chest and he lets her listen to his heart beating hard in his chest. Tyril wipes stray tears from her tattooed cheeks and carefully tucks her locs away so he can see her—really see her.

He feels her shift and pulls back. Their distance leaves him yearning but she does not go far.

“Then show me,” she says. “No more guessing. You show me this truth from now on and you claim it if this is your desire.”

“It is,” he answers quickly. He slides a hand down her neck and soothingly rubs his thumb along her jaw. “I want this—I want you. But I cannot promise it will be easy now that the truth is known.”

“Show me anyway.” She offers the softest smile he has ever seen, the trepidation in her eyes still prevalent but the relief in her is just as apparent. He shares a smile of his own and he can feel it in his heart too—the fear and the anxiousness. “If we knew all the answers, things would be so simple but the world does not work this way. We take risks. We try things anyway because it’s within our nature.”

The old him would’ve disagreed. The old him was a man ruled by logic and the art of tipping the scales in his favor. That man was a fool.

And in many ways, he still is.

“My hands are still shaking,” he says, looking down where one of her hands now intertwine with his. She squeezes.

“Mine are too.”

When their eyes meet, he is lost along a golden path that winds around junctures and roads that seem never-ending. There is confusion but some parts certainty, calm but flutters of nervousness, and he wonders what she can see in the depths of his eyes. He gently lifts a hand and caresses her cheeks with his thumb—

And then her jaw—

Until he reaches her lips.

Tyril swallows.

“Can I…I want to…” he whispers, leaning closer. He glances up and golden pools swirl with heat, curiosity, and desire. Her hands lie flat upon his armored chest.

“Say it…” Tyril pulls her in, lips just barely hovering over hers, and her eyes flutter as she inhales sharply. Her fingers curl and scrape along the metal plate. “Say it, please.”

Time slows and the world around them dissolves into darkness save for the pale moonlight shining down on them. A tempest builds within him. Something ancient rumbles in his heart and branches throughout his body. Static ripples from fingers, down to his body, legs, and ends in his toes. Energy gathers all around, bits and pieces adding to the power already stirring within.

“I want to kiss you…”

Her lips—beautiful, wondrous lips—part and he shivers.

“Come.”

Slowly at first. He wants to savor it—hold it close to him when he dreams at night and find himself yearning miserably when the morning takes him away. There is no telling which presses forward first but they meet in a clash of heat and crackling energy. A sweet taste rolls across the tip of his tongue and when he draws a short breath, a stream of flame trickles down his throat. He gasps again, parting and looking into her eyes.

Molten and golden depths...

Again and their lips connect while their hands scrabble for purchase, bodies molding into each other, and pure fire burning them from the inside out. His grip hardens as he lures her in with a hand on her neck. The other slips down and settles at the small of her back, trapping her to him, and a gentle sigh slips from him as her fingers rake through his hair and grip back.

Oh, so many sensations he will commit to memory. Billowing smoke floods his lungs as fire steadily funnels through every muscle in his body and brands her desire onto his very bones. Nails drag through his tresses and burrow into his scalp, pulling and soothing him in one as their lips part and their breathing grows more uneven. That ancient and terrifying power buried deep bubbles and cracks through the surface, sparks snapping beneath his fingertips and he swallows the moan she releases.

The raging storm swells within him and raises bumps along his flesh, draws small gasps from her throat, and further stokes the flame roaring within her. It happens to all with the affliction—magic draws from nature and the body is perfectly natural in all its splendor. Where his power sparks, hers consumes. They feed each other—feed from each other—hands searching, lips tasting, tongues tracing, and hearts swelling as they devour every bit of desire the other provides.

It ends as soon as it begins with both struggling to catch their breath. Tyril rests his forehead upon hers, eyes still closed and hands still squeezing her tight where they rest. She is sweeter than the sweetest wine he has ever tasted and he swears he will never get used to this heady feeling.

His eyes crack open and he watches her carefully. A trembling hand hovers close to her lips but she dare not touch them. Their magic lingers where their bodies touched, burning a sensual path along skin and hair. Her golden eyes meet his and his heart thrums anew.

A long time passes before either of them speak.

“This is dangerous,” she whispers hoarsely. Tyril slightly bows his head but his face remains passive. Ashala rests her hand on her chest and trails her fingers up her neck, grasping at his hand still gently clutching her. “Moon and stars—you might kill me well before this grows into something much deeper.”

He blinks at first, ears twitching as he repeats her words in his head, and then a mischievous smile spreads across his face.

“Then I apologize in advance,” he shifts his hand and gently brushes a thumb across her cheek, “because I truly don’t want to return to how things were before.”

“Gods forbid, I refuse to tolerate that again.” A guilty look flashes in her eyes and she presses when he says nothing in return. “But we understand each other now, yes? Is it safe to claim that there is something here that we both want?”

His heart flutters—we.

“Yes…Yes, I want you,” he affirms. He opens his mouth but then closes it. It is far too easy to move too quickly after this but he knows better. At least, he hopes he does. “I cannot promise that this is going to be easy moving forward. This is still very new to me but I won’t drag my feet as I did before. What we have,” he drops a hand and laces their fingers together, “I don’t want to lose this feeling any time soon. I want to continue nurturing it for as long as you’ll allow me the privilege.”

She rolls her eyes though a smile still spreads across her face.

“These words you string together…they’re lofty. But I do trust that you are earnest in this desire of yours,” she says. Ashala squeezes his hand and raises her head. “I’ve known others that had the gift speech, much like you do. Many of them had no qualms about using that gift to attain things I should not have given. Words are lovely but…there’s always more. More to show, more to give…”

His lips quirk though his heart still pounds in his chest. Undermount taught him many lessons critical to his survival outside the walls, but there are some things he is all too glad to shed. Concealing the truth for personal gain works only for so long, but even still there are thing he knows they both aren’t ready to reveal just yet.

And it’s alright.

Not knowing what happens next won’t terrify him as much now that things are more certain. He can proceed—they can proceed—and he will teach his hardened heart that there are other ways to feel aside from cautious.

They walk back in silence, nothing stirring save for the rustle of the leaves and their boots crunching twigs beneath their feet. Tyril looks down at Ashala and she looks back up at him, their shoulders brushing against one another as they quietly make their way back to camp.

#bolas #blades of light and shadow #tyril #tyril x mc #tyril starfury

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