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sirensmojo · 3 years

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"Depth Over Distance" Hubby! Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Angst & Fluff.

Summary: Tommy remembers the time he fell in love with you when he realizes that you are falling out of love with him.

A/N: It's Tommy's point of view all along. [it was supposed to be out yesterday but I fell asleep WAY TOO SOON and on my computer....]

PS: Inspired by "Keep your Head up" by Ben Howard.

*Masterlist*

*Arrow House*

The clock was ticking, it was the only sound that could be heard in the office, along with the smoke Tommy exhaled. His eyes were blankly staring at the void forward him, his vision blurred by his thoughts.

She was standing in the chair right in front of him but she wasn’t saying anything, she probably didn’t even notice he was standing near her.

She wouldn’t even look at him in the eyes anymore or even throw a single glance his way. He used to say he’ll not eat with Y/N when just coming home from the House Of Commons, but for several months she wasn’t even expecting him at all. When he would arrive late for dinner, he would rush to the dining room but found it empty.

No plates on the table, and no Y/N waiting for him. It was maids that would welcome him and tell him his wife took supper earlier before going to bed, using the excuse that “she had to wake up early”.

What was she doing early in the morning anyway?

Why was she out all day long? But most of all, why wasn't she looking at him anymore?

Y/N and Tom met during the war, she was a nurse in his department. Being a tunneler meant you weren’t going out often, but when you did, it was solely to put out the bodies of the dead or reach for help for those who were deeply wounded.

He remembers she used to always come to him to take care of his scars when he refused to let anyone touch him until all his soldiers would be taken care of.

She wasn’t saying anything when he would do so, but her eyes… Tommy remembers vividly the way she was looking at him, the aggressive burning fire that was animating her eyes and her stern look contrasting with the way her lids softly fluttered whenever he would catch her looking at him.

She used to panic a little before understanding it was his way to tell her she could take care of his wounds and scars.

Her touches were so soft and sweet, her skin was always smooth and cold. Not in a bad way, it was easing his own that was burning like hot coals.

Being under the ground in very tiny tunnels with all his soldiers, Tommy had to take on his shoulders an amount of pressure no one could ever even imagine, he had to give them orders and lead them to death from time to time. No errors would be acceptable, so he had to calculate everything for everyone.

The air down there was toxic, hot and tense. That’s why he loved Y/N’s skin being cold, it would remind him about the life above the ground, what fresh air felt like, and even if at the time he hadn’t had much space to think about that, she was bringing him hope.

A hope that would be killed as soon as he was back in the tunnels, but still. He could taste hope somehow, so it was better than nothing.

When returning home, he forgot about her for some time, but soon enough, the universe, destiny, or whatever, sent his angel back in the streets of small heath.

She was working in a bakery, and soon, Thomas was bringing bread everywhere he would go. Even in family meetings or the betting shop. Every occasion was an invitation to visit the woman that didn’t seem to recognize him… Or so he thought.

“Y/N! Give your Sergent Major what he needs and close the shop! We need you at the back!”

Her cheeks reddened.

“I’m coming!” Y/N responded by turning her head to the back door before slowly facing Tommy again. She was keeping her head down, but when she met the icy blue staring-eyes of the man she once knew in another time, she cleared her throat and gained composure again.

“So what do you want?”

“Huh?” He responded, aghast.

“What bread this time?” She answered back and he raised his brows.

“You remember me?” He will not order anything, but he wanted the truth.

“Who can forget what happened there.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement and the bitter tone of her voice alarmed him. Did he do something to her personally or was that tone about the war itself? Tom was confused.

He frowned and was staring at the woman in front of him.

“You heard my boss, I gotta close.” She let out before she walked around the counter to join him. She seemed to be aware he was going there only to see her, that’s why she didn’t wait any longer to put him out of the bakery shop.

Tommy, that was now out, under the rain, turned back to look at her through the windows, confusion filling his eyes.

She was aware of his scheme and she indeed kicked him out the shop.

Her attitude made him forget he was a peaky blinder and that he should be served like a fucking Prince. With her, he only felt like a simple man. Not that it was a bad thing, but since he returned his business was the only thing he could think about until he saw her again.

Now she became the key to this other dimension where Tommy Shelby was just Tommy Shelby, not the leader of a backstreet gang, not the head of the Shelby family, no. None of those things mattered or even existed in that dimension. It was just him, her, and the way she was looking at him.

Tom maybe didn’t know what to say that day, but he eventually came back the next day with only one purpose: She will not kick him out this time. This wasn’t too ambitious, or was it?

Because last time she made no effort to kick him out. Her Y/C/E eyes were enough for Tommy to be unable to say anything back.

But he wanted to believe this time will be different.

He pushed the heavy glass door and entered, no clients. He quickly glanced behind the counter but he was surprised to see a blonde girl. It wasn’t Y/N.

“Mr Shelby!” The woman began, a huge smile on her face, she surely knew about his position in this town. “What brings you here? Can I help you?”

But he glimpsed a form, in the tiny room at the back of the shop, and here she was, lifting huge bags of flour from the ground.

He turned back to the girl that was speaking to him and cleared his throat, “Give me my everyday order.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand… It’s my first time serving clients, I do not know what you usually take…” She seemed sorry and scared. So, she heard about what happened when the peaky blinders didn’t have what they wanted.

He got out a cig, lightening it up slowly before puffing on it and lifted his eyes back on the woman, “Well, bring someone who knows.” Was all he said.

“Y/N, please come!” The blondie girl ran to the back door.

“Is it something you do often, to frighten people?” Y/N asked, outright, when nearing the counter.

“Give me my everyday order.” He was looking deep into her eyes, and he could swear he saw her gritted her teeth as the muscle of her jaw tensed.

She grabbed a couple of pieces and wrapped them in fabric, shaking her head.

“Is it something you want to tell me?” He raised his brows, still smoking.

She handed him his order and exhaled, “I don’t understand why you chose that path. Haven’t you got enough with the killings?” She looked at him straight in the eyes, and he would swear she was looking into his soul.

Tommy didn’t say anything for a moment, his body stiffened. It was when his cigarettes burnt his knuckles that he blinked, grunting. He frowned and looked at the burning on his pale skin as the cigarette fell on the ground.

How did she do that? It was as if she understood him better than he did. And her words made him feel like he was cheating on himself.

She grabbed his hand in both of hers, which startled the man that looked up to her face.

It had been forever he hadn't seen her that close, her hair falling perfectly on each side of her face, framing her judging look. “Now you act like you don’t remember who you are, huh? Or maybe you truly forgot.”

Her words echoed in his mind but he was still desperately searching for their meaning. What was she saying?

“So, you hate me.” He concluded, not because that was what he thought but because it was his way of knowing what he truly wanted to know without directly asking her a question. He didn’t need her to think he cared what she thought, even if that was the case.

She put his knuckle in her mouth while frowning at him,” No, I don’t hate you, of course, no.” She was taken aback by his remark. As if it was the dumbest thing she'd ever heard.

“So, what is it? You always be looking at me with those eyes,” he pointed to her with his free hand. That’s when he realized his finger in her mouth, making him flutter his lids a couple times out of confusion, “like I did something wrong.” He concluded while staring at her mouth.

Y/N scoffed, “Stop speaking in the name of my eyes. It’s not my fault if you see your own conscience in them.” She said as letting go of his finger.

She pulled his arm, leading him in the tiny room at the back of the bakery shop. “Sit.” She motioned a dusty table and two chairs while she went away.

Tommy obeyed, patiently waiting for her.

He rewinds the time and hears her voice again, “It’s not my fault if you see your own conscience in them”, well. Maybe she was right. Maybe all of the things he thought he saw in her was in imagination, but here he was, about to have a full conversation with the woman that saw the real him.

“Give me your finger,” she let out while sitting right next to him. “I never hated you, Tommy. It’s who you become that I can’t stand. I thought you discovered your true self there, I guess I was wrong.”

“Don’t speak in my name. It’s not my fault if you see a version of me you want to see and not who I am.”

She lifted her gaze to his, “I saw you looking at your soldiers there. You felt powerless in front of their distress, and it seemed to burn you from the inside. I’m not lying.” She said, putting some kind of liquid on his burn.

“That’s why I become who I’m becoming.” He snapped back, staring at her movements, wincing of pain.

“To never be powerless…” She muttered utterly to herself, but he heard her, and noticed her nodding to herself, she was genuinely trying to understand him.

“And I saw you.” She tied a piece of tissue around his knuckle before exhaling deeply.

“Back then, yea” He completed before she could add anything as if to let her know he wasn’t the same anymore.

“It’s so depressing how you want everything out of life but not the life itself.” She smiled at him faintly, raising a hand to his cheek.

She fondled his skin and shamelessly brought her lips to his, kissing him softly.

Tommy was surprised but in a good way. Now he was sure about what he felt between them since the war.

He put a hand at the back of her head, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, his other hand she took care of cupped one of her cheeks, tenderly.

He couldn’t believe it was the same Y/N in his vivid memories that was ignoring him right now.

He wanted to say something, but the words refused to form in his mind, and his voice was tied in his throat.

He knew she never approved his business even if she never said anything, and he was pretty sure this was the reason he was forced to watch the spaces grow between them.

A heaviness settled on his chest, making him cough even harder than usual. He abruptly crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and clenched his jaw as he grabbed the paper Y/N was reading.

He wanted her attention, he wanted her to look at him the way she used to. He wanted to see his own conscience in her eyes, he needed his wife. And she wasn’t there anymore, or maybe it was him who wasn't there?

Maybe the fact he entered politics was the last straw that broke the camel’s back? It was love or business and he made a decision.

That last thought made sense and would explain why she didn’t even look at him after he grabbed the paper and just left the office without saying anything.

(...)

In the morning, as he just entered the Shelby Brother Company Limited’s office, he saw his wife, sitting in one of the two armchairs in front of his desk.

“Y/N.” His voice was full of expectations.

When he saw the suitcase near her legs, he realized what was bound to happen.

“Sit.” She spoke with a low voice. And that’s when he realized...

It was him who changed. She was still as calm as usual, her hair still perfectly framing her face by falling at each side of her head.

Her Y/C/E eyes that, for the first time in months, met his blue ones were still animated by the same burning fire that when he found her in the bakery shop.

She was the same.

He came and sat at his desk, taking advantage of the fact she didn’t refuse to look at him, to stare at her face, printing as many details as he could before she would vanish, because that’s what she’ll do. He knows it.

“You had been away.” He succeeded saying. He didn’t want her to go silent again or to ignore him, so he made a step towards her, hoping she would do the same.

Tommy didn’t speak the first words coming to his mind, he meant something while saying this.

He wasn’t talking about distance here, no. He was talking about depth, she had been far too in-depth for him to reach for her.

She seemed to understand the depth he meant because she quickly looked away, fleeing the judgment in his icy stern eyes.

“Keep your mind set in your ways. It’s who you are now.” She mutters, giving him a faint smile.

He knew a ‘but’ would be coming at some point, he was patiently waiting for the sentence to drop on his head, so she could finish him off as if her ignoring him didn’t already do enough damage.

“It’s the time we go separate ways, Tom. But it’s okay, cause I’ll always remember you the same….” She tilted her head to the side, closing her eyes abruptly. A couple of tears racing at the corners of her eyes, “Eyes like wildflowers… with your demons of change.”

So that was it, he was right, he was the one who let her down, the one who changed.

“May you find happiness there… May all our hopes all turn out right.” She concluded, finally opening back her eyes.

He closed his eyes at each of her sentences, they were like bullets to him. One hitting him deeper than the previous.

No tears were to be found in her eyes anymore, it was his Y/N right here, right there. The one that once saw him, but couldn’t see him now.

#Hubby! Tommy Shelby #Husband Tommy Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x Reader #Peaky Blinders

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whimsicallyreading · 3 years

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Dark Roast, No Sugar

“Last night I woke the hell up. I realized I need you here, as desperate as that sounds, yeah.” - Jon Bellion

Masterlist

Chapter Nine-

Aelin showed up to the police department in a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt. She didn't even bother putting on the new-ish sneakers she owned, opting for the ones with holes because they didn't squeeze her feet. It wasn't the first impression she wanted to give, but you deserve a little forgiveness when making a whole-ass human.

Leaning over the dash of the car, she presses a friendly kiss to the side of Chaol's face. "Thanks for the ride, boys."

His cheeks redden, and Dorian leans as much of his body as he can into the front of the car, "No sugar for me?"

Aelin laughs and kisses his cheek good-naturedly. "Feel less left out now?"

"Much better," the corners of his happy smile dim, his blue eyes dart to the doors of the precinct. "Are you sure you don't want me to call you a lawyer, Aelin?"

Chaol nods his agreement beside him, his hands clenching the steering wheel despite the car being in park. "Do you want me to go inside with you?"

Aelin feels a bubble of warmth blossoming in her chest. Their worried faces and eagerness to help her- it was almost enough to warm an assassin's heart. "Don't worry. They just need me to clarify a few things in my statement. Nothing serious. Paperwork issues."

Dorian and Chaol had shown up right as she was walking out of the front door of The Stag. When they realized she was leaving and offered her a ride... Aelin couldn't say no. Not with how her feet were aching.

It took some more reassuring, but they finally agreed to let her leave their caring grasps.

Fenrys met her at the door with a smile, "Hey, Baby Mama. Looking beautiful."

Aelin is surprised to find she's genuinely happy to see him. She can't help the toothy grin he brings out in her. "I'm well. How are you this morning, Fen?"

Fenrys lights up at the nickname. "I bought us some donuts. We have a hard day of work ahead of us, and I figured we would deserve a treat in advance."

Donuts sounded phenomenal and vastly improved her outlook of the day.

He steers her through the PD, and several heads turn to stare as she passes. Aelin didn't particularly care. Whatever they thought they knew about her, they probably didn't.

When they finally reach Rowan's office, they find him slumped over a laptop at a desk piled high with neatly stacked papers. The room is minimalistic. Only necessary office items were visible—no personal effects, knickknacks, or pictures of any kind adorning the space.

Rowan himself is also in his usual state of neatness, minus the dirt she could see staining the underside of his nails. He must have been gardening this morning.

Aelin doesn't bother with greetings. She grabs a chair opposite him and sits down. The last few days, she'd been feeling more drained and quick to tire. At first, she attributed it to the baby getting larger and demanding more of her body's resources, but now Aelin started to think that she caught a bug galavanting through the night.

Fenrys set a blueberry donut and a cup of hot tea in front of her. Bless him. Aelin mumbles her thanks before stuffing her mouth.

Rowan shuts his laptop with a snap and replaces it with a yellow notepad. "Alright, Aelin. I need a name. Who do you think is doing this?"

"When is Aedion getting released?" She says around a mouthful of glazed blueberry.

Fenrys slumps into an office chair at a tinier desk in the corner of the room. "This afternoon."

"If all goes well at this meeting," Rowan tacks on the thinly veiled warning. "I need a name."

Aelin leans back in her seat and takes a deep breath. There was a strange heaviness in giving his name. As if speaking it would materialize him into existence in front of her. Her goal when she moved to Ornyth was to forget about him and push her old master as far from her mind as she physically could, but she supposed it was naive to think he wouldn't come looking for her.

This wasn't just for her, Aelin reminds herself. Aedion would benefit from this conversation.

"His name is Arobynn Hammel. He's thirty-five, red hair, grey eyes, and an utter asshole." Aelin lays the name of her childhood tormentor out on the table. A bad taste sours her mouth.

Rowan tosses the notepad to Fenrys, who relays what she said to the paper. He looks at her over his desk with an unreadable expression. "What is your relation to Mr. Hammel?"

"Why?" Aelin chuckles as if the stress is trying to escape her with each half-hearted chuckle. "Do you want to know if he's my baby daddy?"

"Yes," Rowan and Fenrys say simultaneously.

Aelin's smile falls, and she scowls at both of them. They didn't know better, but she still felt insulted.

"He isn't, but I suppose he probably would have liked to be. Make sure to underline that," she points at Fenry's pad of paper. "Arobynn raised me. I don't think he was legally a foster parent, but he is who I was given to in the shuffle after the occupation."

Rowan dips his chin. Green eyes focus on her intensely, as if he's trying to absorb and commit her every word to memory. "How old were you when they put you in his care?"

"Eight," Aelin breathes out, a sharp tingling of grief comes with that admission. "I lived with him from the time I was eight until I turned nineteen."

"Why do you suspect him of producing and distributing Synth?" Rowan asks the nail-in-the-coffin question, and Aelin has to bite back old instincts to lie and conceal this information. It makes her feel vulnerable to expose Arobynn.

Vulnerability isn't an emotion she handles well. After all, when you bare your neck to someone, it becomes within their power to cut their throat.

"I've seen where he makes it, and I oversaw some of his high-risk contracts and dealings with the distribution," Fenrys chokes beside her, but he smothers it with a cough. Even Rowan looks a little taken back, eyes narrowing.

"At what age did you start assisting with his-" he struggles to find the words. "-His business practices."

Aelin blinks, "Eight."

This time, neither of them covers their reactions. They both freeze in their seats, an air of disbelief hanging over them. Aelin feels a chill and tugs at the hem of her shirt, wishing the sleeves were longer.

"What?" Rowan is the first to break the tension.

"I was displaced in the occupation," Aelin begins the watered-down version of her sob story. "I was carted into Adarlan and placed in the care of Arobynn Hammel. Within a couple of months, he was already using me as a mule to get orders across Rifthold. He trained me in various skills to carry out larger jobs, along with a few other children."

"There were others?" Rowan looks saddened by that tidbit.

Mentally Aelin wants to laugh.

Of course, he would be upset at the prospect of other good children suffering from such a fate.`Ones who had the potential he thought she lacked.

If only he knew what bastards they all grew up to be, and she by far was not the worst of them.

Fenrys' eyes were gleaming with more pity than Aelin was comfortable with because, unlike Rowan, she knew it was directed towards her. Gratefully he didn't dig too deeply. Instead, Fenrys picked up the next question. "Can you name the others?"

Aelin bites her lip, leg fidgeting under the table. "Tern Fletcher, Archer Flynn, Adam Mulligan, Lysandra Ennar-" she swallows past the lump in her throat. "Samuel Cortland and myself."

"Lysandra was involved?" Rowan leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. He hasn't looked away, barely blinked, since the questioning began. Aelin feels naked as his eyes seemed to be raking in her every movement.

"Not-" she tries to think of how to phrase it in a way that respects her friend's privacy. "She wasn't involved in the same capacity I was."

"Are the others you know still working with Hammel?" Rowan asks, and Aelin gladly lets them move the conversation away from Lys. She wasn't comfortable digging into her friend's wounds when she wasn't around.

"I suspect Mulligan, Flynn, and Fletcher. They were extremely loyal, and as of the last time I saw them, very active in the business." Aelin fondly remembers the beat down she laid on Archer before their parting words. He sold them out, and she hopes for his sake that they never run into each other again.

Fenrys looks up, "What about Samuel?"

"What?" Aelin flinches, the question taking her back.

"Samuel Cortland," Rowan reiterates. "You named him as one of the employees in Hammel's custody but implied he's no longer active in the business. Where is he then?" He leans forward, and Aelin wishes she could shrink back. "Would he be willing to speak with us?"

"Children." Her voice comes out as gruffer than she intends. "We were kids. Not employees. It wasn't a mutual agreement. None of us could consent to what became of us."

Aelin is surprised by the emotion that makes itself known. She swallows back the tears that want to fall and stuffs her trembling hands under her thighs. The implication any of them had a choice in serving Arobynn was disturbing and utterly wrong.

The taste of skin between her teeth, blood crusting under her nails, and being surrounded in pitch-black darkness consume her. Aelin suddenly feels more ill than she had this morning.

"Of course, Aelin." Fenrys placates. "That's understood. We just need to know where Samuel is. He could be very useful to the investigation."

"Dead," Aelin throws the word out like a dying fish on the table. "He died."

It hurt to say that. Tears burned in the corners of her eyes. Sam dying was worse than talking about Arobynn. A million times worse.

Aelin tries to swallow the lead rock in her throat. Arobynn didn't deserve to be known. His legacy was of blood, abuse, and control. It belonged in the sewer alongside his corpse.

Sam, on the other hand, deserved to be known. He abandoned by the system, forgotten by his family, and still chose kindness above all else. Sam's story deserved to be told, and it killed Aelin that it hurt her so much to share it.

"How did he die?" Fenrys prods delicately.

"What?" Aelin asks dumbly, heart accelerating in her chest.

"How did Samuel die? Any details you can give are beneficial. and you agreed to cooperate." Rowan reminds her sternly.

Mala save her, she couldn't go into detail about how she found him. She couldn't. Aelin feels blood rushing up to her head, and the room seems to sway.

"Sam. He liked to be called Sam-" Is all Aelin manages to choke out. "Excuse me."

Pushing herself from the desk, she shakily bolts for the office door. Their complaints are silenced as the glass shuts behind her. Outside, Aelin can feel the trembling beginning in her hands and spreading up her arms.

Sweat beads on her forehead in the oppressive heat of the building, but when she rubs her face, it feels damp and cold to the touch.

Aelin frantically strides down the hall, eyes darting around madly for a bathroom door. Nausea was creeping up her throat, and she really didn't want to throw up in someone's trashcan. She knew she was moving quickly, that someone might see her and become alarmed, but anxiety made everything feel like it was moving in slow motion.

A dainty hand grips her elbow and tugs in gently. "Follow me, dear. I can help you."

Aelin's head is swimming, and she allows the calming voice to steer her back in the other direction. When the person pushes open the bathroom door and Aelin sees the navy blue stalls, she rips her arm away and falls to her knees before the porcelain bowl.

Long, slender fingers pull her hair back from her face and rub her shoulders as Aelin loses her breakfast. "You are okay," the voice consoles—a hand massages up her spine and soothes the aches there.

Aelin's whole body is shuddering now. Her stomach rolls over itself, and the muscles of her diaphragm are quaking with exertion. She doubts she could get to her feet if she tried. A strand of drool hangs from her lips, and Aelin would be humiliated if her head wasn't still reeling.

Gouged eyes. Bent fingers. Blood on her lips.

A wad of paper towels appears and dabs at her cheeks, which Aelin hadn't even realized were wet with tears. She failed to notice that her body was shuddering under the intensity of the sobs coming from her. The woman continues to pat her cheeks and nose. Then to her mortification, it swipes at the spit hanging from her mouth.

Mala end me now, she mentally pleads.

Aelin looks up to find a woman with raven hair and onyx eyes looking at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, dear. I don't mean to overstep. I've been where you are before. Please don't be embarrassed."

Opening her mouth, Aelin makes to apologize, but another crackling sob breaks from her chest instead.

She's just tired. Tired of being sad. Tired of feeling sick. Tired of being unable to even say his name without breaking down.

Arms wrap around Aelin's shoulders and tug her into an embrace. She allows her face to burrow into the woman's blazer as the grief racks through her body.

"Oh, sweety. It's going to be alright. I promise whatever is going on right now will work out." Fingers rake through Aelin's hair soothingly. It turns her to jello in the woman's arms. Her presence was just so motherly in a way that Aelin sorely misses.

She holds Aelin tight until she's calm enough to hold a plastic cup of water without dropping it. The woman helps her stand and wipes the mascara smudges off her cheeks with a damp towel. "There you go," she tosses the towel in the trash when she deems Aelin presentable. "Brand new, again."

"Thank you," Aelin breathes out at last. "I don't even know what to say."

"Say nothing," the woman waves her hand. "I've been pregnant before. Hormones. Nausea. It isn't an easy ride, dear. Besides, no one comes to a police station for a good reason." The woman pulls a stick of gum from a purse sitting on the sink and offers it to her. Aelin accepts it gratefully.

"Has anyone told you that stress isn't good for you?" Her kind eyes bore into Aelin worriedly. "You look very pale."

"I've been told. Many times." Aelin rubs her forehead, an ache already forming there. "I just don't have much of a choice."

"What's your name? I'm Maeve." She smiles and extends a hand for Aelin to shake.

Aelin takes the hand, happy that they aren't trembling so badly. "Aelin."

"Do you have any name ideas for the baby?" Maeve's eyes glance down towards the slight swell of her belly a little wistfully.

Names? Aelin periodically forgot that the human growing inside of her would pop into the world and require such a thing. It was a far-off event where she had plenty of time to accommodate for things in her head. In reality, she was halfway through her fourth month.

Time was ticking.

"No. I don't have any ideas yet." Aelin admits.

Maeve pats Aelin's shoulder kindly. "That's just fine. Ignore my curiosity. You have plenty of time if-" she emphasizes, "you take better care of yourself."

There is a knock on the door. "Aelin, are you alright?"

Rowan.

"Yes. I'll be back in a minute," Aelin says through the door.

She waits until his footsteps echo back down the hallway before she makes towards the exit. Eager to leave the bathroom and the memories of her awkward breakdown with it. "Thanks again. Really. I appreciate it."

Aelin truly meant it despite the utter humiliation she felt.

"Let me walk you back to Rowan's office?" Maeve asked. "It's easy to get turned around in this building."

They walked in a comfortable silence back to the office. Maeve's demeanor is so tranquil it surprises Aelin when the demure woman pushes the door open without knocking. "I have a delivery for you boys."

"Chief?" Rowan stands up, confused.

What? Aelin blinks and turns back to the woman, noting the black and whites and the metal badge on the breast of her blazer. The same blazer Aelin had just cried on.

Blood rushed to her face, and her brain curdles in her skull. Of course, it was the law of Orynth whose arms she just broke down in. Adarlan's Assassin reduced to a ball of hormones clinging to the chief detective of Terrasen like a baby clinging to its mother.

"Has she caused trouble?" Rowan's eyes glint with steel.

If you've done anything to degrade me to my boss, the deal is off.

"Not at all. We ran into each other in the bathroom and had a lovely chat," Maeve brushes an invisible piece of dust from Aelin's shoulder. "I will let the three of you get back to business. You are in excellent company."

Aelin's lip quirks. Just the opposite. She loves me. Congratulations, you are already reaping the benefits of my presence.

"Oh, and Fenrys?" Aelin looks at Fenrys, who is actively ignoring them. "The reports you promised are late. Have them to my desk by the end of the day, please."

"Will do, Chief." Fenrys' reply is dry and lacks his usual pep.

Aelin notes the worried glance Rowan throws him, but he swiftly covers it with an expressionless mask. "I will make sure he gets it done."

What was that? Aelin tries to pry an answer from Rowan, but he avoids her look.

When Maeve leaves, the tension eases from the men's shoulders.

"You are trouble," Rowan tosses at her without venom.

Aelin picks up the cup of tea she left at his desk, glad it's still warm. "Yes, but only the best kind."

"We haven't laid out a single plan for weaseling out Arobynn," Fenrys makes an irritated face at them. "If either of you could focus for ten minutes, we can do the rest of the questioning later, but we need to start throwing out ideas."

"Did Rowan piss in your tea in the last ten minutes I was gone?" Aelin shoots back, not appreciating his sudden attitude.

"Thirty," Rowan says. "You were gone for thirty minutes. That's why I came looking for you. Also, ruining beverages is your thing, not mine."

Damn, had she been gone that long? A glance at the clock confirms he was correct.

When she turns back to Rowan, there is almost something like worry in his eyes? That couldn't be right, Aelin rubs that aching side of her head again. She needed to stop reading so deeply into things.

"We can continue with questioning later," Rowan announces. "Fenrys is correct in saying we need to start making plans. You've given us enough to work with for now."

They sat back in their chairs, pulled out more notepads, red pens, and sticky notes. Together, Aelin helped them form a list of potential places Arobynn would be laying low. Hotels, rental homes, and vacant manors. He had a taste for luxury Aelin knew he wouldn't sacrifice for anonymity.

Test results were still running on the Synth. Technicians had let them know it showed highly abnormal properties compared to average street drugs, and they promised to send them an extensive report when they were through.

Rowan had hushed any potential news stories about The Stag shooting. He didn't want anyone who may know Celaena to catch wind and start snooping around. Aelin was his best lead, which afforded her a certain level of discretion he acknowledged.

They didn't know about the Bane patrolling her block at night, keeping their eyes on the streets for unusual activity.

The clock ticked, and the light beaming through the winders grew warmer as the afternoon trickled away. It was nearly five o'clock when Rowan declared then done for the day, and Aelin was utterly exhausted.

"Come on," Fenrys offered her a hand to help her stand. "I can drive you by the prison. Aedion should be getting checked out as we speak."

"Thank you," Aelin accepts the help. Her feet ached, and she felt entirely drained. It was good Fenrys was offering a ride, or she'd have to call Dorian to come and get her.

Together, the three of them made their way to the parking lot. Conversation between them was sparse but not unpleasant. They'd fallen into a rhythm at some point while working together. It helped break up some of the awkwardness between her and Rowan.

Aelin hustled a little bit when she spotted Fenry's luxury car. She wanted to claim the front seat before Rowan did. Her gut couldn't handle the stress of riding the back.

Her fingers barely grazed the polished handle when Fenrys started yelling.

Arms wrapped around her waist, and Aelin's face throbbed as it found itself slammed into the asphalt. A loud explosion rattled her ears, and chunks of debris went flying through the air. A thick foggy smoke started filling the air, and she immediately started choking on it.

A dense weight lifts off her back, and hands grab her shoulders, rolling her body to face the clouded sky instead of the ground. Rowan is in her personal space immediately. He's speaking to her, but no sound is penetrating the ringing in her ears.

His hands are running along her arms, the side of her face, checking for injury. Aelin tries to ask him if he's alright, but he doesn't seem able to hear her either.

Suddenly, Fenrys is there, and he's grabbing them both by the arms. They are moving away at a sprint. Fenrys is yelling, but the smoke is stinging her eyes, and even seeing is becoming hard.

There is another explosion, and Aelin can feel the tremors beneath the soles of her shoes as the three of them hit the ground once more.

People are pouring out of the precinct. Aelin spies Cheif Maeve at the front of them, ordering people out of the building. Red and blue lights reflect off the smoke, and she knows that ambulances must be on their way.

Rowan is lying beside her. She hadn't noticed the rips in the back of his suit jacket at first, but there were long gouges in the material, and smoke wafted off a couple of scorch marks. The fact he'd thrown himself over her body and shielded her from the explosion was only starting to register when something warm squeezed her hand.

Are you okay? Green eyes were scouring her body for wounds.

I'm fine, Aelin assures him. She's more concerned about the spots on the back of his suit growing wet as he bled.

"Someone blew up my car," Fenrys is gaping at the spot where his vintage ride used to be. All that remained was a roughed-up frame that was lit ablaze like a campfire.

"Gods," Aelin breathed out, the ringing in her ears dying down. "I almost died."

Rowan hadn't let go of her hand and made no move to do so as his eyes fixed on the burning car. "That was meant for us."

He didn't have to elaborate for Aelin to understand. Whoever had placed the bomb hadn't been targeting her, but Rowan and Fenrys. They arrived and left work together. The bomb wasn't there when they got to the precinct this morning, so someone must have placed it while they were inside.

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" Fenrys runs a dirty hand through his hair.

Sirens wailed as paramedics filed into the parking lot. Other detectives and officers were starting to approach them. Firefighters approached the car with extinguishers and began to tame the burning fire.

Aelin didn't have an answer. Just the sinking feeling that the game they'd entered into had more players than she'd thought.

Here is part one of the mass updates! Thank you SO much for reading. I’ve gotten so much feedback and love on this fic it’s been so wonderful 💚

I do have an ✨IMPORTANT QUESTION✨

Would you all prefer I have tag lists specific to certain fics or an overall tag list for ships? So one tag list for all of my rowaelin fics, one for all my quinlar fics, or would you like me to keep it as I have been? Please let me know! ✨

Tag list- Let me know if you would like to be added or removed. :D ( names in bold won’t tag)

@thisismylibrary

@highladywhitethrone

@bee55

@royalsqueeze

@rowaelin-cressworth

@booknerdproblems

@sjmships

@ladyfireheart-and-buzzard

@wordsxstars

@rowaelinismyotp

@courtofjurdan

@emmiesbook

@killian-me-slowly

@miserablemusings

@aelinchocolatelover

@booksbqueen

@flamingveritas

@tomtenadia

@fromthelibraryofemilyj

@loudphantomdragon

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@superspiritfestival

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@nish247

@vasudharaghavan

@maybekindasortaace

@mariamuses

@frosted-crackers

@foughtconquered

@live-the-fangirl-life

@ghostlyrose2

#coffeeshopau #rowaelin #throne of glass #angst #aelin #fanfic #rowan whitethorn

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supercorpkid · 3 years

Text

A normal day in the Luthor-Danvers house.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader

Word count: 1780.

“So then, I took my glasses off, and I swear it was not intentional, but my heat vision went off and I-I blew it right off of Lena’s hand. Man, she was pissed.” You smile and Jamie tries to hold a laughter and it comes out like a squeaky noise.

“Damn. Not a dull moment in the Karlena house.” She recovers herself and smiles to the ground while you consider what she just said.

“Karlena?” You furrow your brows, confused.

“Karlena, duh. Kara plus Lena.” She explains like you didn’t understand in the first place. That wasn’t the problem, you understood.

“What? Jamie, that’s terrible. We all know SuperCorp is like, a lot better.” You wave her off. “Besides, we do have dull moments. It’s not everyday we’re fighting aliens, destroying things or inventing things. Some days we just… Exist.”

“Oh, please. You three wouldn’t know what it’s like to just ‘exist’ if it hit you in the face.” Jamie crosses her legs and arms like she is trying to impose her thought. Sure, most of the times the things that happen with your family are not something people can relate to, but it’s not like you’re aliens… Wait. Nevermind.

“Excuse me.” You try to sound offended. “I admit we’ve been through a lot.”

“Mhm.” She strongly agrees with her head.

“But we’re still pretty much normal most of the time.”

“I think it’s cute you’re trying to convince me that, like I don’t know everything about you and your moms.” She gives a pretentious smile. “But if it will make you feel any better… Why don’t you tell me about the next ‘normal’ day you guys have?”

“Ok, mhm, sure.” You agree with your head taking this as a challenge. And you’re not one to back out from a challenge. “Next time we have a normal day, I’ll tell you all about it, and you’ll see we’re just another normal family.” As soon as your finish with the sentence, you see Maya coming at your direction and both of you just change the subject immediately.

“Hey cuties.” She says with a smile, and you push your bag to the side so you can make room for her on your lunch table. “You cool?”

You give her a nod, and a quick kiss, before looking at Jamie and thinking about the conversation. She wants normal? You will show her normal.

It is very annoying to you that it takes a whole week before you can declare one day as a normal one. And this is a normal day around your house, you know, one filled with dull moments:

“Kid, time to get up.” Kara knocks on your door serving, as always, as your wake-up call. You roll to the side, not getting up, wanting five more minutes.

And as always, five minutes later:

“Come on, babygirl. School. Let’s go.” Lena opens the door and you finally open your eyes.

“Nooo.” You complain, making Lena give you a soft smile in return.

“Yes, come on. It’s like this every day.” She doesn’t leave until you’re up on your feet despite all of your protests. “We’re leaving in 15.”

You do your entire shower-get dressed-brush teeth routine using your super speed, so you’re downstairs in less than five minutes.

“Hey, babyface.” Kara holds your face, when you’re passing through her, and she kisses your temple. “Had a good night?”

“Eh. It was decent.” You untangle yourself from her and go to the fridge. “We’re out of milk.”

“No, we’re not.” Lena’s voice comes from behind you. You turn around to look at her, all suit up. She has a maroon suit on, and her hair is tied up in a very tight ponytail. She looks very impressive which is normal for her. “Look carefully.”

“I did!” You answer and you see her coming to the fridge. She puts her hand inside and takes a carton of milk out.

“Milk, daughter. Daughter, milk.” She says ironically and you close the refrigerator door with a huff sound. “Eat fast, I have a meeting I can’t be late to.”

“You always have meetings.” You go to the table and sit next to Kara. “And you can never be late to any of them.” You pour cereal into a bowl, and then milk. “It’s like this every day.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, baby.” Kara states.

“It might not, but it does sustain me.” You open a big smile. You still eat fast, though.

Lena drives you to school. This whole driving with her started when Kara was still terrified to let you walk alone. Now, she’s a little less scared, but you kept getting ready on time, and Lena never said anything to make you believe she wants this to stop, so you just keep riding with her. Because having those 10 minutes in the car ride with her it’s good, even when you’re distracted.

“How’s school now that you’re back?” She asks while staring straight ahead, and when the answer doesn’t come, she looks back at you. She takes one hand out of the wheel, and pokes your cheek. “Hey! What’s more interesting in your phone than me?”

“You don’t want me to answer that.” You joke with a smile, and you hear a sarcastic ‘ha ha’ in return. “School is still there.”

“Baby…”

“I’m joking, jeez.” You put your phone away and pat her shoulder trying to calm her. “Everything is fine, mom. I got my grades back up, and everyone loves me now.”

“Yeah?”

“No, I’m just kidding again.” You laugh and she makes an annoyed sound that you decide to ignore. She stops the car in front of the school, and you see Jamie getting out of her mami’s momvan. “Well, gotta go. Thanks for the ride.” You kiss her cheek. “Love ya, have a great day!”

“You too, babygirl.” Lena smiles back at you, watching you getting out of the car. “Don’t break anything, I love you!”

You close the door and turn on your heels, rolling your eyes. If you had a dollar for every time Lena said ‘don’t break anything’, you would be the billionaire by now.

“Hey weirdo.” You catch up to Jamie.

“Hey dipshit.” She answers, putting her phone back in her pocket. “Did you do the chemistry homework? Can I copy?”

Oh, if you had a dollar for that too.

School goes on like it always does, and you can’t help but think that it really doesn’t matter that you have superpowers and a not-so-average intelligence. School is still school for everyone. Kids have pretty much the same problems, questions and indecisions. And you’re just another one in that sea of moody teenagers going from one class to the other.

It's great that you have a girlfriend now. And even if that still doesn’t feel like a normal thing in your life, you two have fallen into a routine very quickly. You see each other when you arrive at school, have a few classes together, have lunch with Jamie in the same table you’ve always seated on, and when the school is over you two steal some moments alone, before either of you have to go home. Today it’s no different.

You don’t go to L Corp. You have lots of homework and reading to do, and you also don’t have any idea for an invention, which is, surprise surprise, also very common for you. Jamie thinks you’re always flooding with ideas and that couldn’t be further from the truth. On your ordinary days, you work very hard and things still don’t go anywhere. So, you just go home and do your boring school activities.

“Hey, whatcha working on?” Kara asks, opening your bedroom door, hours after you sat down, and you look up from your books.

“Homework.” You take off your glasses feeling your vision blurry on the sides. Kara walks in and kisses the top of head.

“Why don’t you take a break, huh?” She asks, like she can see it on your face you’ve been here long enough, and you’re tired already. “Look what I've got you.” Kara gives you a donut and you smile at her.

“You know me so well.” You take it from her hands and eat fast. “Thanks, momma.”

“Come help us with dinner.” She asks and you look at your books deciding you’ve studied enough. You follow her to the kitchen where Lena is already cooking. “Look who I found nose buried in her books.”

“Oh, it’s our little nerd.” Lena chuckles and she kisses your temple when you’re close enough. “Did you clean your bedroom?”

“Mmm…” You haven’t, but you don’t want to tell her that. But then again, Kara was just inside your room, so you can’t exactly lie. You look at Kara for support and she shakes her head agreeing, like she’s giving you permission to say yes. “Mhm, yeah.”

“Ok.” Lena puts your hair behind your ear and smiles softly. “You can clean up after you help us with dinner.”

You huff while pouting, making both of them giggle at you.

“How did you know I was lying?”

“Oh, that part was actually really simple, because you see… I’m not an idiot.” She winks at you and you agree with your head. “Now, why don’t you help me?” Lena points at the top shelf. “Can you grab that bowl for me?”

“Why? You can’t reach it?” You joke, making Kara wheeze a laughter behind you, and it takes her a whole minute to recover from that. Even with Lena looking at her like she is going to commit murder if she doesn't stop.

“Don’t sass me.” It’s Lena’s response and you fly a little off the ground to grab what she asked for.

So, you all finish making dinner, and eating it, while talking about your days. And that includes Lena’s boring meetings with people who know way less than she knows, but still try to convince her that she’s wrong. Includes Kara’s interviewing various uninteresting people to the unexciting news piece that she’s writing. And your tedious classes, and uncreative ideas. The day is so dull, there wasn’t even any Supergirl emergency.

When dinner is done, and the kitchen is clean, they make their way to the couch, and you clean your bedroom using your super speed, so you can join them right after. The three of you just watch TV, and laugh, and exist.

If you’re being honest, you would trade all the kidnappings, assassination attempts, saving National City emergencies, to these dull days, easily. Because just existing next to them it’s so freaking good, you don’t need anything else.

Notes:

Thank you to my sister (not irl) @supercorpdaughter for this prompt :)

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp #kara x lena #kara x reader #supercorp daughter #supercorp fanfic #supercorpfamily #lena x reader #reader insert

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daughterofanarcissistwoman · 3 years

Text

Trauma Bonding

(The writer here refers to an ex but this applies to familial relationships as well.)

You may feel pretty crazy over there in your trauma bonded trance for someone who mistreated you, but know there are people actually eating dirt out there and making more sense than some of the well-meaning advice I heard while I was getting over various forms of heartbreak.

We are told to stop fixating, face the fear of moving on, focus on yourself, and that time heals all wounds. When in fact, the symptoms of a traumatic reaction to a trauma bond make these very things feel nearly impossible.

What’s more, when taken in the context of trauma bonding, prolonged grief over the loss of a relationship is far from irrational, even when that relationship was a toxic one. If you feel more stunned and immobilized as time wears on, this is the reaction of your organism actually working to protect you from a perceived, ongoing threat.

You are not “crazy”.

Your body’s physiological state is just trying to communicate with you in a way that you may not quite understand yet.

There are people all over the world who experience cravings for dirt or clay. This is called geophagy and clearly sounds so insane that people feel ashamed to admit their cravings. Yet research has found that these cravings may indicate a lack in bodily mineral content or may function as the body’s protective response to pathogens in pregnant women or children. The content of dirt or clay may serve as a protective barrier in the stomach.

What may FEEL mentally and physiologically irrational, actually makes sense. This does not mean that anemic people should make themselves a nice dirt snack with their coffee this afternoon. It does mean that feeling estranged, ashamed, and ignoring the REALITY of the craving, without looking further into what it indicates, will never resolve their organism’s unmet need.

What is trauma bonding?

I only started to understand trauma bonding when I stopped feeling ashamed and started trusting my body’s own physiological messengers.

Breaking a trauma bond can feel agonizing. What’s the point of trying to accept the reality of a toxic relationship, go no contact, and try to move on with your life when you only feel worse as time wears on?

Breaking a trauma bond comes with intense withdrawal symptoms, flashbacks, cravings for the toxic person, compulsive thoughts about what happened, and an anxious state that may make you feel like you are going backward, without abate.

This is going to sound counterintuitive at first, but these very symptoms are confirmation that staying away from the toxic relationship is absolutely imperative to your health. This is because trauma resides as a physiological response to a perceived threat. Your organism knows and reacts, at the core, gut, and instinctual level, when a person or situation is harmful.

And while you may be fully consciously aware NOW that you are no longer in the relationship, your body is still registering an ongoing threat. This is manifesting in symptoms that certainly make you feel like you are going “crazy” — or maybe even make you feel as if you were never meant to stay away in the first place.

But all this DOES NOT mean that your body is trying to indicate to you that you are forever cosmically tied to that dirtbag who mistreated you, used you, and broke your heart. It means that the trauma that may have occurred before the relationship, during the relationship, and when the relationship ended, continues to live inside of you. It continues to live as a memory and echo that has no orientation to time and place.

You are feeling this way because, physiologically, you still don’t feel safe.

You will NOT be the person who longs for the person who mistreated you forever. But it’s going to be hard to get there if your strategy is to grit your teeth, brace yourself, and steel even more energy in trying to fight your body’s frantic physiological responses to the trauma in the trauma bond, through sheer will, when you are already frozen in emergency mode.

Stay with me. I’ll explain.

We look into trauma bonding as a way to explain, romanticize, and decode the characteristics of a relationship that feels or once felt so precious.

Here’s the gut-punch that usually gets lost —when you’re in a trauma bond, and the bond “breaks,” the trauma remains.

If you’re a cookie in an Oreo and the other cookie leaves, guess who is stuck with what seems like even more trauma filling than you started with?

This “trauma filling” can help to explain why your mind, body, and soul are registering a frenetic, obsessive, red level, emergency breaker craving for a toxic ex, toxic relationship, or situation.

The Trauma Bond

The reason for this hyper-aroused-anxiety-trance lies in some part to the nature of trauma bonding itself. Trauma bonds are formed when your organism registers that you are in danger.

According to “The Betrayal Bond,” a book written by Patrick Carnes, who developed this concept, “trauma bonds are the dysfunctional attachments that occur in the presence of danger, shame, or exploitation. Trauma bonds occur when we are bonding to the very person who is the source of danger, fear, and exploitation.” They involve seduction, betrayal, and high intensity.

They also involve a seemingly endless sense of helplessness and hopelessness. Carnes wrote, “This type of bonding does not facilitate recovery and resilience but rather undermines those very qualities within us.”

Throughout the relationship, your organism assessed the threat and continuously mobilized energy for you to fight or flee. Yet the trauma in trauma bonding creates a cyclical, repetitive cycle that contains your ability to protect yourself, trust yourself, feel your body’s physiological reactions or evolve out of your current state, even when your partner is gone.

Instead of fighting or fleeing, you remain frozen and clinging with an “insane level of loyalty, to an impossible, unresolvable, toxic, overwhelming, or cosmically doomed bond.” A person chained to this type of bond “disbelieves the obvious and accepts the impossible.”

The following are some signs of trauma bonding, which I’ve adapted from Carnes:

• When you continue to be fixated on people who hurt you and who are no longer in your life.

• When you crave contact with someone who has hurt you and who you know will cause you more pain.

• When you continue to revolve around people who you know are taking advantage of you or exploiting you.

• When you are committed to remaining loyal to someone who has betrayed you, even though their actions indicate few signs of change.

• When you are desperate to be understood, validated, or needed by those who have indicated they do not care about you.

• When you go to great lengths to continue to help, caretake, or consider people who have been destructive to you.

These types of relationships capitalize on old wounds and previous traumas.

As a bigger and separate topic, there are a lot of reasons for why we may be vulnerable to trauma bonding, to begin with, including a deep desire to heal a prior hurt. We do this by subconsciously recreating the prior situation, down to the very exploitative, dangerous, or shameful elements that existed in the prior trauma. Down to the type of toxic, emotionally unavailable, or developmentally stunted person in the prior situation.

The reasons why we get into these types of bonds, the reasons we stay, and the reasons why we can’t let them go are interrelated, and at least one thing remains the same: our body stores these memories physiologically, without a time or date stamp. The memories can make us feel like we are in an endless cycle of trauma and pain, with or without the relationship.

The Trauma

Trauma is a big concept, that lives on much developing academic ground. I’m no expert, and what I’m saying is informed by the work of trauma researchers Peter Levine, Bessel van der Kolk, and Patrick Carnes, but this is simply my interpretation.

Viewing your seemingly irrational reactions to heartbreak through a trauma-informed lens will reduce some part of the shame that comes with continuing to live in a body that is suspended in a hyper-aroused and frenetic state long after we are told that we should be over a relationship or situation.

There are different kinds of trauma. Some are the types of trauma we are typically aware of —responses to natural disasters, war, abuse, genocide, and other atrocities. We associate those traumas with the development of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which has helped to explain how victims survive in dire circumstances, including why the victims end up turning against themselves and becoming loyal to the abuser, as in the case of Stockholm Syndrome.

Understanding trauma begins when you remove judgment from the equation about the degree of atrocity that must exist in order to define trauma as trauma. There are other aspects of trauma, such as those that involve the body’s response to betrayal, childhood experiences, and interpersonal relationship trauma. A traumatic reaction is a completely subjective thing. There are more possible situations/origins of trauma than there are people.

Trauma lives inside the body as a physiological state. It will be easier to become aware of the manifestation of this state and to give it credibility if you realize that trauma can occur in the absence of abusers, victimizers, and overtly dire situations. You can have a traumatic reaction to anything or anyone that your body perceives as a threat, including a break in attachment with even the most well-meaning, non-intentionally insidious, but emotionally empty people.

Peter Levine has defined trauma as “Any experience which stuns us like a bolt out of the blue; it overwhelms us, leaving us altered and disconnected from our bodies.” It is difficult to access coping mechanisms while in this overwhelmed state. This reaction can become more intense when the relational trauma occurs for long periods of time, with intermittent reinforcement, and when it is layered on top of relational trauma that occurred in childhood.

The stunned shock of anything that your body perceives as a threat, including a betrayal or a breakup, can live inside of us as a physiological state, even when we are not in present danger — when we are out of the breakup, moved out, and presumably moved on. Our bodies are engaged in a survival response even when out of the danger — which manifests itself as a freeze state that makes all the negative emotions you felt while in the relationship freeze within you as well.

What is this? Why does this happen?

The Freeze State.

It happens as a result of a completely natural human reaction to a potentially threatening situation. Peter Levine has explained how trauma develops in his book, “Waking the Tiger.” When faced with perceived danger or challenge, we become energetically aroused, mobilized, and poised to pounce, respond, and defend. This is the reason why weaklings are able to lift cars in order to rescue children. Our bodies were built to generate tremendous energy and appropriately constrict it so that it can be released. So we can fight or flee from threats for our very survival. When the energy is released, there is a tremendous sense of relief and somatic calm. There is no trauma. The situation makes sense to us because we witnessed our bodies working with us to resolve a threat.

So what happens to this tremendous, do-or-die energy isn’t released? When we feel we cannot fight or flee, as in the case of a trauma bond, there isn’t a discharge of this energy.

Instead, we hard stop freeze. Unlike other animals, our more highly evolved neocortex prevents an instinctual response of releasing this energy anyway, when the freeze state ends. Without the release, our body constricts this incredible bundle of energy and contains it in our nervous system. We are suspended in a highly mobilized emergency alert state, hypervigilant, and brimming with energy that our body now has to shift around, negotiate, and safety-valve slowly expel through adaptations that make us feel like we are experiencing an anxiety reaction. This too, is our body working for us, to prevent a nervous system meltdown.

This is trauma.

An example of this is when you brace yourself during the impact of a car accident and later find yourself completely motionless, your knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel, adrenaline coursing through you, heart rate is racing, breathing heavily, with almost no memory of the event.

Why won’t our “smarter” brain allow us to discharge this energy during the freeze state? Again, your body is trying its best to protect you. When that tremendous force of arousal energy is first triggered, it makes us feel up to the task, positive, and intensely alive. When the release is thwarted and is instead subsumed inwardly, we associate the energy with intensely negative emotions.

All those feelings and all the energy that you might have expelled during the relationship in a fight or flight response — all the anger, the shame, and the fear — now reside within you and may feel like are directed TOWARD you.

Our “smarter” brain attempts to protect us by negotiating these emotions within our circuitry because it believes that this work will protect us from experience sheer terror of the release. We fear releasing them because the energy itself is so strongly associated with danger, betrayal, and fear. You are now the home of negative energy that was never meant to be yours.

What does this have to do with your inability to let go of a toxic relationship?

Why does all of this slow you down when it comes to commonplace advice like “stop fixating, face the fear of moving on, and focus on yourself?”

Breaking trauma bonds.

The reason it feels like you can’t “break” a traumatic bond is because you are still suffering from your body’s adaptations to all of this chaotic, negative energy that is now stored inside. These very adaptations cause you to constantly review what happened, to fixate, to refrain from feeling fear and grief, and to obsess about the relationship.

• Anxiety.

The nervous system experiences trauma as a body feeling. In other words, your hyper-alert state lives on as symptoms that can be perceived as anxiety: increased heart rate, tension, agitation, flashbacks, shudders, muscle soreness, and racing thoughts.

All of this anxiety can feel unfair. We know it’s normal to feel grief over the loss of a relationship, but the hope is that we will feel some sense of relief once we get the courage to let go of someone we loved, but who we know is toxic, narcissistic, or emotionally unavailable. Hang on. Your body is communicating to you that internally, you still feel as if you are in danger. Because this anxiety state is so closely associated with the trauma bond, this may feel like a craving for your ex and the trauma bond, when it is in fact, a frantic message to stay away.

• Helplessness.

When exposed to personal trauma, the part of the brain that processes information, puts things into context, and communicates to you in narrative form shuts down. You are suspended in emergency activation mode, but without an ability to cope with the stress.

This is why no contact is so important. When exposed to anything that reminds you of your former partner, your nervous system triggers energy to communicate the presence of a threat but prevents you from consciously putting that threat into the context of what is occurring here and now.

In this state, it can feel hard to learn new things or assimilate information.

This is why it can feel like such a gut punch to see your ex or hear about his or her life, even after time has passed and you are sure “you got this.” It can leave you feeling helpless and hopeless.

Trauma bonds don’t “heal with time” because trauma doesn’t have a sense of time. Don’t expect to never feel triggered. Feeling triggered does not mean that you are “back to square one” when it comes to processing. It means that you are experiencing traumatic anxiety, which once again makes you feel like you are frozen and immobilized. This can lead you to feel depressed even though the current stressor is no longer around. Don’t lose hope. Even the smallest bit of awareness of what is actually occurring will help you to unfreeze out of this state, and this will get more automatic and manageable the more you increase this awareness.

• Flashbacks.

Because you are not able to put your physiological distress into a time and place context, you are not able to consciously recognize that the traumatic event happened in the past. This causes confusion between past trauma and current stressors. Your body, behind the scenes, may be experiencing today’s stressful day as a flashback to the past, as if the trauma has returned.

Life goes on after a trauma bond. Other people and situations will stress you out and trigger anxious feelings that you will subconsciously associate with the trauma bond. This is why stressful days and subsequent disappointments make you feel like you are missing the trauma bond more intensely.

Trauma is like a trance. It makes you less aware of your current state, your bodily sensations, and your feelings. When you start to feel more safe, grounded, and present, you will slowly become more aware of when these flashbacks occur. You will feel less entranced and more able to untangle your prior distress from what is currently happening in your life.

• Trauma repetition review.

After an animal goes into fight, flight, or freeze and releases all the energy its nervous system conjured to get out of a dangerous situation, the animal goes into a review state. The point of this is to figure out what happened and to learn from the experience. Trauma bonded humans also go into this state, except the review occurs in a highly aroused and anxious state, because the energy from the experience has not been released.

This is why it is so difficult to stop fixating on what occurred, why you are experiencing obsessive thoughts, replaying old scripts, and why you feel abandoned and rejected long after a traumatic break has occurred. You are processing the trauma bond while you are still in a stressed and hyperaroused state.

This is why talking about trauma, rehashing the situation with your friends, and recycling anger doesn’t make you feel better and only further retraumatizes you. It may feel like you lost something important because you can’t let go of compulsively thinking about the trauma bond. This repetitive rehashing is healthy and normal, but only when conducted when you are out of an anxiety state and feeling grounded, safe, and present.

The antidote to compulsive rehashing is to remember that trauma lives inside the body, as a physiological state. Once activated, it shuts down your ability to process information. There’s nothing wrong with trying to figure out what happened, but know that doing so in this triggered state may make you feel like you need to return to the trauma bond.

• Hypervigilance.

Hypervigilance is the inevitable result of all of this hyperarousal. In trying to make sense of how you are feeling, your body actively searches for the source of the threat, even when one cannot be found. This drive can feel like a fixation to scan for the source, even though what you may just be reacting to is your own internal arousal. This gets repetitive and compulsive.

Your body remembers the trauma bond. It remembers how it felt and who was around. Even out of the relationship, a trauma bonded person may still feel threatened by a memory of the past when dealing with a current stressor. Your brain scans for a source of the threat. Your brain lands on the emotionally charged memory and image of someone associated with the trauma bond. You may feel plagued by images of your ex-partner, but this is only because your body remembers this person as a source of threat, not because you need to run back to this person.

All of these symptoms occur because your nervous system is suspended in a hyper-aroused state, searching for new danger, and attempting to protect you.

The key to releasing the trauma bond is to remind yourself, carefully, with compassion, and with consistency that you are no longer in danger and that you are now safe.

– This, first and foremost, has to be true. If you are still in any way involved in a trauma bond, then you are not safe. It may feel like you’ve hacked it and you are over it and you are ready for contact or another round, but your physiological systems will likely tell you otherwise.

– When you start to feel triggered, remind yourself of where you are in time and space. You may be experiencing a physiological memory of the past that makes you feel as if you are re-experiencing the trauma. Trauma robs you of your ability to stay in the present. It drops you in a trance and prevents you from recognizing what you are feeling — both emotionally and physiologically. There are many ways of grounding, including yoga, breath work, meditation, journaling, spending time in nature, among so many others. Once you get committed to healing, you will seek and find endless sources of information and relief in these. The key is to begin. Yoga will not release your trauma bond. Going for a hike will not make flashbacks and obsessive thoughts go away. These things may, however, bring you more awareness to your sensations and feelings, which will help you stay in the present when you feel yourself becoming taken over in a trauma bonded trance.

– Become emotionally available to yourself. The way to release a trauma bond is to very slowly and compassionately separate the amount of fear, that you may not even know you feel, about your negative emotions from the negative emotions themselves. These negative emotions are stored inside of you because your body internalized them, instead of using the energy of these emotions to flee or fight. They are not yours. These emotions are not your anger or your shame. You are safe now. You no longer need them. But you need a really safe base in yourself, your enviornment, and others in order to slowly release these. Be kind to yourself. It’s not easy to let go.

– A symptom of being trauma bonded is an intense desire to inform the person who hurt you about your healing. Don’t do that. It will only entrench you further. Your stored negative energy is not your own, but it’s not your ex’s either. It may feel like you have to “place” it somewhere, but this will not get rid of it, and you will only re-traumatize yourself. You can’t put it somewhere else. You can replace it with the knowledge this energy is no longer necessary to protect you, because you are safe now.

Trauma-bonded people are usually the foremost experts on their exes. In order to survive, they can discern mood changes from small facial movements, sideways grunts, or the way a person is standing. Start becoming this aware of yourself.

Start noticing what triggers you, when you are feeling hyper-vigilant, when you are reviewing or processing the relationship in a stressed out state. Start noticing when your flashbacks occur. You may find that they are actually occurring in response to current life stressors.

In becoming aware of this, you may find that there are other toxic people and situations in your current life that you can let go of in order to feel more safe. When other toxic bonds fall away, you may feel more ready to be yourself. When you feel more ready to be yourself, you may become even less ashamed and more emotionally aware. You can start to recognize which thoughts and emotions aren’t yours.

When you separate these, you will feel even more safe. Becoming more self-aware is work with a huge payoff, and you’re already so good doing it with everyone but yourself.

When you separate the past from the present, you will start to have more fun in the present. You will solve the present problems better. You will start to feel more like yourself again. You are safe now, and soon…

You will be free.

This post was written by Natasha Adamo team member, Irena.

https://natashaadamo.com/trauma-bonding/

#trauma bond #stockholm syndrome #cptsd #childhood trauma #developmental trauma #inner child healing #reparenting #attachment trauma #self care #mental health #emotional health #abuse #narcissistic abuse #toxic people #dysfunctional family #shame programming #self compassion

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artsy-hobbitses · 3 years

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I'm getting very curious about Malaysia... what's it like there?? Culture, living conditions, etc.

Pretty loaded question!

Off the top of my head, some specifics:

- Very much a melting pot. Malay, Chinese and Indian ethnicities mingle pretty freely, interracial marriages are not uncommon (I’m quarter Chinese on my mum’s side) and the modern Malaysian slang is often a mishmash of Malay, Chinese and Indian words. You have a choice between public, vernacular (usually caters to a specific race ie. Chinese/Indian as a stronghold of the language/customs, however I had Malays friends who went to Chinese Vernacular schools) international, private and religious schools (mostly for the Muslim-Majority Malays). Public holidays are designated for all three major races (big ones are Eid, Deepavali and Chinese New Year) plus more specific ones in Sabah/Sarawak for the indigenous population, and it’s normal for say, Malays to be invited to a Deepavali gathering or for Chinese to be invited to Eid open houses. We’re usually chill about it like that.

- Despite this, racism exists. It’s not loud and proud like in western nations though (except for your occasional Malay nationalist politician) it tends to be more of the passive-aggressive sort. Some parents discreetly warn their kids about not being friends with [X] race at school, some house rental listings with single out [X] race, though we’re coming to the point that we’re not bothering with Asian decorum anymore and publicly shitting on that behavior. On a historical aspect, the potential reason it takes on a more subtle, passive-aggressive tone here was that on 13 May 1969, sectarian violence broke out between urban Chinese and Malays in Kuala Lumpur due to unrest over the general election, and this resulted in the deaths of 600 people, mostly Chinese (My mum lived through this time at the heart of the incident). Basically the nation’s been scarred and has feared a similar event ever since, so those spouting open racial violence get slammed down pretty quick and “Remember 13 May” has often been used as a warning for whenever tensions flare up. Or when politicians want us to keep our grumblings down. We tend to have a don’t-rock-the-boat mentality here on the basis of trying to keep the peace for everyone—-it doesn’t always work. Malay Privilege/“Ketuanan Melayu” is a thing you’ll hear often from some sections of Malays here, who tend to argue that since they’re technically the original inhabitants if the land (don’t quiz ‘em about the Orang Asli), they should get more rights than the others.

-Living conditions vary. I live in Selangor—the state surrounding the Capital Kuala Lumpur—-which has the highest density of denizens. Here, it’s pretty modern. My husband and I rent a two-story terrace house, my parents who are a little well-off have their own bungalow. Places like Penang, Perak and Johor also tend to be more in the modern side. You’ll find more rural areas and kampungs as you go deeper into the heart of country (Pahang), the East Coast (Kelantan, Terengganu) and the country’s rice bowl (Kedah, and by extension, Perlis). This is within the Peninsula—-Sabah (I lived here for about four years) and Sarawak have a combination of modern and rural areas and tend to take life at a much slower pace than the Peninsula states (They also want none of Peninsula’s religious tension bullshit). My father’s kampung is in Pahang, and while I was never close to my paternal grandparents, I do have fond memories of cooking outdoors and plucking rambutan bunches from the trees they grew.

- Wet. Very wet. Monsoon season/‘Musim Tengkujuh’ at year end interspace with mid-year. Fucks with the income of local fishermen who are barred from going to the ocean on the account of rough waves, Flooding is an annual occurrence for rural areas, though we get flash floods in cities too. Common enough that “check for crocodiles” isn’t a weird request when you come back to clean your homes from mud and silt. (Houses near flood-prone areas will employ walls or be built on stilts to withstand the floods).

- 9 Sultans for 9 states, they take turns becoming the Agong (Chief Sultan I guess?) every five years. They’re mostly there the same way the British monarchy is. Don’t really play a big role in politics unless there is a need for them to decree something when politicians can’t work things out between themselves.

- Political leapfrog. It’s. A thing. A politician you see from one party today can be a member of another party tomorrow. It’s gotten so bad they’re considering legislation to punish it. We do call them literal frogs (Katak) when they do this (Sorry frogs, you deserve better!)

- Food. All the fucking food. Melting pot = all the deliciousness. There’s no culturally appropriating cuisine here, everyone’s eating everyone else’s stuff with great gusto. Roti Canai/Chappati (Indian) for breakfast, Nasi Campur (mixed rice, mostly with Malay dishes) for lunch and Wantan Mee (Chinese) for dinner is an example of the food culture trip you go through on any given day. You’ll have Malays who adore Chinese food, Chinese who adore Malay food, and no one fights when they’re eating, that’s all there is to it. Places like Penang are a haven for food and people will make trips just to eat there.

- Islam is the main religion. However, it’s not strictly enforced in most cases, I’d dare even say that we’re quite secular, to the teeth-gnashing of the Facebook army. I’m a Muslim who doesn’t wear a headscarf (except on special occasions), I know Muslims who rescue and keep dogs (My hunter grandfather apparently caught and kept a Dhole as a house guard way back), and I know some who’re LGBT, albeit somewhat discreet about it.

- Speaking of LGBT, the country is not friendly to the community, but neither is it as hostile as sections of the US tend to be about it. As an example, gay conversion therapy isn’t really a thing there (presumably because that would entail the govt admitting that there’s enough gay people to require it at all), workplaces generally do not have a policy targeting people based on their sexualities, like you’ll find butch ladies serving you drinks at Starbucks and gay men working with local theatre productions, and violence against LGBT members is pretty rare (though I imagine this is more because most people here mostly do not want to kick up a fuss in public, what more a fight, and just judge from a distance). Basically, the majority of the public will tolerate LGBT existence—whispering behind their back——until there starts to be a call for rights.

- Good degree of English command. English is understood, if not spoken, by a lot of us here from cab drivers to stall owners, so you won’t be hopelessly lost if you decide to visit. A big majority of us are at LEAST bilingual (In my case, I speak English and Malay, and can understand some Arabic). Quite a number who come from interracial marriages are trilingual.

- Cheap healthcare. There’s a reason we’re one of the top destinations for medical tourism. You have a choice between private and government hospitals which provide a form of universal healthcare. Govt clinics/hospitals offer subsidized healthcare and meds to all members of the public, and most doctors will start out in government hospitals before moving to private practices (like my sister-in-law). Uninsured, a trip to a normal clinic for a consultation will set you back maybe twenty to thirty bucks, fifty if you need meds or a small procedure like stitches. I do have insurance but have never used it for doctor visits since the amount is pretty trivial. I have, however, used it for a hysterectomy surgery + 1 month hospital stay at a private hospital which set me back about RM30,000-RM40,000 (USD7000-USD9500) which I managed to get covered. Ambulance Fees are like, RM200 (USD47) for private hospitals and RM50 (USD12) for govt hospitals. Consultation fees, blood tests and X-Rays go as low as RM1 (24 Cents) in govt hospitals. If you get hurt here, we got you covered.

And that’s just off my head! If there’s something specific you’d like you know, feel free to ask further ouob

#inbox #long post #Malaysia

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thejilyship · 3 years

Text

Taking the Lead

For @jilychallenge August 2021 Theme: Summer Prompt: "I saw you staring and so decided to try to put on my suncream ~sensually~ but omg the lid just popped off and the whole bottle came out stOP grinning oMG" @thejilyship v @sirenicc I did not think I was going to get this done! Also it's fem!jily. No one should be surprised at this point.

WC: 3.5k AO3

A leadership camp was the absolute last place that Jamie wanted to spend any part of her summer. She and Sirius had made plans to go white water rafting, concert hoping, castle hiking, dive bar hunting and he’d even promised to attend a total of four sperate ballets with her. She did not have time to spend a week in the middle of the Scottish hills singing camp songs with a bunch of people that she didn’t know.

She didn’t need a leadership camp. She was, as almost every single one of her teachers and professors had said, a natural born leader. Some of her teachers had said this with admiration coloring their tone, and others had said it in a ‘your daughter really needs to stop getting the entire class to break into song in the middle of third period’ kind of way, but either way, they had all been in agreement.

She took the bus to camp so she would be less inclined to run off in the middle of it, and she went to the main building to sign in, which she was informed would be hence forth called ‘command center.’ She refrained from rolling her eyes.

She accepted her key and went off to find her dorm with her yellow duffle bag resting on her hip. Since they were all adults, they weren’t making them sleep in groups of twenty or so, and were instead grouped into fours. Jamie’s cabin was number five, which was her lucky number, and so far the only good omen she had gotten from this place.

She knocked before she pushed the cabin door open. Two of her three bunkmates were already there, setting up their beds. A redhead with striking green eyes and a petite brunette with springy hair and a gorgeous smattering of freckles. Jamie smiled at the two of them and they smiled back.

“Hey! My name is Lily,” The redhead held out her hand, bold and assertive. Jamie didn’t think she was in much need of a leadership camp either. “This here is my best friend, Mary.”

“Lily and Mary, it’s nice to meet you both. I’m Jamie.” She pulled her duffle off her shoulder and claimed the open bottom bunk. “Are you best mates in the camp sense, or have you met before today?”

Mary laughed, “Best friends since we were eleven. I dragged Lily along to this camp because I’m incapable of leaving home without her.”

“And it sounded like fun!” Lily added, looking back at her curly haired friend. “Did you know that this camp has a ropes course?” She asked, turning back to Jamie.

“A rope course? And that sounds like fun to you?”

“Of course, it does!”

“Wait until we’re actually on the ropes course,” Mary chuckled, “Lily is afraid of heights.” She tilted her head toward Jamie and raised her brows.

“I’m not afraid of heights,” Lily argued. “I simply… do not… like them.”

“Right.” Mary laughed.

Rooming with best friends might not be the best case scenario, as they already had someone to pair off with for all the group activities they were bound to do over the next week. They had a fourth roommate yet, so Jamie would reserve her pessimistic judgment until then. In the meantime, Lily and Mary seemed like nice people who she could eat meals with if nothing else.

“There’s also a lake,” Lily apparently still found the need to explain why she thought this camp would be fun. “And the weather is supposed to be brilliant this week. Sunny and warm!”

“I’m here for the seminars and workshops, not for the lake.” Mary said.

“You can be here for both.” Lily shrugged. “And, as much as I love you, I’m here for the arts and crafts, camp food and fun activities.”

“Arts and crafts is an activity. And this is a camp for adults, do you really think-“

Lily cut Mary off with a scoff. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. “If you think I didn’t check before I agreed to come, then you have another thing coming, MacDonald.” She turned her phone out so it was facing Mary, and Jamie a bit. Jamie was able to see colorful pictures of string bracelets, painted pottery, and she couldn’t tell what else.

“Well then,” Mary shook her head. “I hope you get to live out your summer camp dreams.”

“Thank you.” Lily nodded, looking rather smug. It was a look that worked for Lily. Her cheeks took on a dusting of pink, her green eyes grew brighter, and she sat up taller. Jamie turned to her duffle to avoid being caught ogling.

There was a knock on the door and the three girls turned in unison.

“Hello, I’m Emma Vanity. I guess I’m your fourth.” She gave a sharp wave and then looked at the three taken beds before her eyes fell onto the unclaimed top bunk above Jamie.

“I’m Mary and this is Lily,” Mary pointed at Lily, who offered a bright smile.

“And I’m Jamie Potter.”

“Potter?” Emma’s brow shot up. “As in Potions by Potter? Are your parents Fleamont and Euphemia Potter?”

“It’s a fairly common last name,” Jamie shrugged. She wouldn’t have added her last name if she had thought someone would recognize it.

“Right,” Emma laughed and dropped her bag to the ground. “Well, either way, I’m sure that you are a greatperson to share a bunk with.” She knew who Jamie was, that was clear.

“Mary’s mother was a circus performer if that interests anyone.” Lily had pulled out a bag of jelly candies and tore one in half with her front teeth. Jamie smiled at her appreciatively.

“Does she still perform?”

“No, she retired when I started school.” Mary said. “But she does teach trapeze classes down at the local leisure center.”

“They’re great fun.” Lily nodded. “Should we go and find ourselves some lunch?”

“I hope you know that they aren’t going to serve bad camp food.” Mary pushed herself off Lily’s bed. “Are you two coming with us?”

Emma looked at Jamie, and since Jamie had no desire to be alone with Emma just then, she smiled at Lily and nodded. “Sure. I’m always ready to eat.”

“I’ll come too,” Emma nodded. “I’ve already memorized the layout of the camp, so you can all follow me.” And then she was walking back toward the door.

Lily, who had just proven herself to be very familiar with the camp, was looking at Emma’s retreating figure with raised brows, but she didn’t say anything and just hopped off her bed.

“Off we go then,” Mary bit her bottom lip and followed Lily. Jamie closed the door behind them.

The sun was out, and it was warm, which Jamie hadn’t fully appreciated before Lily had told her that they could expect this weather to last all week. And she hadn’t known there was a lake. That hadn’t been on her list of fun summer activities she wanted to do with Sirius, but she hadn’t been a beach in a while, and while she was sure the beach on this random camp lake wasn’t brilliant, it would be nice.

Especially if Lily was also there to talk it up.

oOo

Jamie gravitated toward Lily over the next couple of days. At first she thought it was because the other girl’s positive attitude was contagious, and while it was, that wasn’t the sole reason.

Jamie had developed a little bit of a crush.

Except not really, because Jamie had never once developed a ‘little’ crush in her life. It took exactly one day for her to realize that she was already deciding how the two of them would find time for each other after they left camp. Two days in and she had decided that their first pet would be a short haired cat named Mr. Tums, preferable all black.

Three days in and she was almost certain that she was in love.

Not in love in love, she understood that was ridiculous.

No, on day three, she was simply falling in love.

It would be a few more days until she was actually in love.

Lily had her shoulder length hair in twin braids today. Whisps of baby hairs framing her face and she kept reaching up to brush them away from her eyes, which only drew more attention to her eyes and her hair and all the other parts of her face that Jamie couldn’t stop staring at.

And at the moment, she was wearing a bloody bikini as she sat on the towel next to Jamie’s on the small beach the camp had to offer. A bikini.

Jamie was doing everything she could to ignore the bikini, but it was there, and showing off every soft curve and gentle swoop of Lily Evans’ body. Jamie was in a t-shirt and boardshorts, because she couldn’t possibly exist in the space next to Lily Evans wearing anything less than this and keep the ability to speak.

Not that her ability to speak was getting her far. Lily was doing most of the talking.

“What do you think?” Lily reached out and nudged Jamie on the shoulder, her bubblegum pink nails scraping lightly on the sleeve of Jamie’s t-shirt.

The quirk in Lily’s brow let Jamie know that she had missed something. Keeping her clothes on may have left her with the ability to speak, but Lily wearing that bikini had hindered her ability to listen. She’d been so focused on not staring at Lily that she hadn’t remembered to pay attention to what she was saying.

“What do I think about what again?” Jamie asked, not bothering to pretend that she had heard Lily. The knowing smile on Lily’s face should have made Jamie a bit self-conscious, but she liked how smug Lily looked knowing the effect she had on Jamie. She also wanted Lily to know that she liked her, especially since Lily had not acted as though knowing made her even the slightest bit uncomfortable.

“I was asking for your opinion one what we should do this evening. I want to watch the sunset over the lake, but I don’t think I can stay down here until then. I’ll fry. So should we go to the craft cabin and make some more bracelets,” She held up her rope bracelet covered wrist and shook it, “Or should we have an early dinner?”

“Don’t we have a class to go to before dinner?” Jamie asked, looking out at the water after briefly glancing in Lily’s direction.

“I didn’t sign up for anything. Did you?”

“Probably not.” Jamie shrugged. “Mary isn’t upset with you for ditching her?”

Lily snorted. “I’m hardly ditching her. Besides, she knew I wasn’t going to be signing up for anything that wasn’t required. I came for the crafts and the beach. And to share a bunk with her.” She was smiling at Jamie, she could feel it aimed at the side of her head.

“Alright, well then, I think we should stay down here for a while longer and then go and get some dinner. I didn’t really enjoy the bracelet making.”

“You’re just upset that I’m better at it than you.”

“No.” Jamie shook her head. “I can honestly say that I’m not upset because you’re better than me. I’m upset because I can not figure out how to do it at all. All five attempts turned into a tangled knot of colorful string and heartbreak.”

“You picked out great colors,” Lily had her lips pressed together when Jamie mustered up the fortitude needed to face her. She used all the strength she had to keep her gaze on Lily’s face and then let out a huff and laid back on her towel.

“Thanks a million.”

“Of course.” She reached out and patted the back of Jamie’s hand, her bubblegum pink nails drawing Jamie’s eye. “If we’re going to stay for a while more, I should put on more sunscreen.”

Jamie reached for the bag on her right and handed it to Lily and then shut her eyes. She couldn’t watch Lily put on sunscreen. She knew that she wouldn’t handle that well. Especially not when Lily seemed to be in a mind to tease the shit out of Jamie. Which Jamie knew she deserved after the entirely unsubtle way she had told Lily and Mary about her ex-girlfriend. She had blushed immediately after saying it and then muttered about needing a restroom.

Lily hadn’t brought up any exes at all, but she had followed Jamie on Instagram the first night, and it didn’t take a whole lot of work to figure out that Lily also represented a letter or two from the alphabet.

Jamie bit down on the tip of her tongue and wondered how long she would need to keep her eyes closed before it would be safe to open them.

She heard the cap of the sunscreen pop open and started counting, figuring three minutes to be ample time. She took the time to take a few deep breaths, have a few imaginary conversations with Sirius where he called her a dumbass, whacked her over the head and told her to make her move, and then tried to clear her head of any and all nonsense.

“Where do you head back to after this week?” Lily asked, and Jamie almost opened her eyes.

“Winchester. My brother and I are staying with our parents for the summer, and we have a lot of plans. This camp actually threw a bit of a wrench in our plans, but da wanted me to come here.”

“He didn’t want your brother to come?”

Jamie snorted. “Can you imagine? I mean, da did ask him if he wanted to, but Sirius is very… anti-group activities.”

“What plans were ruined?” Jamie turned her head and opened her eyes, figuring the sun screening was done with now.

It was not.

Lily was rubbing it into her shoulders, her hands moving slowly and her nails contrasting sharply with the pale tone of her skin.

Jamie’s mouth went dry and she tried to swallow.

Lily’s brow went up and Jamie cleared her throat. “Ballet.”

“What?”

“The ballet. I got Sirius to agree to go to a few different shows with me, which he never does, and I’m missing one of them to be here.”

The tip of Lily’s pink tongue peeked out from between her lips and Jamie bit down on her own tongue. What was it about this girl that had Jamie acting like a randy, seventeen-year-old, boy?

“The ballet? I didn’t picture you-“

“I’m actually a ballerina.”

Lily blinked her big green eyes and brought her shoulder up to her chin.

“I mean, I saw the pictures of you with your dance bag, but I guess I just…” Jamie hadn’t posted any recent pics of her in anything dance related, and so she smirked at the knowledge that Lily had been snooping.

“You didn’t picture me as a ballerina? What kind of dancer did you think I was?”

“Honestly? I thought you were a theater dancer.”

Jamie chuckled. “I mean, I have dabbled in the theater.”

“Dabbled? I think it’s you use of words like ‘dabbled’ that made me think theater actually.”

“Dabbled is a normal word.”

“Sure, and it made me think ‘theater kid.’” Lily turned back to the bottle of sunscreen and picked it up, squeezing some onto her hand before she angled one of her legs and started rubbing her hands together. The point of her toe, the angle of her head, it was all deliberate. Jamie knew that it was all deliberate, but she didn’t care. She watched on bated breath as Lily started working the sunscreen into her leg. She started at her upper thigh and worked her way down to the ankle, slowly, making sure to cover every inch of skin.

“How long have you been a ballerina?”

Jamie had to unclench her jaw to answer. “Since I was about five.”

“And when did you dabble in the theater?” Lily’s voice was even and normal, like she wasn’t currently putting on a show for Jamie. She should have kept her eyes shut. She should close her eyes right now, but she knew that she wasn’t going to.

“Um… I think the first musical I was in, I was eight? Mum was helping out with…” She trailed off as Lily angled her other leg and started on that thigh. “Mum was helping with costumes. It was just a small local production.”

“Of what?”

“Fiddler on the Roof.” Jamie hoped that she was answering Lily’s questions, but she really wasn’t paying attention to what either of them were saying. For the first time since she’d seen Lily in this stupid bikini, she was allowing herself to look at her. She was drinking it in.

Jamie was pretty sure that Lily said something else, and half of her brain heard it, though it took a while to get it all pieced together. “I’ve seen Fiddler on the Roof. Mary was a theater kid, so I’ve actually seen a lot of musicals.”

“Good.” Jamie nodded, even though she knew that wasn’t really a top notch response.

Lily picked up the bottle of sunscreen and popped the cap open again, and Jamie could feel the pop in the back of her teeth. She watched Lily tighten her hand around the bottle, squeezing more onto her open palm.

“I might need your help with my back-“

About two seconds before Jamie would have had a heart attack and passed away right there on the small camp beach in the middle of nowhere, the top of the bottle came off and, with Lily still squeezing the bottle, the sunscreen went everywhere. It splattered all over Lily’s lap, chest and towel. It got on Jamie too, a large glob landing on the lens of her glasses.

They both froze for a minute before Jamie looked up at Lily from her one clear lens. Lily’s cheeks were bright red and she was looking at the still dripping bottle as though it had purposefully ruined her plans to send Jamie to an early grave.

The building tension crumbled like a saltine cracker.

“That’s what you get,” Jamie said, reaching over and wiping a large glob off of Lily’s nose. Then she started laughing as Lily turned to look at her. Her cheeks stayed red, but she cracked a grin. “That was totally deserved!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lily shook her head and dropped the offending bottle. She started smearing and wiping at all the excess sunscreen, wiping her hands on her towel to get it off. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

Jamie started laughing harder. “You’re a liar.”

Lily bit down on her bottom lip, still shaking her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You most certainly do know what I mean, and now you’ve made a mess of yourself.”

“The cap broke! I don’t know why you’re telling me I deserve it.”

Jamie reached over and swiped at another glob at Lily’s shoulder. “Sure, Evans.” She whipped her hand so it landed somewhere in the grass and then got another glob from Lily’s hair. “So that’s just how you normally put on sunscreen?”

“Of course it is.”

“I can’t wait to see how your normally put on your pajamas tonight.”

Lily’s face went a shade or two darker and Jamie laughed again.

“You know what, if I was putting it on… a certain sort of way, it was only because you were looking at me-“

“I hadn’t been looking at you!” Jamie took her glasses off and carefully went about cleaning them. “I had very deliberately not been looking at you. You waited until I was looking at you.”

Lily was quiet until Jamie looked over at her, having to squint in order to see the look on her face. She put her glasses back on to confirm that she was looking smug. She was. “Okay, but then you couldn’t take your eyes off me.”

“Have you ever heard the phrase, in for a penny, in for a pound?”

Lily narrowed her brow in confusion. “I have.”

“I’ve only ever had fancied three people in my life, including yourself,” Lily sat up straighter and Jamie felt her cheeks heat but shook her head. Lily had already known that Jamie fancied her. “Yes, go and head a preen over it.”

“I am flattered,” Lily, still covered in globs of sunscreen, waved her hair back over her shoulder with one of her hands. Then she looked at Jamie expectantly.

Jamie sucked in a sharp breath through her nose and released it all at once. “Where do you live, Evans? And how far is it from Winchester?”

“And why do you ask?”

“Because I’ve a feeling that we’ll have some unfinished business come Friday.”

And then Lily laughed, and Jamie felt it all the way to the tips of her toes.

#jily #jily challenge #fem!jily #jilychallenge #my fic #fel writes jily

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kaetastic · 4 years

Text

Secrets Not To Be Told

pairing: Lucius Malfoy x Pureblood!Slytherin!Reader

summary: Draco invites his circle of friends to his manor for an allegedly said-project. This brings a friend of the boy into his father’s attention. [requested: @queenofmankind]

word count: 3k

warning: fluff, cheating, smut, fingering :)

note: the only reason i made the reader a slytherin and pureblood is because i needed her to be in the draco circle if you know what i mean. i hope this is alright! thank you so much for this request!! i truly love lucius <33 i think after posting one more request i’ll be closing it for awhile to spend more time on my posts :3

The scurrying of petite feet grazed across the stone floor, squeaking a screech every time the bare skin of the creature slapped the ground. Although the manor had been exceptionally cold the past week, the temperature had wrapped a blanket of icicles around the walls of the once a cosy home. If that ever existed with the infamous beliefs of the previous and current owners.

The floppy ears of the elf danced with every stomp of feet he took, bouncing into the air just like that of the choreography of his heart. Arms swinging by his body, he could hear his heart thrum against his eardrums. Almost as if someone had plunged their fingers through his chest to pluck out the pumping organ. There was nothing else pinned on the board in his mind, just the change of events. Need to tell Master.

The words echoed in his head, a reminder for him to get to the desired room as soon as possible. Even though the creature had been serving the Malfoys for longer than he could count on his hands, he couldn’t help but realize the different personalities of each owner. However, the ground remained stable with the current master. Slightly more merciful than the previous ones. The elf couldn’t help but shudder at the memories of being bruised to punishment. With the tainted thoughts of those who he had served, he passed a second to slam his head in the frigid wall. Bad Nory. Bad, bad Nory.

The elf barely had time for his lungs to increase to its maximum capacity and his head to digest what he was to do, his boney knuckles rapped against the wooden door. As the noise echoed into his ears in surges of wailing, no different to that of his spilt tears the night before, the creature finally understood what he had done. There wasn’t any time for him to waste by sprinting away to leave the master to be answered by silence.

Master Malfoy had ordered a clear instruction; this issue was to be solved with the towering wizard of the home. Running away was an option, but the elf couldn’t see himself walking away from the scene without punishing himself. No sound seemed to seep out of the cracks of the sealed door. With a gulp, the elf took this as a reply. So, with his blood vessels quivering set an energetic speed, he opened the door with a creak. The noise that indicated the ancient hinges lingered in the air, longer than he wanted it to be. Almost as if it was to taunt him of his grievous mistake. Was it a mistake if he was to inform a sudden issue to his master?

“What is it?” The man who occupied the lavish green armchair practically hissed, his words swerving out the cracks of his teeth in a body of a slithering serpent. Even when he had found comfort in the tranquillity of the air, nothing fell into place to his desire.

Lucius was a lucky man, some would say. The pureblood wizard had inherited money which seemed to be an endless body of water, the main reason why he had found no need to occupy a job. However, the demands he had asked, such simple ones, was of no use. His son had dragged his friends to the manor, individuals Lucius had approved of as their status.

The pureblood wizard wished for the school his son had been educated at, to find the true meaning of blood. Blood purity. There would be no use of those with half-poured blood of muggles while the other half were to be species who held great power in their hands. Not to mention the wavering group of barely a tint of magical blood in them. Draco would have his fun while his wife had occupied herself in Paris. The beginning of Christmas looked fun as Lucius was left alone.

There was no need to wait for the creature to bring up its excuse to its... excessive, boisterous noise of walking. No matter the times the wizard had scolded the elf for creating such irritating sound, the habit was ingrained in the creature.

“Master, Nory is sorry,” The elf stuttered, its eyes blaring onto the polished ground before it brushed over the overlapping strings of the carpet. “There’s a woman at the door, she said she’s Master Draco’s accompany.”

Lucius’s eyes snapped to the quivering elf, his peripheral narrowing onto its raggy clothing. Placing down the crinkling newspaper, he clicked his jaw, “I only assume that you have brought her inside because we treat guests at our utmost respect,” The elf watched as honey dripped from the wizard’s lips. Not sweet honey, never sweet honey. Venom embedded honey. The viscous liquid was ready to pierce blades. “Bring her in.”

Nodding (almost beheading his own head at the incredible speed), the creature’s feet echoed into the tranquil air, “Come in, come in.” Lucius listened to its muffled hearing before the noise of shuffling of feet amplified into the dining room.

Towering over the elf was a figure, the cloak heavily rested on her shoulders, “I’m sorry if I caused any problems. I’m Y/N, Draco had invited me.”

Lucius quirked his eyebrows at her accent, “Draco came in with his friends.”

“Oh, yes,” Y/N let out a faint laugh. “There were some problems that needed fixing, so I was late.”

Lucius noted before standing, his stride towards the door halted to stand next to the witch, “Well then, I’ll show you to Draco.” The creature was long gone, knowing its presence was not needed by the two.

Silence sang in the air, only their steps mumbled into the long hallway. Long for Y/N; a short path for the man who had grown in the manor. The same hallway his father and previous generations had sauntered through, “You’re not British, are you?”

Y/N couldn’t help the quirk of her smile, “No, I’m not. I’m a transfer from Ilvermony.”

“Your blood?”

“Pure.” That was all Lucius needed.

Lucius munched on the gentle texture of the egg, its creamy yolk caressed the muscle of his tongue with every so softness. Just the way he liked it. The bright yellow paint smeared against his porcelain teeth, cladding around to cover the source of sparkling glitter whenever the wizard was to shoot a smile. Not a smile of joyfulness because lately, life had been lacking in supplying said-happiness. Everything seemed to rather get on his nerves; no one seemed to comply with the pureblood wizard. Something that had infuriated him. Almost as if they had mocked him.

With the freshest Daily Prophet hovering on the table, blocking his view of the wide-opened door, he was too caught up on grazing his eyes over the lines of the commotion of giants. Just kill the lot if you ask me. The wizard couldn’t help but curl up the corners of his lips from his thought. While he showered himself in the enticing idea of him ruling over the wizarding world (too brutal of gushing blood to clean out the bad blood), Y/N made way into the dining room.

Too lost in the golden imagination, she took the time to take in the room. It was like no other. The rest of the house, those she had only stumbled into, of course, had been rather gloomy and full of lurking shadows compared to this one. While she had enjoyed her time in the Malfoy Manor, most of the moments of exploring the vast home with the owner’s son, she couldn’t help but be in doubt to why the room had been more... brighter.

“My wife wanted more light,” Lucius answered the question she had quirked up in her head as if he had read her mind. Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, had she said it out loud? With a flick of his wand, the swooshing noise of the newspaper slicing through the air to land its back on the grand wooden table crackled. “She said she could barely see what she was eating, hence this.” Following his gesturing hands towards the window wall that had been adorned by curtains that had been hugged at their waists to prevent it from closing, Y/N hummed. The morning light glistened through the glass panes, streaking lines of golden paints against the sombre-coloured table.

The dining table was long, separating the dining room into two halves equally. Despite the enormous room, it didn’t feel spacey at all. There were clusters of iron armour statues decorating the walls, alongside moving paintings of landscapes and what Y/N would assume were family. Pushing the table aside, the twinkling chandelier was a sight to behold. Its arms, no different to that of an octopus. Teardrops of creatures that resided in the body of water draped from each rod, singing a faint song with every quiver despite the room being impeccably still.

“So, may I ask what you’re doing in my home?” Before she had the chance to think of what she was to do, a faint chuckle fell off her lips.

“Oh, right. It seems I had forgotten an item of mine.”

Lucius quirked his eyebrow, “Well, wouldn’t it have been easier for you to just send an owl?”

Y/N scratched the nape of her neck, “I have, it seems Draco had not received it.”

The wizard nodded before the clanking of metal slamming against ceramic echoed into the dining room, “Come, where was the last place you’ve left it?” Y/N was sure, with him being a pureblood- it would’ve been easier to accio the lost item. She didn’t question.

“Are they your family?” Y/N quirked up, slicing a blade through the thick air. Now that she had noticed, the hallway had not been occupied at all. Just the head of the family and her. Well, she wasn’t sure where Draco would be as Lucius had informed her that he was to do additional training.

“Yes, they are.” Lucius answered, the words lingering longer in the air as his eyes grazed over the paintings. The green wall had been plastered with squares of paintings and moving pictures. It would surely be just a cluster of dots if viewed from afar. The heads of similar blond hairs had tint features of what had been passed on onto Lucius. No doubt, it was his parents as the young Lucius sat on the chair with their hands planted on his shoulders. Oh, to be young again.

Turning her head to face the man, she inquired, “What were they like?”

Lucius pondered, a second of silence poured into the air, “Loyal.” Despite his short description of his family, Y/N knew it was more to it. There was never just one adjective for pureblood parents. However, she didn’t even bother pressing onto the manner. She gazed upon his eyes grey eyes.

The still air she once had cut into two loaves of bread had tightened around her chest as her lips rested on his. Her fingers hovered over his chest, awkwardly quivering at the peculiar position. Lucius saw a coat of darkness while his body had been leaning on hers, his ears fed with the sound of their lips; his tongue had been given a treat of the taste of her. Y/N watched as the familiar absence of light entered her peripheral, holding a sheet between her sight and her.

Although it had felt as if she had been snoozing off to the lullabies sung by the devil, she was soon shaken to her core at the realization. Yanking back to snap the sudden noise of their lips ripping away from one another, she stared at the towering man, chest heaving, “We can’t...”

“Why not?” Lucius questioned, eyebrows shooting up as his eyes narrowed at her.

A minute passed, and she had no answer to his question. Maybe it had been the captivating man who had sucked out all of her ability to grasp on reality. Or air was just not enough to supply her head, “I’m Draco’s friend, and you are his father-“ She hated that she stuttered. However, it had all to be blamed on her intermittent flickers of thought to come up with a reason. A reason to push away the man. A reason to stop him.

“You are of age, aren’t you?” Y/N nodded, though, quite reluctantly as she feared for what he was to say.

“Still, isn’t this wrong?” The words squeezed out of her throat, almost as if she didn’t want to say it.

“Nobody has to know.” Although the first thought that had popped up in his mind was his wife who was possibly sauntering on the roads of Paris, it was soon wiped off from existence as the familiar warm puffs of air-filled every crevice of his mouth. The wizard’s hands crept up, fingers trailing from his side to gingerly grasp her waist.

Nothing was uttered in the air as the two lost themselves in a rhythm they soon fell into. With her hands plastered on his shoulders, she couldn’t hold back the shudder when her fingers grazed over the chilly ornament on his neck. The pureblood wizard pulled away, his eyes brushing over her confused orbs, “Not here, come.”

Breezes of wind kissed his skin, piercing an inch of skin as if a missed arrow that had somehow managed to caress his cheeks. Lucius didn’t know how fast he had paced towards his room. Maybe it had been a foolish thing to do, but he didn’t care. Nothing else mattered but the thrumming of his heart for what he was about to do.

A cane in his hand for preventing any consequences he was to face, no walls would stay up high with the persistence of the wizard. Lucius wasn’t sure if he had felt relief when he had not seen those scrambling creatures in the hallways or up the stairs. He could’ve just pulled up the punishment cards or obliviate the house-elf. It would’ve been amusing for him to watch, but there was a slight clench in his chest that had been more than glad at the absence of the elves. What would’ve Y/N thought?

Flinching only slightly at the abrupt, boisterous noise of the door slamming shut, Y/N could barely let out a gasp before her lips were sealed shut once again. With her back against the wall beside the door, there was no time for her to gaze upon the room the wizard had dragged her into. That was until Lucius had somehow urged himself to pull away. Mumbling in a raspy voice, Y/N felt wind crawling down her back, “Undress.”

So she did. There were sprinkles of chest heaving from the air-stealing exercises despite the two shredding off their clothing. Lucius couldn’t hold himself back. The way her tongue brushed against his; the way her fingers would gently grip onto his chest was as if she had handled glass. It was entertaining, to say the least- Lucius liked it. It was different. Different than his wife.

A sharp gasp fell off her lips as the mouth that was once smeared over with freezing paint which now had been warmed up as if it rested next to a fireplace landed on her neck. Lucius’s ears trickled with wanton sounds of her moaning, quivering down his body. She knew what it did to him, yet, her body was not placed in a position for her to decide.

Tightening her grip on the crumpled cover of the bed, a staggering moan caressed her lips. Lucius pumped his sole finger at a languid pace, the corners of his lips curling up at the way her hips buckled. While she had been melting her head into the soft pillows, the same ones his wife would slumber upon, his lips descended down to flick his tongue on her pebbly buds. Y/N wasn’t sure if it had been from the second finger he had added or the way his tongue had suckled on her breasts, or both, but she didn’t bother.

She arched into his body, fingers weaved through the long locks of his hair. Lucius grunted at the sudden clench of his fingers. Her legs thrashed, wavering in shudders when he drew quick circles on her clit. Then she felt as if she had been chunked down the mists of clouds. Y/N watched as his fingers that had been coated of her coat his tongue. If there was any slight drop left, it was to be mixed with the tint of his saliva.

His fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking the hardened shaft while his eyes watched hers. Inch by inch, his pelvis had splayed against her skin. Youthful skin. And oh, if Lucius had let down his walls, he was sure he would’ve lost at the tightness around him. Breathless puffs were then dancing in his lips.

Lost in the way his tongue danced with hers, she let out an unexpected whimper as his hips pulled back. The emptiness of the inch was prominent. The feeling lingered in her. However, it was soon thrown out of the window when he had snapped his hips. The first of the many wanton noises were forgotten in a blurry haze as his thrusts started a series of moaning and groans, “Lucius...”

Her moan fell into his ears in a bouncing string, just like that of a fishing rod with bait at its hook. Y/N’s legs wrapped around his hips, another surge of pleasure crawling through her body. With his head bumping into her temple, it wasn’t long before they plunged into the sea of a familiar feeling.

Still breathless, he huffed out, his skin finally screeching of pain from his back, possibly the clawing of her nails, “Listen, my wife shouldn’t know-”

A knock on the door sliced through the still air, “Father, mother’s home.”

The faces of the two could have been seen as that of a permanent freeze.

#lucius malfoy x reader #lucius malfoy #lucius malfoy smut #lucius malfoy imagine #lucius malfoy imagines #lucius malfoy oneshot #lucius malfoy oneshots #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter oneshot #harry potter oneshots #harry potter smut #smut #slytherin!reader #pureblood!reader #lucius malfoy x slytherin!pureblood!reader #slytherin!pureblood!reader

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albino-whumpee · 3 years

Text

Demon Angel AU: Ritual sacrifice

Will I ever actually work on my WIPS or follow an schedule? Sigh.

Anyhow, a bit more of the AU with the boys for a late @whumptober2020! Sann discovers what did the gods capture a demon for! He´s not very happy about it and the fate of his friend.

CW// blood, ritual sacrifice, deity whump, captivity, pet whump (of sorts), forced to watch, torture, defiant whumpee, manhandling, creepy whumper and noncon touching (non sexual), wing whump, threats of murder, escape attempt and betrayal. Ask to tag!

Taglist: @as-a-matter-of-whump @grizzlie70 @orchidscript @giggle-evil-puppy @rosesareviolentlyread @haro-whumps

He was molded by his god to be perfect. Or their definition of perfect. Six pairs of wings that would allow him to soar through the sky as ordered. Perfectly white and soft for his God´s fingers to run through as he sang along to an ancient song the angel had never listened to but knew word by word.

Kneeling at his God´s feet, and singing to them like the perfect bird toy the demon had told him he was when he had gotten close enough to get a “hey, Angel, are you gonna tell me your name today?” instead of warning snarls. The angel had gotten defensive at first. Offended by the captive´s words when he was so much more to his God. So thankful to have been given the important job to stay by their side to serve them.

“You love flying don´t you?” the demon had told him shifting on his cell with his limbs going black from the friction of chains that cursed his touch.

He had a piece of cloth tied around the edges so it would pacify the pain for a little while, it was too risky to leave it, so the angel had to take it away when he went back to bed to his lord.

The angel bit his lower lip. Remembering his night strolls through the clouds, when he could simply put the three pairs of wings to work for him and him only.

“I do, but-”

“Then if your creator loved you so much they wouldn´t force you to stop. They would love to see you flying in the sky instead of forcing you to stay with them on the ground to show your devotion or whatever”

“It´s to bring honor to them! Besides, It´s my choice to do it or not!” the angel had yelled at him. The demon stood up and stomped his way to the bars of his cell. Until the chain yanked him back and he let out an exasperated groan before turning to watch the puffed out angel.

“Yeah? Is it really a choice when you´re terrified of saying no?” The demon refuted. “Do you even…Do you even know how they will fuck up your wings?”

The angel had frowned at the softening of his voice. He shook his head as the demon sighed.

“Come here, Angel” he said and the angel doubted moving, but ultimately walked towards the demon, curiosity itching to be satisifed. He jumped in horror as the demon pinched his hand with his own claws and black blood pooled on it.

“What are you-!?”

“Shh, I´m ok” he said crouching to take into his hands one of the feathers that had fallen off on one of the angel´s earliest visits. The three feathers hidden in a crack on the wall was his little treasure, but nobody, and most certainly not the Angel needed to know that “I´m not here just to be a party entertainer, Angel” he said dipping the feather in the blood as a sizzling sound crossed the air. The Angel´s heart stopped for a second.

The feather dissolved in less than a few seconds.

“I´m the main ingredient for your ritual. Once they dry me, you will coat your wings bloody black. But after suffering for a few hours, your god will give you wax wings. If you pretty please ask for them, they will give it to you. Just as perfect but absolutely useless”

“H-H-How do you know all this?” The freckled Angel heaved staring at the demon´s grim face.

“Demons disappear all the time you know? Who, besides your god´s soldiers, would take them? The humans? They wish! The Elder told me to avoid capture at all costs but I…” he sighed “I didn´t see them coming from above”

The Angel had never felt so betrayed. He couldn´t even say goodbye to the demon that night. He had wanted to sit next to his god at night, as the demon danced in his injured feet and enjoy along…but he couldn´t. He felt disgusted, afraid, of being forced to be the cause of pain inflicted on the demon. Of his friend. He could try to look away for as long as his god didn´t take his chin and make him watch.

It took guts to make a decision, and it had a cost to save the demon.

At night, his god called for him and he prostrated before them to be informed the ritual would be at dawn.

The Angel should have stayed quiet. Should have shown his excitement just like when they told him he was chosen among all the other angels to become theirs.

But nothing but questions and the need to cry came out.

“What´s wrong, Sann?” they asked him gently wiping the tears off his face. A name was given to him to respond to, but only the giver knew what to call. Only his god could call him Sann.

“My lord, I have a wish for you to answer”

“Ask and I may consider”

“What will happen to the white demon on the dungeons after dawn?” Sann asked with a knot forming on his stomach as the god took their hand away.

“Worried about your own enemy. What a pure little one I made. But don´t fret, it´s only natural for living things, no matter how cursed their existance, to cease. You should know that, Sann” suddenly the finger tracing his jaw didn´t feel like a gentle touch, but a warning. Sann´s wings shivered as his god planted a kiss on his forehead “You´re far more important to me than that funny creature of the underworld, Sann. I expect nothing less but perfection from you and you have relentlessly proved your worth to me. Do it one more time and get ready, my perfect little bird”

Sann knelt in one knee as they walked away to the gardens “Yes, my lord”

The Angel couldn´t focus on the gorgeous scent of the flowers that bathed their body and the brush that groomed their wings, neither on the voices that praised him for getting such a promotion and telling him how beautiful he looked on his ritual gawns. They all had been angels like him, promoted, without any lower angel seeing. He had always wondered about why such secrecy…

“Sister?” She asked the black skinned angel mussing his hair and hummed in reply. Her wings were always shiny and immobil behind her. Always dragging on the ground as she walked behind her own Lady “What are your wings made of?”

At the question he felt a sudden pull back. He let out a pained yelp through gritted teeth.

“Oh my! I´m sorry! I…what kind of question is that, sweetheart?” She said and didn´t speak again until she was finished and pushed him to the next room.

He didn´t miss how she didn´t answer his question.

They never did.

—

It was past midnight when the Angel started with his meditation. He was supposed to last until dawn, but no matter how hard the effect of the tea they had given him, he couldn´t force himself back into that state. Slightly dizzy, he stumbled his way to the window. Just to check how much time he had to get his last flying before the ceremony.

He saw the sky turning that pinkish tone he had soared through in his first flight. Racing the sun to see who could come higher faster. He remembered how the wind felt on his wings, how the currents carried him higher, how the clouds melted without touching, they had never been fluffy cutton, but scurried through his fingers like water.

More than once he had asked despite himself, what were they made of. What was everything even himself made of. Despite been forbidden from questioning the greatest god´s creations, he kept wondering. He wanted to know and appreciate it, not deminish it.

Why was it so wrong to ask?

At the thought a tear spilled off his cheek.

Because the answers may not be as innocent as he thought, he now understood.

It pained him to admit it. It hurt so much to make a coocoon of his wings and touch them in longing. The demon was right. He didn´t want to dissapoint his god, but he also didn´t wanna lose his flight.

He would prefer to fall.

The demon should still be on the dungeon. He could…he could save him. He could take him and.. He needed to…

He suddenly was yanked up by the arm by his sisters and brothers. A procession trapped him until they arrived to the plaza, just a few minutes before dawn.

In explicit detail he was instructed about the ritual´s procedures. Such was his shock that, before he knew it, he was on his knees in front of his god and…

“Control that beast!” the blonde, winged soldier cracked his whip at the demon. Hitting him plain in the face, blood splattered on the floor but the demon kept squirming and growling under the ropes holding him down. His tail tightly bound to one of his legs. He was kneeling with a muzzle over his face and a rope tightening more and more around his exposed, vulnerable neck. The more he moved the more it digged on his skin, black blood ran down in rivulets through the rope and to his wrists. Struggling just made it worse, but his eyes didn´t lose the fight in them. Like a red twilight, his eyes were filled with the omen of blood.

The demon was finally seized with the help of two other soldiers. Holding him in place to stare directly at Sann. His eyes widened as he found the sword on the angel´s hands and Sann understood immediately he bared his fangs in fury, in betrayal and then closed his eyes and stopped struggling.

The soldiers let him go and the demon jerked forward. His forehead barely brushing the Seraphim´s feet in defeat. He saw his eyes and there was no need for words to understand what they meant.

“I trusted you”

The demon lowered his head as Sann began with the first step of the ritual: singing an hymn in honor of the highest god. The creator of all. Even the demon´s elder.

It should be carried on with a dance with the sword on his hand. Gentle steps that got framed with the movements of his wings. The gods and Sann´s god watched his performance delighted.

The ritual dance stopped with Sann bowing at the demon with the sword on his back.

He whispered to the white haired demon then.

“I want to know your name”

The demon´s snort was muffled by the muzzle.

Golden bowls on the sides, so in his sweaty state he had to take them and put them right below the demon. He carefully moved slower, trying to make as much of a curtain as his wings would let him cover in a place filled with gods and soldiers.

“I´m not gonna hurt you” Sann whispered, moving gracefully behind the demon, sword on one hand and grabbing a fist of white hair to uncover the neck. He glared back with a venemous look.

It wasn´t part of the ritual to cut the muzzle off his face with the sword, yet it fell to a sudden silence of the public. To the demon´s amusement.

“I promise” he mouthed to the demon. Eyes were nailed on them in all directions, but the tension seemed to ease and quicken as he set the sword right over the tender skin of his throat.

The demon squinted but his lips twisted up, sensing the honesty of the winged creature.

“Tell me yours, and I will tell you mine”

The angel looked above and took a deep breath where he extended his wings and lifted his sword. Using the sudden roar of cheering to mouth his name at the demon. The sword pointed in a direction without guards.

The joy at the barbarie vanished just as quickly as Sann´s sword cut through the ropes, switching it for horror as the demon ran free. He was not an strong demon, he himself had told him so, yet he pushed the angel off his way and ran with little equilibrium with his tail still bind to one of his legs.

The soldiers were torn between going for the demon or for Sann, which he used to extend his wings and flap the three pairs of wings down, giving him enough power to impulse him up.

He was a fallen.

Sann had fallen and he could sense his god´s ire high up above the clouds.

But, if they had given him a chance to choose, they should´ve been prepared to hear a no.

He turned in the air and plummeted down towards the demon running to one of the borders. Saw him stopping cold and fighting inercia to avoid falling over. Sann extended his arms and curled on his wings to go faster and catch him right when the soldiers were about to reach him. Flying off with a twist and going down and down.

The demon screamed.

“DON´T LET ME FALL DON´T LET ME FALL DON´T LET ME FALL!!!” He panicked as he gripped to the angel´s chest.

“Hold tight!” Sann screamed back, as the muscles on his back protested the strain. They would have to hold on. Until they could lose the fifteen soldiers after them and their arrows.

The cold air pierced his lungs and the demon´s screams were starting to make his ears ring.

He turned through soldiers popping out, but if his calculations were correct, they could get through the barrier into the human world in just a few more meters.

Just a little bit and there would be freedom.

As soon as Sann flew away, his god trembled in fury but quickly collected themself to bark left and right to bring them their bow and a frask of poisoned demon blood.

If Sann refused to be theirs, if Sann had the guts to defy them and decide they wished to fall trying to protect a filthy demon, then Sann had been a failure needed of extermination.

The god prepared themselves. Picked up one of the arrows and submerged it on the frask. Then pulled back and waited. They knew their creation was fond of his wings and his flight, they had taken pride of a creature so devoted they would take what was most precious to him, himself.

“What a pity. But it´s alright, with your flesh, we will create a better version. Just like you surpassed the one before you” they let the arrow go “My sweet little bird”

Sann didn´t sense the arrow, but the demon did.

“Watch out!” He screamed turning Sann by pulling one of his wings. Right out of the arrow´s direction but in turn, it blew up one of his horns making him lose his grip around the angel.

He wasn´t a strong demon, he was not a shape shifter or had herculean strength. He was just a low class demon that was perfect for an angel without any battle training, to handle.

It was strange.

So, so strange to know he was gonna splat on the floor and he couldn´t avoid it, but had an angel rushing to meet him. Hand extended and screaming something he didn´t understand.

He was falling too fast and too hard, he was loosing consciousness, the last he saw were trees getting bigger and closer.

Ah, the human world.

The demon saw the black blood spill above him and made the effort to cover it.

He didn´t want the angel to get burnt with his blood.

In such dire situation his mind wondered back to those gray eyes telling him his name.

Sann…

He hadn´t been able to tell him his name.

He closed his eyes when he saw the angel´s wings expand and frenetically rush down. The last he felt was the angel´s…Sann´s arms wrapping around him. His wings covering them to protect them both as they fell into the woods.

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imagine-loki · 3 years

Text

Everyone's Problem

TITLE: Everyone’s Problem CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump ORIGINAL IMAGINE: After the Chitauri attack on New York, imagine Loki being sentenced to public service on Earth, specifically in aiding people who got hurt during the attack. His magic has been limited to only be enough to aid keeping Odin’s spell in place so he wouldn’t turn blue. His task is to help people with special needs, to do house chores, help them get around, do their grocery and keep them company while they recover. He is assigned to a girl who ended up blind after one of the Chitauri shot at her. + Imagine HYDRA has been quietly watching Loki living a quiet life on Earth. They decide it’s finally time to bring him into the fold. It doesn’t exactly work out the way they intended. RATING: T

NOTES/WARNING: Hi, y'all! I haven’t written in a fair while, so I did a quick little one-shot with Charlie to get myself back into shape. It’s probably rough, but cut me some slack! If you’re interested in reading other Charlie stories (there’s a bunch!), you can find them on my masterlist here. Language, mentions of violence, attacks and blood, one v angry human, and typos probably.

“Loki, it’s a stomach ache. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.” Charlie remarked for the fiftieth time that morning as she gently shoved the darling Asgardian she called a boyfriend away from her.

Loki huffed for about the same number time. “According to your interweb healers, it could be an autoimmune disorder, an ulcer or gastric cancer! Forgive me if I’m a little worried about–”

“WebMD is not a qualified physician, Loki Odinson! Settle. The fuck. Down!”

Though her tone was no-nonsense, a smile was tugging at the left corner of her plump lips, evidence that she was not nearly as cross as she portrayed herself to be. When she brushed past him, Loki circled his arms around her waist and tugged her into his body, peppering her face with kisses as she made noises of weak protest. Despite his best advances (and really, he was doing his best work here) her laughter began to trickle down and out of existence.

“Loki, stop,” she said firmly, though he was only half listening.

“Stop!” The Prince froze, holding her loosely in his arms. Her tone wasn’t exactly what had caused her to stop his affectionate attack, though. It was the fact that her whole frame had stilled, and her eyes danced from spot to spot as she concentrated on something. “Can you hear that?”

Loki tilted his head and focused. It took a moment, as out of practice in paranoia as he was, but eventually he heard the very distinct pounding of military-grade rubber on linoleum. “Boots.” Quietly, he righted himself, taking silent, measured steps around the furniture, leading Charlie along with him. “Come on. Bedroom. Quickly.”

No sooner had he gotten those words out, the front door slammed open, leaving Charlie to yelp behind him, a handful of his gray heather t-shirt keeping her anchored to his frame. As Loki saw it, there were three men in the immediate vicinity, waving odd-looking guns that bore the signature of the Chitauri. These were not aliens, though. They were humans, who somehow found a way to retrofit the technology to make more powerful weapons. Many had been foolish enough to try it throughout the years, but only one entity bore the skull and tentacled monster on their insignia.

HYDRA.

This was definitely not a great time to still be without magic.

At once, he tried to school the rhythm of his heart, knowing that Charlie was distinctly in tune with the beat and would worry if it seemed like he was in a panic. With delicate fingers, he stroked at her curls, intending to burrow into his side. “Put your arm around me, tuck your head in, don’t let go. Got it?”

She offered little resistance to the order, humming her consent and wrapping her arm tightly around his torso. The feeling gave him comfort, funnily enough, that he was still the warrior that he had trained to be in his youth, despite having lived like a spoiled house cat for the last couple of years. Where in his youth there was glory and blood to be won, today there was only one objective–keep Charlie safe. Loki moved the second the intruders set their scopes on him. Reaching to his left, he grabbed a handful of kitchen knives which would have to do in this pinch and engaged with a growl.

Charlie whimpered, her legs struggled to keep up with his. She could not anticipate his movement and was mostly just being pushed and pulled around the floor while Loki seemed to be skillfully weaving like he was dancing. It also didn’t help that with every jerk of her body and awkward moment, there was the sickening sound of injury filling her ears. In one very distinct occasion, she could feel the breaking of some sort of bone reverberate through her own hand as Loki delivered a blow. Surely, it would be a lot easier for Loki to fight if he didn’t have to worry about Charlie behind him, and the awkward shuffle he had to do to make sure she was never exposed to any of these intruders took significant mental acuity.

When the three in the room had been dealt with, Loki reached for one of their weapons and Charlie’s mobile. He wasted to no time in moving them back through the bedroom door and locking it. Surely, more men would come.

“Stark!”

“Loki, I am, er, dealing with something right now!” The sound of bullets and flying mortar filled the line along with FRIDAY’s voice in the suit. “I’ll need to call you back!”

“Loki.” Charlie’s voice was small and trembling beside him.

Sighing, Loki wrapped his free arm around her and pulled Charlie into his chest. “I have you, love. Don’t worry.”

His lips pressed into her crown. A little bit of battle had shaken away the rust of his instincts and he could feel the distinctive prickle of enemies closing in. He prayed quietly to any entity that would bear to hear his prayers that they would be left alone. There was more noise beyond the door and Loki was left to coo Charlie into silence. He understood her fear, everything to her was a surprise, doubly so when she was scared and couldn’t bring herself to concentrate on her surroundings.

“I’m going to need you to run to the bathroom and lock yourself there, dove.”

Her hazel eyes zeroed in on him with rage-filled acuity. “You’re insane if you think I’m leaving you.”

“Darling, I cannot protect you if I’m busy minding you from getting hurt!”

Her eyes widened. There was panic in her empty gaze if the fidgeting of her fisted hands was anything to go by and it pained him to think that he could not even offer her an empty promise. “No, please! Please, don’t leave me. I–I can’t deal with it if you’re not with me.”

Loki smiled, sighing at the sweet ache of her words on his heart, and cupped her cheeks, dusting them with speckles of others’ blood. “You are braver than this, Charlotte Camden.” His thumbs brushed over her bronzed cheekbones affectionately. “I know you are. So you go and keep yourself safe and I will–”

The bedroom door rammed open with a deafening crash of cracked wood and rained splinters over the couple.

“Go! Go now!”

Charlie reluctantly disengaged, taking a running leap towards the bathroom door and slammed it behind her. Her ear pressed up against the wood to hear the scuffling. It sounded like a bigger force had come in and Charlie swallowed the panicked yelp threatening to bubble up her throat. Loki was a great fighter, but without his magic there was little for him to do if he was incapacitated. All she could do was hope that he was faster, stronger, better than these intruders.

And that’s when she heard it.

His voice.

Screaming.

Screaming like he did when he had a nightmare.

Screaming like when he remembered the blood and gore that he caused and the damage he had done.

Screaming like when he discovered that the extent of his monstrosity went beyond a lineage he had been lied about and the fickle lies he had been fed by a tyrant.

And then she heard it again.

And again.

And again…

And just when she thought her heart could take no more, she heard a body thud onto the ground and the shuffling stop and she feared the worst.

And then her bracelets activated.

Nearly a year of having the damn things on her and she had forgotten that they served any purpose other than setting off the metal detectors everywhere she went. The nanites built up around her in one swift wave. It took Charlie a moment to orient herself back to the seeing world. The colors on the screen still gave her a headache, her eyes still were unfocused, but that was due to her nearsightedness more than anything else, but it was still usable. And the updates Tony had made to the AI over the years made it easy to navigate through the controls.

She kicked the door open at once. Five figures turned back to her while another three were trying to get Loki’s annoyingly heavy body onto a cot to wheel him away. There was blood on his shirt, wounds seeping the dark treacly liquid from stab wounds used to subdue him, he looked pale, but his chest was still moving air and he was muttering deliriously under his breath.

He was alive.

So every one of them now had to die.

The gauntlets whined as the blasters charged and knocked them clean out of their boots. She supposed Tony didn’t think she would ever try to blast anything at full power, but lo and behold her rage was transcendental. They tried to restructure, protect the ones trying to take Loki away while fighting her off. Bullets ricocheted off her armor, letting her forge forward, blasters pumping out energy and leaving a trail of crumpled bodies. Taking a run, her body propelled off the ground, landing with a loud thud just in front of the door and cutting off their escape.

“Put. Him. Down.”

Rifles came up to point at her. Seven in total. They fired in unison, and she raised her arms, flinching instinctually from the projectiles that were intent on ripping into her armor. Charlie’s teeth grit tightly as she waited for the jolt of bullets to knock her backwards. They never came.

I thought it might be helpful to unlock Loki’s magic from the bracelets, the AI spoke into her ear.

When she blinked up, a blanket of green held the bullets in place, swirling in the ether of his magic. Her breath caught. This was definitely not something Tony had mentioned the last time she went in for a tune-up. He had failed to mention that the dampener Loki wore, implanted just under the skin of his bicep was feeding directly into the nanites or that there was any way to access the power. What was stranger was that the magic even listened to her, in the first place. By Loki’s tales, it was untamable force and most sorcerers never got very far without proper instruction. This was most odd.

Guns cocked and reloaded, breaking her out of her reverie. With a flick of her fingers, the bullets turned and resumed their trajectory, delivered back to sender. Another flourish, she disposed of the ones carrying the medical backboard with Loki in it and he fell to the carpeted ground with a groan.

Headache in full swing, she ran to his side, pushing away bodies to fall to her knees beside him. Nanites receded from her hands to touch his cheek.

“Loki. Babe, look at me.”

A wry smile curled his lips. “I am. I’m just very tired.” He chuckled, ending it with a cough and a groan. “Well, that answers the question where has my magic gone all this time?” He blinked a little longer each time as the darkness threatened to drag him down.

“Don’t close your eyes. Please. I need to get you to Tony’s.”

He giggled a little deliriously. “Magic suits you, petal.”

“Jesus, I really do need to get you to Tony’s.” Nanites back over her hands, she pulled his long frame into her arms and heaved. Even with the armor, he was decidedly heavier than any human she had ever met. For a second, she debated going out the front door, but seeing as her apartment was pretty much totaled, anyway, she burst through a window and into the New York skyline.

Loki blinked awake to the sounds of Charlie berating someone to within an inch of their life. He smiled, settling back into the covers with a grin despite the obvious pain radiating from just under his ribs and the dull ache in his skull. He peeked an eye open to see Stark, actively cowering backwards, away from her tone, narrowly avoiding her walking cane whenever she gestured wildly.

“It would have been nice to know how to activate the damn thing before Loki got fucking stabbed or I felt absolutely sure that he was dead because you put in a life or death trigger on the damn suit! And don’t get me fucking started on the fact that I’ve been carrying Loki’s magic for the last year and had no fucking clue about it!”

“I’m sorry! I was trying to keep you from playing with the suit for funsies instead of–”

“WE ALMOST DIED AND YOU WERE BUSY WITH YOUR OWN HYDRA ASSHOLES! WHAT WERE WE SUPPOSED TO DO? WAIT FOR YOU TO GET YOUR ASS KICKED BEFORE–”

“Charlie, love,” Loki hoarsed, and the tirade immediately quieted. Charlie rushed over to the bedside, briefly tripping over a chair leg before clambering onto his cot and covering his face with kisses. “Dove, I’m bound to be disgusting at the moment,” he protested weakly, but still pulled her closer by the waist.

“I don’t care. I love you.”

“I love you, too. My savior.” He cupped her face in his hands, absorbing the warmth from her beaming smile. “Glorious. Truly glorious.” He ran his fingers through her curls, bringing them back into shape from their crumpled form. Clearly she had been sleeping here with him and not necessarily keeping up with brushing–that was usually his task, anyway–but her crumpled clothes and dark circles under her eyes belied the worry she felt for him. It made his stomach warm several times over.

“I found your magic.”

He chuckled. “I recall. You can keep it safe for me.” He looked briefly at Tony who was pretending not to smile in the corner. “Do we know what happened?”

“Looking for you, buddy boy. They were a little disappointed you couldn’t do the hocus pocus stuff, but they caught onto the problem pretty quick.”

“I’m the problem,” Charlie muttered, snuggling into his side.

“Mmm, what a lovely problem to have,” he whispered before kissing her crown.

“Look, I’ll talk to your old man and see if we can’t get your sparkles and pixie dust ban lifted–”

“Don’t bother. I can teach Charlie how to use magic if you give her access. He said I couldn’t use seidr, not that I couldn’t teach someone else to wield it.”

Tony looked apprehensive, wincing slightly at the suggestion. “You sure you want to give Live Wire there that kind of ammunition?”

“Oh, if they don’t want to allow me to use my power, that is fine. But I am making her everyone’s problem. Aren’t I, sweet?”

Charlie simply snickered, leaving Tony to groan loudly as he stepped out of the hospital room.

#Loki #Others #Submitted one shot #submission #everybody's problem #fanfictrashdump

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 4 years

Text

A WISE ADVICE

Prompt: When Finn flirts with Sasha Banks on Monday Night Raw,his return home to his girlfriend Y/N ends up with him meeting a side to her he didn’t knew existed,a broken bed and a nosy demon king!

Word count: I write most of my stuff in my phone so I don’t know,but long-ish

Pairing: Finn x Reader x Bálor

Warnings:+18 smut,cursing,wax play,bondage(limbs restriction),slight female degradation,jealousy and some broken furniture!Hahahaha

Notes: Ok,so this is my first Finn Bálor fanfic(be nice please?And give me some feedback if you’d like)as I always say,english isn’t my first language,so sorry for misspellings,you can always find my latest story as a fixed post on my page and you can find all of my stories typing “masochist writes” on the search bar on my page and last but certainly not least the only excuse I have for writing this is that I love the man and I love kinky shit,so enjoy 😏

My grandfather was a wise man.I loved the funny stories he used to tell me and my brother when we were younger.Stories about his old loverboy days,and how he would always get in trouble for flirting with the girls of his neighborhood! And one thing my grandpa always used to say to my brother was: “Son,the thing you must fear the most in your life it’s the fury of a woman!Don’t fear the thief,don’t fear death,but do fear the fury of a raging woman!Even more if you were the one who incited such rage!”And he laughed while he finished his cigar.

I never understood why he said that to my brother..until now!

I was sitting on my bed,just trying to process what my eyes had witnessed.My mind was racing,my blood boiling and I knew that if looks could kill he would be dead already (even through the damn TV).

I had not just seen MY boyfriend,just SHAMELESSLY flirt with Sasha Banks! And don’t even try to say “oh please,don’t be so dramatic! It’s scripted you know?!” ‘Cuz I ain’t buying that shit! We’ve been together for 4 years now and trust me honey,if anyone knows THAT look that someone is me.You know why?Because he gives me the SAME ONE FOR PRECISELY 4 YEARS NOW!

The fucker had the audacity! I’m so furious I could just strangle him to death with my bare hands,and yes,through the damn TV. But if he thinks I’m gonna let this slip through he has another thing coming...And when he receive his punishment for being such a naughty little boy,he’s gonna wish somebody would have warned him about the deadly fury of a woman.

As soon as I finished hiding my last item,I heard the front door open *let the games begin* I devilishly thought to myself.

“Y/N? Love are ya upstairs?” That voice,the voice of the traitor,just served to make me even more angry!But if I wanted this to work out as I planned I had to play it cool.So I just pushed the anger down my throat and put it a beautiful sheepishly smile upon my lips and answered “Yes love,I’m in the bedroom.” *this is going to be fun* I thought to myself.

A few seconds later I heard the bedroom door open “Oh there ya are! I thought ya were going to be downstairs,waiting for me like ya always do” He said. I slowly turned to face him and said as innocently as I could “Yeah I was but, I thought you would have another thing in mind so I figured it would be better if I just waited here for you instead.” As I proceeded to bat my lashes and strip my clothes off in front of him.

“Oh love”He licked his lips slowly “Ya have no idea what you’ve had just started!”

“Oh Sir,I think I do..the real question is” I closed the distance between us and slowly pushed him down onto the bed “Are YOU ready for what YOU had started?” As soon as his body collided with the mattress I quickly handcuffed both of his wrists to the headboard.

“What the fuck? Y/N,what is this?”

I silently went to the foot of the bed and begin to take off his Vans and socks.

“Babe,what are ya doing?Y/N? Talk to me damn it!”

I just looked at him chuckling while I grabbed a rope so I could tie his ankles to the bed as well.

“Love,you’re starting to scare me here...please talk to me,what’s going on?” He pleaded

I kneeled between his legs to undo his belt while I whistle a little tune.

“For fuck sake Y/N! Ya look like a fucking psycho right now,just say something please!” He begged and I stopped right when I was about to push his pants down.

“Do you think that I look like a psycho?Funny tho,how earlier you didn’t thought that...actually,you thought that you could take me for granted right?You thought that I would wait for you at the door like a good girl should,you thought that you could flirt with your female co-worker on national TV and I would just wait for you here...” I grabbed a handful of his semi-hard bulge and squeezed just enough so he could feel the slight pain. “Like a little well trained pet.” I proceeded to squeeze harder until he gasped.

“Y/N” my name was a faint whisper leaving his lips. “Please baby,you’re hurting me.”

“I’m hurting you?” I huffed as I slowly let the deadly grip on his bulge fade “What about you hurting me huh?What about my feelings Finn?What about the fact that you made me embarrassed on national TV! How can I get out on the street now with people knowing that we date and still you were deliberately flirting with another woman?” I slightly pinched his bulge just to make my point clear.

“Ouch,fuck! I’m sorry babe! I really didn’t meant it! I just got carried away with the plot that’s it! You know I love you dearly,and the only woman who gets me heads over heels for it’s you. I even bought you some roses and chocolates as a white flag sign,since I realized I fucked up..” I looked into his beautiful blue eyes and saw nothing more than love and regret. “Where are they?”

“They?”

“Yeah,the roses and the chocolates?”

“They’re on the dinner table”

I got up from the bed and made my way towards the bedroom door. “I’ll be right back.”

I went down the stairs,entered the dining room and I saw the most beautiful bouquet of red roses I’ve ever seen,and the little heart shaped chocolates,my favorite ones! I ran to the kitchen to get a vase with water to put the roses in it.When I placed the beautiful bouquet inside of it I saw the little card attached on the outside,beautifully hand written “My lovely lass,I know I got a little carried away with my character tonight,but I tell you with all my heart it meant nothing! You’re the only woman I’ll EVER need in my life!You’re my EVERYTHING! Love ya... yours always and forever.Finn”

“Argh Y/N what did you do?! Well I can still make this pleasurable for him,somehow..” I whispered to myself and ran back upstairs.

“Oh thank God! I thought ya were gonna leave me tied up here the whole night!” He giggled “Did ya find it?”

“Yes I did..”

“I meant it what I said in the card ya know...”

“Yeah I know Finn..”

After a few minutes passed by and when I didn’t move to set him free,he asked

“So?”

“So what?”

A briefly confused look passed by his face when he said

“Aren’t ya gonna let me go?”

“Why would I?” I kinda chuckled

“Well,because ya kno-“ I cut him of by saying

“Don’t you think you still need a little reminder to not do that anymore?”

“What do ya mean?”

I slowly crawled on the bed to assume the position I was on minutes ago.

“Oh you know” I said as I lightly tapped his hips so I could remove his pants and boxer briefs “I think you need that little warning slap on the hand,so you don’t be a naughty boy and don’t do that shit ever again”

I smiled as I grabbed the pair of scissors from under my pillow and cut off his shirt so I could leave him in his naked glory,and at my mercy.

“Oh my,aren’t you a beautiful sight?!”

I straddle his hips and leaned down to kiss him,as soon as our tongues met I traveled my hands down his neck,arms,chest and abs in an agonizing slow pace.

“Y/N baby”

“Yeah?”

“I need to touch ya,please open the cuffs so I can touch ya”

“Oh Finny,don’t make me laugh love! Naughty boys don’t get to touch anything!” I chuckled lightly

“No,please” he whined “Baby please,don’t do this to me!Just let me touch ya,I need ya...I want to touch your pussy baby,please?Let me make it up to ya?Let me make ya feel good”He pleaded

“You know what?You’re talking too much! What do you say about we keep that pretty little mouth busy huh?”

Without letting him answer I let one of my breasts hover upon his lips and he eagerly

took it on his mouth,sucking and licking my nipple to the point he had me whining.

“Oh Finn,fuck baby” His gaze was glued to my face “You’re so good,so fucking good,such a good boy” as soon as those words left my mouth he smirked at me,with my nipple still on his mouth,and I could swear I had just came with that vision alone.

He moved to the other nipple to give the same attention he gave the other one,and I just needed some sort of friction!So I took advantage of his now full on hard dick pressed against his stomach and the wetness that was leaking down my thighs and I slided down his abs just slightly so I could meet his cock and when I did,I released my nipple from his mouth and started to slide his erection through my folds.

“Oh fuck woman,you’re going to be the death of me!” He moaned closing his eyes tightly.

I took the opportunity to reach for the candle that was lit on the nightstand and spilt some of the hot wax onto his chest while I was still sliding on him.

“Oh fuck you!” He angrily said through gritted teeth

“Oh I’m about to sweetheart” and with that I lift my hips so I could angle him with my entrance and asked “Who does this cock belongs to baby?”

“You,you,it belongs to ya!Now just fucking ride me would ya??!!” He said desperately

“Ah,no no no!” I said as I dripped more hot wax,but this time on his nipples “Politely please!”

His eyes were so dark with lust and his voice so deep that I could swear that I had awoken some sort of demon within him.

“This cock is yours and yours only lass. It’s yours for you to suck,fuck,ride anytime or anyplace you’d like. It belongs inside your mouth,inside your ass,inside you pussy or wherever you want. It’s yours for you to do with it whatever you please!” With that I sheepishly smiled,and sunked my hips with his at the same time I dripped a few more drops of hot wax onto his pubic bone.

“Oh my fucking God!” He rolled his eyes to the back of his head and let out a growl that sounded almost inhuman.

I was giving myself sometime to focus,just so that I wouldn’t cum. When I heard a very deep voice come out of Finn’s lips and say

“You better start to fucking ride my cock right now princess and you better make sure you ride it hard and deep,or else I’m gonna break this fucking cuffs off and you will regret this little act of yours”

“Bálor” I whispered

He just smirked and whispered back “You’ve got three seconds to start riding me. One,two...” With his lead I started to ride him like a mad woman.

“Yes...my beautiful,sweet princess.Harder!” I moved faster

“I said harder!” I moved even faster

“Are ya fucking deaf? I told ya to ride.me.HARDER!” He gritted

“Bálor, I- I can’t,this is the fastest I can go” I said with my legs already becoming sore from the pace I was trying to keep.

“Oh my sweet princess” He started to laugh uncontrollably

“What’s so funny?”

“You are!” He said through deep laughs “You try so hard to be a brat,but you’ve got zero capacity for it! Look at ya! Look how pitiful you are! Can’t even fucking ride a cock properly! He started to laugh harder “Now I know why Finn loves ya...ya are so amusingly funny!” He concludes his sentence with a laugh,and I had know idea where the anger that took control of me came from but I started to hatefully ride his cock and drip the hot wax all over his body:his neck,chest,forearm,biceps,nipples,abs,v line,close to his belly button.

“Argh” He roared “That’s what I’m talking about! Yes,just like that,so fucking good. So insanely good.”

His eyes were glued on me and I couldn’t help but drip some of the hot wax onto my own body. And the sight made him growl.

“Yes kitten!Oh fuck,you’re gonna make me cum,you’re gonna make me cum so fucking hard” his eyes grew even darker “I knew I could pull that little brat out,she just needed the right words,right love?!” He chuckled and I could feel my walls tightening and my orgasm buildup like a volcano

“Bálor, I’m gonna- I need...”

“Go on kitten,let it go” And with that I came as hard as I’ve ever had,just to feel Bálor starting to cum as well,cursing in Gaelic.

As he continued to cum, I saw his eyes slowly changing back to the beautiful ocean blue I loved, and my Finn returning to the surface with a long moan as the final spasms of his orgasm hit him.

“What the fuck just happened?” He asked,out of breath and mesmerized

“I think we just broke the bed”. I said

“What?” He chuckled

“No Finn, I’m serious!”

He stopped laughing,staring at the view of our mattress on the floor and his limbs freed from the cuffs and ropes.

“Well,that’s gotta be a good sign,don’t ya think?” He started laughing hard when the only thing I could do was bluntly stare at him.

That couldn’t be a bad sign,could it?

#finn balor #finn balor fanfiction #finn balor one shot #finn balor x reader #finn balor imagine #fergal devitt #prince devitt #masochist writes

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ac3id · 4 years

Text

Impius

pairings: yandere!demon!namjoon x student!reader

summary: you are a rebel in your school. your teachers, parents, and even friends are fed up of you tactics. but your mysterious English teacher has taken an unusual interest you and promises to you show you a new world. a world better than the one you live in. how can you say no?

warnings: gender neutral reader, oral sex(m receiving),reader is also a virgin, age-gap kinda cus like namjoon is a demon whos 83756834758 years old n reader is a senior in highschool lmaooo

word count: 2.7k

masterlist

Like any other demon, Kim Namjoon needed to feed on human souls to exist. He hit the jackpot when he started as a teacher in Borealis Convent private boarding school. An endless supply of pure, untainted souls awaited him.

In a school that taught faith and hope, a demon lurked and controlled it from its shadow. He charmed everyone he met, his attractiveness added to his strengths, he was invincible. He had everyone in the school bent to his will, he was the ruler and no one questioned him.

Students often went missing which caused worries among school but as the principal magnificently covered up the disappearance, no one ever asked. The principal was a greedy pig. He had formed a contract with Namjoon- money exchange of his soul--How ironic.

They all blindly followed him not knowing he is the vicious monster they feared so much.

He lived peacefully- everything he needed was presented to him, he had no fear of losing anything. Everything fit perfectly under his fist and honestly, it bored him. But just then, you came along.

You were different from the others and, you knew it. Even though you knew that your parents and peers despised you for you being yourself, living life the way you wanted, you never gave into their greedy demands. You chose to stay true to yourself, fighting for your way, refusing to turn into another mindless robot who lived to satisfy the monstrous society. You felt bad for the others who could not see the world in your perspective- you, really did but the others didn't even try to give sympathy to you, they labeled you as a disgrace, a disappointment, anything vile so it could break your spirit and turn you into a follower whose only purpose is to serve money-hungry demons.

That was the reason he took a liking you. You shined like a diamond. No matter how hard they pushed you into the ground you never broke. You always got right back up, walking past the others- you were amazing. He couldn't wait to devour your soul.

Your soul was pure, unstained with the hunger of ambition he thought you would be his best meal but soon that hunger grew into something darker. Soon, he found himself obsessed with you- he wanted you all to himself, away from the rest of the world where no one could hurt you.

You and Namjoon grew close, he understood you like no one else. He was kind, gentle, caring, and oh so hot. You often found yourself thinking about him before you drifted off to sleep and it didn't take long for you to realize you were harboring a crush on your English teacher.The thought of Namjoon dominating you tantalizing and appealing in all the ways it made your insides twist with pleasure.

The thought that he would never be yours often sent you into a frenzy, some so many people suited him better than you did and it drove you mad. You wanted to be with him but you knew it would never be possible. So, you concealed your feelings deep in your heart for no one else other than yourself to bear with the pain of one-sided love.

You sat on the concrete floor skipping through the pages of your novel humming to yourself. Absorbed in the world of fiction, you did not hear the swift angry clicking of heels behind you until you felt your book being grabbed out of your hands by force.

You turned around to see who had interrupted you from your peaceful endeavor. Turning around, you immediately regretted it. Looking down at you was Mrs.Lee, her face scrunched as radiated murderous rage. She pulled you up from your elbow steadying you straight as she glared at you,

"What are you doing here, L/N?" she snarled at you her teeth clenched and arms crossed. You internally rolled your eyes, "I was reading a book." sarcasm settled heavily on your tongue as you mocked her and it drove even madder.

"During my class?"

"Yes."

There was silence followed by Mrs.Lee skimming through the pages if your novel. "This book is banned from the campus, how did you get it?" she asked with repressed anger in her voice, you shrugged your shoulders and answered, " I don't know" Mrs.Lee pulled your hand and started dragging you towards the exit, she murmured how it was 'over for you' but as both of you were about to exit a familiar face appeared in front of you.

"Mrs.Lee," Namjoon greeted, you sighed internally feeling relieved since you knew he would save you from three months of detention.

"Mr.Kim! How nice to see you and would you look at this, L/N is skipping classes again." She pushed you in front of him, you looked down at the floor avoiding eye contact with the tall man as you tried not to burst in a fit of laughter. Namjoon smirked at the down at you as he saw you struggle. He sighed and turned back to Mrs.Lee, with faux disappointment in his eyes he spoke, "I see, L/N is troubling you again. They are indeed the problem child aren't they?"

"They are always skipping class and causing trouble and look at what they were reading here!" She handed the scandalous novel to him. He looked over the hard copy, immediately recognizing the genre.

"Erotica on school grounds? Seriously L/N?" He questioned, his voice sent shivers down your spine as he spoke with a grimace in his tone.

You don't look up from the floor as you feel his gaze linger on you. The urge to laugh which floated your mind minutes ago dies down when you recognize his disappointment in you.

"Mrs.Lee, please don't waste your time on them. You head back to your class, I'll deal with L/N."

Mrs.Lee hesitates for a second but obliges when she feels Namjoon's demonic stare burn her soul. She leaves you alone with Namjoon and takes her exit.

You still look down on the floor, unable to look up at the dark-haired man in front of you.

"Y/N," he starts. A hand comes down on your shoulder and you finally look up at. He's smirking down at you, the book next to his face, "Do you, actually understand this book?" He asks. You feel your face flush at his implications as you stare off into the distance, "Yes, I do." you answer sheepishly.

You hear him laugh, his finger falls beneath your chin as he pulls your face up forcing you to look at him. "Are you a virgin, Y/N?" He asks his eyes staring deep into your soul, searching for something. You flush harder, your mouth agape, you blurt out a response, "That's inappropriate!!" Namjoon's smirk returns slowly casting into a sinister grin.

"What's inappropriate, Y/N? I simply asked you a question."

The longer you stared into his beautiful brown eyes, the more you felt yourself get riled up.

"So will you answer my question?" He asks- no demands.

"Yes." You meekly whisper. "Follow me."

You feel your heart hammer against your chest as he leads you to his office. He sits you down on the sofa while taking a seat opposite to you.

"Where did you find this book, Y/N," He begins, he sits with his leg spread as he leans forward moving closer to you his elbows rests on his knees. The book was placed on the small coffee table between the two sofas.

"My senior lend it to me," you look down at the book to avoid meeting at Namjoon's gaze. The way he looked at you sent shivers down your spine, it was dangerous and alluring.

"I see. Tell me, Y/N, when you read this book who do you think of?"

"W-What?" you shutter, you feel the room get hotter as it became harder to breathe, Namjoon sat in front of you his brow quirked he repeated the question. "When you read this book, who do you think of? There must be someone you want to do these things with?" His voice is like silk, you could just listen to him speak for hours on end.

"I don't- why are you asking me this!?" You squeal your face flushed red you recall all the nights you had spent awake thinking about the contexts of the book but instead of the main characters- it was you and him.

"Hey c'mon, why are you getting so angsty? If you tell me you want, I'll tell you who I want." Namjoon shifts in his seat, he leans back on the sofa his arms crossed over his chest. The smirk still played on his lips and the look in his eyes was coy. You clear your throat and answer,

"Jimin, I like him." You lie.

You did like Jimin but, it was nowhere close to how you felt about Namjoon.

your hands fidget , and He observes with a raised eyebrow.

"Jimin?" He questions, he is aware that you're lying but he decides to play along.

His eyebrows knit together and he sighs, "Well that's a shame. You want to know who I want?" you nod.

"You."

His lips curl as he looks down at you. Your eyes are wide open as you try to process his words. You try to come ready with a response but he beats you to it. "You know you're a bad liar? I know you want me too. Come here."

"Sir,- We're not supposed to," you being but he simply smirks, arms crossed on his chest. "Well, who's going to stop us?"

holding your hips down to keep you positioned securely on his lap

your body jolts against his, a pleased smile spreads across his face, his breath fanned across your neck as he pulled you closer.

"Sir, I-.." you begin, but your voice betraying you and leaving you speechless as his lips continue to trail over your neck, kissing along your jawline and to your chest and collarbones, placing wet kisses on every inch. Your head automatically tilt backs, your body reacting to his sinful touch and allowing him better access. His lips were so warm, You melted into his touch and felt your heart start to beat faster. A soft moan escapes your lips, his ministrations making you slightly dizzy and lightheaded.

"Tell me Y/N, what do you want?" the words almost tickle against your skin, a mix of fear and excitement dances in your eyes, your stomach flips in giddy anticipation. He can't help the small dimpled smile tugging on the corners of his lips. His lips move to the crook of your neck, the eagerness growing as his lips suck and nibble on your skin to leave a mark behind, letting his tongue lick the sore areas afterward.

You let your hands run along his chest, a thin layer of sweat had formed on his chest. His shirt clings to his skin, grabbing around it, and while pulling his shirt over his head, your palms pressed against his broad pectorals, completely lost in the curves of his body.

You felt dirty, but you'd be lying if you didn't crave more.

His hot breaths blew across your neck, making him shiver, his presence clouding your senses. Your lips hovering over his.

"Sir, please kiss me," you whine. He looks down at you which his hand strokes your thigh. "Sir? It's Namjoon baby. Ask again." His hot breath falls on your lips and you beg again.

"Please, Namjoon, kiss me."

He complies and crashes his lips onto yours when you feel his warm lips on yours, your entire mind fogs up. Everything's a blur as you move your lips against each other, his hand slides slowly along your thigh and tracing the patterns of your leggings with his fingers.

The kiss is intimate and rough, filled with passion. Your lips parted as his tongue slipped into your mouth, deepening the kiss. Your body melting against him as his tongue tempted and teased yours, dominating your mouth. Your hands move to his hair, tugging at his hair making him moan into your mouth.

His hands rest on either side of your hips, thumbs rubbing slow circles on them, you could feel him growing hard under you, the feeling of his hardening bulge poking you was overwhelming. You held onto his shoulders and ground yourself against him, your hips moving against his. He was grinding with you at the same pace, lips still on yours as he let out low groans of satisfaction

he pulls away from you, your lips chasing after his.

"I want you on your knees, baby." He demands. Smirking down at you as you get down on your knees. He runs his tongue over his teeth, unzipping his pants and pushing them down to free his cock.

his dick lays against his stomach. He strokes himself, eyes boring into you as you crouch below him, eyes fixated on his length marveling at the sight

"I'll show you a new world, Y/N. Come here" he orders, motioning toward his bulge. "(c’mon baby, shoe me wat doze handz do lmao )"

Riding on the confidence from before, you reached out and gently gripped him at the base, pressing your thumb along the vein on the underside and relishing in the noises it draws out. You angle your wrist slightly so you can continue stroking the spot, while mentally making a note to yourself to remember it for future reference. You feet his hand in your hair, stroking, gripping ever so carefully.

His hand moved to cover yours, and he assists you in stroking your hand steadily pumping along his length.

"Like this, start slow." Your eyes widen in fascination, finding it impossible to form proper words, mouth watering the sight in front of you. Eyes trailing at the pre-cum leaking from the tip and licking it eagerly. Namjoon's strangled moan was all the encouragement you needed. You run your mouth around his dick while gazing up at his face-

"Fuck," swears escapes his plum lips, sending shivers down your spine. Gently letting go of your wrists as his eyes flutter close.

Namjoon's chest heaves as his breath quickens, eyes boring into you as your tongue darts out of your mouth, licking up from the base towards the tip getting his dick wet. You take him into your mouth and hollow your cheeks around him, tongue lapping around whatever it could reach. He starts thrusting forward, right down your throat, You immediately start to gag and place your hands on thighs to keep you steady. A thin glistening layer of sweat forms against his forehead. His breath was heavy and ragged, his chest huffing

you moaned around his cock, jaw aching, knees in agonizing pain, his hand gripping harder at your hair. "Fuck yeah baby, your mouth feels so fucking good," he pants.

You take him further and further into your mouth, his groans get louder and more frequent. Your grip tightens around his strong thigh, nails digging into his muscle enjoying watching the pleasure wash over his face.

"Fuck," Namjoon growls through gritted teeth, and rolls his hips up into your throat, thrusting his hips with horny, reckless abandon.— which makes his thigh muscles tense.

Namjoon pulls out deliberately. His heavy pants accompanied a silent cry as he cums hard onto your face, stifled breaths cut short with a deep moan calling out your name. Gripping your jaw still in one strong hand his cock twitching before thick strings of cum spurting out and splashing across your face. Dripping over your swollen lips and dribbling down your neck, decorating the blossoming bruises painted on the expanse of your chest.

"you look so fucking sexy with my cum on your face, baby,"

"Such a dirty little rebel," He says in a breathy voice that sent shivers down your spine.

you fell back on your heels, feeling exhausted. You went to wipe your face, but he stopped you. Namjoon dragged his thumb through the mess on your cheek, collecting his release and bringing it to your lips, you eagerly sucked and swallowed at the cum-slicked fingers, moaning for more.

"You want more? Such a greedy little thing," He teases,

your quivering hand reaches out to gently push a strand of damp hair away from his forehead. His half-lidded eyes study your entire face before slowly dipping down to connect his lips with yours in a kiss.

Namjoon kisses your lips a little softer this time. You sighed into the kiss, relaxing a bit. His thumb drew small circles against your cheek as a way of comforting you and telling you that you've done a good job.

bonus-

[a/n: listening to blood,sweat and tears and house of cards while writig do be hittin different]

let us know if u want more bangtan content here

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foxofthedesert · 3 years

Text

So I just finished my 3rd watch thru of Merlin, and yet again am brokenhearted. Not only by Arthur's death and Merlin's grief, but by Morgana's tragic descent into madness. Though I loathed the choice, I always understood why the writers went the direction they did with Morgana. What I did not understand was the way they handled her relationship with Gwen. It just never made any sense to me that Morgana could be so cruel to someone she clearly loved very deeply - even if only in the platonic sense. To me, it seemed like the Morgana that existed at the end of season 2 was replaced by a totally different, inexplicably cruel and insufferably smirky one by the start of season 3.

Still, prophecies need fulfilled and such, and after all it is a fantasy series based on a complicated mythology where Morgana sometimes is portrayed as evil. I just wish it was handled better.

Be that as it may, as a writer I tend to gravitate toward the untold stories within canon. That being the case, Gwen and Morgana's relationship is a natural attraction. I adore their chemistry, which makes them so easy to pair up. Since I am also not necessarily beholden to canon, that means I can imagine whatever the hell I want for them. Such an AU where their potential is realized before Morgause enters the picture to warp Morgana into her father's daughter.

This little piece is part of that. I may or may not add more entries in the future.

As a side note, this was initially supposed to be much shorter, but my fingers wouldn't stop typing words. Silly digits.

Ficlet below the line!

Morgana awoke giggling in an entirely unrefined manner. Her uncharacteristic bubbly mirth, she discovered, was due to a gentle tickling sensation all across her face. Once the wispy haze of sleep was blinked out of her blurry eyes, a familiar shape resolved into an entirely too handsome face wearing such a love-sick expression that her chest reflexively suffused with an affectionate warmth that quickly seeped into her very bones.

“What time is it?” she asked to the person hovering above her, voice still gravelly and slightly slurred from having been roused out of such a deep, blessedly dreamless repose. The pleasant tickling sensation began anew immediately after her half-slurred inquiry, and when she lifted her gaze she was greeted by rich brown eyes she would swear on her life she could live and die in.

“Just after dawn.” The utterly enchanting creature paying her such lovely attention continued to delicately and reverently brush calloused fingertips across the expanse of her jaw. “Sorry I woke you. I meant to let you sleep in a bit longer, I just really couldn’t help myself.”

A pause allowed a full, dusky lip to be pulled rather invitingly between pearly white teeth before her beloved added, “It seems I never can where you are concerned.”

Morgana smiled. A genuine smile, too. Nothing like the false ones she graced her guardian with, full of barely suppressed loathing and rage. Lately she had been consumed by disgust for the man who so many times proclaimed to cherish her, a man who would see her burnt at the stake if he knew who she truly was. Uther Pendragon claimed to be a fair and just king, yet he waged unlawful wars against territories that dared stand up against his brutish rule and relentlessly persecuted innocents whose only crime was to be born different. People like her. People with magic.

Coming to terms with her gifts had cost Morgana both countless nights spent in wakeful torment over horrific visions that plagued her dreams and untold days spent wrestling with throat-clogging anxiety over the possibility of discovery. There were many occasions during that frightening period in which she felt as though tottering precariously over a dark, abyssal chasm at the bottom of which lie only inescapable madness. Every second spent at court was an exhausting exercise in choking down a nauseating terror of the tyrant who held the power of life and death over her and would surely decide upon the latter should he learn the truth about her magic. Meals were a unique form of torture due to the perpetual knot residing in her stomach and every event she would normally revel in was transformed into a dreaded affair during which she could scarcely breathe for the crushing weight resting upon her chest.

Frankly, if it hadn’t been for Guinevere and Merlin she is sure she would have already plummeted headlong into those foreboding depths, right into the waiting arms of a hatred no human heart could withstand without incurring irreparable damage.

If Merlin hadn’t told her the truth about his magic as he lead her to Aglain’s druid camp, the pervasive sense of isolation and desperation worming insidiously through her mind would have inevitably forced her into drastic choices. Even before her magic manifested she had silently nursed treasonous thoughts toward Camelot’s cruel monarch. What might she have done if the walls closed in so tightly on her she felt there was no avenue of escape outside of acting upon those unsavory impulses? It hardly bears thinking about for risk of inviting such evil desires back in to her heart when of all her attributes, it is her heart which makes her most special – or at least that is what Guinevere insists to be the case.

Thankfully, finding a steadfast friend and ally in Merlin had done much to ameliorate the suffocating feeling of helplessness she felt as a member of the court harboring so deadly a secret. With much diligence and patience he was teaching her to control her powers, to harness them for good, and to have faith that better days were ahead for their kind. It was also mostly due to the Merlin’s deceptive wisdom and boundless optimism – and to be fair what reasonable person could resist that impish, dimpled smile? – that she began to view Arthur through a fresh lens.

If she bothered to look deeply, as Merlin insisted, to ignore the chauvinistic bravado and infuriating superiority complex, it was not difficult to recognize Arthur’s innate nobility and compassion that existed despite his monstrous father. And seeing as Merlin was as stubborn as he was convincing, it did not take long for Morgana to accept with a cautiously hopeful heart that with the aid of loyal friends, Arthur had it in him to become to the greatest sovereign Camelot had ever seen, a king who might actually prove himself worthy of the people both common and magical to whom he would be sworn to serve. Of course, she and Arthur still had their mundane squabbles and butted heads frequently over political and legal matters, but in the months since Merlin began her training, Morgana had acquired a new appreciation for the young man who was to her as good as a sibling.

As much as Merlin had done for her, however, it paled in comparison to Gwen’s contributions to her health and happiness.

For as long as Morgana had known Gwen she had held the blacksmith’s daughter in esteem far higher than any Lady should their maidservant. What started out as mutual respect born from shared grief over the loss of a parent soon flowered into genuine friendship. For many years they were the best of friends, each providing for the other a refuge from the storms of life and a confidante more reliable and wise and loyal than could be hired with all of Midas’ gold.

By the time Morgana entered womanhood, her fondness for Gwen had only swelled to become boundless as it was profound. In her eyes, Gwen was the most wonderful person in all the world; none could hope to be her equal in breathtaking beauty, charitable kindness, seemingly endless stores of patience, altogether praiseworthy meekness, a silent strength surpassing steel, or in nearly saintly levels of graciousness. Gwen was the unfailing light to Morgana’s rapidly encroaching darkness, the quickening sun to her deathly pale moon, the Aurora to her Luna. She neither trusted any more deeply as she did Gwen, nor did she desire the company of another so keenly. As a result, they were rarely parted until retiring for bed, and then only by necessity of station. So inextricably attached were they Gwen’s friends often jested that she must have accidentally stitched herself to her lady’s garments at the hip. The noblewomen were not nearly so kind. Some of the more prominent Ladies in the castle questioned the innocence of their arrangement, going so far as to exchange idle speculation which painted them as clandestine devotees of Sappho.

If Morgana could be bothered to care about the rumors, she would have confronted the useless busybodies long ago. But quite frankly, their opinions on her relationship with Gwen mattered for naught seeing as Arthur dismissed them as absurd upon reaching his ears and, beyond even that, Morgana would rather die than provide the snide gossipers ammunition that might serve as tacit confirmation that their unwelcome conjecture was not without merit – which was in fact the case.

All the same, though, she took great pains to prevent them from reaching the ears of the king. Uther already disapproved of their unusual bond and reminded her of such every time she treated Gwen with an ounce of basic human dignity while in his presence. Rather than censure the prejudice as she might have no long ago, Morgana now bore the chastisement with pride. Were it required, she would gladly wear forty stripes upon her skin if that be the price of Gwen’s love. The haughty bigotry of her guardian could never dissuade her from the path her heart had chosen to travel. Gwen was far too precious to ever surrender without a fight, to death if she must.

For what felt like ages, Morgana had believed her feelings would never be reciprocated. And that was perfectly acceptable to her, so long as Gwen remained an integral part of her life. The constant yearning that caused her chest to ache, sometimes almost painfully, was something she could endure so long as Gwen was happy.

That perspective radically transformed the night Gwen’s father died.

The midnight bells sounded in the citadel as Morgana slipped out into the upper town. Her intentions were pure at the time. She had only meant to visit her friend and offer what support she could, no matter the reckless impropriety of her visiting the her maidservant’s home so late at night. Instead, one glimpse of Gwen’s devastation over the pointless tragedy reignited her rage. All too quickly it boiled over, allowing those old, bitter feelings to spill out as impetuous threats of vengeance, and not only on Gwen’s behalf but for all those wronged by the merciless hand of Uther Pendragon. For what felt like hours she railed, heedless of the effect her malicious speech was having on the distraught girl she was supposed to be comforting.

It was only when Gwen – sweet Gwen, kind and thoughtful and selfless to a fault – had been pushed to her limits that Morgana’s perilous vitriol was interrupted.

Casting aside station, Gwen grasped her by the face and made her swear to never utter such dangerous words again.

“My brother has already abandoned me and now both my parents are dead,” Gwen had said, lips quivering and cheeks stained by tears. “I can’t lose you, too. I can’t. I won’t survive it.”

“Of course you would, Gwen. You’re the strongest person I know,” Morgana had replied, grasping reflexively at lean wrists, Gwen’s hands having migrated to the back of Morgana’s neck, thumbs cupped round the front of her ears. It was the first time she had been embraced so intimately, and if it weren’t for her anger she most certainly would have shivered with excitement at the surprisingly welcome contact.

“I’m not,” Gwen had half-sobbed, voice hoarse from hours surrendered to grief. “I’m only standing at all right now because the person I love most in all the world is here with me.”

Morgana hadn’t understood the nature of that declaration at first. Not until Gwen tucked her lip between her teeth, her nostrils flared with what could not be misinterpreted as anything but raw want, and her eyes went impossibly dark. A sharp gasp of realization was all Morgana could manage as a response, so stunned was she that her most secretive and treasured wish was being fulfilled.

But when Gwen nodded, chest heaving with emotion, despair and fear warring with adoration in her eyes, Morgana could no longer contain herself. Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle fused together, revealing the explanation as to why a simple smile from Gwen was able to chase away the storm clouds gathering above her head, or why Gwen’s chiming laughter kicked up butterflies in her stomach and a captivating warmth in her chest, or why even the most airy of touches from Gwen left a wake of goose-flesh in her skin. It wasn’t just love. It was destiny.

In retrospect, Morgana probably should have been as if not more terrified of crossing that final, socially forbidden line between mistress and servant, friend and lover, than she was of being magical. The thing of it was, the only relevant factors in that moment was Gwen willingly offering of herself more than she probably should and Morgana being selfish enough to accept.

They made love that night beneath Gwen’s threadbare sheets, and it was glorious, just as Morgana had imagined it would be.

All of their sorrows and anxieties and animosities drifted away like dandelion seeds upon a crisp summer breeze. Cliches regarding such unions suddenly made sense. Somewhere along the journey that began by laving the stiffened peak of a pert breast then languidly progressed into nestling her face into the delicate, aromatic flower situated between smooth bronze legs, she lost all sense of self. It was as if with each bruising kiss, playful nibble, and greedy draw with open mouth, she and Gwen were merging into one being. Gwen’s throaty noises and keening pleas reverberated through her every muscle fiber, down even into the very marrow of her bones. Gwen’s intoxicating flavor permeated her senses until it was all she could taste or smell. And Gwen’s gratification became hers as her hand slipped beneath her ridiculously extravagant undergarments to relieve the desperate pressure upon a mound so slick with arousal that the sound of her feverish rubbing was positively obscene.

Mere heartbeats after Gwen went taut with a silent scream, stars exploded behind Morgana’s eyes as the most exquisite mixture of pleasure and pain engulfed her mind and set her nether regions aflame. Spent and unable to control her trembling limbs, she collapsed across Gwen’s heaving chest. Strong arms immediately wrapped around underneath her arms to pull her in tight, and as she buried her nose in the damp curls at Gwen’s neck, all she could do was weep, utterly overcome by an unspeakable joy she understood without needing to ask was fully mutual. They fell asleep like that, Morgana stretched across Gwen, encased in an embrace that felt like a subconscious announcement of a claim upon her, heart and soul and body, something she not only welcomed but reveled in.

Wonderful thoughts about publicly belonging to Gwen lulled Morgana into a peaceful sleep that went markedly undisturbed.

In the pale light of morning she was still so drunken upon pure, heady, all consuming bliss to realize she would be missed if she did make an appearance in the castle. Had Gwen not pointed that out, she would have been more than glad to spend the entire day wrapped around her new lover, discovering every last spot that made Gwen’s toes curl ‘til the girl was too exhausted to move the tiniest muscle.

Alas, the constraints of reality marshaled both of them to action, and so once they had dressed, they sneaked carefully into the castle by auxiliary corridors during the changing of the guard. By only the slimmest of margins, they slipped into her chambers just as the fresh patrol rounded the corner in their direction. Once inside, the thrill of the close call and euphoria over their consummated love invigorated Morgana into a passion she could not ignore. Overcome by a need – more like an almost maddening hunger really – to touch, smell, and taste every delicious inch of the skin she had feasted upon last night, she unceremoniously dragged a breathless, ruddy cheeked Gwen straight over to her bed.

After that thorough christening, they lingered together in a tangle of limbs, both sated and happy. At least until the sound of Camelot’s awakening resounded through the chambers from the courtyard below and with it the first doubts crept in. Morgana could recall the subsequent conversation as though it had just happened.

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

“I should see to my duties directly,” Gwen had said, immediately rustling to exit the bed upon hearing Arthur’s booming voice rattle down the hallway, clearly a response to the latest in an endless string of mistakes by his loyal yet tragically clumsy manservant.

Morgana hadn’t wanted to turn loose quite yet, so she tightened hold around Gwen’s waist, halting the undesired escape.

“They can wait,” she replied between leisurely kisses trailed up a shapely arm. “The laundry isn’t going anywhere, nor is the evening gown that needs mending. Stay with me a while longer.” She paused to nuzzle into Gwen’s shoulder. “Stay with me forever.”

Rather than struggle, Gwen melted the embrace. “You know that is all I wish for. I love you, Morgana. More than anything. But…”

“But what?”

“What if someone catches us?”

Morgana scoffed, having missed the long term nature of the question in addition to the concern pouring off of Gwen in waves she should not have missed. It was not her finest moment. She hadn’t meant to be insensitive, though. The idea had just seemed so preposterous at the time because she had thought Gwen was only speaking about the present.

“Who would be so bold as to enter my chambers without permission?” she had said. “Not even Uther at his most disrespectful would dare venture such a trespass. We are entirely safe here. No need to worry your pretty head.”

Gwen shifted in Morgana’s arms then so that they were face to face. “I do, though. Worry that is. And I have to ask: why aren’t you?”

“Why should I be? For that matter why should you be?” Morgana replied. And then she met Gwen’s eyes. Large, and impossibly dark, and unmistakably upset.

All of the sudden it was impossible for Morgana to ignore how frightened Gwen really was. In response, her stomach twisted almost painfully and her heart fell as the happy bubble she had been floating in abruptly burst.

What in all the world, she wondered in a moment of regrettable obliviousness, had Gwen afraid of them being caught? Her brow furrowed as deeply as it ever had as she mulled around potential causes.

Certainly they were going to have to be careful in the future to avoid exposure, she reckoned, but Gwen was as fully cognizant that there were more perilous secrets both were currently keeping. Morgana’s ability to pull the wool over Uther’s eyes was well established, and no one else besides the two of them had unfettered access to her chambers. Besides all that, Morgana knew every nook and cranny of the citadel and was able to slip out and into the upper town undetected at will, of which Gwen was also very well aware. So there had to be more to it. But what?

Only one other possibility occurred to her, and it was the one she least wanted to entertain. And yet...

“Unless you regret what has transpired between us?” she asked at length, unable to disguise her own fear, which manifested through a faint trembling in her voice. “No!” Shaking her head fervently, Gwen grasped Morgana’s face much as she did the night before. “Not even for a second. I’ve lost so much, and I have much to regret, but not this. This is the best thing to ever happen to me. I just…”

Again Gwen trailed off, her hands retreating to clasp together against her mouth. And although Morgana’s anxiety had quieted with Gwen’s reassurance, there was clearly something still bothering her.

“Just what?” Morgana prompted, then reached out to stroke Gwen’s hair. “I hate seeing you so twisted up. Tell me. Please.”

A single, contrite nibble of a kiss-stung lip later, Gwen averted her eyes and gave her answer, “Don’t you wonder, even just for a second in the back of your mind, if what we did was wrong?”

Morgana very nearly sighed in relief. This was a problem she could easily remedy, as it was a one she had wrestled with for years only for Merlin’s simple yet profound worldview to unexpectedly resolve.

During the incident where Gwen was accused of using sorcery to heal her father, he had stumbled upon Morgana beside herself after a visit to Gwen’s cell. In her anxiety and grief she had confessed to having feelings for her handmaiden that although unseemly nonetheless had taken hold of her. Where she had expected disgust, she was instead given only understanding and compassion. In that endearingly provincial way of his, Merlin ensured her that love – if true and pure and unselfish, which he insisted hers for Gwen surely was – could never be wrong.

Morgana had felt something turn loose inside her at Merlin’s easy acceptance, as if her heart had been tied into a knot being slowly and perpetually tightened. Breathing became a relief once again. And as she learned to accept herself the way Merlin did, she began to hope that perhaps one day in the future a door would open for her to act upon her feelings without destroying what she and Gwen already shared. She could not have anticipated Tom’s death being the impetus for her to do so. Yet as awful as his tragic death was, it birthed something so infinitely precious that Morgana would never cease being grateful. And if only for the memory of that kind, thoughtful, patient man, she would never stop fighting for the love she shared with her beloved Guinevere.

“Gwen,” she had said, unsuccessfully vying for her conflicted love’s attention. Twice more she called Gwen’s name, and after receiving no response pushed up slightly on her elbow. “Look at me, Guinevere.” When large, uncertain eyes, brimming with tears, met hers, she leaned over so that she could press her forehead against Gwen’s. “We have done nothing wrong. Do you hear me? If you trust me, if you love me as you assert to, believe me when I say this. Something so wonderful and beautiful and perfect could never be anything less than rightly divine.”

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

That phrase that swiftly became Morgana’s favorite answer to Gwen’s occasional concerns. The world at large, and most definitely those housed within the vaunted halls of Camelot’s citadel, would most certainly view their relationship as wicked and immoral and perverse. If that was indeed the case, Morgana did not believe she ever wanted to be either innocent or righteous. Their love was wonderful, and beautiful, and perfectly divine; an immutable fact which Morgana was determined to never allow either of them to forget.

No doubt lurked within Gwen’s eyes this morning, however, only unadulterated affection. And that made Morgana exceedingly joyful indeed.

“I understand what you mean,” Morgana at last said after escaping that precious memory. She sighed contentedly and shuttered her eyelids as yet another reverent brush of fingers smoothed along the crest of her chin. And while the diligent attention felt incredible, she grew increasingly curious why Gwen’s focus appeared to have narrowly fixated on that one specific region of her face.

“What’s the matter?” Gwen said after a bit of easy silence.

“What makes you think something’s the matter?” Morgana replied, still basking in the glow of Gwen’s magical touch.

“You have that telltale crease between your brow which means something is bothering you.”

This time Morgana opened her eyes. “I’m not bothered, merely at a loss as to why you suddenly find my chin so hypnotizing.”

Gwen sucked at her lip momentarily as if weighing whether to answer before a crooked smile bloomed across her handsome features.

“Well, not just your chin, but if you must know it’s all these little hairs…” And then she stroked Morgana’s chin again, this time allowing her fingers to feather over said hairs all the way down her jawline.

“Are you saying my face is hairy, Gwen?” Morgana asked, frowning as a thread of hurt pulled taut.

As should be obvious, she didn’t appreciate it pointed out that her alabaster skin failed to conceal what otherwise would have been a nearly invisible coat of fine hairs that covered all humans male and female alike. Arthur teased her about it relentlessly when she was a blossoming teenager, and even now some of the noble ladies who envied her would snidely comment upon how it clearly indicated that she was a witch destined for a life of barren unhappiness.

Up til now, Gwen had made no mention of that peculiar feature and Morgana would be lying if she claimed she wasn’t wounded that it would be brought up only now that they were in an intimate situation.

“No!” Gwen’s eyes went wide as the full moon. “No, not at all! I mean...well, yes, it sort of is.” A huffed breath of remorse followed Morgana’s gasp of offense. “Not that it’s a bad thing! I swear I meant no insult. I have some too, after all. It’s just less visible because of my skin tone probably. And don’t worry! It’s nothing like Lady Johanna’s fledgling beard. Not even close. On the contrary, they’re so tiny and delicate and wispy and soft, and I really am utterly obsessed with them because they are part of you and you are perfect, so they are also perfect by extension, and I just can’t get over how adorable they are, and I am currently babbling like a lunatic with zero manners. I am so sorry, milady.”

At the end of that adorable ramble, Gwen’s shoulders hunched in as her cheeks darkened and she yet again sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Any insult Morgana felt evaporated as quickly as it formed. How could she be upset with such an enchanting creature?

Reaching across Gwen’s waist, she pulled her abashed lover down until they were flush, skin to skin from shoulders to hips.

“Oh, Gwen, there is nothing to be sorry for,” she said, legs instinctively parting as Gwen’s familiar weight settled against her. “My reaction is habit, I’m afraid, due to Arthur’s derisive mocking. It’s actually quite nice to hear a compliment for a change.”

“Are you sure you’re not cross with me? I’d understand if you were…”

No one with a functioning soul could be cross with those doe eyes staring at them, Morgana decided. She danced her fingers with lighthearted mirth across Gwen’s cheeks and over the ridge of her nose.

“Nonsense, sweetling. It’s no different than me admiring your freckles.”

Gwen’s features relaxed into a flattered smile. “You like my freckles?”

“Like them? I love them! How could I not? It’s like you said, they are a part of you, and you are perfect, therefore they are perfect by extension.”

In response, Gwen gave her an appreciative little smile before arresting her hand to place a kiss upon the inside of her wrist.

“So you won’t mind to be awakened like that again should I fail to curb my weird fascination?”

“Only if you won’t should I wake you by mapping the stars written across your cheeks,” Morgana said, then returned Gwen’s tactile affection with some of her own by again acting out her words with her own fingers. She was pleased when Gwen leaned in to the touch.

“I promise I won’t. I think I’d quite fancy that, actually.”

“Then I promise, too. And if you’re a good girl today, perhaps I will indulge your fancy tomorrow morning.”

“Well, then, I’d better get to work, hadn’t I?”

Eyes flashing with eager anticipation, Gwen threw the covers aside and made to get out of bed – a development Morgana was not prepared to authorize. Not only was she of a mind to lounge abed and cuddle away another hour or two, all of Camelot was blanketed in snow and she was loathe to be deprived of Gwen’s heavenly body...heat.

“Now, now,” Morgana tugged at Gwen, almost desperate with a need to curl right back into Gwen’s warmth and never move again while hoping she sounded at least somewhat the dignified noblewoman she was supposed to be. “Don’t be so hasty. Have you forgotten yourself and your duties to your lady? I haven’t yet had my good morning kiss.”

Gwen tumbled back into bed giggling merrily. “For shame! I have failed my lady most unforgivably. I shall rectify the trespass immediately.”

“See that you do, Guinevere, and promptly,” Morgana said, her eyes twinkling as her own merriment curved her lips into a smile. “As you know, your lady does not appreciate being made to wait.”

After a deliberately silly half-curtsy, Gwen draped herself across Morgana’s body, and once settled whispered her reply against Morgana’s already tingling lips.

“My lady’s wish is my command.”

The brief peck that followed was not enough for Morgana. Fingers winding into dark curls, she pulled Gwen into a much more passionate kiss, which lead to another, and another, until the embrace quickly evolved into tangling tongues and undulating hips. Soon enough, Gwen’s head was disappearing beneath the sheets and Morgana was having to recall how to breathe due to the magnificently excruciating pleasure coursing through her loins.

And that was how she came to be late for her first appointment of the morning, where she was relentlessly lectured about the importance of punctuality over manchet, eggs, sausage, and apples sprinkled with cinnamon. It was worth it, though. Her giddy grin throughout breakfast only made Arthur more bewildered and Uther more angry.

#bbc merlin #gwen #morgana #morgwen

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faimrpg · 3 years

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This entire week’s dashboard was an object lesson in how quantity and quality do apparently make good bedfellows, because damn, all these threads are proving it can be done? All of you are out here winning. Except Hippolyte, but... <3

Genuinely, there were so many replies to bowl us over, both individually and collectively, and we are once again so so inspired by the dedication & talent of our members (our beloveds...). Most of all, we are stunned by everyone’s determination to rally the common braincell for the purpose of developing this story arc together. Thank you so much and stay tuned (though some of you need to get some sleep, really) for tomorrow’s event !!

AGRIPPINE: does a lamb know how to face its slaughter? does the sacrifice know how to brace itself and accept, so yielding and pliant, as they are led to the altar? agrippine follows helene silently, afraid to make a sound lest she decide on a crueler punishment than the one she’s already listed.

BEAU: She begins to sit up, shuffling through a few things on his desk. Nothing wild or scandalous. Her thoughts briefly wander to if he has a lover, if he enjoys things other than following behind Calandre and cutting off heads. She snorts at the thought.

CECILE: Still, she allowed him his hesitation. She hopes he will allow her the same. She is accustomed to small, comfortable secrecies shared with Michel, secrets that smell of fresh pastries and Cecile’s finest perfume. It is an odd thing, to come here and discuss matters of blood.

CYRIL: It’s the way Gisele seems hellbent on forcing her beliefs about nobility that makes Cyril the most nervous. “You’re right, it is comforting and I could spend hours of my day wondering what could have been. And I never said I saw Celestine as a... meritocracy. I am aware of what it is.”

DEGARE: It never ceases to astonish him, unacquainted with magic as the next man, how she bleeds the objects of their tincture with such ease. Darkness washes over the cloth, like the spread of rot. The accents, wine-red, are a nice addition, though he doesn’t say so.

ETIENNE: Liane did not merely exist within the shadows— they were the forces that moved her, that fueled and called upon her— the very forces that she answered too. What dreadful devices existed beneath her splendid visage and how enamored he'd become as a result.

GISELE: Some believe there is constancy in the finality of grief, but the notion is misguided-- finality comes when the grief is sourced from circumstances beyond your control. Gisele’s grief is a suffocating shark on a fisherman's boat, slippery and sharp-toothed and either thrashing so violently it could shatter bone or lying so still you could not meaningfully tell if it was still clinging to life.

HELENE: It is a declaration, as she tilts her head to the side elegantly, a sharp eye pinning them down beneath her gaze. Fear does wonderful things to the psyche of those who cannot withstand it, but Helene does not have time for it. Only the auspices of this evening have kept the nobility from turning their eye, but they will not suffer it for long.

ISEULT: He flips the coin off his thumb and catches it. Doesn't even need to look. Knows the imprint of heads against his skin well enough to know the answer is 'Yes'. The prophet’s spoken. Iseult strolls on in.

LIANE: The sharp of her tongue mirrors the sharp of her stare as she lessens the distance between the two. “You know what I am. Do not deny it. You have always known, and still, you served your heart on a silver platter and expected me to be gentle with it.”

MATTHIEU: For a second, Matthieu watches its colour jump out, and thinks this thing between them is not just duty. It’s not just habit. In a way, saving her from the weight of the moment—from the brand, both holy and professed, of always having to leave her mark—is like working up to save himself.

MICHEL: He crushes any semblance of irritation under his heel, fingers twitching for his helmet -- he could put it on, but that would be dishonest, seem strange to don now after so many hours without it. Hippolyte’s blood still stains the silver plating.

PATRICE: He watches the man when the other’s gaze drops to his work, follows the sharp lines of his face to the softening of his expression. Can a face hold mystery, or only an expression? Savatier’s expression doesn’t seem to be projecting anything mysterious, simply humble and helpful, and yet there is something that Patrice wishes to crack open, a marrow he wishes to discover.

ROSALIND: When your desires are made equal in the other, when the bottomless hole of your stomach matches the bottomless hole in theirs, it becomes a question not of want and greed and hunger and avarice — but of dominion. Who will rule? Who will conquer? Who can bare their teeth and snarl the longest, until the other loses heart and shrivels away, swallowed whole?

SAINTE: They’re glad for their mask, hoping it hides their discomfort to some extent, although not much. It hangs in the air between them. “I don’t know.” They want to say no, but they can’t, can they? It’s undignified. But what dignity is there in the career they’ve chosen?

SAVATIER: he’d never known the touch of crushed silk until a courtier brushed against him at the summer palace, never understood the need nor the prevalence of masks, not even when he forced himself into the custom, not even when he forgot his in his chambers and weaved through the seas of marionette faces with his own flesh bared.

SIDONIE: His blood still stains the bottom of one of her heels and her jaw still still aches from being clamped shut to stifle her own inquiries. It is not her place to question Her Imperial Majesty, and anything that happens outside the realm of the arcane is beyond her purview.

VIOLAINE: Sidonie was real, and her splendor was something that existed outside of Violaine’s daydreams. The back of her hand outlined the curve of her companion’s cheek— her own way of affirming Sidonie’s existence, an existence that oft felt too good to have been true, so much so that Violaine could not help the random onsets of doubt.

YVON: she had never warmed a glass between palm and flushed breast, held to her heart like the carved wooden figures of odeline hand-crafted and favoured by peasant women, while standing witness to impromptu execution. liquid or ephemeral, she had never forgotten to abandon a flat, lifeless thing in exchange for one crisp and bubbling.

ZHENYA: Far beyond, the streets of the Northern city breathed in a tranquil cadence, humming with motion and thrumming with activity. All around him, life drawled on, idle and unhurried; ever eager to sustain its oblivion towards the halting horrors and terrorizing trials it so callously incited.

#faimadmin

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