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1kook · 4 years

Text

youtube & use lube

part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!

summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3 word count: 8.7k

notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .

let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him.

And then winter comes.

Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years.

What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household.

As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).

But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute.

He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”

You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets.

Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick.

He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house.

You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable.

He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold.

“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him.

With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional.

“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”

You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”

Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”

“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.”

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before.

You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again.

He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty.

So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house.

His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.

There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions.

You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever.

Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through.

He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times.

So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner.

You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong.

Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor

You blink.

Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!

Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?

You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago.

Oh, so this was new.

You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on.

Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again.

He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy.

Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning.

You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest.

It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you.

It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck.

“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss.

His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?”

A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck.

You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest.

Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck.

The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds.

Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy.

You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side.

But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?”

He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again.

You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip.

Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”

You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”

“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers.

Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct.

He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip.

You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt.

“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery.

You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again.

The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him.

You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored.

He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately.

“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth.

You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“

Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again.

Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“

You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate.

You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear.

The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”

“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum.

Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad.

So you do.

You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.”

You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm.

Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes.

You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth.

There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet.

“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves.

“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that.

You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t.

As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him.

But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully.

You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”

He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed.

By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight.

In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off.

“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”

A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly.

It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you.

“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face.

You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch.

His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble.

The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?”

He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls.

He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy.

He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully.

When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip.

Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite.

“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely.

You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why.

Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now.

He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)

Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“

Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months.

Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—”

“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”

He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions.

Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing.

Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss.

Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”

It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat.

“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”

Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss.

You release him.

“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty.

You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off.

One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up.

Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good.

You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.

His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading.

But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds.

Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it.

“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan.

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...”

“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick.

He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you.

Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”

Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.

That’s when it hits you.

“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his.

He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”

You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.”

Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”

Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt.

Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips.

But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.”

He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin.

He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”

Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“

You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm.

You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you.

Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success.

You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself.

Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell.

“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle.

“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”

You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”

“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out.

There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart.

To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death.

“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying.

It fits perfectly.

epilogue

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #goldenclosetnet #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jjk♡#jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #mine

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thesoobfiles · 4 years

Text

your highness – a. skywalker

Jealous! Anakin x Queen! Reader

Request: anon, could we get a jealous! anakin imagine?

Words: 4k

Summary: Reader is the queen of the alien planet, Roe’ Leor, a planet very rich in natural resources and starship fuel. It was previously a neutral system; however, the Republic has finally roped them in. In celebration and in honor of their alliance, the Queen has thrown a formal party to recognize this new friendship. Invitations extend to the royal family, the royal guard, royal officials as well as the staff, Republic Senators and the Jedi of course. After Ani’s met the Queen and after the dancing begins, Anakin gets jealous when he sees her dancing with another man…

A/N: I’ve been experiencing the BIGGEST writers block and lack of time to write and I’m SO sorry this took so long. I also had trouble trying to think of something that isn’t overplayed like jedi! reader and senator! reader... I’ve had this in my drafts for a week now and I apologize I haven’t published it until now... I hope it was worth the wait though :) A couple things I want to point out: 1) Roe’ Leor is a production of my imagination; it’s not a real planet in the Star War universe, 2) I imagine the handmaiden with a soft British accent, 3) you don’t really get to fill in a lot because you’re an alien and your skin color, eye color, etc. is already pre-determined, 4) the Roe’ Leor culture is like a mix of Indian and Haiwaiian (certain thinks like names and outfits) and 5) this Anakin is kind of like a mix between rots! Anakin and tcw! Anakin. I’m sorry I talk so much and enjoy! ~

I look out of my large bedroom window as my handmaiden, Lei, prepares me for the event tonight. I just love the blues and purples that color the sky when the suns set…

“I do as well, my lady.” Lei speaks up. I jump slightly at the sudden sound.

“I hadn’t realized I said that aloud…” I said, distractedly.

“Well, I’m glad you did, your majesty. The sound of your voice is always lovely to hear, no matter the scarcity.” She replies with a small smile on her face. I smile back at her. What a wonderful girl…

The thing about being Queen is I’m not allowed to speak, only under specific circumstances like negotiations. Hearing my voice should be ‘a privilege’. I think it’s nonsense; but until my request goes through Leadership, I must adhere to the rules…

Lei adjusts the pallu part of the sari and places the traditional red flower behind my ear. She spins me around to look in the full-length mirror and I smile. She always does such excellent work making sure I look presentable. I look at Lei in the mirror and whisper a ‘thank you’ in our native tongue.

“You are quite welcome, your highness.” She smiles and bows before leaving my presence.

I look in the mirror once more and really take in my appearance. The amber color of the sari and petticoat really compliments my green eyes and the vermillion of the choli, fine stitching and border look exquisite against my light orange skin. To top the whole look off, my hair is loose, free to fall in waves upon my shoulders. Luckily, it doesn’t take too much away from the golden jewelry that adorns my body; the delicate necklace hanging upon my neck and the simple, yet elegant bangles that slip towards my wrist. If there’s one thing I love about being Queen, it’s the fun I have while dressing up.

When I’m done admiring Lei’s handiwork, I straighten my back and head for the main room of the palace; where the event is being held.

Outside my door, as I expected, are two of my most trusted bodyguards – who double as my governesses – to escort me; however, what I didn’t expect was for a women from Leadership waiting for me as well. I bow politely and she bows back.

“Your grace, I’ve come before you to inform you that your request has been received and approved.” She says with a relaxed expression and a small smile.

“That’s wonderful. Thank you for bringing me this information.” I reply, beyond jovial as a smile breaks out on my face.

“It was my pleasure, your majesty. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” She bows and leaves me with my escorts.

Overjoyed that I can now speak as I please, I hug both of them.

“Alani, Kaila, I never thought I’d see the day.” I express my extreme happiness with the information I just received.

“We’re happy for you, your highness.” Alani replies with a smile on her face.

“We’re glad your request went through successfully.” Kaila says as she pats my back.

I give them another squeeze before I straighten up, dust off my sari and clear my throat.

“C’mon ladies, we have a party to attend.”

As I walk forwards, Alani and Kaila follow suit. We make a beeline for the balcony area of the staircase and wait just behind the doorway for my cue to enter. I can already hear the noise of my guests and the party started but a few minutes ago.

- 15 minutes earlier –

“Halt.” A guard in front of the palace stops us.

“Names.” She demands and she looks at her scroll.

“Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight.” I say in a nonchalant tone and flash her my invitation. She looks at me, at the invitation and at her scroll. She nods and looks at Obi-Wan.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master.” He says politely as he too shows his invitation. The guard nods and I proceed to make my way inside only to walk into her arm. I look up at her.

“Is there a problem?” I ask, eyebrow raised in hopes of getting some answers.

“You must change your attire before entering the Queen’s palace.” She responds. Before I could open my mouth to ask my question, a women that appears to be a handmaiden approaches us with clothing in hand. Then, it dawned on me.

“This would explain why we were measured last week.” Obi-Wan voiced my thoughts as he takes his suit and I take mine.

“You may change your clothing in the rooms to the left.” She states with an authoritative tone and resumes her duties as the guard; checking the next guests invitation.

Obi-Wan and I head over to a small shack.

“Doesn’t look like much.” I comment on the rough exterior of the ‘building’.

Obi-Wan chuckles, “Wait until you see inside.” I furrow my eyebrows in confusion and push the door open. My eyes widened at the sight before me. The outside is an injustice to the interior. It was magnificently structured and much larger on the inside. The small palace was completely empty except for four decently-sized ‘rooms’ in the middle of the structure.

“Never judge a book by its cover, Anakin; Leori technology isn’t anything to bat your eyes at.” He says condescendingly as he goes to change.

“Yes, master.” I reply as I walk over to the changing ‘room’. Can it even be called a room? All of the ‘walls’ are made of curtains.

I walk inside and shed the many layers of my Jedi robes along with my boots, belt and lightsaber.

“What do you know about this party, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks from his changing ‘room’.

“The Queen of Roe’ Leor has thrown this party has an act of goodwill to celebrate the alliance between the Republic and Roe’ Leor.” I say, repeating the words of the Jedi Council from earlier that week.

I gingerly pull on the blue button-up and thin black jacket that accompanies it.

“Have you ever met her?” He asks.

“The Queen? No. I hear it’s a privilege to even hear her speak much less be in her presence.” I recall from one of the many briefings on Leori culture.

I slide on the black slacks as well as the black pointed shoes and clip my lightsaber to one of the belt loop of the pants. I walk out the same time Obi-Wan does.

I look at him and raise my eyebrow to accompany my smirk, “Don’t you clean up nicely, master.” I say in a joking manner. Obi-Wan is dressed in similar clothing, just with different colors. His button up is a light brown while his suit jacket, pants and shoes are all a darker shade of the same color; like his Jedi robes.

He rolls his eyes at my comment then makes his way out of the shack and over to the entrance. I walk behind him and we walk back over to the guard.

She looks us up and down, “Proceed.” She says after she recognizes us and deems our outfits acceptable.

We walk inside and look around. Music similar to what was playing in Hondo’s bar plays softly in the background as the people make conversation. I notice that some members of the Jedi Council, such as Mace Windu and Plo Koon have already arrived and have switched their usual attire for suits. The majority of the people in attendance are Leori; however I do spot the occasional Senator and Jedi.

“Did you know that Roe’ Leor is predominantly female and that’s why they have a Queen instead of a King?” Obi-Wan pipes up from beside me as he examines the room and takes a bite of food from his plate.

“I did not…” I trail off and instead of looking at their species, I look at their gender and notice he’s right. The majority of the Leori are women. The men only seem to be caterers and the occasional official.

A horn of some sort is blown from the balcony of the staircase. The attendees quiet down and move their attention to a small girl, no more than the age of a youngling.

“Please welcome her royal highness, Queen (L/N).” She says in a high-pitched voice as ‘Queen (L/N)’ emerges from the doorway on the left. She looks…magnificent. She’s younger than I expected her to be.

The yellow and red of her sari compliments her skin well. She strolls over to the balcony and stands between her two bodyguards elegantly. Applause erupts from the crowd. Both guards hold a hand out and the applause ceases.

“Good evening, people of Roe’ Leor and representatives of the Republic. As you all know, I’ve thrown this party to celebrate our newfound friendship with the Republic. I hope you enjoy your evening as well as make friends with our new partners.” She finishes and descends down the stairs. Thunderous applause erupts once more from the people in attendance.

“I thought the Queen wasn’t allowed to speak?” I ask Obi-Wan with confusion, never taking my eyes off of her.

“Must have been a recent change in their rules…” Obi-Wan mused, stroking his beard.

“Oh.” I respond simply as I take notice that the bodyguard’s leave Queen (L/N)’s side as she greets some politicians. She talks with them for a short amount of time before she scans the room and her eyes on land on me.

I bow as I finish my conversation with Senator Poli and Representative Jeeloy. I’ve made it my goal to introduce myself to every Republic attendee as to become familiar with one another and explain the new rule put into place by Leadership. I look around the large space and my eyes land on a rather handsome young man who already appears to be staring in my direction. I suppose I’ve found my next conversation.

I walk over to him and his eyes never leave me. A regular man would have already looked away in fear or insecurity; an interesting specimen indeed…

“Good evening gentlemen.” I say as I bow before the young man and his slightly older companion.

Now that I’m within a closer proximity, the young man is quite attractive for a Jedi. He has dirty blonde hair that falls in waves at his shoulders. His eyes are a blue so magnificent, I’ve only ever seen it in the majestic waves of our ocean. His skin is a flawless tan color and his lips look as plush as a pillow.

“My name is Anakin Skywalker, but you can call me Anakin, your highness.” The young man, Anakin, says as he bows. He grabs my hand and places a chaste kiss upon it. I can already feel my heart racing at his actions. He releases my hand, but he never takes his striking blue eyes off of me.

“Your majesty, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” The older man, Obi-Wan, also bows.

“May I say, both of your names are quite unique?” I comment on the names they’ve given me.

“Thank you, my lady. May I ask yours?” Anakin questions me.

“(Y/N) (L/N)…”

“(Y/N)…” He whispers under his breath.

“…but no one every addresses me as such as it is customary to address me as ‘Queen (L/N)’ or other terms of respect including ‘your grace’, ‘your highness’, ‘your majesty’, ‘my lady’ and so forth...” I finish, matter-of-factly.

“Of course, my lady.” Anakin says as the mischievousness of a thousand younglings cross his eyes.

“How are you enjoying the party so far, Mr. Kenobi?” I ask, shifting my attention to his friend as the look he’s giving me makes my heart beat a little too fast for my taste.

“Please, Obi-Wan, your majesty. We are partners, not strangers.” He corrects me.

I nod in return, “Of course, Obi-Wan.” He continues.

“I must say, you’ve thrown a lovely party.” He comments as he scans the crowd.

“Thank you; do you like the food?” I ask, looking at both Anakin and Obi-Wan this time, “I heard many of these foods are popular on Coruscant, the Republic capital...”

“The food is excellent, your grace. Nothing to worry about.” He says reassuringly with a small smile.

“Wonderful.” I reply, returning his smile. “Before I forget, if you’ve been briefed on our culture, you’ll know I’m not normally permitted to speak; however, a change in the rules have been made by both Leadership and myself.” I say, clearing up any confusion if there was any.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I begin.

“Obi-Wan,” I say while nodding in his direction, “Anakin.” I look in his direction.

“I must acquaint myself with the other patrons.” I bow.

“Of course, your highness.” Obi-Wan replies.

“Don’t let us distract you from your royal duties.” Anakin comments with a smile. I smile back and start walking to find the next Jedi or Senator.

- 30 minutes later –

After half an hour of walking and talking, I think I need a break. I pull a chair from one of the many tables in the hall and take a seat. I take a deep breath and exhale.

I’ve already spoken with all of the members of the Jedi Council, 8 Jedi Knights and their padawans and 300 congressmen and women and that’s not even half.

The dancing will begin shortly, so I hope I get to rest my feet for just a few minutes…

Not too long into my relaxing, I hear two chairs being pulled out. I take a deep breath, straighten my posture and put on a smile. I look up to see Kaila and Alani slumped in their chairs. I break out into a real smile and relax my shoulders.

“Hello ladies, you guys look as exhausted as I am and it hasn’t even been an hour.” I joke.

Kaila laughs exhaustedly, “Do you know how many touchy Senators we’ve had to shoo away from the poor female attendees? That Orn Free Taa? Too touchy for my liking…” I laugh.

“The men of the Republic need etiquette.” Alani agrees with closed eyes.

“Perhaps not all of them…” I say quietly. At my addition, both Kaila and Alani open their eyes and straighten up excitedly, forgetting their exhaustion.

“Oh?” Kaila asks with a smirk. I now realize my addition was a mistake; not only are Alani and Kaila my caretakers, but they are also my best friends and unfortunately love gossip.

“Do tell of the well-mannered men you’ve encountered this evening.” Alani urges with her elbows on the table and her hands underneath her chin.

“Well…” I start, going through my evening so far, “Senator Organa and Senator Farr were very polite, unlike the Senators you’ve had to deal with.” I counter with triumph.

“I’ve also met multiple Jedi who were nothing but well-mannered and polite.”

“Like who?” Kaila pushed.

“Like-like Master Mace Windu.” I reply, “Master Yoda and Master Obi-Wan Kenobi…”

“…and Anakin Skywalker.” I finish off quiet, voice uneven. Just saying his name makes my voice waver. I’ve never met a man who’s had this kind of effect on me before…

“Anakin Skywalker…” Alani repeats, “If I remember correctly he came last week with Master Kenobi for his fitting…”

“A rather handsome young man…” Kaila repeats my words from earlier.

Suddenly, I hear the ringing of a single bell signifying the beginning of the first dance. I quickly stand up, “Excuse me!” I say quickly and loudly as I rush to the balcony. I’m not even out of earshot when I hear them giggling.

I take deep breaths to steady my heartrate while I climb the stairs. I reach the top and clear my throat and the audience quiets down.

“The ringing of the first bell indicates the first of two dances. For the first dance, Leori will dance with Leori and this is the same for the people of the Republic. This illustrates our situations before our alliance. For the second dance, it will be mixed. It is mandatory for a Leori to dance with someone of the Republic and vice-versa. This illustrates our situation after our alliance. You have 5 minutes to choose your partner if you wish to dance as the first dance is not mandatory.” I finish and descend the steps for the second time this evening.

I stop at the foot of the stairs and weigh my options. I could a) return to my table and get pestered about Anakin or b) women up and find a partner.

Before I decide what to do, a familiar voice cuts into my thoughts.

“It’s been a while, sis.” A male voice announces. I look to my right and see my older brother, (B/N), with his arms open.

A huge smile replaces my thoughtful look and I rush into his arms, “Brother! What are you doing here?” I ask excitedly and squeeze him.

He wheezes, “I could tell you if I could breathe.” He manages; I immediately release him, “Sometimes you don’t even recognize your own strength, (N/N).” He says using my childhood nickname as he rubs his sides.

“You forget, I married a Senator of the Republic after I refused the throne?” (B/N) reminds me; even though our planet is predominantly female, he is older and would have been next in line.

“Ah, yes. I was so busy with the preparation of the party. It slipped my mind…” I admit, “How have you been? Is the money I sent enough? Do you need more? If you do, I can-“

“(Y/N), calm down. I’m fine and the money you sent is enough; I don’t need anymore, trust me.” He reassures me, “We can catch up later; for now, may I have this dance…” He asks, extending his hand towards me. I raise my eyebrow at him.

“…your highness?” He adds. I smile, glad he hasn’t forgotten the ways of our people.

The horn sounds as the classical music played by the orchestra in the sound room begins to play over the speakers. The first dance has begun.

The music has started to play signifying the beginning of the first dance. I’ve decided to sit this one out as the only other person I really know, Padmé, already has a partner. I sit at a table and sip my flute of one of the lighter alcoholic beverages being severed; as a Jedi, I should always be on my toes.

I scan the crowd when my eyes land on the Queen, who appears to be dancing with a man at least half a foot taller then her. The man she’s dancing with is attractive, to say the least. He has elegant features and whatever he’s saying to her makes her laugh; a laugh most likely so scarce only a select group of people ever get to hear it.

What is he saying that’s so funny? I thought when I heard the shattering of my glass. I guess my jealously paired with my prosthesis isn’t necessarily a good mix. Luckily, my beverage only spilled into the plate below with few drops of it on the tablecloth. I disregard my drink and return my attention to the Queen. Her partner spins her and she seems to be having a great time. It’s hard to be jealous when she smiles like that…

My thoughts are cut off when the music stops. The two separate and they bow before the Queen ascends the stairs. She’s most likely announcing the second dance… I suppose that’s my cue; good thing I did my research...

“I hope you had a lovely time with your first partner; however, it is now time to choose your second. The second dance will begin shortly. You have 5 minutes to choose your next partner.” I announce and descend the stairs for, hopefully, the last time. I reach the foot of the stairs when a Senator approaches me.

“Would you like to dance, your majesty?” he asks.

“No thank you.” I respond politely. He nods and walks away. Another Senator walks up, one from Ryloth.

“Care to dance, your highness?” He asks with his hand extended in my direction.

“I’ll have to pass, Senator.” I reply. He looks at me and rolls his eyes as he walks away.

“Excuse me, my lady.” A voice intervenes; not a familiar voice, but one I’ve heard before. I turn around to be met with Anakin Skywalker.

“Anakin.” I say, hopefully.

He smiles at me, “May I have this dance…” He extends his hand to me, “…your highness?” I smile and rest my hand in is, “You may.”

The horn sounds again as another song plays over the speakers. Something along the lines of classical and tango; a rather interesting mix to describe the alliance between us.

“If I may, did you really know how to ask me to dance or was it luck?” I ask out of curiousity as he leads me to the dance floor. He grabs my hand with his right and places his left on my waist. He pulls me close and whispers in my ear, “I knew.” At this, my heartrate picks up once more.

He resume our dance at normal distance.

“Your grace, if I may, who were you dancing with earlier?” Anakin asks as we continue to glide across the floor.

“Oh, that was my brother, (B/N). Many think he’s given up his prince status, but he merely rejected king status and still remains crown prince of Roe’ Leor.” I inform him, thinking nothing of the question.

“I see. So, your majesty, are you aware of the dangers that come with being partnered with the Republic?”

“Yes. Since Roe’ Leor is no longer a neutral system, the Separatists will now target us given our change in position.”

“Have you increased your security?” He asks as he dips me.

“Tripled.” I respond as he lifts me back up.

“Has the Republic asked about outposts?

“Yes.”

“And your answer?”

“Anakin Skywalker, did you ask me to dance for business of for pleasure?” I ask, finally feeling more comfortable in his presence.

“Officially, business.” He responds as he spins me similar to how (B/N) spun me earlier.

“Unofficially?” I ask. He smiles at me and whispers in my ear with a sultriness that makes my heart melt, “Pleasure.” Then, as he dips me, the last note of the song is played.

He brings me back to a standing position.

“It was a pleasure dancing with you, Anakin Skywalker.” I say as I bow, still a little disoriented from his answer.

“Please,” he bows and grabs my hand similar to our first meeting, “the pleasure was mine.” and he kisses it.

“We’ll see more of each other in the future, your highness.” He gives me a jaunty salute then walks over to Obi-Wan.

Never in my life have I ever wanted a man so badly.

Little did I know, even though I made my comment internally, Anakin was still close enough to listen in on my thoughts and walked away with a smile on his face...

I leave the Queen to return to her queenly duties and walk over to Obi-Wan.

“You looked rather cozy dancing with the Queen.” He noted.

“Really? I didn’t notice…” I replied coyly.

“Let’s just hope that you haven’t ruined our friendship when it’s only just begun.” He states as he makes his way over to Master Yoda.

I smile and look back at the Queen and she’s talking to her bodyguards.

Farewell, your highness. Until our next meeting…

The Queen’s eyes widen and her attention is turned towards me. I smile at her and she smiles back.

Farewell, Anakin Skywalker. Until we meet again.

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horsegirl1h · 5 years

Text

Only Thing Left

Summary: John goes to Van Horn stable to retrieve the one of the only other things he would have left of Arthur, his horse.

Warnings: Angst, Grieving

A huge thank you to the lovely @verai-marcel for taking a look and giving me some pointers!

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

A few weeks after the events at Beaver Hollow, John was laying low at Copperhead Landing. He couldn't help but think of the last moments Arthur spent with his horse on the mountain. Remembering him talking about his other horse he kept in the Van Horn stable, John decided that he had to see if his horse was still there, hoping the stable owner hadn't thought to sell him since his owner hadn't come in for a while. The day John was getting ready to head out, Abigail wasn't too keen on the idea.

"Have you lost your mind John? We just escaped all this mess. Don't be a fool and walk right back into it!" she hissed in a harsh whisper, trying to keep her voice down so as not to wake Jack.

John ran a hand over his face, frustrated. "Abigail, listen, this is something I have to do. Arthur saved me. You know how he was about his horses. I have to at least see if it's still there. He would do it for me." He lowered his voice at the last sentence and looked away, but not without Abigail noticing the mournful look on John's face.

She came up to him and put her hand on his forearm.

"I'm sorry. I just...I just got you back and I don't want to lose you again." Her voice quavered as she spoke.

John put a hand on Abigail's cheek and gave her a small smile. "You ain't gettin' rid of me that easy woman. I'll be back before you know it." He wiped a stray tear from her face before giving her a kiss in its place.

Waiting until after nightfall, John said his goodbyes to Abigail and rode to Van Horn from Copperhead Landing, straying from the main roads as best he could.

He tried to suppress the memories that plagued him all at once. He missed the way things were before they all went to shit. Hell, even when they were at Horseshoe Overlook, he didn't think things were terrible. He missed Old Boy. He missed Sean annoying the hell out of everyone, Hosea and his brilliant schemes. He missed the laughter of the gang after a score was successful and called for a celebration.

But he missed Arthur most.

Coming upon the stable, he could see there were a few horses outside in the pen, but none he recognized to be Arthur's. Trying not to get his hopes up, he hitched his borrowed Walker to the post outside and collected himself before walking in.

Here goes nothing.

The stable owner was towards the back of the barn, giving hay to the night’s residents. Appreciative nickers could be heard as John stopped just inside the doorway.

"Excuse me, sir?"

The owner turns to look at John, albeit weary of his rather late night arrival.

"Can I help you?"

John clears his throat and replies, "I'm sorry to bother you so late but I'm looking for a horse that belonged to a friend of mine. He uh..recently passed."

"Well what kind of horse is it? You got any papers?"

"I believe it's a Foxtrotter. Champagne in color. And no, I don't have papers. The only thing I can tell you was the man who owned him was named Arthur Callahan." John sighed, his hope of finding the horse slowly vanishing.

The owner hummed in thought, seeming to decide if this man's story was true or not.

"I think I remember the name. And we rarely have any that color out this way except for a handful. He's out back, but I'll warn ya, he ain't been too kind."

John followed the man behind the stable to a separate pen from the one he saw earlier. When he actually saw the horse with his own eyes, he was surprised, to say the least.

"Thats…that's the one. But why is he separated from the others? And to be honest, he don't look that great." John stood next to the fence, hands on his hips in slight annoyance for the horse not being taken care of.

"That horse ain't been right in a few weeks. I ain't puttin' myself or no one else in danger ‘cause he wants to be a bastard to anyone that gets within ten feet of him."

John turned to look back at the stallion, shaking his head. The horse was standing against the back of the pen, ears almost flat on his neck with his head lowered to the ground. He was dirty, and he looked like he could use a few bales of hay.

"I'll tell ya what, if you can get close to him and lead him outta here he's yours. I'm tired of dealing with him." The stable owner nodded towards the troublesome horse before stalking off into the barn.

Turning back to the horse, John slowly walked through the gate and shut it behind him. He walked the perimeter of the pen, the stallion watching him as he went. The closer John got, the more anxious the stallion became. Snorts of anger and stomping of hooves caused John to take a few steps back. The movements brought back the memory of the day Arthur brought the beast into camp. They hadn't been at Shady Belle but maybe a few days when Arthur had brought him in from a day’s ride, with only a rope for a makeshift bridle.

*****

"Where'd you find that beauty?" John chuckled as he walked up to the pair and watched the stallion snort and stomp as Arthur dismounted.

"Found some bastard tryin' to put a bullet in him after he ran him so hard he threw him damn near 'cross the river." Arthur gave the stallion a few pats and fed him, trying to calm the beast's nerves.

"Christ Arthur, these mean ones will kill you one of these days." John chuckled as he shook his head at the older man.

Arthur put a hand on John's shoulder and smirked. "Maybe so Marston, but at least if he throws me in the river, I can swim out."

John rolled his eyes and shook off Arthur's hand in mock offense. "Real funny, Morgan."

*****

The memory that flooded John caused him to chuckle out loud. He only wished Arthur were here now to guide him.

John calmed himself as he backed up against the fence and sat down to watch the stallion, and waited. He pulled a carrot out of his satchel and gently tossed it toward the horse, who gave a snort and tossed his head.

Minutes turned into hours, and soon the early signs of dawn were approaching. John was beginning to think it was a lost cause until he noticed the stallions body language had changed. He had walked closer to John, ears pricked forward although still uncertain the human before him could be trusted.

John stood up slowly and held his hands out toward the horse to see if he would get closer to smell him.

"Easy boy, it's just you and me now. I won't hurt ya. C'mon, you don't want to stay here with that mean ol’ man, do ya?"

Slow, careful steps toward the horse. Now that the sun was rising, John could see the horse more clearly and just how bad of shape he really was. His ribs were almost showing and layers of dirt kept the sheen of his once shiny coat hidden. His mane and tail had tangles from a lack of brushing.

The horse stayed rooted where he was standing, and to John's surprise he let him walk up to him, although the horse watched him closely. He sniffed John's hand and nickered. John carefully reached into his satchel and pulled out his brush and began to groom the dirt away. He felt a tugging at his satchel and turned to watch the horse. He was trying to get as close to his satchel as possible and even turned in towards John trying to get closer.

"What is it boy?" John dropped his hand by his side and he swore he could see the flash of recognition on the horse's face and that's when it dawned on him. He had on Arthur's satchel. He realized the horse could still smell Arthur's scent and kept nudging the satchel. He nickered softly and turned back the way he was before, his ears now in a neutral position, with his head lowered.

John walked around to the front of the horse and put his hands on either side. The stallion stepped closer and rested his forehead against John's chest.

He couldn't help but look up at the sky and let a tear fall down his face. He realized that the horse possibly knew Arthur wasn't coming for him and maybe he was even grieving himself?

John let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes as the ache in his heart overcame him. The stallion nudged him gently, almost as if he was trying to offer comfort. For the first time since everything went to hell, since he'd lost his best friend and had the only family he'd ever known ripped apart, he wept.

The two of them could start healing together, a fresh start in a new place, the memory of Arthur imprinted on them both forever.

#john marston #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #angst #grief #grief/mourning #arthur morgan #van der linde gang #abigail roberts

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glamoursarusrex · 6 years

Text

Mama Dick feat. Titans: Red Hood and the Outlaws Jr.

Grab your popcorn, Kids! It’s another longun’. Thank you to @raventrigonsdaughter for the prompt of “To be clear, I wasn’t the one who thought this would be a good idea”. Focusing on the escapades of Gar, Raven, and Jason if left to their own devices. If you want anymore stories surrounding the Titan’s family, feel free to fill up my asks! Without further ado, enjoy this fic!

“Dude, you sure this is a good idea?” Gar asks his companions as they creep along the roof of a warehouse. The building overlooks Gotham Harbour. Raven, Jason, and Gar stick to the shadows as they make their way across the roof.

“Gar, this thing’ll work like clockwork. We steal a fuck ton of drugs. Send them into the river. Lose Black Mask about half a million dollars worth of product and boom! Get back home before anyone misses us!” Jason explained.

They find the roof entrance and crouch by it as Jason works on the lock.

“Rae, you’re alright with this?” Gar questions.

“I find it all rather thrilling.” Rachel says with a ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Won’t Kori and Dick get mad at us that we snuck out?”

Jason scoffs, “furious. Beasty, if you’re really so worried that our moms are gonna rain hell on us, you can just head back. I really only need the witch. You’re just the third wheel.”

Gar stumbles, “I-I’m not scared! I just… wanted to know the logistics is all.”

Raven laughs, “Liar, you’re pent up with nerves.”

“No one asked you, Birdie!” Gar exclaims.

The roof door clicks. It opens slightly. Jason pumps up his fist beaming. He puts his fingers to his lips and whispers, “From here on, it’s quiet. We’re just flies on the wall.”

In response Gar turns into a fly. Raven rolls her eyes. Jason chuckles and whispers, “See, he gets it!”

The teens slink into the building. Raven covers herself and Jason with a layer of shadow. Gar flies behind them. They slowly tiptoe down a couple flights of metal stairs before they reach a catwalk running over the main warehouse floor. The find some large pipes running through the grated floor and hide behind there as they watch the scene below them.

On the ground is a table with road maps and notes strewn all over it. In the center is duffle bag stuffed with benjamins. At the head of the table is a burly man in an italian suit and wearing a gold necklace and several gold rings. There are about six other men standing around the table wearing black hoodies or faded leather jackets.

“Those guys look like they can beat our ass to next Tuesday.” Raven comments.

“Well it’s a good thing they aren’t our targets,” Jason states. He points to the far end of the warehouse where a pile of boxes and two semis are stationed. The semis are being guarded by burly men with machine guns. “Those are.” he finishes.

“Dudes, those guys have big guns!” Gar exclaims.

Jason rolls his eyes, “You truly are Dick Grayson’s protege.”

Gar ignores that comment, “So how are we supposed to get past them?”

“We can’t. So we’re just gonna have to make them move. Which’ll be your job, milady.” Jason says looking pointedly at Raven.

A smile tugs at Raven’s mouth. “I think I have a couple tricks up my sleeve!” She declares pridefully. She turns to Gar. “Watch my back, okay?”

Gar salutes with one of his fly legs, “Ya got it , Rae!”

She turns to Jason, “wait for my signal!”

The boy mockingly pouts, “What? No goodbye kiss?”

Raven blushes, “Maybe later.” She nods towards Gar. “When Lord of the Flies isn’t bugging us.”

“Hey, Nivana! Puns are my trademark!” Gar exclaims.

“Please. They’re more like rip offs!” Jason scoffs.

He turns and sneaks along the catwalk towards the cargo. The other two teens study the conversation below.

“My boys on crime alley are pulling double the weight to satisfy everyone else’s lack of sell. I should be getting double the cut!” One of the men at the table exclaims. This earns a barrage of protests from rest of the table. The man in the Italian suit, their leader, shoots his pistol in the air to call order.

“I hear your complaints, Markov,” he says in false sympathy. “Unfortunately, Black Mask doesn’t give two shits about who pulls the larger load. All he cares is that the job gets done. You’re lucky enough to have your share to begin with.”

This starts another string of protests. Gar turns to Raven, “So what’s the plan?”

“There’s this mind control ability I’ve been wanting to try out.” Raven explains.

“You mean you’ve never done it before?”

“Not to this scale. But I was able to mind control the server at Big Belly Burger into giving me a second helping of fries.”

“Careful! We gotta a badass over here!” Gar mocks.

“Can it, grass stain!” Ravens eyes glow as she concentrates on one of the men at the table. His eyes glow slightly. It calms to a purple iris before any of the other men could notice. Raven smiles. “Let the puppet show begin!”

The men continue to shout and throw insults at each other. One of the men calmly starts counting, “five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. One, two…”

He continues counting until the guy next to him catches on, “Floydd, what the hell are you doing?”

Floydd looks to the man blankly. “What?” He asks in a distant voice.

“Why are you counting?”

Floydd smiles goofily, “Oh! My therapist told me if I’m ever under too much stress and feel like lashing out, I should breathe and count.”

The men at the table look to him in confusion. He continues, “I’ve also taken up yoga, thai chi, and therapeutic grass dancing.”

“Grass dancing?” Markov asks.

“Yes! It’s cleansing for the soul. You, my friend, could use at least ten sessions. If you want, I have a blog that explains everything.”

“Grass dancing?” Gar asked.

Raven chuckles, “I have no clue what that is. I just pulled it out of my ass.”

The leader glares at Floydd. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Gar gasps and quickly whispers in Raven’s ear. She giggles.

Floydd giggles, “No, but your fashion sense is.”

The leader looks down at his expensive suit. He looks up to Floydd and growls, “Are you looking to be taken out?”

Floydd shrugs, “I’m more into girls myself but if you wanna…”

A couple of the men at the table try to suppress their laughter. Their leader fumes and cracks his fists when Markov interrupts. “Dude, what happened to your eyes?” Markov asks, squinting. “Are they purple?”

Gar whispers in Ravens ear and she nods quickly.

“Yes!” Floydd states with a melodramatic flair. “I got them from my mother’s side. But she is an honorable and strong woman. I am proud of her!”

Floydd straightens up. “But you? Your families are shit!”

He points to Markov, “Your father’s a Nazi!”

He points to the Leader, “Your sister’s loose!”

He finally points to the largest man at the table, “Your grandmother’s quiche is second rate!”

The man starts forward with fury blazing in his eyes. “You’ll pay for your words Floydd!”

Floydd backs away with his hands in a surrender position. “Okay. Okay. Maybe I went too far. Sorry!” He says smiling and shrugging. As the group continues inch towards him threateningly, he throws his hands up in exasperation. “Fine!” He pulls out his gun and fires it into the air. “Come at me, bitches!” he screams.

Raven severs her connection with Floydd as chaos erupts below. Fists are flying between the table men. As she hoped the gun men leave their positions from around the semis to help their respective bosses.

She felt a twinge of guilt when she heard Floydd screaming in confusion as everyone ganged up on him. The one solace is that he is known to peddle to kids and murder his underage sellers if they didn’t meet his quota. So, in a word, he got what was coming to him.

Raven sees the familiar shape of a teenage boy flip down the rafters and land behind one of the trucks. She turns to Gar. “Take the money and meet us at the rendezvous!” She teleports away.

Gar morphs into a large Hawk and exclaims, “Yes ma’am!” He swoops towards the duffle bag.

Jason peeks into the back of the truck. His shouts of happiness are drowned out by the shouts and the firing of guns. The back was filled to the brim with cocaine. Soon, it was all going to be at the bottom of Gotham River. He climbs the back and quickly pulls the door down.

He races to the front. He climbs into the driver seat and begins hot wiring. He had to work quickly. It’s only a matter of time before the drug posse found them out.

As if on cue, someone shouts, “That green eagle’s taking our dough!”

“I’m a hawk, dumbass! Basic biology!”

Jason looks up and sees a familiar green hawk circle around the men carrying a black bag in his talons. The hawk heads towards the entrance the kids snuck in from. Jason beams at his stupid friend. He looks across and his smile goes away as one of the men looks directly at him.

“Hey! Who the hell’s guarding the trucks?” the man shouts.

“Shit!” Jason exclaimed. He successfully turned on the vehicle. To his dismay, the side view mirrors reveal that the bay doors behind him are closed. Great! Now he’s caught between a wall and a bunch of Schwartzeneggar stunt doubles with assault rifles. “Please! I need an angel!” He cries.

Suddenly, Raven falls from a portal and lands in a crouch on the hood of the car. She sends a wall of shadow towards the men knocking them off their feet. She then places a glowing hand on the car. Jason felt like he was going through a flash freezer. Just as soon as the feeling was there, it was gone. He could see a row of warehouses outside of his windshield.

Raven falls forward with fatigue. She pants heavily. She hears the truck horn and looks in at Jason’s stupid grinning face. He yells through the driver window, “Get in loser! We’re going shopping!”

Raven rolls her eyes and smiles. She quickly hops off the hood and climbs into the passenger seat of the car. She rests back against her seat and breathes heavily. She’s grateful for the moment of rest even if they are still on mission.

“Good news is, we’re not swiss cheese! Thank you for that. Bad news is, you dropped us at the furthest point on the pier from the water!” Jason exclaims.

Raven sighs, “Look it was either we live or we’re conveniently close to the water!”

“I don’t suppose you have enough mojo in you to port us closer?”

Raven rests her head in her hands, “negative.”

“That’s okay we’ll just do this Mad Max style!” Jason says shifting gear.

“Do you even know how to drive?”

“I’ve nicked cars plenty of times. This is my first semi. So, this’ll be fun for both of us!” Jason beams with a hint of madness in his eyes.

Raven sinks into her seat and grabs onto the door handle and dashboard with a death grip. “Mother of Azar, give me strength.”

Jason floors it sending the truck lurching into motion. He takes a sharp turn and follows a long drive in between two lines of warehouses. As he picks up speed he squeals with delight. Raven can’t help but also feel elated by the adrenaline and speed. She doesn’t recognize her own voice laughing with mania at the thrill and the adventure.

Their elation is short lived as they hear gunshots in the echo behind them. The cabin jerks. The truck loses some speed. Jason growls, “they took out one of the tires!” Raven looks in the side view mirror and sees three men on motorcycles tailing them. They are each holding guns.

Another shot rings and takes out the side view mirror startling Raven. “There’s three and they’re getting closer!”

“Hang on!” Jason orders. He jerks the truck into a sharp turn. The cargo hold slams into a pile of wooden boxes. The boxes cascade down in its wake. Two of the cyclists maneuver past the obstacles. The last one gets knocked out by a falling box.

Raven looks out the window and announces, “One down! There’s still two on our tail!”

“Not for long!”

Jason takes another sharp turn. One of the cyclists keeps up with the truck. The other slams into the wall of the warehouse with a fiery explosion. The final cyclist fires at the truck. The bullet skids along the cargo hold with a horrific screech. Jason exclaims, “Come on man, I just got my new ride and you’re keying my paint job?”

Raven grins wryly, “I’ll teach him some manners!” With that she rolls down her window. She sends a shadow blast at their pursuer knocking him off his bike.

Jason looks at her beaming, “That’s what I’m talking about! Shoots and scores!”

Raven smiles back at him. They lock eyes for the briefest moment of pure joy. Something catches Raven’s eye and she quickly glances out the windshield. Her eyes widen in horror. “Jason, look out!”

Before he could register what’s happening, the cabin lurches. He could feel his stomach shift as the truck free falls over the edge of the pier and into the river. In their excitement, he forgot to keep track of where they were.

The water fills up the cabin through Raven’s open window. Quickly undos his buckle. He looks over to Raven and sees her head tipped forward the impact must have temporarily disoriented her. Jason tries to quickly undo her buckle. To his horror, it’s jammed.

Thinking fast he quickly feels around for anything of use. He feels along the folded mirrors and to his delight he finds a stashed pocket knife. Though criminals, these guys know how to carry useful tools. When he looks back at Raven he sees her head is almost submerged. He quickly saws away at the tough fabric binding her to the seat.

He takes a deep breath and goes under. He’s so close. Just a few more good saws. Jason sticks his head up and takes one more swig of air. It’s now or never. The strap finally gives and Raven floats up. Jason wraps his arms around her waist. His lungs are burning but he was too close to give up.

He pushes at the door. It doesn’t give. He tries harder but still no budge. His lungs are now on fire. He finally let go of Raven and slamming his whole body against the door. It finally opens. He quickly grabs Raven and pulls them both through the opening.

He kicks with all of his might against the current caused by the sinking vessel. His muscles are fatigued and he’s seeing spots dancing in his vision. Up above he sees the light of the moon. This gives him the strength to push past his pain. He kicks harder and faster with all of his might.

The pressure around his header gets lighter and lighter until he finally breaks the surface. He gasps lungfuls of sweet delicious air. After a second of catching his breath, he hoists Raven heads above the surface. He rests her on his front so that her head is resting on his shoulder. He performs an underwater heimlich on her desperation. “Come on, Rae! Don’t drown on me!” He begs.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally spits up water and gasps. Her ugly coughing is like music to his ears. Jason finds himself enveloping her in some kind of awkward underwater hug. It didn’t matter she was alive. He gasps, “Bird, I can kiss you right now!”

After a few deep breaths she says, “Slow down, boy blunder, it’s only our first date!”

He laughs, “It is not!”

“It is too!”

“This is at least our second! I would go as far as to say our third.”

Raven rolls her eyes. “Once we get back to dry land, get into warm clothes, and get in our dry beds, I will tell you how wrong you are!”

“Will that be our fourth date?” Jason asks.

“Second!” Raven groans.

“Keep telling yourself that!” Jason mocks.

Luckily they broke surface near the pier. Despite Raven’s protests, Jason carries both of them towards shore. Which is a small beach that rests along the embankment wall. Once they were able to touch the floor, they practically crawled the rest of the way out of the water. Once they were completely on land, they collapsed into the sand.

“Hey, dudes!” they hear. A little green dog comes bounding over and licks their faces with his tail wagging happily. Raven groans. Jason absentmindedly scratches the dog behind his ear.

“Gar, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m so happy to see you. You will not believe the adventure we had.”

“I’m sure Dick and I would love to hear all about it.” says a female voice.

Jason, Gar, and Raven quickly look up. Nightwing and Starfire stand over them. Their glares drill holes into the teens. Their whole demeanor screams that the three kids are in deep trouble.

Gar quickly morphs into a human and holds his hands up in surrender. “Dudes, just to be clear, I wasn’t the one who thought this would be a good idea!”

#mama dick #asks please #baby raven #titans family #raven #jason todd #garfield logan #koriand'r #starfire #nightwing #jayrae

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selenelavellan · 6 years

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Fairy AU Part 3

Part One Part Two

Dirthamen, Deceit, Fear, and Turmoil are @feynites

Des wakes before she does.

Beams of light are beginning to stream through the colorful glass holes in their ceiling, his eyes back to their usual gold as he stares at her bandaged arms.

Selene lets out a breath of guilty relief; if he's worried, he's remembered himself. Which makes him much less likely to attack her.

“Did I damage your arms?” He asks with a frown.

“No,” She lies. “I fell into a blackberry bush trying to reach for one I thought might be ripe last night.”

He doesn't fully believe her (he never does), but knows better by now than to try to pull a truth from her she doesn't want to share.

“You should be more careful,” He says instead.

“I'll keep that in mind,” She assures him, sitting up to stretch her arms up over her head. They sting anew with the exertion, and she's going to have to change the bandages every few hours to avoid infection or blood becoming noticeable, but it's manageable. She'll have to see if she can find a needle and thread to pull the worst of the openings back together while she's searching for a cure today.

She takes advantage of the bath Dirthamen has allotted her, carefully scraping dirt from her skin and plucking the twigs and seeds and pollen from her hair. It takes nearly 3 rounds with the shampoo before it finally regains it's natural white color, rather than the dusty grey it had absorbed from so long without a proper wash. The skin on her shoulders has gotten burnt and flaky from too much sun exposure. Selene hesitates before carefully stripping the transparent, uselessly dried skin from them. The remaining flesh is tender and hot to the touch, and she's not looking forward to having to cover them with fabric for the rest of her life.

She wonders if there is any part of her that isn't damaged at this point. She had never realized just how much harm she caused her body on a daily basis before her current condition.

She may have even less time than she had been expecting, at this rate.

She steps out of the bathroom, enjoying the fresh scent of lavender in the towels as she dries and tells Des to take a wash himself.

There is a small wardrobe in the room, filled with various clothing items. She claims a pair of black pants that stops just above her ankles as well as a loose purple blouse that is long enough to tuck in, and cover the fresh bandages wrapped up the length of her forearms. She tops it off with a silver cloak that shimmers when she sways in it. Not enough to be flashy, but it's a pleasant enough effect that it makes her smile.

It's important to enjoy the little things, sometimes.

Setting out for the library, she decides that even here, her best bet is to stick to the shadows. She stays close to the old oak walls, the hood of her cloak covering her face. No one stops her for most of the way, which is for the best, and what she wanted, until she realizes she has ended up in the same foyer for the third time.

Damn spacial magic.

Her best bet then, is to wait for someone to pass her who is already going where she wants to go. Patience has never been her strong suit, even before she had a time limit officially allotted to her existence. Nor is it a part of her that has improved.

Thankfully, it does not take too long for her to find another fairy pushing a cart filled with books and scrolls through the room, and she trails a few feet behind them on their journey. Up hidden staircases that smooth to permit the cart easier travel, down sealed hallways decorated with murals that tell old stories, doors, and over a small creek that whispers and cools her feet while it tries to convince her to drink from it.

The fairy only turns to her once, when she gets too close and accidentally brushes up against the leather of their outstretched wing.

They whip around to face her, eyes narrowing. “You should not be here,”

“Just looking for the library,” She assures them.

“Then you should be taking the main paths.”

“Well, if I knew where those were, maybe...” She mumbles.

“I will find someone to escort you-” They state, turning back to face their cart of books.

As soon as they do, the usual happens.

Selene takes a silent step back, and doesn't bother trying to stop it. They've almost arrived to the library anyways, she's pretty sure.

The fairy shakes their head, mumbles something quietly to themselves about imagining things, and continues their walk to the library.

Selene follows along, more careful now not to draw their attention again.

They finally arrive at two large stone doors, covered in a thin layer of moss towards the top. The doors open inward at their arrival, and someone greets the fairy she had been following-Turmoil, supposedly- while she slips off into the stacks.

She spends several hours pouring through them, nabbing any books that correlate to cures and curses and even a few on the average life spans of flowers.

A few make mention of the curse she has, of people that have cast them. Never the person to bear the curse, of course. Only of the 'righteous judgment' of the royals to cast them on nameless and faceless fae that have 'deserved' it. As though anyone deserves such a fate, she thinks bitterly.

Her research doesn't bear fruit. As she reads each story and record of past occurrences, of potential theories for cures, she can find only one that has ever brought about the end of her curse.

Death itself.

She feels the vines tighten around her heart, and tries not to cry as her stomach goes cold.

–

Dirthamen wakes up feeling as though something in his home is just slightly...off.

It is difficult to ascertain just what aspect of his day has shifted, though his aspects seem to assure him that they can also feel the disturbance.

His routine is the same as he recalls it ever being. His duties are not outside their usual parameters of strangeness, and he even takes the care to ensure he has each of the required nutrients with his afternoon meal, in case of some sort of vitamin deficiency.

Neither Fear nor Deceit report any strange activity in the court. There are rumors of books going missing in the library, but most have been accounted for by the end of the day. Likely some mischievous spirit making trouble for his librarians again.

He is still pondering the matter when the sun has set, and he is returning to his rooms.

There is light, coming from the room besides his own.

...who could be in there?

He stops outside, about to turn the knob and demand to know who would make such a presumption when he recalls that he had permitted a nearly corrupted spirit of Desire to take residence there.

...Though, why he had made such a decision, he can not seem to recall.

He tries to remember if there are any ongoing projects that would require a demon for a power source, but can think of none. Nor any curiosities of his own that would cause him to make such a dangerous decision.

Has he fallen prey to a demons tricks without knowing? That would be very troublesome, and a sign of weakness if one of the other courts were to discover it.

He opens the door, and discovers an unusual fae sitting in one of his chairs.

Not quite a demon yet, he notes with interest. They have horns curling outward from their forehead and a long, pointed tail swaying beside the legs of the wooden chair. Their hair is long and dark and not unlike his own. But their feet end in toes and their hands have fingers rather than claws, and their eyes do not reflect the madness that is often associated with a corrupted spirit.

He recalls attacking this fae yesterday. But he cannot think of why, or what goal he had been trying to achieve by doing so.

“You are feeling better?” Dirthamen ventures. Perhaps the man in front of him does not know that he does not know what either of them are doing here.

“...Yeah,” The man says slowly. “Do I know you?”

“I...” Dirthamen starts, as a woman wanders into the room, arms laden down with the missing books and a few scrolls of parchment.

A hood falls from her head, and all at once, he recalls the previous evening. The sunflower, the Forest of Ash. Her theft, and his oath.

Her name.

“Useless information,” Selene grumbles, books bouncing as she drops them onto the bed he had given her. “Nothing worth anything in here, bloody researchers not bothering to do any actual research...”

“I forgot you,” Dirthamen admits. Not an admission he thinks he should have spoken aloud, but not one he feels should be contained, either.

Selene looks over at him and lets out a soft, nearly pitying sigh. “Yeah.”

“How did I forget you?” He asks as she takes off the mithril cloak and hangs it back in the wardrobe.

“You are going to have a great many questions for me,” She evades with a shrug. “There will be very few that I may answer. I apologize now, but I will not be able to apologize each time, or we will have little time for anything else. You found me in the sunflower fields last night, and followed me when I...”she hesitates. “...seemed to have caught your interest. You made an oath of protection to myself and Des and offered us space in your home and access to your resources.”

“When you stole my mask, you mean.”

She stills slightly, before tilting her head in curiosity. “You remember that?”

“I remember our previous encounter, yes. But I did not recall you today, why is that?”

She chews on her bottom lip and seems almost close to giving an answer before dragging a frustrated fist through her hair and giving him a vague “Out of sight, out of mind.”

“You're the first one to remember her since me,” Des chimes in. “Normally she's erased from minds entirely. She must have made quite an impression.”

“It's probably the oath,” Selene says dismissively. “Power in words. His magic remembers, even when he doesn't.”

Dirthamen frowns, taking a seat in one of the other empty chairs. “I do not understand,” He says again.

Selene rubs at her forehead and begins walking back and forth in a small circle. “For instance, I introduced myself to your worker, Turmoil, three separate times today.”

“When they saw you, you were caught, and when they turned they just forgot,” Des sings lightly while Selene nods.

“So when I cannot see you, I will not remember you exist?” Dirthamen clarifies. “That seems troublesome.”

“Yeah, I'm sure its a real pain in the ass for you, personally,” Des snorts.

“It is a condition of your affliction, then?” Dirthamen asks.

“I can't answer that,” Selene says.

He supposes that is as good as a yes, under current circumstances.

An interesting perk to a curse, he thinks. And for it to affect him, the person who cast it must have been...hm...

Keeping his oath may be more troublesome than he expected.

“I will have to keep an eye on you, then,” he decides, summoning Deceit. The aspect shifts into their smaller fae form to fit into the room. “Deceit, it will be your job to make sure we do not forget again.”

“Will that work?” Des asks, taking a large bite out of a grape.

“We are the same person; it should.”

“I...” Selene hesitates. Likely uncomfortable with the prospect of being watched at all hours of the day, but it cannot be helped. He cannot ensure she is not being harmed if he does not know who she is.

“I will be able to escort you through our home,” Deceit assures her, attempting to ease the situation. “My presence will also permit you to enter places that would not appear without me.”

“You promised me unfettered access though,” She frowns.

“And this will ensure that,” Deceit agrees.

Selene does not seem particularly pleased with the arrangement, but offers no more arguments on the matter. Dirthamen lingers in her rooms, browsing through the books she carried in in hopes of discovering what precisely is the cause of her affliction, but they cover a large variety of topics. It opens as many possibilities as it dismisses, and leaves him only with more questions that she can not seem to answer.

He stares with more than curiosity at the bandages on her arms before he is finally asked to leave so that she might sleep for the night. Deceit remains, taking the newly vacated chair while Dirthamen returns to his rooms.

He does not sleep much himself, mind too full of possibilities and problems and potential with the woman on the other side of the wall.

When he does drift into the dreaming, he finds himself flooded with images of rose bushes growing.

Fragile and dangerous and beautiful all at once.

Flowers blooming from mouths and wounds and cracked skin on an empty face, as the chill of winter settles in around him, leaving him with a vague but overwhelming sense of failure.

A lingering loss of something he never had.

#fairy au #dirthalene #des #selene lavellan

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jwalkermars · 3 years

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Patrick Seymour - Amazing Animal Art!

Patrick Seymour is a Freelance Art Director and Illustrator who is based in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. His main focus in his art is his extraordinary animal head work. This varies from just about any animal as you can see below and its right up my street when it comes to design, monochrome (although some of his work is in color!), brilliant use of negative spaces and intricate use of line and symmetry, in which I will talk about later below.

In this artist study I will go into detail about, how he may have made this work, what tools and techniques may have gone into it and also what makes the art so unique along side how it starts out from others creating this type of work.

On the art website Behance.net I found a HUGE portfolio of lots of his work in all manners of styles from the work that you can see here to amazingly simple typography to minimal typography. Loads of color schemes and information about the artists that you may be researching about. This website will be a source that I will be using from now on in the artist studies as the wide content gives endless subjects to talk about. Just like other places such as Pinterest, this is another great place to discover and find new artists to gain not only inspiration but also new styles that you may not have seen or experimented with.

With Seymours front facing and side view animal head work my guess is that it was made with Adobe Illustrator as this type of work shows of exactly what illustrator has to offer when it comes to high detail and precise work such as the contour lines all over the faces giving it that incredible texture and contrast from the abyss behind. Illustrator is the perfect application for this type of work as it uses vectors which allows to get the lines super close together with out becoming very blurry and allows the curves to have a smoother nature about them.

Something you will find about Seymours front facing work wether its with an animal or a persons face such as the Joker below is the fact that it is perfectly symmetrical. The makes it so the Illustration has no imperfections and is not of centre and warped in any way. The way in which this is done could be done in one of two ways that I am aware of but there could be more ways and easier that I have not yet discovered. One way is is but mirroring the Art Board in Adobe Illustrator. This allows the creator to only work from one side of the page and what ever is done there the cop to the other side line for line.

The other way that he could have done this is by, again draw on one side of the page but then when you finish the one side you have vertically flip the layer to the other side and then you can put the two sides together.

(Can be clearly showcase above and below).

I want to talk about the unique use of line here in the work. Each part of the illustration is made up of and broken in sections with a think paint bush which shows the key features and curves the the animals face such as the eyes the nose and in this case the horn of the Rhino. To create detailed shading just like any other contour art the key is to go close together with your lines (I talked further about this in last terms Tumblr account when doing our own work). The same goes for when you want to have lighter areas further lines with a thicker brush line.

With a lot of his work there is not a lot of a personal connection between the art and the person. When saying this I mean for example such an important part of a portrait for some people is the eyes. A lot of detail in the eye can make a picture have a strong connection towards the audience and in this case leaving it completely black can leave a rather bold statement as well as removing any identity that the animal had. In effect this leaves us with a soulless piece of work.

Although all the work I have shown here is in black and white he does make the same type of work but in color as seen. Same techniques discussed above but with the addition of some color to bring the picture to life. When it comes to Seymour’s color work he seems to only go with 2-3 colors in his palette as he wants to keep it simple and still make it all about the line work but spiced up a little.

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hunty-booboo · 4 years

Text

The Bidding Arena

My breathing and pulse get a little as I make the main worn stone stride upwards. The angled stone way is miserable and dim yet at the head of the flight of stairs, there appears to be all the more light, anyway bluff. I can hear men rearranging in line behind me and the very recognizable chink and thump of weapons on shield give physical belief as far as anyone is concerned of approaching battle. A profound thundering sound streams down those stone strides toward us and the unenlightened would battle to put it however I know it. I realize it well and it is the baying insane person sound of the massed crowd and it mixes my juices. I revel in the surge of adrenaline it gives and the strain that thrives now in my body. No longer do I dread this fatal parade, no I have come to cherish it - to require it even.

A quieted note from a removed horn sounds and this works our watchman in advance. He turns and gestures to me before driving us up the steps, to the fold of the periphery to his calfskin tunic. These ragged and split, stone steps could demonstrate the veracity of practically unending agony, enduring and blood, consistently blood. They have been trodden by a large number of men before us and we are instructed that a great many men will tail us. It is, as it has consistently been and those of us who acknowledge this reality, endure, exist and even prosper however opportunity is the one genuine objective for us contracted warriors. That accomplishment accomplished by scarcely 1% of the 1% is amazing and in truth, is the thing that we as a whole long for and endeavor towards. It is the reason we work and practice in reiteration for unlimited an excessive amount of time. In a world brimming with slaves, opportunity is very nearly a legendary idea and past the acknowledgment or comprehension of by far most of our patient individuals.

We rise onto the foot of a wide sandy slope and a hundred feet above us at the head of this incline Loose Diamonds, daylight streams through a huge lumber and iron, curved portcullis door. The light projects precise shapes that puncture the shadows underneath it and I head up the slope, at the brilliant shafts of this inviting daylight, flexing my shoulders and my fingers. The gatekeeper holds back at the entryway thus do we as a whole.

"Get a wicked proceed onward!" He hollers at the moist stone roof, a few feet over our heads. A screeching like a little caught creature starts from some place over this huge entryway, bound with its huge iron plates and bolts. The extraordinary entryway shudders in the midst of additionally screaming and afterward it starts to move. Awkwardly it starts its excursion upwards, pulled by ropes as thick as a man's wrist by an obscure number of slaves in the chambers above us. When he could, the gatekeeper dodged under the rising door and moved to one side to the smashing thunder of the cheering group.

My heart is beating as I at last enter the field, my mouth as dry as a year-old fig, a typical and natural inclination and as I remain on the consecrated sand again. The immense clamor from the a huge number of roaring spectators nearly players my faculties and attacks my ears. I pompously stride ahead and my head comes up as I hear my name being recited from the standard quarters. 'WELSHMAN, WELSHMAN!" I raise my correct arm accordingly, my clench hand gripped and I thunder with a rehearsed viciousness. I step my shoulders back and start my procession. I swagger and present, estranging and mocking the devotees of my foes with obscene and offending motions, an exhibition that is constantly appreciated by my own developing gathering of uproarious supporters and benefactors, and for them I swagger and posture considerably more. A rowdy bun-battle breaks out between the two groups yet it passes on a quick demise, from the current cost of bread yet generally from the wine-prompted craving of its members.

Presently just because, I trouble to pivot and coolly review my enemies for the present human and open scene. A very shifted gathering of around twenty warriors has been collected and are spreading out around the field, playing out their own ceremonies and demonstrations of acknowledgment. There are new faces among them however it was ever in this way. Those be that as it may, I dismiss. My look is attentive however held for those people who can offer a type of challenge to my capacity and consistently developing notoriety. Somebody who can really present me a genuine risk and there are various them present today. More than is common and this is sufficient to spike me on to that penultimate, dangerous degree of readiness. Contorted and scarred, sewed and patched, we as a whole share a couple of things practically speaking however the genuine players here today are as differed as they are hazardous.

'Militarist' stands enormous and foursquare to one side, both substantial arms raised on high and thundering his weird and new war serenade. Looking both magnificent and fearsome in his glimmering cap and covering, he is one I should keep a cautious watch of today, that much I am certain of. This gigantic and transcending warrior is shockingly speedy and light-footed for his size, which to my brain makes him particularly perilous. It is this unforeseen speed and spryness that has gotten numerous a long-dead rival resting and has pushed his riches and notoriety upwards.

To one side and straightforwardly in front of me moves 'Snowleopard', pirouetting deftly and showing his dangerous aptitudes. Antiquated aptitudes woven from battle and move and went down, through uncountable ages. His splendid, pompous silk garments surges around him as he turns, the tufts of his bejeweled crown flying and spinning above him. He is as destructive as he is ostentatious, this I know excessively well and we have nearly come to participate in battle, on two separate events before yet destiny announced in any case at those conclusive minutes. Nonetheless, I have made an investigation of his style and strategies in the months since and am certain that I realize how to vanquish him should we meet today.

'ForceLeFranc', spread-legged and gigantic to my correct hand, boisterous and obviously repulsive as normal and now pouring red wine down his throat with an enormous, berringed clench hand while pissing into the sand with the different massive hand. "Hello Welshman, how the damnation are you, you hopeless heap of waste?" He roars at me, wine running from his tangled whiskers as he giggles, getting defensive. He generally made himself giggle unquestionably more than any other individual could, which demonstrated the perceptive and astute, that his nonsense and his plastered bonehead act were only that, a demonstration. I realized that he will generally be an amazingly keen, perilous predator and he was unquestionably one of only a handful scarcely any I would need to pay attention to very, were we ever to meet. It's looking perpetually likely now and today could be that day yet once more, I am readied. Anyway practiced a warrior he is and anyway boundless is his notoriety, and insidious his mien, I have seen a shortcoming. Something I had gotten by an opportunity look, the last time I saw him contend. A short look at simply the ideal second gave me an important snippet of data. A little part of information however scarcely an inconsequential one, as it could actually choose my very destiny, even today.

We start to circle now, cautiously and as the residue gradually rises, we start to pick our first adversaries, our first kill of the long and depleting day's strategy. I recognize the flexible figure of 'Maharaya' rising up out of behind a hugely fat, Saxon warrior that stands stationary and moronic, up front. She is dressed as she generally is in a straightforward tunic and baggy jeans however the underlying center is consistently that splendid precious stone that flickers and shimmers from the focal point of the turban on her head. Nobody has yet had the option to guarantee that incredible gemstone and armies have died in the endeavor. She grins that twisted, lethal grin at me however her almond eyes above it sparkle like wet, dark stream stones. She moves feline like to one side, maintaining eye contact with me for a long second before gradually shaking her head, 'Not today Welshman.' she quietly mouths and nimbly goes to confront a tall, finely dressed and outfitted newcomer. An attractive and attractive youth known as Prince 'Fahadsaleem', and he had been watching her eagerly with his alarming, emerald green eyes, from under a delightfully created, gold and emerald crusted head protector.

I at last spot 'Wordsoldier', the dreaded and regarded warrior I am looking for now as his odd dress and defensive layer get my attention. I have watched him in battle and have seen him despatch one great warrior after another with his conjuring. Anyway today and as an immediate expense of my constant betting, I am chasing gold, so I have picked likewise. His well off supporters give him gold and silver and he wears simply the best and best protection cash can purchase. Some time back I dreaded him and thought of him as the total warrior, as I was finding my way in this severe exchange and searching for saints to follow. In truth, there is close to nothing yet to challenge that evaluation. Nonetheless, there is something, something little as it generally may be, yet enough to supply me with the conviction that I can vanquish him. I'm going to discover at any rate as the hover of warriors fixes and our aggregate breathing starts to rise.

The strain mounts as we approach the indispensable second and is totally irresistible, moving through the group like a phantom. The second many fear yet a few, me included long-for and can't sit tight for its appearance, the eminent snapshot of battle. Most are shrugging now and flexing, setting up their fear weapons and the clamor of the group increase appropriately. I hunch currently, carefully viewing the edge of my protected zone and snatch a small bunch of the abrasive, dusty sand that is spread over the stone floor of the field, to offer buy to feet, particularly when the carnage is lower leg profound. I applaud together and rub the rough into my palms, feeling it absorb the perspiration in the recognizable, and notable everyday practice. I oust the soil from my hands and stand, straight and intentionally and my devotees go bezerk, hooting and hollering their help from the perceived quarters of this immense and dishonest group.

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missredbean · 7 years

Text

For You I Call: Episode 1 (7)

Premise Imagine your life. Imagine your family and friends. Imagine the best future can offer is now within your reach. Now turn that around. Your world is no longer peaceful. Your loved ones are battling ruthless creatures that devour everything in their wake. And you are now, their enemy.

Summary After three years of hiding and recovering from a traumatic experience, Argent Cross' life finally starts heading for the better—only to have it turned upside down in one night. He wakes up ten years older, without a clear memory of what happened in between, in a warring country that sees him as their enemy's spawn. Going back requires his lost memory, but does he want to remember, when the last thing he remembers is the death of a loved one?

Welcome,

Here is the new prologue of my story, “For You I Call”. If you like fantasy in renaissance setting, humans-vs-hordes-of-monsters, or simply my style of writing, then this story is for you!

What is this all about:

alternate universe

epic battles

politics

love

fantasy warfare

you-know-they-are-dating-but-I-won’t-say-it

Warnings:

ruthless-ness

tragedies

non-straight relationships (male and female version) and straight relationships

present tense style of writing

TLDR: this is basically Muv-Luv Alternative in fantasy setting. Yeah, I love those innocent-hero-thrown-to-alternate-warring-world stories and wish there’s a straight-gay version of it—but there are none, so here it is. Enjoy!

Chapter List:

Prologue Episode 1: Arachnids (1 & 2, 3 & 4, 5, 6)

Episode 1: Arachnids

Previously:

I follow Vert into the coach. To my relief, the coach is a closed type coach with windows and curtains. Not to mention the seats are cushioned leather seats that looks like a sofa. I can close the curtain and pretend we are in a moving house instead of being outside. If it doesn’t work, I can just lay down and sleep. It’s wide enough to contain my upper body.

I take a seat across Vert, who sits right behind the driver side. Once I’m seated, she closes the door and orders Rosalys to go.

“You can go now.”

“Yes, lady Vert.”

Rosalys ring a bell, and the coach moves, accompanied with the pegasuses snort and flap of wings. Nobody stops us from leaving the inn.

-7-

“We will take the main road and head to the north. On the next town, we will use the train to head south east, where my home is,” Vert says, continuing her explanation from before. “There will be a checkpoint, of course, but it should be fine with our disguise.”

“Won’t they know my face?”

“I doubt it. It’s easier to tell people to look for a white haired young man than distribute a portrait they may have or not have. Besides, you look very different from when I found you. Nobody would recognize you—not immediately.”

“That’s a relief. What should I do at the checkpoint?”

“Just play as a visually challenged nobleman who has a really sore throat; let me and Rosalys handle the conversation.”

Visually challenged. That’s one way of putting it. In other words, sit tight and don’t do anything. Simple enough.

“Speaking of visions, your sight has come back, right?”

“Yes, but it’s a little bit dark. I can’t see very well.”

“Maybe you need more light. Hold on, let me turn up the lantern.”

Vert leans sideways to reach the lantern placed on a small plank fastened between the seats. She turns the knob, and the room becomes much darker.

“Vert, you got it wrong. You made it darker,” I say when Vert makes no attempt to fix it.

“No, I didn’t. I made it brighter.”

“But it’s darker for me,” I say, earning a frown from Vert.

“Perhaps…” Vert reaches the knob again and turns it to the opposite direction.

“How’s this?”

“Better.”

Vert turns the knob further.

“And this?”

“Much better. I can see very well now.”

“And I can’t. I think I know what’s wrong with your eyes now. They’re weak to light.”

“So I can see when it’s dark, but not when it’s bright?”

“Yes. That’s probably why you can suddenly see. It’s night now. When you woke up, it was noon and the room was bright from sunlight.”

“I see.” It’s a good news, but troubling. How am I supposed to do activities on daytime? It’s not like I can turn off the sun.

Wait.

That’s it!

“I need sunglasses.”

“Sunglasses? What’s that?”

She doesn’t even know sunglasses? On what century is this place?

“Glasses with dark lenses. Lenses are plates of small glass that you can wear on your eyes.”

“I know what glasses are,” Vert says with a huff. “I just don’t know what sunglasses are. But it’s a good idea. Perhaps we can fashion one at a glasses shop.”

“Yes.” I hope it won’t be like grandpa Cor’s round and old fashioned glasses. The lenses are too big and he looks like a mad doctor when he wears it.

The conversation ends there. Vert adjusts the light so both of us can see. After that, it’s silence between us.

It makes me think. Now that the hectic-ness subsides, questions surface in my mind. Where am I? Somewhere far away from home, that’s clear. But where—or when—exactly? The past? No way, they have pegasuses and back at home pegasuses are only a fantasy creature. Another world? Most likely, since there’s another Vert and another me here. But how did I get here? And why there are people looking for me?

Or maybe the explanation is much simpler; I am still sleeping and this is all just a dream. But no. This is too lucid to be a dream. There’s no way I can replicate the sensation of riding a coach in my dream—because I’ve never rode one—and there’s no way I can imagine Vert’s adult version face in this much detail.

Speaking of Vert…

I sneak a glance at her. She has closed her eyes and appears to be taking a nap. Now that she relaxes, she looks even more like the Vert I know. She still has some baby fat left and only now I notice how stern and mature she looks when she’s awake. Now, she looks like an ordinary girl sleeping.

And I’m disillusioned with how she looks in her dress. Sure, she’s wearing a cream colored, long sleeved blouse paired with a green, two layer skirt and black high-heeled boots, but she does not look feminine at all. It’s like I’m looking at a pretty boy dressing up as a girl. How did she manage pulling that off? Is it the boots? The short hair? Her face? Or is it the way she crosses both arms and legs?

Vert opens her eyes. They’re green like pine’s leaves.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. I just thought you really look like Vert—my sister, I mean, you look better with pants.” I lie straight away.

Vert sniggers. “And you too, like my brother’s long lost twin.”

Boy, does this Vert eats my lie raw too?

“By the way, what’s your name?”

“…You’ve been calling me brother and only now ask my name?” I ask incredulously.

Vert shrugs. “It just occurred to me that you may share the same looks, but not necessarily the same name.”

“Right. It’s Argent. Same with your brother?”

Vert sighs. “Yes. Why you’re not my brother again?”

That question is rhetorical, but I answer it anyway.

“Because we think memories and blood ties are necessary to be brother and sister.”

Vert goes still. No wonder, even I’m surprised by myself.

“Are you saying that we can pretend to be brother and sister if we want?” Vert asks, voice tight.

“Yes. Not as a replacement for each other though,” I quickly say.

“Sounds interesting, but I’ll have to think about that.”

“Me too.”

“Why you too? You’re the one who suggested it.”

“Yes, but on the spur of the moment. I need to prepare my heart to handle another Vert in my life,” I say, half serious half joking, which earns me a raised eyebrow from Vert.

“Surely my counterpart is not that bad.”

“She’s a dirt magnet. Everyday she comes back as if she has rolled a hundred times on the ground and thousand times on the mud.”

“Oh, then I’m as bad.”

I want ask what that means, but I notice the coach slows down to a stop.

“Checkpoint time?”

Vert peeks through the curtain and shakes her head.

“No. It should be further down the road. Rosalys? What’s wrong?”

“There’s a huge line in front of us, lady Vert. I have yet to know what is wrong though.”

“Can you see the front?”

“No, milady. It’s too dark. Please wait for a moment; I will inquire what’s wrong.”

Rosalys comes back a minute later.

“The army is sending reinforcements to north-east defense line. The road is closed to allow them to come through.”

“The reinforcements should be taxied by the pegasus riders. What do they need the main road for?”

Vert’s question is answered by a tremor.

“...oh, right. I forgot. There’s that.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Why don’t you look outside? It’ll soon pass.”

Another tremor. I lift the curtain and look forward. At first I only see other coaches, pulled to a stop for the same reason. Then the sky shifts.

No. It’s not the sky. It’s a lizard. A giant, around thirty stories high and several blocks long freakishly over-sized lizard. Its torso is shaped like a round bread, but its skin is like cone shaped rocks put together, especially on the back. Its tail is short; only half of its torso’s length, but its end is shaped like a club—with spikes. Its head is like a turtle’s but with scales and two short horns.

I close the curtain and face Vert.

“What is that?”

“A stone dragon called Groundsweeper. Cute, isn’t it?”

I look at the lizard again. Yeah, it’s cute; if it was palm sized and weighed several hundred grams instead of several hundred tons.

“And you’re saying that that overgrown lizard is the reinforcements.”

“Nah, that one is the reinforcements’ weapon of mass-destruction. The real reinforcements are the army escorting it. You can only see the pegasus corps from here though.”

Vert is right. There are tenths of pegasuses flying alongside the dragon. Some maintain their altitude close to the dragon’s head, wings flapping only once or twice as they glide beside its unblinking eyes.

“Amazing. How do you put something that big under control?”

Vert hands me a spyglass. “Here. Look at the top of its head, between the horns.”

I do as instructed. I see several uniformed people riding on their pegasuses before I find the spot mentioned. There are silhouettes, people sitting in a circle between the horns.

“See those people? They’re its summoners; the only ones who can give command to it and bring it under control.”

“If it’s a summoned being, why make it walk? Why don’t you just summon it on the battlefield?”

“It’s not that simple. To summon a grand class familiar like Groundsweeper, you need years of preparation and tremendous amount of resources, so you can’t just dismiss and re-summon it as you like. Of course they summoned it near the battlefield where it’s stationed. But now they’re being moved because there’s another battlefield that needs its assistance and they can’t wait for years.”

The noise grows outside as Vert explains the situation. People are getting off their coaches to see the dragon better. There are ‘ooooh’s and ‘aaah’s accompanied with excited finger pointing; a complete opposite to Vert, who isn’t fazed by the sheer scale and grandiose of the dragon. She just stares at another direction, looking concerned.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“It’s strange,” I give Vert a questioning look, and she elaborates. “The Groundsweepers are the west Ulrika base’s familiar. I heard they’re planning to send one to the northeast Geneche base, but I see two.”

“Two?” I look out again and yeah, there’s another Groundsweeper, quite far behind the first one. There are less pegasuses around it. “What’s wrong with two?”

“Think about it. How much resources and time will it take to move a creature of this scale across the country? The answer is two battalions of combined corps and three weeks. That means for three weeks, the whole border defense is one familiar and two battalions short. Anything can happen within that span of time.”

“If they’re that concerned, why send the army too? Don’t you have it under control?”

“To keep the creature in line in case it goes berserk of course. Groundsweepers may appear calm, but they’re actually very sensitive. If they accidentally acknowledged a city as an enemy because some idiot provokes it, then, well, it’s hard to change its mind.”

I look at the dragon again. It’s blinking again, so slowly. Yeah. I think it can flatten a city or two before it can be convinced otherwise.

“Long story short, moving a Groundsweeper takes months of planning and calculation. You can’t just plus one when you feel like it. Even if you’re desperate.”

“Perhaps they have no other choice,” I say, trying to make sense of the reason behind.

“That’s what I’m afraid of. In any case, this works for us. It’ll take around three to four hours to let the dragons pass. The checkpoint will be lax with the growing line.”

“And the patrols?”

“Won’t come. They trust the checkpoint guard to do their job.”

#FYIC #light novel #Fantasy Warfare

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